Hello old friend

[Moridanu]

*Sitting in the car watching her son train for football (yes, I’m a footy mum now), Kylie sighed and opened up her laptop. Report cards were due TOMORROW and with no time to waste, she resigned herself to writing report card comments to save time tomorrow. Procrastinating as always, she checked her messenger and felt her face light up with delight as she saw a message from her boy. Memories of their first meeting in the Mystic Tavern over twenty years ago flooded all her senses and she smiled as she remembered all the stories they had shared together. His words caused her heart to sigh in happiness and as her laptop finally kicked into life she opened up a word document and began to type. Instead of boring report card comments though, she began to WRITE.

They had spoken of the need for a long overdue catch up and she had said that while she would normally ask him for a drink at their favourite pub, they were unfortunately limited by the fact that they lived half a world away from each other. So, in keeping with the reminiscing and gooey feelings she had had at reading his words, she made the mental note to brush off the cobwebs, check out Morthika and set up a place for the reopening of their beloved Mystic Tavern.

Closing her eyes, she could see the old building in all its former glory. Walking down the well-worn path, she smiled as the overgrown grass and weeds reached up to gently stroke her legs in a whispered welcome. The old wooden steps creaked under her feet and although she was wearing comfortable, practical teacher shoes, she gazed down at her feet to see they were now encased in the old leather boots her favourite characters had worn. Pausing to sweep away the crusted cobwebs that had taken years to form, she finally could see enough of the old front door of the tavern. Warped and peeling wood shone in the light (moonlight or the light of her laptop?) and she noticed the knots and twists in the worn wood formed an intricate pattern of lines and shapes. Peering more intently she laughed softly as she could make out the form of a warm smile and laughing eyes. Smiling back, she whispered “Hello old friend” before she pushed open the door. Hinges creaked and groaned in protest at being disturbed after all this time, and her boots made a hollow sound across the floor as she made her way into the tavern.
Ghosts of the past lingered in the shadows and for the briefest of moments she thought she saw Dragon Lord sitting at the bar. Glancing up at the rafters, she half expected to see her first character EVILvampireLADY perched in the darkness but there was nothing there except for shadows and the soft squeal of protest from a resident bat. Allowing her eyes to grow accustomed to the gloom, she looked around the room and smiled as the candles slowly flickered to light. One by one, they began to fill the room with their soft, golden glow as she strode purposefully towards the bar. Her usual stool was empty, as they all were now, and she paused to trail her fingertips over the well worn wood as she slipped past the end of the bar, disappearing into the dim den that was normally filled by the resident barkeep.


The shelves were empty, as they often always were, but she knew from memory where her drink of choice was held. Her emerald eyes glanced over at the small pantry where her vampire characters had kept her poor victim Mary tied up and tortured for many a moon. She licked her lips as she remembered her custom made “Bloody Mary”, but those days were long gone. If she bothered to look in the pantry now, she might find the dust of poor old Mary’s bones, but her attention was drawn back to the bar and the dust that had settled over it like a warm blanket. Using the sleeve of her dress, she wiped the dust away from the bar in front of her stool and smiled as the well worn ring appeared just as she remembered it. Many a drink was had in this tavern and she held her breath as she waited to see if the magic would continue. Right on cue, she watched as a tall wine glass appeared, filled with ice and a clear liquid. She was a vodka and soda girl now and she chuckled as a slice of lime appeared on the edge of the glass. Looking around the empty bar, she considered getting his drink ready but as it had been so long between visits, she was unsure what his drink was now.
Gazing approvingly around the room, her brow furrowed slightly as her green gaze came to rest upon the fireplace. The gaping hole of the fireplace appeared to be a dark, angry mouth. Shadows crept out of the darkness like a black mist, slowly seeping down over the bricks in the hearth. “That won’t do..” she muttered and, as if by magic, there was a spark and a splutter and she watched as a tiny amber flame began to appear. Licking the logs that should be long gone, the flame grew in size as the hungry flames found their purpose again. Soon a fire was blazing, warm embers chasing the last of the shadows away as she made her way out from behind the bar.


Pausing to grab her drink, she took a sip and sighed in contentment as she made her way towards the fireplace. The velvet chaise she had spent so many nights laying upon had been upturned and was laying on its side. Putting her glass down on the dusty table, she lifted the chaise lounge and set it back in its usual place. The sudden movement caused the old material to expel years of dust and mice shit and she waved away the cloud of dust, giving an involuntary cough. Grabbing her drink, she wiped away any remaining dust and cobwebs before settling herself on her chair.
Sipping her drink as the ice-cubes tinkled against the glass, she cast one last loving gaze around her old home. The crackling fire and the odd sound of creaking rafters were her only companions as she settled against the warm velvet of her seat. Finally, her gaze came to rest upon the door. Anticipation and a deep longing she had felt in her heart for far too long now, caused her green eyes to glisten as she sipped her drink and waited (albeit not as patiently as she had promised) for her beloved to appear.
As she waited, she checked her watch and realised that her son would be back in the car in seven minutes. Proud of her accomplishments and time well spent, she cast one last glance at her long TO DO LIST and scoffed at her report cards. There’ll be time tomorrow! With a happy heart, she sipped her drink in the tavern and waited for her old friend as she turned off her computer and waited for her son. *

[Blood and Roses]

"So... you're back again."

Bart shakes his head woodenly, as though trying to rouse from a deep slumber. The voice barely registers in his ears... or perhaps, not in his ears at all, but inside his head. A voice. His own voice. The world about him is a blur, shapes and colors lacking definition. He presses his hands to his face, fingertips digging into his eyes, then glances around him while blinking rapidly. A figure begins to take shape before him.

"I know, it's been a long while." A warm chuckle. "Keep trying. Come on, now."

There's brief flash of light -- of a lighter? -- and the smell of cigarette smoke washes over him. Bart blinks again, his vision finally coming to focus on the figure before him.

"There you are. Hello, old friend." The figure wears a face Bart has known his entire life -- his own face, but unchanged by the passage of time and the weathering of worry. More boy than man, ripped denim and red flannel cover a slight frame, a thick black mane falling in waves down below his shoulders. Bart couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy as he runs a hand over his own smooth pate, though this was tempered with the knowledge that such locks are dreadfully demanding to keep up. The boy is draped carelessly across a large armchair, crossed ankles in familiar worn-but-serviceable combat boots hanging over one arm. The boy and the chair are all Bart can see, as if spotlit from above on a darkened stage. Bart watches numbly as the boy puts a lit cigarette to his lips and takes a drag.

"So. You're back again. After what feels like a lifetime." Smoke rolls from between his lips with each word. Bart nods. The boy shakes his head, a bemused smirk crossing his lips. "Why?" Bart opens his mouth, but the words don't come. Instead, a dry rasp emerges from a throat that had long ago forgotten how to speak. The boy in the chair rolls his eyes. "Still nothing, huh? After all these years, you got nothing to say?"

Bart grits his teeth and tries again, forcing the words from deep within himself. "I don't know."

"The hell you don't know." His voice dripping disdain, the boy swings his legs over the arm of the chair and plants them on the unseen floor with a thunk. He sits forward, elbows on knees, the cigarette clenched between his teeth. "We both know why you're here. So just admit it, to both of us."

Bart glares angrily, but the boy doesn't flinch. There is no fire in his expression, only a bone-deep tiredness. He raises one hand to stroke the hairs of his chin, a habit he displayed when deep in thought. With a deep sigh, Bart's face softened. When he opened his mouth, the words did not fight him to emerge. "I... I need this. I forgot how much I need this."

"Atta boy! I knew you could do it." The boy grins and rises from the chair. They stand eye to eye, each staring at their reflection through a mirror of time. "I kinda expected you would come here." The boy gestures, and Bart realizes that a large canvas duffle sits on the floor beside him, as if he'd dropped it there moments before. The duffle bulges, and Bart knows without looking what's inside. He stares, and the familiar despair returns. "That looks heavy," the boy chirps. "I'd offer to help, but... well, that's your burden. And I'm just a memory."

