Degorram

Huzzah to me! Thank you all! Congratulations Bilby, Nyarlathotep, and Ashtonblades!

A demon sits upon my chest, And past it I can't breathe. It's claws are fixed around my throat, It cackles as I heave. A bitter wind rips through my flesh, As I lie here in the snow. My only warmth the demon, now, As the chilling zephyrs blow. I cough and scream in agony, As the demon laughs and mocks. Somehow he grows heavier, As back and forth he rocks. There is no cure for such betrayal, No way to loose his hold. For mankind has yet to find the cure, For the deadly common cold.

"Erm, Kikuyu," Degorram said, raising one of her eyebrows. "Flame alert." "What?" Kikuyu asked, turning from the corner that she had been wheezing into. Her mouth was still twisted into a sadistic grin and she was panting slightly from laughing so hard. Degorram lifted one of her pale arms and pointed to the hazardous Wyvern. "The cumin has proved to be disasterous." As she spoke the lizard lifted his dancer partner off her feet and let out another catastrophic sneeze, incinerating zombies and cobwebs alike. "Drat." Kikuyu grumbled. "Better go get him some punch." "I'll do it," Degorram said. "You stand there and look dignified or....something." She walked over to the punch bowl and ladeled out another cup lazily as flames continued to shoot around her. Downing the first glass she smacked her lips, enjoying the fruity flavor with relish. Another cupful entered her mouth when Kikuyu screamed at her "GET ON WITH IT!!!" Sniggerin, Degorram hurriedly filled another glass and walked towards Wyvern, who was holding both hands tightly over his smoking nose and mouth. "Here....." "ACHOOOOO!!!!" The flames flew about Degorram in a fury of heat and cumin-scented air. When it stopped, the punch had been vaporized in her hand and her toga, once white, was now a charcoal black. Her skin was red hot, and it slowly cooled back to its normal, painted colors. "That was epic," she said with a small smile. "Shall I get more punch?"

Degorram stepped from the shadow of the threshold (making certain she stepped with her right foot first) and blinked in the bright lights of the parlor chandeleir. Her long, wavy hair had changed to a void-shade of black and hung loose at her back. She was clad in a white toga, draped tightly over her shoulder and around her waist. Her face was the only intricate piece of costuming about her, and it was difficult to tell if she was wearing a skull mask or if she had painted her face to imitate KISS. She grinned, baring a wide, toothy smile: it was face paint. "I love halloween," she said to herself as she poured some punch and gulped it down. "A wonderful chance to act like even more of a freak than I already am."

I paused in mid bite, fangs poised over the mail-covered leg of the knight who was babbling off nonsense words. I backed up and shifted into my smoke-shrouded form, confusion and irritation in my yellow eyes.

This is going to be fun...

I shall volunteer! I love mystery projects.

Perhaps Degorram was wrong when she had believed that the screams could get any worse in the Assembly Room. No, perhaps wasn't the word. Definitely. The frightening wails of the dead assaulted her ears for a timy before they cut off suddenly, leaving a ringing, and slightly quieter squalling, in her ears. This had gone too far. She heaved in a breath of her own, her chest filling with air and irritation, and with a heavy shout she sent a blast of her own magic towards the wailing mechanism that Wyvern had wrought. It shuddered and a heavy clicking noise began in its core as sparks flew from the faltering gears and hammers. And suddenly, with the silver magic swirling like fire, the machine flew apart, a tiny, pitiful whining all that remained. Degorram screamed her triumph and anger at the former machine, a laugh choking and shaking it.

T-shirt? I want one!

Ooooh, I want to be the evil mastermind behind the killings.

