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| May 2008 | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Mar 18 2010, 02:23 AM (3,617 Views) | |
| golden_trillium | Mar 23 2010, 07:06 PM Post #346 |
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Author: Pinkie Date: Sat May 31, 2008 2:55 pm Saoirse
Saoirse's question as to his identity was partly muffled by his stunned exclamation. For a moment Saoirse just looked at him as if he had five heads and then her nose scrunched up, she pulled her hand down away from her face and looked ath im closer. Who the bloody hell was he? And why the odd reaction to her being in Dagonet's bed? She had heard about these Christians who think that people should be married before they have sex but surely that was a small group of them... ? Surely that was a tiny minority... or did he think that she was going to have sex here in the infirmary? The thought made Saoirse grin - and it was a wicked grin. A woman who looked so broken and how had such hurt feelings should never have been able to look so smouldering.
When he spoke his whole name, Saoirse's smouldering look became blank. She cocked her head to the side and gave him a look that asked 'are you for real?'. It was only after a moment's pause, and some worthwhile reflection on his part, that he came back with a more simple name. "Lucius." she repeated and nodded her head, his name committed to memory. The male still looked rather ... piqued and Saoirse wondered if it was about that bed comment. Mention of Derfel made Saoirse frown, pursing her lips. Derfel was, no doubt, with Dagonet now. Tending to him at his most critical of times whilst she could do nothing but sit on the ground in a store-room feeling miserable, broken and useless. She felt all wrong. The red head turned to look up at the ceiling sightlessly again, her eyelids flickering when Lucius offered to get her 'anything'. She was not used to this kind of treatment. People didn't treat women like her this way - not here in Britain. This was more what the people back in Ireland did to her - tending to her every whim, making it so that she felt so excluded from real life that it was unbearable. She glanced sideways at Lucius and stared at him with a dull cast to her eyes. It was tempting to ask him to get her a spare room at the back of the infirmary so that she cuold have her way with Dagonet in private instead of in front of all and sundry, jokingly of course, but she just didn't feel it in her heart to joke right now. Instead she sniffed and shook her head - "Nah. Not unless yer good a' bringin' people back from the dead...?" she said, her tone genuinely hopeful before her shoulders slumped and she turned to look back at teh ceiling. A silent tear trickled down her cheek, probably the most pitiful of all the tears she had shed because the rest of her looked as if it might have stopped this useless sobbing when in fact she was still broken inside, evidence of how deep the hurt was. "Have ye family, Lucius?" Saoirse asked in a tone that was husky from upset, her bottom lip trembling a little and her voice shakign on the word 'family'. And as she spoke she was rising to her feet, her hands reaching out behind her to steady her shaking body. Eala Quiet, incoherent moans could be faintly heard from inside Eala's cell only moments before. She was telling herself that she wasn't tired. She was convincing herself that she didn't need nor want to sleep. She was staying awake ready for whenever Ash was going to come get her. She had it planned on how she would use the knife that was strapped to her leg and also wondered if anyone would think she might have popped the head off the doll and hidden another knife in it's body... ? Sleep crept up on her unawares. Her little body curled into a protective ball around the knife... doll. She felt her eyelids getting heavy and blamed the gritty feeling on the dirt in the cell, unused to confined spaces like this was she. So she let her eyes stay shut, convincing herself that it was just so that they could rest from the dust, Eala was soon fast asleep in the corner of the back of the cell, her breathing even, steady and her grubby, bruised body looking incredibly tiny. Something woke her - she wasn't sure what. But her instincts were sharp. Footsteps, a creaking door. The little woad remained very still, keeping her eyes shut, depending on all other senses to warn her if someone was coming closer to her. But the footsteps stopped a good distance away. There was an odd sense of comfort and protection in that brief moment after the shadow fell over her body. Despite it, Eala was afraid to open her eye. Only when the footfalls were in retreat did she dare lift her head. Titrus... Eala's nose scrunched up. He may have given her a doll and taken her shackles off and taken the time to talk to her so that she would understand but he was still the enemy. The little blonde pursed her lips and plopped her head back down, curling onto her other side so that her back was to the soldier and she sulked with bleary, blood-shot eyes staring at the dark wall in front of her, holding the knife-stuck doll tight to her chest without thinking about it. |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 23 2010, 07:09 PM Post #347 |
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Author: Unicorn Date: Sat May 31, 2008 3:11 pm Dagonet
Dagonet swallowed hard... Everybody asked the same hard question.. The same question he had no answer for. How was he doing? How was he feeling? There was no words to describe the state he found himself in. He looked away from Jols and closed his eyes briefly. "I'm fine..." he said and looked back at his friend, wondering what else was the man going to say.
