Post by Aberrant Fantastic on Sept 6, 2011 14:41:08 GMT -5
Just as a warning, this does contain some language/alcohol use/etc... Nothing exceedingly nasty, though. I'd rate it T, personally. And I didn't go through and add the code for italics, either, so you just get the plain version :/
Also, there's a blank in it ("__"), which is just a filler, as I haven't decided on the name of the country yet. Open to suggestions for that, too
Anyway, my main concern for this chapter is that it's too lengthy and takes too long to get to the action. I would really appreciate any comments on that, and just an overall review.
Thank you
(When I put it in quotes, the text gets smaller....is it too small to read? 
)
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Lorena Stubb felt like a loser. Here she was, twenty-one years old and still living with her folks, working in her father’s mechanimal repair shop, and spending her weekends bumming around town with her best guy friend, Braskil. Even her younger sister, Kennit, had a job at the hospital, and Braskil was waiting on an army recruiter to get back to him. Everyone else seemed to have a real job, and for some reason that bugged her. Sitting on a couch between Braskil and Kennit, her deep brown skin dark against their pale hides, Lorena found herself wondering if this was all she would ever accomplish with her life. In the three years since graduation, all her friends had gotten jobs or moved away, called to a higher purpose…but there she sat, mooching off her parents as if she were still fifteen. With a groan, she flopped back against the couch, negative thoughts of wasted youth running through her mind.
“Oh, shut up,” Braskil snapped, rummaging through a small box, its cheerful wrapping paper torn off. Blue eyes glinting beneath his floppy black hair, he grinned and tossed her a small red bottle. “Try that one. It’ll put hair on your chest.”
“Oh, lovely image, Braskil, thanks,” Kennit giggled on Lorena’s other side, her dollish face red from alcohol, her brown, slanted eyes shining. Lorena glanced at her sister through a curtain of dark chestnut hair that had fallen across her face, and the petit young woman shrugged. “Well, it is. You’re already so masculine, the last thing you need is a hairy chest!”
“Gee, thanks, Kennit,” Lorena drawled, sitting up and tugging the cork out of the small bottle. “Happy birthday to you, too.”
“Oh, you know what I mean,” Kennit guffawed, leaning against her sister’s shoulder, swaying in her seat. “You’re just a beast, all muscular and everything. You scare all the guy’s away, ‘cept for Braskil and--“
“Hey, hey, hey!” Lorena cut in, shoving her laughing sister away. “This is my party, and I don’t want anyone mentioning a certain someone. I mean it! It’s a miracle that he’s managed to stay away all day, and the last thing I need is for you to jinx me. He’ll probably stop by around midnight now, playing his stupid guitar and singing some lame song in his squeaky little voice.”
“Come to think of it, where is Loverboy?” Braskil asked, glancing around the room, as if expecting the man in question to appear. “Out preparing your gift? How do you think he’ll top last year’s?”
“Oh, God, please,” Lorena moaned, thinking of the nightmarish gifts of birthdays past. Kennit giggled louder and flung herself across both Braskil and Lorena’s laps, squirming onto her back like a dog asking for a belly rub. Lorena rolled her eyes and pulled the hem of her sister’s rumpled white dress across her pale thighs, shooting a glare at Braskil when he failed to avert his eyes in time.
“Aw, isn’t she adorable?” Lorena glanced up to see that her mother, who looked more like Braskil’s parent with her curly hair and lightly tanned skin, had appeared out of the crowd of guests, and was grinning sarcastically at her girls. “She looks so small next to you two.” Lorena shrugged at the obvious--both she and Braskil were well built, whether from personal training or working in a shop all day, whereas Kennit was short and slender, like some little girl, not Lorena’s twenty-year-old sister.
“She doesn’t exactly hold her liquor,” Braskil yawned, running his scarred fingers through Kennit’s short black hair, which only made her giggle louder. “Maybe we should take her up to bed.”
“Maybe you should all go to bed,” a deep voice suggested. Locef, Lorena’s father, had come to stand at his wife’s side. Mr. Stubb was tall and strong, his skin tanned and scarred from days in the Queen’s service. His shaggy brown hair was in need of cutting, and his beard had bits of birthday cake stuck in it. Still, he was an intimidating figure. “And you don’t need any more of this.”
“Dad!” Lorena groaned as he yanked the red bottle away from her lips. “Come on--Kennit’s had more than me, and it’s my party! She’s not even old enough yet!”
“But she doesn’t have to work tomorrow, does she?” Locef countered, corking the bottle and tossing it back to Braskil, who grinned sheepishly. “You, on the other hand, need to be well rested. We have to fix those stupid horses tomorrow.”
