Witch Hunter Robin Fan Fiction ❯ Tarot ❯ Emperor ( Chapter 5 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Moonsister 
Anime/Manga: Witch Hunter Robin Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Horror / Supernatural | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 01.02.2006 | Pages: 2 | Words: 3.7K | Visits: 244 | Status: Completed
Anime/Manga: Witch Hunter Robin Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Horror / Supernatural | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 01.02.2006 | Pages: 2 | Words: 3.7K | Visits: 244 | Status: Completed
Gukumatz, born of the oceans and air, Earth and sun rose from the watery depths of his birth to guild humankind in ways of art and agriculture. The ever expanding minds of the curious people viewed the feathered serpent as a God of Creation.
Unto the Toltecs, he taught patience and acceptance. A reverence of all things in being, and an alchemic way of moving in their environment. Later, with a new name, he taught the Mayans Time. This gift saved them the terrors brought down upon the Aztec, who knew Gukumatz as Quetzalcoatl.
As all good fathers, he did as he could to teach his chosen children the difference between right and wrong. Ultimately, though, we would have to chose for ourselves the path we will take. So into the oceans he returned, vowing to come back when our time of greatest need comes upon us. So is the way of the Father.
A shabby figure in a decrepit coat paced the mote that surrounded the once proud site called the 'Factory'. Shaking his head, and muttering in a ancient, strange language, the figure turned back toward the trees with a heavy sigh. They were angry, the trees were, and this was not a good sign. What terrors really did exist here? The man wondered silently at the threshold of the forest. The ancient leaf bearers loomed above him, more than slightly menacingly. Not a leaf moved, nor twig shuddered in response to his own increasing age.
Never the less, he passed beneath their bows, whispering continue-sly to them as he sought their center. Attempting encouraging words and emotions he did not himself feel. He sat on an outstretched root that dug into a small stream which had etched itself a place in the strangle hold of the thicket.
"No bird, no beast. Not even a beetle to keep you company." He sighed in the trees' own language. "No wonder the anger." He sighed again as he gazed into the moving water. Normally, the trees would respond to him, but here, they kept their silence, and a strange distance. "But you have seen her." A leaf quivered, the ancient grinned, they were still listening. "Was she what we hoped?" The same leaf let it's opinion be known by a sudden shiver. The shabby figure straightened, and did not look so disheveled, a wild sort of grin smeared itself across his face. "The time has come for greater things." He announced to the now milky sky.
Amon lay beside the golden haired girl-woman, watching her breathe. His nose inches from hers, he could almost hear her dream. The remaining dark of the morning had past in this manner for the pair. He lay there, pondering what she had said, and she slept the strain of her tears off.
His hand brushed past her cheek of it's own volition, he could only watch it. When did this witch become his world? He wondered to himself. Was he doomed from the beginning? Could he not get away from that which has haunted and tormented him since the loss of his mother. Which by all honesty, was well before she disappeared. He sighed to himself as his caress didn't even stir a reaction across the gentle brow. Was he doomed to loose HER too?
Why he continue-sly clung to this frail creature was beyond him. Had been since since they passed each other in Harry's. She'd always been the difference, made the difference. Since their first hunts together, where she'd played by her own rules. Only obliging the ones she'd been given when it was absolutely necessary. It had been Dogima who had tried to tell her to sit there until she was needed. Even then, Robin had let the comments fly by her as if nothing had been said. Till they realized the true nature of her exitance. Still, Robin did as she saw fit, as she saw was right. This scared him then, and scared him still. One can never trust what an honest person will do...but is it better to do only what society wants you too?
The hand paused at the juncture of jaw and neck, delicately thumbing the bone line. She had been horribly upset over the news of her grandmother. The woman who Robin was raised to think was her mother. The same woman who was supposed to have died in a car crash when the girl was four, or so. Robin's reaction to the old woman's murder triggered something in him that he couldn't quite put a finger on, something that has denied him rest.
