Restless Soul - The New Adventures of Niamh & Looch Options

[PhonAntiPhon]

A Word To The Wise:
This story continues directly on from the end of what was the final tale: 21/09/13 - "From Darkness" - HERE. For anyone reading this who isn't familiar with the adventures of a certain Bosmer, a little background reading might help - (check my sig, or the link above) - for those of you who are, well it's nice to be back.
And yes, I *know* it's not Cyrodiil, but it will be, we just have to get there, be patient...
======================================================

-RESTLESS SOUL-
.I.

A soft lambency filled the apartment, from outside and far below the muted hum of early morning traffic filtered in through a half-open window. Lucinda awoke slowly, lay for a time under the covers, her head resting on the soft pillow, staring up at the smooth white ceiling. Beside her the woman from the night before slept peacefully on, her breathing slow and regular.

She'd said her name was Niamh E., just that and nothing more. She was the singer in one of the bands that played at weekends down at the waterfront bars. Luciana herself had worked in a grill bar on the front and had seen her about from time-to-time, had even stopped in Gracy's on the way home to hear her band once. Not really her thing, a bit too punky but none too shabby nevertheless. She had found the woman herself though more than a little intriguing; all tight leathers and colourful hair woven with red linen strips; piercings and heavy black makeup completed her look.

She'd come across as sassy onstage, giving hecklers and fans alike as good as they gave her, all the time following whisky with whisky, cigarette with cigarette. By the last song she'd stripped to her bra and knickers, skinny body jerking and weaving to the jittery beat of the music, hair lank about her face and shoulders, her liberally tattooed porcelain skin running with silvery sweat. As the final chords jangled out she was laughing and bouncing, dark eyes glinting under the stage lights, her body a blur as she spun around and around, arms stretched out, screaming at the top of her voice before finally collapsing onto the stage and crawling off on hands and knees to cheers and whistles and applause from the crowd. Lucinda remembered how jealous she had felt of Niamh's energy and life and how she had wished, and did still, that she too could be more like her.

Lucinda was not naturally attracted to women, but even she'd had to admit to herself that there was undoubtedly something about Niamh, she was a force of nature for sure and mysterious also, somehow, not just her manner or her looks on stage but, something, there was something about her that Lucinda could not quite place her finger upon; a look or an expression that betrayed something deeper maybe. Life moved on however, her job changed to another part of town and with it came a relationship with a guy who seemed - as they always do - to be The One.

He was not, as it turned out, and six months later she found herself single and alone, feeling sorry for herself in her apartment on the the tenth floor of a low rent block on N- Street. It was already dark and she had perhaps had a little too much wine when she found her thoughts turning once again to a certain mysterious and intriguing woman, in a band, on the waterfront.

-x-

So she found herself once again in Gracy's, standing at the bar sipping a gin and tonic and watching a whirlwind of life spin and dance across the stage and thinking, "why am I here? For the life? For the energy? Or for her..." in truth she did not know, but regardless clapped and cheered with the rest as once more, quivering with nervous energy, the real reason for her coming out crawled from the stage, a strange and spindly thing, dripping wet in dark underwear.

The performance over, the rest of the band left the stage and the audience drifted back to their seats and into their booths. A growing sussuration of whispered conversation and piped songs replaced the live music of only a few moments earlier. Around her the long bar began to fill up and Lucinda, still on her first drink and rapidly feeling more and more out of place and alone despite the crowded space, finished up and turned to go, placing the empty glass on the counter.

"Buy me drink?" Came a voice directly behind her. Lucinda froze, her blood draining into her feet. Heart hammering, she turned around. She was standing there, right there. Nodding her head slightly, she raised an eyebrow at Lucinda. "Hi, I'm Niamh E., just that." Lucinda froze for a moment. "Whu..." She said, her mind working furiously. Niamh chuckled, chewing at the silver ring that passed through her lower lip. Turning to the bar, she signalled the barman. "Whisky." She looked at Lucinda, grinned again. "She'll have the same, so she will."
The drinks duly arrived, and Lucinda numbly handed over the money. "Keep the change." She croaked when the barman brought back a handful of coins. "You have a voice, then." Said Niamh with a smile. "Don't mind if I do..." So saying she pocketed the change.

