Coldest Welcome ( Part One: Arcane Warrior)

In the depths of the old wood, where the trees dripped tears over the toppled stones from the mountain,  Mal sat beneath the willows, clutching the totem in her hand. It’s word ivory etchings still held the shape of a Field Spring dog. Her father said it held the power of the old ancestors, but she sensed no faint hum through her skin nor the pull upon her spirit.  All that reached out to her was the winter frost through the long arms of the trees. When did everything turn so cold? It seemed as though she’d been walking along the southern shore the day before. Asan, with his rugged good looks, swept her up and into the water as though they were children and not soldiers. The war seemed so long ago, but it’d been merely a year. If everything felt like it’d just happened did that mean Mal was getting old? She sighed and hoped not. Grey did not go with her sun blessed complexion. Grandma might have gone silver, which flattered her ebony skin, but Mal took after her father’s people. “Least of my worries.”she muttered, as a large wet drop splashed across her head, making her cringe.

A short time ago she’d been the source of much strife in the life of her lover, Asan. He defended her like a noble knight defending a fair maiden, though Mal had never been fair and Asan had helped her cease being a maiden long ago. Yet what plagued her was his defenses of her character and person. They were flattering and yet they seemed to inflame parts of her just as much as her attackers, her detractors. Asan’s spirit had been right until they revealed the truth. It ached and cut in such a silent way. In bandaging he just cut deeper, and how could she say why? Would it even be clear?

“I thought I’d find you here.” Asan’s voice, deep like the ocean and just as soothing, came from behind her, and she sighed.

“I needed to think.” She turned her head to see him trudging up the hill wrapped in thick a thick wolf pelt and carrying a dense green blanket. She must have been gone longer than she realized. She looked upward and the sun had just moved past the mountain peek. It’d been hours. Asan came and sat beside her on the stone and wrapped the blanket around her shoulders. A slow smile crossed her face and she remembered all the reasons she loved him. For his parent’s and sibling’s sakes she wished she did not. “How are things at the house?”

Asan’s shoulders tensed ever so slightly before falling, and then with all the irritation and disappointment a son could have when his parents disapproved he sighed.

“My mother calmed father and Bretlynn down. Rynhold is…civil, but displeased.”

“I got that from the yelling.” She managed a small smile, but it felt more painful than humorous. Judging by how he rubbed his knees and he hung his head in shame it looked as painful too.

“I’m sorry you had to deal with their horrid behavior. I had told them of you, but…I didn’t expect-”

“They assumed it’d be less part of me, but my magic is as part of me as my hair, my eyes, or my voice. But I think…I think they expected to talk you out of…of us.” The words hurt as she spoke them, and part of her felt foolish for it. She’d been a mage her whole life. Sequestered, belittled, threatened with things that no person should have to suffer. The rejection by Asan’s family wasn’t even the worst of her life’s horrors. Ha. They should have taken lessons, but their scornful eyes spoke of beliefs more seated than prejudice. Those eyes ,so like Asan’s in their almost golden beauty, told her their beliefs were faith. They’d never see it for what it was. They’d never admit their irrational consternation for her daring to exist. People like them never did.

“And I love every part of you!” He misunderstood. She never doubted that for a second though she had plenty of reason to. He was vigilante of those who could move energies beyond their world, but he’d long outgrown their fear. However, did that truly make enough of a difference? Did he truly ever understand? They’d come here to announce their engagement and he had never expect his family’s ire.

“I believe you…but could they?” she said. He looked taken aback, as though he didn’t expect her to be so blunt. She felt so tired, but what else could she do but make him see things as they truly were. “You were raised by those who fear magic and who see me as cursed-”

“I don’t care that you’re a mage.”

“And that’s the problem!” She jumped to her feet, nearly slipping on the rocks. He started forward, grabbing her arm so she would not bash her head in on a rock. She stepped down to the ground and turned to him. “You love me, but do you see me?”

“Of course, how can you doubt that?” Asan sounded so hurt and it stung her to hear it, but she had to be honest.

“I ask because they can’t and perhaps you couldn’t, or wouldn’t, see them.” Mal began rubbing the back of her hand nervously. Her heart thudded against a cage of anxiety that began to creep up her throat, and squeeze in on her vocal cords. “How could you not know they’d act this way?”