It had been a bomb that went off in her mind, and she'd sobbed against him for hours. Uncontrollably. She finally calmed when her body gave out, and at that point, she simply collapsed. All her energy spent, her mind numb and unthinking, hence why he was allowed to stay so close for as long as he has. He sighed heavily to himself. What was it that triggered such a reaction in such a stalwart individual? Robin was not emotionally unstable, or disturbed. He rolled to his back, a furrow found it's way across his brow.
As on cue, the sun chose that moment to rise and settle in through the bedroom window. And, as luck would have it, it laid itself across Amon's face. The man sat up as the bomb that had hit Robin the night before whistled and dropped on him. He was standing, and pacing the living room in less than two seconds. The ramblings in his mind sounding like an excited squirrel.
Everything he knew was wrong. Everything he'd been taught to believe was a lie. All his memories are tainted with these lies...his mother, his father, himself, Robin...all those people he'd hunted and doomed to torture in the halls of the Factory. All of his life was based off the greed of a few people who'd convinced the world that they knew God's plan. These people, who with a straight face, demanded that one turn over one's free will and serve unquestionably. The true nature of 'Power of God' came into full focus in Amon's mind, and it was not Robin who wielded it.
Amon's pacing wasn't letting up, and the rabid squirrel that was his mind was talking faster. He didn't even notice the small figure suddenly standing in the doorway to the bedroom until he ran into her on his way across the living room. Her slight figure not even covered by the tank top and boy cut panties. With her hair in disarray, she looked somewhat comical.
The sputtering squirrel stopped in it's tirade as the image before him shifted. Instead of the vibrantly alive and mostly undressed Robin standing in her doorway, he saw the milky eyed, black draped waif that lay dead on the Factory floor. For just an instance, his mind took him back to the moment where his legs where held crushed under the stone slab that should have been his tombstone, and the woman he'd fallen for lay stretch on cold stone, slightly reaching for him. His heart seemed to stop and crack in his chest, and he pitched forward.
He didn't see Robin leap to catch him as he dropped to the floor, nor did he recognize the moment his head didn't bounce on the hard wood. All he could see was the smoke, and debris that should have buried them both. All he could feel was the heart ache of never seeing her smile again, or hear the sound of her bubbly giggle at his dry, tasteless jokes, that no one else seemed to catch. All he could smell was death, disappear and destruction.
Two other individuals from separate beds, on separate sides of town felt the shift in the energy. The lines of power that surround the Earth tightened suddenly, then smoothed themselves out. One was a chestnut haired empath who instantly started to worry, the other a chocolate haired man. The man snorted and rolled over, pulling the covers over his head, and willing the energy flux to be hidden for the remainder of the rebound. The empath decided then was a good time to go to the office to see if anything was up. Wondering if it had anything to do with Robin....or Amon
Upon reaching the office, she was more than a little disgruntled to find no Michael. No hacker to do the slippery work ready and available. Her brows knitted, as her hand reached the phone, the number on speed dial already called. They should never have let him out. She thought to herself, and decided promptly to keep that thought to herself, until it disappeared or was forgotten.
"Hullo?" A sleepy voice responded after the seventh ring.
"Michael, I need you down at the office." She snapped a little more harshly than she meant too.
"What time is it?"
"Time for work." She was hung up on at this, but her point was taken. He would be here soon, so she grinned to herself and made some coffee. How 'Amon-ish' she thought proudly. She'd always found him devilishly handsome, in that dark, broody sort of way. Eventually, her little infatuation turned into hero worship, and now, she was emulating his manners. Or the lack there of, however you chose to look at it.
Shaking her head, Miho Karasuma shrugged off such old thoughts, and turned her attention to the matter at hand. What was the disturbance? She had felt something like it before, but this carried in waves, not just a sudden burst. Like ripples on a pond, rather than an explosion. The explosion, having had occurred a few minutes before she watched the hunter, Sastre, die. This was like that time, but different. Not as strong, but carried farther, in a radius pattern.
