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Post by redemption on Aug 5, 2006 9:43:48 GMT -5
Never Alone
Prologue
Rain pounded mercilessly against the ground, and the thirsty soil absorbed it greedily. Lighting flashed across the sky and thunder rolled ominously among the dark clouds. Trees bent against the howling wind; a single branch couldn’t withstand the pressure and snapped, whipped away by violent gales.
It was hard to believe anybody would be out in such violent weather—but someone was. Against her will, she was here.
The young woman lay on her side, her breaths coming in hitched sobs. Her ankle was twisted at an unnatural angle and dark with blood, and a brutal wound ripped down her back, blood still seeping out of the wound. Her eyes were squeezed shut against the pounding downfall, her body trembling.
Surprisingly, a warm breeze brushed the woman’s cheek, stirring her. Her eyes slowly opened, dazed, so dark by the falling rain that they seemed almost black and lifeless. The breeze blew by again, gently tugging on strands of rain-soaked blonde hair.
If the woman hadn’t known any better, she would have sworn the breeze was telling her to get up.
Had it been another time and place, she might have tried. But she was tired, weak, and only wanted to rest. She sighed softly, closing her eyes even as the breeze brushed her cheek again, gently pleading. She slowly opened her eyes again, winced.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t have anything left.”
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Huntsman stood silently in the shadows, watching Huntsgirl spar with another apprentice. He was impressed by the fury in her punches, the agility in her ducks and dodges. She would make a skilled hunter when she was old enough.
The girl had grown more skilled after Crystal Jean’s disappearance, and Huntsman knew it was only because she was trying to push her memories back. He had passed her room at night, and had heard her weeping, but he had never gone in. It wasn’t his place.
If any good had come of Crystal Jean’s loss, it was that Huntsgirl had become more focused, colder. He remembered the blood he had cleaned off his blade and sighed, closing his eyes.
He would make the girl his apprentice. It was the least he could do, in Crystal Jean’s memory.
End prologue
Yay for sequels! Yes, this is the sequel to They Were All Meant to Live.... italics are some sort of flashback thing, this chapter basically shows how Rose became an apprentice.
... and is it just me, or is that breeze up to something? XD
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Post by crazy17 on Aug 5, 2006 10:32:58 GMT -5
Wow! Very descriptive! *claps* Love it! Update sizoon!! ;D
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Post by Lucille Bluth on Aug 5, 2006 12:10:04 GMT -5
BREEZE OF DOOM
XDDD Jk~
Yay, sequel!! :D I love it already so you better update soon. :3
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Iron Hand
Student
Get money.. by any means necessary..
Posts: 18
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Post by Iron Hand on Aug 5, 2006 13:57:06 GMT -5
Rain pounded mercilessly against the ground, and the thirsty soil absorbed it greedily. I dunno why, but I loved that first line =] Wow.. such such nice writing =] Seriously one of the best I've ever seen. Heh, I guess Rose is turning into C.J. =) Totally cool, lovin' this story -Kizzel
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Post by ADJLFanatic on Aug 5, 2006 17:10:58 GMT -5
Yeeaah, I'm kinda for Kel about the 'good first line' thing... and the good writing. >.> Aww, poor Rose. All of her sisters are gone. That breeze is being evil! If only you could kill a breeze like that sometimes. XD And now, I think the muffins are telling me the wrong thing. Maybe C.J. is still out there... out in the OPEN. XDDD Erh... update soon!! Yay for sequels! ;D
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Post by redemption on Aug 7, 2006 20:36:34 GMT -5
Chapter 1
Marissa Conner stood, silent and respectful, as Huntsman gazed at the wall, his back to her. For a long moment, he did not speak. Finally, he sighed.
“Huntsgirl thinks she can fool me.” He walked towards the dragon skin that had been hung on his wall, gently ran his fingers down it. “She thinks I do not know that a dragon sheds its skin every ten years. About the time she gave me this, the American Dragon would have been experiencing his first molting cycle.”
Marissa nodded silently, not trusting herself to speak. Huntsman turned to her then.
“I called you, Marissa, because I remember how you fought Huntsgirl two years ago, when she was a trainee. Do you remember?” “Yes.” Not fondly. “Today she is at her weakest. I want you to take her down.” “Kill her?” “No. I want her alive. Bring her to me.” “Yes, sir.”
Marissa began to leave, hesitated. “Sir?” “Yes?” “Why is Huntsgirl at her weakest today?”
Huntsman closed his eyes, sighing softly.
“Today is the anniversary.”