“You mean the Barkers’ workhorses?” Braskil interjected. “The ones that ran into the truck the other day and nearly got their rear ends torn off?”
“Exactly. It’ll be an all day job, and I need my best mechanic in top form,” Locef said with a smile, tugging on a lock of Lorena’s hair. His eldest daughter groaned and heaved herself up off the couch, sending Kennit to the floor as she did so. As his little girl giggled, her father watched with a worried eye. “And take her upstairs, too, would you? Maker sure she doesn’t fall out of bed.”
“Yessir,” Braskil saluted dutifully while leaping to his feet, then effortlessly threw Kennit over one shoulder and followed Lorena towards the staircase.
Now that she was stumbling through the crowd, apologizing left and right for nearly knocking friends and family off their feet, Lorena realized that maybe it would be a good idea to turn in. She also realized that Braskil had probably planned on getting her plastered. She made a mental note to kick his butt in the morning, hangover permitting.
The Stubbs’ home was just like any other living space in the small seaside town of Merchant’s Run: the ground floor housed the public rooms, such as the kitchen and living room, while the second encased the bedrooms and a small closet with a ladder leading to the attic. Beside the home was a midsized building which housed Mr. Stubb’s shop, where he repaired the machine-animal hybrids that were used for both work and play around town and the surrounding area. Just thinking about the awaiting workday made Lorena’s head throb. It was the same routine, day after day after day. Get up, fix something, eat, sleep, repeat. God, what she wouldn’t do for a little variety!
Of course, Lorena didn’t know it was the last night of her boring, less than satisfactory life. As far as she was concerned, the sun would rise the following morning just like any other summer Friday on the west coast of ___. Standing there in her mundane little house, surrounded by friends and family, she couldn’t possibly have known that disaster was sailing closer and closer, riding the waves just as swiftly as a bird on the wing. She had no idea that the sun would not rise, that its welcoming beams would be blocked out by the fog of war. She didn’t suspect that it was the last time she would see her mother’s smiling face, the last time she would hear her father’s sardonic laughter. She had no idea that her world was about to change forever, that she would soon be sent sprinting down an unalterable path, thrust into a world of mystery and deceit that would either make or break her.
And she most certainly didn’t expect to fling open her bedroom door and nearly step into a man wearing nothing but a tight, leather thong.
“OH MY GOD!” Lorena screamed, her hands flying to cover her eyes as she backpedaled out of the room, nearly tripping over Braskil, who stood behind her with Kennit in his arms. “A.G.! What are you doing?”
“I see Prince Charming managed to make it, after all,” Braskil laughed, pushing past a blushing Lorena and looking the man up and down. “Lookin’ good, buddy.”
At the best of times, A.G. Wilmore was an insufferable human being. At the worst of times, he was akin to something you’d grimace at in a public restroom. His bright blonde hair slicked back in a short ponytail, he was completely unashamed of the current situation, though his blue eyes narrowed in irritation at the sight of Braskil. One hand on his slender hip, the other rubbing a wispy goatee that was just erupting on his delicate chin, he glared up at Braskil, as though trying to decide the best way to remove the intruder from the scene.
“What are you doing in here?” Lorena shrieked, having recovered enough to peek around Braskil’s arm. “How did you get in here? What the hell are you wearing?”
“Ah, Lorena, my flower!” A.G.’s handsome face brightened immediately at the sight of her. “I’m here with your present, obviously!”
“No.” Lorena’s voice grew cold; her eyes narrowed. “Absolutely not. Get the hell out of my house.”
“At least put some clothes on, man,” Braskil shrugged with half a smile. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”
“Well, obviously, I’m not ashamed of my glorious body,” A.G. sniffed. “What are you doing here, soldier boy? Shouldn’t you be taking the child to bed?”
“She’s not a child, A.G.,” Lorena growled, blushing again as she averted her eyes. “She’s the same damn age you are. Now put on some god damn clothes!”
A.G. just smiled pleasantly and backed into the room, bending unnecessarily to grab a black silk robe that he pulled around himself, Lorena turning her head away and glaring stubbornly at a piece of wall on the other side of the room. Tying the sash around his girlish waist, A.G. flopped down on Lorena’s lopsided bed and tugged a long, polished box from under the blankets. He shrugged, “Obviously, you’re not as drunk as I would have hoped, but it was worth a try, wasn’t it? Here’s your real present, love.”
“What is it, A.G.?” Braskil grinned. “A nude sculpture?”
