Le Noir

Talli put her head in her hands. The room was dark. The light from one lamp shone in the black room. She knew without looking up exactly what the lamp looked like. It was old, perhaps Victorian, with grotesque gold trimmings and beads, perhaps diamonds, hanging from the shade. It was maroon, with little paintings on the side. The paintings she didn't know, because she always sat in this chair, and it was too far away to see them.

She hated that lamp. She would rather there be darkness, forever darkness. The lamp was morbid in its chilling brilliance. She didn't need the light. She didn't want it. She only waited for one half of one hour, and then she was escorted out again.

Seven times it happened, and three times it didn't. Ten times in all she had sat in that room and waited.

There would sometimes be a noise, like the door would open, but there was no one. The lamp shone on, a sentinel of dark tidings.

There was no clock in the room, only a lamp. An unwanted and useless lamp.

Squeak.

The door opened.

Eleven and eight.

Inspiration: Prompt: a morbid lamp

Dessert

Os walked into the restaurant unaccompanied, slipping her light jacket off her shoulders. The lady at the entrance started to ask how many were in her party, but Os pointed over to where her boyfriend was sitting and thanked the woman anyway. She made her way to the table and sat down across from him.

“Sorry it took me so long,” she apologized. “Traffic, ugh.”

“No problem,” Percy said.

Os thought he looked nervous, but it might have been a trick of the low lighting.

“So, how was work?” she asked, taking a sip of the water-with-lemon-no-ice that Percy had thoughtfully ordered for her.

“Long,” he said quickly. “I've been, uh, looking forward to this all day.”

He didn't look like he had been looking forward to it. He looked sick.

“Perce, are you okay? You look green,” Os said with some concern, reaching over to feel his forehead.

It was sweaty and cold – clammy. She put a hand on his cheek and eyed him with some concern. Maybe he had that stomach thing that was going around. He did look awfully pale.

“I'm fine, just, uh, just a little, uh, hot,” he stammered, fanning himself for effect.

“You're acting weird,” Os said suspiciously. “What's the matter?”

“Nothing,” Percy said, and he was saved further interrogation by the waiter's timely arrival.

They both ordered their usual, and Percy deflected all of Os's questions throughout the appetizer and entree. Over dessert and wine, however, he seemed to grow more nervous.

“Percy, what is the matter with you?” Os cried after Percy dropped a forkful of pie onto his lap.

“Nothing,” Percy said, rolling up the bite in a napkin and putting it on the table. “I just—Os, I need to tell you something.”

“What?” she asked slowly.

“You're the most amazing girl I've ever met,” he said fervently, “and I love you.”

“That's all?” Os said after a pause.

“You're supposed to reciprocate,” Percy said nervously.

“Well, yeah, you're awesome and I love you, too,” Os said, “but that doesn't explain the pie. Or the general nervousness.”

“Will you marry me?”

“Are you kidding?”

Her response was shot back so quickly, she hardly had time to comprehend the news.

“No,” he said, just as quickly. “I'm serious.”

He pulled a ring out of his pocket and held it out to her. The diamond glistened softly in the light.

“No, I won't marry you,” she said, quietly, and then she got up and left.

Her devil's food cake lay untouched on the table.

Inspiration: Prompt -- "proposal turned down"

Coffee

Candice stared at her black coffee. The steam swirled like smoke in the air, vanishing as soon as it appeared. She didn't like black coffee. She didn't know why she'd bought it.

Maurice stared at his cup of coffee with milk. He'd gotten it from McDonald's that morning – someone had given him a card for the place a few weeks ago, and it hadn't run out yet. He took a sip. He liked it.

Candice looked at the hobo just outside the door. His eyes were sky blue, and he was sipping coffee. The chill didn't bother him – he had a ragged coat that nonetheless looked like it kept him warm. She watched his eyes examine the coffee, then broaden to the cityscape around him. She wondered what the city looked like through brightly blue eyes.

Maurice looked at the taxis and buses as they passed him by, reading the ads idly. It was busy and humming in the city, as usual. After the coffee woke him up a bit, he'd bring out his violin and walk down to Fourth. He could usually get a few dollars there. He didn't mind being a hobo so much – he had more time for his music that way.

Candice watched the man get up and walk away, coffee in hand and violin case at his side. She wondered if he was mad at the government for the economy. She wondered if maybe playing the violin was what he'd wanted to do all along.

Maurice watched the traffic light, and crossed the street. Some people smiled, other didn't notice him. They were too intent on their own jobs and their own lives – on things they didn't care about.

Neither of them saw the plane, shadowed as they were by the two tall buildings. Both of them heard the crash, but only briefly. Then, all was blank.

