Power [I Draft]

His back turns to bristles as she moves in closer.  He feels more vulnerable with every rising hair on his arms.

She knows my name.

She smells the chemical cocktail coursing just beneath the surface of his skin as she plants her nostrils on his neck and her canines on his collarbone.  Adam's vision turns telescopic as he detaches from his own experience and realizes he hasn't heard the voice of his mother or father since this began.

"Let's get you out of these clothes..."

He can't speak, but he can think a little, and he realizes the panic and confusion at her knowing his name has faded to an emptiness only a little different than his day-to-day variety.  She grips his overstarched oxford and tears it off in a single motion, heedless of the buttons that held it in place.  Adam stands there and tries to reconcile his lack of emotional response with some logical explanation, however loose and hollow, but his train of thought keeps leaving him at the station.

Adam, this is your conductor speaking.

He realizes she's finished undoing his belt, and as she tosses it aside he watches it float away through the snow-shot cone of light from the lamps outside.  He sees their reflection there in the glass of the television, insinuated in silhouette, and he is transfixed.

Adam, you have been drugged.

He sees his pants drop, and feels his self-esteem go with them.  Jayna grabs him then, without feeling or fumbling, as she hotwires his body and leaves him to choose between hitching a ride or hitting the road.  He hangs on, eyes dry and gaze unbroken, the perfect scientist.

Body deprecate

He's looking toward the light of the empty streets.  Tomorrow when he can stitch together the events of the night, Adam will be keenly aware of the steep price he has paid for tonight.  At the moment, he has only the realization that being alone is no more discontenting than venturing out into civilization.  A wet warmth punctuates this thought.  She looks up at him, partially hidden.

Heart rate escalate

He looks down at her, and sees himself reflected in her watering eyes, small and distant and grey.  She detaches and grabs his hand, dragging him down the hallway and straight into shadow.  Adam feels himself being thrown through the air and suddenly feels weightless as his equilibrium shifts, failing to keep up speed.  A bed breaks his falling back and he feels two knees clamp his ribs.  She looks down at him, and he sees her mouth now: the only part of her as still as he is, while the rest of her descends into madness.

"Adam...

Flesh horripilate

"...I...

Violate, devastate

"Love..." her body shakes.

Wait wait wait wait wait

Adam's does too.

Hate

"You."

Senitus II

Continuation of Senitus.  I really have no idea how people will respond to this character, as that he's not really idyllic by any means.  He's not a bad person, but neither someone that one would wish to be.  He's just sort of downtrodden, and the result of such.  Also, I love that last line.  Not entirely sure why; just do.

“Well you could've fuckin’ woken me up.” Senitus snapped back. Neither his body nor his ego were willing to deal with this right now, especially just having woken up. After giving his rebuff, he couldn't even look at his kin, diverting his gaze down and away from him, looking instead at a crack in the wall next to his bed.

“Oh, wake you up for your own responsibilities? You’re a grown bloody man!” His grandfather’s voice raised before continuing, “I’ve long since given up on attempting to wake you up to perform duties which are your bloody responsibility! Every time you just get all pissy like a spoiled little girl before rolling back into your bedsheets. Just be glad that your parents aren't here to see what you've become.”

This was not the first time that they had this conversation, but this wasn't the first time that Senitus just didn't have the patience for it. He grabbed his tunic that he’d drunkenly thrown on the floor last night threw it over his head, cinching a belt around his waist and quickly slipping on his sandals. He didn't bother tightening them to his feet, as that is was more important for him to get out of the apartment. He grabbed his pouch with his money in it, throwing the cord around his neck and threw it underneath his tunic before storming out the door and slamming it behind him.

He drew a slow, deep breath in let it all out at once, shaking his head. He just needed to get out of here; away from his grandfather, away from his troubles. They lived on the fourth floor of six, balconies in the middle with rooms encircling a central courtyard which housed a fountain for public use. He made his way to one of the two staircases and followed them down to the courtyard.

Senitus plodded down the bottom of the stairs and rounded his way towards the fountain, his feet not hitting the ground at their even, regular pace. Even after descending the stairs, his gaze still did not leave his feet. Even though he had slept in, he reasoned that perhaps the wine still had influence on him. Absurd, clearly, he thought.

“‘Ave a rough night there?” He looked up to catch sight of one of the women who lived in the insula with him. She was a relatively young woman with dark hair cut close to her head, usually wearing a wig of a flaxen colour when she was at work. With tanned skin and hazel eyes, she betrayed her ancestry to the Ravennan peninsula, the home of their people, bearing a toothy grin which at the same time made her seem a bit simple and entirely alluring, her teeth slightly crooked and her eyes slightly vacant.

