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August 4, 2003 |
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Trump call ...
To the image of Ada-Shazandra, Yosannah's image comes into focus. She stands in what appears to be a study, "Ada?"
The image of Ada-Shazandra sits poised by a relic of a table, the remnants of tea strewn before her. The lady smiles wanly, "Yosannah, my dear. Blessings and good sky, child. How are you?"
To the image of Ada-Shazandra, Yosannah considers her response, "Well, at the moment. Ada, I have been meaning to talk to you." She swallows, "Regarding an issues that is extremely important to me. Do you have the time?"
The image of Ada-Shazandra's slim silken brows furrow, "Of course, Yosannah. Please - do ask of me what you will." The woman's glistening jade eyes seem somber and radiant with a tepid fatigue.
To the image of Ada-Shazandra, Yosannah nods and regards the woman cooly, "Tell me about Arion."
The image of Ada-Shazandra hums a lush tune, her pensive brows knitted, subtly marring the luminous brand upon her forehead, "He is my brother and nephew. A man of profound talent and terrifying genius. He's endured much and I fear his disillusion with chaos haunts him." She pauses, her ashen rose lips grave, "Worse, I fear we've lost touch - we disagree, Yosannah - For I am loyal to ideals which he resents."
To the image of Ada-Shazandra, Yosannah exhales, audibly, "No tell me about Arion and the horsemen."
The image of Ada-Shazandra's pallid lips form an evocative silent 'O', "I'm notentirely certain I know what to say." She intones, yet her eyes betray a brilliant and genuine hue.
To the image of Ada-Shazandra, Yosannah urges, she is short today - very much unlike the tone she might normally take with the lady, "Does he have them, or doesn't he."
The image of Ada-Shazandra frowns, "Yosannah, I don't know. If you insist that I investigate the matter, then I shall - but I've never questioned my brother's actions and owe my life to his magic. Certainly you understand the consequences of a life debt?"
To the image of Ada-Shazandra, Yosannah says "That is not what I am asking, Ada. And you know it." She bites at her lip and shakes her head, "If he is carrying the horsemen with him he is not only in danger from within, he is in danger from without. You must know there are those that would see him dead for what I think he may have done."
The image of Ada-Shazandra's porcelain pale face grows beautifully somber, her fair features etched with a pensive serenity, "And what is it that you think he might have done?" She exhales her honeyed Anglican voice hypnotically low.
To the image of Ada-Shazandra, Yosannah says "Listen to me, and think on what I'm saying. Some might say that he brings about great change to Chaos. That he does only the Serpent's bidding. And if the Horsemen are what some think they are,Ada, what the Church believes them to be, he might be right. Others see this situation only as a threat to Chaos. They will destroy him." She urges, "Maybe I can help. Maybe together we can help him before that happens. Why don't you trust me?"
The image of Ada-Shazandra inhales a pungent breath, her perfumed lips slack with puzzlement, "You assume any of this matters to Arion. Even if what you presume is true, I assure you it does not. He cares little for chaos, or the Serpent, or any ideals as are fashionable nowadays. I understand all too well, my dear girl, believe me. And though I owe him my life and love him empathically - I know that my 'aid' or 'meddling' - call it what you will - shall be shunned by him - or whatever is left of him that is." Her rich tone is pristine, each flavorful word carefully selected.
To the image of Ada-Shazandra, Yosannah wets her lips, pursing them over her tongue. She seems perplexed by something the woman has said, "There has to be a mistake," she mutters to herself. And then, to the lady, "He has told you this? Recently? His lack of support for Chaos? How recently?"
The image of Ada-Shazandra inclines the chiseled curve of her chin, intoning softly, "Certainly not. But I know him - I feel him, my child. He is my brother and though he cherishes his remote solitude, his sentiments do not escape my keen attention. I had not spoken to him since the Ball." her gentle tone is echoed within the depths of her green eyes, the long silken lashes lending her gaze a rich velveteen texture.
To the image of Ada-Shazandra, Yosannah shakes her head, "Ada. I am your friend. I'll help if I can. Think on what I'm offering. It's only a matter of time before someone else gets to him. If that's what he wants... if that is what you want, so be it." She is obviously fustrated. "I have to go. I have to think about what you have said and this conversation."