“I-I…thought they’d be better.”

“Better how?”

“That they’d see you, as I do once they got to know you.” His fingers slid down to her hand, squeezing gently. Mal almost pitied him for his naivety, but that feeling only heralded a wave of slow burning irritation.  She rubbed the bridge of her nose and took a slow breath to steady her nerves.

“I am a mage. A witch. An arcane warrior.” Her eyes fell upon his face, and all part of her yearned to do was study his olive skin and run her fingers and lips across his stubble. Not for lust or love, but to pretend the world didn’t matter and none of this mattered. But it did. It made all the difference to their future. “Do you not see that?”

“Of course I do,” he said.

“A-and you love me in spite of it?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. Asan looked so confused and Mal could tell he knew she had a point.

“But here is the trouble I need you to love me , not in spite of, but in part because my magic is what makes me…me.” Mal slipped her hand from his grasp, and with it she felt herself slip further away from him. They were boats out at see and the ropes that bound them together were slipping, the knots couldn’t hold, and soon? If they were not careful they’d vanish in the fog and hold nothing but parts of a rope of old bittersweet memories. She didn’t want that. She didn’t want to lose him, but she’d be damned if she did her and him and his family a disservice by ignoring it. Perhaps selfishly, she’d rather break his heart than pretend that this didn’t bother her or did not matter. “You must love me fully or not at all in this case. You need not love magic, but you must love the magic that is in me, what I can do with it, and appreciate the joy I take in it. There are things couples can look past, but somethings must be loved to and not in spite of. If I loved you in-spite of your faith in the All-Father and could not find any respect or beauty for it, what would you say?”

“I..I do not know. I would have to think on everything.” Asan spoke softly and slowly. In his eyes wheels turned, as the thoughts and words connected to find meaning. He wasn’t a slow man by any means. She’d seen him put fools in their place with perfect words, so sharp they might as well have been a sword. But he had this habit of ignoring that which hurt to acknowledge, or bounding around the issues to avoid confronting what life demanded. If only she could be the same. But then again she would not be herself.

“and for you to understand what my magic means and to see what my magic means you must see me as a person, a woman, and a mage. You can’t section off the parts of me you like all the time. Everyone does it. We ignore our lover’s favorite books, or distaste for foods we love. But there are parts of us so important to our lives and who we are we must take a stand.”

“But what does it matter? How do you know the difference?”

“The difference is your family greeting me as your temporary lay versus your future wife.” Cold. Curt. and made them sound so unfavorable. She didn’t like to be that way usually, but it felt somewhat good.

“That’s unfair!” he said.

“But is it wrong?” To that she received only a heavy silence, pregnant with fears he didn’t want her to speak and words she feared she’d have to say.

“No.” His eyes fell to her feet. “Shit.”

 

“I say all this because for you to bring me here, to be hurt, by them…for you to be so ignorant of their prejudice-” he voice began tremble, and her throat grew tighter, hotter. She felt the threat of tears as images of the evenings arguments blurred in her head. They wished them the worst. They called her everything but a monster. Oh they thought her nice, but her magic damned her more than rudeness ever could. “How could you not think about that, or at least warn me of it, unless you were pretending not to see?”

And to that Asan had no answer. To that his mouth hung open as he tried to bring forth excuses, justifications, and rationales. Yet Asan could not lie through logic, through truths presented by someone he so dearly loved, and his spirit crumpled. Many would call her over sensitive, would say it shouldn’t matter, would say she made a mountain out of a mole hill. Asan had always acted better than that. He did not disappoint. If he did maybe it would have been easier.

“But what does your magic matter? What does that have to do with you as a person, as a woman, as my wife?”

Mal let out a dry chuckle, and folded her arms in front of her chest with  a roll of her eyes. He still did not want to get it.

“Magic informs who I am. I am a woman mage. I like being able to cast spells, I research magical artifacts, I grew up cloistered in a mage sanctuary. Magic is and always will be a part of my life and a part of my life that defines part of my core identity. If we have children they could be mages. Their mother will be a mage.”

