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Date Posted: 03:31:20 12/13/01 Thu
Author: Isobel and Barry
Subject: Dance craze, and I am NOT a PIKIN FOOTBALL
In reply to: Rowan and Tristan 's message, "Dance fever" on 01:52:35 12/13/01 Thu

Isobel was always fascinated with swords and battle, so when Rowan drew his and began slicing the air with it, her eyes danced as they followed the blade that glittered in the firelight. Rowan described how his blade seemed to tell him how to move and to guide him. She listened, rapt, and nodded excitedly.

He went on to tell her that he had heard various tales of what magical swords could do. “I’ve heard stories of swords guiding their owners in different ways—leading them to the one they wish to take revenge on, or to reclaim their honor, that sort of thing. I used to think it was all rubbish, but I never made it to the top, so I don’t know.” He smiled. “They say the masters of my kind, back home, loved their swords more than their husbands or wives. They say some swords love battle so much that they sing when they taste blood. Dragon swords, I should think. But not all blades are meant for battle.”

Isobel burst out, "Si!! Yes, yes! But it is not my sword which sings to me... it is my blood. It sings and it burns. It laughs and cries out for more." She stopped, chuckling softly. "Well, perhaps you now think me a madwoman." She eyed his glittering sword, then looked at her own. "But when I am fighting, the sword is not an object. It is... part of me, no? Like a part of my arm..." she fell silent, unable to think of the proper words to describe what she meant.

He asked her why she had been talking to her sword, and she picked it up, slicing it through the air as he had his. Hers did not glitter, but it shone, and the look on her face when she wielded it was almost rapturous. "I have been told by a dubious source that it holds many secrets," she said with a grin, looking at him sideways. "They are buried very deep in this one, I think," she laughed. Deep down, she hoped that what the old man had told her was true, but she had learned long ago that things are not always what they seem so she was not going to hold her breath.

Rowan was offering to help her get another sword, which she would most certainly decline - she would never give up her father's sword - when the music became more of a driving sound, raucous and loud. She did not care for this tune, but Rowan leaped up and grabbed her hand, giving her barely enough time to sheath her sword and remove her sword belt, leaving it beside the rock. “Come on,” he said, “Let’s dance, my little warrior goddess!” She snorted but went with him to dance to the "music" Valhorek was playing.

She was never much good at dancing, unless it was with a weapon in her hand. So she simply made believe that she was wielding Muerte as she whirled and slid around the makeshift dancefloor with Rowan, her dark hair flying out behind her. She grinned, enjoying herself in spite of herself. She leaned close to Rowan so she could be heard above the music and now the singing. "This 'highway to hell'... it would hold many great adventures, no?" And she grinned.

She was so busy that she did not see the pommel of her sword glimmering strangely in the flickering firelight where she had left it.

**************

Barry was mad. Oh yeah. He was really piked off. Bad enough the chits in this berg flung him around like they were tossing salad. Now the dirtrats seemed to think he made a great ball. "Hey! Hey! Watch the eyes! OW!" Bar this! Barry was gonna give 'em the laugh.

"Ya pikin' brats! Go shave yer heads!" he grumbled, and when the next kid tossed him he flew up, up, and away! High into the sky he sailed and he didn't look back. Not for a long time. He hovered around up there muttering about the kids and how he wasn't a pikin' football, pike it!

Finally Barry looked back down on the camp and saw the revellers dancing and the music playing and the kids running around having fun and dammit those fleshies were torturing him!!! He watched for a while, his thoughts turning wistfully to a time long, long ago.

"Will you always love me?" She had said as he swung her around the dance floor.
"Always," he had assured her, his hand caressing her cheek as he leaned in to kiss her tenderly on her pale pink lips. The sensation was exquisite and she let out a small moan. He pulled back, looking into her eyes. Yes. She would do anything for him now. And that was her undoing.

Barry pushed the memory aside. Damn things popping up when he didn't want them. Now he had a sour feeling like he was ashamed or something. She'd done it all willingly. He had never forced her. In the end, she had died to save him, but it wasn't like he'd asked her to! It wasn't his fault!

Finally he managed to cram the memory back down into whatever recesses it had escaped from and floated back down to the camp, making sure he avoided the area with the dirtrats, and hovered silently near the caves. The addle-cove was dancing with one of the native chits and damn if it didn't look like he was gonna get lucky tonight. "Way to go, Chief," Barry muttered quietly as he watched.

He thought about floating down there and showing one of the gals just how light on his feet he was... but he didn't want the brats to get hold of him again. He decided it would be safest to just stay where he was where no one could reach him until the addle-cove went to bed. Of course, if he had that hot tamale with him Barry wouldn't barge in. Ah, what the hey... he might need a few pointers.

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