Wyvern's megaphied cries of fear reached Degorram's ears past her own screaming and she turned, staring past the illusion she had cast about herself into the room that her physical body dwelled. A monstrous machine creating monstrous noises was vibrating and causing general rucous near the door, and a frantic Wyvern was hopping about it, entreating the rather ticked off Pennites around him, their screams interrupted. The shape shifter slipped past the illusion as if it were a curtain of water and materialized into the room again, wincing as her ears were assaulted by the actualy volume of the machine. She rushed over to Wyvern's side and grit her teeth as the noise grew louder the close she became. "What is this thing??" she screamed over the wails.

I love it Silver! It makes me happy inside.

Walking down the hall, Degorram heard a great amount of squeaking and almost-dragonic chuckling. Well, the chuckling she recognised immidiately: Wyvern was about, collecting money from some poor soul or other. The one wasn't her concern (though she'd certainly drop in to watch the entertainment) but squeaking? In the Pen Complex? There was no end of sounds among her pen-bearing comrades, as some had animal qualities and some, like herself, could change shape, but this squeaking was foreign to her delicate ears. What was it.....baby chicken? No...deranged mouse? No. It was on the tip of her tongue, which was shifting into that of a snake as she thought. Walking around the corner she came side to side with the swindling dragon himself. The man standing before him was solemn at best, his brow raised as if he had just tried to comprehend a bad joke. For some reason Wyvern was covered in an orange, gooey substance, and the air smelled of citrus. "Wyvern," I said in a greeting, leaning delicately on his soggy, scaley shoulder. "How's life my friend?" "Orange," he replied. "Well, actually, tangerine." He looked at me with a slight air of nervousness. "You don't have any feathersssss on you....?" I laughed and flickered my black, forked tongue out at him playfully. "Not at the moment." Again the squaking assaulted my ears, which twitched in the direction of the ever fading noise. "What is that squeaking?" "I believe it'sssssss a guinea pig," Wyvern replied, fastening his eyes back on the Researcher. "Ssssso, 1300 geld..." "Rounded up," the Researcher finished for him, his bland tone belying that he was not pleased about the dragon's math. "Of coursssssse," Wyvern replied with a squinty grin. "Levying out fines again, are we?" I asked. "What's going on Wyvern? You're covered in..." I extended my tongue and licked some of the pulp off of his shoulder, "liquified tangerines. This all sounds like something I'd like to get in on." I grinned wolfishly in his face.

That's right Wyvern.....fear us and our tickling power. \ We've had loads of practice.

This site, in my view, has been far too quiet. So here's an excercise: write your screams. Every one should be different, whether angry, joyful, frightened, pained....whatever is you. Feel free to post more than once, depending on your mood at the time of writing. Let's get some noise on this site! I stood on the edge of the precipice and felt the wind rip through my hair and clothes. It snatched my breath away and caused my eyes to water. My skin tingled and felt cold, though the wind itself was not. I raised my arms in a straight line cutting across me, as if the East and West were pulling at strings attached to my fingers. Fighting the selfish wind, I brought air back into my lungs and screamed, sending forth a howl that was both joyous and regretful, filled with the spark of life and the damp ring of death. It felt so wonderful just to exist, to feel the wind pressing under my outstretched arms, as if it would transform them into wings and take me far away. I longed for flight, for the endless noise of the wind across my ears, to shout so that every cloud whispered with its echos. I screamed until the wind brought my breath back out of my lungs with a forceful tug, leaving me gasping for air, a grin plastered across my air-beaten face. This was life.

Protect her... My command was clear. Even though this strange shadow had interfered, guardianship was my calling and no one elses. Help was helpful, of course, but still.... I slithered forward in the shape of a serpent, curling up the knight's leg and baring my fangs in a savage hiss.

I stopped short in my travel towards the group of intruders as the shadow jumped into action, seemingly from nowhere. Perhaps the guardian would not have to fight this day and be spared the task of shedding blood.

I saw the golemn shift into movement towards the cave. Alarm sent a ripple through my wavering form. No! Dissapating like smoke, my body slipped down the side of the cliff, pooling at the bottom. I made my way towards the offending group.

