secrets of a sky savior -- Lola Maroon

[no ones muse]

<center>When the shirt came off, it was all in time
When a minute turned into a mile
And then I broke that grin, and I cut it out
And you got all turned on by the taste of your sin
When I mention blue, all you thought was color
When you mention drugs, all I thought was sober
When your pants came off and I turned you over
When you mention blue</center>

<center></center>


<center>Kill, smile, cut it out for me this time
This is not a smile, haven't seen him smile in a little while
Keep the mask aligned
Get it up in time
There's a space between valleys
and try and catch a vibe
Make a circle square, a rectangle curve
Use a smile as a noun and I think like a verb
Run quick switch sides
Spill the filled up canister
And the room is shaking
Now you're changing places,
and I switched my pace,
and my breathing races when you mention blue</center>

<center>Kill, smile, cut it out for me this time
This is not a smile haven't seen him smile in a little while
Kill, smile, cut it out for me this time
This is not a smile haven't seen him smile in a little while
Kill, smile, cut out for me cut it cut it out
Smile, cut it out for me cut it cut it out
We cut it out
Get down and stay awake
Smile</center>


<center>The Used - Sound Effects and Over Dramatics</center>

[no ones muse]

<center>Look at me, you can tell
By the way I move and do my hair
Do you think that it's me or it's not me?
I don't even care
I'm alive
I don't smell
I'm the cleanest I have ever been.
I feel big, I feel tall, I feel dry.</center>

<center></center>

Lola Maroon was many things: Your lover, your friend, your dream, you nemesis, your advocate, your inspiration, your envy, your pain, your desire, your nightmare, your most complicated enigma.

Leaving behind Portuguese waters and the high flying stars that didn't stagger behind pollution. Starting anew with cleaned off wings, with eyes that weren't clouded anymore. Leaving behind the past, letting it rot away with the memories in some old shoe box.

Here is where her new story starts.

<font color="#FFCC00" size="1">[ February 28, 2005 04:47 AM: Message edited by: chimera factory ]</font>

[no ones muse]

Page from Lola's journal, dated August 18th, 2004.

Everything seems so surreal, as if I melted away from what was real and lost my place in the proverbial line for life. It's so bizarre, the way one man can suddenly turn you back around on the right path. Make you catch your breath, and realize that you arn't a mess. That you're beautiful, and the inspiration for many things. And you believe him. You believe everything he says because his eyes are speaking louder than his words are.

My birthday was a few days ago, and I didn't spend it here. I spent it away from the dramatics, away from the memories. I made new memories, with a man that has me melting. Raoul Franchetti stole me away from the world, from the voyeurs and eavesdroppers, to take me far, far away. To the beautiful technological paradise of Japan. Where we kissed, and touched, and we slept until the sun was half way behind the mountains. Where we didn't just fuck, but made love underneath a ceiling that we'll never see again. And it was like finding that perfect fairy tale, and stitching it to your life.

During these past months, I've been through so much. This past year, even, has been a murderous time on my mentality. I lost myself for awhile. I felt like I was full of cuts and scabs that weren't healing. I went mad. More than likely, I should have been in a hospital for the trauma of everything.

Trent, of course, was the number one epidemic that I couldn't cure. Fuck, I love that bastard so much yet I can't find myself to be in love with him anymore. Him and I were just not meant to be. For so long I thought that's how it would end up: Us, growing old together, and getting married. I believe the loss of Bethany had a big impact on our relationship, though. Things fell apart after that. There was betrayal and violence. And ... I couldn't deal with it anymore. I decided to let him go, fully, and watch him from afar as I normally did. Just making sure he didn't get himself killed. Or hurt. Even then, I felt the pain of seeing him with others, and I hated myself for caring.

Raoul seemed to save me from that. He showed me that Trent isn't the only one out there. And he definitely isn't the one to treat me like the matriarch that I am. I thought Trent was as good as it got.

I was so, so wrong.

Now? Now things are picking up. I'm piecing myself back together, creating the old Lola that smiled and laughed. That found fun in the spice of life, and didn't dwell on the death and tragedies.

Though, I will always have Trent somewhere, in my heart. We went through a lot together, and we're still alive. We're trying to become friends. Atleast, civil towards one another in public. And plus, I can't just end everything I held for him. He was going to be a father, Bethany's father.

And surely, Bethany would not approve of me just going out and murdering her father. So. I do it for her. And for myself.

[no ones muse]

"Thank you." This, spilled from the secretive line of her mouth to the waitress who had sat them. Outside it was, and she was glad. There wasn't too many others within their vicinity, as the most were inside. Sliding into her chair, and letting thin fingers roll across the menu in a back and forth stroke while it laid flat on the table. Eyes slanted, behind lash and lid, to collect up the Italian's shadow before roaming to capture his face within their bizarre, yet beautiful depths. She was having a nervous breakdown on the inside, yet kept a cool composure on the outside. Unless you counted her skin being much too pale and her smiles somewhat edgy.
With Inca settled under the table, nose resting on his paws, Raoul crumpled into the chair across from the Birdborne, one ankle resting on the opposite knee and his face lost in the shade. Autumn breezes had just enough to play with the collar of his shirt and rumple fabric, but they were far from sharp enough to send him shivering indoors. Murmuring his thanks to the departing waitress, he nudged his menu aside, having already decided on his lunch, and happy just to watch Lola. Smile broadened a fraction as he caught her gaze, resting an elbow on the table and his chin on his knuckles. "Missed you last night. Busy at the office?"

He was everything to her and more, and yet she was so afraid. Now, of loosing him. Cursing at herself on the inside, and crying within the stained sheets of her pillows. Fixing her pose, leaning foreward faintly in her chair. She decided that the best way to present it, was straight foreward. Just put it out on the table, get it off her chest and away from her shoulders. The burden of it was already making her eyes glassy, as she ticked her jaw to the side and splayed her vision to the cement. "Yeah, I was. Look, Raoul. We need to talk.. about something." Clearing her throat, letting her fingers go wild in their fidgety mannerism. The breeze laced and tickled through feathers and nightshade hair, sending a few ink splices of black to interrupt the pale moonflesh of her features. "I... I did something really bad. And .. I think you should know about it." And please, don't hate me.

He'd started to catch on that something was amiss when he noticed her fidgeting, the glassy haze to normally sharp blue-black, but he stilled his concerned queries before they could reach his lips, to let her talk. Oh but they were ominous words...the old 'we need to talk'...and truth be told, he'd never heard them from anyone before, because he'd plain and simple never been in a position to! Now his smile faded a touch, expression tainted by a more serious nature, and he reached for the glass of water he'd requested, swallowing a cool mouthful to try and ease the tightness he suddenly felt in his throat. Still, he refused to think anything bad just yet. He'd always give her the benefit of the doubt. And perhaps that was the only naive thing about him. And yet all he could force out was an..."Oh...?"

She was going absolutely insane with the sudden blossom of theories. She believed he was going to tell her to fuck off, and leave her. Leave her to the shell of what she was before she met him, before he made her smile like she did now. There was a look back on the memories they had. The time spent together, and the admission from his mouth that one hostile day at his restaurant. She had yet to say them back, and surely, was waiting now to see if she would still be accepted. Easing out a shakey sigh, she herself,
took a sip of water from her glass. Hand quivering, and lips trembling for a moment before she was dusting a hand through that wild mess of black and feathers. "I.. Shit. I, well." It was harder than she thought, and that's when it
hit her: She really did love Raoul. Normally, it wouldn't have been a big deal. Though, he meant something more than any other. Lifting her eyes up to him, those graves of blackblue flooded yet not spilling. "I slept with Trent...on Tuesday night. I don't know how it happened, but it did. And I'm sorry, Raoul! I'm so sorry! I ... just .. Fuck! I don't know!" That all came out quick, and she bit the bottom of her lip so hard it left small imprints of teeth to skin. That was the cue for a few tears to roll down over her cheeks. And that was also her lighting the fuse. Now, she waited for the bomb to explode.

