Prala, I have a present for you.

[Deuce is above deck, lazily roller skating between deck chairs and people. A second pair of skates is hanging from his shoulder, their laces tied together.]

Find me, va?

If the one-eyed man in the land of blind is king, then what of the sane man surrounded by lunatics? Does he get a crown also?

[Deuce is on Deck 3, half-laying across a low tree branch. Hat down over his eyes and arms and ankles crossed, if it weren't for his broad smile he would look like he was sleeping.]

I would prefer a hat, I think. A new one

We Roma, we have words for the sun and the moon, but no word for stars. If we must name them, they are simply dudee, or lights. We have no words for green, yellow, or gray. Collico is both yesterday and tomorrow. We have words for living and dying, but none for hope. Our word for love, camova, merely an expression of lust. We have no word for the ( Read more... )

[There's a click and a rustle of fabric as the comm is turned over by curious fingers. Idly, a button is pressed.]

What sort of toy are you, my love?

[The voice is warm and lilting. English is obviously not this man's first, or preferred, language. A whisper of a sigh. It is the sound of familial obligation -- long-suffering and trying very hard ( Read more... )

I twist, loop, and pull until a noose sits in my palm. A pale pink noose made of braided silk. I slip it over my wrist and draw it tight, whispering magic into the weave as I thread and knot beads into place. My mulengi dori is better than most, and also less. Extraordinary skill coupled with impure intentions, you understand. My family is more ( Read more... )