Dagonet frowned slightly at the information. Lancelot announcing his arrival... what was he up to? Was he up to anything? There was a smirk upon Dags face as he thought about it and heard about runing into Lancelot. "I'll be ready for him then..." he said and his happy face went down. "And how is Arthur?" |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 23 2010, 07:09 PM Post #348 |
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Author: Starbelle Date: Sat May 31, 2008 4:40 pm Jols
"I'm not exactly sure just how Arthur is." Jols commented truthfully as he watched the smirk appear then disappear just as quickly on Dagonet's face. "I've been busy with other tasks after we parted company. "I was thinking about asking Lancelot himself how he was, but he left too quickly for me to ask about him, myself, otherwise I would have." Jols replied to the question. "Have you been sleeping ok?" The squire asked a concerned tone in his voice. |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 23 2010, 07:11 PM Post #349 |
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Author: golden_trillium Date: Sat May 31, 2008 5:54 pm Tristan It was still bloody raining outside. Well, that wasn't news to Tristan, really. He had known that, all during the time that he and Catherine spent in his room together, his subconscious attuned to nature even when it was on the other side of a stone wall and the rest of his mind was otherwise occupied. He had known it when he had popped Catherine's hood up over her head by way of seeing her out the door. But to walk out into it was to endure a whole nother level of disappointment that it had to bloody rain all the fucking time here. And always this damp, neverending drizzle, too...not like the powerful, crackling thunderstorms of Sarmatia that were clearly visible miles and hours off, burst with the fury of the Gods, and then were over in less than an hour. Here it was nothing but rain rain rain that just didn't stop. He bent his head against it as he made his way to the stables in response to the summons- the memory of the way in which the summons had reached him made him roll his eyes to himself in a mixture of faint amusement and exasperation that it had to happen with such timing. If not for that, he could be taking Catherine again right now, perhaps on her hands and knees this time...he shook his head and tried to set that small fantasy aside for now. Some other time. If the damn Woads didn't get him first. As he came out into the main courtyard from a narrower street, his hair flopped over his face and his hands tucked under his cloak, he spotted Captain Barbattus ahead of him, also heading towards the stables- and with him, and going along apparently more or less voluntarily, the skinny Woad prisoner Neeria. The one who would supposedly lead them to Merlin. This must be what this was all about then- and the Optio leading the group? Scipio wasn't in evidence anywhere yet, but the idea of him leading an expedition to Merlin gave Tristan pause. The Woads were tricky...dealing with them took experience, which Arthur had, and Scipio, as far as the scout knew, didn't. Was Arthur really so foolish as to think that Scipio would do as well on this venture as he himself would? Or was he so badly wounded he couldn't go at all? Tristan tried to suppress a creeping feeling of doom as he caught up with Barbattus just outside the stable doors. "You with Scipio too, then?" he aske the Captain gruffly as he reached his side, though he was pretty sure of the answer- this expedition to Merlin, lead- or perhaps not- by Neeria had been in the works for more than a day. The scout's eyes slid over to Neeria, now clothed and shoed for a journey in good, weather-proof clothing, met her gaze briefly, and then dropped away hurriedly. The memory of last night- of his sentimentality regarding her, of her desperate gratitude to him for a mere dusty horse blanket, her shrieking of his name- made embarrassment bubble to the surface again. He didn't want to look at her- didn't want her to see him at all. He couldn't make himself hold her gaze. |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 23 2010, 07:12 PM Post #350 |
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Author: Lancelot Date: Sat May 31, 2008 6:54 pm Arthur The commander remained standing erect, his position that of an iron statue - he could have been one of the metal people he'd seen in Rome as a child. Good thing, too - his side was flaring pain. Though he kept his hand on his stitches and his face impassive, the spikes of heat that radiated from the injury required him to be in constant control over his expression and body language. He would show nothing to the Optio but strength and resolve.