Bomb? Surely she knew him better than that, by now. He listened to her stumble over her own tongue throughout the admittance, the staggered way it spilled from that sweet, sweet tongue. And silence followed. Heavy, silence. What was a man supposed to say to that? Self-confidence shattered in a matter of seconds, ego deflated and the warmth drained from his veins. No awkward shifting, no avoidance of meeting her gaze...he was replaying the words in his head, just to make sure he hadn't imagined them. And he sighed, like some great weight was crushing the air from his chest, lips thinning to pale lines. He hadn't said those words in the restaurant out of frivolity..but he had wondered at her lack of return, ending up supposing that she wasn't at
the same 'point' as him. So there was calm. And quiet. But it was oh-so-dangerous that it made any screaming and angry words seem light in
comparison. "I don't know how to talk to you, Lola." The Italian had no harsh words in him right now. He was still reeling, mentally. Betrayal? Oh yes, he felt that strongly, but he couldn't voice them, because she was crying, and he didn't want to see her break down further, because he loved her.

"I..." Fish out of water. Her mouth wasn't working, and her tongue was completely numb as if slathered in cocaine. Watching him, feeling that silence. Not just feeling it, but being crushed by it. She felt small, she felt dirty, and ridiculous. She felt like a harlot that hadn't deserved him, yet gained him. Only to suddenly reel back in time where she was nothing but sharp curves and a loud mouth, and meant nothing to anyone. Skimming her fingers, as they shook with tremors, across her lips. The salt that stained
her cheeks only grew, as even with out blinks those tears rolled. Trying to grasp onto anything, something, to pull herself back out of that dark hole and reclaim him. To turn back time, and wash the dirty sins from her hands.
Leaning back in her chair, as leaning foreward had her shaking. Had her spine knotting up and her organs freezing. All she could do, was nod. What else was she supposed to say? A sorry wasn't going to fix things, a sudden tangent
of her adoration and love for him wouldn't help. Biting at her finger nails, harshly, and glancing to the side. A hiss of wind had coiled a few pieces of hair and plumage to mask her paleness, to hide away the thick, watery layer over her eyes and the streaks of glistened water to her face. Just the slice of a childs murmer. "... I understand."

Raoul felt guilty, seeing her struggle like this, and wondered at her thought processes. Questions gallore. Why? Is he better? Do you want him? But he got no reassurances of that type. Perhaps, he mused, because she expected he'd doubt her sincerity. And perhaps he would....because it was so difficult to trust now, that he was even doubting the honesty of her tears. The silence between their responses, so long and strung-out, was making this all the more awkward, and finally he did look away, to the sleeping dog beneath the table, because on the periphery of his vision, he could see couples whispering at their tables, eavesdroppers who muttered their opinions
behind lifted hands and sliced fleeting glances their way. He felt stupid, shown up, and he slouched further back in his chair, a cool retreat that had his hands clasping one another atop the table. "You don't know why." Repeating
what she'd said, not a question. "There didn't even need to be a reason? It was that easy?"

She didn't care about those people. She didn't see them, and didn't hear them. Technically, Lola was not there. She was somewhere else, far away. A past memory for her to bathe in, for her to feel sheltered by. She could only imagine the thoughts Raoul was having, and she wanted to answer them all. Trust. It was a faucet of a relationship, something that kept it stable and with out it, there was nothing. Eyes rose, slicing
behind lash and lid, clotted with the remains of salt and water. Glancing to his hands, but not to his face. She couldn't look at him, she couldn't dive into the hybrid of his eyes and feel beautiful anymore. She felt filthy, and it made
her want to scream and peel her skin off. Shaking her head lightly, pulling her hand down when she sniffled and murmered the light whisper of her quivered lyricism. "I .. I do know why. I wanted to be sure, to know, that things with
Trent were over. To know .. that it wasn't him I wanted. To know that that part of my life was over." It took her a lot to say that, with out dissapearing behind a cloak of sobs and whimpers. Sinking deeper into her chair, trying to dissapear and become invisible.

They'd never discussed Trent. Nor the loss of the child she'd been carrying. Hed never even met Trent, so this confession was difficult to swallow. All this time she'd been uncertain about her feelings for another man, and she'd been content to let Raoul sit in the dark about it all? The waitress delivered his lunch - just a sandwich - but he'd no appetite for it at the moment, and it soon disappeared under the table and into the dog. "So you got into a relationship with me, when you still had feelings for him?
That's..." Sigh. He shifted restlessly in his chair, letting the legs grate against the cement. "I'm feeling very used right now, Lola. And silly. And there's a lot of barbed things I'd like to spit at you. You know that though, that's why you're crying. And you're not crying because you're sorry for doing it, you're crying about the consequences." Maybe that was a little
unfair, but his thoughts were confused and congealed things right now. "I have better things to do than waste time sitting and stumbling over words." Put simply, he wanted to escape, bury himself in work and not think about it.

There it was. The words she had feared, the assumptions she knew he would gather. Yet, she had small hope that it would have been different. That he would have tried to understand what Lola had done, why she did it. She wanted to scream at him, tell him that wasn't true. Tell him every
detail of her fucked up past with Trent and give him the images, the pain and suffering, the emotional status of a madness that she couldn't control. But, she couldn't. She could just sit there, like a child being scolded, with her
eyes heavy and set to something other then him. She felt it break, the last piece of her heart that had began to grow for him. It shattered into a million pieces, lost in the blackness of her veins. Used. Not sorry. Wasted time.
Things that hit harder than a two by four into the face, were being splintered into her skin. Lola Maroon had never let anyone say things like
that to her, and just get away with it. She had never been put into such a speechless situation, where she was obviously the guilty one. She was a lawyer, for fucks sake. Yet she allowed it, she allowed the burning of her proverbial crucifixation. Why? Because she loved him, and wouldn't try to pull him back into a situation where he felt so ... used. Struggling with everything, but suddenly finding that she was helpless. There was a slight twitch of her mouth into a purse, and the sudden, slow push of her hand to wipe away the tears that were meant out of truth and honesty of her being sorry for what she had did. Choking on words, trying to pull them out from her throat but to no avail. She moved like a marionette, then, tugged by invisible strings and monotone in how her body language was just quiet, and somber. Peeling away from the chair, still nodding her head as if that was the only way she could communicate. Jaw
quivered, teeth unclasped from the grit of her jaw. And still, she could find nothing to say to ease his anger, his frustration and sadness. His
belief of being betrayed. So, she twisted and began to move away, staring straight ahead rather than the voyeurs that were gawk faced staring and murmering their snickers of her harlotry.

Inca whimpered, head lifted from the cushion of his paws as he watched her slip out of her chair. Emotions were thick on the air, tangible things, and he was confused at their parting ways. The Italian felt like a leaden weight had been stitched into his chest where his heart used to be, walls thrown up defensively and anger boiling on the periphery of the logic and restraint that'd kept him calm while they talked. Or rather, tried to. Venom as seeping into his thought processes. He wanted to tear this Trent up, bloody his hands and stamp him into the ground, but with Lola walking away, and the voyeurs turning their attention to him, the tattered pieces of his pride balled together and hardened. Be the adult, be better than them, take it in your own stride, like everything else... Would he cry over Lola? In his sleep, when he couldn't control what he dreamt, but in public, when he was concious enough to hold it back? He'd bottle it like there was no tomorrow, choke on
it and let it fester, so long as he didn't have to face up to how she'd made him feel. He rose from the table, plastering a breezy smile on his face for the waitress that came with the bill. Then he was striding off in the other direction, forcing himself not to glance over his shoulder at her retreating form.


Taken from live play between The Birdborne and Raoul Franchetti.

[no ones muse]

Lola stood there. And she stood there for so long that image of her loft was burning into a permenant silhouette through her eyes. Those eyes that were broken stars and broken glass, in jars of blackblue.
There was smoke, and it curled up the length of her arm. The soft, silk of grey to claw up against moon stolen flesh. It tried it's hardest, to blanket across her face and seal her into a cocoon of curved cancer. Though, she was still there.