“I know that! Don’t think I’m a fool,” Asan said.

Mal sighed, letting her arms fall to her side. She wanted to just run off to some warm quiet corner, and sleep.

“No child should be told in ways big or small that “Your mother is very lovely except…” “Your father is wonderful but only….” I will not have it be so. I’d sooner raise children on my own than have that be so. ” Now, the tears began to fall down her cheeks. A sob racked her chest and the suddenness of it shocked her. She turned away, wiping her tears so he could not see. Crying in front of people wasn’t something she did. From the corner of her eye she saw his shadow move and he stepped behind her. He let her cry as he wrapped his arms around her, and maybe he had begun to understand. Maybe he had begun to see her pain. “It was minor to you. My magic was to be ignored, but I don’t want it ignored or even loved. I want it accepted.”

“I would never tell our children that,” he said, and she believed him.

“You don’t have to say “I hate something” to make it clear. Most people never use the words love or hate, but their words and actions otherwise do enough.” She sniffled, and swallowed, trying to collect herself once more.  Another beleaguered silence weighed in, only broken by her sniffling. After what felt like an eternity of melancholy he pulled her tighter.

“I failed you because I didn’t want to believe they’d not understand. I wanted to believe they’d come to the same conclusions I did, but maybe even my own conclusions were short sighted.”

“You’ve never been with someone like me. It is to be expected, but… can it change?”

“I can’t change my family, but… I can try to talk to them and I can try to better accept you. Mal, you deserve everything in the world I can give. It isn’t much, but I’d rather be and do better than live a lesser life without you.”

A warmth slowly ran through her, causing the cage around her chest and throat to retreat. It’d take time until she felt free again, but the release brought relief enough for now. She trusted him, but now he knew her line in the sand. He had to see if he could change and she’d watch carefully.

“I’m going to talk to my father, and he shall either accept us or he shall be a lesser part of our lives…I’ll be sorry for it, but they need to know I won’t let it stand.”

“Don’t destroy your relationship with them, but…don’t expect me to let them walk over me again and discuss me like I’m five seconds from burning down the whole village.”

“Five seconds? I thought it was less than that.”

She let out a little laugh, watching the river flow on as a stray leaf landed on its surface. It bobbed along, twisting and turning with every flow and ebb.

“Oh yes, three seconds from massive destruction is more accurate. Especially on a day like today.”

It’d have to do for now when better people took a lot of work. No one changed in a day. Asan didn’t and she couldn’t expect that of others. Still she couldn’t be expected to let their lesser natures belittle her own. She was a good woman and an even better mage. They could either learn that or they could not. But for now she had Asan and for now she’d try to be happy and push through the bad for some good.

***So definitely inspired by the video game Dragon Age: Inquisition, and the relationship between Commander Cullen and a mage Inquisitor.***

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One Sentence Story Time

Clark never returned my calls, but who could blame him when everything fell apart because of my weakness, but even as I say that I know he played a role in our own destruction; He loved me too much.

No prompt this time.

Warm Up and Short Story: Bionic Pulp

Bionic

My mother used to watch Bionic Woman, but I could never get into it until now. That chick, the bionic woman, had complete control of her body. Her limbs moved like an Olympic athlete, her body was tough as steel, and she could do things others couldn’t. That show was on when my mom wasn’t even born, but she watched them because her grandfather watched them. We often do things because we see them, because we can, and because we experience fleeting joy. Guess that’s just how it goes.

“As I think these things I lose track of time” I mutter as I pull back my hand again. Twelve dozen servos click and lock beneath my pseudo-human meat flesh. Pop. Snickt. Pop. It is quiet, but I hear it. It is three and one half servo rotations away from how my hips react to making love. The difference between one movement and the next is minimal to most people, but folks like me notice everything. Some adapt entirely, but others just end up here.Pop. Pop. Snickt. Wrr. It is quieter than the way this artificial hand pounds into skin and the flesh of the man who now lays in a pool of blood. He looked at me like I was the devil earlier. Hell he even asked. “Then the devil must have excellent taste in fashion” I said. It was a good one. Then he got what he got coming.

