For a Song Pt. 09

Ezra is having some trouble aligning us. That's fine. It's a new experience for both of us. I reach down and let it fill my hand. I give it a few strokes and a small pearl of preseed spills from the tip. It lands on my tummy I giggle a bit. It's so much fun on this side of the aisle. So much playful smugness I have in me. It works so well. I move us both and everything lines up. I move the length up and down, playing on me. It's sensitive. Much more sensitive than I thought it would be. I freeze and shiver and shake with a lightning bolt between my legs. Ezra chuckles and it only makes it worse. I can't breathe. I can't move. I can't even breathe.

"See," Ezra hums, "Not that hard."

"You'd have a point if I was done," I sigh, "But that was just the start. Now get in me before I make you."

"I'd like to see you try."

"Later. We can do some more fun things the next time we're like this. I say we just keep it simple for right now."

I pretend I don't see the legs quake as I had my own little moment. Ezra felt nothing at all. A fun little tickle at most. I giggle again and find that it comes naturally to me. We have one last moment of clarity and then it is inside me.

Pain, the most wonderful kind, fills my body. It's rapturous. Its ecstasy condensed into nerve endings. It's not even pain. It's just so intense, so incredible, that pain is the best name I can give, free of the connotations that it carries. It is pain because it blots out all else. It is pain because it is all consuming. It is pain because language itself fails to capture the sheer enormity of this moment. Pain is good and I want more than I am given. A glutton, plain and simple, for such sensations.

The feeling fades when I realize there is no moment. I also realize there is a heavy warmth settling in my stomach. That is its only pleasure, although not quite as terrific as the one before. It's the same in amount but spread over more time. All at once, versus a steady flow. My eyes come back into focus and find Ezra's shut in something like the pain I just had. There are grunts and growls and deep moans too. I giggle again and still marvel at my new voice. I would like to sing something later. Something higher than I can usually go. Something to play with me. I take my hand to my stomach and feel the length inside me as it finishes. Warm, I am incredibly warm, bathed in sunlight oil and fireside furs. A laugh burbles from my lips and it tastes sweet.

"Shut up," Ezra mumbles.

"Oh, don't be like that," I sigh, "Its fine. Just admit that my job can be harder than you thought and then we can cuddle."

"It's harder than I thought."

"It takes practice. I've just had a lot of that."

Ezra grumbles a bit more on the withdraw and I am left wanting. Hollow in the best way, a good handful of rounds still in me. I don't want to overwhelm anything though. And I'm not sure of the dream time, but the real time is still running down. We can play later, as much as it kills me to come to that conclusion.

Ezra slides up again and takes me under an arm. It is warm, as opposed to the real cool that comes with the embrace. It is nice, albeit different. Not sure if its better or worse or just that. Either way, it was fun. Going to be awkward as all hells when I come out of it, but that is for later. Now is a time to bask and simmer in the shared experience. Ezra will get used to it in time. I don't know exactly how or when we'll have this little play again, but I'll figure it out. Nothing grand comes in the moments after. It's just a sensory experience already perfected, no matter how it ended.

---

"I feel cheated," says Gawain, "I feel slighted. I might even feel robbed."

"I guess we'll have to do that again," says Eliza.

"That will be incredibly awkward, just so you know," I sigh, "'Hey Maman, remember that time you made me a woman and Eliza a man? Do that again, but with one more person and just stop paying attention to what we get up to.'"

"You have a point, but still. I need to get in on this. I can't believe I volunteered to keep watch while everyone else napped."

"That's your fault. I never volunteer for anything ever."

"Were you at least a pretty girl?"

"Gorgeous," says Eliza, "The most beautiful thing I've ever seen. And you were mine in that bed."

Her gaze turns wistful, and I think we'll let that sentiment linger. I have no real inclination to explore it further, especially so close to our destination. The building sticks out of the wavering horizon like a monolith. Flat land forever and a day, then a sharp splinter in the skin. We're alone. Kay split off to find a good spot to hunker down on and tend to whatever dream he had. I know it was something. He knew I knew. I didn't comment on anything, and he appreciated my reservedness. Gawain was snickering the whole time he was with us.

