Topic: The Artist's Mind

Mischief

Date: 2007-12-30 17:42 EST
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Mischief

Date: 2008-01-01 14:54 EST
Five generous steps took him from one wall of his bedroom to the other, passing a large window on the way. The broken window, compliments of a candle holder.

Five steps. Turn. Repeat.

This had been going on for the better part of two hours. The frantic pacing was frequently interrupted by sporadic outbursts of frustation. He'd shout, throw a piece of charcoal or an empty glass or nothing at all. He might slam his head against the window, clutching at his ears and rambling incoherently. Some words were more of a growl, others closer to a whimper.

Transparent reptilian eyes stared back at him. He watched them twitch and noted that his twitched as well. Must be his reflection.

One at a time, his hands released his ears. The canine's head leaned against the frame of the window while his fingertips pressed against the glass. The eyes refocused to take in the dreary weather. Gray. Wet. Cold. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was reminded of England. This very scene in all of its entirety.

Again, he found himself looking at the reflection. When was the last time he'd slept? Eaten? Drank? How many days had he been locked in here? He took a moment to ponder over the shadows on his face. Were those sunken features or charcoal smears? And Gwydion. That creep. How dare he speak of her? Who was he and how did he know these things? Questions, questions, questions...

An innocent girl. Dead. End of story. The babbling started up again as the calm before the storm began to wean. Bits of his past he didn't care to recall. Wouldn't.

Then, he collapsed.

Mischief

Date: 2008-01-02 01:16 EST
Hours later, once the sun had finally dipped below the horizon, the jackal awoke. With a small hiss, he pushed himself up and rubbed his eyes.

Through the squinted greens beneath furrowed brows, he quickly surveyed the window: Broken.
The floor: littered with glass, art supplies, and cigarettes.
The Bed: unmade.

His lip curled in disgust. What the hell had been going on here? Last he knew, he didn't keep the company of hard drug users in his house... or anyone for that matter. The sight was a familiar one to him, yet another thing he chose to ignore. Groaning, he continued the climb to his feet.

This perhaps wasn't the best idea, much to his discomfort--complete with more hissing. Hands jumped out to steady his form against the window sill and he turned his feet to peer at the bottoms.

"Wha'...?"

Blisters. Red, despite the semi-scaley, padded bottoms. Burns?! And what's this...Glass?! His eyes widened and shifted over the cigarettes mashed into the wooden floors again and in turn, the shattered glass. The jackal's chest sank with a heavy exhale and the back of his head hit the cracked window.

"Th' fack is goin' ooooon!?" It was more a whine than anything else. Suddenly he was claustrophobic. The walls were closing in on him, smeared with their violent strokes of charcoal and paint shooting this way and that. He limped across the room as quickly as possible and headed straight for the door. The canine barely made it across his living room before he realized the stench of a caged animal was following him out. He froze, mid step. A sniff.

"I swear, I can' ge' ou'a an'where th' second I wan'a," grumble, snarl, grumble, snarl. He hobbled into the bathroom for a quick shower, after which he wrapped his feet.

He'd go to the inn. Perhaps do something about the pounds he'd lost.

Mischief

Date: 2008-01-02 23:47 EST
He didn't make it through the night at the blacksmith's shop.

They had run into each other at the inn. Bree convinced him to let her tend to his wounds after seeing the bandaged feet, so back to her shop they went. To say the least, it didn't go as well as they had both hoped.

Particles of glass were found lodged in tiny wounds sprinkled along his arms and torso, previously overlooked by the swift donning of a long sleeved shirt. From grabbing his head, shoulders, and tearing at his snout, he had sizable gashes in his flesh, now clotted and matting his fur. She took good care of him, though. Such a caring woman.

Her plan wasn't fool-proof though. A mirror had been placed in his hands and he was told it would help her see. No, that's not what it was for at all. She hoped that he'd look into it, see what horrible shape he was in as if he wasn't aware.

Fact: He had conveniently avoided looking at any reflections of himself after leaving his apartment. Not for any mysterious reason other than he knew that he'd thinned and didn't care to see a skeletal version of himself staring back.

Once she asked him to look in the mirror, his whirling mind got the better of him. She was trying to make him break down. Show that he was frightened, horrified, disgusted, something. Something to make him curl up in her arms! Oh, no, he wouldn't have that. The mirror was removed from the premises in a shower of broken glass onto the market below and he went marching down the stairs despite the exposed blisters on his feet.

Their argument was interrupted by a harlequin and its bells. Such a curious creature. It removed the jackal from his paranoid delusions and nearly shut his brain down completely. There were no words to cease the fighting, no physical movement to stop it, but the thing's presence demanded it in the most gracious of ways. Stitch was confused by the musical little being. Only when he questioned it's purpose did it leave, and leave behind a flower person. It was then that the jackal conceded and returned to the upstairs.

He lie awake with his head beneath the pillow, pretending to sleep. Only when it was certain that Bree had begun her slumber did the canine steal away from her bed to redress his wounds. The door was pulled open and he hesitated. Cold green eyes were cast over his shoulder to hover over her peacefully sleeping form. The question lingered in his mind: what did she want from him? A display of affection? Of love? To make an exception for her? He wouldn't do that. Burned one too many times, indeed. Especially the latest. Then he abandoned her.

Down the stairs he went to snatch up that so-called tuft and head back into the night. There was so little left of it. The beast moved as swiftly as his singed feet would allow. They carried him through the pitch black passages between buildings and back to the inn with hardly an upward glance.

How dare she expect him to do such a thing? His gears began to turn in all the wrong ways to the point where he ceased his journey back and simply stood there, glaring with unfocused eyes at the slimy path before him, cooking up conspiracy theories from thin air on one hand and striking them all down with the last ounce of sanity he could muster. Then, just as he'd hushed them all, the calm voice of a young man brought his thoughts to a screeching halt, "Well, you told her about Chelsea. Of course, she was guiding you in that direction, wasn't she? She must already know about her. Whaddaya think?" The jackal snorted.

"I fink I ha'e telepafs n' ye need t' stay ou'a me 'ead," he barked back, then yanked open the door and disappeared up the stairs.

Mischief

Date: 2008-01-10 22:20 EST
That rancid apartment was avoided for nearly a full week. It made him appreciate the inn even more, that home away from home. His escape from life. That's not to say that he was completely safe from the wretched things that followed him, but at the very least, he wasn't locked in a room for days upon days. Finally, the jackal returned.

He entered through the delicate front door that had yet to fall off its hinges and made a right for the side staircase. Locks were unlocked, chains were removed and he made his way into the tomb-like space. His fine gray fur melted from one color to another as he passed beneath the light bulbs. Fourteen in total? he'd counted.

The door of the top floor was pushed open by the horizontal bar across it's middle and he entered the hallway. Venomous green eyes did little adjusting as this particular corridor followed suit with the staircase. The walls: black. The ceiling light above: Just another glowing red bulb held suspended in mid air. Slits traveled along the walls, regarding the writhing creatures drawn in white conte crayon. "P'raps ye'd look be'er in purple," he spoke softly to them. He'd seen the smoky little imps dance from the peek hole in the carved door to his apartment, but this time they remained as they were drawn.

That same carved door?now with claw marks!?had been left unlocked much to his annoyance. He shoved through to meet the sight of his relatively neat living room. The towel from the last shower he?d taken here tossed onto the couch and now lay in a heap. He scooped it up and returned it to its rightful hanging place in the bathroom before heading to his bedroom. With a hand resting on the knob, he hesitated. Really and truly, he wanted to enter that room under no circumstances. He had an obligation, however, and so he did.

It was frightfully cold. Curtains torn to shreds were billowing in the wind entering through the broken glass. With a heavy sigh, he retrieved the push broom and went to work cleaning up the mess. Cigarettes, glass, and charcoal. He?d buy more charcoal, it was no matter.