"So what is so damned imp-" Michael was scratching his head, not quite dressed.
"Watch your language!" She folded her arms and eyed him. "I am a lady."
"Could have fooled me." For Amon, he finished to himself as he sat at his computer and begun to crack into secret places. The specifications based on the description of 'Her Lady ships' disturbance. His back hunched, he tried not to take it personally. What would Robin do? He chanted over and over to himself.
"It's only the PTSD, Amon." Robin's sweet voice crooned over his head. "Just the PTSD, everything is just fine." His chest was tight, and he couldn't speak. He closed his eyes and focused on breathing. Blocked out images of people floating in a strange, greenly glowing liquid took hold of him as the world continued swirling in place. If it was only Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, why then, did it feel so real? Like he was still standing there, watching their bodies floating haplessly in fluid, like pickles. How could he smell the warmed wires, and the burn of sterility. How then could he still see the look on Robin's face through the glass as she could only watch in horror. As they all had.
He still felt held in place by massive stone, and his legs weren't responding. Not even a tingle of pain was emulating from them. He gasped for the air he didn't know he was holding and reached a hand up to grasp the soft voice above him. He felt like he was dieing all over again in the middle of a collapse that had ended months ago. Twisted up on the inside and intensely week, he grabbed for anything that would bring stability back to the cracking in his head.
Fine silk is what his fingers found, and wound themselves in. Fine silk in millions of strands. "It's the PTSD, you are just fine." The voice above him was still crooning. "Just think about breathing." The silk shifted and something warm and soft leaned against his clinched fist. "You are safe, and warm, and far from the place that has you captive." The contact made him gasp, and once again he was letting out the air he didn't know he was holding. This caused him to take another breath, and another...
It didn't take long for the floor to returned to it's standard stability, and he could no longer see sickening green glow. He opened his clinched eyes to find Robin's bright green shining down on him with such caring, and admiration. A look he felt he didn't disserve. His chest heaved again, and the pain returned to his legs, which were finally responding. He rolled in place to find his head cradled in the woman's lap, and her fingers pulling his loose hair from his face.
He put his hands down on the floor to push himself up to his knees, but the floor yielded. Ripples on a still pond is what the floor appeared to him, once again his breath caught in his throat. He hid his face back to the lap, trying to avoid the inevitable.
"That would be your craft. Awakened by the stress." Came her soft voice, which was followed by a low grunt as his grip on her became crushing. She was the only stability he could find, so it was the pit of her stomach that forced his face into, and the small of her back that he dug his fingers into.
Robin continued to pet his head and offer encouragement. Telling him repeatedly that all was well, he would adjust just fine. A sudden well spring of intense self loathing, and anger rose like biel rose in the back of his throat. He forced his head lower into her lap, causing her knees to spread just a little. His arms crossed along her lower spine, stopping her from any form of escape. But the caresses didn't stop, nor did the smooth descant of her gentle croon. However, he could smell the woman's sent, this did wonders at changing the format of the clashing conflicts of his mind. His own biology waking up from the emotional stress that had put him in this position.
"You may notice you hear more, smell more, taste more. Some even see thought forms." She was doing her best to bring out the positive side of his body's betrayal. "You have the Water Element, but which fracture, I wonder." She scarcely more than muttered, trying hard to ignore his breath on her inner thigh. Thoughts that had never occurred to her were beginning to surface. His hands suddenly gripped her hips, and he dragged his face up from her lap, his nose scraping against the length of her stomach. To her, it took an eternity for him to reach her breast then loom above her to look her in the eye. His hands still clutching her slender hips.
In his eyes, she looked like a prism of rainbows. The colors ebbed off of her with a swirling light show, falling haplessly through the floor, and feeding the downstairs neighbors something he'd call hope. Ethereal is the word that came to mind, though the slight form now kneeling beneath him was quite solid, and slightly panting.
