secrets of a sky savior -- Lola Maroon

[no ones muse]

<center></center>

<center>Tide keeps rolling in
I stand watching it
Keep on giving it to us
Silence over me
Keep on holding me
Every night
I know where you sleep
And it's hurting me
It's hurting me

When I want it all
For myself
I want it all
I want him for myself
I want it all

You tease me
Telling me
It's over
Wait and see
Leave it
You're lying
When you tell me
You're not happy
Come to me
For sympathy
Every night
I know where you sleep
And it's hurting me
It's hurting me</center>

<center>Kosheen -- I Want It All</center>

[no ones muse]

It was affirmative.

Morning sickness. The odd cravings that were dwelling on her tongue. Two months late. Soreness of her breasts.

It all pointed to one thing, and one thing only.

Her thoughts were going a million miles a minute when such a thing was finally figured out. The tension of her body hardly relaxing, even with the odd bursts of excitement that surged through the tunnels of her veins.

It was either bad timing, or perfect timing. Bad because Raoul was long gone, away from the formality of every regaining a relationship with the Italian. His memory was the simple smell of him on old clothes, on things that littered the boxes she packed him away in. Good perhaps, because Lola was wanting such a thing, for so long.

And everyone knew it.

Pacing back and forth within her room, stuck away from the family that was heard out in the living room. Clentching fingers at her sides, grinding her teeth, feeling the free fall of tears down the slopes of her cheeks.

She finally collapsed, on the bed, curling hands over the evolving place of her stomach. Pads of her fingers pressed in, imagining exactly how the child would look, what sex it was, and if it would love her as she would love it.

The pieces of the puzzle that were missing were of course, Raoul. It was then, that she was diving into a dresser for a pen, and a piece of paper.

Curling her spine over a desk to look quite composed by the shading of her desk lamp. Fingers scribbling fiercely on that paper, everything pouring out. Everything, including more tears.

Raoul--

I am writing this out of spite for you. Out of contempt that you left me, abandoned me. Took my heart with you and havn't offered it back. I write this because I am sad, because I can not feel anymore. And you need to know, you need to know it all.

How could you do such a thing? How could you dissapear so suddenly, and leave me on my knees with my hands up, asking for salvation? God, or Gaia, answered nothing to me when I asked for them to help me through this. They gave me nothing, but more heart ache when I realized this was real. When I found out that I wasn't dreaming. When I found out I was waking up alone, with out the feel of you next to me.

Do you feel remorse? Do you feel regret? Are you crying just as much as I have been? Is your bed as cold as mine? Do you smell me on you still? Do you remember my face? Do you remember me? Do you remember us?

What could I have done to keep you here? I run this over my mind every day, wondering what I could have done to make you happy. I thought I was giving you the world. Obviously, that wasn't enough.

I've hit rock bottom with this whole situation. A scenario I never would have thought would come, has arrived. My own fucking apocalypse, where everything I strived for, worked for, suddenly was gone. Was I blind? Did you give me hints that you were going to leave me? Perhaps I was naive to think that we would last forever, though the words you gave me offered me that hope.

I took a walk the other day near your house. Our house. Where we woke up every morning, dusting kisses against each others face. Where nights of sex weren't just that, but the epitome of what love was. I remember the days where we would sit outside for hours, watching the waves, pretending as if we were in our own paradise. Where no one could hurt us, tear us apart. Where we were whole, and nothing would ever interrupt what was instore for us.

I remember you cooking for me, and how you loved to come up with new recipes to make my eyes widen and my mouth salivate. How I would come home late, and you would be there, on the couch, waiting up for me till all hours of the morning just to tell me that you loved me. The memories of us exploring one anothers bodies in front of the fire, smiling and laughing between the intricate songs of our moans. The pleasure displayed between both of us, that no one could reach. We were perfect at those times, when the shadows made our faces more than they were.

Do you remember any of this? Does any of this ring a bell?

I stood outside that fucking house for hours, tracing my fingers along the windows and being smothered by the smell of salt water out near the shore. I left wanting you more than I have ever wanted you, and I left hating you for leaving me.