Senitus I

A new chapter involving an entirely new character, and for the first time, someone who isn't a noble.  Before I came up with an actual name for him, his placeholder name was "street scum with a heart of gold."  Oh, and I got a lot of hits on my last entry.  I wonder if it was because it was I used a picture, or because I said that it had sex.  A mystery I'll never learn the answer to, I fear.

He didn't know when he had awoken, only now that he was. It yet remained a mystery as to how a bed could be so uncomfortable when one made effort to go to sleep, yet as soon as they had ended their slumber and needed to get up, one’s bed was more comfortable than anything else. Senitus rolled over to face away from the open window in the hopes of going back to sleep, only to have the sudden realization that he had missed his morning levy. Again. Every morning it was his duty to go to the home of his patron at sunrise and see if there was anything that he needed to do for him, notably in terms of voting in his patron’s interests. In exchange, his patron would lend him aid in times of need, letting him borrow money or gainful employment.

Senitus growled in frustration. How could I be so damn stupid? Again? He slowly sat upright in his bed, the uneasy feeling from a heavy night of drinking coming to him all the sudden. His head didn't feel right. It wasn't quite a headache, just this surreal feeling where the entire world felt different. He didn't sleep well and his shoulder muscles were all kinds of sore. It was going to be one of those days, one that felt all too familiar.

He lived in an insula, an island amidst the other buildings, an apartment building housing hundreds of people in the middle of the city, sharing a small single room apartment with his grandfather, having only two beds and precious little else in the room with them. His parents had died both when he was younger, leaving him to be forced to live with his grandfather, his only other surviving relative. His grandfather by this point had become quite old and feeble, and unable to take care of himself. He once had served in the army and thus naturally had a small amount of natural wealth to him, but in fighting those bastards to the south, he had lost a leg, making most work impossible. It was up to Senitus to care for him.

This did not mean that either of them approved of the situation, but family is family; blood is blood. “Finally awake, I see, you drunken lout. Missed your levy, I see.” He paused for but a moment before adding his coup de grace, “Again.” The rest of his words would have had lessened effect if for not this last one, biting deep into his own insecurities on the issue. With age, his grandfather’s voice had become quite coarse, which only worsened the bite to his words.

Daphne V

Last part of this Daphne chapter.  A warning before you continue:  this is the first sex scene that I've ever written, and it's kind of graphic, and by "kind of graphic", I mean that it describes people performing sexual acts.  Now that you're all hot and bothered by my warning, I hope that you enjoy.  (Oh, and I'm adding in a picture between my this text and my actual writing from now on.  Enjoy this first one, a painting from a wall in Pompeii.)

Daphne opened her eyes as he reared up, tearing open his belt and tossing it aside onto the floor and pulling his tunic up and over his head. She took this opportunity to admire his body whilst his head was covered with his clothing, and at the same time removed her necklace and pushed it to a corner of the bed. Still on his knees, he sucked briefly on his middle finger and pulled up her dress, putting his hand between her legs. She slightly arched her back and rocked her head a bit, releasing a fettered breath.

Soon she grabbed his neck and pulled his head down to her own, mouth slightly agape and eyes filled with lust. “Put it in me,” she commanded. She could tell from the cheesy grin on his face that he was only too happy to comply, spitting in his hand and lathering himself up before easing himself into her. With this entry she closed her eyes with fluttering lids and rolled her head to the side as he began a rocking motion. It was spring, it was warm, and they were both already sweating. She put her hand up upon his chest to plead his attention and made the passive attention to roll him over, relying on him to do most all the work of it, pulling her up atop him and removed her dress, already beginning to stick to her from sweat.

Bent over him, she began to rock her body, but the feelings of passion, never fully taken hold, began to subside to the feelings of grief that had wracked her all this very day. Just as her mind began to sway in this direction, so did her body, her motions becoming more lackluster. She closed her eyes as tears began to form and fall down onto his chest, and as she opened them she saw that tears fled from his eyes as well. She wasn't sure which one of them had started crying first, but now they both were bawling their hearts out while having sex with one another.

However, he was the first one to start laughing, the convulsions of sorrow turning to those of amusement. It was contagious. She began to laugh too. Here they were, in the throes of passion, making love to one another, all the while crying their hearts out and now laughing. How ridiculous this all was. The tears began to give way and only the laughter remained. She fell down onto him and latched on, still conjoined, giving him a kiss on the neck. And so they lay there, naked and in each other’s embrace.