"Fracture?" His voice almost cracked in his own ears, he wasn't surprised though, as he found his throat quite dry and tight. At his question she nodded, and dragged him to his feet.
"The craft in humans is broken up into pieces. That is why we have so many problems. Some of the pieces are unstable, and can't be handled alone." She headed back to her room, and found some loose fitting trousers. Suddenly feeling quite bare and exposed.
"Craft in humans...?" He repeated, mostly to himself. He watched her walk away, and couldn't help but grin at the sight. She really did have a killer figure. At the thought of running his hands, and other parts of his anatomy, over hers,.He used the sofa to pull himself up, sitting to make sure none of the evidence of such thoughts would be visible by the causal on looker. He looked up in surprise as a cup of coffee, slightly steaming was held in front of him.
"Everything has craft of it's own." She began with a slight grin. "My element can see it, just as yours can. Every blade of grass, every tree. All the birds, and fish in the sea." Her eyes went out of focus as she looked out the window. "It is only humankind's fear that causes it to destroy what it doesn't understand."
"Instead of looking for the explanation." He muttered to the coffee. Careful not to stair at her breasts, though from this view point, and that top, not staring was almost impossible. So the rich, dark fluid it was.
"How long would you have stayed where you were? How long would we have been hunters if we had never met?" Her question brought up the self loathing once again. He snarled at his coffee, as if it had offended him.
"You know, in my culture, I was everything you'd want in a man." His snarl didn't ease from his voice.
"I don't know why you speak in past tense." Robin's voice was calm, but almost flat. "In America, you still would be. Right down to the dark and ominous." This did make him feel slightly better. His own culture enjoyed and had great respect for power, and the proper use of it. Not long ago, but certainly before him, said country had shown them what intense power could do. That same power ended a war that would have done far more damage to the world than it already had, if allowed to continue. It was more than a 'sad day' that Japan had become the example. Why had they not just glassed Berlin?
He sighed into his coffee.
"Any your own?" He asked of the small figure that had joined him on the couch.
"I do not have one." Robin said softly, slowly. "I was raised to be a nun. Had never thought of anything else. Nor did I get involved in what the world around me was doing." He was looking at her now, suddenly realizing that she was sixteen, and had no concept of how to live her own life. She wasn't a girl, who would go to malls and movies, or 'hang out with her friends'. She wasn't a woman who would go man chasing, or even consider the possibility of...
"What do you want with your life?" He suddenly asked. Not sure he wanted the answer.
"Don't know." She turned her brilliant eyes up to his dark ones with such a smile, like Buddha's. "It has been only two months or so that it has been MINE and no one else's." She shook her head and shrugged, the light streaming brighter from her. "What would you like for breakfast?" She asked as she rose from their shared seating.
You. He thought as he watched her seat twitch to the kitchen. "Eggs and toast....maybe beacon." He sipped his coffee, amazed at how it never got cold when Robin was around. "I like beacon." His last comment drew a giggle from the creature fixing his meal. She really did sound girlish sometimes....no wonder the confusion at the beginning.
Rasputin hovered at the door, listening intently as the young couple conversed. How Japanese. He thought to himself, saying so much without saying anything at all. He chuckled, and left them to their own defenses, and dances. Things were working out quite nicely all on their own. No need to interfere. He made his way a short distance down the hall, and too the right. Inside was the still sleeping lump of his descendant. Lucy's own favorite grandson.
It had been on board the air plane when the call from the House said that Luccina had died. It was shortly after they landed that Solomon began the bid for ownership of her lands and titles. The accounts in the Caimans responded saying that the heiress (Robin) had not been proven dead, so no transfer was possible at this time. This caused him to chuckle. No other account would allow them full access, just peaks at how much the shrewd woman had amassed over the years. A peak just big enough to make them drool on themselves.
