The sword of light of Nuada lay across his knees. Holed up in his tech room with about twenty holo-screens hovered in various sizes above the desk. Upon scratching his neck, he remembered he hadn’t shaved in two days. The neck beard was going to be glorious soon.
After scratching his throat, his fingers drummed the edge of the sword for about the thousandth time. Every single screen currently open represented a twisted meandering through countless rabbit holes of information. Swords, the celts, the Tuatha, mythology, hell even a few screens referenced optics and light rays. Channelers and weapons led no where. The dark web’s forums were dead ends. Half a day of reading about snake people and naga led to some fascinating conspiracy theories about snake alien abductions that Jaxen clearly believed was real, having been abducted himself. Twice. But did nothing to help him unravel the mystery of the sword's light powers.
Then there was the Ancient Power itself. For all the screens, there were more echoes of faded attempts lingering on the air like smoke. The sword partly glowed once with the probes, but Jaxen had yet to reproduce the effect. More importantly, the sword behaved like a regular sword. It was sharp though. He was able to slice an apple with it earlier.
Well, if the freaking sword of light of Nuada was just a sword that glowed once in a while, he might as well figure out how to use it. He watched a few videos on the techniques. Thought about getting a coach, too. Jaxen once took flying lessons for 6 months just so he could steal a private jet right out of its hanger. If he was going to carry around a sword, might as well look bad ass doing it. So down the rabbit hole of swordplay he delved.
Which was when an
advertisement on the side of the currently playing video caught his attention. It was for a group meet up, but it was the hot girl in flowing clothes and fake pointy ears that caught his eye first. The fact she was holding a cool sword caught his eye second, and he had an idea.
Who knew most about magic swords? Fucking nerds did!
Which was how he ended up strolling straight up to a decorated table positioned at the edge of one of the lawns of
Filevskiy Park.
Two guys looked up, laughing among themselves in their fake fantasy outfits. Their faux helmets were laid on the table. Foam weapons stacked alongside. Their tablets were lit up though. Lists of names and assignments filled the screens. Beyond on the grass loitered at least a hundred other people all dressed in every manner of time period, fantasy and class. Many wielded weapons of various value and quality. Others held wands. Jaxen had the feeling that he was the only one present with a real sword belted to his waist. Proud of that, he was.
He’d dressed for the occasion too. He wore a red tunic over a black undershirt. It was held at his waist with the complicated contraption that kept Nuada’s weapon swinging at his hip. Beneath were snug leather pants and motoboots. There were bracers on his forearms, but they were the extent of his accessories. He’d only had the morning to rapid-order something suitable. Besides, if he was going to hang out with nerds, he was determined to be the best one of them all.
The two guys running the registration looked him up and down. One eyed the hilt of Nuada’s sword and nodded in great approval, which made Jaxen smirk.
“Alright boys. I’m here to kick some ass. Do I need to sign up or something?”
Mik's eyes were open for a while now, but that didn't mean he actually saw much. It was dark. That was part of it, anyway. Not that he was high. At least not much. He had a bit of a lingering buzz from the night before. No hangover yet- and not cuz he had taken any pills to prevent it. That took preparation and somehow that just didn't feel like his style.
No. Simplest explanation was that he was still drunk. I mean he had been laying there for only...he turned his head to look at his clock with the Triskelion on its face and it did feel a bit like he was swimming- his eyes took a moment to adjust- anyway, the clock said 10:38 am and so...
Why did he want to know the time again? Not like "work" started early for him. So what did he care? Bed was nice. And it felt good cocooned in his cool satin blankets and fluffy pillows and a fan blowing cool air over his naked body.
Between the morning drunk and the warmth of the bed and the cool of the air, it was almost the perfect way to wake up. Well, almost. Almost perfect, anyway. The ingrate was up, and he'd have to take care of him. Another person or three to help out with that- and to have some morning fun with- would have been awesome.
Poor Mik. Always suffering. He lay there a few minutes- maybe minutes, maybe an hour, not like he was watching the clock- and finally decided to get up. He'd take care of business later. The buzz wasn't truly disconcerting. And he wanted to go see what kind of trouble he could get in to.
Having a bit of pent up sexual energy in his system helped spice things up. Walking around with a loaded gun made him a bit more open and willing to jump into shit he probably might avoid. But where was the fun in that?