Inspiration: Prompt -- "hobo"

Pigs and Mud

Alex looked over the fence at the pigs wallowing in the mud. College applications filled one hand, and scholarship applications filled the other. A pen was stuck through her ponytail. She wished she could have it as easy as the pigs, rolling happily in the muck. They didn't know any better than to roll in the mud, and they wouldn't probably care for clean water if they had it. Mud stuck better, made a longer impression. And as it got hotter, the mud was harder to get out of. In the summer, it held you down and never let you go.

If mud was her life in the country, and clean water her life in the city – at college – the analogy fit. Country life was trying to suck her in and never let her go off to college. Her farm girl ways stuck to her as thickly as the accent she'd tried in vain to lose. Like the mud, her accent would never leave her. She preferred to conduct college business over the internet or through mail, so she wouldn't have to hear the college administrators sneer at the mud plastered heavily on her pink, piggy skin.

She sat down on the log and started filling out applications, listening to the pigs and vowing to attain a higher station than they.

Six months later, in the city, she felt just as muddy as she had that day on the farm. She made it in to a good school with a 60% scholarship, and she took out loans to the pay the rest. She was excelling in her business and veterinarian classes, and she'd made lots of friends, but still she felt different. Her voice was stubbornly unchanged, for one, and she found that she missed the muck. She was embarrassed to admit that fact even to herself, and never mentioned it. Whenever she spoke of her home, she spoke of it with relief that she was gone.

It took more time for her to realize that a pig without some mud is just a stuffed pig. Mud adds character.

That was when she got her degree and set up a moving clinic to treat farm animals. Pigs were her favorite.

Inspiration: Prompt -- "pigs in the mud"

I Love You

“Almost there, Captain Ephraim,” Thess called down from the crow's nest.

She could see land approaching through the spyglass: green, verdant land settled with whitewashed buildings and thatch-roofed houses. She didn't call very loudly, because she knew he was right beneath her. He was always beneath the crow's nest at midday. It wasn't an odd observation. In fact, any of the crew could probably tell you that, if they'd thought about it, which they didn't. That was the difference with Thess. She thought about things. Thinking about things had kept her alive thus far, so she'd decided to make a habit of thinking.

“Alright, Thess,” the Captain said, just loud enough for her to hear.

She smiled at the praise in his tone and slid down from the crow's nest, almost giving herself rope burn.

“Everything in the hold is catalogued and ready for sale, sir,” Thess said, saluting the Captain crisply where he stood in the shade, his broad brimmed hat ready to cast a shadow in case the light shifted.

“As always,” he said simply, and retreated belowdecks.

Thess walked over to the railing and put the spyglass away in its leather bag tied to the wall. She then put her hands on the rail and leaned out over the aquamarine surf, looking down for fathoms before the bottom was lost in darkness. She loved the crystal blue waters of the southeastern sea, though they rarely traveled there, for the Ellespethians and their neighbors had so much trouble keeping their own citizens in line that they'd taken to confiscating ships and rooting out pirates. The Captain thought it best to not take chances. However, on their last raid, they'd taken something that he knew to be valued highly in Vell, so they'd risked the Ellespethian patrols and were about to land in the main port of Vell – Tyran.

Thess could remember when she first joined the ship, four years ago. It had been thinking alone that had saved her the same grisly death that her captors – slave traders – had faced.

“Why should I spare you, girl?” the tall man asked, mouth dripping with blood as he nudged her leg with the worn toe of his leather boot.

“I – I can help you,” she stuttered, not looking at him. “I can help you communicate with others in the port cities. I know what you are. You can't suffer the daylight. I can run the errands for you. My hair is already cut short. I'll—keep it short, and pass for a boy.”

“No begging for your life?”

“No, sir,” she said, eyes downcast. “I don't take you as the sort of man that would spare me for that.”

She had been right. The Captain was not compassionate. He was a businessman, and what she'd said made sense. On some nights, while she tossed and turned, alone in the locked room next to the Captain's, she imagined that it might have been something more – some deeper reason that caused him to accept her as a companion. She knew that was stupid, though, and tried to dismiss the thought.

That thought might be banished, but others often came up to replace it. Why did he stand under the mast at midday, the same time she always came above the decks from feeding the Givers? He always lingered long enough for a conversation before he drifted away. And often, at night, when she couldn't sleep, he would unlock her door and stand by the porthole to frighten all her bad thoughts away.

She didn't want to admit to him that she slept better knowing he was there.