?You did quite a number, Draco.? The jackal peered over his shoulder. The embodiment of a phantom was standing in the door way, mysteriously cloaked and faceless.

Mischief

Date: 2008-01-16 23:33 EST
His recollection of exactly what had ensued that night Rufus returned was sketchy, like an old movie with a temperamental reel. Some frames were burned out; others barely smooth enough to make out a clear image. They jumped, skipped, and got stuck. Then it went black. There was a confrontation, the jackal knew that much.

He finally came to on the roof, just sitting there against the door back into the building and looking out over the dregs of Rhy?Din in its entire dimly lit splendor. Pressure was applied to the concrete and he pushed himself to his feet. His arms ached, his back, his legs. His brain throbbed within the confines of bone, so both hands came up to grasp at the canine cranium, hoping the gesture would somehow put the nervous system at ease.

Cigarettes cured all and so one was lit. The rusty aluminum door was shoved open and he descended into the hallway below. A glance of acidic greens were cast to the waist-high imps creeping along the wall. They peered up at their creator with empty sockets, shying away as they took note of something he hadn?t. His brows knit at their suspicious movements and raspy words were choked out with a breath of smoke, ?Ye needn? fear me?.?

His back was turned on the sketchy trio, the question lingering in his sore mind: Were they really moving? It left his mind shortly thereafter when he came in contact with the mess in his apartment. Actually, the mess on top of the previous mess was more accurate. There was blood now, which he immediately assumed was Rufus?. More broken glass was strewn about and mixed in with splinters of the broom stick, now in pieces. Draconian eyes rolled ceiling wards as a sigh of exasperation escaped him. The ash of his cigarette fluttered to the ground as he exited to the kitchen to retrieve a second broom: a plastic one. He?d be damned if anyone interrupted his cleaning this time around.

Hours later the bedroom was returned to a decent, livable state. The wooden floor was spotless save for a burn mark here or there. The broken panel of the window was replaced with cardboard for the time being. He propped the broom up against a wall and stood back to survey his accomplishment. ?Righ?, now M? goin? fer a walk,? he said to his furniture, and turned on the ball of a furry yet reptilian foot to head out the door, past the imps, and down the staircase.

He found himself in a frequently visited area: the alley behind the inn. The dumpster furthest from the light was deemed his place of reflection, and so he took a seat atop it to mull over events passed for an indefinite amount of time. The jittery frames were called to mind and the dissection began.

There was a draconian, no? one I recognized. Grey? No, brown. Tha?s no? righ?, he was green a secon? ago. ?Oo cares? ?Ee?s one?a those magic fings. Aye, so ?ee is. Then? was ?ee gone? ?Ee couln?ve jus??. ?Course ?ee could?ve. In fac?, why wouldn? ?ee? Why would ?ee show up t? begin wiff? Dinno, bu? i?wasn? me good ol? broham. No shi?, ye cin see those markin?s from a mile away n? ?ee can? do anyfin? abou? i?. ?Ow d?yeh know tha?? I don??.

...Well, ?ooe?er ?ee is, ?ee go? rid o? Rufus. Tha?s precious?ye ?ave a lizard in shinin? armor.


He buried his head in his hands, frustration emanating from his doubled over frame. Then, his ears stood up beneath the hood he had pulled over his head. Was that a noise?

?H-Hello?? The voice of the blacksmith was recognized instantly. To make his presence known, or to remain a mystery, that was the question. Needless to say, he did call her over in a voice hoarse from shouting and carrying on. Her hand, though not terribly smaller than his own, was taken in his and held against his narrow snout.

Her presence was a comforting one. She calmed his thoughts to a dull roar most of the time. The jackal was suddenly very grateful to have her in his life, which was more than he could say for most. Then, she pointed it out: After dragging a finger along his neck, she held the crimson tip up for him to see.

His movements were frantic. Clawed fingertips chased the stream of dried blood up his neck, over his jaw and up to his ears: Shredded. If his fur could pale, he would?ve been as white as a ghost. Two rings missing on the left and one on the right had the flesh of his ears in pieces.

We?re goin? back t? ?er shop. I know. She?s gonna fix yer ears. I-I know. ?Oo..did i?? I was ?opin? ye?d know. I fink i? was Rufus. Aye, good fing ?ees gone?.

Mischief

Date: 2008-01-26 19:02 EST
'Oo's screamin'...? Fer Chrissake, would ye shu' up? Ye'd fink sommon jus killed yer dog....

Me 'ead is killin' me. Me nostrils flare ou', I'm 'opin I cin figger ou' where I am b'fore I open me eyes. Unfortuna'ely, noffin registers. I shu' me eyes tigh'er n' try t' place wha' position m' in, a simple shift o' weigh'. Mission: failed. Why did tha' hurt? WOULD YOU SHU' UP?! Fine, fine, I'll open me eyes.

Th' bi' o' ligh' tha's streamin frew th' window is like a spear t' wha'e'er par' o' me brain's still there. The screamin' turns darker, more gu'eral. Weird. I bring me arm up to to shield me eyes from those wre'ched rays. Why in bloo'y 'ell is i' so cheery ou'? I'm no' cheery. I's no' allowed t' be cheery. I fackin' ha'e sun... wha' a was'e o' energy.

An'way, tha's beside th' poin'. Poin' is, I 'ave a 'eadache tha's makin' me wan'a jump off a cliff, I dinno where I'm a', an' I can' move t' save me life, an' sommon's bein' very vocal abou' a crappy day. Bollocks.

I try t' prop meself up on me elbow... Dinno where tha' 'ORRIBLE idea came from. Th' pain tha's causin' me now, Good Lord. I study the tender spo's: me elbow, foo' an' stomach. They're pre'y wrapped up so 'oo knows wha's under 'em. Obviously sommat no'un wan's t' look a'. Aye, tha' soun's reasonable. Mebbe I've sand worms crawlin' aroun' unner me skin. Dinno 'ow much sense tha' makes, I've no sand unner there.

WOULD YOU **PLEASE, PLEAAAAAASE** SHU' I'?!?! Finally I kin'a..wiggle aroun' t' see exac'ly wha' tha' soun's comin' ou' of an' I'm me' wiff naugh' bu' a pair o' me own eyes starin' back a' me from th' corner o' th' room. Bi's an' pieces o' 'im show.. places where ligh' reflec's... bu' really i' looks like th' wall 'as bumps tha' i' shouldn't. Is tha' necessary? I mean, really ma'e... IS I'?

'Ee don' answer me, bu' 'ee does shu' up. Th' 'ole fing ca'ches me off guard. 'Ee's usually such a dignified creature. Calm. Collected. Rational. Tha's why I've grown fond of 'im...bu' 'ere 'ee is actin' like.. Me. Righ'. You're in Bree's shop, ye twit.

Huh. So I am.
You mean you don't know what happened? Skid attacked you, and he attacked you because of her. Because you upset her. He used that silly eye of his to wreck your dragon friend's brain. Good luck dealing with that. Two deranged yous, no sane ones. This is fantastic. Tha's no' 'ow i' 'appened, I remember th' beginin' o' i'. Do you? And how long ago was that? Las' nigh'. Haha. If you say so.

This jus' pissed me off. 'Oo invi'ed 'im t' this par'y an'way? No'un.

"THA'S I', GWYDION, I'VE 'AD I' WIFF YEH!" Finally, he screamed at the top of his lungs and doing little good for his throat which was already severely irritated. Well, now the entire marketplace would know he's awake.

Mischief

Date: 2008-02-16 06:01 EST
Weeks. It had been weeks since he had shown his face.

Not because it was disfigured in any way and not because he was doing an early spring cleaning of his apartment...again. No, he was collecting himself. About time, no?