He didn't have much yet to do. A couple of fact find missions regarding the new Yakuza presence. And of course the death of Yun Kao had left a hole. He was gonna miss her. Not that she had done anything other than use him: information, manipulation, messages or certain other outcomes. All bought and paid for. But hey, he'd been paid. And while they'd never actually gotten down to business, she certainly hadn't jumped down his throat when he flirted with her. She had nice eyes. And a nice mouth. And those scars....yeah, that would have been fun.
Oh well. To missed opportunities.
But when God closed a door, the Lady cut a hole in the wall with a lightsaber. And he'd gotten a glimpse of the new Yakuza heavy in town. The one related to her. Xixin Kao. Tell you what, the Kao bloodline was a good one, at least from what he could tell. Who knew? Maybe he'd be Xixin's guy too? Time would tell.
So a shower, a shave, a rough brush of his hair, some black fade jeans- a bit on the tighter side cuz, why not?- a gray laced neck shirt and his blood red leather jacket and he was out the door. To where? He hadn't a clue.
But out was out and he was about. The streets were relatively calm. He only had to jump a couple times when moving between cars. The honks and yells only made him laugh. Course he could turn the streets into a parking lot if he wanted to.
But that was boring.
Tunnels had figured in his life lately. And it wasn't like he
hadn't had fun or anything. But this time, he'd see what was going down above ground. Plus, it meant less laundry- or ruined clothes. Nothing lasted forever and he wasn't too attached to anything. But it wasn"t like he was made of money. And he liked some of his stuff, damnit!!
So anyway, out and about, flipping a coin at each street to see which way to go, and he found himself nearing the park. Jesus. He wasn't really a nature guy. Hikes bored him to tears. "Oooh look, we walked up a mountain! Woo-hoo! Now let's walk back now!" Fucking morons. If it was important to get to the top, he'd just as soon take a sky tram or whatever the fuck you called it.
But the park was right there and it wasn't like Lady fortune wasn't in charge. So he might as well see what was going on....
...which was how he found himself with a big ass grin on his face as he watched a bunch of goofs with padding and costumes beating each other off with swords. Not exactly the kind of sword play he liked.
Still for all of that, he was having fun. Seriously, this was hilarious. The Lady stood next to him, Yun Kao's face flashing him a grin that he wished seen in real life. Yeah, too bad. But the Lady indicated this was going to be fun. Why the fuck not.
Besides , unlike these doofs, he actually had power. Not that he would fight with it. Not this pathetic lot. His fire whips and knives would make short work of them. But might as well beat up children. But he was feeling frisky. His oats. Horny. Punch drunk. Loaded. Whatever you wanted to call it.
He stepped up to the table or whatever. Registration screens and such were displayed. There was a hot chick dressed as a forest elf and a sexy pirate in full Johnny Depp mode and he thought thank God for cosplay, for the millionth time. He didn't decide to talk to one OR the other. Why go one when you can go for both?
"Who do I need to talk to, to get to fight you two?" He grinned. "Promise to make it fun.".
Ok, so there was a bit of eye rolling. Not that that bothered him. He had his way. And getting a reaction was only the start. He knew what he liked. The chase and the game. So he wasn't out yet...
...though standing here with padding strapped to his arms, chest, back and legs did make him think this was not the game he thoght. Still a game was a game. And the Lady still had her grin. He grinned back, shrugging. She wanted to have a little.fun. He never minded giving her a little entertainment. Not like she didn't look out for him. In her own way.
So he wasn"t paying too much attention when the match started. Which he should have. He found himself glad of the padding as the slap to his chest stunned him. Ok. Maybe more than stunned. Still, it was what he was here for.
Attention on the guy who whacked him, he went to work. Maybe he should have watched more Kung Fu movies. He wasn't sure why he thought Quentin Tarrantino gave him a an edge. The doofus got in a few good hits, but he got better fast. I mean, he had too.
The Elf Princess and Captain Jack were watching, after all.
“Ah hah!” he swept back from an attacker, gloating to escape the would-be evisceration. Luckily, the weapon currently waving back and forth between the two combatants was made of foam. Hard foam. It hurt when it smacked him for the first time but wasn’t going to do any real damage.
The attacker was about seventeen or so Jaxen guessed. He was tall and his knightly outfit hung from his shoulders just a size or two too big. Despite his gangly appearance, he was actually pretty good. Other than a few videos, Jaxen had no idea how to fight off foam swords.