The apartment was sparce, a chair for sitting, and an old TV with rabbit ears for watching. He sighed to himself, after all the centuries, a bachelor was still a bachelor. He tightened his shabby coat around his broad shoulders and breathed deeply. The young man obviously was staying in Robin's home, while himself and her cousin stayed here. One comment of the conditions, though, and true to suit, she'd have this place fixed for kings. The grin broadened as he laid his head back and closed his eyes. Sleep wasn't necessary for the ancient, but a good rest never hurt anybody.
Unto the Toltecs, he taught patience and acceptance. A reverence of all things in being, and an alchemic way of moving in their environment. Later, with a new name, he taught the Mayans Time. This gift saved them the terrors brought down upon the Aztec, who knew Gukumatz as Quetzalcoatl.
As all good fathers, he did as he could to teach his chosen children the difference between right and wrong. Ultimately, though, we would have to chose for ourselves the path we will take. So into the oceans he returned, vowing to come back when our time of greatest need comes upon us. So is the way of the Father.
A shabby figure in a decrepit coat paced the mote that surrounded the once proud site called the 'Factory'. Shaking his head, and muttering in a ancient, strange language, the figure turned back toward the trees with a heavy sigh. They were angry, the trees were, and this was not a good sign. What terrors really did exist here? The man wondered silently at the threshold of the forest. The ancient leaf bearers loomed above him, more than slightly menacingly. Not a leaf moved, nor twig shuddered in response to his own increasing age.
Never the less, he passed beneath their bows, whispering continue-sly to them as he sought their center. Attempting encouraging words and emotions he did not himself feel. He sat on an outstretched root that dug into a small stream which had etched itself a place in the strangle hold of the thicket.
"No bird, no beast. Not even a beetle to keep you company." He sighed in the trees' own language. "No wonder the anger." He sighed again as he gazed into the moving water. Normally, the trees would respond to him, but here, they kept their silence, and a strange distance. "But you have seen her." A leaf quivered, the ancient grinned, they were still listening. "Was she what we hoped?" The same leaf let it's opinion be known by a sudden shiver. The shabby figure straightened, and did not look so disheveled, a wild sort of grin smeared itself across his face. "The time has come for greater things." He announced to the now milky sky.
Amon lay beside the golden haired girl-woman, watching her breathe. His nose inches from hers, he could almost hear her dream. The remaining dark of the morning had past in this manner for the pair. He lay there, pondering what she had said, and she slept the strain of her tears off.
His hand brushed past her cheek of it's own volition, he could only watch it. When did this witch become his world? He wondered to himself. Was he doomed from the beginning? Could he not get away from that which has haunted and tormented him since the loss of his mother. Which by all honesty, was well before she disappeared. He sighed to himself as his caress didn't even stir a reaction across the gentle brow. Was he doomed to loose HER too?
Why he continue-sly clung to this frail creature was beyond him. Had been since since they passed each other in Harry's. She'd always been the difference, made the difference. Since their first hunts together, where she'd played by her own rules. Only obliging the ones she'd been given when it was absolutely necessary. It had been Dogima who had tried to tell her to sit there until she was needed. Even then, Robin had let the comments fly by her as if nothing had been said. Till they realized the true nature of her exitance. Still, Robin did as she saw fit, as she saw was right. This scared him then, and scared him still. One can never trust what an honest person will do...but is it better to do only what society wants you too?
The hand paused at the juncture of jaw and neck, delicately thumbing the bone line. She had been horribly upset over the news of her grandmother. The woman who Robin was raised to think was her mother. The same woman who was supposed to have died in a car crash when the girl was four, or so. Robin's reaction to the old woman's murder triggered something in him that he couldn't quite put a finger on, something that has denied him rest.
It had been a bomb that went off in her mind, and she'd sobbed against him for hours. Uncontrollably. She finally calmed when her body gave out, and at that point, she simply collapsed. All her energy spent, her mind numb and unthinking, hence why he was allowed to stay so close for as long as he has. He sighed heavily to himself. What was it that triggered such a reaction in such a stalwart individual? Robin was not emotionally unstable, or disturbed. He rolled to his back, a furrow found it's way across his brow.