The image of Ada-Shazandra only nods, "Go, Yosannah - but seek me out after the coronation. I shall come with you to speak with my 'brother' and we shall venture from there."
To the image of Ada-Shazandra, Yosannah inclines her head in understanding. After a moment her image begins to fade.
Shoreline outside Vrokk City...
Jurt arrives through the front door of the beach house.
Average height, light build, heavier through the shoulders, he is a young man whose rather handsome features seem ready to twist into a snarl or a sneer. Dark hair is cut close to his scalp, Caesar-style. Deep green eyes channel his expressions into a tight focus, while smooth hands are sources of constant activity; gesturing, flexing, gripping. He is dressed in a sleeveless shirt of fine-linked chainmail, snug-fitting black leather pants, black leather steel-toed boots, black leather wristbands studded with steel rivets, and a thick black belt with a starburst-embossed steel buckle. His bare arms are tattooed with links around his upper arms like barbed wire composed of eight-pointed stars.
Yosannah stands at the water's edge. Shoes and jacket tossed casually off to one side. Her weight shifts from one leg to the other, hands clasped and fingers twined at the back of her head. She does not note his arrival.
Jurt walks along the beach from the direction of Julia's rubble. His jaw works like a man deep in thought, but his hands drum on his thighs in a show of serious boredom. Spying a figure in the distance he walks on, and upon recognizing Yosannah, he pauses, taking note. Hands stop drumming.
Perhaps it is the sound of his hands as they rap against his legs that catches her attention. She turns and pauses as well, looking him over. Lowering her arms, she crosses them over her chest and lifts her chin in his direction, "We have to stop meeting like this. People will talk."
Jurt matches the gesture, crossing his arms and lifting his chin. "Well there are two ways to handle people talking. One, let 'em. Two, punch 'em in the mouth."
A wave crashes up along the beach, water spraying up and around her calves and smattering her jeans like rain. She takes little note of the dampness, however. Biting at her lip, she offers, voice pensive, "I'd rather you didn't go about punching people, maybe we should just let 'em talk." As she says this her gaze drifts down to the sand and an amused smile plays on her lips, thoughtful.
Jurt inclines his head. "Talk it is, suit yourself. Plenty of other reasons for punching people." His green gaze follows hers, checking that way. He seems in a good enough mood ... kind of vaguely happy and half-bored attitude that seems his default, if usually short-lived. "So what are you doing. Thinking or something?
Yosannah wets her lips and nods at his question, "Yeah. Thinking or something. This is my thinking or something place. Yours too apparently." She lifts her chin in the direction of the shattered beach house. "I don't think you're gonna find what you're looking for in there. Why do you keep coming back?"
Jurt rolls his eyes, shrugging his armored shoulders. "Fuck if I know. Instinct, curiosity, addiction, boredom, loneliness, accident. Maybe one or all of those. I couldn't really say."
Yosannah exhales and shrugs her shoulders, "Well.. I um." She looks around the beach, first this way then that, "Care to join me?" She indicates the sand.
Jurt looks down at the sand. "Consider yourself joined. Did you have anything in mind, or shall we just stand here with the sand in our toes."
She doesn't answer, offering only a chuckle, "Heh." She crouches, lowering herself to the ground and then sits, knees pulled up near her chest, "Down here." She reaches for her jacket and fishes around for a moment and ultimately locates a hair clip, "How come I never see you in the Courts. Always out and about, but never there."
Jurt makes a little face as she sits, which she doesn’t catch. "Ah, we're gonna interrogate Jurt. My favorite pastime." Moving to take a seat besides her, resigned, his initial answer is a quiet, "Eh." Soon followed by, "I'm there, sometimes. It just gets kind of weird for me these days."
Yosannah mutters as if amused, "... interrogation..." She wraps her arms about her knees and looks to him over her shoulder, "Weird? Whatahya mean?"
Jurt corrects, "More specifically, I don't seem to really fit in with the current Chaos. I've always been something of the rebel, but there have been times when the majority of Chaos was rebelling, so it worked well. Writhings pass. Sometimes I fit, sometimes I don't. These turnings seem to be mostly the latter." He shrugs, hands busy, drawing sand to the center, "You gotta take a long view on things. I'm not gonna sit and sulk in my Ways, waiting, hence you see me out in the Shadow."