The heat of August squeezed my flesh of all moisture, the sweat running down my face and back as I strode beneath the beating sun. Not a single breeze stirred the heavy air, no zephyr cooled my skin. Not that there was much skin to cool beneath all of the thick, dark clothing I wore. I hurried on, fearful of suspicious glances, for I did look suspicious. And scared too. I ducked into the cooling shadows of the library, hugging my package to my scrawny chest. This...this my chance for power. Or death. Whichever the master chose would be fine with me. On one hand I thirsted for something better, another chance at life. On the other hand I had grown tired of this world and gladly welcomed the next. I only feared the passage between the two. And perhaps of what the next world really was. Slipping into the darkness of a hidden corridor, I began to spiral downward. My feet echoed noisily on the twisting, metal stairs. I shuddered as I imagined the many nights I hand't heard the master creeping down the stairs without a sound, his footsteps muffled not by the soft boots he wore but by something else. I could never put my finger on it, but something guided his feet with a secrecy not even the most astute would dare reveal. I pressed my hand against the wall to guide myself, as the lamps were far between now. They cast dancing blackness along the wall and I sped up, almost falling out of the end of the stairs to burst into the chamber beneath the library. "Must you crash about like a babboon?" a voice hissed irately. I looked up, panting, to realize in horror that the master stood before me. He was turned in walking, his head the only part of him facing me. His eyes were filled with anger and, at the same time, a concern for my sanity. His hair swept down behind him to the floor, long raven locks that, had they not been so ethereal in their looks, would have been quite cliche. In his thin, pale fingers he held a book: apparently he had been reading while walking (a task he did often) when I had entered. "I-I have the package!" I gasped. His eyes sparked and he reached out a hand, snapping the book shut with the other. I crept forward meekly and placed the brown paper covered box in his grasp. As our hands touched the same object a shock snapped at my fingers, making me jerk backwards. The master sneered softly at my movement, but said nothing as he turned to place the package on a table. With deft movements he cut the strings with a knife that he pulled from his pocket. Inside was a black box, intricately carved from stone. That was odd.....it had been so light...... He opened the lid, lips parted in a slight smile that twisted into a grin. He pulled out two limp objects, vaguley shaped like humans. Little burlap dolls flopped in his grip. "What are those?" I dared to ask, curiosity opening lips that would have otherwise been sealed. He snapped his gaze back over to me, a full glare now, and I fell silent. "Come with me," he growled, turning away. He kept the dolls in one hand and moved to the door to his office. It was a simple room, dimly lit like all the others, but the shelves that lined both sides were stuffed with books, loose papers, chemistry tools, and other items I couldn't identify. At the back of the room was a door I had never been allowed into. The master had even forbidden me to ever touch it. He pulled a ring of keys from the pocket in his robe and pushed a skeletal, jagged looking one into the key hole. The door groaned and pulled itself inward without a single push from the master. A puff of painfully cold air breathed out of the gaping maw. I new that if I entered the door I would not come out. The master, sensing my hesitation and fear, reached back and fastened one of his chill hands around my wrist. The shock came again, more intense, and this time with it came the feeling that I had been touched by a rotten cadavre. Disgust filled me, and though I struggled, he pulled me into the room. My mouth was sealed without my consent. Once inside I saw a black stone table, tall and round, but barely larger in diameter than I could reach with my arms. The master let me go. I turned to run, but the door had already closed behind me with a frighteningly human groan. The master placed the little dummies onto the black table and drew a pen from his pocket. The feather on it was crumpled and stained with a substance that had caused the membranes to stick together. Its end was incredibly sharp, and with a swift movement he brought it across his own wrist. Blood spattered the floor from the violent cut, but he payed it no attention. With the pen clutched firmly in his fingers he drew two crude faces upon the dolls. They grinned leerily up at him, heads lolling. He placed them down once more, the blood running freely down his arm now, and spoke words in a language that I cringed to hear. A shuffling noise all about me and suddenly the little dolls stood erect, staring straight ahead like soldiers. "I only need the one for my purposes," the master said slowly, turning to face me again. He raised his arm and clenched the fist. The divided flesh on his wrist wiggled and came together as if it had never parted. The blood trickled back up his arm like ant lines, sealing the wound with a red line. "And I believe I should....practice." He turned his terrible eyes on me and once again I couldn't move. My mouth, however, stayed open. "W-what are those?" I gasped, shocked at my found voice and terrified at why he let me speak once more. "Tools of an ancient trade," he said smoothly. Picking one up he pointed at me and spoke once more. My limbs felt rigid, as if large hands held them, ready to move them at any moment against my will. And then I knew my fate. ~catwalk ~theatre ~sewage ~undulate