"Yeah," Bart grunts as he reaches for the strap of the duffle and hoists it over his head. As the weight settles over his shoulder, he mutters, "and you were never much help anyway." He glances up to see a long black leather trench coat fall into place over the boy's shoulders. The coat brings a surge of memories with it, a familiar friend that he had carried with him his entire life. That same coat hung now in his closet back home, wrinkled and ragged from their many travels and adventures together.

The boy spins on his heel, black mane and leather coat twirling, and he lifts one hand with fingers tensed. His hand hangs in the air for a moment, almost hesitant. At last, the fingers give an echoing snap, and the boy is silhouetted by the sudden appearance of a rectangle of bright white light. The light frames him, like a doorway. "Damn right you need this." He throws a grin over his shoulder at Bart before trudging off through the door, booted heels clacking. "So let's go." He strides through the door and is lost in the brilliant light. Bart lifts one hand to shield his eyes, and follows after him.

***

Bart glances around, startled, as the blazing doorway vanishes. An ocean of stars blaze around him, impossibly bright, illuminating his surroundings. He is standing on cobbled stone, a massive hunk of ancient road ripped whole from the earth and sent drifting through the void. Shattered pillars lay in ruins around him, great stone debris scattered across the tiny island his feet rest upon. A single archway remains untouched by the devastation, two slender columns raising a tremendous marble slab high into the star-studded night. As Bart's eyes follow the pillars up to the slab, great raven black wings unfurl with a snap, visible as much for the stars they obscure from his view as for the form they take. There is a rush of wind and a blur of motion as the wings give a single beat, and a figure launches from the arch into the starry night. Then a sudden blast of wind and grit strikes Bart in the face, driving him back, hands covering his face.

As the wind fades, a tenebrous form stands proudly before Bart. The form is wrapped in pure shadow, an umbra so deep that it absorbs the light to give it shape. A voice whispers from the all-black form, sliding through the air as smooth as silk over glass. "You remember me now?"

"I... of course, I mean of course I do." Bart stutters, shaken by the being's sudden arrival, and the rush of memories that wash over him. "You were the first." The form shifts and flickers, details beginning to resolve. Ghost white skin covered in black cloth, hair like mercury cascading around its shoulders. Amber eyes gaze from a face too perfect to be human. "The very first." Bart's voice grows steady. "Before the vampires and werewolves. Before the mages and warriors. Before Him... before the bard." A note of wonder creeps into Bart's voice. "My very first creation. The Angel of Darkness."

The being before him closes its golden eyes, and a small smile touches its pale lips. "So, you do remember. Why did you forget me?" The question comes not as an accusation, there is no hurt in the melodic voice. Rather, it strikes Bart like a gentle nudge, a quiet urging.

"I..." Bart's voice falters again. He musters his courage and tries again. "I forgot you because you were a dream of my childhood. You were a Goth kid's self-insert fantasy character that I wished I could be. The incarnate beauty of the night sky, of bones and stars. You... were flawed by your perfection." Bart's head turned to one side. "I mean, really? An angel of darkness? Might as well have named you Memento Mori."

The angel smiles warmly. "You forgot me because you outgrew me."

"Not completely!" Bart blurts out. "I did try to recreate you. Give you a real story. Make you a whole person. But..." his voice trailed off

"But instead, you created a whole new character." A musical laugh fills the night air, like the strains of a distant song entwined with the sighs of lovers in the night. "A new character that was the exact opposite of myself. I'm quite familiar with Gwydion Shadowbane."

"Honestly, I didn't realize at the time that I was trying to recreate you." Bart stroked his chin in thought. "The whole sun-worship and light powers were a spur of the moment decision that just kind of clicked."

"And yet," the angel chided playfully, "you made the same mistakes with him that you did with me. Unreasonably powerful, overwhelmingly good and righteous. Boring."

"I was still learning!" Bart growled back. "He wasn't supposed to be that way in the beginning. I even introduced him to the story with a gaping chest wound. Although... it didn't slow him down for long." Bart frowned. "I didn't give him time to grow, or make mistakes, or fail before he succeeded. I got impatient and skipped ahead." Bart floundered for a moment. "And in the end, I got bored and forgot him, too."

"It seems, then that you might have learned from us." The raven wings spread wide, circling around Bart in a cold, feathery embrace. The angel's voice echoes in the space between his wings, "Which, I suppose, is the reason we existed in the first place." Bart is shrouded once more in inky darkness.

***

His ears are filled with sorrow. The voices of men and women and children, all crying out in voices that waiver and fade as if from a great distance, a low hum of despair. Ghostly faces swim before Bart's eyes, contorted in agony or outrage. "What of us?" their voices wail. "What of us, the forgotten, whose names you cannot recall?"

Bart throws his arms up before them, as if to ward off attacks from the apparitions. He collapses to his knees as the faces of his half-written characters swirl around him. "I tried!" he shouts at them. "I tried with each of you! I just didn't have..." his voice cracks with a sob. Another face, young and rugged, hovers before him. Griff.

"What?" the face snarls. "Inspiration?" The face of Griff twists with fury. "Did our stories mean so very little to you!?"

"That's not it, bastard!" Bart bellows at the phantom. "I loved you! Each and every one of you! I wrote you because each one of you was a piece of me!"

"Just not enough to keep us alive," the face of Griff seethes as it begins to fade away. "Not enough to write our stories."

"I wanted to," Bart weeps, tears streaming down the deep lines in his face. "I tried."

"Never you mind them." A voice cuts through the clamor of the angry figments. "They're just ghosts, they can't hurt 'cha." At the sound of these words, the apparitions scatter like seedlings on the wind, swirling and vanishing. In the sudden, shocked silence, Bart raises his head to look where the voice came from.

Bart finds that he's huddled on the wooden floorboards of a jail cell. The iron gate stands open, through which he can see the furnishings of an old-timey office. Standing leaning against the doorframe is a tall, slim figure dressed in a fine black suit, shining black boots with silver toe caps, and a wide-brimmed hat. Moonlight gleams off of the guard of the cavalry saber at his hip, and on silver star on the breast of his waistcoat, tracing the letters that spell out "SHERIFF."

Rising to his feet, Bart lets out an exasperated sigh. "Of course you would show up." He glances up and down the lawman. "What are you doing here, Conrad? "

Conrad reaches into his vest and pulls out a long black cigar. "You summoned me. What do you think?" The sheriff reaches up and strikes a match across one broad shoulder and holds it to the cigar.

Bart frowns and considers. Why is the sheriff here? he wonders. "Did you come to torment me, too?"

Puffing the cigar to life, Conrad shakes his head. "Nah. I got no complaints." The sheriff lets out a cloud of fragrant smoke, his eyes glowing briefly before fading to their customary hue. A hue that Bart can't recall. "Matter of fact," Conrad grunts around the cigar in his cheek, "I reckon my story was pretty good."

"It wasn't your story!" Bart stalks toward the sheriff, disgust in his face. "You were one small part in an epic saga. A story that was written by many hands, many minds. It wasn't your story at all." Bart considers a moment. "That story started long before I ever imagined you. And it was good without you."

"True," Conrad concedes, taking the cigar from his mouth. He stares distantly for a few moments. "Then again," he murmurs thoughtfully, "you had a helluva good time writing about me."

"Well, yeah," Bart smiled in spite of himself. Deepdweller's Gulch was a great setting, and Conrad fit right in with all of the other madness. All of the amazing writers coming together, all of the fantastic characters and setting work, all to create a truly exciting and entertaining story. And he had got to be a part of it. "You're right about that."

"I know it," the sheriff says with a grin. "You know who else had a good time dancing with me?"

"Who's that?" Bart asks distractedly, lost in rumination.

"Her."

That simple word strikes Bart like a bolt of lightning. Her. Bart shakes his head like something stuck had just come loose inside it, and blinks up at the knowing face of Sheriff Conrad. "Son of a bitch. You're right again."

"Damn right I'm right!" the sheriff laughs and slaps Bart on the shoulder, jolting him. "She MADE that story, friend. Everyone hung on her words, and waited their turn to have a dance. If it weren't for her, none of you writer-types woulda even been there. Hell, I wouldn't even exist." Conrad chuckles. "You didn't call her your muse for nothin'."

Rubbing at his shoulder, Bart grins ruefully at Conrad. "Sorry, partner. I'm gonna have to skip a few chapters to get to the end of this journey. I got somewhere important to be."