Yosannah shrugs as she watches him, "What's to sulk about. Lots of drama in the Courts right now. And a new king to boot. That doesn't interest you."
Jurt makes a dome. "Don't spread this around, but the new King looks like something of a pansy to me."
Yosannah chuckles at that and rests a fisted hand above her lip as she shakes her head, "Mmm. He might take exception to that so I think I will keep it to myself." She watches him for a moment longer and then asks, "How old are you Jurt?" She collects her hair from her face and pulls it back behind her head. She clasps it in place with the clip from her jacket.
Jurt answers, a little bland, "Too old to remember how old. But if you need a reference, I was around before Jenner or Arawn reign, and grew up in the latter part of Swayvill's." He wets his lips, finger poking holes at random into the sand dome. "As for the pansy, I mean, I'll protect him and all, cause he's the King. It's my job. But seems to me a monarch needs some more... hell, I don't know what. More of something he's lacking." He, with just a hint of bitterness, adds, "Not that I know anything about being King."
A smile escapes the corners of her pursed lips, "Not that you probably give a shit, but your brother has often told me that being a monarch isn't worth the trouble."
Jurt snorts. He makes a haphazard looking smiley face in the dome, one eye bigger. "Yeah well, he's told everyone that in more ways than one." He then pokes the face in the eye. The bigger one. "So you see him often, huh?"
She regards his actions with mild amusement but nods at his question, "Often enough. He's been uhh..." she shrugs, "Off and about for the last month or so. Has a tendency to do that every now and again." She bites at her lip and shrugs her shoulders as if suggesting that this fact does not bother her.
Jurt prompts, "No kids yet, huh? Merlin always has been slow about those. Dara's fault."
Yosannah furrows a brow and regards him, expression of puzzlement, "What?"
Jurt explains, like it was old habit, "It's Dara's philosophy that kids really cement a relationship, not to mention cover one of the major benefits. As such, most of us tend to go the other way on that. Especially Merle and I."
Yosannah regards him for a moment. Green eyes squint at she studies him. Abruptly, a chuckle escapes her lips, "What makes you think..." With a smile she shakes her head, "You know what, never mind." She is obviously uncomfortable with the topic of discussion.
Jurt obliges. "Never minding."
Yosannah sits in silence for a moment and then blurts, "Listen, Merlin and I are not…" she fails her hands back and forth in front of her as if to demonstrate what they are not. "I mean, we are, but not like that." She searches for understanding in he eyes, "Got me?" She nods as if this explains everything.
A flat hand calmly smashes the mound, Jurt's eyes casually resting there. "Not really, but it's cool. No cause for explanations." With scant pause, he changes subjects. "Maybe you should come to Amber with me sometime. Hang out with Alix, the Regent."
Yosannah raises a brow at that, "Alix?" She considers, "Think I know her sister, or cousin, or something. You wanna take me?" She seems curious about this last point.
Jurt points out, "She's as Amberite, I'm sure she has a number of all three." He continues, glancing at her, "As for taking you, I brought it up, didn't I?"
Yosannah nods, "You did. I just. I dunno. I'm a bit surprised is all." She adds, "Do I get dinner out of the deal?"
Jurt waves a hand. "If we have dinner, then you're welcome to eat, sure. Hell, it's not a planned deal or anything. I just drop by sometimes."
Yosannah rolls her eyes, "No, no. If we make a little visit of this, I want to go out as part of the event. See the sights and whatnot." She points at him, "You take me out."
Jurt snorts, starting anew with the sand by making little sand balls out of them between his two hands. They stick together better than they should. "You're confusing issues. /Hanging out/ verses /Going out/." He seems a little amused. A little.
Yosannah notes his actions and gathers up some sand in an effort to make a ball of her own. The sand crumbles in her hand as she suggests, "What's wrong with doing both?" She looks over her shoulder as if searching for something, "Hmm. I don't see any other interesting prospects lined up for you." She lets the sand run through her fingers.