A.G.’s eyes flashed, but he ignored the comment. Lorena, on the other hand, glanced at Braskil worriedly as she took the box, surprised by how heavy it was. She expected the weight of the wood box itself, but it felt as though something heavier than the usual pillows or chocolates was inside. As she crossed the small room to her desk, Braskil attempted to carry on his pleasant conversation with A.G.
“Why are you so interested in Lorena, anyway, when she’s obviously not into you? Is it ‘cause she’s so different from everyone else, with her skin and junk? I mean, if that’s all it is, you might try her sister, here. I mean, she’s from, what, the Orient or whatever.”
“What do I see in lovely Lorena Stubb? I think it would be obvious,” A.G. stated, his eyes dreamy, lingering on Lorena as she unfastened the box. She tried to ignore his gaze, but it sent an unpleasant tingle across her back. “I suppose her exotic physique does have something to do with it, and I particularly appreciate the way her hair catches the moonlight as she walks across the white sands by the harbor at night, but I am not a shallow man--“ Braskil bit back a snort. Lorena felt her face grow warm and forced herself not to turn around and bite both their heads off. “--my affections lie beneath the skin, far deeper than you could ever fathom. I see past her harsh exterior and reach for the love within. Beneath her cold glares, I see the warmth. Beneath her powerful body, I smell a delicate flower. Beneath the flash of her sword, the clash of her tools--“ His voice deepened, resonated with passion. “--beneath the hardened exterior of the mechanic this society has forced her to become, I see a gentle young woman, just looking for a place where she can feel loved.”
Lorena’s hands twitched as she unfastened the final buckle on the case, her eyes glancing at a mirror to the side of her desk. Through it, she could see A.G., his mind many miles away as he smiled dreamily at her, and Braskil, who looked like he was about to be violently ill with laughter. Why didn’t she just tell the bastard to leave? And why did Braskil lead him on like that? Why couldn’t the both of them just leave her alone? It was her god damn birthday, for God’s sake!
“Shut up,” she growled. “Both of you. This is the last thing I want to hear. A.G., you’re on crack. If there is any warmth within this hardened mechanic, you sure as hell ain’t getting any. Why don’t you go--Oh!” Her words were lost, her breath caught on her tongue as the case flipped open. Glinting silver beneath the dull ceiling light, a fine, elegant blade lay on a bed of crushed red velvet, shining with a crimson sheen. Its handle was inlaid with dainty rubies, the hilt laced with gold.
Slowly, carefully, Lorena lifted it, marveled at how perfectly it fit her hand. This was, without a doubt, the last thing she had expected from A.G. Wilmore, King of Worthless Presents. For once, he had given her something she would actually use, though she was seized by a desire to keep the beautiful sword safe, loath to scratch its flawless surface.
“Oh, A.G.,” She turned, holding the sword before her. A.G. was lounging on her bed, smiling broadly and proudly. “This--this is the most amazing thing you’ve ever given me. Thank you.”
The smile slipped from his face. “What? What about the self-portrait I gave you last year? I painted that myself, you know.”
“What? Oh--“ Lorena’s mind flashed to the childish painting stuffed in her closet, not a trace of guilt on her. “Well, that--“
“RRRRROOOORRRGGHHH!”
A thunderous roar cut across Lorena’s reply, the house rocked, the lights flicked off. People screamed down below, things crashed to the floor, Lorena was knocked off her feet and toppled onto the bed. Luckily, A.G. had been thrown off of it.
Braskil had managed to keep both Kennit and himself upright, and was now braced in the doorway, tensed and ready. The confused sounds downstairs continued, but all else was silent. Shaking, Lorena sat up, clutching the sword, and blurted, “What the f**k was that?”
“Obviously an earthquake,” A.G. muttered, pulling himself up and straightening his robe.
Lorena snapped her eyes shut, but too late. What had been seen could not be unseen. Groaning, she also stood and followed Braskil out into the hall and down the stairs, where they found the party seated on the floor, couch, chairs, and wherever else they could find a spot for their rear ends, all eyes locked on Lorena’s father, who was standing and addressing the frightened crowd.
“--not sure what it is, but I’m going to find out. You all stay put until an announcement is made. This may just be an earthquake--God knows we’re due for one--but there’s a possibility that it’s something else, though I doubt it. Normally, I’d suggest you all go home, but frankly, I’m not sure you could even find your front yard.” A good part of the group laughed boisterously at this. Locef turned and accepted his rifle and coat from his wife, then hobbled out the front door and into the warm summer air.
Precariously picking her way through the cluster of people, Lorena made her way to her mother, Braskil and A.G. trailing behind her. Seeing them all, Mrs. Stubb raised her hands in relief and exclaimed, “There you are! You’re not hurt are you? Nothing broken? I was--A.G.! What are you wearing?”
