Jazmee27 
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We stared at each other for a long time without speaking. Finally, he gulped and asked, “what did you have in mind?”
To say my plan ended disastrously would be an understatement. To say *any plan would have been a mistake is, I fear, another understatement.
When is it, I wondered in the weeks to come, that created the weak kingdom Mnoibrvana had become? How was it possible that news from the farthest side of the kingdom could take days, or weeks, to get to the palace, instead of the seconds or minutes, hours in the very least, it should have been?
Any attempt to answer such questions simply fueled my frustration.
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Reply #1281. Jun 26 12, 5:57 PM
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Jazmee27
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======
“We should have moved the capital,” someone, I’m not sure who, grumbled later when the photos appeared splattered over every paper on the planet. Some showed a young woman with wide-set hazel eyes, staring down at the lifeless corpse of her husband, a well-muscled man in his mid-forties with thick, wavy black hair. Others showed the same woman, but with her chest slashed open. Yet others showed scores of children being forcibly handled. Some of the children were crying, some fighting bravely only to end up with cut cheekbones and missing teeth or, in crumpled heaps along with their parents. Many of the children would be shipped to torture centers in Scenoria, Qirynse or Xynor; still others would be brutally, and publicly, executed.
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Reply #1282. Jun 26 12, 5:58 PM
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Jazmee27
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=====
People tried to comfort my father, but he just wouldn’t hear of it. “I’m the king,” he kept repeating over and over, his voice close to breaking, “I should have been able to save them.” At night he would stare at nothing in particular, muttering “I’ve failed. I was given a duty to protect my people, and I failed.”
It pained me to see him this way, and to know there was nothing I could do or say to comfort him. Nothing, that is, save the impossible—undoing the whole bloody scene.
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Reply #1283. Jun 26 12, 5:58 PM
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Jazmee27
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VAHRSONJETRAH
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Many a yarn has come out of Vahrsonjetrah. It’s the place where so much began, according to myth, and where most things Scenorian are thought to end. Personally, I think it’s a bunch of nonsense. But, what do I know? To each his own, as my pappy used to say.
For example, most people that you run into will claim that Orseviyto and Orehlio Ordevahran were born right here in Vahrsonjetrah, and that one or both are coming back after a certain Prophetic Event has taken place. When asked to validate these claims, no one can. Now, I’m sorry, but I simply cannot believe every piece of garbage that rolls down the street. After all, I’ve my sanity to protect.
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Reply #1284. Jun 26 12, 6:01 PM
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Jazmee27
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VILLAGE STREETS 1
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The 19-year-old listens patiently to his friend’s explanation of “the whole sorry mess,” his black eyes devoid of expression. Finally, when all is silent, he asks just one question: “Which one?” He knows he need not elaborate; the Scenorian standing across from him understands too well what he wants to know.
To his credit, Bizanti’s face remains expressionless and his tone free of the irritation he must be feeling when he says, “I haven’t the slightest.”
The Qiryntian regards him thoughtfully, then nods once. “I go then to find out what I may,” he says quietly.
“If there’s anything I can do,” the 18-year-old replies, gripping the older boy’s hand firmly, “you need only ask.” He turns away, then, remembering something, turns back to his friend. “Even,” he says slowly, “if you think doing so will upset me. After all, this is Organization business.”
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Reply #1285. Jun 26 12, 6:02 PM
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Jazmee27
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======
If there’s anything more annoying than the upstart before him, Qiphana has yet to meet it. “You seem to forget,” he growls, “who’s in charge of this mission.”
The 7-year-old shakes his head arrogantly. “Without my pa, this wouldn’t have come together.”
“For your information,” the 19-year-old snaps, then stops. If he’s going to get through the day without breaking his own rules, he has to control his temper. Quietly, he surveys the youngster before him. “I appreciate your enthusiasm,” he says after a while, his voice tight, “but understand that your father doesn’t run this Organization. I do. And furthermore, it was my friend in Scenoria who suggested how to carry out this ‘plan.”’