The jackal had spent his time away from the others in this place or that, sometimes at his apartment, most times elsewhere. It was true, however, that he returned there to sleep every night; something that had happened less and less frequently as of late. Despite his knack for being everywhere and no where, he was constantly reworking his thoughts. Certain parties were being ignored-and he dare not name names-while others were embraced. Might as well, right? He wasn't going to go anywhere any time soon. The Fragment had been good to him, looked out for him, made him aware of things he might have otherwise overlooked. His occasional actions or quips were only mildly unnerving now; now that Stitch understood.

This peaceful evening-or perhaps morning is more appropriate-he wasted the last hours of the night on his couch with a cup of tea on the coffee table that he propped his foot on, a cigarette in one hand and a newspaper in the other. Good god, he was attempting to catch up.

His next mission was to face Bree. Maybe he would get lucky and she'd appear on his doorstep, preferably not with one of the Queen's guards in the flesh.

..On second thought, he decided to take a walk.

Bree Dawnsteel

Date: 2008-02-16 23:31 EST
Bree hugged her studded black cloak close to her form as her footsteps echoed against the grimy stones of the city's West End. She had never been this far into what she'd been warned was the "dodgy" end of town, and looking about at the rundown buildings and shadows (which didn't stay anywhere near still enough for her liking) she made a mental note to take the car next time she had a delivery this way.

'Of course the bloody moron had to pay me in all coin.' she thought bitterly, acutely aware of the metallic jangling that was not her chain belt that each movement of her hips coaxed as she walked.

Looking up at the darkened sky she frowned. It was late, much later than she'd intended to be doing anything remotely work related, but the fact of the matter was she had gotten herself quite turned around. She muttered a curse and squinted in the pitch black which had become her path. Did they not believe in roadsigns here? Her fingertips strained to trail along the crumbling brick of the building she was passing as a guide.

'Tempus Bree,' came her scolding conscience 'What are you gonna do? FEEL your way home?'

Mischief

Date: 2008-02-16 23:52 EST
Down the dark stairwell he went and out the door at the base of the stairs. The night was a crisp one, but nothing that the mere hoodie adorning his upper half couldn't handle...and a pair of jeans of course. A cigarette was lit as the aluminum door swung shut behind him before he set off through the alleyways.

It wasn't long before he came across the lost smith feeling her way through the darkness. He grinned to himself as he took up a lean against one of the buildings and watched her. The circumstances had a certain air of predator and prey going on and it took to the darker half of him. He willed the urge to strike fear into the poor girl away and finally returned to his full height. Quiet steps carried the jackal closer to her, though the approach was hesitant, battling that impulse as well as a nervousness he was in denial about. His maw parted and the voice that came out was somewhat less than smooth. Truthfully, he hadn't been doing much speaking.

"'Ello love...D'yeh always wander aroun' these par's a' nigh'?" The glow of his cigarette brightened with an inhale, casting the faintest bit of light over his features. The grin remained.

Bree Dawnsteel

Date: 2008-02-17 00:07 EST
Bree's fingernails were slowly dribbling the last flecks of dislodged stone to the ground as she came to the end of another dilapidated structure only to stop abruptly in her tracks.

She smelled him before she actually saw him, the distinct aroma of whatever brand of cigarettes it was he smoked startling her as it reared its head from the bouquet of other, much less desirable scents she'd encountered on her little journey through the so-called ghetto.

When she found her voice again it wasn't much, but compared to his husking, she may as well have been using a megaphone. "I'm not even sure where "these parts" are!" she half-whined, fighting back the urge to grab him by the front of his shirt and smash her lips against his in relief. She settled for letting her meandering hand come to stop at his shoulder and rest there. "I'm not a mermaid anymore." she added flatly, feeling a bit dumb saying it, but unable to help herself nonetheless.

Mischief

Date: 2008-02-17 17:06 EST
A small chuckle escaped his jaws and his gaze fell to the floor as ash fluttered to it. It lingered there as he gathered his thoughts before lifting slit pupils to the outline of her face. The cigarette-free hand was brought to her face to brush loose strands of hair from her pale complexion. "I' wasn' you. Ye ne'er did anyfin t' drive me away..." It was barely above a whisper and despite the clearing rasp of his voice, the softness in it was evident, "I'd take more n' bein 'alf a fish t' do i' an'way."

She bit her lip at his touch, steadying herself with the hand on his shoulder. "I'm glad," she said softly, meaning it as she lifted her chin to look into those green eyes that had bewitched her from the first moment she'd seen them across the bar. Her grip tightened with a motion between a massage and a gentle squeeze, "Where did you go?"

"'Ome." He didn't specify exactly what was meant by that, not at that point anyway. The cigarette butt was tossed away and with his freed hand, he took hers and in her palm placed a kiss. "I needed t' ge' away from e'eryfin 'ere. I fel' like I wasn' doin' no one any good. Like I walk int' th' room n' pu' a damper on th' mood au'oma'ic'lly. An' I mean, 'oo wouldn' fink so wiff th' way fings were goin?" He mused aloud as his other hand found the small of her back and pulled her close to him in a strangely affectionate embrace. Talk about change for the better.

Bree's eyes widened a bit as she was pulled in close, pressing her body up against his and finding the feeling the most natural thing in the world. She leaned the side of her cheek against his neck and pondered his words a moment, kissing the flesh nearest her soft lips before her whisper continued. "What...changed?" came the innocent question. She wished she was a more eloquent girl, but Bree liked to think what she lacked in wit she made up for in understanding.

He fell silent again, watching the wall behind her with those serpentine eyes. Those weren't real, not the movement he saw there, the little things creeping and crawling. What had changed? His attitude about those creepy crawlers perhaps. The jackal pulled away from her, but not abruptly and with an arm still hooked around her. "..Come wiff me t' me apar'men', I'll tell yeh abou' i'. ...N' we cin ge' ou'a this 'ell as well." He glanced around them into the darkness before starting off with her in tow.

"Okay.." She followed his gaze into the gloom. To her it was just gloomy and dank, but what fun was that? She happily let his hooked arm guide her, leaning into it a bit with a contented sigh, "I'm really glad you're back."

He'd only been out for a few moments before running into Bree and so the trek to the dilapidated building was a short one. With his fingers laced through hers, he guided her around the side to the black stairwell's door. It was unlocked, shoved open, and held for the lady before he followed inside. He assumed she could see little to nothing, so the dip of his snout toward the stairs was most likely in vain, "Yeh'll wan' t' go firs' so if'n yeh fall I'll catch yeh. Af'er th' firs' landin' there are ligh's though. S'bi' o' a climb, we're goin' all th' way up..."

Bree Dawnsteel

Date: 2008-02-17 22:13 EST
There was a brief glitter of steel as the pale moon, riding clear of the cloud rack, silhouetted her against the door frame as she stepped through. She caught only a glance of the ramshackle lobby before it was plunged into darkness. Holding the jackal's hand tight, she stepped carefully towards where she'd seen a stairwell before everything went black. The first stair creaked violently under her weight and she shrank back a little, hopefully not crushing all of the bones in Stitch's hand when her muscles tensed in surprise. "All the way, huh?" she said a bit nervously, but managed to put enough emphasis on the words to disguise her nervousness about the building's structural integrity with a rather weak (by her elevated standards) sexual innuendo.

'Stop acting like such a girl! He's finally invited you over, you ruddy twit!' and with that reprimanding thought, she steeled herself and took the stairs two at a time. They may as well have been carved from solid onyx for all Bree could see as she catapulted upward toward the promised light, confident that Stitch would make good on his promise to catch her if she lost her more than precarious footing. 'Would be kinda romantic, really...' she thought with a funny little smile as she climbed.