I watched from afar as the rocks sealing the cave were pulled away. The muscles of the golemn had undone in minutes what I had watched for centuries. My arms still at my sides, I waited for her to come forth...waited to observe the fate of the intruders.

I've long dreamt of seeing my first dawn...the cooling breezes of morning hinted with the colors of the sun, glancing off of clouds like the penetrating mists of time and filling them with life in a glorious dance that heralds the new day to all. But, you see, there is no dawn on my side of the moon: the dark side. There is one side full of light, but the glaring whiteness is a scandle against the blackness of the void. One can barely look at it and retain one's sanity. I know this because once upon a time I visited this side of my little space rock. There I learned of the dawn. I placed a single, slender foot upon a rock and gazed around me at the surrounding darkness. There was very little sight, only the senses of touch. There was no smell or sound, and certainly nothing to press me into attempting taste. At the time I did not know what these things were. I looked out of the blackness and saw the tiny specks of light framed in a cloud of chaos around me. The spirits smiled and tittered, beckoning me to join them in their dance of light. I leapt, my feet leaving the rocky surface of my home. Reaching out my frail hands I reached for the light, only to fall back to the hard shell of the moon. Crumpling to my knees I slumped my face into my lap. Many times I had tried to join the stars, and every time I had suffered the crushing defeat that now robbed me of my peace. A tiny tear dropped from my eye and lazily traveled through the darkness to finally break into little pieces against a rock. I looked up as a glimmer of light caught my eye, a small shine I had never before seen. On the horizon of my home there was a sliver of silver. My wide eyes observed it softly, and I stood, cocking my head at the sight. Immidiately I was filled with hope once more. The muscles in my legs bunched and I threw myself forwards, caressing the rocks with the bare touch of my flight. The guazy coverings of my insubstantial body floated around me like wings, though I possessed no appendages of the sort. Still, it was entertaining to imagine. Scarcely a minute had passed till the glimmer began to grow in size, now a sliver, now a crescent, until a whole field of the white glow was before me. Light assaulted my eyes as it had never before, and I raised my hands before my eyes, observing the moonlit skin, pale as the rocks beneath my feet. I touched my hair and brought it before my eyes as well: it was as dark as the contrasting shadows cast by the rugged floor beneath my feet. I looked about me in wonder and noticed a strange lump upon the surface. It was curved in shape, a box with a rounded top. Movement about it sparked both my curiosity and fear, but the first overcame my trepidation and I bounded towards it. Something was descending down its side..... The creature turned and immidiately began moving very quickly, its upper limbs waving in a frantic up and down motion. The lower limbs shot up from beneath it and it floated to the rocky ground, lying on its back. I moved over to stare down at it, mouth slightly open in surprise. Beneath a curved surface of something clear stared the frightened face of a man. I had heard of such creatures before. My father had told me many stories about man, and how they lived upon the blue world that circled our rock. He had told me of how long ago many of our kind had traveled to the blue world to observe them, disguised as the mists we even now took on (one can never know the pleasure of floating, free of body and mass until one can become a mist). Even then we inspired fear within the men, and so we had returned to our planet. It was safe to assume, my father had told me, that men were extremely fragile and would never learn the skills to travel to our home. Standing over the man then, I decided that it was safe to assume that my father had been wrong. "How did you get here?" I asked softly, relishing in the sound of my voice. I had not entertained the sense of sound for many years and it tickled me in a way that produced fidgeting in my limbs. The man pointed a shaky finger at the domed vessile. "What are you?" he asked. His voice could barely be heard through the large covering on his head. "I cannot hear you," I said, reaching down and pulling him up. "Perhaps if you take off this...." "NO!" the man cried, backing away quickly. He paused as I stared at him curiously. "Erm.....we come in peace." "Of course you do," I said with a small chuckle. "If you didn't you'd be dead. None with evil intent gets past the guardians." I gestured widely at the glimmering stars overhead. "Beautiful, aren't they?" The man was apparently at a loss. "Houston, we have a problem," he said. "My name is not 'Houston'," I said, frowning. "My name is Ikkelamarianlaiphendalar." I looked past him at the vessel in which had had come. "May I have a look inside?" "S-sure!" the man said, hurrying back to the side of the structure. "Here, let me help..." I took his offered hand and stared at him, confused. What was I to do next? "Climb this," he said, pointing at the set of bars attached to the side of the dome. "Ah, I see!" I cried, and I scrambled up, entering through another dome, this one smaller. Immidiately I felt squeezed. I had never been in air before, but my father had told me about it and that it was not something to be feared. When the man followed me in and closed the door, he pressed several buttons and the squeezing became tighter. It was all I could do not to be afraid. The man pulled the covering off his head and sighed, pulling the rest of the thick covering from his body. I stared, rapt with curiosity. I reached out and snapped a band on his chest. "What is the purpose of this?" "Oh," he said somewhat sheepishly. "Those are suspendors. They.....well....suspend things." The man was not used to explaining the ways of his kind, apparently, so I let it go at that. I looked about me and picked up a picture awash with color and a bright light. "What is this?" I asked. "It's beautiful!!" "That's a sunrise," he said. "It happens back on earth when the sun comes up. We call it dawn." "Dawn...." I repeated, feeling the word frisk about on my tongue. We continued to converse for several hours, until the man began to show signs of fatigue. "My, you men are frail, just as my father said!" I laughed. "I will leave you. Will you still be here later on, when you are rested?" The man smiled. "Yeah. I'll be here." ~dilerium ~tuba ~kilt ~repentance

