Crack Pairings II - Brain Bleach not Supplied

[esmerelder]

@ Saeyan, they're adorable -- you are a fantastic artist!

@ Water-Smurf -- oh noes, poor V! I think you got Blackwing's voice fine, by the way, and can't wait for the next installment.

Finally, @ half-halfling -- BWAHAHAHA! So cute! I wonder if teenage!Goth!Haley and 60-year-old!Goth!V would have liked one another if they'd met?

Also, I know it's not strictly crack, but I now have an overwhelming desire to see the whole Order dressed in Goth gear. (This may or may not be because I'm going to a Goth club myself tonight!) If someone draws it, I hereby promise to write a fic to go with it that will actually find some plausible reason for them them to be dressed that way!

[Dark Faun]

I love all those pictures. Young V is so cute.

If I was able to write and plan out long plots as well as Water-Smurf or Zanaril (to name only a few), I'd write a story where a night of passion between V and Haley ends up with the latter getting pregnant (I guess Water-Smurf's story subconsciously inspired me), but then I realize Haley would immediately tell Elan about it (see #670) and that thus there wouldn't be any tension about hiding it from him.

[Meg]

But then I realize Haley would immediately tell Elan about it (see #670) and that thus there wouldn't be any tension about hiding it from him.

I see no reason why canon should get in the way of a good story. You could always set it earlier in the timeline, or something.

[Zanaril]

If I was able to write and plan out long plots as well as Water-Smurf or Zanaril (to name only a few),

'Plan out'? I just make stuff up as I go along!

It's actually a big problem I have when it comes to writing: I spontaneously get ideas for specific scenes, but have no idea how to make the story flow as a whole.

[Sequinox]

'Plan out'? I just make stuff up as I go along!

It's actually a big problem I have when it comes to writing: I spontaneously get ideas for specific scenes, but have no idea how to make the story flow as a whole.

And I'm pretty much the opposite. I feel your pain, Z.

[Meg]

'Plan out'? I just make stuff up as I go along!

It's actually a big problem I have when it comes to writing: I spontaneously get ideas for specific scenes, but have no idea how to make the story flow as a whole.

My problem with outlining is that I make a good outline, and then change something, which screws up my whole entire outline. And then I sit on my hands, until I get another idea, which takes days.

EDIT: Oh, and something completely irrelevant: I did the problem a few ways, and according to my math, a goblin/elf pregnancy should last about 2 years, 4 months. That's the average of my assumed goblin gestation period of 6 months, and the assumed elf gestation period of four years.

[Water-Smurf]

I plan stuff out? Well, I usually have a general sketch-up in my head (I rarely write stuff down--bad habit, guys!), but I think so hard and often about my stories that I have several branching off plot lines that I'll probably never use but develop in my head anyway. (You don't want to know all of the things that I've thought up as plot points for V/RC.)

Very good. I especially like your description, very accurate.

Description of which?

I feared for V when in Xykon's clutches, but now that she's pregnant with Redcloak's child, he'll be even madder than when she lost his phylactery.

*chuckles* I'm going to have fun with Xykon. Why do you personally think he'd be angry?

Oh V. You should really start listening to Blackwing; he seems to have the highest wisdom score out of the two of you...

You're telling me!

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Pretty pictures! *jumps around like a five-year-old high on sugar*

On another note, though, I'm calling this story 'Curse of Phobetor.' I don't think I mentioned that before. I want to make the sequel every bit as good if not better than ItAoM, so I'm welcome to commentary on the story as a whole along with commentary on the chapter. Both is always nice. *wink nudge gives cookie*

And writing scenes with V's parents makes me feel slightly squeamish. You should have seen the stuff I didn't write down. What have I created?

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Water ran down Vaarsuvius’s body, hot against pale skin, making it turn red. Both parents were showering with their child, Other Parent tossing wet blue hair over his shoulder and squeezing shampoo into his palm. “Suvie, let me look at you.”

Vaarsuvius didn’t want to. The child’s chest was getting a little bigger, like Parent’s, and it felt wrong for anyone else to see it like that, like it was a disease of some sort. The apprentice mage didn’t want to see Other Parent wet and without clothes for the same reason—the foreignness of his body made the child’s gut jerk uncomfortably.

Parent noted the child’s reluctance to move thin arms away from the growing chest and come closer so Other Parent could wash the short purple hair, and she only smiled, kneeling down and starting to rub Vaarsuvius’s back with soap. “Is Suvie feeling modest? Your body’s a beautiful thing. Let your parents see how beautiful it is.”