As on cue, the sun chose that moment to rise and settle in through the bedroom window. And, as luck would have it, it laid itself across Amon's face. The man sat up as the bomb that had hit Robin the night before whistled and dropped on him. He was standing, and pacing the living room in less than two seconds. The ramblings in his mind sounding like an excited squirrel.
Everything he knew was wrong. Everything he'd been taught to believe was a lie. All his memories are tainted with these lies...his mother, his father, himself, Robin...all those people he'd hunted and doomed to torture in the halls of the Factory. All of his life was based off the greed of a few people who'd convinced the world that they knew God's plan. These people, who with a straight face, demanded that one turn over one's free will and serve unquestionably. The true nature of 'Power of God' came into full focus in Amon's mind, and it was not Robin who wielded it.
Amon's pacing wasn't letting up, and the rabid squirrel that was his mind was talking faster. He didn't even notice the small figure suddenly standing in the doorway to the bedroom until he ran into her on his way across the living room. Her slight figure not even covered by the tank top and boy cut panties. With her hair in disarray, she looked somewhat comical.
The sputtering squirrel stopped in it's tirade as the image before him shifted. Instead of the vibrantly alive and mostly undressed Robin standing in her doorway, he saw the milky eyed, black draped waif that lay dead on the Factory floor. For just an instance, his mind took him back to the moment where his legs where held crushed under the stone slab that should have been his tombstone, and the woman he'd fallen for lay stretch on cold stone, slightly reaching for him. His heart seemed to stop and crack in his chest, and he pitched forward.
He didn't see Robin leap to catch him as he dropped to the floor, nor did he recognize the moment his head didn't bounce on the hard wood. All he could see was the smoke, and debris that should have buried them both. All he could feel was the heart ache of never seeing her smile again, or hear the sound of her bubbly giggle at his dry, tasteless jokes, that no one else seemed to catch. All he could smell was death, disappear and destruction.
Two other individuals from separate beds, on separate sides of town felt the shift in the energy. The lines of power that surround the Earth tightened suddenly, then smoothed themselves out. One was a chestnut haired empath who instantly started to worry, the other a chocolate haired man. The man snorted and rolled over, pulling the covers over his head, and willing the energy flux to be hidden for the remainder of the rebound. The empath decided then was a good time to go to the office to see if anything was up. Wondering if it had anything to do with Robin....or Amon
Upon reaching the office, she was more than a little disgruntled to find no Michael. No hacker to do the slippery work ready and available. Her brows knitted, as her hand reached the phone, the number on speed dial already called. They should never have let him out. She thought to herself, and decided promptly to keep that thought to herself, until it disappeared or was forgotten.
"Hullo?" A sleepy voice responded after the seventh ring.
"Michael, I need you down at the office." She snapped a little more harshly than she meant too.
"What time is it?"
"Time for work." She was hung up on at this, but her point was taken. He would be here soon, so she grinned to herself and made some coffee. How 'Amon-ish' she thought proudly. She'd always found him devilishly handsome, in that dark, broody sort of way. Eventually, her little infatuation turned into hero worship, and now, she was emulating his manners. Or the lack there of, however you chose to look at it.
Shaking her head, Miho Karasuma shrugged off such old thoughts, and turned her attention to the matter at hand. What was the disturbance? She had felt something like it before, but this carried in waves, not just a sudden burst. Like ripples on a pond, rather than an explosion. The explosion, having had occurred a few minutes before she watched the hunter, Sastre, die. This was like that time, but different. Not as strong, but carried farther, in a radius pattern.
"So what is so damned imp-" Michael was scratching his head, not quite dressed.
"Watch your language!" She folded her arms and eyed him. "I am a lady."
"Could have fooled me." For Amon, he finished to himself as he sat at his computer and begun to crack into secret places. The specifications based on the description of 'Her Lady ships' disturbance. His back hunched, he tried not to take it personally. What would Robin do? He chanted over and over to himself.