Niamh's long black hair was tied up in a high ponytail, and Lucinda could now see it was shot through with streaks of dark red and burgundy. "You have a name?" Niamh turned to face Lucinda as she asked, and it occurred to the latter later that it was quite possible that she had genuinely expected her to not actually have one. "Lucinda." She replied. "...Lucy for short."

Just for a moment, something passed behind Niamh's big chestnut eyes. "Lucy." She repeated the name slowly, turning it over in her mouth as if it reminded her of something. Then she blinked and gave a brief little half-smile; raising her glass she said, "I'll call ya Lucy, then." Lucy nodded. "If you like." Niamh paused, her glass halfway to her lips, regarded the other from under furrowed brows. "I might, at that..." Lucy felt herself blush.

-x-

It was impossible not to get on with Niamh. It was like fighting with some inexorable maelstrom; no matter how hard you struggled, you just kept getting drawn in. Not that Lucy was doing a great deal of struggling mind, on the contrary, another whisky later and Lucy, who had already had two glasses of red wine before leaving the flat, found herself close in a booth with Niamh, who seemed almost totally untouched by what she had drunk, and regarded the other woman across the table with wry amusement as Lucy flubbed her words and giggled behind her hands.

Back in the present, Lucy smiled, and cast a glance to her side at Niamh's still sleeping form. From out of the window the street down below had grown busier and the room was definitely lighter. Never mind, she was content. Closing her eyes she let her mind drift back to the evening before, it already seemed so far away.
One thing she did remember was that, before the evening got a little... hazy, she had sat and looked at Niamh as they talked, taking her in, as if wanting to record every detail of that first time they had met, as if it were the first time she had ever met anyone.

They'd downed the first shot in one, in silence, and Lucy had somehow ended up paying for another and Niamh had again taken the change. Lucy, feeling like some awkward teenager on a first date instead of a thirty-five year old divorcee, stumbled over further introductions and obvious questions about Niamh's band. Somewhere along the way though the answers and the conversation drifted away to be replaced by a silence that seemed to enclose the two of them in a comfortable isolating sphere and cut off all sound, leaving only vision and that, it felt to Lucy, was enhanced, somehow.

Niamh's face was long and angular, yet somehow delicate, "elfin" might have been the way to describe it; full lips and a small nose and two widely-set eyes, large and chestnut coloured, set in deep and shadowed sockets. Within the pupils though there was depth, like they were two unfathomable pools. Her eyes were captivating and seemed to drag Lucinda's attention back to them every time she moved her own gaze away. Around her left eye a horseshoe of multicoloured circles had been tattooed, with a small blue star just beneath. Her ears seemed overly large in comparison to her head, and they were heavily pierced through with rings; in addition to these there was a ring in her lip and another through her nostril, they were all thick bands of silver, and she was constantly chewing at the one in her lip.

Lucinda remembered that her gaze had looped lazily downwards, past Niamh's mouth; her lips, coated in black lipstick, moving silently it seemed to Lucy as she spoke, and down over her shoulders. It occurred to her now, here in bed with sobriety once more crystallising her thoughts, that the other woman had been watching her, Lucy, looking at her, all the time...
Niamh had been wearing some kind of tight black leather affair that left little to the imagination, it was unzipped to just below her chest and left her long, slender yet surprisingly muscular-looking arms bare - (and she was indeed, as Lucy was to find out later, considerably stronger and more sinewy than she seemed) - her skin was porcelain white, and unmarked but for numerous swirling tattoos of many colours, consisting, it turned out, exclusively of various shapes; circles and squares, stars and crescents. The effect was to make it seem like she was wearing some kind of dazzle camouflage, like the ships that Lucy had read about had been painted with in the war. Later, in the flat, it had been difficult to keep track of her movements, or perhaps that had just been the whisky.