Vaarsuvius didn’t want to. Vaarsuvius wanted to jump out of the shower, grab a towel, and wait until Parent and Other Parent were gone before bathing. But the child instead allowed the thin arms to drop.

“It’s not so bad, is it?” Other Parent smiled, gently rubbing the shampoo in the apprentice’s hair, careful to keep it from getting into big violet eyes. Vaarsuvius had to admit that it felt nice, but at the same time weird. “I don’t want you to ever feel embarrassed about your body, Suvie. Especially around Parent and I. We love every inch of you, no matter what anyone else says about it.”

Vaarsuvius stared at Parent’s ‘intimate areas’, unable to look away, wondering if that was what the naked child body would look like in a hundred years. Parent noticed her child’s attention, smiling and continuing to wash the little elf’s body with soap. “It hurts a little now, Suvie, while they’re growing. But soon yours will be just like mine, round and good for children. Would you like to touch them?”

The little child quickly shook a wet head, sending droplets of water everywhere. Parent chuckled softly, making sure to wash behind Vaarsuvius’s pointed ears. “You’re so modest, Suvie. Touch anything you like—we don’t mind your curiosity.” As if to punctuate her point, Parent started washing her child’s ‘intimate areas’ gently.

Vaarsuvius couldn’t help but wonder what Aarindarius would think of this if the wizard ever knew.

“But first, I think I’d like to see you without that tatty robe on. I’m still not quite sure you’re a girl.”

Vaarsuvius kept violet eyes fixed on the approaching necromancer, but the feel of the zombies’ cold flesh and the scent of rotting were overwhelming, making already-weak knees practically fold. These were the corpses of the people that Vaarsuvius had been responsible for protecting. They had trusted the Order to keep them from this abominable un-life, to keep their spouses, siblings, parents, children, friends and family safe. But they hadn’t been safe.

The elf had thought that Redcloak’s touch was cold. It wasn’t. Not compared to this. It had life and a heartbeat. The only heartbeats these shadows had were the heartbeats of the maggots embedded in them.

“If you touch me, I will not hesitate in sending you to oblivion.”

Two completely different eyes sparkled, black lips curling almost grotesquely. The undead humans’ grips seemed to tighten, as if the last sliver of their independent thoughts and desires focused fully on punishing the so-called hero meant to save them.

“I’ll do more than touch, probably. I’m open.”

Vaarsuvius could tell by the tightening of grip that the lost souls relished this punishment.

“Help us, please!”

“Help us!”

so much smoke and sulfur and metal and blood and oh great elven gods the blood was everywhere why was V frozen why oh why the elf was supposed to protect them why wasn’t there any magic left so many years wasted to find useless magic and OH GREAT ELVEN GODS THE BLOOD WHY COULDN’T V SAVE THEM

“Help—”

Blades slicing through an unprotected neck, forcing the head to fall off followed by a horrible fountain of blood and the smell was getting caught in the elf’s nose until there wasn’t anything left and the lips were still moving oh elven gods the decapitated head was still begging to be saved why was the elf so weak the dead were still imploring V for help

One of the solders dropped on the ground, smearing the ash-stained cobblestone with scarlet, letting the pool spread until it soaked the elf’s slippers, marking the one to blame.

The hobgoblins stabbed the woman soldier almost as an afterthought, running through the streets, content on wreaking more havoc, saying things that didn’t make sense about help and animal gods and oh elven gods the lips on the head were still moving…

“Elf, if you’re still here…”

Vaarsuvius jerked slightly, broken out of the half-insane thoughts, and stared wide-eyed at the woman on the ground. No spells left. No dwarf nearby. She was dying. The so-called almighty Vaarsuvius couldn’t save one innocent life.

And the elf didn’t even have the strength to kneel down and hold her hand while the red pool grew.

The woman’s mouth opened, eyes bitter coals, voice dripping with pure, undiluted hatred. “I hope you choke on your useless goddamn magic…”

The pool blossomed in a flower, the dead woman at the center.

“No!”

Vaarsuvius jerked awake, entire body aching, limbs flailing to do something, anything, to make it all stop.

The cold desert air was all that responded. Vaarsuvius was alone in the tent. Haley had opted to spend the night with Elan.