Thanks Wyvern. Your critique made me laugh very hard when you mention the hordes of drooling girls.....you've no idea the truth of that statemen. No idea at all. I probably was setting myself up for the conflict error though. These four men that I know I admire very dearly, and even in writing I don't think I could cause them any harm. Silly, I know, but that's the mind that resides within me. However, in the future I shall remember this and add more conflicty things to my stories, whether you like war, injury, angst, burned toast, or almost dragonic brand demons attacking from the past. *shrug* I can think of anything.

The following four main characters are inspired by actual men I have met in my many adventures. My thanks to them for giving me the ideas to break the curse called "writer's block". Even so, it's not very good: just something I popped out in desperation. The forest was silent with the heat of a late afternoon. Golden beams of sunlight, rich with the color of a coming sunset, stained the leaves and mosses an elegant orange-yellow. At the edge of the forest an expansive field stretched, hedged in on all sides by the enormous rock formations that enclosed the space like the walls of a bowl. Sparse bushes and thistles grew sporadically among the gently waving grass. Completely flat, one could see each individual herd of row deer flitting among the shadows cast by thunderheads above. A gentle rumble of thunder warned of coming rain. As it echoed between the mountains, it grew in volume and shook the expectant earth below with its power. A wind struck up, swishing through the grasses which hissed in anticipation. Their thirst was about to be cured. Three riders halted their passage across the valley, their cowled heads turning to examine the white puffy clouds which were swiftly taking on the ugly blackness of the storm's anger. The wind passed through them again, this time cold and harsh. The riders' identical, black cloaks whipped about them and they held onto the wrappings that covered their faces lest they be blown away. As one they turned toward the forest, their last refuge for the night. They reached the trees just as the rain descended in a torrent of noise and cold air. While the dry earth of the field was quickly soaked, the spreading branches of the trees prevented the insistent drops from caressing the mosses of the forest floor. The riders halted and dismounted stiffly, turning to gaze at the storm as it darkened the mountains with its clouds and lit the valley with its lightning. "How long will it last?" one of the riders asked, turning to the tallest of them. He spoke slowly, curiously, and his voice was deep and velvety. The tallest rider considered the question carefully, watching the clouds and the rain. "A good while, I believe," he replied in a high, youthful voice. "It is a good thing we have reached this forest." "Indeed," another of the company said. He was the shortest of the three, and he spoke swiftly. "Shall we camp here for the night, Euphrates?" The tallest turned to face his companion, shrugging indifferently. "If you wish, Amazon, but I think we can make a few more miles yet. The sea is not far now, and I would not want to keep our friend waiting." "We may be able to continue," the rider with the deep voice said, "but the horses are tired. It would be unwise to push them." "This is true, Endeavor," Euphrates replied. He nodded thoughtfully, but said nothing more and the group lapsed into silence. They continued to watch the storm, leaning against their steeds, mesmerized by the noise and movement of water. A few minutes passed without a sound. Euphrates jerked himself from the hypnotizing effect of the rain and looked about him. He turned to his horse and began to remove the protective coverings that encased his body. First he unwound the black cloth from around his head, wiping the sweat from his face with it and breathing in the cool forest air. His skin was shockingly pale against his long, dark hair which flowed in a straight cascade down to the top of his back. The slightest breeze shifted it about his face, which was long and thin, crowned by a slightly crooked nose that gave his visage an all around charming look. Next he took the black