This letter has two principles: The first, to tell you how I am. To let you know that I feel betrayed, that there is nothing more in this world I would like to do then slap you across the face and call you a liar for leading me to this point.

The second... The second, Raoul, is to inform you on something you are going to miss. Something that you perhaps never wanted out of us. A trinket of our love, lost, but reborn in a different form.

Pregnant, Raoul. I am pregnant, and the child is yours. Yours, Raoul. Yours.

You won't be here to see it born. You won't be here to watch me take this babe into my arms, and shed tears that have been waiting for this for so long. You will be no where near, when your child opens it's eyes and finally see's the world.

You will miss out on the greatest thing ever.

A family. A family that would have loved and cherished you till the end of time.

I hope that wherever you are, has you better than I am. I truely do. Though, at the same time, I hope your heart hurts. I hope you miss feeling my skin, or watching me near dawn.

Most of all, I hope you wish me luck on becoming a mother.

<center><font size="4"><font face="Script MT Bold">Lola Maroon</font></font></center>

Afterwards, as the hours had passed in her writing, and her eyes were blood shot and dry from over used tear ducts, she stuffed the letter into an envelope. It was hidden in a drawer, and she had every intention of getting it to him.

She didn't know how she was going to do it, though it would happen.

[no ones muse]

<center></center>

<center>All of this love, it overwhelms me
And now you want the distance
Of an ocean between us

I want you to know
That I will not give up on you

I thought that you could meet me half way
Figured that you could
I thought that you could love me
Figured that youd fall

All of this love, it withers within me
And its not fair, no, its not fair
But, you never said it would be

I thought that you would be there
Figured that you would </center>

<center>Halou -- Oceanwide</center>

[no ones muse]

Lola had done some stupid things in her life. They could be categorized and filed away for all to view, as she was never one to be put off by ridiculous situations she got herself into.

Though this one was just too much to let out into the blue.

She kept so many secrets on her tongue lately, and refused to become social again. Little meetings with close friends and family were what she occupied herself with, steering far from the dramatics and gossiping eyes and mouths of the Tavern.

Lola had gone and gotten married. To a man she didn't know, didn't care to know, and had no emotional pull too. He was just a dominant face, a set of hands that touched her hips, and a control factor to the wild conclusion of her life.

And she regretted it, yet knew not how to walk away when a ring was suddenly slipped along the bone of your finger.

One person knew of the climatic series to her soap opera destination: Shannon. And she wanted to keep it that way for now, until things were more clear to her blueblack eyes. Dante agreed to keeping everything silent until the Birdborne was ready to dish out all the gory details of their spontaneous marriage.

Lola didn't think that would be happening anytime soon.

She was still madly in love with Raoul, and thought about him constantly. The day before she had gone to Soho, practically shoving that letter she wrote into Giovanni and Bruno's faces and demanding they give it to Raoul. The mens pleadings with the Bird didn't work, as her tears began to swell and her mouth quivered. They couldn't help it: They were smitten with Lola and were damning Raoul themselves for leaving the Birdy behind. They had agreed to try and send it off, though with no full promises. It was enough for Lola though, and she left Soho that day with a puffy eyed expression and the spawning of old memories with the Italian.

She wanted him back. She wanted to feel him close, hear him whisper across the shell of her shoulder, and know that she was pregnant with his child.

There was always the sliver of hope that Raoul would return. And it's what kept her on the line of finding her sudden relationship with Dante to be absolutely void. It was the carelessness and stupidity of a late twenties woman in the stage of undying heart aches and lonely thoughts. She should have been stronger, yet at the time, she wasn't. Fragile as any other woman this state. It came at a bad time, and she saw that now.

She saw it better than anything else.

Tonight, Lola had taken to roaming the streets of the downtown nightlife. Soaking up the catcalls of the urban party goers and smiling briefly to those that passed her on the side walk. Tightened ensembles were replaced with more comfortable out fits, such as a black hoodie and loose denims. Swelling already, almost three months down the road. Gestration was different for her breed, as it wouldn't be nine months but a simple six.

Hiding a baby wouldn't last long.