A hard beak gently nuzzled the elf’s sweaty neck, reminding Vaarsuvius that the ‘alone’ statement was far from true.

“The soldiers?”

The elf shook, concentrating on breathing. “Yes.”

Vaarsuvius shook, wrapping the sleeping bag tighter around the clammy body and allowing the raven to press closer to a slender neck. The elf’s abdomen was cramping up uncomfortably, to say nothing about the small chest. It was practically pulsing with pain, forcing the mage to stifle a soft whimper and shift so that there wasn’t any pressure against the swelling tissue.

“You haven’t had a nightmare in a long time,” Blackwing pointed out softly, trying to conceal the concern evident in his voice.

“No. Not since Redcloak… well, not in a while.” The elf gently rubbed the pained belly, noting that it seemed slightly more swollen than usual. But that would be impossible—people usually didn’t show until the end of the first trimester. It was most likely just Vaarsuvius’s imagination.

“Maybe you should get that checked out.”

Vaarsuvius’s head shook gently, instinctively veering away from the entire topic. “There is little Durkon can do about memories, Blackwing. Attempt to get some sleep.”

“Are you going to trance?”

“In retrospect, I have seen what lack of trance will do to me. With my current condition, the effects will only be worse. I shall do my best.”

Blackwing nipped the elf’s ear very lightly before falling asleep again.

It wasn’t the last time Vaarsuvius had nightmares that night.

---

“I don’t care about the damn city and its rebellion! Your hobbos are all grown up now, Reddy. They can handle this by themselves.” Xykon brandished a blood-stained holy symbol, the red lights in his sockets blazing. “And I have my phylactery again! Time to get off our asses and get to the next gate!”

Redcloak grimaced, understanding the casualty count of the battle for the phylactery even if Xykon didn’t care. When the hobgoblins found the phylactery deep in the labyrinth underground, the rebels had attacked in a desperate attempt to get it. It had been a complete bloodbath. Tsukiko was nursing a broken arm and Jirix looked like he could barely stand on his own, blood covering his clothes and dripping onto the cold stone floor of the throne room.

The goblin reached out, touching his subordinate’s shoulder. “Cure Serious Wounds.”

His hand glowed briefly and Jirix steadied, flashing his leader a look of gratitude. “Thank you, sir.”

“Reddy, catch.”

Redcloak flinched in surprise but caught the slippery holy symbol thrown at him easily, staring down at it with confusion.

“Here’s your chance to redeem yourself after the whole ‘Running away from battle and then letting the whore and bastard that lost my phylactery in the first place escape’ thing. Don’t lose it this time.”

Redcloak quietly put it on, wiping away what blood he could. He knew better than to argue. “Jirix, make sure that the clerics make rounds through the casualties. Heal absolutely everyone you can. You’re going to need to take the reins for now and make sure we keep the city.”

If Jirix was nervous about the responsibility on his shoulders, he didn’t show it. “Yes, sir.”

“Send in a wizard who can teleport us across the continents. They’ll only be needed to get to the west.”

Jirix nodded in acknowledgment and left to do as told. Redcloak looked to the monster’s cage, frowning. “Do you have your umbrella?”

“Yeah…”

Redcloak wasn’t quite sure why, but the monster seemed much quieter since the prisoners escaped… Then again, a lot of things had changed since then…

He abruptly pulled himself out of that train of thought. Thinking of Vaarsuvius distracted him far too much.

Tsukiko opened up the monster’s cage, allowing him out under the cover of his bright pink umbrella.

“Hey, Reddy, try not to screw up again this time.”

Xykon’s tone had all the characteristics of malicious teasing, but Redcloak heard the warning in there. The goblin sighed, acknowledging the lich’s threat silently, and looked up at Tsukiko and the monster. “Tsukiko, get over here for a second so I can fix your arm, and both of you, if you need to go to the bathroom, do it now. Girard’s Gate is in the middle of the desert and we’re not going to stop for either of you because you didn’t have foresight.”

“Alright, Redcloak!”

---

“Excuse me?”

Durkon paused in his trek through the market after Elan and Haley, turning around to see who was speaking to him. A cleric with a simple white tunic on and loose-fitting white pants stood in front of a tent, dull brown hair hanging limply to her shoulders. “Sir? Would you happen to be traveling with a purple-haired elf? A little hard to tell its gender with its clothes on? Rather brusque?”

“Aye.” Durkon cocked his head, frowning suspiciously. “Why do ye ask?”