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Reply #1286. Jun 26 12, 6:03 PM
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Jazmee27
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======
The 22-year-old stares into the darknesss, straining his eyes for a glimpse of his son. He hears the boy crying, and yearns to run to him, but the sound seems to come from all around him. He tries to call out, but finds his voice is no louder than a whisper.
Suddenly, the scene before him shifts, and he finds himself on the edge of a field. Every which way he turns, vivid colors confuse the senses. He knows he is lost, and fights a surge of panic. “At least it’s not cold,” he reminds himself, his mind flashing back to the previous year, and another fruitful search.
Abruptly, he is jolted back to reality, and he feels a momentary surge of relief. “Just a dream,” he murmurs. And then the roccolection of the past two hours comes to him, and he buries his head in his hands. “Qorteviyno,” he moans, feeling his chest constrict painfully.
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Reply #1287. Jun 26 12, 6:03 PM
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Jazmee27
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======
The King of Scenoria took in the expressions of the searchers and slumped forward, burying his face in his hands. This is just like last year, he thought miserably, except that I doubt we’ll find anything as soon. Maybe never, an ugly voice whispered, but he ignored it. Forcing his eyes upward, he met the gaze of the woman who’d organized the first of the rescue teams. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” Koreyna Morehnta said before he could open his mouth, “but we’re sure to find him, if not tomorrow than the next day.” Something in her tone told him that she either didn’t believe her own words, or she was just trying to placate him.
The leader of the second team came to kneel beside him, and Sevahriano felt a surge of relief that, this time, he wasn’t alone in this. His brother-in-law, Orseviyto Orseveyno, would help him through the days and weeks to come.
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Reply #1288. Jun 26 12, 6:04 PM
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Jazmee27
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=====
He glances around quickly to make sure he’s alone, then lets the tears he’s been holding in all day fall. Whoever said it was a sign of weakness if a man cried had it all wrong, he thought vaguely. For the first year or so, he’d pushed all the pain aside, refusing to sob like a baby, until he realized that keeping it all trapped within himself was turning him into a grouch. His children, not to mention his subjects, deserved better.
Fleeting images flashed before the 22-year-old’s eyes: his wife’s face, the way she’d looked before she got sick; their old home, days before the fire that had destroyed it; Qodi, his blue eyes dancing; and Qori, his expression intent on whatever game he was playing. Sevahriano sighed. So much had changed in the past three years. How much more, he wondered, can I take?
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Reply #1289. Jun 26 12, 6:04 PM
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Jazmee27
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======
“Remind me again why I agreed to this,” the 15-year-old mutters angrily. Because, a soft voice in the back of his mind answers, the kingdom belongs to you, or should belong to you. “Aside from the fact that I’m not Scenorian,” he retorts hotly. A technicality, Young Mostayna, a mere technicality. “And then there’s the fact that father never chose me to succeed him.” Yes, and what does that say about him, the voice asked scornfully. “That Sevahriano’s the rightful heir!” No, Dummy, that he didn’t care about you. “But—“ If you’re worried about your nephews, don’t; there will be no way to connect you to what happens, that is not if you play it cool. “How did I ever let you rope me into this,” the Mnoibrvanan moaned weakly as he slumped back into a chair.Just remember, the voice sai silkily, I’m just looking out for your best interests. “No, you’re not,” the young man exclaimed heatedly. “You care only for yourself; it’s just a shame I didn’t see that before now.”
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Reply #1290. Jun 26 12, 6:05 PM
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Jazmee27
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======
As the youngest of three princes, the young man had been sure his Mnoibrvanan blood wouldn’t matter. After all, he was only half, his father being native Scenorian. But for whatever reason, their father had favored Sevahriano, just a few years older. “It’s as if he can do no wrong,” the 15-year-old spat in disgust. But a part of him couldn’t, wouldn’t, agree: isn’t it possible, it argued, that Matariyno Voliyno knew what he was doing when he decided which of you would succeed him as king? “No,” Mostayna growled low in his throat. “No, no, no!”