Jurt sniffs, stating, "I create prospects like the Serpent creates chaos." He piles the balls up. Three, four, five. "There's nothing wrong with doing both, just acknowledge they're separate. Maybe we'll eat dinner, maybe we won’t. It's not a preplanned deal, and I prefer things that way." He adds, extra slow, "Spontaneity. Maybe you've heard of it."
Yosannah shrugs, "Whatever." She attempts to make another ball of her own and fails again. This time she throws the sand rather then let it slip through her fingers, "I don't know why you're being so difficult " She reaches for his 'tower' with her index finger as if she might knock the structure over.
Jurt doesn't stop her, he just keeps making balls. About eight by now, in a pyramid. With a little scowl he argues, "I am /not/ being difficult. I'm just sayin'." He does watch her hand though. "Remind me: Do I have your trump?"
Yosannah pokes a finger into the structure as she states, "I never gave you one, no."
The balls are firm, and pushing against it dents it only a little. More so, the ball moves, and moving one weakens the entirety of the structure. It teeters on the verge of collapse. Jurt just watches. "Well. Do you expect me to jump all over shadow looking for you? I mean, it doesn't take me long, but I hardly think I know all your haunts."
Yosannah furrows her brow as she examines the structure, muttering, "... how the hell..." She turns her head, looking up at him, "Hu? Oh. I dunno. How 'bout tit for tat. That way it's fair."
Jurt umms. "Yeah, uhh, I dunno if I have any of myself. Not that I wanna be unfair, just that I don't hand them out so often and I haven't gotten around to bugging an artist in awhile."
Yosannah sits back up, having lost interest in the pyramid, "You aren't a trump artist?" She seems mildly perplexed by this.
Jurt's precarious pyramid shift a little as the single ball slides down against another. It falls, collapsing those around it, and so on, until all of the balls lay in a heap between his legs. Still balls, though most sustain superficial damage. Jurt grunts, just shaking his head at the mess. His answer, simple, "Nope."
Yosannah smiles lightly as she studies him. Her gaze searching for his, "You're an interesting fellow."
Jurt reaches forward, claiming a pair of sun glasses from a small mess of colored light. Greens, yellows, blues. They're dark, with wrap around arms. Not that they're really called for here, but he slides them on anyway. "You don't say. What makes me interesting?"
Yosannah smiles again, hand reaching out as if she might capture the light in her fingers, "Okay, I'll play along and flatter you." She gives up looking for his gaze behind the sunglasses, "I've seen you... the way you can move. It's like nothing I have ever seen before." She nods at the empty space where he retrieved the glasses, "And you can do that. Which I have seen done before, but it's impressive nonetheless." She leans back, fingers slide into the sand and arms prop her up, "But you can't draw a trump. And somehow, I get the feeling that it's not for lack of ability. Maybe you're just lazy. Though you probably tell people it's because it's not worth your time when you can get other people to do it for you." She nods, "How's that?"
Jurt hehs, bit of a smirk breaking out. "Well hmm. Give me a minute to chew on it." He looks up, staring, jaw working, leaning back like she does. Thirty seconds ... one minute ...
Yosannah glances at him, sidelong. She rolls her eyes and looks out over the emerald sea.
The shifting colored light that seems to accompany most of Jurt's use of the Fount is both quick to appear and just as fast to fade, usually with a shimmering. Above her, about three feet, it happens again in a roughly rectangular shape. A strong outline this time, a gate ... on the other side is sand, light, silvery sand with flecks of gold. Deep in concentration as he opens the gate, the sunglasses do well to obscure the light in his eyes, and the portal is open just long enough to loosen enough sand to roughly cover her in about six inches high worth, from head to toe. He's likely to catch a little of it, but the sunglasses further protect his eyes.
Yosannah's arms instinctively are raised over her head in a meek effort to shield her body from the gushing sand. As it trickles from her hair and out of her shirt she glares at him, arms crossed over her chest and fingers drumming against her biceps.
Jurt makes his point, looking over and giving her a winning smile. "Now if I was /lazy/, would I have gone through all the effort to do /that/, huh? Gates aren't easy. It takes a good artist at least five minutes to pop one of those babies open, and me, hell, normally at least three, but I put the rush on that one." A good eye could now notice a light sheen of sweat on his brow. He pulls off the sunglasses, still smiling.