Mischief

Date: 2008-02-18 15:53 EST
A slender brow was lifted at the decision to brave the stairs two at a time. This would go well. Shaking his head, he continued behind her, ready to catch a tumbling Bree if need be. Between each landing hung a single colored light bulb. Green, red, a black light, blue, pink, yellow, orange..and then the door to the seventh floor arrived. Fortunately, the only injury was to the jackal's toe--stubbed on the trash bin the jester had knocked over weeks ago. He shouldered his way through the final door into a hallway that followed suit with the stairwell: Black, with a single black light dangling above their heads.

A nervous glance was cast to the wall with the sketchy white imps clustered. Much to his relief, they remained still until the pair had passed the balcony of the main stairs to approach the door with the demon carved into it, still with slash marks through it. The jackal avoided mentioning it or the creatures creeping closer, curious eyes locked on the stranger. The lock was turned and in they went.

The newspaper had been abandoned on the coffee table along with his cup of tea, but other than that the place was quite tidy. Artwork was hung on the walls or simply drawn there, leaving no space uncovered. Biomechanical creations made up the bulk of it; hybrids, aliens, humans, all partially engineered. It was dark, but with the proper amount of contrast to make distinct figures with intricate detail. Smoke filled in extra space with still more imagined things hidden within it. All in all... he had a lot of time on his hands.

The pair of keys were tossed onto the kitchen counter and he turned to look at Bree, slightly uneasy about her presence. No one ever entered his apartment. No one that was physically there, anyway. What cures uneasiness? Cigarettes. The latch on the window was turned and pulled open--old style, the kind that lean into the interior and then his cancer stick was lit. Acidic green hues flickered back to her. He offered a smile.

"Well, this's th' cave. Make yerself a' 'ome. Stre'ch ou' on th' couch, wha' 'ave yeh... D'yeh wan' anyfin' t' ea', drink?" Weird, weird, weird. He felt weird even asking, but not because he didn't want to be hospitable. It just never happened, there was no need for it.

Bree Dawnsteel

Date: 2008-02-18 16:12 EST
The sword was removed from her back and placed on the couch along with her cloak as Bree explored the apartment. Stitch had seemed a bit nervous on their way in, but appeared more relaxed now that he had his smoke. Of course she had seen the slash marks on the door, but thought nothing of them. He had claws, after all, these things happen.

Those orbs the colour of the sky before a thunderstorm widened as she traversed the dark space, examining the art. She lingered by one piece in particular, admiring the detail with an appreciative eye before turning toward him, full of earnest. "These are beautiful."

She smiled sweetly back at his attempt at hospitality, finding it adorable. "I'm fine, hun. Thanks." Her way was made over to the couch and she lowered herself onto it with a languid upstretch of her arms. Dainty little nostrils inhaled the smell of smoke. It was heavy but like everything else around her it wasn't bad. It was just part of the experience. It was...Stitch.

"So you wanted to tell me something?" came the gentle prompt.

Bree Dawnsteel

Date: 2008-02-18 23:26 EST
She watched him patiently from her spot on the couch, drawing her knees up to her chest and hugging them.

Despite her polite rejection of some tea, he set about making himself some anyway. His ears twitched at her question and gaze darted to her for only a moment. Now or never, right? The water came splashing into a pot... the stove turned on... the pot placed on a burner. The cabinet creaked as it opened to grant access to the loose tea leaves in a tin. His voice had lost the charm or confidence it might have previously carried up to this point. "I've go' a spli' personali'y." He didn't turn to face her after blurting it out. Just kind of...waited.

The statement went pounding into her, causing a flurry of images to dart before her eyes. That night he'd been covered in glass, the time his earrings were ripped out so savagely, she'd vowed to take revenge on whoever had hurt him, but what if it had been...? "Are you..sure?" the question felt awkward at best, but she was at a bit of a loss for words. She didn't say it to challenge him, just to double check she'd heard properly.

His snout was directed at the floor and he leaned heavily on his hands resting on the edge of the counter. One was lifted to ash into a nearby tray, then supply another breath of smoke before returning to mirror it's partner. A slow nod was given. "Aye, m' sure." The draconian smirked; a gesture Stitch wasn't in complete agreement with at that particular time...and so his uneasiness grew. His tone wavered; the nervousness battling the grin. "E'er no'ice a diff'rence in me demeanor? Speak diffren', carry meself diff'ren'?"

Her tone softened "Of course I have..*and a sigh escaped, not frustration, just a sigh as she took it in. The compartment of her mind labelled "What was up with Stitch" had been opened and the contents thrown on the cerebral floor "How did you find out?" she checked herself, putting her concern for him before her curiosity. "I mean, are you okay?"

He relaxed, reasserting control over himself. The cabinet was opened again for a mug and then the tea was sprinkled into the boiling water. He turned around finally, taking another drag from his cig as he looked over at her with narrowed eyes through the blue-gray whisps. "S'no' 'ard t' find ou'. Ye 'ave a separa'e mind wiffin yer own, yeh star' t' no'ice fings. I' was a ma'er o' acceptin' i'." Perhaps admitting to voices and hallucinations would quickly amount to an overload... so for the time being he avoided it like the plague. "M' all righ', aye..."

"Well then get over here." she said smugly. The nymph sigil she had recently been branded with, special thanks to a certain jester, pulsed with empathy at Stitch?s confession. It was a bit of an odd sensation considering the talisman?s location, causing her to straighten. The waves of soothing energy she was capable of washing over him were screaming to get out, but that was not a nymph?s prerogative. Calming a charging ogre into submission was one thing depriving her precious jackal of experiencing any true emotion, good or bad, was another. With his acute canine senses it would be all too easy. She pushed away the horrid thought and waited.

The burner was turned down and he mashed his cigarette out, abandoning it in the tray before quietly moving her way. He took a seat beside her, blinking stupidly at his hands. His movements were child-like almost. He loathed admitting that something was wrong with him, or causing anyone else to be concerned...for whatever reason. It made him feel weak.

She reached over and rubbed his tense back muscles in a gradual, circular motion with a sturdy palm. When she spoke again her voice was impossibly tender, "Just promise me you won?t be too hard on yourself over this, okay? It's not like it's your fault." Her free hand sought one of his as she lowered herself to peer into his eyes, "How you got here is less important than where you are and where you go from here."

Bree Dawnsteel

Date: 2008-02-20 16:19 EST
He avoided her gaze for several long moments before slits finally found themselves locked with her normal, circular pupils. A half-hearted smile tugged weakly at his lips as he looked away again. "Bein' 'ard on meself isn' th' problem. Control's wha' i' is. There's only so much I cin no' do.. so many impulses tha' I 'ave t' no' act on b'fore I feel like I'll kill sommon." Or perhaps the impulses were homicidal. The dragon laughed and crossed his arms. Stitch shot him a look. Up he went to tend to his tea.

She looked deep into his eyes that moment, and found herself wondering vaguely how many times she'd been in fact looking into someone else's when she did so. Her gaze followed him as she stood and she frowned a little. He seemed to be tensing up again. "Is...is one of them here now?" There was that idiotic feeling again, asking after things she couldn't see. She wanted to ask how she could tell the personalities apart, but had a feeling he probably didn't have that answer ready just yet. "Oh Stitch I'm sorry I'm so crap at this psychological stuff!" a calloused palm rubbed her face as she tried to think, getting upset at her lack of solutions. She was a whiz at problems she could impale or bludgeon. This stuff? Not so much.

"I's difficul' t' explain.." He spoke over his shoulder, and softly. The last thing he wanted was for her to be upset, so he kept himself under close scrutiny. The tea was strained and poured into two mugs, left just in case her mind changed. Sugar was poured in, then honey and he turned, leaning against the counter. "There's one.. 'Ee's th' other par'. Sometimes I see 'im, sometimes no'." It was then that he decided that explaining the feeling of having your body do things without willing it to or watching the dragon have an interaction with someone else and knowing that it was in fact, he himself doing the interacting was all a bit eerie. And explaining Rufus...well, that required the whole other..diagnosis. He huffed, exasperated with his whirling thoughts.