In front of a store, long closed after the day light hours, she pulled up the hem of the hoodie and looked at the slight reflection of herself in that window. Fingers skimming down the slope and rise of skin, pushing into the tender regions near the side.

She had sacrificed a lot in life to get where she was now. From broken promises made by Italian's, to the random conspiracy of finding artificial happiness through a man she didn't know.

But this? This was hers, and she wouldn't give anything up for it.

This time it would work.

This time, she would be a mother.

This time, she would finally have her family.

And no one would stand in the way of it.

[no ones muse]

Lola had suddenly opted to find seclusion from the world in this new house, this house that didn't smell like anything she remembered but recent dealings with Dante. There was nothing here that sprung leaks of memories that had a hold on her like a vice grip. Her body walked the halls and rooms like a ghost or some type of poltergeist that haunted the corridors till late in the evening. Her sleeping habits had died into something sporadic when fatigue would hit, and insomnia still kept her awake at odd hours.

She would keep herself busy by decorating the estate in colors that would surely allow the Desert man to feel more at home, to allow him a hint of comfort when ever he did allow himself to be seen for minutes in a day. No words were shared between them, and on occassion it would be days until she felt his lips barely press against the bone structure of her temple in the middle of her slumber. It felt like a dream, and everything was becoming lazy and lethargic to her.

She felt hollow, and yet didn't complain.

Fingers casually draped across the roundness of her belly. Filling out quite a bit as there was only three more months until the time those twins would be born. It kept her mind off of the bizarre setting she had stationed herself in.

Lola seemed like some fallen seraphim in this world she composed of dark reds and golds, with lighter shades of beige to paint the walls with. It had a very ethnic feel to it to compliment Dante's tanned flesh and sandflow of persona. She was just an Outlander trying to station this place like some far away paradise, an oasis to surprise Dante when all was finished.

Even the furnishings of the place were etched with some old feel to them. Nothing of the new: No television, no radio, no technology to slaughter the image of a fairy tale utopia.

It was her gift to him. A silent appreciation for what he had been doing for her, sheltering her from the opinions and familiar faces that she didn't wish to see anymore. And she hoped to all of Gaia that he liked it.

Out a long the balcony stood the proud moonmilk matriarch, smothered in the sheer lengths of black material with hints of plumb and ivy. Looking like some midnight magdalena in a housing of warm colors and a balance of optimism floating through the air ways. Thick scents of incense and opium lingered across the walls. Peony and sandalwood, lavender and oleander aroma's for a soothing sensation to erupt through the senses.

She watched the surrounding of the gardens below and soaked up the passive silence that was sometimes interrupted by a chirp of a sparrow, or the chitter-chatter catcalls of peacocks that wondered the lowered surroundings. It made her mouth lull into a crescent smile, yet it was never as full as the days of old.

This was her home, now, and she was becoming a pregnant hermit. A myth of a woman stalking the eerie yet passionate housing of a Moir man.

She was the Moir Estate Phantom, with feathers in her hair and eyes of the dark sky.

[no ones muse]

<center>Now, how many times must you prove you're an angel?
How many more demons do you have to strangle?
How much longer must you remain in this dream, Before I finally figure out if you're insane or a genius?</center>

<center>Atmosphere -- Lovelife</center>

<center></center>

[no ones muse]

Late within the evening did the stars come creeping out from behind a blanket of navy and black, scattered out like lost diamonds searching for their lost loves. The moon opened her wide eye and bled out a sacrifice of white essence down to the Moir estate and making shadows bend and break at her will. All was quiet, the peaceful serenade of crickets during the Spring time air being most of the noise that ripped through the silence that spread like a disease.

Roman had come a long ways just to see his beloved sister and poke and prod at her with questions galore. It was a typical big brother thing to do, with the theory that he would get down to the bone finish of what exactly was going through Lola's carousel charged mind.

