Wednesday, June 9, 2010

From a Devil, of an Angel

        I know quite a bit about angels, a lot more than most can claim. I have felt the heartbeat, the skin, the breath, and have heard the sweet song of an angel in the throes of pleasure. You see, angels are not genderless, and they are not immune to the emotions of the mortal coil, just like us devils. She is the most beautiful of them all, and devils do not lie, we are just adept at twisting truths. I can not claim that I tricked her into my arms, not that I would wish to. Angels are protected from at least that sort of thing. They are passionate creatures, and they feel emotions quite acutely, a few in particular.
        Happiness, sorrow, sympathy, and love. Yes, she would know if I did not love her, no matter what I did. I am not such a tasteless monster to attempt complicated spells to try to fool her. Believe me, or not, I love her. I love her smile, her innocence that she retains despite my ability to claim her virginity. She is not naive, just innocent. She was willing to love me, cherish and comfort me, even when fully aware of my standing in these planes.
        I would be lying if I said her body meant nothing to me, and I will tell the truth that it was what first attracted me. I could see the lovely shape even when wrapped modestly, almost shyly, in elegant Victorian gowns. I only became more attached once I had approached in my guise, the one she easily saw through. This attachment, love, only increased when I had her, bare, in my arms. She is quiet, in all situations, but quick to smile and laugh when I do not have her head reeling, and not just from talented touches. I find I ache unless I have her enveloped close in my arms, but it is one I enjoy. I have proven, if only to myself and her, that devils can have a heart.
        I have never worked harder for my partner than for her, I want her to feel the highest levels of bliss each and every time. She responds well to my energy, my movements, and I keep very aware of how she moves to adjust us accordingly. Of course, sometimes the urge to pin her is overwhelming, she is just so adorable, but I will only do such a thing with my own hands. Her skin is far too precious to me to mar with anything that is not my grip, and the feel of her heartbeat in her wrists is an intoxicating pleasure I cannot deny myself. There is one position, however, that will never happen. Mortals call it "doggy style", I believe. It is vulgar and degrading to her, and I will not allow such a thing. Who would want to only see their lover's back side? I love her face, and the only time her back is to me is when her body is flush to mine, her head against my shoulder.
        Blushing? What did you think the conversation would be about?
        I am a devil.

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

My Shadow's a Vampyre - 2

        "Light reading?" Mrs. Lark repeated slowly. She blinked at Avalon, but her smile didn't falter. "Very well."
       Avalon walked over to the separation between the circulation desk and the stacks. Wrought iron scroll work added during renovations twisted its way up from the half-wall to the ceiling, and a gate without a lock was the only thing to break the sprawling filigree. As she took hold of the gate, Mrs. Lark reached under the desk and pulled a lever to release the lock.

        "Pride and Prejudice, read it," Avalon whispered. "In a Glass Darkly, read it." She trailed her fingers along the spines of the books, and enjoyed the tingling sensation that flooded up her arm and swept down her spine. The gold leafing, which should have been flecking off, was pristine and shimmered in the inconsistent candlelight. "Secret Garden, no, Nibelungenlied, read it, twice."
        With a sigh, Avalon shifted her satchel as she walked back to the gate.

        The key to the vaults was cast iron, ornate at the bow and carved with feathered wings down the shaft to create the teeth. The door was down three shallow stairs and behind a tapestry of the serpent offering Eve the forbidden fruit. Avalon wondered, yet again, why God would put a fruit tree in the Garden that he didn't want his children to eat from.
        The candles in the vault were not lit, Avalon lit the ones set into the wall as she passed them by. Her heels echoed loudly as they hit the stone stairs, but she didn't hesitate to enter the space where the priceless and, as Mrs Lark claims, dangerous book were kept. Avalon located the gas valve and opened it, then pressed a switch to light the gas lamps along the ceiling and at the end of each shelf. Here were plenty of books she had not read yet, and they were always interesting.

        The pocket watch declared that it was five minutes before eight when Avalon stepped out from the public stacks. Mrs Lark wasn't at the circulation desk, but it was nearing time to close. After she returned the key to the hidden slot on the edge of the desk, Avalon slipped out of the cathedral and into the cool, wet air.
        The leaves crunched under her heels as she walked to the cobblestone sidewalk. She paused under the streetlight to look back up at the cathedral as the light in the windows became dimmer. She could count exactly as each candle was snuffed out, leaving the ancient stonework in quiet solitude once all was done. A chilling wind brushed by as the last candle sputtered out. It was hard to believe that not long ago the building would have been draped in the warm colors of sunset at this time. Avalon checked her watch just to be sure it wasn't later than usual.
        Nine o' clock, on the dot.
        She pulled a scarf out of her satchel and tied it around her neck as she walked away. The streetlights scattered against the round lenses of her glasses, which made her remove them to clean with her handkerchief. She walked through the small cathedral square blind, and continued past several row houses before she placed her glasses back over her crystal blue eyes. They didn't have ear pieces, so Avalon delicately balanced the frames on the bridge of her nose.
        As she paused to tuck her handkerchief back into her vest pocket, Avalon turned her gaze down the dark alley beside her. She couldn't help staring down dark alleys or into graveyards as she passed them, even though she dreaded actually seeing anything. A clatter startled her idle gaze into focusing on what she couldn't see. A liquid splattered top hat rolled out of the curtain of shadow and circled to a stop at Avalon's feet.
        "What is this?" she asked the air quietly as she crouched to pick up the hat. The street lamp behind her illuminated the dark stain, casting a sheen of dark red through it. "Blood?"
        Avalon bit her lower lip as a shiver rattled her knees. She took a hesitant step into the alley and looked down at the sound of sloshing liquid. A short yelp escaped her as she stumbled back. Her foot landed squarely in the pooling blood and slipped forward, sending her skidding onto the ground. Pain blossomed along her hands, hip, and arms. Avalon struggled to her feet, and stared at the crimson blood that now stained her right side. She gave a strangled yip as another crash sounded in the alley and a black mass shot out at her. The impact knocked the wind out of her as both she and the creature crashed into the wall of the building across the street.
        Avalon's last vision was the sidewalk rising to meet her.