Daphne IV

This one is going to be a little bit short, but that way I can leave the next post to be the entire sex scene.  Yes, I wrote a sex scene, and you're going to see it this Wednesday.  No graphic anything yet though, so don't feel too worried.  Also, next Sunday I'll introduce some characters of a different culture.  Also, I'll ask again; does anyone think that I should try to include a picture with every post?

Where she had lost herself to her emotions, her husband had gained self-control. With eyes glistening with the threat of tears he answered in calm tones, “If it were my choice I would never leave your side, but this was my duty before we had ever met each other, before even I was born. This was the duty that was borne by my father and his father before him, as well as your own father. Our people are the greatest in the world because of our duty to ourselves and our ancestors.” Words of patriotic duty did nothing to abate her though, and the hand upon his face curled up and slammed half-heartedly into his shoulder. He smiled, tears coming closer to sweet release from their prison, his hand sliding down her neck and then back up again, the other coming up to cradle her face, forcing her to gaze into his eyes. “Daphne,” he whispered to her, his voice trailing as he said her name before finishing, “I love you.”

“I love you too!” She cried back, as though there couldn’t possibly be any other response to what he had said to her, taking no moment of hesitation before throwing herself upon him, wrapping her arms around his mid-section and squeezing as though she would never let go of him again, burying her face into his chest, smearing his tunic with makeup and tears.

At this moment she felt his hands grab her beneath the armpits and lift her up onto the bed that they stood just beside, pushing her down as he climbed up after her. He loomed over her and kissed her upon the collarbone, just above the necklace, and drew a line of kisses up the side of her neck to just behind her ear, and then planted one down upon her lips, and then another, and then another. She could see nothing as they traded kisses with one another, but she felt his hand run down her ribs and then onto her hip, firmly grasping it and then pulling upwards, pulling her body towards his.

Daphne III

Section 3 out of 5 from the Daphne chapter.  Also, I learned an interesting fact today about my writing.  Apparently everything that I've posted up here is on average of about the eighth grade reading level, according to the Flesch–Kincaid readability test.  At first, I should think to be offended, but realistically that's probably much better for readability and comprehension, if I'm expecting more people than just myself or friends to read this.  Anyway, as always, enjoy.



Daphne walked across the atrium and around the impluvium from her bedroom to that of her husbands. She did not yet enter, instead pressing her hand against the doorframe and looking down to her feet, as though to invoke the god of doorways to give her good fortune upon passing through. Composure regained, she took one light step forward, and then yet another around the doorway to see her husband. Surely he was there, standing proud, fully armoured and ready to go off and away, to execute his virile and civic duty.

Yet there he sat on a bench to the side of his room, his shoulders hunched and sinking into himself. He sat there in just his tunic, his armour not yet worn. So too, he was alone. Tears began to well slightly in her eyes, but in joy and sorrow at the same time, and for the same reason; he too was depressed by his departure, he too did not wish to leave her.

Quietly, meekly she spoke out to him, called to him, “Aelestros— I thought that I couldn’t bear to see you before you had left, but it turns out that I could not bear to not see you.” She strode towards him and watched his face as it drew up towards her. It was wracked and pained with grief. She loved to gaze into his eyes, but now they were not the bright shimmering wells that they normally were, but instead cloudy pools evocative of the sea on a stormy day. She could see how hard this was for him, that he felt just as miserable about this arrangement as she did. She had to be strong for him.

She cradled his face along the jaw with one hand, and with the other pulled him up by his arm. One hand still rested on his face, she put the other on his side and drew him in, closing her eyes and she guided his face to hers, pressing their lips together. She felt one hand wrap around her midsection, and the other reach behind her head, cradling it. Still embracing one another, the kiss naturally ended and they opened their eyes slowly to meet one another’s gazes, faces just inches away from one another.

She broke the silence and pled to him in hushed tones, “I don’t want you to leave. I don’t want you to leave me.” Her voice picked up in volume just as much as it did in emotion, crying from her heart, “Why can’t you just stay here with me?” The dam of self-control which held her tears at bay had been broken, and thin rivulets broke down both her cheeks, taking her makeup with it.

Daphne II

This is the second part of the Daphne chapter, as you may have guessed from the title.  Do you guys like makeup, and hearing about how it's put on?  Good, I was hoping so.  Also, I'd like to make a couple of notes real fast.  First off, this is one of the first times where I'm actually ahead of my posts, so I don't have to frantically write up something the day before or of when I need to post it.  Secondly, I've moved towards typing  this up directly on the computer, rather than writing in my notebook first.  It seems to be working better for me.  (Read: I'm actually writing more.)  As always, enjoy.

