Chapter 29
Warning: Description of blood. :S
April 15th - Grythen
Chairon
Chairon switched off his computer, getting ready to leave his office, when someone knocked on the door.
“Come in, Tash,” he nodded at the lady.
Natasha strutted into his office with a sultry smile and a sidelong glance at the Wesarsh, her arms full with files. She worked several floors below him as the chief administrative officer of the command centre, but she always liked coming up to his office personally to deliver the documents he asked for.
“So,” she began, raising one eyebrow, “skiving today?”
Chairon stood up and gave her his best forlorn look. Natasha had always maintained this brash attitude with him, even after their casual fling almost two years ago. He watched as she dumped the files on the other table-used for placing pretty silverware and meaningless decorations that weren’t even pleasing to his eye-and leaned on it. “Aw, Tash, it’s not like there’s an urgent report to handle today. And, I’m just knocking off slightly earlier.”
“Slightly, huh?” she nodded sarcastically. “I wonder what your uncle will say if I told him you left the office one hour early.”
Chairon grabbed his keys from his drawer. “Oh, Jeremy will definitely approve of it if he knew I was out specially to choose a present.”
Natasha’s eyes darted around blindly as she thought about what he just said. “I thought your presents were always bought and wrapped by your butler while you do the signing off. As was the case with that watch you sent me, no?”
The Wesarsh grinned sheepishly. “I see you’re not wearing it today.” He picked up his tote bag and brushed his fringe from his eyes, as though a little shy. “Things are not the same anymore… at least not with this girl.”
Natasha gasped teasingly. “What happened to the greatest Casanova of Quesdeja? Only a hundred and eighteen years of playing the field and you’re retiring?”
Chairon pressed his lips with a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth playfully. “A hundred and eighteen years? It’s not like I’ve been this charming since birth, Tash. I simply decided to be serious this time round.”
A long pause hung in the air as Natasha gaped at him. “You have got to be kidding me.”
“You heard me right, lady,” Chairon smiled to himself, and then added softly, “I might just have found the one.”
April 16th - Grythen
Kismette
Kismette dropped her pencil on the table and sighed aloud. Alphabets alienate themselves from her sad little brain, and rows after rows of them were beginning to make her dizzy. She barely wrote any words for the past twenty years and now, her task was to form sentences.
Who can she turn to for help? Evelynn would not know a single word printed on this worksheet too. Jeremy was out of the question; she wanted to show him results, not blanks.
A grin spread across her face as the next candidate for homework help came to mind. She stuffed her pen and worksheet into a sling bag and bounded out of the door gleefully.
***
“Here, you curl your fingers and stick out the base of your palm. Yea, outwards, like that,” he demonstrated with his hand. “Then, you slam it up his nose fast, as hard as you can. It’s really easy. Even a child can do it.”
“Like… this?” Kismette shot her hand at Zaelem’s face, but he ducked it before her palm came anywhere near.
“Hey, watch it. Broken noses aren’t funny, lady,” he warned and slapped her hand lightly.
“I heal, mister,” she retorted, folding her arms across her chest.
“Yea, big deal,” the warrior replied in high-pitch and rolled his eyes.
Kismette was about to jab him in the waist when a familiar face appeared from behind the bookcases. He sat upright so fast he banged his head on the bookcase behind them. Kismette tried to hold her laughter in as a few swear words left his mouth.
“Ah, so there you are, Mistress Larazest. I would have thought that the library provided enough tables and chairs,” Chairon chuckled. His gaze hovered over Zaelem for a moment before resting on Kismette. He squatted down awkwardly to avoid getting dirt on his pants and held out a box of chocolates, pronouncing the purpose of his trip. “For you,” he said.
“Oh!” Kismette gasped and beamed at him. “Thank you.”
She accepted the present and traced her finger over the box with glee. The first thing that mesmerised her was the image of the exquisite chocolates under sparkling light, some halved to show their liquid contents. At the top right corner, its brand was embossed in gold and the text below it proudly proclaimed their chocolates to be manufactured in a country which Kismette had never heard of. She tugged the red velvet ribbon a little, wondering if she should open the box on the spot.
She looked at Chairon uneasily. “Erm… Why are you giving me a present?” The generous man only kissed her hand in response. “Isn’t this expensive?” she pressed for an answer, disregarding his cheeky gesture.