Rising from the couch she strolled over to him. "It's okay. I don't have to understand it. Maybe I will someday. But for now, I'm good with just accepting it." She reached up to stroke his snout affectionately, fingers trailing with the lightness of feathers over the barbells she admired so much. "That okay?"

His eyes fell shut at the stroking before he leaned in to peck her on crimson lips. A grin. "If'n i's all righ' wiff yeh, n' aye."

Heat rushed into her cheeks at the peck and she found herself staring suddenly at her own toes. Then it hit her. Pure, unrefined resolve. Her head came back up and she looked at him and that impish grin of his. She thought back to mirrors hitting cobblestones, conversations in alleyway shadows, and bandages. So many bandages. "There have been times, Stitch, when I?m not even sure why I like you." she said, knowing the next part would not come as anything but a breathy outrush, "Those are the times that I?m the most sure I could love you. So, if you?re a little messed up in the head, so am I." The boldest smile she could muster was flashed, which hopefully didn't look too heavily laced with rising panic at what she'd just said to one of the most volatile people she knew.

The grin softened first, then nearly disappeared completely at her words. It took a couple of seconds before he realized he had been holding his breath; as if any disturbance would send someone or something into a frenzy, including himself. A deep exhale finally escaped him and he sipped his tea calmly. Then...set it down. The silence was deafening. "Ye should be careful...'oo ye say tha' to, Love. Could send yeh int' a tailspin iff'n fings don' go qui'e righ'.." His voice had fallen to barely audible once again and when he finished, his eyes met hers.

Bree's smile faded a little but not entirely as she watched him closely, heart pounding. A slender black brow managed to raise at his cryptic warning. A weaker woman's tail would already be spinning, but Bree had looked not "quite right" square in the eye before and was more than well aware of the risk. "This ain't my first rodeo, cowboy." she said evenly, holding his verdant gaze.

Slender, pierced brows were lifted and the grin soon returned. A talon reached out to tug at her pants and pull her closer to him. The other hand slipped up the middle of her back and his snout slid beside her ear. He whispered, "I's a bi' off th' edge o' th' map 'ere, dove... don' underestima'e i'.. n' don' say I din' warn yeh." Dual tips of his tongue flicked across her earlobe...and he snickered.

The pant tug caused Bree to make a noise that might have been a protest or might have been approval?or might have started as one and ended as the other. She canted her head toward his flickering tongue, the words washing over her and away on a tide of arousal as she pulled him in close. "You haven't given me the full tour." came the throaty utterance "Or am I to assume you West Enders hate beds as much as you hate roadsigns?" she finished with a lascivious grin.

A chuckle. "S'no' tha' we 'ate roadsigns.. i's jus' tha' we like t' find our prey wand'rin' scared frew dark alleys they aren' familiar wiff.." A teasing growl began to weave its way into his voice, pleased with how well the diversion had worked. He slunk around her and grabbed a hold of her fingertips, leading her out of the kitchen, down the short hallway and through the closed door. The bedroom matched the living room; what with the insane artwork scaling the walls. There were, however, several spaces where it had been painted over in white, hiding one episode after another beneath a coat of paint. The bed was comfortably big enough for two, and fashioned in wrought iron. Yet another black light hung from the ceiling. Not exactly providing light, but bringing out select objects. The door was shut and he leaned his back against it, grinning wickedly.

Mischief

Date: 2008-03-14 06:49 EST
She was gone.

Just like that. She disappeared in front of his eyes and he hadn't seen her since. He hadn't received any word that she had left the city. No one hinted at it so far, but the only person that he had spoken with that would have any inkling was Skid. It didn't take a rocket scientist, though. Stitch had visited the marketplace to gaze upon the shop. His intentions of course were not merely to look at it, but when it was spotted in its quiet, lifeless state with only Hina to wander through its interior, he knew the bubbling smithy that he had grown so fond of had fled.

Everyone wanted his head now, though it was no matter to him. It's not as if he truly cared about any of those people. Before the angel, yes... but something happened. She snaked herself into every crevice of Skid's life, thus gaining the favor of company he once enjoyed. The jackal? He stewed. There was tension from the very beginning and it only worsened the more he was made to tolerate her presence.

The dragon strolled along beside him with arms crossed as he made his way back to the dilapidated apartment building. It struck Stitch as odd that he had been quiet throughout this entire walk. Ever since that night, it had been nothing but criticism despite his lack of interference as the Jester and Jackal stepped into the room that the angel was held captive...and Stitch was sure to remind him of it every time the bastard opened his mouth. Not to mention the original meeting he had had with the hybrid when the plan was first spoken of. His ears turned back, one crusted with blood around the flesh yet another earring had been torn out of, and finally, he spoke.

I know you don' regret i'. But...maybe you should reconsider tha'? I think she deserved i' but i's affected your life far more than you're willing to admit, mate.
"I could give a ra's ass. Really," he practically barked back. "She saw i' comin'. I told 'er abou' ye--er, us--n' ye've spoken to 'er n' if'n she couldn' see tha' yer th' be'er of th' two of us--n' yer no' e'en REAL," he added matter-of-factly, "...an' took th' 'ole package an'way despi'e th' immense defec's i's go'.. Like tha' frankly I don' give a shi' abou' anyfin', n' I've no respec' fer life er scum like tha' 'Ina fing er e'en consideration fer an'one's well bein'--then she was a was'e o' time." He entered the black stairwell without bothering to hold the door, then started up the steps.

The dragon grabbed it before it swung shut and followed closely behind him, rubbing his face.
You don' mean tha' and you know you don'.
"I do. She pursued me an'way KNOWIN' wha' she was ge'in' 'erself into," then he added in a generic, high-pitched female voice, "wan'ed somefin' mooore! Wan'ed me t' love 'er n' she could love me n' we could live 'appily e'er after!" He snorted, pivoting to start up the next flight. "Wan'ed all tha' despi'e th' fac' tha' she 'knew'," clawed fingers lifted to perform air quotes, "an' was okay wiff i' wha's she fink? I go' th' power o' love on me side n' now m' no' gonna be a fackin' nu'er an'more?"

He was lost. Rambling all the way up the stairs to himself. It was all so frustrating. He knew this thing that carried on conversations with him, drank tea with him, handled his business for him was not real. ..BUT HE WAS THERE! There, following the jackal up the stairs with a mind, style, and heart of his own. He even had a softer accent than Stitch. How? Better yet, why? (In truth, he still hadn't accepted the mind boggling concept that the dragon was him and he the dragon.)Stitch, if he could, might envy the creature for being better at being Stitch than Stitch himself. It was true that the jackal had found the ability to care for another--several times, in fact--but he ruined all of it. Every time, he was the catalyst. Let's get real, though... Stitch envying another for the ability to be emotional? Not in this painfully long lifetime.

Oh, stop already and think, would you? You wouldn't 'ave harmed Bree tha' night.
"I migh've. She would've gone ou' like Kaze star'ed to, bu' Daisy wouldn't've been involved. Too impersonal," he spoke casually, forcing the insincerity out of his voice as he entered his apartment and made a bee line for the tea.
Yer out of your mind, you know tha', don't you? He paused to close the door behind them and gave the jackal an incredulous look.
"Bugger off. Ye wan' some tea er wha'?"

Mischief

Date: 2008-04-02 14:23 EST
Once again, the jackal hadn't left his room for days. The first several had been unpleasant and violent... the last few he spent regrouping, reorganizing, repainting... rethinking.