Out within the yard did they walk and seem to hover as if practiced spirits of Gaia's creation. Even in the pitch of the darkness they stood out in their glory of being sky saviors with glorious eyes that pitched out odd night vision with the glow of blackblue. Roman, much taller than his younger sibling, creased his hands behind his back and tangled up his fingers in a fidget of conspiracy. Lola was much more easy, languid in the pace she took with the fall out of all those silks she wore to drip and crawl behind her a long the cobble stone path. She looked radient, with her belly full of life and her hair a Grecian display of ringlets all bundled on top of her skull. Roman admired her with a faint smile that spoke only of fondness before his mouth seperated to speak such low baritone.

"Irma, please. Tell me why you've done this?" He was careful in how he laced his questions, not wishing to upset Lola in any matter.

"Because it was the right thing to do, irmao." she answered with the tide of shallow softness that she only could possibly possess.

Roman thought on this before angling his fingers to wilt near her avian-sharp face.

"How so? Are you in love with this man, irma? Do you feel for him as you had felt for Raoul?"

"No." Bluntly stated with a tear away of her face from any stimulation of touch. "I feel nothing for Dante, irmao. Though he offers security, protection, devotion. Things that I need to raise my children with. He is a good man, Roman."

A sigh filtered from Roman's mouth, while hand fell back down to be tucked once more near his tail bone. He was a strikingly handsome man, with chisled features that spoke of wisdom and arrogance, of care and family adoration. Shortened black hair with light lines of grey to deem him distinguished.

"Mm, good enough for my young irma? I suppose I need to meet him myself, to honor that with my opinion. Though are you happy, irma?"

The question spared silence between them before the Birdborne would answer once more.

"Somewhat, yes. I am going to have a family, irmao. You and the rest have known how long I've waited for this. Regaurdless of my emotional bond with Dante, good or bad, I will always have my children in the end. He is here for me, to help me through what I have been through. I am not sure if we will remain, though it is worth a try, is it not? Perhaps this is how it should end, with out love. I am sick of love, anyways. It's nothing but a word, a reason to think of yourself as emotional. It does not exist."

"Lola, you are speaking like a heartbroken child right now. I refuse to listen to such blasphemy from your mouth as I know that is not how you truely feel. Come now, y--"

"Roman, please. Understand. I do not wish for love. I wish for security. I am not growing younger, and my children will need something of a father figure if Raoul doesn't come back to claim them as his own."

Interupted, Roman dipped his head down. He thought on the degree of his sisters words, and branched an arm out to curl up near the sharp edges of her shoulders. She did not shrug him away.

"I understand, irma. I do. I am just worried for your health, your safety here with a man you do not know. A man that considers you an Outlander, who knows nothing of your heritage, your species, your beliefs. Will he change you, irma? Will he make you something you were not born to be? These are things that frighten me, and that I know frighten you as well."

"Yes, I believe he will try to change me. Though I don't believe he will succeed. I am much too stubborn, arrogant. Much like any Maroon."

It had Roman chuckling which seemed to ease some tension from the Birdborne's sinew. Leaning her head to his thick, heavy shoulder and sighing out the crooning of a locked away nightingale.

"Though, Dante and I have spoken of the children. He says that if I do not opt to have his name, Moir, to them, he will not accept them as his own. And... I refuse to disrespect Raoul that way, even if the Italian bastard did leave me to this. I would hope that Dante would beable to still treat them as loved one's."

Roman frowned only momentarily, not wishing Lola to catch onto his thoughts about that. Another time, another time.

"What will you name them, irma?" His arm came down from her shoulder while their bodies paused near a deep pond that swam with koi and the like. Hand reached so he could feel her stomach, smooth over it gently and imagine the twins within.

She smiled so sweetly that Roman almost saw a reflection, a hint, of what Lola was before all this havok. Before the heart break and the crusade of being pregnant, and then marrying. He saw it, but said nothing on it.

"Isabella for the girl. Octavio for the boy. Do you agree?"

"Isabella and Octavio. Bella and Tavo for short?"

"Perhaps, perhaps. It is not set in stone, yet, though those are the names I am firmly leaning too."

Romans hand centered a long her abdominal region, which was blowing up with each passing day. Three more months, and he would be an uncle. Three more months, and he would have a reason to stay closer to his sister.

"I love the names, irma. You know reguardless of name, I will always love them. They will always be Maroon's, to us."