"...another." The sound of the bar and its occupants crashed back in on Lucy. Feeling as if she were falling forwards, she snapped suddenly upright on the seat. Niamh waited patiently for her to compose herself, her head cocked on one side, long fingers steepled before her, the nails painted a deep black. "I said, get us another, I have to pee." Except Lucy heard it as: "...Ai harv t'pee..." Niamh's accent had a curious Gaelic quality to it, neither Scottish nor Irish, but some strange mixture of both. There was an odd sing-song quality to it also, a kind of underlying musicality present in every word she said. It was a little weird but rather pleasant at the same time - (a lot like Niamh herself, Lucinda thought). "Whisky?" Asked Lucy. Niamh winked. "Aye, that's my drink." She got up from the table but then paused, looking at Lucy with that same curious half-smile, and again Lucinda had the oddest feeling that Niamh recognised her somehow. After a moment Niamh said, "Don't worry, you're doin' just fine." So saying she leant quickly across the table and kissed Lucy once on the lips, before moving off and away, smoothly disappearing into the crowd.

Lucy raised her fingers to her mouth, the impression of Niamh's lips fading only slowly. Her touch, her closeness at that moment, her scent; cinnamon and sweat, whisky and something... exotic; Lucy took a deep breath, her heart was beating way too fast and for a moment she felt sure that the other woman had drugged her. "She's clearly not your type." Said her stern inner voice. "You've paid for the drinks all night and now she's poisoned you! walk away Lucy..." Nevertheless she found herself at the bar once more, and her second thoughts grumbled into silence, ignored for the moment at least.

It was very late by now and the bar, though still certainly lively, was nowhere near as full as it had been previously in the evening, and as such Lucy was able to get herself served fairly quickly. "I see you've got something goin' there with Niamh." Said the barman as he came over and took her order. He was a large man with a green mohican, a wide nose and a wider mouth, his name tag identified him as Boris. Lucy smiled and shrugged in a kind of "Maybe, sort of" way. "This is it." She thought. "This is where he tells me she's no good." Deep in her mind, her inner Lucinda sat up and grinned smuggly. Boris poured the drinks and waved away her money when she offered it. "Nah, keep it, it's on me. She'll fleece you that girl will, and you'll still love her for it." He raised a stubby finger. "Word to the wise though, be careful with 'er, she's more fragile than she looks, is Niamh." Lucy raised an eyebrow, squinting slightly from the whisky she'd drunk. "How do you mean? " Boris looked around him, then leant forward conspiratorially. "Just that she's been through a lot, that's all. Acts all tough and brash she does but she ain't as hard as she thinks that she is, I know." He pointed a finger at himself. "I've been like a father to 'er these past few years..." Lucy wanted to ask more, and it seemed Boris was about tell her something further, but other customers had by then arrived and, with a final glance at her and a brisk nod, he left to serve them.

Lucy was, as far as was possible given her increasing level of inebriation, somewhat more thoughtful when she returned to the booth. Niamh had already returned, and was slouched nonchalantly on one of the bench seats, toying with the silver ring that pierced her nostril. As Lucy sat down and passed her the whisky, Niamh gestured with her chin to the barman. "Boris collared you, did he?" She asked. "Yeah, he did..." She paused for a moment, took a sip of whisky. "He said, um..." It was her fourth or fifth of the night and the words in her head came only reluctantly to her lips. "I know what old Boris says." Interjected Niamh. "Now though, now's not the time for serious talk."

"What... is it now the time for?" Asked Lucy, suddenly breathless, her voice catching in her throat. Very deliberately Niamh drained her glass and placed it on the table. She licked her lips and stared directly at the other woman. "Well," she said, her curiously accented voice lilting musically, "I suppose we'll just have to see, won't we?"