Fresh from the shower and clad in a pair of plaid pajama pants, he entered the living room with the towel draped over his head and water still clinging to his coat of fine gray hairs. He zeroed in on the plastic filing cabinet in the corner of the living room; untouched for quite some time. One of the bins was pulled out to gain access to the papers inside. Some were written on, others were clean and some were even yellowed with age and neglect; speckled with spilled ink. Beneath the scattered array of parchment, a book was hiding. Needless to say, it was this book?this damaged, loosely bound, ancient thing?that he grabbed, along with a bottle of red ink and a calligraphy pen. He took a seat on the couch, leaning toward the coffee table. The tools were set down. The towel was yanked off. The bottle uncorked. He lifted the pen, dipped it in crimson, and began to write.

Dearest,
I don?t know where you?ve gone. I sit alone, hoping I?ll hear the distant click of heels get louder as you scale the steps to this room. Yet? somehow I know you won?t come back. It?s funny. I should have expected it. Seems I was too wrapped up in what could have been? for once. You are the only one that could bring me to my knees.

I love you.


Predictably enough, the book was slammed shut before the ink could even dry and he sat back, eyeing it. A book of letters that would never reach their destination. Sins for which he would gain no penance. Thoughts he would never admit to.
Is that fear I see? Stitch groaned as his face was buried in his hands. Eventually, he covered his ears?is that how this worked?
"No."
I think i' is. What a bastard, taunting the beast. I think... that you have a weakness. And i?s somethin? you?ve only dealt with once, bu? of course? you?ve erased that from your memory, righ??
?Wha? are ye talkin? abou??? The jackal lifted his head and lids narrowed up at the semi-translucent being.
You know wha? I?m talking abou?. The fragment stepped to the side to lean against the door frame of the bedroom. How malicious, bringing that bit up.
?I?m afraid I don?, ma?e. Yer such a guru o? memory keepin?, why don? ye enligh?en me?? He pushed back, knowing that the dragon wouldn?t release this unknown, important piece of information just yet.
The fragment?s voice grew louder and notably more frustrated. How hard is it to just read what you?ve written in that book?!

Slam. The plastic bin was shoved closed, the decaying book safely inside. Piercing gaze leveled on the other, his back now to the ?filing cabinet?. He said simply, though by no means softly, ?Wha? book?? It was a demand for silence, not a question. When he finally started toward his room, the fragment made way, exiting into the imps? hallway.

Mischief

Date: 2008-04-04 03:27 EST
The imps scurried to a corner as Stitch came bursting into the hallway from that deep, dark stairwell and stormed straight for the demon clad door.

It's true. It's true and ye know it. No' only do ye know it, but yer CONTINUING TO DENY IT. And not ONLY are you continuing t' deny it, but ye tried DISTRACTIN' yerself with an ex who ye KNEW would leave ye in the dust again, and--
"SHU' UP! SHU' TH' F*CK UP! 'EE KISSED 'ER. SHE LE' 'IM. THA'S I'. I'S DONE." They stood with gaze locked in the living room now, some several feet of distance away from each other. Stitch was but a hair away from trying to kill it. The silence was broken when The Fragment knew he had calmed. Even if it was only slightly. His words were slow; collected.
Ye know tha' Lerida was a lost cause. Bree wasn' around because ye scared the hell outta 'er. Ye needed reassur--
"I needed no such fing. I don'. I ne'er 'ave, an' I cer'ainly don' need i' from sommon 'oos 'ookin' up wiff tha' demon piece o' shi'."
Let me finish, mate.
Surprisingly, the jackal did back down, taking a seat on the couch. Perhaps it was the lowered volume that demanded his temper to ebb. He would insist later on it was only to peacefully light a cigarette and rest his feet.
Ye needed reassurance and the most mysterious one was back in town. Even took yer side. It's a thing women do when blokes are in a bi' of a tough spot. Makes everything better, righ'? He paused for a reaction...of which he simply got a flat look. The Fragment knew he'd hit a spot, though, and that the jackal hid it well. But she hasn't the commitment t' ye like Bree doe--did. Bree loved ye, all issues accepted. Tha' thing you wrote? You're misdirectin'. Do note that he avoided the kissing subject ever so gracefully.
"Tha's enough." He leaned forward to tap the cigarette over the ash tray. Needless to say, eye contact was not made with his other half. When he heard the creature's mouth open again, he cut him off, "I 'eard ye ou'. Now leave me th' f*ck alone."

He was right and Stitch hated it.

Bree Dawnsteel

Date: 2008-04-11 04:58 EST
The floorboards groaned under Bree's heels as she climbed the steps to her old bedroom carrying a small silver tray laden with a teapot and two empty mugs. She half expected to emerge into the tiny loft and find the jackal gone. That today had all been a dream. But it wasn't. She knew this because she could smell cigarettes and hear taloned footfalls and her cheeks were still flushed with the heat of being in his very presence, of him grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her close...
During the time she'd been down getting the tea in order, Bree had managed to corral her jumbled thoughts into a sensible enough pile that she was ready to go back upstairs. When she breached the last step to her former room it was all she could do to resist pressing her face into her pillow see if it still smelled like him, but instead of acting like a crazy lady she set the tray on the bedside table and sat down as casually as she could muster. Silently, she cursed her acute nymph senses as an intoxicating wave of pure Stitch washed over her, whether it was emanating more from him or her bed, she could not say. Bree wondered absently what she smelled like to that sensitive canine nose of is. Probably like woodsmoke and sweat, came her brain's self-depricating retort.
"I...want you to know two things, Stitch...hun.." her hands that poured the tea were steady as she let the informality slide off her lips as easily as it had come. "First, when I left, and I went home, time passed much faster than it has here. I didn't realize at first but...well, I was actually gone three months. Second, and much more importantly," here she set down the teapot and ardently turned doe-like grey orbs up to him, "Even if I'd been gone three years, I could never, ever ever go and forgive Skid for something and not forgive you too. I was scared, I really was, and I mean, I know forgiveness is only worth something to someone who wants it, but...well if you want it...I have it in spades, for you." She wanted so badly to add 'Because I still love you' and then realized she had nothing to lose and, despite every nerve-ending in her face begging to look down at the mattress, or out the window, or up at the rafters, she kept her eyes fixed on his and determinedly said, "Because I still love you. So much." and waited for the reaction.

Mischief

Date: 2008-04-11 06:45 EST
As she disappeared back down the steps to ready the tea for a particularly difficult conversation approaching, he took a moment to study the room. Much to his lack of surprise, nothing had changed. She had been gone for several weeks, after all. The reflective surface of the mirror he'd bought her had gathered some dust, at the very least.

"P'raps I'll jus' jump ou' th' window. Leave 'er guessin'?" He muttered quietly to the other presence in the room. I think it's safe t' say ye shouldn't speak until she comes up 'ere. The creature's words, silent to the ears of others, spawned from the corner. Stitch could feel that condescending look. Cocky bastard.

The jackal was brought back to reality when the thumping of footsteps grew louder. The smith emerged from the lower floor, and for the first time, he consciously (if only mentally), acknowledged her beauty. Up until that moment, it was an intuitive knowledge. Now it was the whole shebang. Vibrant greens fell to the puddle that his soaked clothes were creating. He ran a couple of fingers through his drooping blue fan. Suddenly he was very self conscious.

His attention was drawn back at the pouring of tea. Locked onto it, was more like it. He stared, unblinkingly at the steaming amber fluid that splashed into the cups and recalled a so-called "fact" about Koala feces being swept up in the tea leaves. Why did he drink that stuff? It's good, that's why. With that, he moved toward the cup of said tea, guiltily tuning in slightly late.