The money that was in his pocket surrounds us like thrown confetti at a party if confetti was $8,000. It waffles in the wind, but it won’t get away. It’s already a tad wet. This guy took that money from Miss Loretta’s fundraiser, and that really pisses me off. Her school does a lot that the public schools will not or can not, and besides that I don’t suffer theft in my presence. The nerve of this dirty ass turkey. He’s as dark as I am, dressed in a suit and tie, but underneath his nails and on his skin there is a fine grime. They dressed him up, but he still walked like a guy who didn’t know anything of real value but knew where to bum a Mercedes. Someone, I reason as I land another punch causing a loud crack in the man’s jaw, put him up to this. I grab the man’s collar and land several more punches until the man is a mass of swollen purple meat bubbling up blood. I’m not sore or tired though and though I should be out of breath my lungs remain steady. Later when they ask me I will say “I beat him because he was a bad man. I kept beating him because I enjoyed it.”

There are no secrets here anymore.

“Gretchen,” Louis says. My heart flutters like butterflies have filled it up. I swear my womanity is escaping and I want it back. It belongs in this neat little jar I have that I only bring out for Sex and saturday nights. Little s on saturday, and big on Sex. That’s how it goes. Even without looking that ebony Adonis is grimacing and I know it. He has never liked my methods. The turkey drops to the wet cement like a sack of garbage and I turn around to Louis. He’s a tricky fellow, mostly because he is honest. Most people never believe where we met. We were actors in Othello. Yeah, two classically trained black actors. The world needs more of those right? Eventually I stepped out of the spotlight but Louis with his neatly trimmed inch thick afro and his immaculate burgundy leather jacket was forced. Too much attitude and too tired of playing bit parts. It wasn’t choice. He just wasn’t and isn’t grateful enough. White folk expect it from us, black folk always accuse us of not having enough when we give it. I didn’t mind, but Louis did and let it be known. So his fine ass self ended up there with me, but I don’t think he minded too much. Men like him were tall and powerful, built for both speed and strength. He needed to use his body somehow even if most times he let me do the work.

“I count all that’s missing.” Louis looked at the man, shook his head, then cracked his back. As we stood between those two towering buildings he looked like he didn’t belong for a second. Irony being of course that he was and is more street than I’ll ever be. He’s really not my type, but he’s smarter than most and he only does what he knows he has to. We were very different.

“You good?” He asks, and all I do is nod. It doesn’t matter if I am or not because punching time is done. Nothing blocks out the world anymore and I slowly exit my bionic limbs and come back into my organic body. My allergies are starting to kick up and I suddenly become aware of the pressure at the front of my skull. I can taste the cold wet air and smell the meat wafting on the wind. I can feel the tightness in my shoulder’s from being so tense and I relax with a slow steady breath. Louis hands me a thick navy blue handkerchief. I wipe the blood from my knuckles. If there were real nerves and blood behind those knuckles how would it feel? I never punched someone before my…upgrade. I was a good girl after all. I begin to hand the handkerchief back to him but he just snatches it and like he’s some worried parent he begins wiping my cheeks. I thought it was just stray drops of wet, but I must have just been ignoring the blood splatter. He drops the cloth back in my hands as though wanting nothing to do with it then looks at the bloodied man with irritation.

“Come on then.” And like nothing happened we walk out of that alley with our heads held high. The cops standing near the alley entrance stand up straighten and stop leaning on their cars. We give them a solemn nod then step aside so they can go get that piece of garbage I left on the ground. They look us over carefully, and then with big beaming smiles say:

“Have a good one guys.”

“Thanks.”
It takes me ten years to get to this. I wish I knew what this was.

Whenever we get back to the office Louis takes off his coat and if I’ve been busy while we’re out I’ll take a shower. It is nice that we had an office shower, but really it is only because it used to be an apartment. Kinda still is considering how often Louis slept there. I toss my coat on the rack, walk past our desks and down the hall past that annoyingly tiny galley kitchen and hit the bathroom. Peeling off these sweaty clothes feels amazing. The cool air hits my skin and within moments the chill roles over me. The thing about prosthesis is that the nerve feeling isn’t the same. Every time something new touches you then you have to readjust, to remember that not all of you is you even if it belongs to you, and then accept it. I just sigh most days, turn on the shower, step inside and get clean.