A.G. grinned broadly, his voice disgustingly sweetened. “Good evening, Mrs. Stubb! Looking as lovely as ever!”
“Mom, where’s Dad going?” Lorena cut in, glancing out the dark window. With the lights off, she could clearly see the moonlit streets of Merchant’s Run. Other people were filtering out of their own homes, conversing with their neighbors and looking up at the starry sky, as though it would provide answers.
“To the fort by the lighthouse,” Mrs. Stubb replied. “He’s going to check in with the forces there. If anything’s happened, they ought to know.”
“Happened?” Lorena inquired, her brow furrowed. “Like what?”
“Well,” her mother hesitated, brown eyes scanning the room, wary of eavesdroppers. She needn’t have worried, though. The room was wrapped in boisterous laughter, an undertow of murmurs and hushed whispers. Those who still had some sense were discussing the strange phenomenon among themselves, while the others continued not to give a rip.
“There’s been some talk at the fort,” Mrs. Stubb said in a low voice, leaning close to her daughter, Braskil listening behind them. “About politics at the capitol. It’s mostly nothing, but there has been mention of invasion from overseas…”
“Invasion?” Lorena hissed. “Seriously? What year is this? Five?”
“Shhh,” her mother cautioned. “I know, dear, but all the same, it has me worried. It’s probably nothing, though. They say the Queen’s getting paranoid in her old age, thinking she has a million enemies around every corner…which she probably does, but still, I don’t think anything’s…probably just training exercises off shore…nothing…” Her voice trailed off as she murmured to herself, her eyes wandering to the windows, following the paved road to the government fort on the bluff, though the edifice was hidden behind a curtain of darkened pines.
Lorena’s gaze lingered on her mother’s moonlit figure a moment longer, then she turned to Braskil. “You haven’t heard anything, have you?”
Braskil shook his head, resettling the dozing Kennit on his shoulder. “But they wouldn’t really tell me anything, anyway. It’d just be whatever I’ve heard…rumors…”
“Well I think it’s all nonsense!” A.G. announced over the babble of the room. “This country has been firm and stable for hundreds of years! A world leader in everything from farming to agriculture!--” Braskil and Lorena exchanged amused looks. “--No one would dare oppose us! It’s suicide to even try!”
“But this would be a good place to attack, if they were going to,” Lorena said. “Even with that dinky fort, we’re totally defenseless. No offense,” she added, catching Braskil’s eye.
“None taken,” he shrugged. “It’s totally understaffed up there. I think it’s where all the boot camp rejects--“
CRACK-BOOM!
The explosion rocked the house, its residents screaming in unison. Lorena threw herself against the windowsill to stay upright, grimacing as A.G. “accidentally” fell against her.
“Get off of me,” she hissed, elbowing him off of her and rushing out the door, her guests following behind her. A collective gasp escaped them as a blaze of orange slashed through the dark of night, rapidly raging across the rooftops, devouring the dried shingles and forcing people into the streets. Lorena’s shock turned to rage as she wheeled and saw that her own home was likewise aflame, a stream of people gushing from its mouth as the fire devoured the house, melting it like plastic on a stove.
“Get back, get back!” Mrs. Stubb shrieked, grabbing Lorena’s shirt and pulling her away as a section of roof lost its grip and crashed to the ground, a shower of sparks raining down on Lorena’s feet.
CRACK-BOOM! CRACK-BOOM! CRACK-BOOM!
“They’re bombing us!” Braskil shouted over the din as more and more explosions lit up the night in great balls of fire over the town, his voice a pitch higher than normal. “We need to get out of here!”
“Where the hell are we going to go?” Lorena screamed back, trying to stay close to both him and her mother as they were jostled in the panicked crowd. “The only safe place is the fort, and that’s where they’ll attack first!”
“I don’t know, but we have to get out of here before--”
The shop exploded behind them, the force of it sweeping them off their feet as equipment was torn asunder, shrapnel turning the air deadly. Lorena’s voice joined the wails of those around her as pain seared through her left thigh. She tasted cement and pennies as she pulled her face out of the ground, her hand scrabbling madly at the slice of metal lodged in her flesh. Her head spinning, chest heaving, she managed to sit up, the world a confused blur around her. Through writhing bodies of her friends and neighbors, she caught glimpses of strange creatures, their carapaces shining red in the light of the fires, reflecting the dancing flames like a mirrored Hell. The pain held back reason and fueled her confusion; it took her a moment to realize that the creatures were men--that they were soldiers, covered head to toe in crimson armor, swords and spears flashing in their hands as cannon fire rang throughout the night.