over coat from his shoulders, revealing the tight, black tunic and trousers he wore below. The loose shirt was gathered about his waist by a black strap of leather, and the ends of the tunic hung to just above his thighs. Sleeveless, the tunic bared his muscular arms. Outer clothing now removed and packed atop his horse, Euphrates expelled a loud sigh of relief and turned to regard with dark brown eyes his companions, who were following his own actions. Endeavor also unwrapped the cloth from about his face, but left the head covering on, the folds loose about his neck. He was a man of dark complexion, with a black beard cropped close about his quizzical mouth. His eyes were soft and dark as his skin, and always seemed to hold some sort of question deep within their depths. He wore an outfit practically identical to those of his companions, different only in the long sleeves that covered his arms. The shorter one, Amazon, was pale as well, but the rusty brown beard that grew on his face, worn in a similar fashion to his friend Endeavor, gave the illusion of a tanned complexion. His brown hair was cut short, which in an obvious action of defiance tended to spike in an unruly manner just above his flexible eyebrows. His eyes, also a dark brown, were sharp and humorous, and his face, though solemn, barely hid the bright, wild smile beneath. As darkness fell and the rain continued to fall, the men unloaded their horses and set up a small, meager camp. They stretched a large square of tarpaulin between four trees and sat beneath it until sleep overtook them. ************** The morning dawned cool and silent, rousing the men from their rest as rain water trickled from the leaves to plop upon the canvas they had stretched over their heads. With equal silence to match their surroundings they packed their things. Euphrates crouched down on his ankles and spread a map out upon a large boulder, examining its contents astutely. "The forest is several miles in width," he said, drawing his long fingers across the picture. Amazon walked to his side, chewing a biscuit vigorously. "We have a good way to go, then?" Absently Euphrates brushed the crumbs expelled by Amazon's voice from the face of the map, studying it. "Not necessarily....there is a pass between this forest and the eastern mountain that leads all the way to the sea." "Which is where we are going." Endeavor said from where he stood beside his horse. "Indeed," Euphrates replied, folding the map after one last glance. "We should reach the sea port by noon. If Rendell has secured us passage on a ship by now, we'll head to England...a place called New Castle, I believe." "Then let us be off!" Amazon cried, mounting his horse. With small smiles his companions followed, setting out into the valley once more. ************** The ocean-side town was small, dirty, and crowded. Equally dirty people standing next to their booths of various items to sell clamored for the attention of the three men, who swiftly descended from the town's center to the port below. Four or five large ships had berthed in the haven, their flags rippling with the wind, sails slack. "How are we to find Rendell again?" Endeavor asked, looking around at the less crowded street that ran parallel to the sea. "With little difficulty, I expect," Euphrates said, lifting himself up out of his saddle to look around. A few moments later he extended his long arm and pointed at a dark figure waving at them. "There!" They nudged their horses down the street to come to a stop before a ship entitled the Bloody Yankee. Leaning against a pile of crates was a man dressed identically to themselves, grinning broadly. His golden hair was thick and cut just above his shoulders, and his bright blue eyes laughed as much as his mouth. "You took your time," he said. "Well, next time you can ride across the country with all our belongings," Amazon said indignantly. "Is this the ship Rendell?" Euphrates asked, dismounting and scanning the name emblazoned on its hull. "Aye, that's the ship," Rendell replied, also turning his gaze. "The name's not to be so enjoyable, but her captain is trustworthy and it's heading off to England within the week." "Excellent well," Euphrates said, smiling. "To England!"