The thought fades as the building becomes bigger and bigger. We have some ruins to contend with as well. The remembrance in Eliza fades as the shadows fall under her sight. She finds nothing hidden and keeps moving. I scratch my wonderful bird's plumage in that favorite spot. Even she knows to be quiet right now, the kweh barely reaching my ears. Skittish, they are all getting skittish.

The weather might be a good reason. We crossed some invisible line and now it is cold, getting colder by the second. Gawain regrets his most recent folding job. The cloak would be a much better fit. Eliza's fine with her thin gown. Her chest is distracting as it reacts to the cold, but I am certainly doing the same. I shiver and watch my breath form a soft cloud trailing into the sky.

We pass another line, and the sand turns to snow of all things. Dry and fine, the powder rides the wind. It cuts my legs through my trousers. This is not entirely unpleasant right now, but that is coming. I will be cold and shivering with my skin shattering and breaking as it freezes.

I catch a shadow moving through the ruined frames. I think that was a smith's shop. The anvil's still there. Eliza saw it first. Hands to weapons down the line. I have a moment of indecision. The rapier or the guitar, hard to pick one or the other in the heat of the moment. I settle for the sword. I'll save that for the inevitable escalation. I tap out a rhythm for me and me along and let that serve as my anchor. Slow, methodical, chasing down the seconds with perseverance rather than haste. We will come to the building when we come to it. No reason to hurry or worry. Eliza's going through her own motions. Gawain's shivering in his coat. I am taking the chill away with a steady drum beat in my heart.

We pull to the side of the road and dismount. Silence, save the wind. Each step is a soft crunch in the snow. Eliza takes out her scythe and lays it on her back. Gawain disappears for his part of the plan. I walk in time with her, letting her leech off my simple metronome. It's not a lot right now, but it will grow once we need it too. I draw my rapier and loosen my wrists.

I don't like violence. Not in the same way Maman did, Kay or Eliza does. I don't mind it but would rather do so many other things with my time. An ugly necessity at best, a horrible fault at worst. I don't quite know what this instance is. Eliza seems to like it and I'm not getting that terribly sour taste in my mouth right now. I shake out my nerves and bounce on the balls of my feet. It's better to let all of this out now.

The building is old, and no amount of carpentry can change that. It is also out of place. It's a ski lodge without the thick layer of snow. I feel it coming. I feel the weight in the air. It just needs a bit more time to grow. I can smell chocolate as well. I think the ladies inside are having a bit of fun. I have no clue how they brought chocolate out here without it melting. In the near vicinity it should be fine, but out there in the heat, it might as well be a soup. There's laughter and merriment, a flickering firelight through the windows.

Eliza drops her scythe and cuts a line in the dirt. Razor straight and silent. I watch the line grow and grow and grow like a snake. It is intimidating, I will admit. She takes a deep breath and holds it in her chest. It is entrancing the way she holds the cold in her. It is not the one she knows but is the same feeling. I've felt it in winters and snowstorms. I've felt it in graveyards and funerals. It all collects and collapses and shifts within me. It is all where the sour blackness comes from. Merriment and excitement tingling and sparking it. I feel it all. I wrestle with it and turn it to color and noise. I take the world as it is and nudge it into a steady beat. Our steps, the laughter, the gentle rush of wind. I come up with steel gray. Not my most vivid work, but it will suit Eliza just fine.

She digs the blade in deeper and the air echoes with a low mournful keen. I take the noise and sharpen it. The pale turns dim. Steel and iron and stone, it cuts through the ice. The laughter stops, not all at once, but a winding path down to quiet. I tap the hilt and keep the time. We are in the swell of the world.

Light, glorious warming light, spills from the open doorway and we are greeted by our host. Safon stands with a sloshing cup and apple red cheeks. She's drunk. I don't know if that makes our job easier or harder. And I act like it's my job to go toe to toe with her and the gang. The light dances a bit and I think I see Gawain. I'm looking for him and I can barely make him out.

"Hi friends," she cries with a jovial wave, "The brothel's closed. So go away. Wait. Give us all your money and then go away."

Eliza says nothing and readjusts her grip. Deadly, plain and simple. Bitter work and she happens to enjoy the taste. I keep the time with an errant finger. There are little sneaks in the time, trying to slip between the beats.