"I thank you for trusting me with my own men," Arthur answered, the sarcastic tone in his voice almost hidden, but his exhaustion made it hard for him to be completely aloof. He noted the raised eyebrow and slight smile on Scipio's face...and could not for the life of him decide whether or not it was meant as a gesture of trust and friendship - or if the other man was showing his "true colors" as Lancelot might have said. "Godspeed, Optio," Arthur said, meaning it. No matter Amadeus' intentions...he was Arthur's Optio, and Arthur would trust a man sent to him by Rome. Amadeus seemed to believe in the power and importance of God and the Empire - two things that were important in Arthur's own life. And yet...he couldn't put out of his head Lancelot's vehement reaction to Scipio. He is not to be trusted. I can feel it...here. Arthur crossed to the door that Scipio pointed at, and, using his free hand, he opened the latch and stood to the side so the other man could head out. "Be careful - and do your best to see that this atrocity does not occur again. I trust your judgment on Merlin, Optio. And I will see him myself. Please - make that plain." Arthur nodded in respect as the hawk-nosed man passed out of his quarters, and then shut the door. He allowed his broad frame to collapse against the back of the door - he rubbed his hands over his face, finally removing the one from his side. His stitches throbbed insistantly, but after checking under his tunic for any fresh blood, he was satisfied that they held. God damn Lancelot and his impetuousness! And now Arthur had to come up with some way to punish Lancelot for his insubbordination - it was right and deserved - but how would his lieutenant act? How would he take it - and could Arthur in good conscience hurt him? Could he watch Lancelot be put in the stocks or flogged and not do anything about it? The other man had only been acting on the bond between himself and Arthur...God. Arthur's head ached too much to overly examine this new duty just now. He made his way back toward his bed - was anyone else expected? No...Arthur released a tremulous laugh and tottered to his mattress, his bare feet padding softly on the chilly floor. Sinking slowly to the bed, he relaxed for the first time since he'd woken - and winced as every pain in his body seemed to come to life. His head swam briefly as he remembered what he'd just discussed with Scipio - God hope the Optio would do his best and take care of Merlin. Arthur hated that he was too injured to see to the matter himself - but he didn't doubt that Neeve - or Lancelot - would hold to their sworn duty and literally tie him to the bed. And that thought made him think of Darya, and how he'd practically dismissed her like a servant from his quarters. He shook his head and bit his lip in guilt. He hoped his lover would understand, and would see to her own injuries and to her rest. They would have time to catch up later. Right now, as much as he was loathe to admit it, the most important thing was to nip this Woad insurgance in the bud. As quickly as possible, before any other lives were lost unnecessarily. Arthur slid on his buttocks until he was leaning against the back of the bed, his legs folded up against him as comfortably as he could get them. He returned his hand to his side, and allowed his eyes to close for just a moment. Just a moment's rest. I shall send for a page in a moment to dictate my report...in just a moment. |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 23 2010, 07:14 PM Post #351 |
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Author: linnet Date: Sat May 31, 2008 8:16 pm Gawain & Mother Lavinia
Well, Gawain thought, Lavinia had hit the bulls-eye, saving him the tricky task of trying to decipher what was bothering Galahad. Something had happened with Alina. They had looked like perfectly happy lovers yesterday when she greeted the younger knight. Now Gawain could hear the defensiveness in Galahad’s answer, and he could see the anger rising in his friends face. He hoped the problem was only a minor argument, or even just the fact that Alina wasn’t around when her lover woke up. Regardless, Gawain realized that now he would have to tell Galahad about Brianna, and he would have to bring it up himself. Maybe his own tale of womanly woe would make his friend feel better, in a ‘things could be worse’ sort of way. Or maybe listening to his trouble would get Galahad to open up and stop trying so hard to cover his emotions. Satisfied that Dag was out of serious physical danger, the blond knight just wanted to get Galahad away from the infirmary. He turned as if to leave, but waited for Galahad to do the same. Lavinia was frowning at the younger man, obviously surprised by his petulant reaction. Gawain caught sight just then of Jols as the squire walked nonchalantly past the three of them and headed toward the far end of the ward. Gawain looked back at the nun, puzzled. “Why is it alright for Jols to go wherever he wants, while Galahad and I get tossed out?” he asked. He wasn’t being sarcastic. He really wanted to know. Lavinia had her attention trained on Galahad, and was irritated by the long-haired knight’s interruption. Frankly she hadn’t even seen Jols enter her realm, but she wasn’t about to admit that. “I’ll deal with Jols as soon as I’m done with you two,” she replied. “And besides, he is quieter, far better groomed, and less prone to drunkenness than you,” the old woman added, looking pointedly at Gawain. He raised his eyebrows and gave her a sheepish smile, convinced that she especially disliked him for some reason. Turning back to Galahad, Lavinia looked at him more closely than before. She was aware that he had been wounded too, and had thought that Alina was tending to him, albeit in private. “So did Alina take care of your wound, or do you need someone here to check it for you and patch you up?” she asked, her voice no longer curt and demanding. As exasperating as the Sarmatian knights could be, the nun knew how much damage their bodies sustained, and how precarious their lives were. She might insult their manners and their lifestyles, but she would always make sure they received the best medical attention available. Gawain’s gaze flashed anxiously to Galahad. He too had assumed that Alina had taken care of the stab wound. |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 23 2010, 07:16 PM Post #352 |
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Author: LadyCastus Date: Sat May 31, 2008 10:17 pm Malcus Barbattus and Neeria Malcus led the woad prisoner through the sloppy mess of the roadway en route to the stables. The captain cursed under his breath, something about the “bloody fucking rain”. Neeria wasn’t really listening to him but she stayed to his side, keeping pace with him as they made their way. Her mind was a steel trap, running possible scenarios about what she would do on this upcoming mission. Taking the Romans to Merlin was not a possibility; she would never lead them to the village. In fact she would do just the exact opposite. She would lead the party far in the opposite direction of the village. It would mean her death for sure, but at least Merlin and her people would not be betrayed. That was a deal she was willing make with her gods. Where was Ash? Was there a rescue party? How many had come with him? Would they launch another attack? There were so many questions! Neeria didn’t know if the rescuers would attempt to save her here, behind the wall, or wait until they were on the road. Either way, she would go along and just see what would happen. Neeria’s thoughts were interrupted quite suddenly when Malcus stopped at the stables. Out of nowhere, the scout, Tristan appeared. Arthur had kept his word. The scout would ride with them. Neeria blinked and looked up at Tristan who towered over her. His braids were plastered to head and he was soaking wet. His face was dark and gruff, his posture indicating his clear agitation. Neeria looked directly into his golden eyes. Tristan looked at her momentarily but looked away quickly, turning his attention to the Roman.