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Rose’s feet always seemed to have a mind of their own on this day. As soon as the last bell rang, dismissing students, she had slipped from the crowd and walked down the sidewalk, not towards home, but towards the cemetery. She had slipped the picture of her and her sisters into her backpack this morning; although she left it at Tory’s grave often, she always came back for it at the end of the day. She didn’t have the heart to leave it there for to long.
A brisk wind blew by, gently stirring the snow and sending small snowflakes dancing through the wind. Rose shivered and shoved her hands deeper into her pockets; winter was nearing its end, but had lost none of its bitter chill.
Winter had always been Tory’s favorite season. She had loved the silence, the fragility. She had often trained in the snowfall, much to the dismay of Rose and C.J., who had often been dragged along, and she had always claimed that the stars were brighter during winter, taking Rose out many a night to stargaze and pointing out the constellations. C.J. had always had a “Been there, done that” attitude to the stargazing, but Rose’s excitement over recognizing the constellations had made her smile.
Rose sighed, pulling her hat down a little to keep snow from getting into her eyes and keeping the flakes from clinging to her lashes. There had been a dull, faded ache within her ever since she had woke up, and she knew why. She paused, sliding her backpack down her arm so she could zip it open and retrieve the picture.
Today was the anniversary. Tory had been dead for three years, C.J. had been missing for two. It still felt like yesterday.
Losing both of them, back to back, had been a staggering blow that Rose had never fully recovered from. Memories were still painful, and nightmares occasionally invaded her sleep. She knew they were both gone, but she was no closer to accepting it then she had been years before.
Rose veered easily off the path, darting through the snow, cutting through the cemetery in a move meant to save time and bank remembrance. She didn’t want to remember how often she had visited this place, during the day or at dawn and twilight.
The old oak that guarded Tory’s final resting place had long since shed its leaves, as all trees did in the winter. Snow blanketed the branches, and a few loose pieces drifted lazily to the ground below, gently brushing the tombstone. Rose gently brushed the snow off with one gloved hand, keeping the picture tucked close to her chest. For a moment she stood with one hand bracing her on the tombstone; finally, with a soft sigh, she went down on her knees, laying the picture back against the stone.
There was pain. There would always be pain. She’d just have to accept it.
The dull ache within sharpened and heated, reminding her all to clearly of what she didn’t want to remember. She closed her eyes as they stung.
And immediately went rigid at the sound of muted footsteps against the snow.
The footsteps were to soft, to light, to be made by a normal visitor. Someone was trying to sneak up on her. Slowly, cautiously, Rose opened her eyes. What happened next would be a blurred memory, to quick for her to recall exactly what happened.
A hand slammed hard into her windpipe, cutting off oxygen; even as she gasped and her world spun, another hand gripped the back of her neck and slammed her head ruthlessly against the cold, hard stone of the tombstone. Rose’s head collided with the picture, and a sharp yelp of pain escaped her as the glass slashed her forehead. Dimly, she heard a crack.
Blinding white light exploded within her head, colors exploded and danced in the corners of her eyes, and darkness rushed in to pull her down.
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Marissa kept her hands firm against Rose’s neck and windpipe until she was certain the younger girl wouldn’t rise; then she pulled them away, wiping them on her pants before carefully turning the girl over.
She’d gotten lucky. Rose had sensed her presence, but hadn’t had time to react.
Huntsman had been right. Today, Rose had been at her weakest.
Marissa noted a gash had opened on Rose’s forehead where she had collided with the glass of her picture, trickling blood. The wound looked surprisingly similar to the one the older girl had given her two years ago, and Marissa smirked. She reached down, flicked on her beeper.
“I got her, Huntsman.” “Good. Bring her back to me. I shall transport her to the Academy with 88 and 89.”
Marissa didn’t bother asking why, just murmured quiet agreement before switching the beeper off again. Carefully she gathered Rose into her arms, rising slowly so she wouldn’t lose her grip. She glanced around to make sure no one else had seen, before walking away from the cemetery, holding the unconscious girl close.
Against the tombstone, silvery winter sunlight danced across the picture, revealing the long crack that slashed across the glass, separating the youngest girl from her two older sisters.
End chapter 1
Okay, since this takes place after Breakout, let me explain. In The Ski Trip, there was snow. In Breakout, there was snow. So by my calculations Rose would be around fourteen now....
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Post by Lucille Bluth on Aug 7, 2006 22:05:19 GMT -5
AUGH! That last part just broke my heart. XD You really know how to work your way with symbolism!
Other than that, DAMN THAT MARISSA. >:O I really hope she does get what she deserves.