Thank you! Wyvern's piece was just too good not to be inspired by it.

Degorram sat on her couch, eyes fixed blankly to the tv screen. They wavered in and out of focus as she daydreamed, too exhausted to pay attention. Her eyelids slowly drooped, leading her seductively away into sleep. A loud strain of cheerful, important sounding music exploded from the tv, sending Degorram reeling over the back of her couch in shock. Poking her bruised head over the back of the chair, she eyed the color-filled box with the grupiness of one startled from sleep by cheerful, important sounding music. "Special news report from the Cabaret Room!" an announcer cried jubilantly. Degorram stood and walked around to sit back down on her couch, rubbing the painful knot on her forehead. The picture on the screen swiveled to focus in on Wyvern, standing in front of a podium. "What's he up to now?" Degorram grumbled as Wyvern started to speak, advertising some other Almost Dragonic Brand of useless drivel. He turned to several glass-covered items, speaking about each individually and the events that had taken place to bring them to attention. Degorram leaned forward, squinting at the pictures of the items as Wyvern addressed them one by one. That stone looked....familiar. As did the feather......and those horrid spandex costumes were a nightmare that had only just faded from her mind. And of course, there, placed firmly on every single exhibit, was the obsidian print of her sister. A loud pop echoed through the room as her sister appeared at Degorram's side, panting in excitement. The shape shifter paid no attention to the unannounced entrance, but merely pointed to the screen. "You're on tv," she said to Kikuyu as if the ninja had been there the entire time. "Wyvern was in my room." Kikuyu said, her eyes flashing. "Seems you've been promoted to Quill Bearer," her sister replied, ignoring the ninja's rage. "WYVERN WAS IN MY ROOM!" Kikuyu repeated, louder, fists clenched. Degorram looked up, eyebrow raised. "Hooray." "Oh you're no help at all," Kikuyu snarled, sitting down on the couch heavily. She brightened, however, as she turned with a slightly mischievious look on her face. "Why weren't you promoted, dear sister?" Degorram shrugged, smiling just as sweetly. "I was away on holiday, sweeheart. I hadn't the time to work as hard as you have been. But have no fear: my time will come. Meanwhile I suggest you get your lacy underwear off of your floor just in case you're promoted again." Kikuyu turned red. "Clean? ME? Surely you jest." Degorram yawned and stood, turning the tv off with a flick of her wrist. "No Kikuyu. I sleep. Goodnight."