He lifted his own weapon and swat aside the kid’s. His role-play name was Sir Verith. When pressed, Jaxen introduced himself as “Sir Sly McStabby” - it was the best he could do on the spur of the moment.
He switched the foam hilt from one hand to the other long enough to wipe his palm on his shirt. Of course, Verith didn’t believe in time-outs and next thing Jaxen knew, he’d been swat in the shoulder.
“Ow,” he said, rubbing the place.
Verith was quite serious. “I chopped off your arm. You’re dead.” Then he waited expectantly.
Jaxen caught on after a moment. “Oh right!” he summoned the Ancient Power and about ten seconds later, the image of a bloody arm dropped off his shoulder like a broken limb.
He yelled and fell to the ground dramatically calling on the gods to take him to Valhalla.
Verith screamed and ran away.
Jaxen sat up as the illusion faded to nothing.
“Come back! You killed me!”
With a shrug, he swiped himself off as he climbed to his feet.
Admittedly, it was pretty fun. What other dramatic ways could he get killed? He scratched the back of his neck and gave a little survey of the surrounding players. Real sword still swinging at his hip, he hefted the fake one along his shoulders and stalked off in search of the next player.
If you'd told Mik these dorks would kick his ass with their play swords, he wouldn't have believed you. Not in the slightest. Why would he? I mean Mik had fought for real. Monsters and asholes. Dicks and bitches and everything in between. Well, ok, sure. He has his power. That helped. Yeah, more than otherwise.
But come on! What's he supposed to do when he's leaving the club and a bunch of gopnick fucktards decide to get into a dick measuring contest with him to impress the moron girls that hang around? So maybe it was just two gopnicks. And maybe he had muttered something under his breath. What was it, again? That's right. Something about Adidas tracksuits are the uniform of mouth breathing morons. He thought it pretty funny. Yeah, he was drunk and high. But still, pretty good.
Apparently, he'd forgotten that talking about Adidas was like drawing a picture of Mohamed getting pretty chummy with the Pope to a Catholic Muslim. Crusade and Jihad mixed into one.
Jesus, it had just been words. But the power had fixed things up. Nothing fancy. Too bad for them their track suits were nice and burned. Fucking stunk, too.
Yet another reason why they were morons.
Anyway, so he had been in many fights and shit. But the power helped out.
Here, the nerd brigade had apparently spent a lot of time practicing as they imagined they fought dragons and Cyborgs and fucked Hobbits or Slytherins or whatever it was from the Last Ring of Harry Galactica.
And damn, but those things hurt. I mean, not in a super painful way. And he did enjoy expert use of a flogger or a paddle or estim. So maybe it was his ego that hurt more.
He supposed he should get upset about it. But he didn't. The minute he was a butthurt little bitch about shit life threw at you was the minute the Lady would give you something to cry about.
She didn't fuck around, no sir. Anyone whining about life would find themselves in a world of hurt. He knew this, sure as shit. He wasn't always the model of happy go lucky, didn't give a shit what happened he was now. Nope. And boy, let me tell you, he learned that fucking lesson. The hard way.
So she looked at him with Yun Kao's face, slightly curious expression in her eyes. He smiled at her reassuringly and barked a laugh, clapping the guy who'd slapped his shins with his sword on the back. "Nice one!" He said.
And then he moved on. He did get a few good strikes. But definitely wasn't taking home the Elf Queen or Captain Jack. More's the pity. But fun all the same.
His next tournament was with a guy kitted out in style. Who was this doofus? Obviously had spend money. And his sword was a seriously good replica.
Sir Sly McStabby. That was good. None of this Lord McLorthien of Clan Humperdink or some shit like that.
He tipped his fake blade at him and nodded, waiting for the guy to say go!
Jaxen squared himself up in front of someone who clearly stood out. For one thing, he was freaking ripped. All these other losers looked like their characters passed ten times the hours in a virtual gym than they ever dreamed about in real life.
This guy popped with muscles though, and he’d seen him move around peripherally. He was quick and caught on to the rules with respectable speed. Good to know that Jaxen wasn’t the only noob, but Jaxen's outfit was clearly the better of the two. Maybe some guys were just born with good taste. If so, Jaxen's soul was certain to be threaded with it.
“Let’s see how you swing that sword,” Jaxen smirked with a lunge. Meanwhile, his free hand had to balance the swinging sheathe at his hip to keep it from smacking the side of his leg. It was still awkward to move around with the weight of a real sword at his side.