“Well, I believe I saw someone like you talking to that elf, and then it came to me because of a personal issue.”

Durkon wasn’t sure if he should be offended or worried. He settled on the latter. “Why did Vaarsuvius see ye? I’m hard-pressed t’ get ‘im t’ come t’ me even fer somethin’ like a painkiller.”

“So you are the healer?” She perked up immediately, brown face brightening.

“Aye. What’s wrong wit’ Vaarsuvius?”

“I can’t tell you for confidentiality’s sake.”

Durkon frowned, tempted to tell her to stuff confidentiality, but he knew how secretive the mage could be. The guaranteed way to alienate Vaarsuvius would be to pry into what he (she?) explicitly considered his own business behind his back.

“But I think you should keep a close eye. And keep… Vaarsuvius, right? Keep Vaarsuvius away from monsters.” The woman ran a hand through her hair nervously. “Make sure you’re nearby at all times.”

“Yer worryin’ me. Why wouldn’a ‘e come t’ me aboot this?”

“I was hard-pressed to get the robe off. I guess that it was embarrassing.”

“‘E let ye see ‘im wit’out th’ robe?” Durkon frowned nervously, understanding the significance of the elf allowing himself to be seen like that. It must be serious. “I’m goin’ t’ be tryin’ t’ figure this out until I get ‘im t’ tell me, jus’ so ye know.”

“Good. I was hoping you would. If anyone asks, I didn’t say anything.”

This conversation ran through Durkon’s head as he quietly watched the elf twitch and whimper feverishly in his sleep, a raven curled up at his neck. Cold sweat gleamed off unusually pallid skin, leaving Durkon with the uncomfortable impression that Vaarsuvius was dying.

Two warring instincts, the instinct of a healer and the instinct of a dwarf, fought for his attention. One pointed out that he had taken an oath to help all those who needed it, and Vaarsuvius certainly needed it. The other said that, if he wanted to help Vaarsuvius, he should wait until he was approached. Vaarsuvius would just withdraw in any other scenario.

The dark thought that Durkon had hidden after his first talk with Vaarsuvius when he came back from the castle rose to the forefront, making both the healer and the dwarf recoil. He had told Elan and Belkar—he assumed that Haley and Roy would be thinking a similar route as him and wouldn’t need to be warned—explicitly to not ask any questions about the things Xykon did and said during the battle when the elf and paladin escaped. The reason he gave was that Vaarsuvius would be embarrassed and Xykon was probably making stuff up on the spot anyway. Elan believed him easily, but he could tell that Belkar was getting a grasp of his real suspicions.

The halfling only darkened and tensed up, shaking his head and muttering ‘You don’t think…’ before leaving a clueless Elan behind. With the way Vaarsuvius withdrew after his escape and refused to talk about being captive outside of any possible information he had gotten while there, Durkon could tell that Roy and Belkar were getting increasingly suspicious and angry. Haley didn’t quite come to the conclusion that they did, but she knew that something had happened and he could tell how restless she was getting about it. Elan was the most naïve, but even he had the sense that something was wrong and that it had started in that damned castle.

One thing was for sure—when the Order encountered that wretched goblin leader again, he would regret everything and anything that he may have done to their elf.

As if the gods conspired to strengthen Durkon’s resolve, the elf twisted again in his sleep, letting out one of the most plaintive whimpers he had ever heard, and the scant light reflected off of his sweaty skin, throwing the nearly invisible scars all along his cheeks in sharp relief.

Durkon backed up and slowly went back to his tent, a metallic ball of hatred and fury hardening in his stomach. He would wait for Vaarsuvius to come to him, but rest assured, he would concentrate every bit of Thor’s might he could muster into making sure that the one who did this to their elf was punished.

I'm beginning to wonder if this is rule-friendly anymore...

[Kaytara]

Holy smokes, Water-Smurf. Chillingly brilliant. I liked the twist that the cleric came to warn Durkon. Keeps things interesting. (Not that it wasn't otherwise.) I like that they're seriously concerned about V. I liked how you wrote the scene with V and V's parents. Something like that would be a completely perfect explanation for V values privacy as much as V does.
V's flashback to the soldiers was beautifully written, the scrambled stream-of-consciousness style....

I figured out the significance of "Icelus". It's another name for "Phobetor", right? And the god Phobetor - personification of nightmares - is a brother of the god Morpheus, personification of dreams....

