Session 2

Mysterious Ways

I prowled the floors of the castle, fingers in each hand twitching, anticipating the moment at which my prey would be revealed to me. I stalked in such a primal fashion -- not even realizing myself what kind of person -- or thing -- I had become in this pursuit. Somewhere, my target wound about the corridors and nooks, behind furniture, tapestries, what have you.

I was totally caught up in the excitement of the hunt. I imagined I could track her scent as I moved without sound down each hall, eyes wary for even the slightest flicker of movement. I heard faint footfalls to my right, and anticipated the avenue of escape. Sprinting now, I made my way towards the Great Hall, crouching to spring at a simple portal.

Her eyes widened as I sprung at her, my hands grasping cloth and robe as they found their mark. She gave out a small remark of protest before I lifted her up and over my head, the trophy, my kill...

"You're it," I said calmly, to Gwyn.

*****

And now, the low point of the day, I suppose. This family often irks me to no end. Damn Fiona and her paranoia, and damn Random for falling in step. I really don't care if it was revealed that she's Brand's daughter. Luke's not a psychopath, for the most part, and so why should she? But no, in the better interests of "exploiting how those Trump Gates work," she's been jailed in a ten by ten foot guest room. How nice to call it that.

I suppose I could have gone about things better, and I should have known that Fiona or someone else would have warded the room. No matter though. I hope that Bailey realizes that not all of her Amber relatives are fucked in the head (I prefer to call my little problems "quirks".) Although she probably thinks I'm some sort of Amber mole trying to get her secrets undercover. Like I care how those gates work, or how to go to other Universes. I have not yet been able to ask her about my vision -- I think it's too personal and way to screwed up to mention now, lest I be thought a wacko.

But take-out, yeah, I can do that.

*****

Bees.

My cousin collects bees for fun.

When she's not running around looking like a refugee from a debutante ball, that is. But I can't blame Gen for trying to get Gwyn to have a little more fun. Would I have ever imagined as children that we would have turned out the way we did? Only Ben seems to have been spared such difficulties. Now Gwyn struggles with her faith, and I tangle with the metaphysical aspects of my normally very realist life. Gen and Bishop seem to have had little trouble adapting.

But I have to ask myself -- is it a matter of time? I've been here months, and still I feel like the back-up to the actor who's supposed to be playing my role. It's a great fantasy game, and I am the Tough Guy archetype.

Amidst everything in our universe, can I find myself?



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