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Reply #1291. Jun 26 12, 6:06 PM
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Jazmee27
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======
His throat constricts painfully as his eyes probe the blackness for a way out.Part of his mind wonders how he got to this spot, surrounded onthree sides by sheer cliffs and by grim-faced young men and boys on the other. They stare at him coldly, and a chill runs through him at the promise of death he reads in at least two expressions. Almost without realizing it, he takes a step backward, then another and another until, with a cry, he tumbles over backwards into the deepest, blackest pit he’s ever seen.
Then, suddenly, he is in his bed, breathing hard but otherwise fine. “Just a dream,” he murmurs over and over as relief washes through his body.
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Reply #1292. Jun 26 12, 6:06 PM
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Jazmee27
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======
Chendorri Dorsevahrtren
“I told you,” the 38-year-old says coldly into the Communicator, “we’re not breaking any damned Procedure here!” His eyes flick around the room until he sees his nephew standing in the doorway. He nods and makes a hand gesture that means, “see me when I’m done.”
Two minutes later, Chendorri sighs in exasperation. “Julian?”
“Sir?”
The gangster thinks for a second, his expression thoughtful. “I do believe,” he says finally, “that the situation has been thoroughly explained to you: how this is unprecedented, how the contact has demanded The Prisoner not be harmed at this time.” He pierces the young man with a cold stare. “Understand?”
Julian nods, resenting the implication that he’ll mess up unless reminded constantly. “I’ll behave,” he murmurs.
“Very good,” his uncle exclaims, then motions his nephew out of the room.
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Reply #1293. Jun 26 12, 6:07 PM
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Jazmee27
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======
The thirty-eight-year-old is so furious they would dare accuse him of compromising the situation or any of his gang for that matter, that he is quite unable to speak for the space of a minute. When he finds his voice it is a low, guttural growl. “I’ve explained to that young man there,” he says, jabbing a finger in Qiphana’s direction, “that neither I nor any of my people have done anything wrong. “If anyone’s messed up—“
“Mr. Dorsevahrtren,” the hawk-faced Scenorian across from him barks sharply, “are you accusing me of lying?”
“Perhaps the boy gave himself those injuries,” Chendorri remarks dryly. Qydra snorts derisively, Qiphana chuckles mirthlessly, and Bizanti’s face turns a marvelous shade of recd.
“Could have,” the eighteen-year-old mutters after a long pause.
“Not possible,” Qydra disagrees.The older boy looks at him questioningly. “First, his twin wouldn’t just stand by and allow the boy to hurt himself. Second, I know Uncle Sevahriano well enough to know he wouldn’t allow either of his kids to do anything so risky as to cause such possibly permanent injury.”
The nineteen-year-old Qiryntian cleared his throat. “And there’s the fact that, while the father and the boy’s twin were inside the palace when it caught fire, the boy himself was not—but was found shortly after, unconscious, and quite untouched by the flames.” His eyes travel to those around him, studyingthe others’ expression.After a while, he looks away and states flatly, “someone broke protocol, and I suggest you find out who that is rather than protesting you had nothing to do with it!”
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Reply #1294. Jun 26 12, 6:08 PM
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Jazmee27
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======
Lynda Khaviytra
The fourteen-year-old absently flexes and unflexes the fingers of her right hand, something she does when she’s bothered by something. Thus far, all she’s been able to gather from those around her are snatches of conversation. These followers of her brother are good, she thinks, lowering their voices at her approach. To them, she’ll always be Bizanti’s kid sister, someone to be tolerated and never trusted.
Yher thoughts are interrupted by Bizanti’s voice somewhere near, though she cannot see even the flicker of an eyelash. “You all right, Lynda?” She doesn’t answer, feeling an icy sensation travel from the pit of her stomach down to her feet, then back up to lodge in her chest. More and more, her brother appears to be a menacing stranger, permitting her presence for the moment.