So Sir McStabby presented himself flamboyently, as if it were all a big game, which made Mik laugh. Finally, someone else who recognized how dumb all this was. Who didn't honestly think they were really a knight or a vampire slayer. (Though he'd seen a few in full Buffy cosplay that he hoped to be Angel to.)
Stabby McStabbyman did make him laugh, though, not.just because of his attitude, but because he apparently had a hard time figuring out how to move about in his kit. Like come on, bro! You spent all this money to be decked out and then barely avoid being tripped with your own scabbard?
Mik didn't take the fight seriously. There was nothing to be serious about. The combination of ineptness and not-caring-ness Sir Stabs-a-lot displayed only served to enhance the feeling that this was just make believe.
Without even trying, Mik trounced him. Not like to hurt. The blades were fake, for one. And it wasn't like he hit hard. But somehow, he just kept leaving openings and Mik moved without really thinking about it.
He started to play it up a bit, swirling around when he made a strike. Play to the crowd and all that. Which of course meant that when his back was turned after one particularly strong swipe of his blade at Stabby Stabberson's leg, he heard a howling scream. His head jerked back, a feeling of dread coming over him.
Which was totally odd. He wasn't sure why he would feel worry or danger suddenly. Not for this. I mean sure, he'd get the fuck out of there like yesterday. But he wouldn't feel bad. Or worried.
Even more strange, the leg appeared to be chopped in half. Mik stared from it to his foam sword and back again? He sure as fuck didn't cut the guy's leg off. Not with a toy. And that feeling was still there. The blood was pooling. Shit, he didn't need a murder rap, not with all these witnesses around. There was an artery or something in the leg.
He touch the lighter in his back pocket and the power flared to life in him. He hoped the guy didn't scream too much as he tried to figure out how to cauterize his wound.
He'd be Sir Stumpy McStump, soon enough. He stepped forward and....
...threads of the power were clearly woven around the leg. He had never seen anything like this. Lots of air and fire and water. Touches of earth. The patterns were odd. But as he looked at them, he saw how the light bent as his head and eyes moved this way and that.
The bending was subtle but as he concentrated, he could now see a slight shift as he moved his gaze. Could it be? He reached out a hand to the stump...
....and felt a knee that he couldn't see.
He looked at the guy, then, an incredulous smile on his face. "You fucking faker!! Hah! That's brilliant. He reached out a hand as an offer to bring the man to his (at least one) invisible leg.
[Jaxen modded with permission]
Now this guy was different. Oh he was just as big a nerd as the rest of the blowholes out there, but Jaxen was starting to like the vibes of the group. They were really into it, and far be it from Jaxen to judge another guy for being really into his shit. Or her shit. The women were definitely hotter than the men. Even the chubby ones with the corsets that shoved up their chests clear to their chin? I mean, come on!
This guy was in street clothes, which did make Jaxen wonder if that meant he literally rolled in off the street or if it was part of a character. Maybe he was a time traveler from the 21st century that landed back in the
mid-evil,
medi-eval,
me-devil…, shit, middle ages, and all he had was a sword for defense. Sounded plausible.
What was readily apparent was the fact that this time traveler was a hell of a lot better with a sword than Jaxen, but for his part, he was totally fine with getting the smack wacked out of him.
He took a blow to the leg, which was a new one for Jaxen. Usually the nerds ‘sliced’ off his arm or stabbed him in the chest. He hadn’t been decapitated yet, but surely that was coming? As he had before, the flows created a cocoon of illusion around a stump of a leg. The lower part of it was nearby. Both flowed rivers of blood, but what really sold it was the screaming.
He dropped to the ground, rolling on his back and clutching at the apparent stump for what felt like a long time before he suddenly felt something.
He looked up at the swordsman just as he figured out the ruse. The hand cupping his knee tickled. It made him chuckle.
Jaxen let the illusion drop, and he sprung up to his two perfectly good feet, attached legs nimble and wiry, with the help of an offered palm.
Nuada’s real sword still hung sheathed on his hip. The foam sword was still on the ground. The compliment made him beam.
Of course it was brilliant. He was Jaxen Marveet!
“It’s just a flesh wound!” he pelted in a fake British accent, bent his leg and gave a majestic little hop like the
Black Knight.
With a laugh he offered a hand to shake,
“like that did you? The look on your face was fucking priceless.”