A marionette. An empty shell. Just the shadow of something that used to breathe.


<center>Havn't seen her smile in alittle while.</center>

The loft had been emptied. Had been stolen of it's innards and gutted like a long lost cadaver. She cut it open, spliced away what lived in it's belly, on it's walls like holy decorations that were part of the Birdborne.

She was all sex, yet the rotted kind. The type that smelled of filth and the maddening verbs of lunacy. Where her mouth crackled like the fuse to dynamite, and her finger tips were twitching in clockwork to unheard seconds.

It was different. She was different. The whole doubt of everything had switched on her, turned it's back on her. Made her believe that every month was a new season. Every day was a new life. Every minute something spent changing identities.

And she wasn't going to do it, anymore.

"Here's to memories... Here's to me... Here's to ..."

Cigarette flicked. Slow motion tumble of a lit cylinder. The butt hit the ground, bounced, and fell. Lola tucked a breath in, hid it in the flaps of her lungs. Held it...

And then it happened.

The noise, the debris. The shrapnel of metal and wood, of brick and the grid of her loft heralded in a spitfire carcuss. Where sobriety was stolen with the smell of sulfer and gas, of heat and the grim taste of destruction on the air. Feathers and hair went wild around her avian features, pre-medusa in their hectic tangles. Yet, she didn't flinch. Even as a piece sliced near the tender sleekness of her cheek, and let bellyred contrast so beautifully across Snow White.

"... You."

Slender hands shifted into jacket pockets. The leather comforted her, smelled of something other then the fury of the burning building behind her. A glance over a shoulder, to watch the smoke rise. Watch the essence of her loft go up to the heavens, be accepted by God or whoever would take her regrets, memories, and judgements.

With the sirens heard, she was becoming another unknown body through the alleys.

[no ones muse]

<center>Cut your hair, wear a chip on your shoulder
Get ahead, get laid, get it over
Cheap show, back seat martyr's pose, you're over and out
I'm checking out of my senses, buying best defences.
Putting on the trousers, hang up, hang up, hang up...</center>

<center></center>

<center>Go on girls - solo,
Go on girls - take a chance,
Go on girls - trust it,
Go on girls - the truth is ...
So so ... Single ... So low ... The truth is ...</center>


<center>Sneaker Pimps - Tesko Suicide</center>

She had wings, yet no where to go. Not even the stars were appealing to the Birdborne tonight. She had found solace through the empty space of her new penthouse apartment. Where the sliding glass window was open, allowing the murmers of the city air to breathe through. Where there was no lights on, and only the pale shade of the moon threw colors of black and deep blue across the walls.

She was trying to figure out what to do, and yet her brain was on the fritz. It wasn't coming in correctly, her thoughts. Static, fuzzy reception to the real world. It was like changing channels too fast, catching small glimpses of what was on yet never hearing a sound. Just the white noise of the images flickering back and forth.

She took a swallow of air, asphyxiating her decaying lungs with the essence of clean oxygen. Sprawled like a fallen sky siren to the oak floor boards. Her body wrapped in denim and a black cotton shirt. Eyes were tilted, half crescents of blackblue to stare to that open sliding glass door. The balcony empty, yet littered with the reflection of Mother Luna from high above.

Fingers twitched, searching. Rummaging through a pocket. Easing out that small piece of technology, eyeing the phone carefully. Biting the pillow of her bottom lip, leaving a small niche of imprint to the soft curve.

Numbers were dialed, easily, with the pad of her thumb. Clearing out her throat, the trash and debris there left over smoke and scotch. Bringing the phone to her ear, easing her head to twist. Reintroducing her stare to the ceiling, where only moments before she had viewed the same spot.

A few rings later...

"Hello?"

The voice was smooth, pleasent. The flow of Spring with the Portuguese language being so fresh yet wise. Feminine, touching. Maternal.

"Mama..."

"Lola? My pretty bird, what are you doing calling? It's late there."

"Mama... I just wanted to hear your voice."

"Ahh, my little one. What's wrong? You never call your mother saying such a thing. Come, tell me."

"I... I did something terrible. Raoul and I .. We. Well. We arn't together anymore, Mama."

"Now you tease me. Of course you two are together, still. He's going to marry you, you know? When are you going to give me a granddaughter?"

"No... No, Mama. We're not. I hurt him, Mama. And I didn't mean to."

There was a long pause from her mother. Lola knew such a thing was never good, though then came an airy sigh, and the "Tsk"ing.

"Lola. You never mean to hurt the one's you love. Now, tell me. What did you do, menina?"

The fluent pair spoke in the husky, sweet drawls of Portuguese to one another. And in some way, it comforted the hollow bones of the Birdborne. She felt the tears well up through her eyes, already.

"I slept with another man, Mama. You remember me talking about Trent? The boxer?"

"Ai! Menina! The Hakken from the West? No, no, menina. Please tell me you didn't? But you told me the horrible things that happened between you two. Why would you do such a thing, my baby bird?"

"Because I needed to know. To know that things between Trent and I were over. That what I felt for Raoul was real. I didn't want things to end up with Raoul, the way they did with Cortez, or Trent. Please, Mama. Try to understand."

Lola was murmering softly, yet there were moments where her voice cracked and quivered. Obvious tell tale signs that the Birdborne was crying, with tears of salt and truth. Knuckles rose, blending into her cheek to smear away the damp lines. Her mother, on the other end, lowered her whispers and coo'd instinctually into the phone.

"Lola. I do understand. Though did you really have to do such a thing -- never mind. I know you, my baby bird. I know you better than anyone, including your father. I know it was not your intention to hurt Raoul. We saw how you looked at him, when he was here. It will be alright, Lola."

Lola tucked her knees to her chest, and buried her face between the crease. Sobbing, letting a majority of what she had kept inside, out. Shaking her head, as if her mother could see the action of her negativity towards the situation.

"No, no, Mama. I don't think it will be. I've lost him, Mama. And I can't do anything about it."

Her mother on the other line, pulled the phone away, tucking it down to muffle any words she might say. A slew of foreign mumbles was sent out, before there was clear reception once more.

"Listen, my pretty bird. Perhaps you should come home... Just for a while? Till you heal. I'm worried about you, Lola. You've been through so much, in such little time. You belong here, with us. Home, Lola."

Home. The word tasted so sweet on her tongue, when she felt it being moved around behind her teeth. The very thought of it, the clear and clean beaches of Lisbon, the carnivals, the family, everything, had her salivating. Nuzzling her cheek into her knee, and glancing back to the open sliding glass window. There was a long, long stretch of silence. Before..

"Alright..."

"Good. You'll be happy here, for a while, Lola. Away from everything. I saw how happy you were, when you were here for Roman's wedding."

"I was happy because of Raoul, Mama..."

"Yes, I know. We all know that. Though, it was because of family, too. Now, we expect you here soon. If you are not here within three days, I will send your brothers for you."

"Alright... Thanks, Mama."

There was no argueing with her mother. It just wouldn't suit. Wiping away the last remains of her tears, and still feeling empty, the Birdy crooned.

"I love you, Mama."

"And you know I love you, too. All of us do, Lola. And so does Raoul..."

Her mother hung up, leaving Lola with an odd flavor to the mood she was in. Flipping the cell phone closed, and easing back to her strewn out poise across the floor boards.

[no ones muse]

Lola had escaped to heritage paradise. Where the beaches of Lisbon were crisply cut, and the perfection of sea green and beautiful blue. Here is where the smells were so familiar, that it offered sanctuary for a few minutes in the remembrance of her childhood. The wind was ripe and turning chilly, but with a warm aftermath during the afternoon highrise.
Her family was worried about her, and she could tell by how their eyes would settle and skim her frame. Looking for wounds from the outside in, and sensing the amount of heartbreak the Birdborne was going through. How she was stitched up in the remedy of famine, as her stomach just wasn't strong enough to hold anything down. Mama Bird even cooked her favorite meal the night she rode in, and not a piece was touched from her plate.