"Bout time you remembered." The sheriff sweeps the hat off his head and steps out of the doorway. "I got a horse saddled and ready outside, be faster than walking."

"Thanks anyway," Bart says with a grin. "I got a ride." He reaches out and grabs Conrad's hand, shaking vigorously. "Hey man. Thanks." The sheriff nods, and Bart hurries out the door.

***

Bart bursts out of the Sheriff's Office onto the wood plank boardwalk to the sound of tires spinning on dirt. The convertible Duesenberg slides to a halt at the base of the steps. Its driver stands up and leans over the car door and shouts "Hey, fella! Been a nickle and dime!"

"Fast Eddy Carlon! What's the word?" Bart grins and hurries over. The bootlegger looks dressed for a party, from pinstriped suit to the stylish fedora perched on his head.

"Word is, we're behind the 8-ball and there's a tomato at the gin mill waiting to wet her beak." Bart stops and stares, uncomprehending. Eddy gives Bart a hard look. "Well, get in the bucket and let's blow, ya bunny! Before your dolly dangles!"

Bart's mouth falls open, and is about to ask a question, when Eddy throws his hands up in exasperation and grabs Bart by the arm. With an effortless heave, he drags Bart over the door into the passenger seat of the Duesenberg. "Palooka," Eddy mutters, working the gearshift. The tires of the Duesenberg spin, sending red dirt flying in a cloud as the car takes off like a shot.

***

Bart watches as Fast Eddy speeds away down the gravel lane, here and gone in a flick, before turning back to face the old tavern. The darkened structure is both familiar and foreign to Bart, a place he whiled away countless hours in his youth... but had not returned to in decades. So many years had gone by, and it looks as though nary a soul had been to visit. The path was overgrown, trees and foliage left to run wild. In the dark, none of the features of the tavern were visible but for the warm, flickering light in the windows.

Every step closer brings back a memory. Every memory brings a feeling. What it was like to be young and careless, to write with reckless abandon, without form or function, or even a reason. To write for the joy of writing. This magical place, this Mystic Tavern, had inspired so many stories, for sure. But more than that, it had inspired people. It created authors. It created friendships. This place was the beginning. This is where all of Bart's stories began.

Pushing the heavy door open, Bart steps into the warm firelight of the tavern. His eyes adjust slowly, taking in the familiar sights. The bar where Dragon Lord plied his trade. The rafters, which were actually just perches for the winged types. Tables and chairs and barstools littered the large floor. The place was dusty and thick with cobwebs, but Bart hardly notices the mess. The heavy duffle on his shoulder falls to the floor and his face splits in a cheshire smile as he finally lays eyes on Kylie, sitting near the fire on her velvet chaise.

"Well hey, gorgeous!" Bart says, warmth filling his voice as he rushes to embrace her. "Sorry I'm late. It was a long road, and I ran into some problems on the way."

[Moridanu]

*Dark full lashes fluttered open as she was awoken from a dream. The tavern was full of ghosts long gone, all surprisingly loud despite their ethereal form. Elyza was using the bar as a makeshift ballet barre, her long, lithe left leg stretched out over the edge of the bar closest to the staircase as her right foot absently went on pointe. Dark eyes rolled in her head as her hands worked quickly to rake through her long, tumble of ebony curls. Kylie shuddered as her scalp begin to tingle. As Elyza’s dark nails raked through her hair, Kylie’s blond locks were gathered as if by unseen hands to form a massy bun on the top of her head. Stifling a scream, she watched Elyza. Once an identical messy top knot was secured on the top of her head, the demon dancer bent her body at the waist to lay over the outstretched leg, her hands reaching out to touch her pointed toes. Despite no blood flow to warm her stretched muscle, the demon possessing her body had the memories of the former girl who had been well on her way to become a prima ballerina before she had become Lucien’s whore. Almost as if she sensed Kylie watching her, Elyza turned her dark gaze upon her.
~Fuck me!~ she snarled. ~If it aint the almighty creator. Why you slumming it with me?~ Before Kylie could answer, the tavern door creaked open and Moridanu strode through the door and straight towards the bar. She didn’t even look Kylie’s way, as she eased her battle-scarred body onto her stool and knocked three times on the peeling, dusty wood. Her pint glass of Guiness appeared, just like it always had, and as she waited for the dark brew to settle and form its perfect white froth, she took the opportunity to peel off the long, battered leather duster that clung to her waist before flaring out over her hips to trail on the dusty floor below the stool. Kylie gasped in dismay as she watched the beloved, golden coat fall to the floor. Despite her ears still ringing from the bloody battlefield, Moridanu heard the gasp and followed the sound to the fireplace, her emerald eyes glistening as she locked eyes with a pair as green as her own. They stared at each other, both unable to blink or even breathe. A million unspoken words passed between the writer and her greatest creation and Elyza glanced at Moridanu before turning her dark eyes upon Kylie once more. Finally, Moridanu broke the intense exchange of silent words as her green eyes turned to Elyza. Taking a moment to take a sweet, long drink of her Guinness, she placed the glass carefully back upon the bar before turning her body to face the demoness at the end of the bar. When she spoke her voice was raspy from the smoke of the battlefield and the wracked sobs that had consumed her as she watched so many people that she loved succumb to Lucien and the Battle of Light and Dark. A slight Irish accent clung to her words as her emerald eyes narrowed in disdain.
~Te’ whore of Hell, here in t’e flesh? Tell me demon, how can t’at be possible when I just ripped one of t’ose beastly legs off ye in last nights war?!~
Elyza chuckled, her black eyes flashing as she stroked her outstretched leg lovingly. ~Beats me bitch..~
Moridanu sighed. ~And, forgive m’if I’m wrong, but I t’ought we couldn’t be in t’e taven at t’e same time? Yet here ye be, and here I am..?~ She took a sip of her Guinness.
Exasperated, Elyza let out a snarl as she placed both feet upon the floor. ~I don’t know, ask her!~ she said, pointing at Kylie and flipping her the bird in the process. ~She’s the one that makes up the fucking rules.~
As both of her creations glared at her angrily, Kylie blinked rapidly in an effort to take in the scene playing out before her. Elyza shrugged, stretched her long arms over her head and pushed away from the bar.
~Well girls..~ she drawled. ~Its been…. Well.. honestly.. its been fucked to see you both. Moribitch, do the world a favour and don’t bother showing up tomorrow, eh? You’ve only got…what.. one army left? Not that I’d call that pathetic bunch of losers an ‘army’, but you seem to cling to the hope that you have a chance of winning this war. Dark always wins over light dear… and you, and your pathetic army are as light weight as they come. ~ She turned on her heel and made her way to the bottom of the staircase. Pausing she turned her head to fix her cold gaze upon Kylie one last time.
~As for you… you done fucking with my head? You try losing your life, your love, your memories.. every thing that makes you YOU only to have a fucking demon take over. Yes… it was great sex.. I’ll give you that… Lucien..~ she trailed off, her tongue flickering out to lick her dark lips.
Lost in thought for a moment, she shook her head, causing some errant curls to escape the bun and trail down her back. Frozen on the lounge, Kylie felt her scalp tingle as a few blonde strands fell loose to tickle her bare shoulders. Shivering, she wished for more coverage than the light summer dress she had worn to cheer her boys on at football. As her hands reached up to rub the gooseflesh that was rippling across her arms, she was surprised to realise she was now encased in the soft, golden leather of Moridanu’s coat.
Her attention broken, she gazed down at the achingly familiar feeling of this coat that clung to her body just as it had when she had had Moridanu try it on for the first time. The Queen of Morthika arched a slender amber brow at the bar and finished her drink in one big gulp just as Elyza snarled ~ Fuck you both~ and began her ascent up the staircase. She disappeared from view halfway up the stairs, only to be replaced by a thin wafting dark mist. Moridanu rose from the stool and cast one last glace at Kylie by the fireplace. Her eyes lingered on her coat as she sniffed and said ~Looks bett’r on ye..~ before she turned towards the door. Again, she too disappeared from sight before she reached the door, leaving a soft, green mist in her wake that smelled mildly of peppermint.
Blinking rapidly to dispel the tears that threatened to roll down her cheeks, Kylie sat up and looked around the now empty tavern. The fire hissed and cackled behind her. The rafters creaked. Her heart was beating rapidly, the sound pounding through her veins and she rubbed her temples absently in a half-hearted attempt to dissuade the migraine that threatened to blind her vision of this magical place. Back in the real world, she could see herself sitting by a hospital bed, her hand enclosed around her son’s as he slipped in and out of consciousness. As the nurses gathered information, they asked for his medical history and she had to tell them that she had no clue. She explained that he was her foster son and had only been with her for the past two years. Despite the fact that her blood did not pump through his veins, she knew that he was HERS and the nurse handed her a tissue as she said “It doesn’t matter mum. He’s still your son.” Tortured memories of the many times she had been in a hospital bed herself knocked against her heart, hooked up to IV’s and monitors as she had watched the screen, desperate to see and hear a heart beat as one by one her babies had died. Nobody could explain why she could never carry her babies past three months. Endless rounds of IVF, devastating miscarriages and the deepest heartache she could bear all proved fruitless as she finally accepted she would never be a mother. She hadn’t knew then, what she knew now. Despite screaming at the sky, asking why over and over again and despairing at never having an answer, she had never had hope. She didn’t know that this gorgeous boy who was laying on the bed before her now had been living his own private hell as he fought to stay with his brothers while his mother had turned to drugs to escape her own hell. If only she had known, she would have searched to find him. But the universe had its way, and the Gods had their reasons. The day that these three beautiful boys had come home to her was the happiest of her life. Although years of trauma had hardened these boys (at the time as young as 8, 9 and 12), and they threw a lifetime of grief and anguish at her as she weathered the storm of their misplaced anger and hurt, she instantly knew the joy of finally becoming a mother.
Her son Logan finally turned his head to her and said “I’m hungry.” Then the attitude kicked in and she smiled as she said “I can see youre feeling better…” Bart had been the first person she had spoken to, sitting there in the hospital as they continued to monitor her son. Once she knew that he was going to be okay, she promised to get back to the tavern and continue her post. Of course he told her there was no rush. That their time could wait. And she smiled as she thought of the decades their friendship had withstood.
Now, back at home, her computer beeped to say it was down to the last five minutes of battery life and she hastily closed her eyes and disappeared back to the Mystic Tavern.
The warm fire welcomed her like a long lost friend as she finally heard the door open. Turning to look towards the door, her face lit up as he was finally here.
"Well hey, gorgeous!" Bart says, warmth filling his voice as he rushes to embrace her. "Sorry I'm late. It was a long road, and I ran into some problems on the way."
She leapt to her feet and threw herself into his arms, smothering him with kisses.
“Bout time babes! I’m fucked after staying up till midnight getting lost in the Gulch last night. I still have to finish reading the last two pages but my computer won’t let me so I will have to do it tonight on my phone. Fuck we were good… so many layers to so many characters… what a story!”
She gestured towards the bar. “What’s your poison these days? Lets get a drink and catch up.”
Her green gaze grew misty once more and she blinked away the tears before she held him close. Her heart beat in time with his as she pressed against his chest. Her voice was raspy in his ear.
“Damn, I’ve missed you.” *