The peaceful hamlet of Merchant’s Run had suddenly become the beginning of a long and bloody war.
~~~
Also, there's a blank in it ("__"), which is just a filler, as I haven't decided on the name of the country yet. Open to suggestions for that, too
Anyway, my main concern for this chapter is that it's too lengthy and takes too long to get to the action. I would really appreciate any comments on that, and just an overall review.
Thank you
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Lorena Stubb felt like a loser. Here she was, twenty-one years old and still living with her folks, working in her father’s mechanimal repair shop, and spending her weekends bumming around town with her best guy friend, Braskil. Even her younger sister, Kennit, had a job at the hospital, and Braskil was waiting on an army recruiter to get back to him. Everyone else seemed to have a real job, and for some reason that bugged her. Sitting on a couch between Braskil and Kennit, her deep brown skin dark against their pale hides, Lorena found herself wondering if this was all she would ever accomplish with her life. In the three years since graduation, all her friends had gotten jobs or moved away, called to a higher purpose…but there she sat, mooching off her parents as if she were still fifteen. With a groan, she flopped back against the couch, negative thoughts of wasted youth running through her mind.
“Oh, shut up,” Braskil snapped, rummaging through a small box, its cheerful wrapping paper torn off. Blue eyes glinting beneath his floppy black hair, he grinned and tossed her a small red bottle. “Try that one. It’ll put hair on your chest.”
“Oh, lovely image, Braskil, thanks,” Kennit giggled on Lorena’s other side, her dollish face red from alcohol, her brown, slanted eyes shining. Lorena glanced at her sister through a curtain of dark chestnut hair that had fallen across her face, and the petit young woman shrugged. “Well, it is. You’re already so masculine, the last thing you need is a hairy chest!”
“Gee, thanks, Kennit,” Lorena drawled, sitting up and tugging the cork out of the small bottle. “Happy birthday to you, too.”
“Oh, you know what I mean,” Kennit guffawed, leaning against her sister’s shoulder, swaying in her seat. “You’re just a beast, all muscular and everything. You scare all the guy’s away, ‘cept for Braskil and--“
“Hey, hey, hey!” Lorena cut in, shoving her laughing sister away. “This is my party, and I don’t want anyone mentioning a certain someone. I mean it! It’s a miracle that he’s managed to stay away all day, and the last thing I need is for you to jinx me. He’ll probably stop by around midnight now, playing his stupid guitar and singing some lame song in his squeaky little voice.”
“Come to think of it, where is Loverboy?” Braskil asked, glancing around the room, as if expecting the man in question to appear. “Out preparing your gift? How do you think he’ll top last year’s?”
“Oh, God, please,” Lorena moaned, thinking of the nightmarish gifts of birthdays past. Kennit giggled louder and flung herself across both Braskil and Lorena’s laps, squirming onto her back like a dog asking for a belly rub. Lorena rolled her eyes and pulled the hem of her sister’s rumpled white dress across her pale thighs, shooting a glare at Braskil when he failed to avert his eyes in time.
“Aw, isn’t she adorable?” Lorena glanced up to see that her mother, who looked more like Braskil’s parent with her curly hair and lightly tanned skin, had appeared out of the crowd of guests, and was grinning sarcastically at her girls. “She looks so small next to you two.” Lorena shrugged at the obvious--both she and Braskil were well built, whether from personal training or working in a shop all day, whereas Kennit was short and slender, like some little girl, not Lorena’s twenty-year-old sister.
“She doesn’t exactly hold her liquor,” Braskil yawned, running his scarred fingers through Kennit’s short black hair, which only made her giggle louder. “Maybe we should take her up to bed.”
“Maybe you should all go to bed,” a deep voice suggested. Locef, Lorena’s father, had come to stand at his wife’s side. Mr. Stubb was tall and strong, his skin tanned and scarred from days in the Queen’s service. His shaggy brown hair was in need of cutting, and his beard had bits of birthday cake stuck in it. Still, he was an intimidating figure. “And you don’t need any more of this.”
“Dad!” Lorena groaned as he yanked the red bottle away from her lips. “Come on--Kennit’s had more than me, and it’s my party! She’s not even old enough yet!”
“But she doesn’t have to work tomorrow, does she?” Locef countered, corking the bottle and tossing it back to Braskil, who grinned sheepishly. “You, on the other hand, need to be well rested. We have to fix those stupid horses tomorrow.”
“You mean the Barkers’ workhorses?” Braskil interjected. “The ones that ran into the truck the other day and nearly got their rear ends torn off?”
