ConvictionConviction(A Loki Drabble)"Even I don't know what it does. Should we find out?" A Midgardian. Average height and weight. Caucasian. Straight mouse-brown hair. Balding. Sharp but otherwise unremarkable eyes. A weathered sadness in them, but only noticeable if one squinted. A large nose. A plain charcoal gray suit and a plain black tie, tailored acceptably, but nothing stunning. Tidy and normal and the picture of "sufficient." Holding a large bazooka that Loki could recognize, from ten feet away, was built from Destroyer technology.From his own grave miscalculation, in New Mexico, so many months ago--or was it years? Loki had lost track of
One Hell of a Game Afoot, CH2Chapter Two: RatiocinationA man stood in the foyer of an opium den.But not just any man. An important and dangerous and ingenious man, stooping with height through the low doorway, wearing a drab waistcoat under a set of black professorial robes.And not just any opium den. The largest, the best-"recommended," opium den in Whitechapel, run by Shanghai's youngest, and yet most powerful, mobster.This man loved power and wit. And so he came to this particular opium den for a reason.He didn't proceed inside yet, though he checked his pocketwatch, and his host was due to greet him in mere moments.The sea of lost and hiding souls writh
One Hell of a Game Afoot, CH 1Chapter One: The WomanHe was in heaven."You really once made love to a female doctor?" The voice was deep, smoky, honeyed. A throaty, syrupy contralto.Bliss.He was a seasoned lover. In his twenty-eight years, the roster had already grown so long he'd lost count. Even so, the vision sprawled beside him on his futon in the rich yet dank quarters inspired a sophomoric desire to brag."Why, yes," he drawled. He rolled over and pressed his lean, muscle-bound form against hers. "The Phantomhive heir's aunt, no less.""What a conquest." She was slender, her breasts small and firm, and her skin the complexion of peaches and cream. Her ha
Face It Chapter 2CHAPTER TWOIf you could only see the beast you've made of meI held it in but now it seems you've set it running freeScreaming in the dark, I howl when we're apartI drag my teeth across your chest to taste your beating heart
You are the moon that breaks the night for which I have toHowl, howlHowl, howlThe fabric of your flesh, pure as a wedding dressUntil I wrap myself inside your arms I cannot restThe saints can't help me now, the ropes have been unboundI hunt for you with bloodied feet across the hallow'd groundAnd howl~Florence and the MachineThere were no fields of morning glories in the Kataart Mountains.