[Blood and Roses]

She leapt to her feet and threw herself into his arms, smothering him with kisses. Bart laughed and returned her affections with equal vigor before scooping her into a tight bearhug and twirling them around. His heart sang a song of joy as they embraced, and his face grew hot. Excitement and relief swept through his soul at finally reuniting with Kylie, his longtime friend, his heart-mate, his muse. This was long overdue.

“Bout time babes! I’m fucked after staying up till midnight getting lost in the Gulch last night. I still have to finish reading the last two pages but my computer won’t let me so I will have to do it tonight on my phone. Fuck we were good… so many layers to so many characters… what a story!”

Bart couldn't hold back a sheepish grin. "I did the exact same thing. There was a lot of good writing for that story, and some really talented people bringing it to life." He raised an eyebrow. "Like someone running THREE characters, while most of us struggled to keep up with just one!" He nudged Kylie playfully. "Come on, admit it -- you're amazing. Like three authors in a trench coat."

She gestured towards the bar. “What’s your poison these days? Lets get a drink and catch up.”

"I love that idea." Bart quick-stepped to the bar and placed his wrist upon it, hand up and open. The sound of glass sliding over wood proceeded the slap of a bottle coming to rest in his palm. He shook his head in wonder and muttered, "Hot damn, it still works." A trick he learned in the olden days of MT chat, a minor enchantment on the bar top would furnish the beverage of choice for patrons when no barkeep was on duty. Bart hefted the bottle and peered at the label. 12-year-old scotch, single malt. He glanced back down the bar. The dust and grime were undisturbed. He cleared his throat, "Ah, on the rocks, please." A short glass came to rest within arm's reach, an ice sphere spinning within. He poured, then set the bottle on the bar.

Bart looked over at Kylie, a grin on his lips. "Good lord, you're a sight for sore eyes." He took a long sip from the glass as he wandered back to the fireplace. "Now. Tell me how you've been. Tell me what you're doing these days." He set his glass on a table nearby, and took Kylie's hands in his with a squeeze. "Tell me everything!"

Her green gaze grew misty once more and she blinked away the tears before she held him close. Her heart beat in time with his as she pressed against his chest. Bart's arms circle around her shoulders and squeeze her tight against him. Her voice was raspy in his ear.
“Damn, I’ve missed you.”

Bart took a deep breath and let out a contented sigh, and muttered "Oh, how I missed you, doll face." He closed his eyes and felt himself melting in her embrace. Bart thought that she must feel his heart hammering against his ribcage, with the way it pounded. He breathed her in, wishing he could absorb her through his skin. He stroked one hand on her hair and gave her another tight squeeze.

Finally, Bart released her from the hug and lowered himself onto the chaise. He patted the cushion beside him, then turned on the seat to face her fully. He pursed his lips and glanced over at his glass, forming beads of condensation on its outside. "I maybe sorta have been stalking you on Facebook for a while. I've seen all of the paintings you've posted. No really, all of them. You're so freaking talented!"

Bart looked to Kylie apologetically. "I know, I'm a bad friend. I should have reached out way sooner than this. Like, if I'm stalking your social media, why not just say hi, right?" He frowned and turned his eyes away again. "I don't have a good excuse. Life just gets... in the way." He swallowed a lump in his throat. "And you just look so happy, with babies and school and painting. And that smile," he trailed off dreamily. Bart couldn't help the curve of his own lips. "That radiant smile."

"You just looked like you were doing so well, that things were starting to go your way, and I didn't want any of my bad energy rubbing off on you." Bart held up his hands. "I'm just saying, we all have good times and bad times. And I want your good times to be good. I just didn't want to drag you down." His face grew serious. "Yes, I know it was silly of me. I'm going to do better." He dragged a thumb twice across his chest in an X. "Cross my heart."

Bart took another long drink from his scotch and plunked the glass back down. He dragged one hand across his mouth, coming to rest with thumb under his chin and index across his lips. "But now that we're here," he murmured, staring intently, his finger trailing down his chin. "I think you know what I want." His voice was husky with barely contained emotion, and he drew closer to Kylie, close enough to feel the heat of her skin. "I want... I need... you," his stubbly cheek brushed against the side of her face, the smell of scotch on his breath, "to inspire me." His lips came close to her ear, his voice breathless. "Write a story with me."

[Moridanu]

Bart took a deep breath and let out a contented sigh, and muttered "Oh, how I missed you, doll face." He closed his eyes and felt himself melting in her embrace. Bart thought that she must feel his heart hammering against his ribcage, with the way it pounded. He breathed her in, wishing he could absorb her through his skin. He stroked one hand on her hair and gave her another tight squeeze.
Kylie sighed contently, her head resting on his broad shoulder before he let her go.

Finally, Bart released her from the hug and lowered himself onto the chaise. He patted the cushion beside him, then turned on the seat to face her fully. He pursed his lips and glanced over at his glass, forming beads of condensation on its outside. "I maybe sorta have been stalking you on Facebook for a while. I've seen all of the paintings you've posted. No really, all of them. You're so freaking talented!"
She blushed. “Oh stop that! I’m just finding my groove. But thank you. I AM the People’s Choice after all!”