“Oy, mate,” Malcus said to the Sarmatian scout. “I see you got the message to meet us here,” The captain turned up his lips when Tristan looked at him quizzically. “In case you’re wondering why you’ve been asked to join this little party, I’ll go ahead and fill you in. Arthur was injured pretty badly. No worries though, he’ll be okay but he’s in no condition to ride. So, he’s ordered that rat bastard Amadeus to ride in his place. And since he doesn’t trust the little fucker any farther than he can throw him, he is sending me to keep an eye on him.” Malcus placed his hand on the stable door and pulled it open. He ushered Neeria inside and Tristan followed. “Of course, for my commander and for my friend, I accepted my orders gladly. Besides, how could I turn down an opportunity to size up the smarmy optio?” Malcus rolled his eyes. The trio stood just inside the stable door, shaking off the rain, as the captain continued. “So why are you involved? You’re involved because this lovely maiden here requested your presence. She told Arthur that she wouldn’t ride without you.” Malcus stared at Neeria again with dark eyes. “So our commander indulged the lady,” Malcus clicked his heels and bowed to Neeria. Neeria tensed at the Roman’s mockery. She wanted to curse him, but she did not. She felt the heat from both men staring at her when she turned her gaze back to Tristan. “Tris-tan, what he says is true,” she said softly. “You are the only one I trust.” Titrus Titrus turned around when he heard the girl move. Thinking he’d awakened her, the lieutenant was inexplicably disappointed to see that the child had just simply rolled over onto her other side. Titrus gathered his cloak about himself and walked out of the cell, quietly locking the door behind him. Titrus knew that he should debrief the squad commanders but his stomach reminded him that it was time for lunch. The rotations wouldn’t change until later in the afternoon, so actually it was a good time to head over to the tavern to grab something to eat. Afterward, he would send for Quintus and the others. Satisfied with his decision, the lieutenant headed in the direction of food. When Titrus walked into the tavern, he sat down at a quiet table in the back. After a few moments, a barmaid approached him. “Is there soup today, love?” he asked. The barmaid ran down the afternoon’s choices and Titrus put in his bidding. As the woman walked away, Titrus watched her, his eyes focused on her round bottom as she switched away from him. It had been a long time since he’d been with a woman and his body was beginning to react to his need. Since his wife’s death Titrus hadn’t laid with anyone else, but his desire was growing. He often pleasured himself, in the privacy of his bedroom, hidden off from his four daughters. He never made a sound when exploded into a piece of fabric, which he always burned later. Titrus didn’t want one of his daughters to find it by accident. Bringing himself to climax was not the same as being inside the warmth of a woman’s body. He missed the feeling of long legs wrapped around his waist has he burrowed himself in the juices of a giving female. Just thinking about it caused Titrus to suddenly get a hard on. Embarrassed, the lieutenant discreetly adjusted himself beneath the table, his cock straining against the confines of his uniform. Titrus was not as forward with the ladies as his captain and he felt awkward soliciting a wench for sex. But if he didn’t relieve himself between the milky thighs of a whore soon, he feared suffering from blue balls for the rest of his life. The barmaid returned with his soup and bread, leaning over the table, offering Titrus a full view of her cleavage. He could see the wench’s nipples straining against the thin material of her dress and he felt his loin tighten even more. He imagined himself pounding into her. “Thank you,” he said, “it looks good.” The barmaid smiled at him and Titrus tried not to stare at her hard nipples. He noticed her full lips as she licked them seductively. “If there’s anything else you want...just let me know,” she said and walked away, slowly and deliberately. Titrus clenched his hands as he watched with deep want. Then grabbed his spoon and scooped up a big serving. After he blew on it he put it in his mouth and willed his hard on to go away. |
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