[CoffeeIncluded]

Ehhh, you're starting to toe the line here. The first part of V's trance can be very easily misconstrued.

...V's parents are creeps. The first part from before was funny, but this is just creepy. I have a friend and her boyfriend who do that. The "sickeningly sweet lovers" part thing from before. A couple of days ago he did the whole "Pick her up and throw her in the air while she's laughing" thing. At 8:00 AM. In school.

My response: "Congratulations. You have just given me diabetes. I hope you're happy."

I really liked the chaos stream of consciousness in the Azure war part of the trance though. That was really, really good.

[Dark Faun]

I plan stuff out? Well, I usually have a general sketch-up in my head (I rarely write stuff down--bad habit, guys!), but I think so hard and often about my stories that I have several branching off plot lines that I'll probably never use but develop in my head anyway. (You don't want to know all of the things that I've thought up as plot points for V/RC.)

I can understand that. I have plenty of plots for my own story, from bad endings to very bad endings to good endings to name only those about the end of the story.

Description of which?

The entire description. The actions, the trains of thought, everything. I can only dream about writing so well.

*chuckles* I'm going to have fun with Xykon. Why do you personally think he'd be angry?

Because, in my head, he'll think Redcloak let V escape because she carried his child. I can't see Xykon being comprehensive of such a reason (even if it isn't what happened).

On another note, though, I'm calling this story 'Curse of Phobetor.' I don't think I mentioned that before. I want to make the sequel every bit as good if not better than ItAoM, so I'm welcome to commentary on the story as a whole along with commentary on the chapter. Both is always nice. *wink nudge gives cookie*

You'll have to explain me the title. Ah, who am I kidding, explain me the titles of all your stories, I don't understand Latin and I don't get the reference to Morpheus.

I'm a very poor reviewer though, so I can't comment much on your stories.

And writing scenes with V's parents makes me feel slightly squeamish.

I understand. Ooooh, how I understand.

I'll admit I didn't exactly understand the first three parts because the first was italicized, the second was not and the third was, and they weren't separated by things like a - between them. Was the point that italicized meant memories while unitalicized meant invented dreams?

Also, I found that keeping V's gender a mystery in the first part to detract from the story, since we already know she's a girl.

Other than that, I liked it.

so much smoke and sulfur and metal and blood and oh great elven gods the blood was everywhere why was V frozen why oh why the elf was supposed to protect them why wasn’t there any magic left so many years wasted to find useless magic and OH GREAT ELVEN GODS THE BLOOD WHY COULDN’T V SAVE THEM

You forgot the capital letter at the start of the sentence, but that might be intentional.

Blades slicing through an unprotected neck, forcing the head to fall off followed by a horrible fountain of blood and the smell was getting caught in the elf’s nose until there wasn’t anything left and the lips were still moving oh elven gods the decapitated head was still begging to be saved why was the elf so weak the dead were still imploring V for help

You forgot the period there.

One of the solders dropped on the ground, smearing the ash-stained cobblestone with scarlet, letting the pool spread until it soaked the elf’s slippers, marking the one to blame.

Soldiers.

Two warring instincts, the instinct of a healer and the instinct of a dwarf, fought for his attention.

Aaah, after the person and the scientist, we have the healer and the dwarf. You love duality doncha?

I'm beginning to wonder if this is rule-friendly anymore...

Have you READ my own multi-chaptered story?

[Meg]

I'd imagine the grammar slip-ups are intentional. Someone who's watching people they feel they should be able to help murdered probably isn't thinking in complete sentences.

[Zanaril]

(I rarely write stuff down--bad habit, guys!)

I figure that if an idea isn't memorable, it's probably not going to work even if you write it down.

(You don't want to know all of the things that I've thought up as plot points for V/RC.)

You don't know me very well. I'd be fascinated.

I want to make the sequel every bit as good if not better

And you're off to a good start!

*chuckles* I'm going to have fun with Xykon. Why do you personally think he'd be angry?

I personally think that he'd be amused.

As in oh-crap-he's-grinning-not-good-not-good-run-away!

And writing scenes with V's parents makes me feel slightly squeamish. You should have seen the stuff I didn't write down. What have I created?

It's supposed to be squicky, and you write it very well.

I'm beginning to wonder if this is rule-friendly anymore...

I think it's probably still within the rules. It's not like you're making fun of serious issues, just exploring them realistically and in moderation.

And I only just noticed it, but I love the way the three trance memories flow into one another.