Saturday, June 5, 2010

My Shadow's a Vampyre - 1

        It was always harder to follow a schedule when the sun decided to go down sooner in autumn. Things that were done before the day ended suddenly went long into the night, and clocks never seemed to want to play nice. It seemed like only Avalon's pocket watch never tried to trick her. She kept it properly wound and cared well for it. The case was a polished silver, emblazoned with a coiled dragon around an opal set star.
        Avalon tucked the watch back into her skirt pocket, and let the chain drape over the pleated material. She stepped passed the iron wrought gate of the old cathedral. It had been re-purposed into a library several centuries ago, and contained very few contemporary books. Avalon liked it that way, if she wanted to read something current she could just go to her school's library. The feel and age of the books suited the age of the library itself.
        “Hello Mrs Lark,” she said as she shut the oak door behind her. It was cut out of the towering double doors to allow access without needing a group of burly men. The familiar warm air of the interior brushed her pink cheeks; her nose smarted from the rapid change to warm from chilly.
A woman, who appeared in her mid-thirties, leaned forward over the broad circulation desk that had once been the confessionals.
        “Well! Miss Avalon Drake!” she said with a broad smile. Her dark, amber eyes glittered in the rustic lighting of the cathedral. The building hadn't been wired for the electric light yet, but there were plenty of candles to read by. “Right on time as usual, my dear girl, but still in such muted tones.”
        “Mrs Lark, this is the most vibrant outfit I have,” Avalon answered as she brushed her hand over the pomegranate colored material of her vest and cropped jacket.
        “You'd look so lovely in a midnight blue or crimson red.” Mrs Lark sighed, but her smile swiftly returned. “I have the key right here for you."

Thursday, June 3, 2010

White Raven - 1

        Detective Frederick Sharpesong shoved a handcuffed man into the Clairemon St. Police Station. A spooked horse's hooves slammed against the sidewalk pavement next to his foot as the carriage driver attempted to control him. An automobile honked twice as it shot by, and all the other horses on the street began to whinny and buck.
        "Damn things should be outlawed," Sharpe said. He ducked into the building, and kicked the door shut. His boot left a dust print on the dark, carved wood, and the frazzled horse's panic was muted. He grabbed hold of the criminal and hoisted him up from the floor. "Stop wiggling."
        A rookie hurried over, vest unbuttoned and tie undone. He handed Sharpe a cup of black coffee.
        "Hey!" said the criminal as he pulled against the detective's grip. Sharpe spilled the steaming contents of the cup onto his arm and the floor. "Why am I here?"
        Sharpe handed the cup back to the rookie and beat the excess coffee off his coat sleeve. He looked at the man, cobalt blue eyes narrowed, one twitching. The color drained from the man's face.
        "You're still sore about losing your hat?" he asked, eyes wide. "It was an accident!"
        Sharpe started to drag him to the front to get him logged in before he went to a holding cell.
        "Why are you being so mean to me?" he whined.
        "Why?" Sharpe pushed the man against the desk, the edge dug into his chest. "Honestly?"
        "But, but... I haven't done anything wrong!" His voice squeaked as he squirmed under Sharpe's grip.
        The detective removed his gloves as the uniformed desk clerk set a short stack of blank paperwork on the desk.
        "So this is the guy, huh?" He handed Sharpe a pen. "What did the body count reach?"
        "Six elementary school children. Thre dogs. Two cats. A guinea pig," Sharpe elbowed the murderer in the ribs. "And one cup of coffee."
        The handcuffed man dropped to the floor and kicked the bottom of the desk, whining again.
        "Get up off the floor!" Sharpe pinched the bridge of his nose, then signed the paper without looking.
        "I got 'im boss." An officer grabbed hold of the whimpering murderer.
        Sharpe muttered as he leaned heavily on the desk, relieved to get some of the weight off his feet. He had been on the move since before dawn, so even his athletic build felt like too much.
        "I think this is the longest you have ever taken to catch a psychopath, Sharpe," said the desk clerk, a grin passing his lips. "Maybe you're losing your edge!"
        Sharpe's shoulders pulled up as his features pinched together. He forced out an airless laugh.
        "But you know it would be a record," said the desk clerk, unaware of the pointed look he was getting from Sharpe. "A genius detective over the hump at age twenty five!"
        "Yes, that certainly would be a tragedy." Sharpe turned and walked toward the elevators. "Neve mind you never even got on the hump, tubby." He stuffed his gloves into his pocket and pressed the call button for the elevator. The gate rattled as the cage dropped. Sharpe checked his pocket watch as he stepped on.

First Post of a New Blog

Well, obviously I don't have any followers yet or anyone even aware of this blog, but that's alright. It's sort of just a, well I'm not sure, just a daily exercise for my writing or what's going on. Since I have yet to find a job and the ones my friends are mentioning to me don't seem to be existent; it's the only thing I have to not go stir crazy.

So if anyone else is going stir crazy from boredom I suppose this is the place to be coming for at least a brief hiatus. I'll try to keep the blogging about myself ~since that's boring to read ne?~ to a minimum and mostly just have to be writing. Maybe a rant or two, I've been told those can be amusing, especially coming from me.

So, enjoy. I'll start character introductions once I've taken my puppy Ranger out for a little bit of a run.