-x-

This post has been edited by PhonAntiPhon: Jul 22 2015, 11:36 PM

[PhonAntiPhon]

.III.

Niamh was silent for a moment, chewing at the ring through her lower lip.
"Where d'ye want me te start...?" She said finally
Lucy swallowed to clear her throat and with some effort, sat up straighter against the tree trunk.
"...Start... small..." She whispered, still breathless.

"Hokay..."
Niamh made a face and stood, unfolding herself from a seated position with a weirdly sinuous grace. Lucy watched her as she did, her brow furrowed, and just as Niamh opened her mouth to speak, Lucy held up a finger to stop her.
"Also..." She paused, rather to get her breath than for effect. "You look like a... fairytale..."
A look of puzzlement travelled across Niamh's features. "Whut?"
Lucy pointed at her. "You... look like, a Fairytale Elf. You look weird."
There was a pause whilst Niamh considered this, then she said: "Wu'll cum tae tha'. Ai think tha' ye shuid jes' deal wi' wun thing at a tyme, hokay...?"
Lucy, who in all honesty was having a hard time dealing with anything, could only nod her head, too exhausted for anything else.
"Ok..." Was all she could say, and waved an arm in Niamh's direction.

"We're yn the Grate Forist." Began Niamh, gesturing expansively at the trees around them both. "Tis tai the west o'the Provinse a' Cyrodiil, wur we ar noo. Behynde me," she continued, turning and pointing like the oddest tour guide that Lucy had ever seen, "behynde me yz Lake Rumare, upon whyche yz The Ymperial City."
She paused a moment, looking at Lucy, who nodded at her to continue.
"Hokay, thus entire region yz the Heartlands, yn the center o' the provinse, th' forist streches tai west an' north o' heeyar..."
"Where, are... we going?" Lucy interrupted, she was finding it no easier to speak, and if anything she felt worse than ever. "To... the city down there...?"
"Nay." Niamh's response was immediate. "I dinnae thynk that wul be a guid idea. Y'see ai..." Her voice tailed off a moment. "Le's jes' say I hae ma reasons fer stayin' awai."
She stood for a moment in thought, chewing at her pierced lip, tapping the side of her nose with a long finger.

It was an admirably bitesize, if information-lite, summary of the pair's present circumstances. Even this though was to prove too much for Lucy.
"I think... I'm going to pass out, again..." She breathed, her eyes already becoming vacant and glassy. Niamh watched her as Lucy slumped sideways, her body flopping once more onto the grass at the foot of the massive trunk.
Looking round nervously, Niamh padded softly over to Lucy and knelt down by her. "Ai hope ai'v dun the rite thyng..." She whispered softly, if only to reassure herself.

-x-

Lucy came round with a start. It was pitch black and her head was throbbing with a pain that immediately made her long for the oblivion of sleep once again. Lying still, she took an experimental breath and found that, whilst still less than ideal, she at least felt she could breathe a little easier. With a soft groan, she raised a hand to her forehead and ran her fingers over the ugly cut that spanned it.
"Dinnae touch yt..." Whispered a heavily-accented voice from just behind her. With a gasp Lucy pulled her hand away. There was the sound of water pattering onto the ground, and then what felt like a damp cloth was laid gently over her forehead.
"Leave yt thair, hokay?" Came the voice again. Lucy finally recognised it as Niamh's.

"Niamh...?"
"Aye." Came the reply after a pause.
"I don't..." Began Lucy, but Niamh stopped her, squeezing her shoulder.
"Lay styll, wull ye, eh?"
In the darkness Lucy heard Niamh very softly change her position until, identifiable only by a slender shadow, or rather a darkening of the area in front of Lucy's face, the Elf was sitting by Lucy's side, and looking down at her.

