Writing Successes: Sunday Brunch Chat and 2, count them 2 posts for >Themiscyra. All told, about 3k words in 3 days. I'm pretty down with my bad self.

Music Playing: KMHD

Exerpt from "...And You Think You've Got It Bad"

Etiquette and Courtesies - A lady walks quietly along the street, hearing nothing she ought not to hear, and seeing nothing she ought not to see. She recognizes acquaintances with a kindly bow and friends with a warm smile, and does not speak to strangers. She does not talk or laugh loudly and to chew gum on the streets is a sign of low breeding. She must attend to her own business in a lady-like way. She never walks in the evening. When walking with another, each must keep in step as otherwise it is ungraceful and inharmonious. When walking with a man it is his duty to keep in step.

To chew gum on the streets is a sign of low breeding! I'd have to say "yes" to that one! I'd never chew gum on the street. I mean, how gross is that? (LOL) I also live a very inharmonious life. When walking, usually in the evening and generally with a man who couldn't care less about if I'm in step or not, I make it a point to be OUT of step. LOL. Well, this one isn't that funny, but I needed it for the next one, which is. LOL

Okay, I'm keeping this short. I've two story-like things today. The first is my work from yesterdays Brunch Chat. (Well, the first and second.) I had a GREAT time writing them. I must say that going from Ronic & Calen's point of view was easier than going from Reany's. The second (or third) is the post I wrote today for Themiscyra. I don't post these as a general rule, but I got HOT HOT HOT today and it turned out SO good I just had to share.

Without further ado....

Describe a stranger you (or a character) see in a public place. 15 min

Reany struggled to get through the crowd. She made little progress and finally stopped when a wide-eyed blonde girl of about five stepped in front of her. The child’s blue eyes were hopeful as she looked at the Gladiator.

Reany sighed and stopped. She dug into her pack and dragged out what they were all clamoring for; worthless copper coins stamped with her image. She pressed one into the child’s hand and the blonde clutched it to her breast lovingly before weaving off through the circle of people.

The Guard pressed more of the coins into outstretched hands. She hated the thin little coins. On them, the maker had given her upswept hair over a low-cut gown. She looked like one of the nobles she fought for.

The reality couldn’t have been farther from the truth. She wore the Guard uniform almost constantly, her hair bound in long braids or left loose and wild to the wind. When she did bother with a dress, it made her look like a tavern made or street walker, so cheap was the fabric.

She was accosted after her fights most days, the crowd seeking the little tokens to share and trade with their friends. Hers were the rarest of the Gladiators; she loathed pressing them into the greedy palms of the commoners.

“Guard,” one voice rose over the clamor of questions she had been ignoring. “How do you fight like that?”

Turning, she met a pair of wild blue eyes under a mop of blonde hair. A young man, lanky and tall, waited for her answer nervously. The crowd jostled him and he was shoved back and away from her.

“How do you fight like that?” he yelled again. Several of the people around her followed her gaze back to the commanding voice.

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Describe the narrator from part 1 from the point of view of the stranger you described. 15 min

Calen followed the woman from the arena, as did many of the people. They crowded around her until she was forced to stop. The crowd surged around her, trapping her. They threw out questions and comments, patted her on the shoulder or leg, thanking her for a good afternoon’s entertainment. A look of resignation crossed her face and she reached into a pouch at her side and began passing something out.

Curious what a Gladiator would hand out to fans, he moved a little closer.

“Don’t get distracted,” Ronic said.

“I’ll do what I like,” Calen snapped. A woman near him turned and glanced at him.

“You do that, dearie,” she said.

“What is she handing out?” he asked.

“Her coins. Treasures, they are.”

“Coins? She passes out money after she fights?”

The woman laughed, showing several missing and blackened teeth. “They are stamped with her picture, lad. All the Gladiators have them. It’s a brisk trade round these parts,” she winked at him. “Do yourself a favor and get one. It’s good for a nights lodging and a solid meal.”

Calen thanked her and tried to shove his way through to the red-haired woman. The crowd was thick, but not deep. Some wandered off as soon as they secured a coin, others simply stuck their hand out again for another. She ignored the hand that reached out a second time.

The Gladiator herself didn’t seem to notice the crowd, the questions or anything else. Her caramel-colored eyes looked off into a distant corner of her own mind. She didn’t speak, she simply handed out the coins.

“Ask her!” Ronic demanded.

Calen shook his head, ignoring the voice. He moved forward a little in the crowd, extending his hand for one of the coins.