Isolation had become the emaciated Lola's resolution. To try and find herself again, with out the advice of her siblings, or parents. Though, she took momentary relapses into being a true Maroon woman, and playing with her nieces and nephews that ran around, finding their wings for the first time. It made her smile, her sometimes made her laugh.

Her brothers were furious with Raoul, and vowed vengeance. Her Father felt somewhat the same, yet kept his tongue in check and played the stoic idol in the family. Her Mama? Well, she was a different story.

Her mother had fallen in adoration with the Italian man, because she saw what the male creature brought to the Birdborne. Happiness. It was all she could ask for, for her Baby Bird. So, she would scold any who spoke ill of the man, even if Lola would sob into her pillow, late at night. Even when Lola refused to talk about the situation, and walk carelessly towards the beach front. Even when she saw the dark circles, the expansion of bones beneath skin, and the sunk in eyes.

Her Mama still believed in Raoul.

Lola had told one person where she was going. Shannon knew where to find the Birdborne, and surely would offer that bit of information to anyone who asked. Honestly, she hadn't told the Halliburtons, in fear of what they would say to her. In total fright, in knowing that they would be right, and she would have no reason to argue.

Tonight, though, she shifted on the porch. Leaning her extremely thinned out frame near a vertical railing, and staring off to the ocean and it's loud crashes of waves. There was regret staining her, shame coming in thick from her pores.

She never thought that such a thing would happen.

Never thought in a million years, that she would love someone this much.

[no ones muse]

October was the Birdborne's favorite month within her home heritage. The boundries of the Lisbon beach where the large Maroon estate sat up against the mountain side, always did bring back childhood memories. The wind was cool and stirred up the edges of the waves when they rose high and crashed low. To watch this whole scene, was Lola, huddled within the security of a thick, wool blanket. Her features had somewhat contrasted over the days that flowed by. Sharpened yet from emaciation rather than something that would spell her out to be beautiful. Her mother was rambling away about something, brushing back feathers and black hair from the Birdborne's brow, even with blackblue eyes set in half-mast to watch the waves and the wild bluegreen ocean. She did move though, to murmer a few Portuguese whines to her Mama, and outstretch thin arms within that blanket when her nephew came trotting down the floor boards of the porch. An easy smile of pink-peach mouth, when the small boy came tumbling against Lola. She scooped him up, and drawled some fine, husky murmer near his temple when he settled in her lap. He laughed, and her Mama was
pointing a finger at her, shaking it and obviously not too pleased with whatever Lola had said to the boy.

Back in RhyDin, the staff of The Soho restaurant in the docklands were relaxing for the first time in nearly a week. Their boss was gone, flown away to Portugal, or so the rumour went, and control had passed (albeit temporarily) to the Italian's more leniant head chef. The past few days had been stung by Franchetti's sharp and angry tongue, his utter refusal to accept any excuses or apologies even over the most miniscule matters. Perhaps, they hoped, this little trip would set things to rights? Currently, the Italian was road-roaming, having set out on foot, rather than get a taxi from the closest down, and he was far from his usual immaculate self. Dark jeans were rumpled (probably worn several days in a row) and the once crisp shirt he wore looked like it'd never seen an iron. Stubble had thickened on the angles of his jaw and deep hollows had etched themselves beneath eyes that harboured dark and tumultuous thoughts. He had to talk to her. The seperation was driving him crazy. He didn't feel like himself anymore, he was a tattered, ruined creature that stumbled over his words, smoked and drank to excess and ate too little. He was angry about it too...angry that she had such a hold over him to send him on such a downward spiral. So he'd come to confront her, talk like he should've done when she first confessed...and her home was in view. Heart
set to a heavy pound in his chest, and the stubborn Italian in him brushed aside the doubts that suddenly assaulted him over this whole expedition.

There was quite a bit of activity at the Maroon Estate. Though most of it was inside, where the family could be heard in loud waves of either laughter, or them trying to talk over one another. It was pretty easy to see the outline of a very short woman, scolding another that was bundled up within the seat of a cushioned swing. When the Italian moved closer, he would probably hear the light whim of the Birdborne, speaking with some mild amusement to her Mama while the boy in her lap laughed at the duo. Though suddenly it all stopped, when too-violet eyes of her Mama blinked at Raoul. There was an angle of the womans head, soft, soft whisper to the Birdborne that had her go ghostly pale and freeze up. Her Mama was joking her, right? Blackblue's were threaded in their dull display to the tattered looking man, the man she had missed and fled from. It was drastic, for the Birdborne to leave so abruptly, with a burnt down loft and a now new empty penthouse. With word only to
Shannon, and no one else to confirm her whereabouts. She lost all that she was used to: Her voice, confidence, pride. It all went into the ground that day at the coffee house. She stretched her fingers to pat at her nephews
cheeks, murmering something to him when he escaped from her lap and her mother was ushering the young boy inside, with herself. Lola, of course, stayed within the security of that blanket and felt her teeth begin to go crazy on her bottom lip. She couldn't bring herself to offer eye contact, though it was obvious that she, and probably the rest of the house now, knew he was there.

Raoul steeled himself, when he saw his presence had been acknowledged, the mother's retreat back into the house along with the little one. Just the Birdborne left, abandoned on the porch, curled up and looking so small, huddled in that blanket. His stride faltered, a hesitancy that he
cursed himself for, before he continued in his normal, determined manner. The Italian was still under there, in that mess of a shell that he'd come to be, the same hard-headed and self-assured, arrogant bastard that he'd been all
along. Long-legged stride carried him up onto the porch, and he let the bag with the few possessions he carried swing from his shoulder and settle with an unceremonious thunk on the decking. He'd come all this way and now...words were failing him again. Grey-green eyes were the only sharp thing in his face, piercing as a bird's and pale as light on water, the kind of intensity that was unnerving. She might not be able to make eye contact, but he was doing his fair share of direct staring, and more. Christ, he wanted to shake her angrily, growl accusations, but he held it all back, sucked in air sharply through his nostrils, and finally managed to force something past hardened lips.
"You can't hide out here from me, Lola. You know it won't work. You're making me crazy, I can't operate like this..."

He had no idea the control he had over her, did he? The fact that she had run away set a good line for the standards of him to her. How he scared her, not physically, though mentally and emotionally. She had done a number on him, yet she paid the consequences and took it like a soldier. The day she confessed showed that, to herself. That she had even told him, signified how she felt about him. Honesty, yet with the price of trust. Saliva built up in her mouth, and she suddenly felt sick to her stomach. Her bonework and still frame of skin rippled underneath the blanket while she arched shoulders and somewhat hid a majority of her face in the soft material. Truthfully, it was flattering to know he came all this way. Out into the
blizzard of her world, where her brothers were every now and again peeking out the windows and sneering with glares on their faces. This only ensued a riot from Mama, who would smack them with a wooden spoon and shout loud curses at them. Lola was surely lost, and thought homeward bound would make her survive. It had done an alright job, up until now, when the Italian stood in front of her and only felt like ice and aggression, while the Birdy was empty and somber. Swallowing down what she could, and nodding her head slowly to his words. Still, her tongue just wouldn't operate, and her eyes wouldn't lift from watching the waves the few good miles away.

If he was aware of the scrutiny of her family, he was doing a good job of ignoring it. Or more than likely, he was too focused on the Birdborne, hoping for something...but God only knew what. HE didn't even know what he wanted from her. What could he ask? She'd already apologised, been
truthful, explained the situation....but could that fix broken trust and stitch the relationship back together? If he'd been a man with less pride,
perhaps they would have accepted it. But the snob in him snarled that it wasn't enough, that there needed to be some way to stamp out the infestation of anger and betrayal. Maybe he'd have felt better if Trent weren't around. Maybe if they stayed out here in Portugal where the man was nowhere near. But that was cheating. Deep down, he knew that he'd be just running and carrying them away from the competition. She had so much history with Trent. Years! And comparing that to the months that they'd been together, it was little wonder that he felt insecure. He didn't move to sit beside her. He didn't find a spot to lean...there'd been no real welcome, and at this rate he might well turn on his heel and march back down the road. "I can understand doubt, Lola. I could have understood your doing it if you were single, and you were giving it one last shot. But...love, as I know it, is something you can't doubt. It's that strong. So I can't understand, if that's what you claim to feel for me...why it wasn't enough."