"Ai had tae moov ye, wun ye passed oot." Whispered Niamh. "We ur hieyar uppe the slope. Soldiers frae th'Ymperial City saw uz arrive an' cam tai looke fer uz, ore whutevva cam thru the portle."
She was silent for a moment, the long fingers of one hand pressing lightly on the damp cloth covering Lucy's forehead.
"Mynde yoo." She continued after a moment. "Uvree F**ka frae heeyar tai the Skyrim borda, wuid-a heerd uz, ai rekkon..."

"So what happens now?" So many questions were bubbling in Lucy's mind that not a one of them seemed more appropriate to ask than any other.
"Wull..." Began Niamh staring, presumably, into the trees to Lucy's left, her dark eyes glittering in the starlight. Now Lucy's eyes were more accustomed to the dark, she could vaguely see the other woman, silhouetted against the relatively brighter sky and if anything, even - (or because of) - being only partially glimpsed, Niamh seemed even more otherwordly. Added to this increasing strangeness, there were constellations that Lucy could see in the sky beyond her companion that bothered her also, mostly because she had never seen them before.

Niamh, her voice bearing only vestiges now of what it had sounded like when first they had met literally a world away, if she were to be believed, talked on, but Lucy's thoughts drifted away. The pain in her head, and her growing hunger and thirst; the circumstances that found her here, still fuzzed and blurred in her mind's eye; all these though pressing, taking a back seat to the nearly overwhelming feeling of being somewhere utterly alien.

Strange skies above her, the cries of creatures in the woods around her, borne on a breeze that carried with it smells that were at once familiar and yet utterly unknown in too many ways; and the ever-present feeling that she was about to simply run out of breath, which, though somewhat better, was still very much there. All of these things jostled in her mind for attention, tumbling over each other as they fought to be acknowledged and addressed.

And then there was Niamh.
"What are you?" She heard herself say.
Niamh stopped, her train of thought broken. "Whut?" She said.
Lucy raised herself on her elbows. "What you Niamh? What are... you, and why have you brought me... here?"
The Elf was silent for a moment, perhaps thinking how to answer, though Lucy had no real idea. In the darkness she could see only the glimmer of Niamh's eyes and her slim silhouette.
"Ai dinnae ken if thus yz the tyme, Lucy." Said Niamh at length, evidently trying to be gentle with the other woman.

It was lost on Lucy however.
"Well I say it is...!" She grated, her teeth gritted. "I say it is, Niamh."
She saw Niamh's silhouette pull away from her, and gestured round about in the darkness.
"I'm freezing my ass off in a f**king forest on a mountain, for Christ's sake! I got nothing but the clothes... I was wearing, skirt and blouse... and, and I'm here and you..."
Lost for words, she shrugged. "You owe me something... something at least."
She heard Niamh sigh, there was a pause then; "Hokay, ai'll tell ye."
"Thank you." Replied Lucy, then adding, "please though, can we have some...warmth, a fire, at least?"
"Nay." said Niamh. "We'ur nay safer oop heeyar then we wer doon the hill. Yn fact..." The elf shifted, and Lucy saw the deeper shadow of her head turning from side to side, "Yf 'nethin' we'ur yn mor danjur, yn the darke, an' on that note..." Niamh moved silently closer to Lucy, bent her head down to the other woman's face. Lucy received a sudden rush of a strongly cinnamon scent, mixed with some exotic sweetness as the elf's warm, moist breath touched her skin.
"Kepe ur voice Doon, hokay?" She pulled back, and even despite her anger, Lucy felt a faint disappointment as the heady scent faded away.

The nighttime breeze was chillier now, and Lucy, her movements and breathing still somewhat laboured in the thin air, sat up, the damp cloth falling to the ground from her forehead. She pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs. "Go on then..." She prompted, her voice quieter and softer now.
"Wull..." Began Niamh, then sighed, and stopped. She was silent for so long, in fact, that Lucy could feel her anger returning, and was, nighttime dangers or not, about to say something, when the other woman finally appeared to have found the right track for her thoughts.
"Luik, Lucy, ye nede tai get uzed tai the fact tha' ye'ur nay yn ye're own wurld, k? Thus wurld heeyar, yz a verra diff'rent place alltugetha."
"And you brought me here..." interjected Lucy.
"Tai saiv ur lyfe!" Responded Niamh, "Ye wuid ha'..."
"I did not need saving, until I met you!" Lucy's voice was far more than a whisper but she was beyond caring, her life had been just fine before this... before Niamh had arrived and f*cked it all up.
"Wull ye let me hae ma sai!" said Niamh, with some force. "Hey? ye wanted a hexplunaishun, noo let me!"
Begrudgingly, Lucy forced herself to calm down.