Their conversation spawned to simple things after that, as she took him on a tour of the estate and the maze of a yard that bloomed with gorgeous desert flowers and was truely a spectacular scene for anyone.

When he would leave, Lola would retreat once more to that empty chamber. That empty tomb of a room where her body was an imprint on the bed with none to accompany her.

[no ones muse]

Familiar handwriting on severely crumpled paper seemed to have burned itself into the Italian's head. He could see the ruined mess of it when he closed his eyes, could repeat it word for word even when it wasn't in front of him. The first time he'd laid eyes on it, he'd crushed it between his palms and cast it into the trash, determined to turn his back on what he'd half-convinced himself was a closed chapter of his life. The problem was, all the conviction in the world meant nothing, when he knew who the letter was from. Lola had seeped into his veins, buried herself like a splinter gone too deep to be removed, war shrapnel forever carried in the flesh. She was an addiction he'd have berated himself for, years ago. Attempts to re-align himself with old attitudes had crashed and burned within minutes of the letter's arrival, and the envelope was shredded away with subtly trembling fingers. He must have read it fifty times since then. She'd done a perfect job of unsettling him with her news, as she knew all along it would, but it had taken him days to act upon it. Shallow breath and tight-stomached, he sat on the balcony of the old Venetian Palazzo he's rented out under a new alias, the stink of the canals and the calls of gondoliers reaching him up high on his perch. Punching in the final digit of the memorized cell number, he waited with in held breath.

"Ah! Yes, yes, that is plenty, menina. Huh? Oh! Three more months. Yes, twins. Can you believe it? Mm. Thank you again, Lucy." Lola had become a regular through the markets during the day. Her presence was a strikingly beautiful thing, as her belly swelled and her eyes were brighter than before. A piece of moonshine amongst all the tan foreigners and farmers, that sold their crops of delicious vegetables and fruit with happy smiles to the pregnant Birdborne. She was a perfect fit for the image of a maternal Madonna. One hand laid to rest against the full expanse of her stomach, with the other clutching the cup of a few scoops of home made vanilla ice cream. It was an obsession now more than others. Still, Lola was alone in her parade through the streets and tunnels. Greeted by almost all, and yet still holding only half a smile when the other half was lost with a man she swore she would never forget. When the vibration of her phone happened, hand was slow and lethargic to claim it. The number was glanced at, but there was no recollection to where or who it was. Figuring it was something about the law firm that she had taken a slight hiatus from, it was flipped to her ear with the crazy-cool croon of her voice. "Hello?"

Silence from Franchetti on the other end of the line, not even a suggestion of someone breathing. Instead the cacophony of distant crowds, lapping water and cheery Italian-sung songs formed a low background dirge in the space where his voice should have been. Temptation came to end the call, now that he'd heard her, the croon something to convince himself with - Really, the Tengu was fine without him. His mouth felt dry, the cool composure that most associated him with was lost now, in this urban privacy of
his, and he shuffled on his balcony seat, prying with unsteady fingers at the collar of his shirt, sweat prickling at his skin. Five seconds gone...he knew she'd cut him off if he didn't say something soon. "Lola...." Even getting her name off the tip of his tongue was a difficulty, but at least he'd bought himself some time to think while she got over the shock of sudden contact. He expected Portuguese obscenities to scratch at his ears, or perhaps an icy-calm reply he knew her capable of. For now, back to silence.

It was that quick: The shock input through the circuitry of her veins, blood, nerves, sinew. It all went numb and her hand stopped working to hold that ice cream cup. It went straight to splat against the ground while the world seemed to stop for her and her mouth began to salivate with the texture of sickness. Head swirled and there was a dizzy moment where she had to catch herself near the brick of a wall. Composure, Lola. Composure. This was a dream, no, a nightmare. Someone was prank calling her. This wasn't him, but it was him. She convinced herself of that while the moments of silence plagued through the air waves of the phone until her lips were being licked. They had hit a dry spell within under two point five seconds, surely a record. It was hard to speak his name, hard to actually scrape it off her tongue when all you wanted to do was forget that such a man existed, that such a man touched you in ways no one else would. To forget and never forgive, and try and grow old with the small piece of them you stole. "R-Raoul... I ... Where ... Hi."