It had taken awhile, yet finally, the Birdborne seemed to stir. No, he couldn't possibly understand. He wouldn't understand. It was the
unfair mentality of a woman who had been in love twice before, and it came down to violence and death. Things that were supposed to make you smile, and justified in emotion, had come to defeated hopes when the Birdborne was involved. She clutched her teeth together and was in motion, startling herself even in the fluid motion of it all. The blanket had fallen from her slim shoulders, and she was a mess of thin physique. Looking like a recent outpatience for
leukemia, with sunk in eyes and a rib cage that showed. Food had not touched her tongue in so long and her fatigue had taken a toll on her with the mixture of insomnia. "It is enough! Do you have any idea what it's like? To get married, and have your spouse try and kill you? Or to be in love with someone, loose your child, and then find your significant other has been cheating on you? Hates you? No! You don't!" Tears. She didn't even realize that had come, and flooded from her eyes to seep along the sculpted lines of her cheeks. She was pacing down away from him, curling up near a vertical railing and crossing arms across the center of her abdomen. To shield her face from his, and let her back be a canvas for his eyes. Simple denim and a once too-tight black shirt that was now somewhat baggy. "I want to be sure... absolutely positive... that my feelings for you were real. That they were enough to put up with anything that came in the future. To know that I could survive another heartbreak.. to know that it was worth it. To give myself up, again. And ... if I did get hurt out of it, atleast I would know it was because I did .. love you..." She doubted it made any sense, any at all, though she spoke how she felt, gave in and cracked to the mentality of one who had been broken too many times, and glued together a double amount.

"No, I don't." He'd ruffled the Birdborne's feathers with his words, and as twisted as it might be, he felt somewhat justified in it,
even as he regretted ever speaking. "I don't know what it's like because I'd never been in love
before you." Unafraid to admit that. Well into his
thirties and she was the first. The first to stir up anything beyond a passing fancy or childish crush. And he'd recognised everything before her
for what it was. Which was why he was so sure now, that this intensity of emotion was the
real thing. She was in motion, and he played the statue, refusing to bend to his own whims, slip over and comfort her, or even offer a word of comfort. Yet. But watching her like this might crack him before long. "Sex doesn't equate to love, Lola. You didn't need to sleep with him to confirm whether there was anything there or not. Lust and love are so, so different." He was losing
track of the point, and he let loose the sigh of frustration which'd built in the broad span of his chest. "And now you're telling me that he was cheating on you...and hated you. You risked what you had with me, just in case you could have THAT
back?" Near spitting the words.

They truely were the epitome of foreigners, with their stubborn skulls and their quick wit tongues. She was rotted on the inside out, feeling like nothing more than another skinshell with a pretty face. Snickering behind her teeth,
dragging a shakey hand up to press her palm harshly along her cheeks to smear away the swept up rivers of salt. His words stung deeper than a knife to the gut, and yet she didn't blame him. Didn't think for one second to snap at him
and try and justify herself. She deserved it, and took her punishment as Christ did on the cross. Threading her eyes of watered down blackblue, to keep watch over the oceanic existance, with it's waves, to sooth her, try and calm
her down from buckling and just falling over and
screaming. The wind carved through her hair of feathers and black, and stung with the scent of sea water. She couldn't try to explain anymore, instead, she just murmered out the childish hint of her weeping with a glance over a shoulder
to him. More over, to his mid-torso rather than his face. "What are you doing here, Raoul? Did you come all this way, just to make your point?" Because surely, she was curious. There was a mock smile, and a faint laugh that was all hollow and far from anything aside from tormented. "Could have just left me a message on my phone if you wanted to yell at me." Turning her head back, and dipping it lower. There was another set of murmers, yet more to herself than to him. "I deserve everything you're saying. All the anger and hurt. But ... couldn't you have just waited?"

That shut him up. Might even have been a click as teeth set firm together again. And then a bitter sweet smile. "I didn't come out here to yell at you. That...wasn't my intention at all." The honest to God truth. He'd wanted to try and fix things, with his inexperienced hands, salvage what
he could. But things don't always turn out as planned, do they? He smoothed shakey fingers through the mop of unstyled hair, dusty from the trek, and let long-boned fingers lace at the nape of his neck, craning his head back so that the gaze of watery grey-green could fasten on something less volatile than she. The sky was good. Like the sea was to her. "I came to try and
understand, because if I could manage that, there might be some hope for us. I want you so much, Lola." And for a moment, the rich, Italian accented voice broke, a tremor through its once steadfast confidence. "But it can't work if I'm going to be so insecure around you. I can't be doubting your loyalty all the time, and as much as I wish I could smooth it all over and forget about it, I'm too wary...too careful. I'm not a trusting person. You can't be, in my profession.. but you had it." Oh yes she had. Fully and without reserve, he'd adored and set her above all other women for it. Now he sneered at himself
and the word 'fool' sprang to mind.

"But this isn't your fucking profession, Raoul! This is fucking love! This is the way it fucking works! It hurts, it sucks, things happen that make you want to die, but it's what happens when you fall in love with someone!" Well, that had her practically twirling around and screaming at
him, the sobs stuck in her throat like a clump of putty that made her choke and sniffle back what she could when the downpour came from bloodshot eyes. She raised her hands up and let them fall to a clatter at her sides, before letting them fidgety and ease back to twist around her stomach. "I don't know what you want me to do! I don't know how to make you trust me again, or how
to make you secure with yourself. With me! I ... I just don't ... know." She was in ruins, and it was easy to see the Birdborne cracking. How her head tilted to the side and her mouth was slitted in a gape to let her teeth grind across
one another. Eyes fell downwards, a fist coming up to drag into the sockets of blackblue and gravely sprung tears. She felt weak, sick, beyond a doubt worse than she had ever felt. No, she could compare this. Compare it to the day she lost Bethany. The way the hurt festered and made her insane with moonmadness, had sculpted her into something distant that took so long to reach the goal of being the normal Lola. To being the smiling Birdborne that held such mystery and
fascination. A hand wound up, torturing itself through the layers of thick black and feathers. Shrugging up her shoulders and trying to
hold herself together (which wasn't working as well as she thought). "I'm sorry...." Whispered
in the croon of a pretty-bird child, shaking her head back and forth

He hadn't meant to put the focus on his work... but his work was his world, he'd been brought up to live it, and it just went to show how deeply it'd affected him. Even his love life. His smile was a feeble thing, dragged up from nowhere and so dilute there would be no fooling the
Birdborne. He was stooping to wrap his fingers around the canvas strap of the bag he'd brought along, and hoisting it back over his shoulder. "I don't know either. I don't want to upset you anymore, Lola. It wasn't right of me to come out
here while you were mending." He paused. There was more he wanted to say, but for now he choked it down, swallowed it, because there was no way he could word it eloquently enough to be discussed without their nerves and tempers
fraying beyond repair. "Love doesn't have to be like that, when you find the right person. I'm sorry too." He felt sick saying it, but how could they reconcile when their opinions on the matter were so vastly different? He turned away, shoulders hunched and his whole posture that of a defeated man. Down the steps and back to the road, where it didn't matter if he cried, because
there was nothing there but dust and wind to witness it.

"Raoul!" No, there was no way she was letting him go that easily. She couldn't. She wouldn't. It was against the rules, this was her territory. She was streaking foreward, lacing her fingers around his wrist and haulting him from retreating. Running away from a battle that could be won, if given time. She was shaking her head, mumbling and rambling as she herself did feel the same as he: Defeated, yet not dead. "Please, please... don't go. I want you, Raoul! I don't want anyone else... I love you, menino. More than you could possibly know! You've... you've been the only man to really make me happy. I'm sorry for what I did! Just ... just please, don't
go." Whimpered. She practically begged him, pleaded with the upper cut of blackblue's to find those hybrid greygreens. To really see them for the first time, since she had admitted her emotion to him. Lower lip quivered, and her
fingers weren't letting go. Their thin sculpt was frail around the bulk of his wrist, yet she wasn't threatened by his physique, more over, she was scared of his tongue.