Niamh took a deep, calming breath, let it out slowly.
"Whun ye sed ai luiked lyk a faerietail, ye wuz sorta rite." She began again. "As ye wuid unnerstan' yt 'newai. Ai am indede an Elf, or... mosslee at 'nee rate. thus wurld, yt has menee beyins that ye wuid thynk ar frae storeez, k? Ai suppoze ai am wun o'them."
Niamh paused to let this sink in. Lucy, for whom this information was, alarmingly, not the strangest thing she had heard or seen that day, nodded in the darkness for Niamh to continue, and was largely unsurpised when it appeared that Niamh had seen her do it, and could in fact see her just fine despite the lack of light, for she continued straight away.

"Ai am whut thus wurld, Nirn - (ov wych heeyar, Cyrodiil yn Tamriel, yz a part) - calls a "Bosmer",a Woode Elf, altho', ai'm nae compleetlee tha'..." Lucy was aware at this point that Niamh was clearly not telling her everything about herself, but it seemed equally from the tone of her voice, that she herself was a little confused on the point. She stored this information away for later.
"Ai am whut ye see, an' ai sounde lyke thus, yn realitee, Lucy. Nae whut ye saore an' heer'd yn ur wurld." A pause, then; "Tha' wuz a... reflekshun a'me, a translashun uv me." Another pause. "Whut ur wurld thort ai luiked lyke. D'ye see?" This last question was asked with something of a desparate tone, as if Niamh, having struggled to explain something that she herself did not fully understand, was hoping that Lucy would simply acknowledge the information she was given, so that Niamh could move onto safer ground.

Lucy was not about to let her off so easily, however.
"So why am I the same... here, as I was?" She asked, and Niamh made a sound in her throat that indicated her displeasure at not being let off the hook, with a sigh she continued.
"Wull, ye dinnae belong heeyar, Lucy, ai had te pull ye frae ur wurld tae thus wun, tae save ye. Tha's why ye hae got the problemz tha' ye hae got, wuth ye breath an' all - ye shuid nae be heeyar."
"You got that right." Said Lucy, then; "So, how you were ok in my world - I'm struggling here, Niamh..."
Again there was a long silence, and when Niamh spoke again, her voice betrayed emotions so unlike those that hitherto Lucy had associated with this strange woman, that she was actually taken aback; loss and some great sadness infused Niamh's words.

"Whut meks ye thynk ai wuz ok...?" She asked quietly, and hard on the heels of that; "Ai dinnae belong 'neeweyar, Lucy, 'neemore. Ai nevva belong'd heeyar tai start, an' whun ai... died... ai stopped hae'yn' 'neeweyar ai cuid call a home."
"I don't..." Began Lucy, thoroughly confused, but Niamh leant forward and placed a finger on her lips to silence her. Again there was the scent of cinnamon, and Lucy found herself experiencing once again a vague and not unpleasant tingling feeling, tinged also though with a strange feeling of loss, not for herself, but as if some deep and unheeled sorrow had transferred itself from Niamh to her.
"Lemme sai..." Said Niamh. In the darkness, Lucy could only nod.