"It's only the PTSD, Amon." Robin's sweet voice crooned over his head. "Just the PTSD, everything is just fine." His chest was tight, and he couldn't speak. He closed his eyes and focused on breathing. Blocked out images of people floating in a strange, greenly glowing liquid took hold of him as the world continued swirling in place. If it was only Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, why then, did it feel so real? Like he was still standing there, watching their bodies floating haplessly in fluid, like pickles. How could he smell the warmed wires, and the burn of sterility. How then could he still see the look on Robin's face through the glass as she could only watch in horror. As they all had.
He still felt held in place by massive stone, and his legs weren't responding. Not even a tingle of pain was emulating from them. He gasped for the air he didn't know he was holding and reached a hand up to grasp the soft voice above him. He felt like he was dieing all over again in the middle of a collapse that had ended months ago. Twisted up on the inside and intensely week, he grabbed for anything that would bring stability back to the cracking in his head.
Fine silk is what his fingers found, and wound themselves in. Fine silk in millions of strands. "It's the PTSD, you are just fine." The voice above him was still crooning. "Just think about breathing." The silk shifted and something warm and soft leaned against his clinched fist. "You are safe, and warm, and far from the place that has you captive." The contact made him gasp, and once again he was letting out the air he didn't know he was holding. This caused him to take another breath, and another...
It didn't take long for the floor to returned to it's standard stability, and he could no longer see sickening green glow. He opened his clinched eyes to find Robin's bright green shining down on him with such caring, and admiration. A look he felt he didn't disserve. His chest heaved again, and the pain returned to his legs, which were finally responding. He rolled in place to find his head cradled in the woman's lap, and her fingers pulling his loose hair from his face.
He put his hands down on the floor to push himself up to his knees, but the floor yielded. Ripples on a still pond is what the floor appeared to him, once again his breath caught in his throat. He hid his face back to the lap, trying to avoid the inevitable.
"That would be your craft. Awakened by the stress." Came her soft voice, which was followed by a low grunt as his grip on her became crushing. She was the only stability he could find, so it was the pit of her stomach that forced his face into, and the small of her back that he dug his fingers into.
Robin continued to pet his head and offer encouragement. Telling him repeatedly that all was well, he would adjust just fine. A sudden well spring of intense self loathing, and anger rose like biel rose in the back of his throat. He forced his head lower into her lap, causing her knees to spread just a little. His arms crossed along her lower spine, stopping her from any form of escape. But the caresses didn't stop, nor did the smooth descant of her gentle croon. However, he could smell the woman's sent, this did wonders at changing the format of the clashing conflicts of his mind. His own biology waking up from the emotional stress that had put him in this position.
"You may notice you hear more, smell more, taste more. Some even see thought forms." She was doing her best to bring out the positive side of his body's betrayal. "You have the Water Element, but which fracture, I wonder." She scarcely more than muttered, trying hard to ignore his breath on her inner thigh. Thoughts that had never occurred to her were beginning to surface. His hands suddenly gripped her hips, and he dragged his face up from her lap, his nose scraping against the length of her stomach. To her, it took an eternity for him to reach her breast then loom above her to look her in the eye. His hands still clutching her slender hips.
In his eyes, she looked like a prism of rainbows. The colors ebbed off of her with a swirling light show, falling haplessly through the floor, and feeding the downstairs neighbors something he'd call hope. Ethereal is the word that came to mind, though the slight form now kneeling beneath him was quite solid, and slightly panting.
"Fracture?" His voice almost cracked in his own ears, he wasn't surprised though, as he found his throat quite dry and tight. At his question she nodded, and dragged him to his feet.
"The craft in humans is broken up into pieces. That is why we have so many problems. Some of the pieces are unstable, and can't be handled alone." She headed back to her room, and found some loose fitting trousers. Suddenly feeling quite bare and exposed.