Sip. "..home, time passed much faster than here..." He forgot to put sugar in it. Did it matter? No. Why can't you focus? The jackal gave a roll of his shoulders at the perfect moment...about forgiving Skid and not him. Wouldn't happen? He pondered the scenario momentarily, deciding in quite a short amount of time that she spoke the truth. Bree wasn't a liar, she...

She what?!


Were those his eyes glazing over? A shocked expression? No, never Stitch... He was quite for several more seconds.

"...So WHY'D ye kiss Damien!?" An outburst, to be sure. Not a particularly loud one nor was it the proper one, just...an outburst. He wasn't visibly angry though it could be interpretted that way, what with the ears laying back and the furrowed brows. Was he hurt? Oh yes and for once, it reflected in those hues. He'd have answers before commenting on that four lettered word.

Bree Dawnsteel

Date: 2008-04-12 01:26 EST
As Stitch's words rang in the air between them, a host of replies flew immediately to Bree's mind...
'Why did you sew Hina's lips together!?'
'Uh!? I'm a nymph!'
'Piercings get me all hot and confused?'
...but they weren't answers. They were the childish retorts that belonged to the age old game of 'you hurt me I'll hurt you back more' which Bree knew never solved a damn thing. It did not matter. Nothing mattered in the face of the positively heartmelting look Stitch was wearing on his pierced features. Thank Tempus she had an answer for him.
"Because..." she began placidly, standing and tugging open a nearby dresser drawer and withdrawing a fuzzy, seafoam coloured towel. With a flick of her wrists, it unfurled in her grasp as she turned and approached Stitch. Reaching carefully up and around his neck, she draped the towel over his shoulders like a cape. Her hands brushed eachother over his collarbone, lingered with studied tenderness, then dropped back to her sides. "I didn't think I'd ever get to kiss you again." she finished plaintively.

The memory rippled across her mind...

"Why no'? As pathe'ic as yer friend, mm? I'd do i' t' yeh if ye tortured sommon I actually cared abou'. Bu' tha' las' bi' doesn' 'appen, so ye don' 'ave t' worry abou' i'. Eiver way, I'd find a way t' do i'.?

Funny how that had bothered her a thousand times more than the state of Hina's face.

"I thought I'd lost you. And if you couldn't even find you...how was I supposed to?" her voice cracked, just barely, and she faltered. Ninety lonely nights she'd spent letting herself get beaten to a pulp at the Fist, toiling like a madwoman at the forge, the caprice with Damien...anything just to feel a different kind of pain, to keep her moving, to tear her attention away from picking her emotional scabs. Bree had never been one for tears, but looking at the jackal now she found herself blinking more forcefully than normal. She bowed her head automatically to hide the dead-giveaway lustre her eyes had obtained. The motion sent black hair spilling forward across her bare shoulders as the back of one hand was lifted swiftly to drag across her wet eyes. She had no idea what she'd do if he walked away from her now. She deserved it didn't she? She'd hurt him. She could see it in his eyes. And she couldn't remember ever feeling so horrible in her entire life.

Mischief

Date: 2008-04-13 17:58 EST
He eyed her. Watched her move toward him with an ounce of explanation, drape the towel over him and add to it. His heart started
to pound against his chest. Fear? Maybe. He rarely participated in conversations such as this, nor handled them any differently than he had
begun to do. He didn't know how. It wasn't even that he wanted with all of his heart for this to work, but more that he preferred for her to be
around. That's how he justified it. He gulped, though not visibly and decided to stand perfectly still while his thoughts were gathered. . A deep breath had his nostrils flaring slightly as he reached for the closest surface to steady himself. WELL?! SAY SOMETHING! His ears laid back at the shout and a truly cold glare was shot at the fragment. Slowly, he turned back to Bree. Stepped closer... knelt before her. With the back of his index and middle claws, he pushed her hair back.


Bree swallowed, hard, fighting tooth and nail to keep from making any noises that remotely resembled crying. During Stitch's silence, she stepped back and slumped onto the edge of the bed, keeping her eyes downcast. This was it. He was as good as gone. Finally, pride gave way to curiousity and she was about to look up when she saw his feet turn and come toward her, then his knees on the floor, his touch suddenly on her face. She lifted her chin and levelled her shinier than usual gray irises at his green ones.


The canine's skull tilted slightly once she looked up at him. Vibrant greens studied the creaminess of her face; the softness of her features even with such emotion tainting them. Last time he'd seen her, it didn't work quite the same way. Not at all. Not that he cared at that point either. Words, he knew, would be awkward for him. So awkward that he'd get angry, and leave or break down with the frustration. Instead, his snout drew closer and he placed a tender kiss on her shapely lips. The gentle nature of it could be startling. It was downright strange coming from him.

The nymphantile girl's eyes widened in surprise at the unexpected contact. His muzzle pressed so affectionately to her lips
sent what felt like an electric shock through her body. Her arms were up and sliding over his damp shoulders, sending the towel fluttering to the
floor. She kissed him back deeply, lovingly, on the verge of exploding with a passion that might fry the stars. Eyes closed, Bree was lost,
consumed in the moment, and lo and behold, there was Stitch.

His arms snaked around her lower back to pull her closer to him; for a leg to be on either side of his torso. The kiss had calmed him
completely, even forced his eyes to fall shut for a second or two. Eventually, he pulled away to look back up at her. Once again, a silence fell over him for a spell. When he did speak, his voice was quiet. Almost a whisper. "I can' righ'ly say wha' I wanna say.. Bu', I missed ye. A' th' very
leas'."

The inmost parts of her eyebrows went up and she smiled at his words. Suddenly it didn't matter so much that there was a darkness, or perhaps several, deep within him. He'd missed her, damnit. "I'm so sorry I left you...I thought...well it doesn't matter what I thought, I'm here now and I'm not going anywhere." she searched his gaze and tightened her grip around his neck "Okay?" It was a veiled, stupid way to ask if they were back on, she knew, but she just couldn't bloody help herself.

"S'all righ' love.. ye don' e'er 'ave t' try n' explain yerself t' me." One ear swivelled round to lay back again while the other remained at half mast. Absentmindedly, his claws slipped beneath her shirt to trace circles on her flesh. "Jus' please don' be afraid o' me.. all righ'?" So they were both guilty of it.

She shivered at the feel of his talons on her skin again and a pearly white tooth sunk into her lower lip. His words brought
her back and her heart gave a little twist. The pads of her fingertips ran along the length of his flattened ear in a soothing gesture. "Never again,
hun. I promise. Besides," a light kiss was placed on that ear before she whispered into it, "Y'aren't so scary."


The touch to his ear caused him to lean into her hand with a small grin. She was a big lady, sure... But with only so much effort put
into it, he had pulled her onto him as he fell back onto the floor. Hands followed her arms to her wrists and he took hold of them, preventing her
ability to sit up. Her whisper was returned, if somewhat deviously. "Kiss 'im again n' I'll show ye scary." It was said playfully enough for it was
no threat. He would label it as a promise.


She found herself straddling the jackal, knees on the floorboards beside his slender waist, wrists constrained. A playful pout was on her lips as she looked down at him, her hair dangling to brush his chest "Kiss who?" she said as though she'd never even heard of this "him" person that was being referred to "Honey, let me assure you that this..." Since her hands were trapped she attempted to gesture to herself with her eyes and a quick nod of her head "..is hereby a Stitch only zone." she lowered herself so that her curvaceous form pressed down on him. "Frankly, I prefer it that way.." Bree added, meaning it.