"Ai, ai hae a place heeyar wunce, tai th'east o' heeyar. Wuz'nae much buit twas myne. Anna wumman, wuth hoom ai loved verra much. Then ai fownde owte who ai reella wuz an' ai lost evverathyn', e'en ma lyfe." She paused for a moment, and Lucy could not be certain, but she thought that she heard a snuffling sound from the shadowed form in front of her.
"Ai awoke yn ur wurld... dyffrunt..." Continued Niamh. "Buit sumhae the same as bifour. I dinnae ken yffe ai hae alwaiz bin theeyar or yffe ai jus' wuz, buit ai felt ai wuz adryft sumhae an' yet mebbe ai cuid mek a lyfe fer masel'. Start agin, p'raps, ye ken...?"
Lucy, still silent, nodded, knowing that Niamh could see her.
"Ma naycher yz Fey, Lucy, ai am wylde lyke the wynd an' ai fownde a lyfe o' sortz that sootid me. Buit thenne ai met yoo..."
"Me?"
"Aye, yoo. Ye ar lyke the wumman ai yoosed tai luv, ye e'en luik lyke her an' her nem wuz "Luciana", ai used te cawl her "Looch"..." Niamh gave a little laugh after this last statement, and it was so full of yearning heartbreak that Lucy felt her own eyes fill with tears.

Yet she felt anger rise within her chest as well.
"And so you pretended I was her." She said quietly. "For all of this, it wasn't me you wanted but her, wasn't it?" Lucy felt her lip begin to quiver, not only had she been wrenched literally screaming from her own world, but it was not even for some noble reason or purpose, it was all for a selfish lie it seemed, for someone else's wistful gratification; an attempt to regain, using her, a life they had lost.
"Ai thoght ai cuid lyve agin wi' ye, Lucy, mebbe, ai dunno. yt wuz wrong ai know buit ye hae tai see; whun ai reelyzed whut ai wuz doin' ai tried tai stop, ai sed, buit yt wuz too lait...!" The pleading in Niamh's voice was real, but it was still not enough.

"It was, too late, for me." Lucy muttered to herself, then out loud she said, "So, then, the... thing in my room..."
"Aye, the Daedra." Said Niamh, her voice betraying her evident relief at being able, if not to change the subject completely, then at least to move away from its raw and emotional core. "Ai guess ye wuid know them as deamyns in ur wurld." She went on.
Lucy didn't know about daemons from sh*t, all she did know was that she had been jolted awake shortly after midnight that morning - (she assumed it was the same day, though she had no way of really knowing) - by an intensely bright light accompanied by a low grating sound and a foul smell. She had been asleep on her sofa, wearing the clothes she was still in now, and, somewhat the worse for a bottle of cheap red wine, had at first simply assumed that she was dreaming, as opening her eyes she was confronted by a hellish vision.

In the centre of her living room a creature stood on four pairs of legs terminating in needle sharp points, these legs extended from a thorax composed of some dull brown chitinous material, behind which depended a bulbous abdominal sac, soft and flabby and covered with thick, gingery hair. The creature looked for all the world like some massive, mutated spider, but for the fact that where it's head should have been there was instead the nude, heavy-breasted torso of a woman, the skin grey and thickly tattooed. Upon the wide, muscular shoulders sat a head covered almost completely by a large black helm, leaving only a cruelly-twisted, red-lipped mouth showing. The creature's muscular arms terminated in large hands with thick, clawed-tipped fingers, one set of which had been wrapped around a wicked-looking axe or cleaver of some fashion.
Lucy had lain, paralysed with fear, on her sofa, staring stupidly at the nightmarish creature as, its putrid breath steaming from beneath its helm and its clawed feet skittering on the wooden floor, it had turned its head towards her...

Niamh's whispering voice brought her out of her reverie and back to the present.
"Tymes wuz heeyar whun the Daedra romed frae Gates 'cross the land," Niamh said, "an' nun wuz safe frae them. Buit that thret wuz for-stawl'd an'e'er since thiz beestys flock onlee tae poorfull sawces o' Majik, oar o' vairy-ants tai the norm."
"Meaning...?" Asked Lucy, though in truth she felt that she already knew the answer.
"Meenin' that thai ar led tai thoz liek me - thoz hoo dinnae belong." Said Niamh bluntly. "E'en afor ma... deth, ai wuz a beekun tai kritters frae Elcewear. Buit synce mai... ritern, thiz kritters hae cum fer me." She paused, and when she continued, Niamh's voice had in it that same sorrowful tone that Lucy had heard from her earlier. "Ai trid tae sai, Lucy, I trid tae tek masel' frae ye, tai droor them awa' buit yt wuz tai layt... ai'm so soree..."