Her touch caused the eruption of such a tangle of
emotions! It made him want to shudder, pull away before he faltered again, and at the same time she seemed such a fragile and helpless thing that the compulsion was there to gather her up and hold her, just to stop her breaking apart further. Muscle tensed, and slowly, slowly he turned back to face her, looking down at her hand where it grasped his wrist. "Right now I don't know what to feel. I don't feel any more sure of myself than I did when you first told me..." He couldn't help it. Just a touch. Just a drift of his fingers through her hair, a tender, barely-there caress, as if he was afraid any more than that would crack her. "I think if I stayed....I'd be fooling myself. I'd be pretending everything was all right and trying to make you happy but..." But what? Something was gone. He didn't love her any less, and that was what stung. "I can't stay." His hand returned limply to his side, hung there uselessly. "I don't think stringing it out will help, now."

If he thought he was helping her any, he was surely mistaken. His words again, bit deep beneath the skin and tore away at the
remains of what she thought was her heart. Mouth went agape, but no words could be found to justify any of it. Wild eyed, she stared up at him, in the shock of finding that this wasn't going to work. That it was all gone, and he was left to believe such harshness about her. There was a step back, and that's when she felt it hit. The weakness finally drove her to crumble to her knees,lifeless, cut of her strings and left to be an abandoned marionette of the skies. Her torso rocked foreward, and her hands came up to hold her features together, press up along her face. There was Portuguese murmered from her mouth, as
english failed her and left a bitter taste on her tongue. Her Mama,her father, had all somewhat spied on them from the door. Her father shook his
head, and her mother teared up, while her nephew scowled at Raoul. All of this was unknown to the Birdborne, as all she could think of was that she was failing again. Loosing something that hadn't even truely started. Her spine heaved, and the sobs just wouldn't stop. But, she didn't reach out. She didn't try and catch him if he moved. She had said, and done, just about everything she could possibly think of doing. And then, the mousey crack of a whimper from between the cracks of her fingers. "I'm so, so sorry..."

How could he watch her crumble like that, and not be moved to comfort her, knowing it was his doing? Raoul was no callous creature, despite the rigors of his work, and his own maturity, so he joined her down on the ground, abandoning his bag again to offer her his arms - offer or steal her into. He gathered her up against him, palm cupping the back of her head, and simply heldher, feeling the tremors of her sobs and closing his
eyes, forcing the moisture that filmed over grey-green to bead in his lashes. Tightness in his throat, constriction around his chest. He was as
broken as she, but he smothered it in subtlety, and didn't glance away from her, remained ignorant of their watchers.

Stolen or not, she didn't delude herself from the familiar comfort. The aphrodisia of his skin and the masculine contours of his body, how she fit them so perfectly with the sharp ridges of her physique. Arms threaded around his neck, and her face became buried between his neck and
shoulder, where her whimpers and sobs could echoe along his flesh. This was killing her, through the inside out. It was so obvious. Quivering, she
couldn't stop the whimsy of her emotion that over came her like a tidal wave. Murmering against him, trying to pretend as if this wasn't the last time. As if he wasn't going to leave her, and they were going to work out. Of course, it was
all just the fairy tale taste she had, rather than the realism of the situation. That is when her nephew bolted away from Mama's wrapping arms, even with the protest of father and mother as he stormed his six year old stature towards the duo. And then, he puffed up at Raoul, pointed a finger at him, and ranted in Portuguese. Raoul might have picked up on a few words, such as Lola, crying, hurt, bastard. Yaddy yaddy yah. Lola was picking her head up and hissing at her nephew, choking out a threat to him yet the young knight in shining armor wasn't budging. Finally, Lola's mother came out, hissing just as Lola had
(like daughter like mother?) and picking up the boy to sweep him away from the scene.

He wasn't angry at the boy. He was family, and family protected each other, just as they did in Italy. It was no different hereand so the boy's words were blanked as best as possible. This was nothing but he and Lola, and he wasn't going to let any outside influence sour the moment. It was hard enough already. Fingers splayed across her back, their press against thin form keeping her tucked close to the solid structure of his
torso. Long moments he held her, waiting out her sobs and tears, until they simmered to something less violent. He didn't try to move her to her feet, when he peeled away from her. He didn't want to see her crumble again, and she was
secure there... couldn't fall further. As for goodbyes...he didn't like them, and he knew that their real goodbyes had already been said, somewhere in the previous parts of their conversation. He glanced to the door, briefly. Nodded in parting to any members of her family, be their expressions hostile or otherwise, and then slipped away.


<center>Taken from live play between The Birdborne and Raoul Franchetti.</center>

<font color="#FFCC00" size="1">[ February 28, 2005 05:36 AM: Message edited by: chimera factory ]</font>

[no ones muse]

"Lola... Are you sure this is the right thing to do? I mean, from what I heard of earlier, he wasn't too keen on staying with you."
"Roman. I have to try. I can't just let him slip away. You and Angelique are together, right? You wouldn't give her up for anything, right? Well, that's how I feel about Raoul."

"But this is insane, Lola! You're just setting yourself up for hurt."

Her brother was grunting that reply, while his eyes gazed downwards to the glass cases. Lola was splitting her fingers like boney knives over the surface, and murmering.

"If I don't try, I'll regret it in the end. I can't be a "What If" person, Roman. You know that. You know me. I love him. I refuse to just let what we have die. I know he loves me, too."

"Lola.. Baby Bird.. Listen to yourself. Didn't you hear what he said to you? He doesn't understand, and he won't. You're going to end up killing yourself if you try to chase him!"

There was a small twist of her mouth. Just a miniscule angle of lips, with a tilt of her head. Roman knew that look, and sighed.

"I think I am passed being dead, Roman. On the inside I'm empty. With out him, I feel like ... nothing. This is what I want. I want him, Roman! Why can't you just encourage me?"

"Because!"

Roman almost roared, yet kept his tongue in check and hissed out that word. Fuming, he leaned along the glass casing, and rubbed a thick, calloused palm to his brow before speaking again.

"Because... I can't stand to see you hurt anymore, Lola. You're my baby sister. I want you to be happy, but .. If he can't accept your apology, and understand that it took guts and courage for you to even tell him about what you did... then he's not worth it."

"Oh, but you're wrong, Roman. He is worth it."

"Fine. Fine! Well. Don't come crying back home, ok? You're setting yourself up. Just take what you have left of your heart, and move on."

There was a long moment of silence between the two, while Lola ran over a few theories in her head. Shaking her skull of black and feathers, licking her teeth while she spoke in such fine accuracy.

"I don't have a heart with out him, Roman..."

"... you really love him this much, Baby Bird? To offer the rest of your life to him? To be his, forever? Heart, mind, soul, body? This is a big step, Lola. You've never done anything like this before. After Cortez... I was sure you would never marry again..."

Lola lifted petite hands to accept the small box the woman behind the counter gave her. A soft smile to spread like an apathetic disease along her mouth, while she opened the casket and admired the platinum band inside.

"I'm prepared to do whatever it takes to have him, Roman..."

The small box was closed, and she cradled it between her palms like a relic. Some sort of artifact that screamed her devotion. A slow, slow sigh from her chest, and she was glancing to her brothers firm features. The set in oddities of his dark, dark azure eyes mixed with lazy tendrils of black.

"Alright. Fine. I .. I hope he says yes, Lola. For your sake.."

"We'll see, Roman. If he doesn't .. then .."

She didn't even finish. She just chuckled, lightly, and was lulling away from the casing of rings and jewelry.

"Come on, let's go. I'm tired."

Said the mocking bird woman who wouldn't sleep with all the tangled nerves wired in her system.