Her mind flashes to their parents, who died suddenly when she was three or four years old, and Bizanti seven or eight. They never discuss that day, or any other detail relating to their family when it was whole. It’s part of the growing void between brother and sister. Now, she pushes such thoughts violently to the back of her mind. Instead, she thinks about the four gangsters standing around her, talking in hushed voices. Sometimes, they ‘ll allow her to take notes on a meeting or type up a planof action for them. Always, it’s with the warning, delivered by her sibling, that should she talk to anyone about anything she hears, she’ll be dead before she knows what happened. Part of her wants to stand up to them, to rail against their threats, but she doesn’t because she figures if she listens patiently in silence, she’s bound to learn something. As to what she’ll do with that information, she hasn’t thought that far.
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Reply #1295. Jun 26 12, 6:08 PM
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Jazmee27
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======
It’s midmorning when Bizanti calls everyone to an emergency meeting. “I just got a call from Qiphana,” he announces, staring straight at her and ignoring his followers, clearly expecting some sort of reaction from her. Lynda’s expression seems to sharpen, though she gives no other outward sign that she’s paying close attention. Inwardly, she can’t hel p but wonder if he’s suspicious of her. He’s always been far too observant, even at a young age, she reflects grimly, all the while wondering what it is he wants from her? “Apparently, Qiphana’s been trying to get ahold of our rival gang leader for some weeks now,” her brother continues, and Lynda sits up straighter in spite of herself. What would her sibling’s so-called friend want with Chendorri Dorsevahrtren? “I don’t know why,” Bizanti continues, as if reading her questions, “seeing as it was I who suggested Dorsevahrtren in the first place.” That means he expected to be the contact, the fourteen-year-old thought. But why is it so important”Course, knowing how Qiryntians’ minds work, they probably figure since we’re both Cehrvanakavreyda, he should be the go-between as he knows Qatavoreya Univahris,” the 18-year-old comments dryly. “He forgets that he trained me to be his second in the unlikely event that such an opportunity came up!”
Just then, Lynda’s communicator buzzes, and Bizanti gives her a dirty look. “Sorry,” she apologizes, and rushes from the room. She’s glad for the interruption, for it gives her time to get away with her thoughts, which are swarming around in her brain like flies. But she doesn’t allow them to distract her from answering the phone. “Hello,” she whispers.
“Lynda,” a familiar voice from the 14-year-old’s dreams exclaims warmly, “how are you? It’s been years!”
“Just fine, Naomi,” she replies as lightly as she can, wondering what could have happened to make her friend call her. “And you?”
“Good,” the sixteen-year-old answers distractedly. “Listen, can you help me with something?”
“What is it,” Lynda asked, half fearing the answer.
“You didn’t hear,” Naomi asks incredulously, and it’s all Lynda can do not to demand to know what in Protector’s name she’s talking about.
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Reply #1296. Jun 26 12, 6:09 PM
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Jazmee27
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======
His black eyes bore into mine the minute I turn the knob to rejoin the meeting, rooting me to the spot. “Who was that,” he asks suspiciously, and a cold ball of fear lodges itself in my throat. When I don’t answer right away, he reaches forward, quick as lightning, and fastens onto my arm. “Ttell me,” he demands, and in his expression I see something that’s never been there before: a murderous anger.
“Just a friend,” I mumble,, and try to wrench my arm away, but he only tightens his grip. I clench my teeth together, but as his nails dig into my flesh, I can’t help the agonized gasp that escapes my pursed lips. “Which friend,” he asks quietly, and it’s all I can do not to show how frightened his tone makes me.
My mind goes into panic mode. I can’t reveal who I was talking to; otherwise, Bizanti will know I’m not one of Them, and never have been. “Celina,” I say, blurting the first name that comes to mind.