Despite everything, Lucy really felt that Niamh meant it, the apology was heartfelt and sincere. It didn't, in truth, help much, but it was something to hold onto at least.
"Are you really dead?"
"Ye doan' sound supryzed..."
"Niamh," began Lucy, "today has seen me nearly killed by some Spider-Beast, grabbed by you and dropped... here..." She took a breath. "...Only to nearly die again, and for you to then... turn out to be an Elf - an Actual, Elf, and I am apparently in a, Magical Fairy Story - the fact that you are apparently dead, in This Place, is in no way the, most surprising thing that has happened to me..."

From somewhere off to their right something large moved slowly through the undergrowth and down the slope. Lucy felt the short hairs on the back of her neck prickle.
"Wull, Yus, ai canne see tha'." Replied Niamh, once the sounds had disappeared. "Wull, yus tho ai wuz nai masel', ai rimemba ai wuz execyootid by hangin', yn ma towne, to th'east o' heeyar - Bravil, on the watta... Luciana was watchyn'..."
There was silence for a moment. An owl hooted from further up the slope, again to their right. Lucy saw Niamh's head move to the direction of the sound, saw her body momentarily stiffen, and then relax.
"Hmm... Wull, ai hae nai idea why ai cam bak, nun, buit ai dyd. Thur must bee a reesun..." The silhouette shrugged; a shake of the head. "Buit ai dinnae ken whut yt cuid bee. Mebbe yoo..."
Lucy smiled ruefully, made a soft noise.
"What about this Luciana?"
"Ai dunno Lucy, ai dunno e'en whut tyme thus yz, ev'reewun ai yoosed tai know cuid be ded an' gon fur als ai know... ore mebbe, thai nevva wur..."

Lucy, listening to the Elf, could not help but feel that perhaps the two of them were actually one and the other both just as lost here. From what Niamh had said, if it was true, Lucy at least had somewhere to belong - even though it seemed unreachable now, whereas she - Niamh - belonged nowhere; adrift, Niamh had found an anchor in Lucy's world, Lucy herself it seemed, and for better or for worse, the two of them now appeared to be entwined - (though not in the way that Lucy had once envisaged).
Thinking on it, Niamh had indeed all but broken up with her, and now Lucy could see why - though she was no nearer to understanding the wherefores. Equally, when the sh*t had hit the fan and Lucy had been cornered in her apartment by the Spider-Thing - (ironically awoken from a boozy night mourning the loss of her fledgling relationship with Niamh) - then Niamh had appeared, on cue and seemingly from nowhere, and rescued her, or at least removed her from the frying pan...

"But if I had never been with you, then I would never have needed saving..." Whispered Lucy to herself.
"Soree, whut...?"

Niamh had not been concentrating on Lucy for some minutes.
Increasingly something was bothering her, the usual sounds of the Great Forest were all present and correct, but that was the problem, they were All There All At Once in what increasingly seemed to be a deliberately manufactured fashion. Niamh's skin was itching and her sinewy body stiffened, as she strained to sense anything that would confirm her growing fear.
...It was almost as if...

Something was coming.

Time slowed.

Niamh, turning to Lucy: "Run!" A harshly-whispered command.
Shoving her, pushing her, Lucy falling sideways and clambering oh-so-slowly to her hands and knees.
Niamh, all pretence at quiet gone now, leaping to her feet.
"Ruuun!!!"

-x-

This post has been edited by PhonAntiPhon: Apr 29 2016, 07:56 AM