<center></center>

[no ones muse]

Franchetti cut a sharp figure amongst the crowds of tourist milling in the airport, a suited assistant flanking him on either side and a briefcase in hand. He'd stopped back at the hotel he'd booked a room in, cleaned up the mess of
a man he'd become over the past few days and clambered awkwardly back into his old shell. Immaculate. Clothes fresh out of plastic wrap and crisply ironed, jaw smooth shaven and the whole of him hardened to something cold and ruthless. He refused to wilt any further, to let this ruin him. He'd continue as he always had, and manage fine alone. Families shifted out of his way, staff gave him nervous smiles and security dipped their heads politely as he passed through. They knew the man with the private jet, the one that prowled with the poise of a politician and the practiced charm of a film star, but there was something about him setting nerves on edge today. Giovanni and Bruno, knew all too well that this return to grace was just a patch-up job, a thin veneer over the wreckage left behind, but they'd support the man all they could. He was their family, as surely as their blood relatives were.

It was a facade. A mask that Raoul had picked up along the way. Lola knew this better than anyone, even Bruno and Giovanni. She let him decorate himself in crazy coolness, pretending to be some stone etched deity that held no remorse. Though, she knew better. She knew it wasn't him, and she was determined to crack that shell of his and seep back within. There was no giving up, there was no defeat in this. Try, and try again. She had
never, once, been this determined. And yesturdays antics showed her, showed her a million things all in relapse. She loved this man, and it came with a smack to the face when the true meaning of it settled in her veins. If they were scared of Raoul, they were the same with Lola, if not more wary of the Maroon baby bird. She was sleek today, collecting missing pieces of herself and shoving them back into place. A whimsy gypsy skirt of sweet cream drifted near her knees, while her upper torso was clung and held together behind the slim fitting tank top of the same color as her skirt. Hair was a Grecian replica of a mess atop her crown, tangles running down to lick at her neck and temples. Heels clicked, and she held her head as high as she could. When the man at the counter saw the Birdborne, he was clearing his throat and approaching Mr. Franchetti. "Excuse me, Mr. Franchetti? Yes, I'm sorry to inform you that your jet is having small ... difficulties. We can't allow you to leave on your scheduled time." That's when Lola smiled silly like to herself, and was tipping her head to Bruno and Giovanni. Alright, Birdy. This is your time, this is your moment. She almost lost her head, but she took a deep, deep breath in
and let it become shakey when it spilled out from beautifully glossed lips. Fingers fidgeted with one another, and she was reaching to tap Raoul on the shoulder.

"It will be fixed in no less than 20 minutes. Do I make myself clear?" Raoul was impatient to be away and back in the safety of familiarity. No time for technical problems or delays. If necessary he'd intimidate to get the job done
to his specifications. Far from oblivious to the
distraction of his companions, the Italian had been about to turn to see what had their attention, when he felt the Birdborne's tap on his shoulder. Naturally he turned, but he was surprised by what he found. For a moment, the mask
cracked, almost as if a bolt of something sharp and agonising had shot the length of him, but it was cat-quick, gone in a blink, and then he was all smoothness and confidence once more. Lola had come to say goodbye, not to tear him up in public....that must be it! So hard to know how to act - when last he'd seen her she was a crumpled thing on her knees, face damp with salty tears
and lined with misery. Now? She seemed a different creature altogether, filled with hints of steely resolve, a determination he couldn't understand, considering how unsettling their parting had been. "Lola...please." Please...don't make it harder. Don't tear down what he'd rebuilt over the last few hours. He wasn't sure how much he could stand before something in him was
permanently crippled.

Wow. If Lola ever felt intimidated in her life, it would be right now. Standing in the shadow of the Italian, when his skin crawled with the calloused silenced of a supreme killer. And yet, she watched his eyes. Yes, made direct eye contact and swallowed down the hybrids within the oracles of blackblue. Those spheres that held such pride, were somewhat cracked and smashed, yet spilled out their reminder that she still was the Birdborne. Her sharp features fell soft when he spoke, when he stood there like a deer in
headlights. Speechless, if only for a moment, as she couldn't let the quiet time distract her. Another deep gulp of oxygen, before she was tilting her head to the side. Eyes went half-masted, and her tone was sincere, apologetic,
the epitome of sorrow wrapped in Portuguese accents. "Shh, listen to me, menino." Clearing her throat, a glance around as quite a few were looking at them. Though, within seconds, those bizarre yet beautiful eyes (the ones he had
fallen in love with) were turned back to him. A light, crippled smile dictated how her mouth moved. "I'm sorry. For what I did. It was wrong. You said yesturday, that I am the first you've loved. The first you've fell head over heels for. Though I can't say I've never been in love before, I've never been in love like this. You ... you know me so well! You know who I am, and you accept that. And I know you, menino. I know this is not what you want to do. I know you like it when I bite my bottom lip. I know how you like your coffee in the morning, and I know the sounds you make when we're intimate. I know your favorite color, I know your favorite song. I know everything. I know that you know, that if you love me as much as you did, or say you do... Then you won't let it end like this. Love like this deserves a second chance, Raoul. I deserve a second chance. To make it right, to show you that I can be trusted, to let you know that you should be secure with me." Deep exhale, as she swallowed down the crawl of sadness in her throat. But she did not look away, instead, her hand went into her purse, and she fidgeted around in there for
a moment.

Every word truth, and he let it sink in while he (and everyone else close by) listened in silence. And why not! Here was a live show of what most of them would only ever see on the big screen, being played out right in front of their eyes. Only there were no camera crews, no directors
fussing over lighting and angles, or telling the stars that he wanted more. How could you get more than sincerity? Giovanni and Bruno were at least
polite enough to pretend not to listen, and surreptitiously shifted to try and hide them from prying eyes as best they could. Raoul was touched, and a little of the harshness fled his features, softened to something more familiar and natural. "I was honest with you, when I told you I loved you, even if it wasn't the most appropriate of moments. I'd planned it you know, where we'd be and imagined all the fine detail. But it just felt right to say it when I did. It
was spontaneous, and true, and it still is." Deep breath taken, sucked between his teeth, gaze flitting south to the dip in her collarbone before sliding back to meet blueblack. "I can forgive your mistake. I'm not angry about it
anymore." It'd taken some time, but the more violent emotions had boiled down. It wasn't such a raw wound to him anymore. "I'm sorry for all the hurt. One day, maybe we'll heal enough to understand each other."

"I know, menino. And you had me on cloud nine when I heard those words. I didn't even need to say anything though. You knew already, didn't you? And it just goes to show how much I care about you, for telling you about Trent in the
coffee house. I .. I wouldn't do that if I didn't care about you. I love you, Raoul. More than anything. And I want the one day, to be today. I don't want to let you go, or loose you. You're everything to me and more, you have to see that. You have to know that. I .. I want to be with
you, Raoul." Ok, she was getting nervous now. It was hard to read him, back and forth with the softness and then the harshness. She was torn, yet she wouldn't hinder from her decision. There was a slow glance around, over the crook of her sharp shoulders. This, to the voyeurs who stopped and watched the scene unfold. Widening her eyes, mildly, and murmering Portuguese to herself.
Another clear of her throat, trying to get rid of the debris there that tasted like sadness and salt. She fumbled with something in her hands, and peeked blackblue's up to him from underneath a canopy of tangled feathers and hair.
"So... Bare with me, please. I've never... done this before." That, said with the crawl of an extremely nerve wracked smile that teetered and presented dimples to smooth, white cheeks. And then she was lowering herself, breathing
in quickened paces with stabs of air in her lungs. On one knee, brushing a hand down the length of her skirt. Well, here went nothing. She twitched her fingers, opened a small case, and offered up a handsome, thick platinum band
with three yellow diamonds set in a spaced out row on the top. They weren't gaudy, but they were obviously expensive. Choking! She fumbled on her foreign tongue and glanced around again, before directed those cut up spirals of oil over
water to Raoul. Her voice quivered, threatened to crack, though she tried to keep it as cool as possible. Which... wasn't working. "Raoul Franchetti, will you marry me?" Jesus fuck, she said it!