Bart looked to Kylie apologetically. "I know, I'm a bad friend. I should have reached out way sooner than this. Like, if I'm stalking your social media, why not just say hi, right?" He frowned and turned his eyes away again. "I don't have a good excuse. Life just gets... in the way." He swallowed a lump in his throat. "And you just look so happy, with babies and school and painting. And that smile," he trailed off dreamily. Bart couldn't help the curve of his own lips. "That radiant smile."

She beamed in happiness, showing him the radiant smile he so loved as he continued talking.

"You just looked like you were doing so well, that things were starting to go your way, and I didn't want any of my bad energy rubbing off on you." Bart held up his hands. "I'm just saying, we all have good times and bad times. And I want your good times to be good. I just didn't want to drag you down." His face grew serious. "Yes, I know it was silly of me. I'm going to do better." He dragged a thumb twice across his chest in an X. "Cross my heart."

A slender brow arched as she listened intently while sipping her drink. The ice had long melted and the vodka and soda slipped pleasantly down her throat before she placed the now empty glass back on the table. She watched him as he took another drink before checking her wrist for the time. Realising she didn’t wear a watch (in this world or the next), she looked up from the computer and blinked foggily at the reappearing ‘real world’. Trying to figure out the timezone was literally driving her crazy, but she grabbed her phone and buzzed him anyway. He answered immediately and they spent many hours talking, flirting and catching up. It was long over due and they celebrated each other while commiserating over the shit show that had been Bart’s life lately. One day turned into the next (or was that night?! – you know I’m going to start singing our song here babe!), and soon a weekend had passed. The laughs, the videos, the memories… all blurred together and she found she couldn’t wipe the stupid grin off her face no matter how hard she tried. Still she marvelled at their closeness. How this wonderful friendship that had started eons ago could be even closer despite the thousand of miles between them. He was her biggest support as she agonised where to put her awards while showing him around her studio… her happy place. She had no problems showing him her Josie Grosie face (if you haven’t seen it its Drew Barrymore in one of my favourite movies Never Been Kissed) while ‘singing’ (okay screeching) the words to their song and dancing around like a complete fool. But instead of judging her he had asked if she knew how adorable she was. She sighed contently just remembering.. Thanks to this wonderful weekend, he was now firmly engrained in every fibre of her core and being. And her studio. After saying good morning (though it wasn’t your midnight cause I suck at time zones) and a quick morning mug shot to get through the day, she had driven to work, marvelling at the beauty of the rolling hills as she drove and listening to her tunes. Her mind immediately turned to Deepdwellers Gulch after they had discussed (IN GREAT LENGTH!!! So freakin excited!!) restarting this epic plot, and as the ideas came to her thick and fast, their song chose that exact moment to play. Grinning like a loon and screaming at the top of her lungs (lets not joke around.. I can NOT sing), she danced in her seat (whilst also driving which is no mean feat mind you) and then listened to four more songs. Every lyric she sang reminded her of him in some sense.. particularly when she heard The Cure’s 6 different ways… its that American voice again. Oh how she loved that accent…. Happy and still smiling like an idiot, she had arrived at work to find him waiting on the phone. In between his Sunday and her Manic Monday at work, they had still stayed in constant communication and after finishing her reports, she was finally ready to head back to the Tavern. She read his last post again, a shiver running down her spine at his last words. Grinning like an idiot after she ordered him to take a shower, she laughed and dove back into their world. Back to the Mystic Tavern.

Bart took another long drink from his scotch and plunked the glass back down. He dragged one hand across his mouth, coming to rest with thumb under his chin and index across his lips. "But now that we're here," he murmured, staring intently, his finger trailing down his chin. "I think you know what I want." His voice was husky with barely contained emotion, and he drew closer to Kylie, close enough to feel the heat of her skin. "I want... I need... you," his stubbly cheek brushed against the side of her face, the smell of scotch on his breath, "to inspire me." His lips came close to her ear, his voice breathless. "Write a story with me."

Her own breath caught in her throat as she felt the hair on his cheek rub against her skin. The smell of scotch on his breath heightened her senses and she wondered how it would taste. She thought he was going to kiss her finally before he whispered in her ear. “Write a story with me.”

Smiling, she turned her head so that they could gaze into each others eyes. “There’s no story I could write without you cowboy. Its you and I. Its always been us. DDG is going to be freaking epic!!! And…. ~ she paused to smile, though she knew it was quickly resembling a smirk of satisfaction. ~I’m working on a surprise..~ Her green gaze drifted over to the bar where her two greatest creations had stood so long ago but had only sparked that light of creativity less than 24 hours ago.

Turning her green eyes to lock with his dark ones once more, she smiled, absently chewing on her bottom lip as her eyes trailed down his handsome face to linger on his lips. Again, the smell of scotch on his breath caused a tingle that refused to be ignored and she breathed ~ As for now? Come here..~ Drifting ever closer to him, she grew impatient and decided to take the lead. Reaching out for him, her right hand closed around the nape of his neck, pulling her towards him as her left hand reached up to stroke his cheek. Fingers trailed down to his lips, so softly that he might not even notice as her lips grew closer and sought his in a long overdue (and highly anticipated) kiss. *

[Blood and Roses]

Smiling, she turned her head so that they could gaze into each other's eyes. “There’s no story I could write without you cowboy. It's you and I. Its always been us. DDG is going to be freaking epic! And…" Kylie gave a playful smirk. "I’m working on a surprise." Her green gaze drifted over to the bar. Bart couldn't help but stare at her lips, his pulse quickening. A small grin played over his face as he lowered his head to allow his breath to play down Kylie's neck, and his lips brushed ever so lightly against the tiny hairs on her skin.

"As for now? Come here.." Drifting ever closer to him, her right hand closed around the nape of his neck, pulling her towards him as her left hand reached up to stroke his cheek. Fingers trailed down to his lips, so softly that he might not even notice as her lips grew closer and sought his in a long overdue (and highly anticipated) kiss.

Bart could feel the hairs on his arms stand on end. Her fingers on his neck sent shivers racing down his spine, and a small gasp escaped him. How long had it been since he'd felt a woman's touch? Almost a year? The tavern around him faded away. The fireplace, the tables, the bar, all were lost. Time slowed to a crawl as his senses focused in on this moment: her emerald gaze reflecting the firelight, her shallow breaths, the smell of her hair, the barest brush of her fingers down his face. As her lips grew closer, hunger gnawed him from deep within with a powerful craving to taste her.

Their lips touched lightly at first, a gentle greeting of delicate flesh. Their eyes met, a silent acknowledgement passing in their gaze, and their lips came together again, deeper this time. The hunger roared to life, and his pulse quickened as his body began to move on instinct. One hand found the curve of Kylie's waist and slid around to circle her tightly in one arm, pulling her tight against him. The other came to her face, his fingers combing into her hair as his thumb brushed against her ear. A soft gasp of shared breath passed between their hungry mouths.

"Ooh my god," Bart gasped, still holding Kylie pressed against him, feeling the heat of her body against his. "Do you have any idea how long I've been waiting to kiss you again?"

"Good on ya!" Silas hooted. "Didn't take 'em long, did it?" Leering over at Bart and Kylie, he shouldered into James. His brother returned the nudge with vigor, watching with rapt fascination.

The two rambunctious Conrads continued their shoving match as Samuel righted a barstool with a scowl. "What's the big deal, anyway?" he sneered. "They's just kissin'." He glanced at Virgil, who was standing a barstool up near the far side of the bar. Steven quickly scampered up onto the seat.

"You ever get kissed, boy?" James heaved a meaty shoulder into Silas, sending him sprawling. Silas sailed through the bar without disturbing a single mote of dust, cursing. "If ye had, ye'd understand." James licked his lips and smoothed his hair down just before his brother came diving back through the bar to tackle him around the waist. Both Conrads went tumbling across the floor.

"Sammy never kissed no girl," Steven sang from the far end. He kicked his feet absently against the bar. He held his hands a foot apart, and between them floated a silvery ball. Samuel frowned at his twin, who stuck his tongue out in return.