It is no surprise when I turn my head and see Louis standing there in boxers, watching me with a smile.
“Can I join you?”

He doesn’t need to ask. Its just the routine. So he takes me in the shower  from behind, grabbing my hair hard, and grunting in my ear. We don’t know how this got started. One day after a particularly hard job we started drinking then started doing more talking than drinking. As though we both feared we said too much we decided to do something else. We haven’t talked as much since that night and I think he prefers it that way. As he thrusts his thickness into my depths, forcing soft lustful moans from me I realized I could not care. I like Louis and he does like me, but love ain’t the game. Sometimes when I’m filing our cases I catch him watching like he does want that to be the game. Then sometimes when we’re fucking in the shower, and his hands are on my hips he says “I wish I could…I want this all the time”. I’m the only woman he does it bareback with. I know I usually run his errands with mine. He dates a number of cute girls. I’ve stolen one or two away from him without any hard feelings, so he gets plenty of action. But he thrusts in me without hesitation and with such relish his whole body shivers. Sometimes I wonder if he does it because part of him hopes I’ll get pregnant, that it will force him to be open with me. The risk just gets me off. He always finishes first and leaves me with that incredible warmth inside, but he is a gentleman and keeps going until I’m satisfied as well.

Usually we’ll be back at it again by nightfall in another room, on a desk or chair, once on the kitchen counter. But I can already tell by how he strokes my neck afterwards that tonight won’t be one of those days. He’s feeling something inside himself tonight. I can’t help with that.

An hour later we’re at our desks. He researches a case while I make sure our files are once again in order. He’s been quiet even for him, and I guess it bugs me when he gets like that.

“You got plans tonight?” I ask.

“Nah, well, I’m gonna see.”

“Date?” He always got awkward about that sort of thing, but he knew he didn’t have to.

“Nope.”

Never a good sign with him. After three years I knew that meant he took some sorta case on the side or got mixed up with some shit. At this point all I could do is laugh, and he looked up at me like I’d lost my damn mind

“Gonna need me to save your ass?”

He chuckled and leaned back in his chair, tucking his hands behind his head like he had some grand master plan. Whatever it could be probably meant me getting involved at some point.

“No. Not tonight. You should take it easy.” He looks at me real hard like I’m some sort of enigma for a second. The hallmarks of some rare and distant sympathy flickered in his chestnut eyes as though he were recalling some long forgotten thing. He always reminds me of the men I saw growing up, but unlike their fragile insecurities that gave them an aura of false pride Louis turned inward into some sort of ancient seer. Now his confidence radiated erratically and his whole demeanor shifts on thoughts I will never know. Through it all he looks at me softly as though he has words to say, but all he can do is put them aside for a better time. As quickly as it came in it vanished. Part of me aches. I yearn to see what it is. I yearn to take him apart. Mystery is a weakness we share. “If things get rough I’ll call you.”

“Yeah, do that then.”

I do not know what else to say. With him I rarely do.
*
Not sure if I’ll keep this story going. I have some ideas but I don’t know.

Warm Up #2

Belle by the River

Without her money, her family, her career, or her gifts Belle knew she had one thing that out shined all those trivial matters, and that was her wit. In the hot southern sun men and women toiled, but she and Miss Marie made smarter and less moral choices. They had that luxury, but they did what they could for those who did not. That may not seem very connected to you Yankees, but I can assure you it was. Belle had a way no matter what. She knew how to use what she had even if she had nothing. As Belle walked towards the river’s edge, carrying her umbrella she looked the pinnacle of southern gentry despite her dark skin.

Most white folk kept clear of her outside of Miss Marie’s. It was mostly because they feared her, but they’d never tell you that. Them fearing that tall slight thing with the umbrella? Ha. But it was true, as true as anything else in this story. Belle, in her fancy dress with a parasol in one hand knelt down, put the parasol under her chin then took a handful of river mud and shoved it in a jar she’d been carrying. The fishermen on the banks got chills at the sight. No one understood her magic, but they knew enough.
We all did.

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