"Oh, don't tell me you're here for that? Really? That was nothing," she teeters, "I like the finer things in life and that town happens to give out fine things. Or let them be taken. Don't act like I'm the bad guy here. So, what if someone died? Or someones? Really? C'mon. be cool for once in your life."

"Baby, I'm cooler than you could ever hope to be," I say. I add a little spice to the hits, syncopations and eight notes, swinging the beat like it's second nature. I can feel Eliza roll her eyes. I can feel her toes start to move to the pace I set. She gives herself over to the music. She's lost in it. She makes herself lost in it. It is calming and comforting and exciting with every single part of her. She is in tune with the world, just as I am.

"I doubt that. I doubt that very much. Where's your other friend by the way, the cute one?"

"I'd say I'm the cute on of our group too," I say, "You're really not on the ball with us, are you?"

"Depends on what you mean by that. You didn't see the trio sneak up behind you, now did you?"

Eliza wheels around and I don't bother. That little trouble will either be handled, or I won't be around to care. I exist in the moment where only the next note matters. It's the song we have together. It's the song I take from reality and make real. I feel an arrow slip by my head and cut a few strands shorter. I don't flinch. I'm in the music and nothing can break that shield.

Eliza is off behind me. She's having fun, I think. There're moments where I worry, but this isn't one of them. Safon seems to be enjoying the show and I am enjoying looking at her. The smile never leaves her faced. It's sloppy and swaying, drunken revelry where everything is beautifully swimming together. A night that never ends, extends to the brighten rock tome, before dipping back into the darkness. The world rages and howls outside, but the hearth and the wine keep it at bay. She's giggling.

Eliza comes back to me, grim and dark and cold. I don't look back. I don't ever look back. I know the battlefield and the never-ending horror. I take the black fear and weave it into the pale. The sounds I make weave in rust and blood and dust. We all return to the dust and ash in the end. It lends the sound a hollow ringing that does work rather well against the warmth flowing around us. Contrast, it's all about contrast.

Safon's laughing and swaying, although I don't think any of its that funny.

"Where was that the other day," she snickers, "That was awesome. Big girl, do you want a job working with us? I promise that we pay better. We can even get you something for your eye. A fancy glass one, maybe."

"Can I bring him?" Eliza asks with a thumb in my direction.

"Sorry, ladies only. I bet he looks good in a dress, but that isn't going to cut it."

Eliza spins her scythe and that's all the answer she needs. She laughs again and gestures to the back room. More laughter, more mirth, more wonders for us.

"We found your guy, by the way," she says, "A for effort, but not execution. Kind of obvious when it was just the two of you."

Safon staggers from the front door, snapping her fingers. The snow swirls and forms around her until a shear of crystalline ice spear is in her hands. She spins it around and the wind follows the motions. It's howling, off in the distance. There's a storm coming. I pull my rapier. Nothing fancy to it, nothing extravagant.

Another trio comes after her, with Gawain bound and gagged. I don't even think he tried to put a resistance. He should have, though. Put on a show, maybe cut one a bit. Scars are hot and I think Safon would be appreciative. He seems fine, maybe even a bit into it. That gets filed away and shuffled to the side. Something else to deal with later when we are all whole and safe. She only gets a single circle to loosen my wrist. Safon laughs again and gestures vaguely in our direction. She keeps Gawain at her side. Together they sit on the front stoop.

The women laugh at us and slip into the same aura of revelry pouring from the spilling door. They slosh and move and dance. They are drunk. I am drum. I am all slipping and sliding through the tone. The music is faltering. The music is in me and swaying. I keep the rhythm steady. I force it to align to what I want. Free form, sure, but in the same meter. The notes aren't clashing, and the tones are clean.

One breaks off for me and I feel honored. A hellion, just like me, ice blue with snow white bleeding into her veins. She's drunk, I assume on vodka. She seems the type. She also seems the type to still be new to wielding a sword. The drinks take the edge off, no shaking hands on the hilt, no quiver in the lips. But the actual skill is lacking. The lines she carves are slow. I flow with her in half time. Dance, dance, we are all still falling apart. Together. Breaking down each step to its place. No style or school in it, but I have my impromptu performance. Part of me wants to worry about Eliza. I don't need to. She's having her little fun with her three way. I'm just on my lonesome.