Leaning over the bar, Walter let out a chuckle as he held up a bottle of bourbon, his mustache drooping with the look of reverence on his face. "Gods be good," he uttered in his deep, rumbling way. "You know how long it's been since I tasted a drop o' hooch?" Walter tipped the bottle over his mouth and gulped deep. Walter's reverie was interrupted when James and Silas, now wrestling across the floor, careened into him. Walter cursed and shouted and rained kicks upon the two, who quickly rose and fled.

A cigar burning in one hand, Alister Conrad leaned against the bar. He glanced over at Walter with a grin. He'd never seen his older brother take it easy a day in his life. Seeing him relax and indulge was novel, like watching a horse walk on two legs. The fact that being here, in this Tavern, allowed Walter to have a drink for the first time in decades wasn't lost on him. He took a moment to marvel at the Tavern's interior; though it was in disorder and disrepair, he could sense the deep magic that permeated the floor planks, the stools, the very air around him. "So this is where it all began, huh," he thought to himself. It didn't look like much, but the place was brimming with the love and energy of the people who had passed through before. This place had a feeling of history, and of legacy.

Alister cast a glance over to his creators -- Bart, whose mind he had first emerged from, and Kylie, Bart's partner whose work was the driving force that shaped him into the character he had become. He silently saluted them, acknowledging them both. He raised the cigar and clenched it between his teeth. "Well, it's about damn time you two got back together," he muttered around the cigar. "Y'all got more story to tell."

[Moridanu]

*Smiling, she turned her head so that they could gaze into each other's eyes. “There’s no story I could write without you cowboy. It's you and I. Its always been us. DDG is going to be freaking epic! And…" Kylie gave a playful smirk. "I’m working on a surprise." Her green gaze drifted over to the bar. Bart couldn't help but stare at her lips, his pulse quickening. A small grin played over his face as he lowered his head to allow his breath to play down Kylie's neck, and his lips brushed ever so lightly against the tiny hairs on her skin. She shivered and sighed at the same time, gnawing on her bottom lip as she felt her entire body explode into delicious tingles.

"As for now? Come here.." Drifting ever closer to him, her right hand closed around the nape of his neck, pulling her towards him as her left hand reached up to stroke his cheek. Fingers trailed down to his lips, so softly that he might not even notice as her lips grew closer and sought his in a long overdue (and highly anticipated) kiss.

Bart could feel the hairs on his arms stand on end. Her fingers on his neck sent shivers racing down his spine, and a small gasp escaped him. How long had it been since he'd felt a woman's touch? Almost a year? The tavern around him faded away. The fireplace, the tables, the bar, all were lost. Time slowed to a crawl as his senses focused in on this moment: her emerald gaze reflecting the firelight, her shallow breaths, the smell of her hair, the barest brush of her fingers down his face. As her lips grew closer, hunger gnawed him from deep within with a powerful craving to taste her.

Their lips touched lightly at first, a gentle greeting of delicate flesh. Grateful for remembering to reapply her coconut lip gloss, she wondered briefly if he could taste her lips as they kissed. Their eyes met, a silent acknowledgement passing in their gaze, and their lips came together again, deeper this time. Her tongue flickered out, licking the inside of his bottom lip before rediscovering what his tongue felt like against hers as they began to dance in the only way they knew how. He tasted deliciously of scotch… and.. was that watermelon mint? A brief thought entered her mind and she wondered if he could taste the apple flavoured vape she had shared with him during another phone call a million miles ago. The hunger roared to life, and his pulse quickened as his body began to move on instinct. One hand found the curve of Kylie's waist and slid around to circle her tightly in one arm, pulling her tight against him. She felt him draw her closer, her pulse racing as she pressed her chest (or was that melons?!) against his. His other hand came to her face, his fingers combing into her hair as his thumb brushed against her ear. A soft gasp of shared breath passed between their hungry mouths.

"Ooh my god," Bart gasped, still holding Kylie pressed against him, feeling the heat of her body against his. "Do you have any idea how long I've been waiting to kiss you again?"

With eyes still closed, lost in ecstasy, she murmured “Its been too long. ‘specially when you keep teasing me all the time!”
The tavern around them disappeared from her senses and all she knew was him. She shifted on the chaise, absentmindedly remembering to pull up her long skirt of the summer dress she wore as she moved to climb onto his lap, her long legs straddling either side of him. “You taste so good..” she murmured before her lips found his once more.

"Good on ya!" Silas hooted. "Didn't take 'em long, did it?" Leering over at Bart and Kylie, he shouldered into James. His brother returned the nudge with vigor, watching with rapt fascination.
From the dark shadows that clung to the corner of each step, eyes as black as the night watched from the staircase. Although out of sight to anyone in the Tavern, Kylie was faintly aware of a pair of ebony eyes rolling in their sockets as their owner hissed from the darkness ~Who ARE these ghouls?~

The two rambunctious Conrads continued their shoving match as Samuel righted a barstool with a scowl. "What's the big deal, anyway?" he sneered. "They's just kissin'." He glanced at Virgil, who was standing a barstool up near the far side of the bar. Steven quickly scampered up onto the seat.

"You ever get kissed, boy?" James heaved a meaty shoulder into Silas, sending him sprawling. Silas sailed through the bar without disturbing a single mote of dust, cursing. "If ye had, ye'd understand." James licked his lips and smoothed his hair down just before his brother came diving back through the bar to tackle him around the waist. Both Conrads went tumbling across the floor.
A tutting sound came from the depths of darkness on the staircase. ~Seriously..?!~

"Sammy never kissed no girl," Steven sang from the far end. He kicked his feet absently against the bar. He held his hands a foot apart, and between them floated a silvery ball. Samuel frowned at his twin, who stuck his tongue out in return.

Leaning over the bar, Walter let out a chuckle as he held up a bottle of bourbon, his mustache drooping with the look of reverence on his face. "Gods be good," he uttered in his deep, rumbling way. "You know how long it's been since I tasted a drop o' hooch?" Walter tipped the bottle over his mouth and gulped deep. Walter's reverie was interrupted when James and Silas, now wrestling across the floor, careened into him. Walter cursed and shouted and rained kicks upon the two, who quickly rose and fled.

A cigar burning in one hand, Alister Conrad leaned against the bar. He glanced over at Walter with a grin. He'd never seen his older brother take it easy a day in his life. Seeing him relax and indulge was novel, like watching a horse walk on two legs. The fact that being here, in this Tavern, allowed Walter to have a drink for the first time in decades wasn't lost on him. He took a moment to marvel at the Tavern's interior; though it was in disorder and disrepair, he could sense the deep magic that permeated the floor planks, the stools, the very air around him. "So this is where it all began, huh," he thought to himself. It didn't look like much, but the place was brimming with the love and energy of the people who had passed through before. This place had a feeling of history, and of legacy.

Alister cast a glance over to his creators -- Bart, whose mind he had first emerged from, and Kylie, Bart's partner whose work was the driving force that shaped him into the character he had become. He silently saluted them, acknowledging them both. He raised the cigar and clenched it between his teeth. "Well, it's about damn time you two got back together," he muttered around the cigar. "Y'all got more story to tell."
His words reached her ears, piquing her interest and in the darkness, a smile creased her dark, full lips. Turning her attention towards the man that had just spoke, she followed his gaze to where Kylie and Bart were lost in passion and noted Kylie was starting to undress Bart. Rolling her eyes again, she muttered ~seriously you two.. get a room..~ Still, her gaze lingered on Bart as the voice at the bar said they had more story to tell. So this was Bart. HIM. Rolling her eyes as she watched the woman that had dreamed her to life, lift her arms as her dress was slipped over her off over her head, she realised that this was why she had been awakened. Kylie was a born storyteller and she knew first hand how desperately she had craved finding another writer of her calibre. Seeing the two of them together now, she finally understood why this passion had been relit. Why Kylie, who hadn’t written in years, was now spending every waking minute plotting or writing. It was him. It had always been him.. and despite a deep seated resentment at her creator for the terrible life she had created for her, she also begrudgingly felt a tinge of excitement to be active in a plot again. ~This might not be so bad after all..~ she purred.