Hiss-whisper-murrmur-squeal! The bystanders were ablaze with talk, smiling and chattering behind their hands as they kept watch over the pair. Even Giovanni and Bruno seemed to be more interested in watching to see what might happen, than actually doing their job. And Raoul? Well,
the Italian was a statue of a man, had been since he saw her lowering herself and guessed at what might be about to follow. But could be bring himself to stop her? He didn't have it in him...didn't have the words or the right train
of thoughts. He was all tangled and wide eyed and looking anything but composed! Lips were attempting to form words, which lacked entirely in sound, and it was only when Bruno took the initiative and gave his boss a friendly jab in the ribs with one elbow to rouse him, that he actually summoned up some coordination and realised...he had to answer here, one way or another! He bent at the waist, clasped her wrists with strong fingers, and murmured for her to ..please stand up! He couldn't do this here, couldn't talk marriage with everyone staring at them like a flock of vultures waiting for some dead thing to expire! He was quick to lead her elsewhere, into ...the mens restroom. Thank the lord, it was quite empty, and the door was soon
under guard by his assistants. "Marriage!?" Had she ever seen him so unprofessional and..boyish? This was something that he was supposed to do. Call him a stickler for tradition, but hell he was a Catholic and this was going to take some getting used to. He paced...as best he could in the short stretch in front of the stalls, and
then repeated himself. A little more calmly this time. "Marriage?"

She was having doubts about this, suddenly, when he was so stoic and silent. It was seen in the creases of her face, as her brightened features deteriorated and she was being pulled by his hands to a stance. She clung to that case with that ring, like her life depended on it. She was
prepared to laugh, empty like, and push the ring back into her purse and let him be on his way to his jet. Before she was blinking wild blackblue's and was tugged into the mens restroom. Before they dissapeared, away from the pack of hungry voyeurs, she heard a man yell in Portuguese that if he didn't marry her, that he would gladly do it. Though in the safety of solitude with him,
she watched the spectacle of his pacing back and forth. Slender fingers skimmed over the surface of that ring, letting her eyes drop to study it. It was a stupid idea, it was dumb of her to do it. She was realizing that when he reacted as he did, and bit her bottom lip tightly between her teeth. A faint quirk of a chuckle from her lungs, as it was all nerves and fake. "I know.. I'm .. sorry." She was somewhat dumbfounded, at herself. A glance to the mirror, to the slim reflection of her physique. She was closing that case, and
slipping it back into her purse with a light murmer, trying her best to be as strong as she knew she was. "You know... I'm... I'm sure your jet is ok, now. I'm really sorry. I just ... " Thought that you should understand how far she was willing to go. How much she put on the line just to be on that knee. How it wasn't Lola Maroon at all, and yet it was, when he was involved. A smile broke down her mouth, again, faux and far from real. Finger tips itched along her thin jawline and she was motioning towards the door. "I hope you don't get mauled by the google of people out there that are probably going to hound you. I can call security, you know, to lead you to your jet."

She was blowing hot and cold, one minute talking marriage and the next shrugging it off as silliness. She confused him as much as he did her...what a pair! Confusion reigned for a moment, as she chuckled about it...talked of his jet and the hordes of people lurking outside, waiting for the result...and yet he was shaking his head. Brow furrowed with a frown, the Italian was catching her by the shoulders and giving her a little shake to hush her, to quiet those words and bring her back to him from her sudden lack of
confidence. "Lola....there's an old saying. 'Love is not love, which alters when it, alteration finds.' I think there's something in that. Things might have changed, but I still love you. You were right when you said that we deserve a second chance, so I'm going to give us that." He felt a little scared saying that, because he knew he was taking a chance, knew that he'd only have himself to blame if anything like this happened again...but the words felt right. They were honest and brave and accepting of their situation. "One day I'll marry you. But let's make it a fresh thing. Let's not risk it being a
band-aid for all this. You asking me made me realise how much you were willing to risk, how much 'us" means to you. That's enough."

Shaken, not stirred, from her relapse into self esteem issues. Where her tongue somewhat stuttered behind her teeth, and she was watching his facial features. The precise way they were sincere, and how his mouth knitted up those words that melted some of the worry in her blood. But, but he wasn't understanding! She shook her head, became childish with the wide example of her blackblue's at him. Finger tips kneeded into his shirt, and tugged faintly. "No, no! It's not a band-aid, Raoul! I want to marry you! I want to be Mrs. Lola Franchetti! I wouldn't have asked in a million years, unless I knew it was what I wanted. I want to wake up to you every single
morning. I want to come home to you every single night! I want you to be part of my family, and me apart of yours!" It was all such honesty, that she scared herself for admitting it all. Startled by it, she sucked back down a breath and let her fingers fall from his shirt. Teeth nibbled on the lower expanse of her lip, teetering there as she pulled herself a little further away from him. A
smile, a true smile, blessed her mouth and was brilliant there. The first one she had made, since
the day at the coffee house. "I want you, for the rest of my life, Raoul. I don't want anyone else, ever. Just ... you. And, you know, Bruno and Giovanni since they tail you everywhere." She tried a jest, bittersweet with the pinch of light laughter that followed. Glancing down to her
fidgeting fingers, and pursing her mouth into a ripened smile. "I know we've only been together a few months. But .. if it means anything to you .. it's been the best months of my life."

Her jest coaxed a smile out of him, some of the old brilliance back in it, crinkling the corners of grey-green eyes and not quite so tainted with weariness. He didn't doubt her words, he didn't doubt her honesty, despite the break down of trust between them over this past week, but for
him, still recovering and still rather...delicate from the situation, taking her back, and agreeing to marriage all in the same day was so huge a step
that he recognised in himself some uncertainty. But how to explain that to her, right now, without making her feel rejected? How after she'd been brave enough to ask him in the first place? He lifted a hand helplessly. "I can't move as quickly as this. I need time to get back to...being me. I want to keep making you happy, but I need to be sure of myself to do that. I can't agree to anything without being one hundred percent certain that it's right." A little
of his old degree of eloquence returning. He could only hope she'd understand. That she'd be patient.

Fish out of water face, for a moment. The stopped breath in her chest, the caved in feeling through her stomach. Though, she just nodded her crown of tangled black and feathers, melting her finger tips over her hips to rub down the clammy feeling along her palms. Small, small line of her mouth tilted into an unsure smile, and there was a momentary second where she looked up at him. She really couldn't argue anything, and surely wasn't
going to try and sway him otherwise. She had respect for his decision, yet of course, there was the hint of rejection that lingered through her body language. Teeth chewed absently on the lower ribbon of her lip, and she was pushing a hand up to bat away a few irritating threads of hair from her avian-sharp features. "I understand." She was beginning to be thankful that she could return that ring. A hand smoothed down over her purse, again, making sure the
small case was still in there, reminder her of what she had just done, and the outcome of it. Another light laugh, as she couldn't do much else. Her nerves were going haywire, yet her style of poise was lethargic.

"Are you coming home with me...?" Uncertainty. He could see how she'd taken it, wanted to sigh in exasperation at the bumps in the road they seemed to be continually hitting, but he was going to be patient with it. Either his offer to pick up where they'd left off was good enough, or it
wasn't, and he wouldn't push her to accept something she wasn't satisfied with, even if he was so desperately hoping she'd agree to it.

A flicker of silence from the stillborn Birdy. She was in pain, of being tugged back and forth. Though the true answer burned her tongue, as she tilted her head and murmered. "Of course I'm coming home with you..." Because even though this was her natural home, her new, real home... was with this man. She pressed a rosebud smile to her mouth, and coiled herself to move towards the door. "I just have to .. run a few errands, and get my stuff from my parents. Come with me, ok?" It wasn't really her demanding it, though asking in a wishful thinking manner. It was again, time to start over. And it began here with this Italian bred man.


<center>Taken from live play between The Birdborne and Raoul Frenchetti.</center>

<font color="#FFCC00" size="1">[ February 28, 2005 05:30 AM: Message edited by: chimera factory ]</font>