[Kaytara]

I'll admit I didn't exactly understand the first three parts because the first was italicized, the second was not and the third was, and they weren't separated by things like a - between them. Was the point that italicized meant memories while unitalicized meant invented dreams?

Elves don't get invented dreams, I think. I think everything in the first chunk was part of V's trance - up to the point when he wakes up screaming - and the italized and non-italized differences were just to make it clear where one memory ends and another begins, while still keeping it flowing and part of a whole, as an elf's continuious trance would be...

You'll have to explain me the title. Ah, who am I kidding, explain me the titles of all your stories, I don't understand Latin and I don't get the reference to Morpheus.

From what I've gathered, in Greek mythology Morpheus was the god of dreams, Phobetor was his brother, the god of nightmares (along with Phantasos, god of fantasies... you plan on using that somewhere, Water-Smurf? :D). Hence, "In the Arms of (the god of) Dreams" and "Curse of (the god of) Nightmares".

Ikelus is Phobetor's "true" name, how he was known to other gods.

"In Vino Veritas" - In wine, there is truth.
"Claude Os, Aperi Oculos!" - Shut your mouth, open your eyes.
"Quos Amor Verus Tenuit, Tenebit" - Those whom true love has held, it will go on holding.

They're famous phrases, so a bit of Google magic helped. :D

[CoffeeIncluded]

Or you can take Latin in school.

[Zanaril]

Or you can take Latin in school.

I couldn't; it wasn't a subject on offer.

I might have preferred it to German. Had I learnt Latin instead, my parents wouldn't have dragged me off on 'holiday' to the country where the language is spoken to try to get me to converse with people whose accents made them totally incomprehensible, regardless of whether or not I understood the words.

-

Nitpicking:

Other Parent smiled, gently rubbing the shampoo in the apprentice’s hair

Might sound better as 'into'.

A cleric with a simple white tunic on and loose-fitting white pants stood in front of a tent, dull brown hair hanging limply to her shoulders.

'wearing a simple white tunic' would sound more natural.

throwing the nearly invisible scars all along his cheeks in sharp relief.

'Into'.

[Meg]

Here's part 3 of RCxTsukiko. It's shorter than usual, sorry. Again, comments are more than welcome.

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A week into their relationship, and Tsukiko and Redcloak had already found their argument. As anyone who has had to spend more than thirty seconds around a couple will tell you, every single pair of romantically linked people on the planet has an argument that is exclusively theirs, that they will rehash over the next fifty years, that they will never grow tired of, while everyone else around them covers their ears and screams for mercy.

It takes most couples a few years to figure out the pointless argument they will be having the rest of their lives. Not Tsukiko and Redcloak. They’re far too efficient to postpone anything as important as senseless bickering.

“I want to, but I can’t.”

“Well, I don’t see why not!”

Redcloak sighed. “It may have escaped your notice, Kiko, but some of us have actual work to do around here.”

“Are you saying I don’t do anything?” she demanded.

“No, what I’m saying is that your job involves a lot less day-to-day work than mine.”

“That’s another way of saying I don’t do anything! My job is important, Reddy!”

“Well, so’s mine! And don’t call me Reddy!”

“Your job’s not so important you can’t take the occasional break.” The hobgoblin guard standing nearby sighed melodramatically, attracting glares from Tsukiko and Redcloak. The guard shifted, checked his watch, and groaned inwardly. Another 37 minutes to go until his shift ended. And they’d probably circle back to the same three points three or four times. This wasn’t what he had signed up for.

All those army recruitment posters had lied.

----

Desperate to escape Tsukiko and Redcloak’s arguing, Xykon and Jirix were sitting in Xykon’s office. “...I couldn’t find enough cherries for that to work, and as far as I know, Skating Shoes has been out of print for a good twenty years. Quite frankly, finding the components necessary would be so difficult, and it’s such a stretch any way, it would never work.”

“Dammit! Have they even noticed anything we’ve done to them?”

Jirix paused and flipped through a legal pad covered in cross-outs, scribbles, and notes-to-self. “Well, I think Redcloak noticed when we transmuted every personal hygiene product he owned into garlic paste, but both of them seem to be making an obscene amount of saves, so yeah.”

“This sucks.”

“Come again?”
“This isn’t worth it anymore. Sure, it’s loads of fun to knock minions around, but this is way too much effort for me to go through so you can get in Tsukiko’s pants. Unless there’s a real reason for me to care, I don’t.”