“Exactly. It’ll be an all day job, and I need my best mechanic in top form,” Locef said with a smile, tugging on a lock of Lorena’s hair. His eldest daughter groaned and heaved herself up off the couch, sending Kennit to the floor as she did so. As his little girl giggled, her father watched with a worried eye. “And take her upstairs, too, would you? Maker sure she doesn’t fall out of bed.”
“Yessir,” Braskil saluted dutifully while leaping to his feet, then effortlessly threw Kennit over one shoulder and followed Lorena towards the staircase.
Now that she was stumbling through the crowd, apologizing left and right for nearly knocking friends and family off their feet, Lorena realized that maybe it would be a good idea to turn in. She also realized that Braskil had probably planned on getting her plastered. She made a mental note to kick his butt in the morning, hangover permitting.
The Stubbs’ home was just like any other living space in the small seaside town of Merchant’s Run: the ground floor housed the public rooms, such as the kitchen and living room, while the second encased the bedrooms and a small closet with a ladder leading to the attic. Beside the home was a midsized building which housed Mr. Stubb’s shop, where he repaired the machine-animal hybrids that were used for both work and play around town and the surrounding area. Just thinking about the awaiting workday made Lorena’s head throb. It was the same routine, day after day after day. Get up, fix something, eat, sleep, repeat. God, what she wouldn’t do for a little variety!
Of course, Lorena didn’t know it was the last night of her boring, less than satisfactory life. As far as she was concerned, the sun would rise the following morning just like any other summer Friday on the west coast of ___. Standing there in her mundane little house, surrounded by friends and family, she couldn’t possibly have known that disaster was sailing closer and closer, riding the waves just as swiftly as a bird on the wing. She had no idea that the sun would not rise, that its welcoming beams would be blocked out by the fog of war. She didn’t suspect that it was the last time she would see her mother’s smiling face, the last time she would hear her father’s sardonic laughter. She had no idea that her world was about to change forever, that she would soon be sent sprinting down an unalterable path, thrust into a world of mystery and deceit that would either make or break her.
And she most certainly didn’t expect to fling open her bedroom door and nearly step into a man wearing nothing but a tight, leather thong.
“OH MY GOD!” Lorena screamed, her hands flying to cover her eyes as she backpedaled out of the room, nearly tripping over Braskil, who stood behind her with Kennit in his arms. “A.G.! What are you doing?”
“I see Prince Charming managed to make it, after all,” Braskil laughed, pushing past a blushing Lorena and looking the man up and down. “Lookin’ good, buddy.”
At the best of times, A.G. Wilmore was an insufferable human being. At the worst of times, he was akin to something you’d grimace at in a public restroom. His bright blonde hair slicked back in a short ponytail, he was completely unashamed of the current situation, though his blue eyes narrowed in irritation at the sight of Braskil. One hand on his slender hip, the other rubbing a wispy goatee that was just erupting on his delicate chin, he glared up at Braskil, as though trying to decide the best way to remove the intruder from the scene.
“What are you doing in here?” Lorena shrieked, having recovered enough to peek around Braskil’s arm. “How did you get in here? What the hell are you wearing?”
“Ah, Lorena, my flower!” A.G.’s handsome face brightened immediately at the sight of her. “I’m here with your present, obviously!”
“No.” Lorena’s voice grew cold; her eyes narrowed. “Absolutely not. Get the hell out of my house.”
“At least put some clothes on, man,” Braskil shrugged with half a smile. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”
“Well, obviously, I’m not ashamed of my glorious body,” A.G. sniffed. “What are you doing here, soldier boy? Shouldn’t you be taking the child to bed?”
“She’s not a child, A.G.,” Lorena growled, blushing again as she averted her eyes. “She’s the same damn age you are. Now put on some god damn clothes!”
A.G. just smiled pleasantly and backed into the room, bending unnecessarily to grab a black silk robe that he pulled around himself, Lorena turning her head away and glaring stubbornly at a piece of wall on the other side of the room. Tying the sash around his girlish waist, A.G. flopped down on Lorena’s lopsided bed and tugged a long, polished box from under the blankets. He shrugged, “Obviously, you’re not as drunk as I would have hoped, but it was worth a try, wasn’t it? Here’s your real present, love.”
“What is it, A.G.?” Braskil grinned. “A nude sculpture?”
A.G.’s eyes flashed, but he ignored the comment. Lorena, on the other hand, glanced at Braskil worriedly as she took the box, surprised by how heavy it was. She expected the weight of the wood box itself, but it felt as though something heavier than the usual pillows or chocolates was inside. As she crossed the small room to her desk, Braskil attempted to carry on his pleasant conversation with A.G.