They had drawn a few watchers, whose faces were mixes of shock, horror and impressed by the theatrical commitment to character. True to form, Jaxen took a sweeping bow, his grin flying a mile high.
"Thank you. Thank you!"
Stabs McKenzie laughed and whatever he was doing stopped as suddenly his leg appeared (which he totally walked on) and all the blood and shit vanished.
It had gone so fast that Mik wasn't sure he even understood what had been done. Oh, there was light and such. Bending or whatever. He knew the trick about trying to hit something at the bottom of a pool. Let's see....was it aim above the target? Below? Now that he thought about it, he couldn't remember, exactly, other than the thing wasn't where it seemed to be.
But knowing that light bent and knowing how to create an illusion, that was something else again. Like the fake blood and the severed leg and knee stuff.
This guy had skill.
And he was pretty fucking cute. He knew it too, by the way he walked and spun about and performed for the others. Which didn't bother Mik in the slightest. He knew he was cute too.
In his high estimation, all the hot people should just acknowledge it and each other and get to fucking. Or fighting. Or both. Or whatever. Well, not just the hot ones. Plenty of people who were firecrackers in the sack who wouldn't appear on the cover of any magazines or on the screen. Definitely worth the time and attention, though. He was an equal opportunity slag. Deserved a damn medal, too.
Way he saw it, you could do about anyone as long as they held still long enough and didn't bite- hard anyway.
Course, that wasn't him. And yes, he was dynamite in the sack.
So anyway, the Stab Man jumped to his feet, laughing and bowing and Mik grinned. He had the impression the guy was quoting a movie or something, though he didn't recognize it. He knew some movies. But most of his faves didn't really feature a lot in the dialog department. Sex or explosions, mostly. Or sometimes both.
He took the guy's offered hand and noted the smooth skin. Oh yeah. Definitely spoiled. Prolly never had had to moved bricks or concrete in his life. Which was fine. Not like those things had made Mik a better man. He was already born that way.
The Lady rolled her eyes and grinned. She had shifted to Oriena. Funny. He'd never seen her smile. At least anything more than a cruel smirk, he realized.
Not like he knew her much, though. He did hope though.
"Yeah, ya got me. Never expected to see someone be as easy with the power. Most of the folks I've met usually have responsibility shoved so far up their ass they can barely walk." He remembered Ryker. "Well, most of 'em."
His eyes roamed down in appreciation. The fact that the guy wasn't big didn't matter. I mean, he could be big where it counted. And those tight leather pants...oh yeah, he did like that. Very much.
"So, you come down here to show these clowns how to lose graciously? Or to show off your perfect ass? A bark of laughter. He looked over and saw others were watching them, curiosly. Stabs, more than him, really. Juat about broke his heart, too. Well, he had just grown a new legs in an instant, so...
Which reminded him..."Please tell me you've used that trick to give yourself an 18 inch dick. Dude, if you haven't, you don't deserve it."
He reached down and grabbed his sword he had dropped when the fake leg was fake cut off. Then, "Name's Mik. Guess i owe you a drink for knocking you down." He laughed again. He wanted to learn that trick. Yeah, the whole horse cock thing, for sure. But also, it could like really be useful.
And the guy was more than cute. Maybe he had some tattoos.
His hand flexed, shaking out the strain of being crushed by their handshake. Despite years of parkour and mountaineering and climbing before that, his callouses were well tended. Girls said they liked rough hands until sensitive parts were rubbed the wrong way, literally. Best he kept his skin supple and soft as much as possible.
For flamboyant use of the Ancient Power, Jaxen bowed his head graciously.
“Then you haven’t met me before!” He was nothing if not flamboyantly out there. “Jaxen Marveet,” he offered his name in return.
The Moscow social scene would know the name, and despite the CCD’s coverup of the Cabaret, there was a time not so long ago when the name Jaxen Marveet raised toasts and spun stories of who was actually there that night. Then there was the more recent gossip of being Aiden Finnegan’s newest boy toy, which the rock star could only be so lucky! But unlike most gossip, there was a hell of a lot of truth in the viral sweep through the social scenes. Jaxen and Aiden swapped tongue wrestling in front of Kallisti recently. For that, all Jaxen had to say was Sage was a lucky guy.