The lack of hostility granted him some small shred of confidence, the nerve to speak again without so much fear of being torn down with words. She was as shaken as he had been by her letter. "Your letter reached me." Another pause, though nothing so long as to invite interruption. "It took a while though...I'm sorry I didn't call earlier." The envelope had been smudged by grubby fingers, passed from one pair of hands to another for weeks until it'd finally arrived at his temporary home in Venice. Still searching for words, and wary of broaching the subjects she'd touched upon, he was testing the waters gently...perhaps hoping that she'd bring them up instead. Images flitted briefly in his mind, guesses at where she was, who she was with (along with a searing flash of jealousy)...even down to the details of her clothes. They were distracting though, and he focused his gaze back on the letter, trying unsuccessfully to flatten it with a press of his palm. Living in his pocket hadn't done it any good.

That letter had obviously become some sort of testimony, a proclamation of her hostility and her hurt, her anger and her regret. It was a relic that now lived with the man she thought long gone, to never again care for the Birdborne. Twisting the rapids of her emotions up, it was hard to really structure out the right words to paste and fit together for him. His voice, oh it stung worse than bullets to the heart. "Oh... Well. I .. I thought you should know." Know what you've done and left behind. Know that she was surviving off of faith itself that the children she bore would keep her sane and keep her from thinking of him. Keep her busy with the life of a mother, rather than the life of a wounded heart ache. She didn't have the strength or the heart to try and hurt him though, figuring that the man left on such high principles and that the reason for him fleeing from her was a good one. She almost didn't want to know, though, and opted not to ask. Instead, she tried to sound strong, which failed. "I'm due in July... And .. it's twins."

"You always did want children..." Affection seeping unhindered into the rich baritone of his voice, and whether he knew it or not, a smile to match crept to the outskirts of his mouth, softened his expression from the sharp etchings of anxiety that it'd worn before. Hearing her talk was like a balm, even as the awkwardness of the situation stirred him into restless movement. His seat abandoned, he moved to lean against the balcony railing, peering down at the murky darkness of the canal that skirted the palazzo, and the moss it'd stained the walls with over the centuries. "I'm grateful you decided to. You could have been...much more spiteful." She could have kept it all from him, greedily (and probably by all rights) left him in the dark. The fact that she might have aborted them never entered his mind. She was Catholic, as was he, and such a thing wasn't an option. Of course there was a new piece of information there. Twins? Wryly, he admitted to himself that his mother would be proud. "They couldn't have a better mother..." An honest complement. Lola would shower them with all the love she had, they'd never be able to question her adoration as they grew up.

The awkwardness was taking a toll on her. She wanted to lash her tongue out at him and yet at the same time cry to him and tell him how much she missed him. Tell him how she craved his arms around her and how nothing was the same anymore. How her tears were all for him and his departure, and her aggression was nothing compared to the sadness of the situation. Listening to his words with only the faintest line of a smile drawing on her lips. "Mm.." It was all she said, in some sort of agreement to everything he spouted in the lowered grit of his baritone that she fell in love with since day one. "I... I just thought you should know, you know? I ... Well." Clearing her throat as the tears built up in the back. It wasn't easy, this wasn't easy. Eyes swayed in their blackblue swirls to the side, while knuckles were dotting at the watery lines that were skimming around her lashes. "Thank you, for ... calling."

"Lola, don't cry..." He'd caught the hitch in her throat before she cleared it away, and tension ran anew through his frame at the thought he'd upset her. The last thing she needed mid-pregnancy was to be emotionally strained, particularly by him of all people. Of course he regretted the words once they were out. He'd no right to tell her how to behave, no rule over her feelings. "...I wish things had turned out differently." He finally murmured, exasperated at his own inability to bring about some resolution. All he seemed to have accomplished by calling was to widen the distance between them and peel the scabs from festering wounds. "I wish I could have wanted everything you wanted..." References to her little obsession with marriage, and his apparent phobia of the issue. "But it's all very well wishing, isn't it? Lola...tell me you're all right? You're happier now aren't you?" She had the opportunity to find someone new...she had the children she wanted on the way. He was deluding himself, thinking that his departure had done anything but cause damage to her.