“Why are you so interested in Lorena, anyway, when she’s obviously not into you? Is it ‘cause she’s so different from everyone else, with her skin and junk? I mean, if that’s all it is, you might try her sister, here. I mean, she’s from, what, the Orient or whatever.”
“What do I see in lovely Lorena Stubb? I think it would be obvious,” A.G. stated, his eyes dreamy, lingering on Lorena as she unfastened the box. She tried to ignore his gaze, but it sent an unpleasant tingle across her back. “I suppose her exotic physique does have something to do with it, and I particularly appreciate the way her hair catches the moonlight as she walks across the white sands by the harbor at night, but I am not a shallow man--“ Braskil bit back a snort. Lorena felt her face grow warm and forced herself not to turn around and bite both their heads off. “--my affections lie beneath the skin, far deeper than you could ever fathom. I see past her harsh exterior and reach for the love within. Beneath her cold glares, I see the warmth. Beneath her powerful body, I smell a delicate flower. Beneath the flash of her sword, the clash of her tools--“ His voice deepened, resonated with passion. “--beneath the hardened exterior of the mechanic this society has forced her to become, I see a gentle young woman, just looking for a place where she can feel loved.”
Lorena’s hands twitched as she unfastened the final buckle on the case, her eyes glancing at a mirror to the side of her desk. Through it, she could see A.G., his mind many miles away as he smiled dreamily at her, and Braskil, who looked like he was about to be violently ill with laughter. Why didn’t she just tell the bastard to leave? And why did Braskil lead him on like that? Why couldn’t the both of them just leave her alone? It was her god damn birthday, for God’s sake!
“Shut up,” she growled. “Both of you. This is the last thing I want to hear. A.G., you’re on crack. If there is any warmth within this hardened mechanic, you sure as hell ain’t getting any. Why don’t you go--Oh!” Her words were lost, her breath caught on her tongue as the case flipped open. Glinting silver beneath the dull ceiling light, a fine, elegant blade lay on a bed of crushed red velvet, shining with a crimson sheen. Its handle was inlaid with dainty rubies, the hilt laced with gold.
Slowly, carefully, Lorena lifted it, marveled at how perfectly it fit her hand. This was, without a doubt, the last thing she had expected from A.G. Wilmore, King of Worthless Presents. For once, he had given her something she would actually use, though she was seized by a desire to keep the beautiful sword safe, loath to scratch its flawless surface.
“Oh, A.G.,” She turned, holding the sword before her. A.G. was lounging on her bed, smiling broadly and proudly. “This--this is the most amazing thing you’ve ever given me. Thank you.”
The smile slipped from his face. “What? What about the self-portrait I gave you last year? I painted that myself, you know.”
“What? Oh--“ Lorena’s mind flashed to the childish painting stuffed in her closet, not a trace of guilt on her. “Well, that--“
“RRRRROOOORRRGGHHH!”
A thunderous roar cut across Lorena’s reply, the house rocked, the lights flicked off. People screamed down below, things crashed to the floor, Lorena was knocked off her feet and toppled onto the bed. Luckily, A.G. had been thrown off of it.
Braskil had managed to keep both Kennit and himself upright, and was now braced in the doorway, tensed and ready. The confused sounds downstairs continued, but all else was silent. Shaking, Lorena sat up, clutching the sword, and blurted, “What the f**k was that?”
“Obviously an earthquake,” A.G. muttered, pulling himself up and straightening his robe.
Lorena snapped her eyes shut, but too late. What had been seen could not be unseen. Groaning, she also stood and followed Braskil out into the hall and down the stairs, where they found the party seated on the floor, couch, chairs, and wherever else they could find a spot for their rear ends, all eyes locked on Lorena’s father, who was standing and addressing the frightened crowd.
“--not sure what it is, but I’m going to find out. You all stay put until an announcement is made. This may just be an earthquake--God knows we’re due for one--but there’s a possibility that it’s something else, though I doubt it. Normally, I’d suggest you all go home, but frankly, I’m not sure you could even find your front yard.” A good part of the group laughed boisterously at this. Locef turned and accepted his rifle and coat from his wife, then hobbled out the front door and into the warm summer air.
Precariously picking her way through the cluster of people, Lorena made her way to her mother, Braskil and A.G. trailing behind her. Seeing them all, Mrs. Stubb raised her hands in relief and exclaimed, “There you are! You’re not hurt are you? Nothing broken? I was--A.G.! What are you wearing?”
A.G. grinned broadly, his voice disgustingly sweetened. “Good evening, Mrs. Stubb! Looking as lovely as ever!”