He twists my arm behind my back. “She died six weeks ago in a gang fight,” he says through gritted teeth. Mentally, I kick myself for being so stupid; I hadn’t forgotten, but somehow in the heat of the moment her name had come out of my mouth. I stare into his cold, black eyes, and saw my death reflected there. “You must go,” he hissed through gritted teeth, his tone bored. “I may or may not come after you to kill you.” He paused, sizing me up, then asked me one more time who the call had been from. And, this time, I’m afraid I blurted out the truth. After a tense silence, he pushed me forceably out the door and slammed it in my face, but not before he whispered, “perhaps I’ll let you live after all.”
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Reply #1297. Jun 26 12, 6:09 PM
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Jazmee27
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======
The ten-year-old still couldn’t believe what he’d done. He shook violently, feeling again the small body beneath him, the surge of anger that had washed over him for apparently no reason, hearing again the muffled sobs of anguish from his victim, accompanied by the warmth as the toddler’s blood ran between and over his fingers. And, once again, he felt the terror of discovery, felt the urgent need to cover up his own actions. But no matter how many times he washed them, no amount of scrubbing could remove all the evidence from his hands.
“What am I to do,” Desmond muttered brokenly. He’d never even been in a fight prior to this; but today he’d let that monstrous temper inside him gain the upper hand. At what cost, he wondered, attempting without success to suppress another shudder. “Just who is Desmond Atkins, anyway?”
“Don’t you fear,” a voice came from so near that the boy jumped involuntarily. “Sorry; didn’t mean to frighten you.” Scarcely daring to breathe, the ten-year-old looked up—into the concerned hazel eyes of Aran Mulvahrian, his uncle’s Second. “Don’t be scared,” the 17-year-old repeated.
How can I not be, Desmond thought, imagining his uncle’s face when he learned what his nephew had done. I’ve broken one of the most important rules of The Organization, never to act without approval of my superiors. Without speaking, Aran pulled the younger boy to him, and Desmond found his muscles responding to the young man’s soothing presence.
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Reply #1298. Jun 26 12, 6:10 PM
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Jazmee27
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======
The junior gangster watches the scene with bored detachment. It looked to him as if his uncle was about to burst, he was so mad, and the tension in the air was so thick only a steak knife could have cut through it.
“But—“ Aran Mulvahrian splutters weakly, lowering his gaze.
Bizanti Cannelahra’s expression turns stormy, and everyone present freezes, waiting to see if the leader will keep his temper. Finally, he says in a dangerously controlled voice, “What does Cehrvanakavreyda Policy say about attacking babies?”
The seventeen-year-old shuffles his feet, his facial features betraying how vulnerable he feels. “Don’t touch them,” he mutters, his voice shaking.
“Then, knowing this, why in Universe name did you do it,” The Hawk demands.
“I…” The gang’s second looks around as if searching for the right words, his eyes darting everywhere but straight in front of him so as to avoid the black slits that were boring into him. “I thought—“
“You didn’t think at all, or you wouldn’t have lost control like that,” the older boy hisses.
For a moment, Desmond catches Aran’s startled gaze and holds it. He knew, deep down, that Aran would face whatever consequences came of his actions before he’d reveal Desmond’s part in things. The ten-year-old smiles to himself. Sometimes it really did pay to be the youngest.
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Reply #1299. Jun 26 12, 6:10 PM
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Jazmee27
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I'M MODIFYING SOME OF THIS [which basically means skipping over it]
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Qodiehnto Qivrantis
He takes in great gulps of fresh air like a drowning man, except that instead of water there is smoke and flame. His chest is tight, and his skin is all scorched and flaky. He can hear voices, but not what they’re saying. He doesn’t understand and, surprisingly, he finds it doesn’t matter. All he wants is to sleep, an eternal sleep from which he cannot be roused. Then he won’t have to remember, won’t be forced to relive the whole thing, won’t be forced to admit his twin isn’t sleeping somewhere beside him.
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Reply #1300. Jun 26 12, 6:12 PM
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