Other nights, he would stand by the porthole and she would join him, standing closer than she ever dared to in the daylight, and they would have longer conversations. They would speak of life, of magic, of other creatures like him, of anything dark and beautiful, anything deep and mystical. Never did they speak of those conversations above decks, where he was silent and removed. He was cruel and cold, and she knew that every time she saw his face. In the dark, with just the silver light of the moon, his face was less sharp, less brutal.

Thess could count every time he'd made physical contact with her on one hand. He was always careful, more careful than the others, who often slid a hand down her arm to feel the lively pulse beneath their fingers, though they knew they would get a tongue lashing from the Captain for it.

The first time he touched her, she'd been knocked off the boat when a cannonball hit it, making her lose her balance. She saw the blue sky, the green water, and the brown boat as she flipped over, and instantly wondered if she would break her neck when she hit the water. Then, he had her arm in his cold, hard grip, and before she could register that she was no longer falling, he yanked her onto the deck and let go, rubbing his hand on his cloak and drawing his sword to fight the enemies, not giving her a backward glance.

The second time, the First Mate had tried to bite her. He'd gotten as far as pulling down her shirt collar to expose the hyperactive artery on her neck, and she'd all but given up hope on living much longer, unless he got full before he finished and she continued life as a vampire too. She thought that that might not be so bad, and was just reconciling herself to that possibility when the Captain barreled into the room and pulled the First Mate back so hard that he almost went through the wall. He put two fingers on her neck, and she wondered why, until he pulled them back and she saw them dripping with blood. Immediately, her hands flew to her neck to find the wound, but it was gone.

The third time, she actually touched him. He'd been wounded badly on a raid, and the other vampires' magic wouldn't heal him. She felt for a pulse, fumblingly, on his neck, and his eyes snapped open, dark and wicked.

“Don't touch me,” he snapped, knocking her hand away with his swathed arm. “I need blood, that's all. Young blood.”

“She'll do,” a vampire grunted, nudging Thess. “She's the youngest and freshest.”

Ephraim leveled his gaze at her disconcertingly and she swallowed.

“If those are your orders, Captain,” she said.

He stared into her eyes, and she almost felt like she was falling into the black depths before he spoke again.

“No, that will not be necessary. Take from the youngest, strongest Giver.”

The fourth time he had been wildly, madly excited. They'd captured three strong Givers and escaped the Ellespethian patrols, which were carrying four sorcerers and two fairies – someone had warned the patrol of their arrival – and were setting sail for Berensia. Thess had thought that they were done for several times, and so, it seemed, had Ephraim, who was beaming so widely that his frightening, cruel face was all but eradicated, replaced with a buoyant spirit. He grabbed her for a reel and swung her around the deck crazily, though she knew he could dance properly – she'd seen him dance with some of the other female vampires before. He didn't even seem to notice her flailing pulse racing under his fingertips.

Four times. Thess knew she was crazy for thinking like this. She felt it was a betrayal of her survival skills to use her most important tool in such a useless way. Thinking about Ephraim was one of the least productive things she could do.

But everything she did was for Ephraim. Everything. Truthfully, she knew she could have sneaked away at any port they'd landed at. He knew it too. She could see it in his eyes. But, neither of them mentioned anything. She stayed because she wanted to: because she hoped Ephraim wanted her to. Thinking that in such plain terms pulled her up short. Was she really only staying for Ephraim? She thought about it, carefully, as she always did.

Yes. Yes, she was.

Well, if she were staying only for Ephraim, she was going to make sure that he wanted her. If he didn't care about her one way or the other, she would leave next time they made port, and she could do more productive things. Maybe she could even become a sorceress. She knew she had the brain for it, and she knew a lot about magic. Watching the vampires and hearing things from Ephraim had built a picture in her head of the limits and capabilities, and she found it most intriguing.

Now that she had a back up plan, she was less worried about talking to Ephraim. She just had a very simple question to ask him. If yes, she would stay. If no, she would leave. If he lied, either way, she would leave. She would be able to tell if he was lying. She had a knack for doing that, like she had a knack for thinking of clever plans just when she needed them.

“Captain?” she asked, resting a finger on the port hole glass and observing the moonlight on the brass.

“Yes?” the Captain asked, and she could feel his eyes on her.

She couldn't bring herself to ask the question straight out. She wanted him to say it. So, she moseyed around the topic.

“I was thinking of leaving the ship in Tyran,” she said. “I think I'd like to be a sorceress.”

“And have you spreading our tale, spreading our weaknesses abroad, so we would be so easily caught?” the Captain said, his voice a menacing growl. “I would chain you up with the Givers myself before I let you free.”

“No, you wouldn't,” Thess said confidently. And, he wouldn't. She knew that. She didn't know why, but she knew he wouldn't do it. “We both know that.”