I land the first blood on her side. Nothing deep, nothing fatal, but she bleeds red, just like all of us. Just like every drop of blood we have in the world. And she laughs at it all. It's cold, the cut and the drops. They freeze on the ground.

I peddle backwards as they erupt into icicles. Safon whistles and claps her little display. It's a wonderful show. I shatter one spire and that helps a bit. The novice keeps her advance up and I have all my troubles in a line.

She's not in time with anything but her own insanity. I bob and weave and move through the slipping sloshing. I start to think she might not be completely new to this. Each teeter leads into the next. There is a reason behind it all. And she is very flexible, good work on her core. It is all lithe and narrow and thin. Straight lines that bend wonderfully. That little bit of that heat in me is enough to keep the dance together. I have my will to hold myself together. A simple drinking song to keep everything tied together.

I run into her and keep it all blunt force trauma. My elbow digs into her gut, and I keep the motion through us. It comes down to the ground. I roll through it and slide up to my feet. My partner gets a very swift, very heavy boot to the head and she goes still. Safon cheers again. Gawain looks impressed too. Good. It's all for him, really. I just want to look cool and stylish for the people I like. He's working the ropes. This technically wasn't a part of the plan, but it's still workable.

Safon calls back inside and more steps respond. I sigh and roll and let everything keep loose and free. Eliza is having her fun. I am having my dour experience.

The steps are heavy. Heavier than it thought would be. Slower too. I Tense. I know those steps. I like those steps. The double fake wasn't good enough. Safon is full on guffawing, stamping her feet and thumping her fists against the deck.

"Red bloometh the rose of conviction

And red bloometh the rose of hate

Yes, red bloometh the rose of contest

Firmly bound to its fate," sings the second story window. Slow and plodding and sweet like dripping sap, bleeding from the walls like syrup. It is sweet and floral. I see the red from the fire turn brighter and plumper. I smell overripe fruit bursting and dripping down my face. And the violin strings keep time with the voice. Spiderwebs and flies and glorious fields of flowers all starting to wilt, just in that one moment before it truly turns.

"That's my girl up there," chuckles Safon, "She's fun. Keeps the good times rolling. Although I think your other big friend can roll well enough. Certainly knows how to eat, doesn't he?"

I hear a chain rattle and Kay steps outside. He's fighting. He's slow, letting the ball on his chain drag on the ground. All of him is trying to slow himself down. It's something. Eliza readjusts her grip and stars him down. Safon just laughs.

"Good job, by the way," Safon calls over the strings, "Takes balls to pull the same trick twice like that. Doubling down is always a good strategy. But well, hard to miss a guy like our good old sheriff."

The violin stops for a moment and a flash of pure rage crashes over Kay. The next song starts and it's gone. Bland determination and focus, all directed at us. Eliza puts herself in between and I don't interject.

Eliza makes the first move. Kay lets it happen in a grand crash. That's enough for him to start building moment in the chain. Constant motion, constant flow, faster and faster, heavier and heavier and heavier. It's his essence in weight. Each step shatters the earth and Eliza cuts through with dead silence.

I let my rapier fall away and pull my guitar out. Gawain's still struggling in his way. Safon's just enjoying the show, happy and content with her entertainment. Someone has gotten her a cup of wine and it's already mostly gone.

I play. I play against the slow methodical blood red sap in the walls. I play faster and sharper, trying to cut through the sweet with bitter and salt and spice. The rotted cloy is thick and slowing. I want to play faster. I want to play sharper, but my own will has been infected with the blight. I want the world to be slow. The violin wants the world to be slow. It is the same and not the same. Driving slowness, a methodical progress at least. The sap wants everything still and stagnant.

I chop through it as best I can. Eliza holds her own, and she does it well. The difference is the intent. She's not going for the kill. Kay is. She's nicking and clipping. He's crushing and shattering. I am trying to close the gap.

I'm better than this. I am so much better than this. There's some stupid fool on the second floor playing third chair fiddle and that's giving me grief. I've had Annette Biedermeier as a personal tutor. I've had the one woman ascend to godhood in anyone's lifetime as a drill sergeant. Some up north bitch should not be able to contend with any of that. I play and let the pain seep into my fingers, ignoring the clash of steel on steel, the mocking laughter, Gawain struggling against his binds.