ATM II RPG

[Celuien]

Sniffling and rubbing her nose with a piece of disintegrating Kleenex, Panakeia watched Skittles scurry and backflip out of the billiards room. Panakeia had come to accept that oddity reigned in Mordor, but this insane child was the oddest thing she had encountered yet. Except for her own placement under a pool table. Panakeia couldn't remember entering the room, much less huddling under furniture. Of course, in her distraction over Anakron, anything was possible. She couldn't really remember anything clearly between Anakron's last words to her and Skittles' dangling over the edge of the table.

Panakeia burst anew into tears at the memory of Anakron's harshness. She knew that some of the fault was her own. Her insinuations about the blonde were entirely unjustified, and not even relevant to her visit. Not in the least. She only wanted to speak with Anakron and to hear an explanation for his cancellations. But in her weariness and frustration, she foolishly had allowed the words to be spoken. And words were dangerous, perhaps even more dangerous than the switchblade she had spotted on her bizarre visitor.

But maybe, just maybe, it had all been for the best. Anakron clearly no longer cared for her. Better to know now than to wait through another year of dates and games, pleasant though the meetings would have been. They always were. Her lip quivered.

Of a sudden, Panakeia noted that the world looked as though she viewed it through the swirling waters of a fishbowl. A sound like that of a pipe-organ faintly echoed in her ears, and her gaze seemed to search far away. In other words, she was having a flashback.

~*~

Panakeia stood in a green field watching her father jump his horse as the horse jumped a hedge. He missed.

"Ouch!"

"Oh, father. You shouldn't be jumping horses."

"I'll not have me own daughter telling me what I shall jump and not jump. It's my own neck, so it is."

"Whatever."

"If anyone's to do the telling here, it's me that'll do it."

"Whatever."

"Just remember, Miss Panakeia O'Harad. Taräê - land - is the only thing worth fighting for - worth dying for! Except for prime-time advertising slots, which make an entirely different category altogether. D'ye understand me?"

"Whatever."

~*~

The music faded, and Panakeia stood glassy-eyed in its aftermath. Yes, that was the answer. Though her father's lectures often rambled and made little sense, particularly after a missed saddle left his wits scattered, sometimes he did make a good point. She would go back to Taräê. The tests to allow her egress from Mordor were passed a year ago. There was nothing to stop her from leaving. She would tell Anakron of her decision, and say her farewells to him. For the last time. The thought made her nose and eyes twitch. But tomorrow was another day. Anakron could hate her, but she would always care for him. And perhaps, when enough tomorrows had passed, he would regret leaving her. Then he would come to her. But he would be too late. She didn't need him. She didn't need anyone. She would survive, even if she used every box of Kleenex in Mordor, which was a distinct possibility; her tears were pouring again at the image of an aged, pitiable Anakron seeking his long lost love.

She would tell Anakron after the conference ended for the day. She would tell him, and then go home.

[Lhunardawen]

Maika had sat back down on her pre-Alli's intrusion seat after Igör - whatever he was doing there - announed the return of Skittles...who just sped off again. She gently scratched her head, narrowly missing one of the chopsticks. It was getting increasingly difficult for her to keep her annoyance in check, and the awkward silence that followed the exchange between the Grand Anakronist and his girlfriend did not help matters. Maika exasperatedly threw both her hands up in the air and let gravity bring them down, which it did - towards the tabletop. The loud "Bang!" that ensued earned the surprised attention of everyone in the room.

The little young lady pushed her chair away from the table, silently cursing the gravity that reddened her knuckles without any help from Roggie, but from an innocent table, and stood up without bending in one fluid motion.

"Do you realize what we're doing?" She fought to keep her voice even, and walked towards the space between her two fellow ambassadors. Every step she took generated a soft tapping sound that was amplified by the silence in the room, lending her an aura of authority. Remember the moments before your terror of a mathematics or some other creepy class teacher distributed the exam papers? It was something like that.

"You mean aside from sitting around and waiting for Skittles to happen?" came a mutter from Anakron's direction. Maika threw a sideway glance at him, and continued.

"We're wasting our time, wasting our presence here, momentarily disobeying Alli, and procrastinating. No wonder we're all in Mordor."

Dracomir opened his mouth to protest but Maika cut him off, seeing the disapproving look on Lola's face - given by her slightly, seductively pouted lips.

"I like you, Lola," she sighed, effectively hiding her rolling eyes, "but can't you do...whatever it is you're doing...some other time? We have work to do."

With that she spun on her cigarette-thin heels and strode purposefully towards the door, letting them follow if they will. And if they won't, she felt quite confident that she and Skittles can handle it. If only she felt even just half as confident that she can find her. Maika wondered if it will help her to do cartwheels along the way.