Aware that she had spoken out loud, she looked back to the man by the bar. Wondering if he had heard her, she locked eyes on him and realised with a sickening, yet intoxicating knot forming in the pit of her stomach that they were about to become better aquatinted..at least in the story that Kylie and Bart were working on (when they weren’t making those sounds coming from the couch). Tossing her dark curls over her bare shoulder, she stood up and made her way down the last few steps. The dark brown peasant shirt she wore hung loosely on her chest, the sleeves grazing the top of her arms, exposing the soft skin on her shoulders. A skirt of hastily sewn together patches of brows, oranges and reds sashayed around her hips as she sauntered over to the bar. Grateful for her black patent leather boots that laced up to her knees, she grinned in satisfaction to hear the familiar sound of her heels on the floor of the Mystic Tavern announcing her arrival. Although Kylie was still writing her introduction in Deep Dwellers Gulch, she knew from being rudely awaken from her slumber last night that she would arrive in the plot naked and barefoot.
Reaching the bar, she paused to offer Alister a slender, perfectly manicured hand in greeting. ~Well howdy cowboy,~ she made a mock salute by tipping an invisible hat with her free hand. ~Looks like we are going to be playing together soon, so thought it best to introduce myself. Name’s Elyza. And you are?!~ *

[Blood and Roses]

Alister Conrad found a pair of dusty glasses behind the counter and plunked them down on the bar in front of Walter. The elder Conrad brother obligingly poured two neat bourbons and slid one back across the bar to Alister. It was lost on neither what a marvel it was to share a drink. Walter had met his youngest brother while Alister was still a babe, when a cattle drive had brought him near the family compound for the first time in decades. By the time Alister was old enough to pour for, Walter had been dead for a handful of years, and Walter was already bound to him by the divine pact as a spirit companion. And once he was dead, there was no chance to raise a glass with his brother. They both lifted their glasses, the oldest Conrad and the youngest, marveling a moment at the amber fluid, before clinking their glasses. Both of them downed their drink in a single go, banging their glasses on the bar with a grimace.

"What's he doin' now?" asked Steven, bewildered.

Samuel scowled and stomped over to the barstool where Steven was perched. "Nothin'," Samuel growled, throwing a hand over his twin brother's eyes. "He's just givin' her a tickle."

"Hey, quit it Sammy!" Steven objected, struggling against the hand obstructing his view of the chaise.

"That ain't no tickle he's givin' her," James said hoarsely, eyes locked on the action. "That's called foreplay."

"Like you'd know anything about that," ribbed Silas, equally enraptured.

"That's not what your mom said," James shot back, shoving his brother without ever breaking his gaze.

Silas shoved back. "We got the same mom, dung-brain!"

"Says who?"

Steven hopped down off his barstool, slipping loose from Samuel's grasp. He scampered away, Samuel giving chase, and dove under a nearby table occupied by the studious Virgil. Samuel stomped around the table as Steven darted first one direction, then another, trying to find a way around his protective brother. He coiled, preparing to dart, when a large hand seized Steven by the back of his shirt and lifted him effortlessly up and through the table, his ethereal form passing through the ancient wood. The smallest Conrad's feet flailed, running on air, until Vergil dropped Steven unceremoniously onto a chair beside him. Samuel charged, and Steven tensed to flee, but a single warning finger raised by Vergil froze them both in their tracks.

Samuel frowned and stalked away to sulk at the far end of the bar. Steven settled into the seat. Little hands made a beckoning gesture, and the silvery orb floated into the air near the bar and glided over to him, hovering to a stop between his outstretched hands.

"You're getting pretty good at that," Virgil remarked, observing as Steven sent the orb to bobbing and weaving with flicks of his fingers. Steven beamed with pride.

"I been doin' what you said and seeing what happens when I wiggle around my fingers."

Soft cries of pleasure from the chaise punctuated the statement. Steven frowned. "Hey Virge," he asked, cocking his head. "What's foreplay?"

Virgil considered his brother a moment. "Foreplay is when a man and a women--"

The words died on Virgil's lips at the sound of booted heels on the wooden floor came from the direction of the shadow-shrouded stairway. The watchful spirit's eyes swiveled toward the sound. His normally stoic demeanor betrayed an air of wonder.

"When a man and woman what?" Steven demanded. "When they tickle each other?" He waved his hand at Virgil's face. "Hey! What are you..." Steven's question trailed off as his eyes fell on the woman descending the last few stairs.

Tossing her dark curls over her bare shoulder, the newcomer made her way down the last few steps. The dark brown peasant shirt she wore hung loosely on her chest, the sleeves grazing the top of her arms, exposing the soft skin on her shoulders. A skirt of hastily sewn together patches of brows, oranges and reds sashayed around her hips as she sauntered over to the bar. Samuel watched sullenly as she passed, saying nothing.

With a roar, Silas wrenched hard on the headlock he held James in, making the big Conrad howl. They tussled around the bar, then froze still as statues while the dark stranger drifted past. James pried his head loose with a shove, both men standing still to observe.

Walter glanced over to see what had brought the typically rambunctious brothers to a standstill. He eyed the approaching woman hard, his eyes distrustful. "Head's up, kid," he rumbled at Alister, who was contemplating his glass.

The only living Conrad brother turned as the new arrival grew near.  On any other day, seeing a woman approach would prompt  Alister to stand up straight and remove his wide-brimmed hat.  Here, however, in this magic place, everything felt different.  Drinks with his long-dead brother proved that even the laws of his reality didn't apply in this place.  Instead, his icy blue eyes looked her over, as if assessing her threat potential.

Reaching the bar, she paused to offer Alister a slender, perfectly manicured hand in greeting. "Well howdy cowboy," she made a mock salute by tipping an invisible hat with her free hand. "Looks like we are going to be playing together soon, so thought it best to introduce myself. Name’s Elyza. And you are?"

Alister gave a small smile as he took the offered hand in his own.  "Pleasure to meet you, miss," he said, returning her salute with a nod and running a finger along one edge of his hat brim. "Alister Conrad.  Exorcist, demon hunter, and at this current moment, Sheriff of Deepdweller's Gulch."  A small wince creased his brow.  "Not exactly fine real estate right now, but I suppose you'll find that out soon enough."

The black-clad sheriff jerked his head toward the chaise, where Kylie was pushing Bart onto his back as she mounted him.  "Suppose you came in with the lady?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.  It wasn't truly a question, as he knew that she hadn't come from Bart's imagination.  "I'm sure you and I will be dancing together sooner or later.  Kylie's been keeping Bart's characters occupied for a long time."  The polite smile softened into one of real warmth.  "Including yours truly."

"Where's your manners, boy?" came Walter's rumbling admonishment.

Alister cast a weary glance at the old rancher, then stood straight and doffed his hat.  "Begging your pardon, miss," he said, a stray black strand of hair falling loose into his face. He gestured, and the 6 ghostly Conrad brothers appeared in a line beside him.  "These fine fellas," he droned, "are my brothers.  They're always with me, and have been since each of them left the mortal coil."  Walter raised his stubbly chin to peer at Elyza from under his hat.  Virgil gave a perfunctory bow at the waste, firelight gleaming off of his spectacles.  James only looked her up and down, clearly appreciating what he saw.  Silas, standing beside James, was still absorbed into the scene unfolding in background.  Samuel, standing next in line, stomped hard on Silas's food.  Silas let out a curse, hopping on one foot, then looked up with a rueful grin.  Samuel scowled.  Lastly, Steven stood restlessly, bored with the whole affair.

Alister looked them over, shaking his head.  "You won't be able to see them once we get into the main story, without some very special circumstances."  He looked back at Elyza.  "Even I don't see them without a little assistance. And they're just as ill-mannered and crass there as here." His face turned apologetic. "They're not just nuisances.  They're actually part of my destiny.  Seventh son of a seventh son, and all of that."

"Uh, Alister?" James spoke up nervously.  "Should you really be sayin' that much to a woman you just met?"

"Relax," droned Virgil.  "Once we're in the scene, she won't remember us anyway."  James visibly deflated as he let out a relieved sigh.

"Can I offer you a drink?" Alister inquired.  "What's your pleasure?"