Bree Dawnsteel

Date: 2008-04-29 12:51 EST
The freckled young delivery boy wound his way nervously through the twisting roadways of RhyDin's notoriously dodgy West End with a lump in his throat and a letter in his shaking hands. He rounded another corner and at last came upon his destination, a towering dilapidated structure. A retreated cat sent the lid of a trash can clattering across the stone, causing the youth to nearly jump out of his skin as he approached the foreboding entranceway. Most people would simply use magic to send a parcel to such a questionable place, but most people were not dating Stitch Hyde.
The post boy reached into his pocket and fished out a crumpled invoice. His eyes went from the paper to the address box, then back again to pass briefly over the cautionary note at the bottom, written in bold red pen:
Do not, under any circumstances, enter premises or attempt to deliver package to client in person.
Suppressing a shudder as a beetle skittered across the bronze building numbers, the boy stuffed the letter quickly in the mailbox and bolted.
Beneath the yellow paper exterior of the envelope (upon which was fixed a unique Faerunian stamp) was a simple postcard, dated two days hence. Pictured on the front, framed by dangling palm fronds and a blue ocean which seemed to stretch on forever, was a monster of a man with a neatly trimmed black beard. He was smiling widely and shaking the hand of one of two very happy looking elves. The elves, for their part, were darkly tanned and sparsely clad with hair of the most curious blue and skin that seemed to reflect the sun as though it were scaled. Contrasting sharply against one of the elves sun kissed shoulders was a pale hand with bright red nail polish on the digits. Attached to it was the towering amazonian figure of Bree, stunning in a white sundress with a hibiscus-esque flower tucked into the pitch tresses behind her right ear. On the reverse of the postcard, loopy cursive read:
Hi Honey,
I know I've barely been gone a week, but you might remember me telling you how time passes differently here. The new sales campaign is going really well. I won't bore you with the details, but I haven't seen daddy this happy since mom passed. Anyway, just wanted to say I miss you and I'll be home sometime on Thursday so I'll see you then hon...then maybe sometime on Friday, I'll put you back down again.
Here she had sealed it with a kiss, a shapely crimson imprint, and scrawled her name in that same girly script.

Mischief

Date: 2008-04-29 15:35 EST
It was probably a good thing that the letter had not been delivered magically or it would risk materializing in an infinite number of places, all of which were wrong. Such magic-unfriendly occurrences were the ways of West End. That's why he was here.

The jackal had perched himself in the deep window sill of his bedroom that day with the glass cracked open. Gray and blustery was the weather, as per usual; he'd begun to suspect that his building had it's own weather. Coincidentally, it was his favorite.

A dainty cup of tea was held between his fingertips, occasionally brought to the plush of black canine lips for a sip of steaming English Breakfast. Just sitting in a pair of pajama pants and watching. Watching nothing. Watching the tiny speckles that were really leaves from his tower. Watching the Makos strut about like they owned the streets. Luckily for this new, blonde, innocent thing, they were long gone by the time he arrived with the parcel. The jackal's ears perked up. Who was this and what was he doing here? Relax, Beast. The lazy drawl of The Fragment had upstanding ears turned down. Slit pupils shot a glare over his shoulder. He stood and started for the door, putting his tea down on the way.

A cigarette was lit on the way down the black hallway and the smoke was released to catch on the underbelly of the stairs above. With a shove, the door to the outside was finally opened and the dimmed light of the sun blared into his face. Round the building he trudged along to the mailbox.

"'oo sends mail these days, really?" He spoke to himself, but the ever present a-sshole had a response in his too-elegant accent, Ten pounds says i's a love letter. "Shu' up."

He reached into the mailbox, sparing a moment to scoff at the dragon while the yellow paper was torn open to reveal the post card. A small grin twisted his features when he spotted Bree and lasted through the curling, graceful handwriting.

Sick.

Mischief

Date: 2008-05-10 14:17 EST
Stitch had wandered into the glen, of all places, and took a seat on the first grassy knoll that struck his fancy--specifically, one with a tree. It was only fitting for the tree to be a dead one, with barren and hollow branches reaching to the sky in vain. There were no headphones in sight, no backpack full of spray cans...just the jackal. How melodramatic of ye. The fragment, of course. He'd never get a moment of peace.

Venomous greens peered out over the lake as the light of day began to fade. It was cool and crisp in the shade; comfortably warm in the retreating sunlight. That was where he sat. A simple black t-shirt, a pair of jeans, and a coat of grey now fiery with orange highlights.

They were both silent for a long while, watching the sun dip below the horizon. The chameleon of a thing did a lot of feline-like lounging; curling the tip of a sometimes-visible scaley tail. Smug. His eyes had been locked on the jackal far before the canine noticed..

Or physically acknowledged him.

A heavily pierced ear twitched. Some seconds later, it turned back. The tension was rising between them and when Stitch finally graced the damn thing with a glance, he noted that a nightmarish grin had found its way onto the dragon's face, its effect exaggerated by the bits and pieces of his features that could be seen. Typically, it was where light caught his scales. Sometimes, it was the texture or pattern behind him. With the amount of light cast onto the pair, it was the former.

Ye, my dear friend, are regretting wha' ye did like hell, aren'ye?
He swallowed hard and looked away. The bit of annoyance that had begun to boil in him was extinguished instantly. However much he loathed this thing that dare not leave him alone, there was some comfort in not having to speak for him to understand.
Ye know ye love her. Why'd you do it?
Slit pupils lowered to the grass springing up around his jeans. A canine fang hooked onto his lip.
How hard is it REALLY t' end one relationship b'fore starting another, mate? He snorted. Does someone always have t' get hurt when ye're involved? Someone who didn't deserve any of i'? I've told ye once n' I'll tell ye a thousand times--
"'S a li'le la'e, now, save yer breaf."
--That girl was th' only positive influence in yehr life. An ye fuqked 'er over. That red'ead? She's just as nuts as ye are. S'not gonna help ye any.
"I can' 'elp i'," his voice softened. Ears that had stood up again returned to their flattened state. "I dinno wha' i' is abou' Leri..."
She treats you like you treat ev'ryone else, with her own twist.
"She doesn--"
She does. Ye're both mad. Ye don't have anyone t' keep ye in check. She leaves ye hangin', which keeps ye crawling back. What ye don' seem to understand is tha' ye don't have to play tha' game with Bree. ...For someone with abandonmen' issues, ye enjoy the misery an awful lot.

The jackal fell silent. Sighed heavily.
"Well, i' doesn' ma'er now, does i'?" Reptilian eyes lifted to a pair of matching ones.
He shrugged and looked away. No, I suppose not.

Mischief

Date: 2008-07-18 04:42 EST
Stitch, then, seemed to realize that the Jester was indeed, there. They were in this together, whatever had happened. They were both feared. One more or less than the other. He who rejected and was rejected by society found himself standing alone, even in the company of another. Stitch had started out by himself, involuntarily forced others away, and yet... He was alone again when the Jester retreated into the lair. The hues of the Jackal stared at his back until he'd gone so far into the darkness that it was difficult to follow him. He'd forgotten how to move his legs, then... And simply looked down. The hand clutching the golden thing, taken from the neck of the smithy as she was carried off, was opened and he was faced with his own eyes staring back. His chest tightened as the tears welled up. The beast fell to his knees.

It was strange to feel such a horrible sadness. He hated it, yet? It marched on with purpose and determination to escape the confines of his eyelids. He tried. Oh, the poor thing tried so hard to hold them off with eyes clenched tight. The hand with the locket balled into a fist and his forehead lowered to rest against it. The tears slid down his fur, not going very far at first, but once the trail was made, they fell freely down dampened cheeks. His breaths were short, intertwined with a whimper each time. Some were lengthy, others a mere exhale of breath and otherwise silent. ?She?s gone! She?s?gone.?He sobbed to the floor. Any attempt at calming himself was trampled by the realization that she hated him in her last days. That he treated her horribly. That he never confessed those three words.

He fell back amidst the tufts and peered up at the sky. Where was his anger? Where was his apathy? Why did he feel like the scum of the earth? Because we are.