“We aren’t here for this. If you won’t ask her, I will,” he threatened. Calen felt a small disk pressed into his outstretched hand.

“Guard,” Ronic’s voice burst from his lips. “How do you fight like that?” The Healer pitched Calen’s voice over the throng of questions, drawing instant attention from the Gladiator.

She turned to look at him. He panicked under the scrutiny and allowed the crowd to move him back and out of the little circle around her.

She’s beautiful, he though irrationally. He’d known that, he’d seen it from his place high in the arena stands. But up close, she was stunning. Her face was round and lightly freckled, her hair a cascade of wild red curls, her eyes a liquid amber. She was

“How do you fight like that?” Ronic asked again.

“Shut up!” Calen snapped, turning away from her burning stare.

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When the world was new, it was a gray place full of nothing more than promise. There was neither good nor evil, beauty nor ugliness, hate nor love. It simply was.

Many races populated the mist, magical and mighty. They loved each other and hated those different from their own kind. In this way, they came to invent love and hate, beauty and ugliness, good and evil.

One race remained between these opposites, content to maintain the balance between the two, to simply be. The fighting of the other races disturbed the peaceful nature of these beings and they decided to make an arena to contain the conflicts. They drew upon all of the elements forming in the mist, the hate and the love, the beauty and the ugliness, the good and the evil. They mixed in their own neutral and peaceful ways.

The arena was a gorgeous jewel of blue in the center of the mist. They named it Earth for it was solid and firm.

The race that built the Earth then showed this arena to the races. They offered it to them as a precious gift, a place where they could go and fight their battles in a physical realm. All of the races were eager to settle old scores and they fell upon the Earth, settling in many places on the physical realm. The Founders, as they came to be known by the races on Earth, chose to remain in the Mist, guarding the ways of neutrality and peace.

As the races lived on Earth, the Founders discovered they had to create more realms to accommodate the first. A realm of death was created, to hold the souls of those who had died in the battles. A realm of rebirth was created, to return old souls to new bodies so they could continue their fights. A realm of Gods was created, populated by the highest powers among the races so that there was an order to the Earth.

And between all the realms was the spirit realm, where the Founders dwelt in their mist of neutrality. They began to help others cross through each realm, one to another. It was their duty, they decided, since the Earth was their creation. They took animal forms and protected the souls of the races. They came to know and love many of these races, favoring them above others. Balance began to tilt in favor of good and beauty and love.

One of the races on Earth became jealous of the Founders. They saw the Balance shifting and could see the battles tilting toward the sides of chaos and total destruction.

This race rose up and infiltrated the mist. They denounced the Founders for losing their neutrality. The Founders saw the Balance as it was, tilting slowly toward good and into destruction. Without Balance, there was chaos and disorder, they saw. Many among the Founders hung their heads in shame and renounced good and evil, vowing to return to the ways of neutrality and peace.

But many of the Founders were dissatisfied with neutrality, and wanted to remain protectors of their chosen. The neutral Founders could not allow this, so the dissenters were cast out of the Mist and sent down to the Earth.

The Fallen Ones, as they became known, were quickly sorted into two distinct groups: Those who protected evil and those who protected good. Unable to find a common ground, as they no longer had neutral thoughts or feelings, the two groups separated.

The side of good became a race of powerful Shamans and Shamanesses. They kept close ties to the Founders, finding ways to leave their physical bodies and visit the spirit realm. In this way, they kept neutrality in their heart and in the physical world. They renamed themselves the Guardians and spread themselves out among many of the tribes of Earth.

The side of evil also became Shamans and Shamanesses. They severed all ties to the Founders and to their good relations on Earth. They renounced neutrality in all its forms, promoting instead the precepts of hate, jealousy, loathing, and disgust. They kept the name of the Fallen Ones, so they might always remember where they had come from and what they had once lost. Together they plotted and planned ways to retake the powers they had once had as Founders.

The two sides had many conflicts. At the last, the Fallen Ones attacked the main village of the Guardians and slaughtered all that lived there. Only those Guardians who had been in other tribes in other lands survived the attack. These numbered but ten.

Yakut, Kuk’Tai of Themiscyra, was one of their number.

She was training a young Guardian in the ways of spirit travel. He was having difficulty reaching through to his animal spirit and she was attempting to find the Founder with him. She had not had success yet.

“Look, Sias, I’m not sure where he is today. Perhaps we should try again tomorrow,” she finally sighed. “The Mist is thick today and uncooperative.”

The boy glanced around one last time, hesitant to give up. He noticed something taking shape in the gray around them. “Perhaps that’s the Founder,” he pointed.