"No! I'm not alright... I'm not happy!" He opened the flood gates then. How dare he ask such a thing. She felt her knuckles turn while when her fist suddenly came near her hip. What was wrong with him? What would make him think she was happy, or perfectly fine with loosing what she strived so hard to keep? Wilting against the brick of a wall till she crouched down and smothered her palm against the white silk of her cheeks when the tears fled from the terrain of blackblue oil. Her words were shaky and distant, melancholy and terrified. "Why...? Why did you leave me?" Whimpered as if childish in her wishing well to know the facts. To try and figure out what she had done to chase him away, to push him so far that she had no idea where he was, what he looked like anymore. She forgot what he smelled like, only because everything that was shared between them was in box's and stored away from every showing up again. She tried so hard to bleed herself free of him, and yet she knew it would never happen. "Why did you do this to me....?"

Swallowing against the tightness in his throat, and pursing his lips to a thin, pale line, he listened, a mute witness to her breaking, and knew undoubtedly that it was his own words that'd caused it. Foolish, foolish Italian. Mentally berating himself for his momentary stupidity, he made an attempt to salvage the conversation from the wreckage, and could only be relieved that he didn't have to see her heartbreak against that wall, as well as see it. "It was beautiful, Lola. We were, together. At least it was. For a few hours each week. The rest of the time we were ships passing in the night, at odds over hours. It was a half-life....and you wanted to make it into something binding and special that I couldn't promise you. My love, you've had for months, and still have, but marriage and children? How could I ask you to marry me, or agree when you asked me?" He paused to catch his breath, shocked at the sudden deluge of words he poured out to her, something he'd hoped she could understand without him uttering. "I'd love to say that I could give everything to you like that.....but my life, and yours, won't allow it. And for all the little highs there were...at least this way we're spared the lows. Living like that, there were a lot of lows, sweetheart. Not seeing you. Knowing that I could be sent away for weeks at a time and that you'd be miserable...knowing that even in the same damn city, I'd be lucky to see you an hour a day." It was like keeping a crack addict hooked on the tiniest amount each god damn day.

".... you're a monster. The worst kind of monster!" She suddenly hit a switch with all the haywire of her brain and the processing of his words. She still trembled as her tongue stroked out those horrific words, all bled in sadness and the anger of a broken heart. "You're a ... a liar! When you love someone, you don't think about the lows. When you love someone, you stay with them! Regardless of our schedules, or our lives, you stay with them! You.. you don't just ... leave them!" It was hard to choke out every bit of lyricism as she felt her heart race and her blood panic. Her eyes burned from the tears and her tone wasn't strict hostility, it was more of what her emotions really said. The truth to why she loved him, and why she was willing. "You left me, Raoul. After everything we had been through, you left me. I never left you! I never... never left you and I never would have! Because... Because that's what you do when you love someone!" She must have sounded pathetic, speaking things such as this like a Lifetime special. Yet it was all how she felt, as she cradled her tear stained face in her palm and murmured out those whimpers and sobs after she was done her rant. As much as she thought it would help her, it only reopened all those wounds. "... you were my life." That was whispered mid-sigh of a sob, as the silence grew thick between the phones.

He steeled himself against all that, but made himself listen to every word of it. It'd have been so easy to end the call and blank himself to her tears and raging, to the sudden flood of raw emotion that set his eyes to prickling with angry tears. They were at odds again, unable to see through their own deep-set opinions, and he was riled that she'd been unable to understand. He'd not lied when he said he loved her, but the arguments and the constant separation were not the makings of a healthy relationship. They were the stuff of tragic romances destined to failure, and he couldn't...[/i]wouldn't[/i] in fact, live in an almost constant state of misery for the majority of his life, and only be soothed with a few teasing hours of intimacy. Biting back retorts that he knew would hurt, he settled for what he felt was neutral. "I'm sorry you don't believe me. It was never my intention to be your monster, Lola. I'm sorry I'm realistic." Away from the railing he pushed himself, backing up to find a wall to lean against, one hand blindly feeling out for the back of the bench. "I think I'd better go now."