[Moridanu]

*Dark eyes flashed as they locked with the icy blue gaze of the man before her. Noting he didn't rise to greet her as most other men did, she arched a slender brow, placing a hand on her cocked hip as she felt his gaze wash over her.

"Well howdy cowboy," she made a mock salute by tipping an invisible hat with her free hand. "Looks like we are going to be playing together soon, so thought it best to introduce myself. Name’s Elyza. And you are?"

Alister gave a small smile as he took the offered hand in his own. "Pleasure to meet you, miss," he said, returning her salute with a nod and running a finger along one edge of his hat brim. "Alister Conrad. Exorcist, demon hunter, and at this current moment, Sheriff of Deepdweller's Gulch." A small wince creased his brow. "Not exactly fine real estate right now, but I suppose you'll find that out soon enough."
Although she tried to show no visible reaction, his words struck a chord within her. "Demon hunter.. exorcist?!" Careful to show no emotion across her beautiful face, Elyza followed his gaze towards the chaise as her mind raced. Deepdwellers Gulch.. where she was currently walking around, naked in the desert after being assaulted by some stupid crazy witch.. but this man.. He was an exorcist.. she was possessed by a demon.. or was she a demon now? She had no idea. Thanks to her!

A storm of emotion, hatred, anger and confusion washed over her, her gaze growing cloudy as she glared at Kylie.

The black-clad sheriff jerked his head toward the chaise, where Kylie was pushing Bart onto his back as she mounted him.

"Suppose you came in with the lady?" he asked, one eyebrow raised. It wasn't truly a question, as he knew that she hadn't come from Bart's imagination. "I'm sure you and I will be dancing together sooner or later. Kylie's been keeping Bart's characters occupied for a long time." The polite smile softened into one of real warmth. "Including yours truly."

Tossing her dark mane over her shoulder, she sighed and rolled her eyes. ~Yeah, I'm with her alright. Wouldn't call her a lady though, especially in her current state.. Fucking bitch. She loves nothing more than messing with me.~ His words cut through the storm raging inside her as her vision cleared enough to take in the sight of the man that was making her creator moan. ~So that IS him. I thought as much. I've never played with him before but I wondered why Kylie woke me up. ~

As she watched, the lovers entwined on the couch and there was a sound of splashing water, a giggle and then they were gone.

~Looks like they went and got a room after all... good fucking riddance..~ She snarled and went to climb onto a stool as a rumbling voice reached her ears.

"Where's your manners, boy?" came Walter's rumbling admonishment.

Alister cast a weary glance at the old rancher, then stood straight and doffed his hat. "Begging your pardon, miss," he said, a stray black strand of hair falling loose into his face. He gestured, and the 6 ghostly Conrad brothers appeared in a line beside him. "These fine fellas," he droned, "are my brothers. They're always with me, and have been since each of them left the mortal coil." Walter raised his stubbly chin to peer at Elyza from under his hat. Virgil gave a perfunctory bow at the waste, firelight gleaming off of his spectacles. James only looked her up and down, clearly appreciating what he saw. Silas, standing beside James, was still absorbed into the scene unfolding in background. Samuel, standing next in line, stomped hard on Silas's food. Silas let out a curse, hopping on one foot, then looked up with a rueful grin. Samuel scowled. Lastly, Steven stood restlessly, bored with the whole affair.

Dark eyes framed by long lashes looked over each brother in turn, noting their reactions (or in some cases, no reaction) to her appearance.

Alister looked them over, shaking his head. "You won't be able to see them once we get into the main story, without some very special circumstances." He looked back at Elyza. "Even I don't see them without a little assistance. And they're just as ill-mannered and crass there as here." His face turned apologetic. "They're not just nuisances. They're actually part of my destiny. Seventh son of a seventh son, and all of that."

"Uh, Alister?" James spoke up nervously. "Should you really be sayin' that much to a woman you just met?"

"Relax," droned Virgil. "Once we're in the scene, she won't remember us anyway." James visibly deflated as he let out a relieved sigh.

Elysa turned her dark gaze upon Alister once more. ~So, I won't remember any of this? But you will?~ (This should be interesting, she thought to herself)

"Can I offer you a drink?" Alister inquired. "What's your pleasure?"

She could not help but laugh out loud, the sound bitter and hollow as it echoed throughout the near empty tavern.

~Been a long time since anyone gave a flying fuck about my pleasure... so thank you for asking..~

She climbed onto a stool beside him, her long legs dangling as her boot clad toes tapped the bottom rung of the stool.

~I guess I'll have a whiskey.. neat.~

She studied him carefully for a moment before thinking 'Fuck it.. I won't remember anyway..~

~So tell me Sherriff... You're a demon hunter.. AND an exorcist? What does that entail exactly? What happens if you hunt a demon and find it possessing someone.. 'human'?~ She shrugged as she asked herself if she could even still call herself a human. ~ I mean.. if you get rid of the demon possessing a body, say .. a girl.. then does the girl die? Or just the demon..~ She trailed off as she felt his icy blue gaze upon her once more.

~Ya know.. hypothetically speaking?~*

[Blood and Roses]

Elysa turned her dark gaze upon Alister once more. ~So, I won't remember any of this? But you will?~ (This should be interesting, she thought to herself)

"Nah," Alister drawled as he set a third tumbler on the bar, "we won't remember either." He picked up the bottle he'd been sharing with Walter and poured two fingers for the dark-eyed stranger. "This place breaks all the normal rules, like time/space, multiple realities, you name it." He slid the drink to Elyza, then turned to put pour another for himself. "This place is like Las Vegas -- what happens here stays here."

Steven tugged at Virgil's sleeve. "Hey Virge," he whispered to his brother. "What's Las Vegas?"

"A city in the Nevada territories," Virgil whispered back. "It doesn't exist yet."

"Oh yeah," Steven nodded seriously, though clearly not comprehending.

She studied him carefully for a moment before thinking 'Fuck it.. I won't remember anyway..~

~So tell me Sherriff... You're a demon hunter.. AND an exorcist? What does that entail exactly? What happens if you hunt a demon and find it possessing someone.. 'human'?~ She shrugged as she asked herself if she could even still call herself a human. ~ I mean.. if you get rid of the demon possessing a body, say .. a girl.. then does the girl die? Or just the demon..~ She trailed off as she felt his icy blue gaze upon her once more.

~Ya know.. hypothetically speaking?~*

Alister considered for a long moment, sipping his drink and contemplating a heavy wooden rafter. The ghostly brothers began to drift away to other interests. At last Alister looked Elyza over. "There a few factors to consider. Unlike ghosts and their sort, demonic possession is a complicated affair.

"One." Alister held up one long finger. "What is the nature of the posession? If the host entered into a contractual bargain with the possessing entity, they're out of luck.
They've sold their body to the demon, and it can't be dislodged without litigation." He looked serious. "Which is a serious pain in the ass."

"And usually don't go well for the host," Walter added, now sitting at the bar with another scotch.

"If," Alister continued, "the possessing entity bound to the host without consent, exorcism is possible." He leaned back against the bar. "Which is where I ply my trade."

"Two," he said, extending another finger, "length of possession. The longer a demon has been seated, the harder it is to knock loose." He let out a breath. "Over time, they wear down the soul of the host. Dig their claws in deeper and deeper, until you almost can't tell where one ends and the other starts. Sometimes, tearing out the roots leaves the host ruined."

"Or dead." This from Samuel, who had found an old bar rag and had begun wiping dust and cobwebs from the bar.

Alister's face took a grave cast. "Which leads to the last part." He stared at Elyza. "Three, the will of the host." A third finger raised. "Once the demon wears down the host, they start to blend together. It can be hard to separate. Hell, after long enough, the host might not even want to separate." Alister shrugged. "If the host doesn't want to be free, nothing I can do will make them."

"So. If the host desires freedom, was bound against their will, and is strong enough to survive the exorcism, then the demon is cast out and the host is free to pick up the pieces of their life. At that point, a demon hunter," he touched a finger to an imaginary hat, as his lay on the bar, "can be contracted to hunt the demon and send it back to where it came."

A smirk crossed his lips. "That's the script, anyway. Truth be told, a demon-possessed soul in this place is subject to the whim of its author." Alister crossed his arms. "So I hope you're on decent terms, and the lady is in a good mood."