Chairon only laughed and waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, it’s really nothing. I can get you a bigger box anytime you want one,” he flashed his striking smile at her again.
Kismette creased her forehead, hesitating.
“Just take it. That guy’s loaded. Also, you should ask him for homework help next time. He’s got more brains than me,” Zaelem said flatly and stood up, brushing his pants. “Well, I’ve got to go. See you tomorrow, Chairon.” Emotionlessly, he strode across the library and headed straight for the exit.
He didn't say goodbye to me! Kismette trained her eyes on his back, but he never turned to wave. She gave up fuming at him and stood up, gathering her belongings as she did. “Well, my friends and I thank you for the chocolate then.”
Chairon flashed his pearly whites. “My pleasure,” he bowed theatrically.
Kismette grinned and curtsied in return.
April 18th - Grythen
Zaelem
Another spurt of blood flew towards him. Zaelem yanked his head off his pillow of air and jolted himself upright, breaking out of his nightmare.
He mopped his forehead and looked around, making sure that he was still in his hut.
It was so vivid it scared him.
In his dream, the clock ran in reverse until he was transported back to the time when he first met up with Mejaine after coming to Grythen. She had invited him to her room for a drink and they were alone. After realizing that Mejaine had no intentions of patching up with him, he got down to his knees, begging her to return home with him.
But she threw him a revolted look, a look reserved for maggots that had squirmed out of her cheese during dinner. Zaelem stood up as anger bubbled inside him. Why is she tormenting him in such a way? He hated her as strongly as he wanted her, the hatred deeply embedded in his mind like a shard of broken glass.
Yet, he could not tear himself apart from her. He yearned for the smell of her on his clothes…
The dream ended bizarrely. When he tried to leave before their glasses were empty, Mejaine did not gave him a long, soul-devouring stare like she did in reality, but was screaming at him for being unfaithful to her. Zaelem backed away from her in his dream, horrified. Unfaithful? Was thinking of Kismette an act of unfaithfulness? I’m sorry, please don’t cry.
Mejaine refused to listen to him and began to cut her wrists. Mascara ran down her cheeks as blood shot out in narrow jets, like tongues of snakes seeking to poison him.
Zaelem leapt out of his couch. His first reaction was to run to Mejaine’s aid in case she needed him.
He yanked open the door and a gust of wind whipped the breath out of his lungs. He paused in his tracks as logic seeped into his head, flooding his mind.
He had lowered himself to being her dog all these years, coming only when she needed him and leaving when she ordered. He touched his feverish forehead with his icy fingers and leaned on his doorframe. Whether she was really in trouble or not, she would have to deal with it herself.
He walked back to his couch and lay down heavily, but the shock of the nightmare left him wide awake. His heart was still racing; it was impossible to go back to sleep now. Frustrated, he hurled himself off the couch and pulled up his track pants. A check with the colour of the sky showed that it was still three or four hours before dawn breaks. Judging it redundant to wear a shirt at this hour, Zaelem put on his favourite jogging shoes-purchased solely with army credit, along with his mug, toothbrush, socks and radio-and sped down the winding dirt path, into the city.
Sadly (for me, that is), this is where I leave you guys with a three-month-long hiatus. :( And a not-really-spam collection of pictures. To help you guys kill time. :)
Also, sweet, sweet potassiumer drew fan art for CS! Gawd, I have honestly never, ever imagined anyone would do that. Thank you so much, Ashton! :D
Aaaaand (wow, I sure am long-winded), in case somebody out there didn't know of this, here's something really useful for people who use poseboxes: Fate's Ribbon: Pose Box Catalog by Lachesis. Thank you, S.B. (sorry! I didn't know which page to link your name to!), for the link!
Finally, no matter how many time I've said this, I still want to say that I am extremely grateful towards the kindness everyone has shown me thus far. Thank you! ♥
EDIT: I sincerely apologise if I offended you with the following sentence originally written in the chapter: "But she threw him a revolted look, a look reserved for abandoned dogs at the pound." I certainly did not mean to say that the abandoned dogs at the pound deserved people's disgust, but rather, I took it to mean that Mejaine's the snobbish type who looks down on people (and animals). It was supposed to show how horrid she could be. Sorry. :(
Previous: Chapter 28
Next: Chapter 30