The slave responded curtly, “Yes Domina.” She approached whilst snatching a cloth off of the table next to where she had sat, quickly setting to work, wiping away the tears from her face and generally wiping it clean. Gently caressing her face with the cloth, she asked, “How soon do you need to be presentable? Dominus is leaving soon, is he not?”

These words, as harmless as they may have been at face value, cut like a knife into her heart, a reminder that he was soon to leave, a reminder of what she dreaded most. She almost stuttered out her response, “S-soon.” She clenched her jaw reflexively, trying to swallow the pain away.

“My apologies, Domina. I did not mean to salt this wound while it was still so sore.” She stepped back a bit, examining the face of her lady. “Come. Sit here.” She gestured to the chair in which she had just sat a moment before, to which Daphne strode towards and quickly plopped down. Meanwhile, Doula grabbed a comb made from the bone of an auroch, two deer leaping towards each other carved into the handle. She with deliberate, practiced strokes swept through Daphne’s hair, producing uniform waves flowing down the back of her neck. Hair brushed, she made two quick braids on either side of her face from her foremost hair and then tied them to each other behind her head with a red ribbon, keeping all of her hair from her face.

Next she set to the makeup, taking a small bowl that was filled with a white paste, composed of white marl crushed down into a fine powder, orris root, and some animal fat. She swiped some up with her fingers and began to blend it onto her lady’s face, whitening it into an even pale shade. Next she approached another table where a near empty bottle of wine sat and put the spare cloth to the lip of the bottle, flipping it upside down to catch the dregs and obtain the red colour, applying it lightly to her cheeks to give a nice, rosy colour. Her eyelashes were highlighted by a small bone rod dipped in water and then kohl, and given eyeshadow from a crushed malachite mixture to give a green colour.

“And now the finishing touches, Domina.” She took a small glass container and smeared on to her neck on both sides small amounts of a paste made from animal fat, but blended into rose petals and cinnamon to give a pleasant aroma. At last she took a large necklace, a Usekh collar made of many sections of beads and some precious stones, and put it about Daphne’s neck, as well as some gold and silver bracelets and a gold torc for each arm. Finally, she was ready.

Daphne I

This is a return to the original Hellenistic world that I've been writing about.  I need to come up with a name for it, or something otherwise by which to identify it.  At any rate, this originally was a separate character from Lysistratas, the first character which I wrote from the perspective of, but I've decided to combine her together into a single character, with the name of Daphne.  The name of her husband is also going to change, but I can't remember what it's supposed to be.  More to follow.



They had both known that this day would come, that he would be called off to war, to campaign against the enemies of their homeland.  He was a part of the greatest military the world had ever seen, and he was a nobleman, thus a junior officer, and certainly he was unlikely to be killed in battle.  So great also were they in the sciences and knowledge of disease and the human body, and certainly he was unlikely to die whilst on the march.  None of it made it any easier, for while the fear of death lingered in the backs of both of their minds, it wasn’t really what made them so distraught.  They’d have no way to talk to one another.  It was simply their separation.  It was the being apart.  It was the not knowing. 

Daphne could not bear to watch him be dressed in his armour, as the sight of it represented that which she dreaded, him ultimately leaving her.  Instead, she waited in the courtyard, leaning over the railing, taking in the beautiful garden that lay before her, filled with flowers.  They may as well have not been there, as she looked right through them, thinking of her husband riding off, away from her.  She chewed lightly on her bottom lip and swallowed hard as she choked back some tears.  What good am I doing out here, she asked herself, if it makes me feel no better?

She drew in a long, wavering breath and let it all out; her breath, her anxiety, her sadness, all leaving her body in a single moment.  She would be strong.  She had to be.  Lifting herself off of the railing she strode towards the front of the house.  She could hear his voice but could not yet approach; she had been crying and could not bear to have him see her in such a distraught state.  If this was to be the last day that he would see her before he went on campaign, she needed to make sure that she looked her best, to give him a good memory of her.

Daphne proceeded past the impluvium, the small pool near the front of the house, decorated with a mosaic, which caught rainwater and housed a few small decorative fish to eat insect eggs, which darted away as she walked by.  She turned to walk into her personal chambers where her personal handmaiden sat, quickly standing at her entrance.  She was a slightly older woman, lines starting to appear on her face, but still had some of the beauty of youth.  Her skin was olive, and her dark hair began to have strands of grey streak through it, giving her more dignity and grace, though most of it was covered by a light blue headscarf.  She bowed her head slightly and inquired, “Domina.  What is it?”

Daphne drew in a deep breath, building herself up with it.  “My husband is leaving.  I intend to see him off.”