Yosannah regards him cooly under raised brows, fingers drum a moment longer as a crooked smile begins to play on her lips. She reaches for the sunglasses, sliding them from his fingers, and sets them off to the side. Then, abruptly, she lunges at him, tackling him to the sand if he lets her.
Jurt watches silently. Then braces some and turns his head away, but there isn't much he could do from that position. Or at least, he doesn't seem to try, merely protesting with a, "Hey! You'll get sand on me!" as she bowls at him from the side, knocking him over.
She climbs atop him, legs straddling either side of his torso. Biting at her lip, she tries to claim his hands with her own so that she might pin him to the ground. Though, if he were to resist, she probably wouldn't be able to manage the task. She grumbles, obviously playful, "...unbelievable. Little rotten..."
Jurt makes a show of struggling, but he doesn't look to be too effective. Maybe she’s stronger than he. Whatever the case, he's pinned in about a minute, a fair amount of sand over him, green squint staring up at her. "Oh now you've done it. You've gotten sand in my chainmail. Do have any idea how much that's gonna chafe?"
Yosannah peers down at him, still biting at her lip, "Only an idiot wears chainmail to a beach." A few strands of hair fall out of her clip and into her face. She pants a bit and holds him. Slowly a smile emerges from her lips and she chuckles lightly, "Now what."
Jurt thinks. Or at least acts like he is. "Uh, well, you're the one on top, right? You're supposed to have all the control." That said, he slowly pushes his arms to the side, which would spread hers as well. His torso lifts a little too, the combination of which would likely, slowly, bring her forward and down.
Yosannah slides down until she is nose to nose with him. Her lips purse together and she bites them closed, breath coming quickly as a result of having to exert herself. She shakes her head, disapproving, her own green eyes watching his.
Jurt frowns a little, questioning, "No?"
Yosannah seems to consider for a moment. She swallows and closes her eyes. Her shoulders shrug as if to answer, 'I don't know.'
Jurt wets his lips, frown fading. "Well you know you can think and analyze and debate about any given thing all you want. Hours, days, years. But in the end, you never get the real answer, the real truth of the outcome, until you do it." He shrugs very slightly himself, not in a great position for it, eyes searching her face. "If that helps at all."
Something in his words must make an awful lot of sense to her at that moment. Eyes flicker open to regard him for less then a second before she presses her lips to his, hard. Her breath quickens as her chest rests against his, pulse threading.
Jurt is ready for it. An old hand at kissing, he likes doing it, and it shows: Hard but not forceful, passionate but patient, no rush. Eyes close, he draws his arms back in, breathing deep, controlled beneath her.
Yosannah is tense for a moment, perhaps questioning her actions. The decision having been made, her body begins to relax against his, fingers from one hand clawing at the sand as the other slides to his neck. She bites lightly at his lip.
Jurt has all the time in the world, and acts like it, freed hands moving to her back, wrapping around. He doesn't mind some biting, keeping most of his focus to her lips. He doesn't treat this like the beer he sticks to in the bar, instead treating her like a never ending bottle of wine, deeply exploring the taste of this particular vintage, savoring.
Her body shivers and she gasps as his hands trace along her back, her skin sensitive and reacting to his touch. She inhales deeply, breathing him in and then letting her eyes peek past soft lashes so that she might watch as he drinks from her lips.
She doesn't show signs of slowing and Jurt takes back some control, rolling her over easily without breaking the lip lock, without breaking the momentum. While his build isn't large, there is great strength in his arms. And as his kissing deepens, and he keeps her tight in his embrace, there is this tangible core of control all about him. In the degree of his weight on her, in the tightness of his grip, in the pressure of his kisses and the movement of his tongue. While the cause for it is vague, nebulous, there is no missing it for someone who pays attention, and it may seem at odds with his normal reckless behavior and words.
Yosannah reaches a hand to the back of his head, twining her fingers in his hair as she presses her lips more firmly against his, urgent and wanting. Her hips rise against him, the whole of her body needing his closeness. She rolls her head back against the sand and guides his lips to the fevered skin at her neck. In the distance, the perpetual grind of the city stirs her, moves her, and secrets away the sounds of her soft moans.