You know what I always say... UPDATE SOON. :D;;
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Post by jakeismylover1234 on Aug 7, 2006 22:09:19 GMT -5
Good! Yay! Teach me how!
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Iron Hand
Student
Get money.. by any means necessary..
Posts: 18
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Post by Iron Hand on Aug 8, 2006 13:22:30 GMT -5
Deep words in the beginning. Man.. such excellent writing.. I can't even begin to explain.. *Sigh* Poor Rose.. Man, kills me to hear a girl in pain, even if it's just writing.. lol. Man. Makes me want IronHand to just make everything better for her hehe. (Which would be freakin' awesome for him to kick Marissa's ass and save Rose ;D XD) But yeah, that's me. Man, great chapter.. started off all peacful.. then WHAM! Marissa screws everything up XD. Nice story goin' -Kel
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Post by superdoglac on Aug 9, 2006 14:33:15 GMT -5
Wow . THis story is just as good as the first, maybe even better. UPDATE SOON! Im sitting on the edge of my seat *falls off* ok never mind.
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Post by charles finley. on Aug 9, 2006 14:45:41 GMT -5
O__o..WHAT WAS THAT FOR? XD
Why did you do that too Rose? WHY?XD
HUntsman must die!
XD
Updates soons ma friend!
-Ash
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Post by crazy17 on Aug 9, 2006 23:48:53 GMT -5
GASPETH! Wow...kind of ironic hoqw in the picture, Rose was separated from her sisters.
MARISSA! I HAVE A SURPRISE FOR YOU!!! XD *evil chuckle, socks gun*
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Post by redemption on Aug 14, 2006 9:30:47 GMT -5
Chapter 2
It was the sound of a crash and a muttered curse that woke Bess Mercy from her peaceful slumber. Immediately her muscles went tense, and she tilted her head slightly, gauging the distance between her bed the metal baseball bat that hung from her wall.
Another crash and a muffled yelp of pain, the voice slightly louder and clearer then before; with a surge of relief, Bess recognized the voice. The relief didn’t strap down the irritation she still felt, or the motherly surge of relief.
At thirty-six years old, Bess Mercy had been through a nasty divorce and had the biggest heart anyone had ever seen; she took in stray animals, donated to shelters, and did whatever she could to make life in New York a little easier for the less fortunate.
The less fortunate, of course, also applying to the young woman that was currently muttering a plethora of curses as she massaged her sore ankle, eighteen years old and still not yet fully grown. With a smile, shaking her head, Bess slipped out of bed.
“Honey, keep cursing like that and you’ll wake up the neighborhood. Why didn’t you just use the door?”
The woman looked up sharply, relaxing when she recognized the short woman with short black hair and laughter in her golden-brown eyes. “Shut up, Bess,” she managed, massaging her weak ankle “You know I always use the window after coming back from a patrol.” She laid a picture face-down on the kitchen table; Bess’s interest perked immediately. “What’s that?’ “Bess…”
The sharp, shrill cry of a ten-month-old demanding company slashed through the air like a knife. Before Bess could react, the woman was already down the hall, limping slightly from her bad ankle but already hurrying into the nursery.
The baby boy was wobbling, his hands gripping the rail of his crib, a shock of glossy black hair on his head and his chocolate brown eyes wide and bright, his lips twisted in a pout.
“Oh, sweetie.” The woman reached down, picked him up to nuzzle. “Poor Taylor. All by yourself. You don’t like that, do you?” The pout transformed into a beaming, satisfied smile. “Mama.”
That was the sight Bess walked into after she’d turned the picture over and examined it; the woman, still a young mother, cradling her baby boy as he giggled with delight, reaching up to tug at loose strands of blonde hair. She saw the small smile on the woman’s face, and felt a surge of warmth.
But she did not miss how the woman’s shoulders were still tense, her back poker straight. “Honey,” she murmured softly, “what happened?”
The woman did not reply immediately; she spent a few moments murmuring to Taylor, gently soothing and assuring him that his mother was home before laying him back in his crib, brushing hair out his eyes with a gentle hand. When she was certain he was asleep, she gripped the rail of his crib, as though needing to steady herself. Bess resisted the urge to go to her, unsure of how she’d react.
“I went down to the cemetery.” Her voice was soft. “Today’s the…. Well, yeah. I knew she’d be there, so I was just going to watch her for a little before paying my respects.” She trailed off, sighed.
“I knew something was wrong as soon as I got there. The snow was all messed up; there hadn’t been any signs of a struggle, but the snow was still messed up. Her picture was cracked; there was blood on the glass. Blood on the glass, on the snow. On Tory’s stone.”