“Mom, where’s Dad going?” Lorena cut in, glancing out the dark window. With the lights off, she could clearly see the moonlit streets of Merchant’s Run. Other people were filtering out of their own homes, conversing with their neighbors and looking up at the starry sky, as though it would provide answers.
“To the fort by the lighthouse,” Mrs. Stubb replied. “He’s going to check in with the forces there. If anything’s happened, they ought to know.”
“Happened?” Lorena inquired, her brow furrowed. “Like what?”
“Well,” her mother hesitated, brown eyes scanning the room, wary of eavesdroppers. She needn’t have worried, though. The room was wrapped in boisterous laughter, an undertow of murmurs and hushed whispers. Those who still had some sense were discussing the strange phenomenon among themselves, while the others continued not to give a rip.
“There’s been some talk at the fort,” Mrs. Stubb said in a low voice, leaning close to her daughter, Braskil listening behind them. “About politics at the capitol. It’s mostly nothing, but there has been mention of invasion from overseas…”
“Invasion?” Lorena hissed. “Seriously? What year is this? Five?”
“Shhh,” her mother cautioned. “I know, dear, but all the same, it has me worried. It’s probably nothing, though. They say the Queen’s getting paranoid in her old age, thinking she has a million enemies around every corner…which she probably does, but still, I don’t think anything’s…probably just training exercises off shore…nothing…” Her voice trailed off as she murmured to herself, her eyes wandering to the windows, following the paved road to the government fort on the bluff, though the edifice was hidden behind a curtain of darkened pines.
Lorena’s gaze lingered on her mother’s moonlit figure a moment longer, then she turned to Braskil. “You haven’t heard anything, have you?”
Braskil shook his head, resettling the dozing Kennit on his shoulder. “But they wouldn’t really tell me anything, anyway. It’d just be whatever I’ve heard…rumors…”
“Well I think it’s all nonsense!” A.G. announced over the babble of the room. “This country has been firm and stable for hundreds of years! A world leader in everything from farming to agriculture!--” Braskil and Lorena exchanged amused looks. “--No one would dare oppose us! It’s suicide to even try!”
“But this would be a good place to attack, if they were going to,” Lorena said. “Even with that dinky fort, we’re totally defenseless. No offense,” she added, catching Braskil’s eye.
“None taken,” he shrugged. “It’s totally understaffed up there. I think it’s where all the boot camp rejects--“
CRACK-BOOM!
The explosion rocked the house, its residents screaming in unison. Lorena threw herself against the windowsill to stay upright, grimacing as A.G. “accidentally” fell against her.
“Get off of me,” she hissed, elbowing him off of her and rushing out the door, her guests following behind her. A collective gasp escaped them as a blaze of orange slashed through the dark of night, rapidly raging across the rooftops, devouring the dried shingles and forcing people into the streets. Lorena’s shock turned to rage as she wheeled and saw that her own home was likewise aflame, a stream of people gushing from its mouth as the fire devoured the house, melting it like plastic on a stove.
“Get back, get back!” Mrs. Stubb shrieked, grabbing Lorena’s shirt and pulling her away as a section of roof lost its grip and crashed to the ground, a shower of sparks raining down on Lorena’s feet.
CRACK-BOOM! CRACK-BOOM! CRACK-BOOM!
“They’re bombing us!” Braskil shouted over the din as more and more explosions lit up the night in great balls of fire over the town, his voice a pitch higher than normal. “We need to get out of here!”
“Where the hell are we going to go?” Lorena screamed back, trying to stay close to both him and her mother as they were jostled in the panicked crowd. “The only safe place is the fort, and that’s where they’ll attack first!”
“I don’t know, but we have to get out of here before--”
The shop exploded behind them, the force of it sweeping them off their feet as equipment was torn asunder, shrapnel turning the air deadly. Lorena’s voice joined the wails of those around her as pain seared through her left thigh. She tasted cement and pennies as she pulled her face out of the ground, her hand scrabbling madly at the slice of metal lodged in her flesh. Her head spinning, chest heaving, she managed to sit up, the world a confused blur around her. Through writhing bodies of her friends and neighbors, she caught glimpses of strange creatures, their carapaces shining red in the light of the fires, reflecting the dancing flames like a mirrored Hell. The pain held back reason and fueled her confusion; it took her a moment to realize that the creatures were men--that they were soldiers, covered head to toe in crimson armor, swords and spears flashing in their hands as cannon fire rang throughout the night.
The peaceful hamlet of Merchant’s Run had suddenly become the beginning of a long and bloody war.
~~~