“But if something happens... And you have a... a personal stake in it..?”

If Xykon had lungs, he would have sighed. “Didn’t I just say that? Now get out of my office.”

----

A month passed.

“Please Reddy, just this once, relax and do something fun. It’s a picnic, what’s the worst thing that could possibly happen in an hour-long absence?”

“I’d prefer not to think about it. And don’t call me Reddy.”

“Please?” she wheedled. “We never do anything together anymore.”

“That’s because I’m working on getting the Hobgoblins to the point where they can hold the city on their own.”

“Are you saying I don’t do any work?” she demanded.

”SHUT UP!” cried Jirix. He was torn between sheer annoyance at their constant arguing and intense jealousy that it wasn’t him who was having the repetitive, circular arguments with Tsukiko.

“This isn’t any of your business, Jirix,” growled Tsukiko. “This is about someone who is neglecting his loving girlfriend. Reddy.” She coughed the last word.

“If I agree to go on a picnic with you, will you shut up and let me get some work done? And don’t call me Reddy.”

She clapped delightedly. “Of course! Let’s go right now!”

“Kiko, it’s three in the afternoon! I meant maybe tomorrow, or sometime next week.”

“You’re not putting this off. We’re. Going. On. A. Picnic. NOW.” She didn’t wait for a response, just dragged Redcloak out by his arm. Jirix waited a few seconds, and followed them a few steps out of the door, not wanting to act before he was certain they were gone.

Recalling Xykon’s words about having a personal stake in Tsukiko and Redcloak’s relationship, he pulled an allegedly still-lost medallion and sending scroll from his bags, a deranged grin spreading across his face.

[Saeyan]

@water-smurf:

(Y)

Also, my stupid mode button seems to be stuck in a permanently depressed state, so:

I'm beginning to wonder if this is rule-friendly anymore...

Why?

[Cracklord]

You know, as far as I can tell I’m the only Durkon Lien shipper. That’s got to change. So I’ll work harder.

Personally I blame the persistent lack of angst.
Anyway, here is one to warm me up well I start writing something good.

Spoiler

Show

With a heavy sigh, Lien caught the waiter’s eye and motioned for him to avoid her again. He’d be here. If there was one thing Durkon was, it was dependable. But he was late, and she was already feeling lonely.

She was dressed in a slinky dress the color of her eyes (and most Azurians eyes, due to an oddment of biology). It suited her, and meant that almost every male in the room had been looking at her speculatively over the half an hour she’d been waiting. Her ears weren’t pierced, so she was wearing mother of pearl clips, and her hair was too short to bother styling, so she hadn’t bothered with it. She didn’t need to, she knew she looked stunning.

Leaning back she crossed and uncrossed her legs, trying to get comfortable on the too big chair and too small table. At long last the door swung open and her date arrived.

Durkon had cleaned himself up. He was freshly scrubbed, and had combed his thick beard. Rather then the armor many people suspected dwarves were born wearing, he had dressed himself in a thick, sky-blue robe, plain and conservative that put her in mind of religious attire. Which made sense, as he was a priest. A belt of gold disks went around his waist, and he was wearing soft leather boots.

Pushing himself onto the chair next to her so his legs dangled beneath him, unable to touch the floor, he held up his hand to signal the waiter over. Unfailingly polite, as always.

“Take tha lasses order.” He said gruffly, his thickly accented voice seeming a little deeper then usual.

Lien, still a little annoyed at being left waiting for half an hour, leaned forward as she made her order, her eyes flashing challengingly. “I’ll have the mixed Sashimi, octopus, and plenty of wasabi, please.” She said, like a general at the opening of hostilities in a midrange war. The challenge wasn’t articulated, but it was there all right.

Durkon, unsurprisingly, didn’t back down. Men never did. “Gi’ me some o’ that to, then.”

As the waiter left, she winked at him, and the man smiled, nodding slightly to show he understood.

The food arrived promptly, and Durkon, after fumbling with his chopsticks for a minute or so, his thick, blunt fingers lacking the shape or the dexterity to hold them correctly, sighed and put them down, removing a knife from his belt she hadn’t noticed before and using that to prepare his food.

For a moment, the taste was pleasant, if a bit bland, then he started chewing, at it hit him like a sneak attack. It felt like he was swallowing molten metal. A cloud of something acidic seemed to burn through the lining of his throat and make its way up to his nostrils, bringing tears to his eyes. He wondered vaguely if this was how dragons felt before they breathed fire, and barely restrained himself from spluttering.