A shuddering sigh escaped her then, and Bess took a step forward.
“They hurt her, Bess. She was bleeding. The blood was still fresh.” Her voice cracked. “d**n it, I should have been there. I should have protected her.” “Honey, you didn’t know.” Bess gently massaged the woman’s shoulders, felt the muscles go rigid. “I knew she was in danger, Bess. That should have been enough.”
The woman’s muscles slowly relaxed beneath Bess’s soothing fingers; she sighed. “Do you mind watching Taylor for a few days?” Unease welled in Bess’s belly. “Honey, what are you going to do?” A small smile flitted across the woman’s face, and she gazed across the crib out the window, where stars twinkled and winked in the dark night sky.
“I’m going to pay baby sister’s dragon boy a visit.”
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“Jakey, stop pacing. The floor can’t take much more.” “It’s been three days, Trix. Rose should have contacted me by now.”
The African-American girl was on her last nerve, and it showed as she leaned against the counter, pressing her fingers to her eyes as she mentally counted to ten and focused on calming Lover Boy. “Jakey, may I remind you that Rose is trying to ace two lives of her own? She ain’t gonna contact you much with the Huntsman breathin’ down her neck.” “She hasn’t been in school, though. Trix, something ain’t right.”
Bored out of his mind and not bothering to take any part in the conversation, Spud perkedup slightly as the door swung open, and a young woman stepped in. With nothing better to do, Spud studied her.
She was still young; a few years older then him and Jake and Trixie, maybe about eighteen or so. Her long blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail and tucked beneath a cap. She walked with a faded limp in her gait, and when she turned to examine a television set, he saw the edge of a scar peeking out from beneath her T-shirt.
Losing interest in her, Spud tuned back in to Trixie and Jake.
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Out of the corner of her eye, the woman studied them.
The dragon’s companions would be easy enough to handle, if this confrontation came to blows. The brown-haired boy—he was called Spud, she remembered—was a dreamer, a little light-headed, but loyal. The girl—Trixie, she recalled—had a big mouth and a bigger personality, and acted like the dragon’s older sister at times. Slowly, careful not to be seen, the woman slanted her gaze to the dragon himself.
So, you’re the one Rose is all gaga about.
He was short; probably Asian, she mused. There was nervous energy dancing in his movements, worry in his eyes, but only because her sister had not contacted him. The woman knew. After three days of scouting the shop, she knew quite a lot. Feeling a bit more confident about the odds, the woman walked to the counter; seeing, Spud elbowed Trixie, and she gently shushed the dragon—his name, the woman recalled, was Jake. He smiled uncertainly at her now, as she approached. “Hi. Can I help you?”
The woman leaned easily against the counter, tucking a loose strand of blonde hair back behind her ear. “You can, actually.” Although she smiled, her voice lowered. “But not with this.” “Huh?” “Listen, I don’t want to fight. I know who you are.” She smirked. “American Dragon.”
Jake’s eyes bugged out of his head; Trixie gasped, and Spud yelped. “The world is ending!” he cried, pulling his beanie over his eyes. Jake swallowed hard. “How do you know that?” he asked shakily. “Because I used to be a member of the group that hunts your kind.” The woman laid her left hand on the counter, revealing the light purple dragon birthmark on her palm. “I used to be a member of the Huntsclan.” “Used to be?” “Different story.”
Jake studied the birthmark for a moment before looking at her; his eyes narrowed, and his muscles tensed. “Why did you come here?” “I need your help. My sister’s secret was discovered, and the Huntsman took her.” “Your sister?”
Reaching into her bag, the woman pulled out the picture, slid it onto the counter so the three friends could see; the glass had been replaced, the crack gone. Jake studied the three in the picture, eyes widening when he saw the youngest. “Rose,” he whispered. He looked back up at the woman; she had removed her cap and pulled away the hair band, so her hair fell easily down her back. Although her eyes were chocolate brown instead of brilliant blue, he immediately saw a resemblance. “You’re her sister?”
The woman smiled. “Name’s Crystal Jean. But baby sister would know me as C.J.”
End chapter 2
C.J. was never very subtle to begin with....
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Post by superdoglac on Aug 14, 2006 10:21:54 GMT -5
Awesome chapter! Update soon!
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Post by crazy17 on Aug 14, 2006 10:47:39 GMT -5
"The world is ending!" Hahaha. Just like Spud.
Wow. Great chapter! I like how CJ introduced herself to Jake! ^_^ Keep up the good work!
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