"... you... you ..." She couldn't even speak anymore. His next testing of words had objectified her to a paralyzed state. There were no words, no matters at hand that could be thrown at him because she was hurt, and from what she heard in his voice, he didn't care. Lola was the one willing to work for just those few hours, to live with a smile on her face just having the recent scent of him on her skin, or feeling that press of a kiss to her temple before he left for work. She was content with all of that, and yet it would seem Raoul needed more. The last of her whimpers and sobs were cut off, because instead of letting him hurt her ten times more than what she was feeling in all her wrecked emotional status, she hung up the phone and dropped it to the floor, hearing it clatter. Arms reached to circle around her knees and this poise was used to bury her face down a long her arms and let it all out. She felt so frail and weak, which was not like her at all. She knew that it was over, now, after hearing him say
those things. The reality of it all crashing down on her in that street alley.

"....Lola?" The click should have told him. The silence was enough. Lowering the phone from his ear, he stared down at it blankly for a few seconds, before angrily casting it over the balcony and into green Venetian waters. The letter followed shortly after, darkening as it rode the surface of the water before sinking under its own saturated weight.

<center>Taken from live play.</center>

<font color="#FFCC00" size="1">[ April 09, 2005 07:15 AM: Message edited by: chimera factory ]</font>

[damoir]

It was obvious that his plans had changed. The conversation overheard and something snapped. Anger seethed not only inside, but outside. Ways, maybe he had everything tapped, put wires on her phones and had her followed. A note, a phone call and at last shame. It wasn't his shame to bear, soon everything would change.

The Middle took the Eldest's place, yes; some sort of dark body snatching. The pregnant woman was given a voodoo hex, mortality of the grimmest kind. Curse moved over and over that the life in her would embrace the darkness.

A little blood and feathers spread over where she slept and the deed done. Somehow, the threads would hold. For now, his plan would take another path. The Eldest would find himself married to a woman that loved another man. The woman would find broken bonds and blood warnings.

Voodoo charms, dancing dead dreams in the middle of war she probably should not be part of.

[no ones muse]

"They seem healthy, menina. There is nothing to worry about. Come next month, you will have two of the most beautiful babies ever born."

Lola's mother was crooning to her. All deep dream slopes of Portuguese to put the Birdborne in a trance, mending up the broken promises and the broken hearts Lola had suffered with.

"Thank you, mama. Will it be painful?" Asked of childbirth with a slight tilt to her head.

"Mm, that it will. But with pain comes joy, especially in such a thing as this. Though, it has been awhile since one of ours has had children in the way you will. No eggs and so forth." Spoke the Elder mother in her languid tones while pressing finger tips to the width and stretch of Lola's large belly.

A moment of silence before Lola smiled and murmered beneath the canopy of thick, heated accents.

"I believe Raoul will come back to see them."

"Yes, he will." Lola's mother smiled while watching how her daughters expression brightened at such a thought. "He has to. It is fatherly instinct to protect those of your own. You two may not ever reunite in the ways of love, though will always share a bond with the children."

"And what of Dante, mama?" That name spoken cooly, as if the phantom trait of it would bring about the man to stand before her.

Lola's mother shrugged her brittle shoulders and began to fold back down the material of Lola's shirt over her belly. "That man does not love you, Lola, nor does he care for your children. Certainly he is of no threat and has probably forgotten all about you." A pause before she spoke again. "Even though you are quite the hard one to forget, menina."

Teasing look given between the women. A generation of Maroons within the sanctuary of a new abode. A home where everything was that of her, and nothing held any resemblance to a life before her pregnancy.

"I will leave. Roman will be by later to check on you. If you have any discomfort or pain, do not hesitate to call me, Lola." Standing up in her frail age and dusting away the loose hang of her shawl. Her mother was petite, wrinkled, though her eyes were bright.

"Mm, I will, I will. I am just tired, though." All this spoken with lazy lips while her eyes began to droop shut.