Yakut followed his gaze and waited for the shape to fully form. It was not a Founder and she gasped in surprise. “Deoris?”

The Ti’Sa moved forward and embraced her sister. “Yakut. Artemis has given me the power to find you.”

“Sias, return home,” Yakut commanded.

The youngster looked suspiciously at the woman dressed in leather and fur with the wild brown hair and the long, sturdy staff. “When will you be home?” he asked protectively.

“When I return. Now, go,” she ordered.

Sias sighed and allowed his spirit to be pulled back down into his body. He faded slowly away.

“I need your help, Yakut,” Deoris said.

“I figured as much, athelfi,” the Shamaness replied. “It must be important for you to come looking for me here. How can I help?”

The Ti’Sa explained the current situation in Themiscyra, detailing what she knew of Selena and Venlusia’s troubles. She left out nothing that she knew. Last, she spoke of Latra Jadea, her abdication, the promotion of Latra Valkyra . . . and her own new duties in the tribe. “So, you see why I can’t fail them. I need to know how to help them,” she finished.

Yakut walked back and forth in the Mist. Little swirls of white scattered as she moved, like puffs of smoke against a gray sky. “I’m not sure how I can help,” she finally said.

Deoris sighed. “What would you do, then?”

“I’d find out who has possessed Venlusia, and why. Selena . . . I can’t tell if she fights an inner demon that she made flesh or if she fights a flesh demon made spirit. You will have to find out which. Knowing a thing gives you power over a thing, athelfi.”

Deoris sighed. “I’d hoped for a faster solution.”

Yakut’s green eyes flashed. “Sometimes, the hard way is the only way. You need to stop asking others for help, Deoris. Artemis does not always have the answer, neither do I, nor does Jadea or Valkyra or any of your sisters.”

The Ti’Sa looked stricken at the harsh words, her eyes darkened to black as the truth of Yakut’s words hit her. “I understand, Kuk’Tai. I won’t bother you again.”

“You had better! I don’t mind the occasional visit, you know. Just don’t expect me to have all your answers in a tidy package, ready for you to open when you return home. Visit often. We both know you can. And without Artemis’ help or the overly dramatic prayer you spoke. Just come,” Yakut said. She would enjoy having someone she could share her queenly woes with, as well. “Now, go home and help your sisters. They need you.”

Deoris nodded. “Tepae, athelfi,” she clasped Yakut’s hand and then saluted in the Amazon fashion. “Efharisto tu for your help. I . . . needed that.”

“Give Valkyra my blessing and the tribe my greeting,” the Shamaness requested.

“Nai, I will. Herete, Kuk’Tai,” Deoris said. She melted back into the Mist as she allowed her spirit to be called back into her physical body.

Yakut allowed herself to be pulled away from the spirit realm as well. She had been here too long already this day. She had many things to protect her own people from. The Guardians were young and vulnerable to the Fallen Ones still.

But they were becoming stronger.

--

Toria finished healing Selena’s wound and left the jail with a glance at the swirling mist in the circle Deoris had drawn with the dagger.

Venlusia taunted Selena for a moment, but Selena ignored her and moved to her little cot in the cell. She looked pensively out the window.

Deoris was aware of these things as she traveled the spirit realm with Yakut, but above them. As if they were the dream and the Mist was the reality. She followed the call of her physical form down into her body and the universe altered and righted itself.

She looked around the jail at Selena, then at Venlusia, then at the guard, Clarion. She rose from the ground and gathered the dagger Yakut had given her as a parting gift. Then, she scuffed the circle with her boot, erasing it.

“What magic did you bring back with you?” Venlusia purred. She leaned against the bars, staring out at Deoris with malicious eyes.

“The magic that knowledge is power, athelfi,” Deoris replied. “But you don’t have the power or the magic I need. For that, I must speak to your sister. She has what you never will, which makes her what I need.”

Venlusia snarled. “I have twice the power that little brat has! She’s nothing! NOTHING, do you hear me?”

Deoris turned to Selena. “Tell me everything you can about the monsters you saw, and the demon who scratched you, athelfi. Everything.”

“Morigan has NO POWER compared to me! NONE! She’s NOTHING. She’s NOBODY!”

Both ignored her ranting and gathered together at the far side of the cell, away from Venlusia. Deoris listened to Selena’s descriptions, making mental notes along the way.

She may not learn much from Selena, but she had already learned a lot from Venlusia. She kept one ear on the ravings coming from that side of the jail. Mostly just threats and curses at Morigan.

Thank you, Yakut, the Lyna thought.