“Why do you want to leave?” he asked abruptly, and she could feel his eyes moving to gaze out the porthole.

“There are so many opportunities out there for someone like me – someone with a head on her shoulders and a shield over her soft spot.”

“Has our treatment been not to your liking?”

“You know I've always appreciated your hospitality.”

“Are you bored with your tasks?”

“They are a bit monotonous.”

“Such is life at sea,” he sighed. “You're either knee deep in adventure or bored stiff.”

“You'd have to have a good reason to stay,” she said.

“And I have.”

“But, have I?” she asked, looking up at him.

He didn't look at her.

“I suppose not,” he said, “as you seem so eager to leave.”

She wanted to scream that she was not eager; that, in fact, leaving this boat would be the hardest, most painful thing she had ever done, besides watching her family burn with the house. She wanted to shriek that she wanted to stay forever, if he wanted her to. Her brow furrowed in anger and her next words were clipped.

“Four years of service to you, when we both know I could have slipped away at any time. Four years of devotion to you, of fighting beside you in battle, of keeping everything in order, of dealing with the Givers when the time was hard for you and your crew, of making deals that only a human could make, of warning you of lies, of always executing your plans without the slightest deviation – four years, Ephraim. Have I earned nothing from you?”

“Thessalee,” he said roughly, but somehow the name still sounded beautiful on his lips. “You know I hold you in the highest respect. You've done more than I thought a human capable of. I thought you were happy here.”

He pressed his palm flat against the glass.

“I was happy,” she whispered.

“What happened?” Ephraim's tone changed in a heartbeat. “Is someone bothering you?”

“No,” she said. “I just realized that I – I can't think of a valid reason to stay.”

The anger on his brow lessened until it left his usual frown.

“Then, leave.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, saluting. “I'll leave in the morning.”

She should have known. Should have known. But still, she had to get it out, or it would always occupy her mind and distract her from more important things.

“Captain?”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

She turned around and slipped back into her bed, the rough covers cool against her fevered skin.

“Is that not reason enough to stay?” Ephraim asked.

“No,” she said to the wall.

There was such a long pause that she began to drift off to sleep with the peaceful image of Ephraim at the porthole blazed into her brain.

“I love you, Thess.”

She rolled over and examined his face. It was pained and angry, practically smoldering, but it was truthful. She nodded once and rolled back over. She fell asleep with Ephraim at her porthole, scaring the bad thoughts away.

Inspiration: All kudos to Mazzie for this one. She implanted vampirates in my head, and I haven't been able to get them out!

Lulu?

Lucille looked at the little stick incredulously. She shook it, just to make sure.

“Luce? What's the verdict? Prego or Chi-Chi's?” Marianne sang teasingly through the door.

“Hold on,” Lu said, her voice shaky. “This first one is broken. I'm going to do it again. Go get some Wendy's, okay?”

“Okay...” Marianne said, sounding less sing-songy than before.

Lucille picked up her half-empty bottle of water and finished it off, then filled it up in the sink and downed three-quarters of that. Then, she sat back on the toilet and waited, sipping on the remaining water. The discarded pregnancy test glared a happy pink back at her from the garbage can. She covered it up with a wad of toilet paper.

In a few minutes, she had another positive pregnancy test in her hands. The pink plus sign quivered with her shaking hands.

“I got you a fish sandwich,” Marianne said from outside the door. “What's the result?”

There was silence from inside the bathroom. Lu was staring at the test, unbelieving.

“Luce? Lu?”

The doorknob jiggled, but it was locked. Lu dug her cell phone out of her pocket and called the first number that came to mind when she was upset.

“Hey, beautiful,” Chanie's rich voice said, caressing her ears and soothing her racing heart.

“Hi,” she squeaked, barely holding back tears.

“Lu! Let me in!” Marianne shouted, banging on the door.

“What's wrong?” he asked, instantly alert. “Is that Marianne?”

“I'm pregnant,” she choked.

Marianne swore on the other side of the door.

“Lu, let me in,” she said.

“Chanie?” Lu whispered, tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Lu! Unlock the door!”

“Chanie?” she repeated, barely audible. “Talk to me. Tell me it's going to be okay.”

She hear a muttered curse from his end. She burst into tears.

“No, no, baby, not you,” Chanie said, his words tripping over each other. “I just can't believe – it has to be that one time. It's the only time we didn't have a condom...”

“What am I going to do?” she asked, still crying.

“You have to get an abortion,” he said, like there was no other option.

“That's easy for you to say!” she yelled, her arms crossed over her stomach.

“Lu! You don't want a baby!”