"Craft in humans...?" He repeated, mostly to himself. He watched her walk away, and couldn't help but grin at the sight. She really did have a killer figure. At the thought of running his hands, and other parts of his anatomy, over hers,.He used the sofa to pull himself up, sitting to make sure none of the evidence of such thoughts would be visible by the causal on looker. He looked up in surprise as a cup of coffee, slightly steaming was held in front of him.
"Everything has craft of it's own." She began with a slight grin. "My element can see it, just as yours can. Every blade of grass, every tree. All the birds, and fish in the sea." Her eyes went out of focus as she looked out the window. "It is only humankind's fear that causes it to destroy what it doesn't understand."
"Instead of looking for the explanation." He muttered to the coffee. Careful not to stair at her breasts, though from this view point, and that top, not staring was almost impossible. So the rich, dark fluid it was.
"How long would you have stayed where you were? How long would we have been hunters if we had never met?" Her question brought up the self loathing once again. He snarled at his coffee, as if it had offended him.
"You know, in my culture, I was everything you'd want in a man." His snarl didn't ease from his voice.
"I don't know why you speak in past tense." Robin's voice was calm, but almost flat. "In America, you still would be. Right down to the dark and ominous." This did make him feel slightly better. His own culture enjoyed and had great respect for power, and the proper use of it. Not long ago, but certainly before him, said country had shown them what intense power could do. That same power ended a war that would have done far more damage to the world than it already had, if allowed to continue. It was more than a 'sad day' that Japan had become the example. Why had they not just glassed Berlin?
He sighed into his coffee.
"Any your own?" He asked of the small figure that had joined him on the couch.
"I do not have one." Robin said softly, slowly. "I was raised to be a nun. Had never thought of anything else. Nor did I get involved in what the world around me was doing." He was looking at her now, suddenly realizing that she was sixteen, and had no concept of how to live her own life. She wasn't a girl, who would go to malls and movies, or 'hang out with her friends'. She wasn't a woman who would go man chasing, or even consider the possibility of...
"What do you want with your life?" He suddenly asked. Not sure he wanted the answer.
"Don't know." She turned her brilliant eyes up to his dark ones with such a smile, like Buddha's. "It has been only two months or so that it has been MINE and no one else's." She shook her head and shrugged, the light streaming brighter from her. "What would you like for breakfast?" She asked as she rose from their shared seating.
You. He thought as he watched her seat twitch to the kitchen. "Eggs and toast....maybe beacon." He sipped his coffee, amazed at how it never got cold when Robin was around. "I like beacon." His last comment drew a giggle from the creature fixing his meal. She really did sound girlish sometimes....no wonder the confusion at the beginning.
Rasputin hovered at the door, listening intently as the young couple conversed. How Japanese. He thought to himself, saying so much without saying anything at all. He chuckled, and left them to their own defenses, and dances. Things were working out quite nicely all on their own. No need to interfere. He made his way a short distance down the hall, and too the right. Inside was the still sleeping lump of his descendant. Lucy's own favorite grandson.
It had been on board the air plane when the call from the House said that Luccina had died. It was shortly after they landed that Solomon began the bid for ownership of her lands and titles. The accounts in the Caimans responded saying that the heiress (Robin) had not been proven dead, so no transfer was possible at this time. This caused him to chuckle. No other account would allow them full access, just peaks at how much the shrewd woman had amassed over the years. A peak just big enough to make them drool on themselves.
The apartment was sparce, a chair for sitting, and an old TV with rabbit ears for watching. He sighed to himself, after all the centuries, a bachelor was still a bachelor. He tightened his shabby coat around his broad shoulders and breathed deeply. The young man obviously was staying in Robin's home, while himself and her cousin stayed here. One comment of the conditions, though, and true to suit, she'd have this place fixed for kings. The grin broadened as he laid his head back and closed his eyes. Sleep wasn't necessary for the ancient, but a good rest never hurt anybody.