The aftertaste felt as though his teeth had dissolved his teeth and coated them to the roof of his mouth. Looking up, he saw Lien had stopped trying to hide her amusement, and was laughing. For a moment he was hurt, but then a wry smile made itself onto his face.

“Tha’ was cruel.”

She shook her head, still laughing softly. “Funny though. And you can always atone me later.”

He shook his head. “Ach, Ae couldnae dae tha’, ye ae to prove ye’re righteousness first, an undertake ae quest.”

Her smile widened, and turned wicked. “Oh?” She said, in mock seriousness, “What would redeem me for such a heinous act?” She asked, her voice deepening, and suddenly his loose robes felt to tight. He tried to think of something to say, but the moment passed and she sat back.

“So.” She said, starting the conversation again, “this is the second time you’ve taken me to dinner, in three days”

Durkon nodded “Tha’ way Roy tells it, that’s how ye humans dae this. An’ Ah like spendin’ time wit’ ye.”

Lien nodded. Right. Experienced in some ways, not so experienced in others.
“Well… what would dwarves do?”

Durkon leaned back. “Weel, if’n ah had a tad more ranks in craft, ah’d make ye a ring ta tell ye how beautiful ye are, but ah fear e’en tha god’s themselves couldnae do justice to ye lass.”

A flush started to creep up her neck, "That’s… sweet of you.”

“it’s nothing but the truth, lass.” He replied, and smiled again.

Suddenly he pushed the plate away, and stood up, barely changing his height. Behind him, musicians, three men and a women, had arrived unobtrusively, and were readying a variety of instruments, most of them stringed. They wore simple clothing, but their manner and appearance were enough to set them off as strangers to the city at a glance (no Azurian would wear green). Lien watched, enraptured, as they each played a cord, forming a soothing sound.

“Well then lass, ah ‘spose thar’s joost one thang left.” He said. Taking her hand in mock gravity, he asked with a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes “Ye dancin’?”

She smiled right back, a crooked smile he’d come to love. “You asking?”

[The Dark Fiddler]

You know, as far as I can tell I’m the only Durkon Lien shipper.

Your new avatar threw me off. I was going to yell at you "But Minion Cracklord ships them!"

It's amazing what a change in avatar can do.

[Cracklord]

* I'm incognito/in disguise.
This way no one will recognize me. [/highlander reference and Hellsing reference]

So what did you think of the story?

[The Dark Fiddler]

It's too early for me to read anything longer than a paragraph or two. I'll get back to you in a few hours.

[Meg]

@Cracklord: Nice job. You're good at setting scenes. This would be longer, but I'm writing from a handheld, and it's slow going.

[CoffeeIncluded]

Nice one. Hoo boy, wasabi...

[Cracklord]

Nice one. Hoo boy, wasabi...

Happened to me on a date. And then she wouldn't kiss me (can't think why). Good times.

Edit: I just rolled Belkar and the IFCC. And only a week ago I was explaining what Belkar would go through in hell.
Sorry Durkon x Lien, you will have to wait.
Hatefic, here I come...

[Zanaril]

Edit: I just rolled Belkar and the IFCC. And only a week ago I was explaining what Belkar would go through in hell.
Sorry Durkon x Lien, you will have to wait.
Hatefic, here I come...

Your hatred of Belkar combined with your knowledge of the lower planes? Somehow, I think this is going to be disturbing...

[CoffeeIncluded]

...This...Is not going to be pretty...

[Silverraptor]

This is the Crack-pairing theard. What in here is pretty?

[CoffeeIncluded]

It's on a different level of "not pretty". We do most of these crack parings out of love. (And laughs) Hate fics generally...Aren't. There's a reason they're called hate fics after all, not "Happy fluffy sunshine-and-lollipops" fics.

[Zanaril]

It's on a different level of "not pretty". We do most of these crack parings out of love. (And laughs) Hate fics generally...Aren't. There's a reason they're called hate fics after all, not "Happy fluffy sunshine-and-lollipops" fics.

Even angst-driven fics are usually by people who like the characters.

[CoffeeIncluded]

Yeah, but they're not hate fics. You can't feel the loathing and the venom from them.

This is going to be really disturbing, really entertaining, or both.

Ah well, if I end up traumatized...Focus on the kittens!