“Well, no, but that doesn't mean I can kill him!”

“'It', not 'him',” Chanie said calmly, reasonably. “It's not even a month old. It's just a clump of nothing.”

“That's going to be a baby.” Lu went back to whispering.

“Going to be. Not now.”

“But you don't understand...”

“You don't understand. Right now you're hormonal. You can't think clearly.”

“Okay, if I promise to think about it reasonably, will you consider keeping h—it?”

She held her breath, listening for any sounds from him. She didn't know what had gotten into her – she didn't want a baby, didn't have time for a baby, but now that she was pregnant...

“Chanie?”

“Maybe. Call me when you get up tomorrow.”

His voice gave no ground, relaxed nothing, but Lu felt a twinge of hope anyway.

“Okay, I'll talk to you then,” she said.

“Alright. I ... love you, Lu,” he said.

“I love you too,” she replied, and hung up the phone.

Inspiration: Seraph's writing prompt for PH and I.

Helpmeet

He knew he had to leave now, leave her and the children behind while he went off again, like he used to. And though he was older now, stiffer, more tired – he had to go. No one else would believe Roderic, and the King wouldn't trust anyone else to come with him. But even the best of reasoning couldn't have made the parting any easier. Mara-Leigh was playing ring-around-the-rosie with Felise, and Celeste was tidying up after breakfast after putting little Connor down for his morning nap.

He stayed in the doorway, unnoticed for the time being. His pack was slung over his back, full of what he needed but nothing else. His heavy boots would keep his feet warm, his thick coat would block even the mountain's chill, and he had traveling food to keep up his strength. He remembered leaving like this before, and every time he felt like a stranger in his own home.

Celeste turned around and saw him.

“Are you ready?” she said quietly, walking over to him.

He nodded wordlessly, not willing to speak. The two girls fell in behind their mother, suddenly shy of this heavily burdened foreigner in their living room.

“Give your daddy a hug,” Celeste nudged.

Jody knelt down and opened his arms, and the two of them rushed in, crying, wrapping their arms around his neck.

“When will you come back?” Mara-Leigh asked through her tears.

“I don't know,” he whispered, squeezing both of them and kissing the tops of their soft heads.

They stayed together, the three of them, for a long moment. Jody tried desperately to remember everything about them, knowing that even if he was gone for a short while they'd be irrevocably changed.

“Okay, Daddy's got to go,” he finally said, prizing their arms from him.

They hung on tighter, still crying.

“Girls,” he said firmly, “let go.”

They slowly loosened their grips and allowed him to stand, watching him with weepy red eyes. He looked at Celeste, and she looked at him, both of them talking without saying anything. And then, because he couldn't take it anymore, he took her face in both hands and kissed her.

There was a desperate longing that still rose up in his heart, though he was long past the fanciful stage of their romance. He wished that as he kissed her, she would melt into him, never to be left behind. The two becoming one flesh, one bone, one person. He needed her to complete him, and it felt sickeningly like leaving an arm or leg at home when he had to leave her for so long. He relied on her steadfastness, her willingness to stand beside him even when he wasn't sure he was right. He depended on her wisdom and insight when his temper got in the way of reason. He depended on her to be honest with him about his flaws. She was his helpmeet.

And he couldn't promise he'd be coming back.

The nonsensical voice in his head told him that he couldn't die; he had a wife and children. It just couldn't happen. But then the memories of war came to his mind, and he saw Lee, the arrow in his chest, the blood leaking from the corner of his mouth, and his terrible, dead eyes, still with a look of surprise on his face. Anyone could die, at any time.

With the sick thought that this might be the last time he would kiss Celeste, he kissed her again, then trailed forceful kisses across her cheek and down the side of her neck, coming to a stop in the hollow of her collarbone. He breathed in the sweet, sweaty, country smell that was unmistakably her; he wanted to smell that every night for the rest of his long life. Her heartbeat was rapid, and he could feel her breath ruffling his hair.

The girls couldn't take it anymore and flung themselves at him, hugging his legs and bursting into fresh tears. Celeste kissed his cheek and then carefully unbuttoned a single button on his shirt. She slipped her hand underneath, onto his heart.

“Please bring this back to me,” she whispered in his ear. Neither of them had moved. His head rested still on her shoulder, and her cheek against his hair. Her hand was warm on his chest. She could feel his heartbeat slow and steady under her fingers.

He stood up straight again and clasped her hand, his eye never leaving her face.

“I will,” he promised.

He gave everyone a last hug, then left the cottage before his resolve failed him.

Inspiration: I actually don't know. The characters are from one of my other stories, however, and this is a possible scene in the sequel.