Complimenting Jaxen’s tight little ass would get Mikhail far into his favor. He beamed at the compliment but before he could add to it, he out right laughed at the suggestion that followed. One small hip thrust later and Jaxen flared a heated side-eye and brow waggle:
“Don’t need an illusion for that, patsyan*,” as he gestured the outrageously engorged length out in front of his waist with a firm (pun intended) nod of agreement.
“Mik, It’s a pleasure and I will absolutely let you buy me a drink but only if it's three drinks, only if it's vodka and only if it’s good vodka. But first, I need to corner me some nerds to tell me about this,” he pat the sword - the real sword - still sheathed at his waist.
After a moment, he flung the foam one away and slowly and affectionately drew the real thing from its scabbard.
He held it up in front of himself with something that approximated awe until he caught sight of his own reflection in the steel. Which of course he used as a mirror to fix the fallen pieces of his hair back into place.
Of course, drawing an actual weapon summoned the LARP officials. One came rushing through the surrounding fighters blazing a whistle.
“You can’t have a real weapon here! Disqualified!” and the man began to shoo them both off the field.
"Oh come on!" Jaxen resisted as they tried to elbow-wrangle him out.
[*Russian "Bro"]
Mik raised an eyebrow at the name, suddenly seeing the guy in a new light. Marveet! Of course! Not like he expected to see a billionaire playboy out in the park getting his ass kicked. His name always came up with the swanky parties and events, places like Kallisti or Almaz or even the Kremlin.
Not jumping around with a bunch of geeks pretending to be Harry Rings of the Shire.
But if Jaxen the Great expected him to fawn or to apologize for beating him, he would be disappointed. Which was why Mik found himself liking the guy. Because he didn't. Full of himself, sure. But so what? Mik was pretty taken with himself too.
Nope.
Mik felt the sense of menace again but before he could even begin to try to follow what had happened there Jaxen's cock suddenly appeared massive. The cod piece was a joke and it seriously looked like another leg.
Mik barked an honest to God laugh. Ok, maybe a bit more. Yeah, he knew it was fake. But that had never bothered him before. Fake boobs or fake dicks, it didn't really matter if it got the appetite going and alla that. Like when you went out to a restaurant, ya know? The menus or signs had these perfect meals displayed. Every part of it carefully placed. Meat had just the right shine, the right wetness. The bright colors of the vegetables. The steam coming off the bowl of borscht, the red deep and rich, thick and savory.
It didn't matter that after looking at that and getting your appetite going, the meal only looked half as good. Didn't matter at all, in fact.
He raises an eyebrown appreciatively, not hiding his study. Then spoke with a smile. "Marveet, huh? I guess I could lay out for some good vodka. None of that silver ice cube, filtered through the Ascendancy's sheets 43 times stuff, obviously. I do want to eat the rest of this year. But, yeah..."
After a brief word Jaxen turned to the nerd crew, pulling out that silver sword. In the main, Mik wasn't into weapons like that. He liked a gun, sure. And I guess there were some wicked looking blades that seemed kinda cool. But mostly, he liked his own style. He reached out again and felt the power flow through him. It felt odd, not having the lighter in his hand. Like he was naked.
Was a nice lesson, though, learning that. And he liked being naked.
Anyway, he kind of let himself sink into the power a bit. At least as much as he dared. Truth was, the power was like the Lady. He looked up and saw her staring at him with Zima's face, emotionless and unimpressed. The definition of resting bitch face. She'd been a bit odd of late. Mercurial, he thought the word was. Like now. Watching him, waiting for him to do something. But if he slipped- slipped, mind, never-mind being knocked over into shit- she would be there to burn him alive from the inside out.
Ahh, but this was the point. Life. Short. Quick. Easy to lose. Better enjoy it. So holding the power he thought about bending air or something. Instead, though, now that he held it, he felt...he didn't know what it was.
But his attention was drawn to Jaxen and the nerd police. Which was odd. No. It was the sword. He stared at it for a bit, trying to decide what color it was or whether it even had one. It looked lighter than air and yet....he felt a sense of solidity even at this distance.
Fucking crazy! He shook his head, trying to shake the feeling. The Lady stared at him, seeming disappointed. Irritated, he let the power go and looked around. She was gone.
That was smart, fuckwad, he thought to himself. That's all he needed. Her pissed at him. One step forward, two steps back.
Well, what was life without risk. You didn't get anywhere playing it safe. And a Marveet promised information. And a Jaxen promised fun.
He wasn't sure which he wanted more.
The fake cock decided him.