Friday, July 10, 2015

Secret Fortress: A short story (RP Based)

This particular story was originally supposed to be an RP thread with another player in one of my games. They wanted to write with me again, so, yanno, I love to write, and anticipated the project. But then they filched on the deal, giving me three months worth of excuses, which frankly, didnt hold a lot of water considering some other things.
But anyway, I took my original post, the starter to the would-be thread, and added to it myself, ending it. I took it down from the RP gaming site, finishing it off for my own closure.

I also have to mention that someone else approached me for RP. We started a thread, talked OOCly a little, and Live RPed in YM a little. Then POOF. He stopped talking to me. He stopped adding to our RP thread. So its just hanging there, and I hate unfinished threads. I'd post whats written, but I would need his permission, plus, he hasnt added on his end and it was his turn.

WHAT IS WRONG WITH THE RP GAMING WORLD?!?! Does my writing really suck that bad. :(

Anyway...on with my solo RP.



Kerala-treehouse-marayoor


She was sitting up in the bed. First achievement.
Nems looked around, still groggy. She didn't really want to be up.
It was time to get up. At least to move and stretch. Maybe even feed. When was the last time she actually fed from a human, up close and personal? She really didn't have a desire to do it, surprisingly. She'd been just fine on the blood Creedy had been sustaining her with.
She stood. Second achievement. Legs were a little wobbly, joints creaking. Creaking like that bloody door that had yet to be fixed.
One step, then another. A shower was accomplished. Attire was put on. Nothing fancy. Nems wasn't the 'fancy' sort. A pair of cut off blue jeans, the ragged ends coming to her knees. A plain navy T-shirt and her favored tennis shoes. The ones with the lime green laces.
Nems looked herself over in the mirror. She brushed her long crimson locks out, thankful that she didn't have unruly hair.
She ghosted through the Asyl as to avoid Creedy. On her way out, she stopped in one particular room, looking at the shelves, slipping an item into her back pocket before making a bee-line for the front doors.
Making a clean get-away, she roams from the long drive to the actual sidewalk and street. She gave pause, thinking of the right direction. Everything was so muddled in her head. The memory was there... the way there; it was a small ember in her mind's eye. A smile played over her lips as that ember turned to spark, and then flame.
She knew the way.
Letting her feet carry her on their course, Nems allowed thoughts to roam and memories to surface. It was warm, summer was coming. The evening birds and other little nocturnal creatures were waking, moving, and starting their little lives now that the sun had taken its nap.
She traveled to the destination that she had dreamed of. Unlike the fantastic places one's dreams took them, this place was very real. Nems felt a little bad. It had been so long. Far, far too long.
Her feet took her from the streets and sidewalks into the woods. She looked here and there, watching little things scurry about on the forest floor. Though her steps were silent, they still knew she was there. The scent of death and blood clinging to her skin like a lover’s kiss, giving the little woodland critters a reason to sniff out such a thing and flee. She was a predator. A threat.
She looked skyward; the branches of the trees making shapes against the night sky. Branches overhead like clawing fingers, lovers seeking to grip on to one another. The leaves were in bloom, blocking out some of the starry canopy of the night. The moon was there, somewhere hidden. It was not full and heavy in the sky. Just a sliver.
Nems came to the place of memory and dreams. She looked up at the mighty oak. Wow… it had grown. But then, what had she expected? It had been years. She looked at how a small clearing around the base of the tree had formed. Its heavy, thriving roots snarling under the surface of the soil, blocking all other root systems from their territory.
Once again, Nems looked upward into the trees sprawling and twisting branches. What she sought was hidden up there. No one knew about it. Well, no one but her other.
Her fingers drifted over the surface of the tree, feeling the life it gave off.
Well, it wasn't likely the giant was going to lean over and scoop her up.
Nems kicked off her tennis shoes and socks. She wiggled her toes in the earth for a moment before touching the tree again. It really had grown a lot. It was a long way up.
With nimble moves and precise placements of hands and feet, Nems scaled the tall oak, navigating through some of the newer, low hanging branches. She could finally see her goal. The slats of wood were still there, and still in good shape. She hadn't expected it to be so.
She climbed up into the small shelter and looked down. Indeed, it was a good ways up.
She then focused on the shelter within the heavy branches itself. It was a Tree-house. A fort. To her other, when they had put it here, a venerable fortress to two mad little women to secret themselves away.
Nems looked over the things that lay here and there. Post-it notes. Some so faded with time, the ink was nearly gone, illegible. Though some were new. Had her other been here?
Books, magazines, newspapers. Trinkets and knickknacks. Mementos. Souvenirs. There were even a few weapons and scrolls hidden in little cubbies. She and her other had thought of everything.
And surprisingly, there was a lack of overgrown mess from the tree. No dead leaves, no stray vines.
The other had been here in recent times, still keeping this refuge comfortable. Nems smiled, thinking of her other fondly. It had been years since they had actually been in this secret place, face to face, giggling, cackling, and conspiring.
Nems moved in the small Tree-house, getting herself comfortable. Threadbare pillows the other had donated to their cause making the place a bit more comfy and homey.
She pulled from her back pocket a book. It wasn't one she needed. She had read it hundreds of times. No, this book was her contribution to the ‘library’. A small row of books lined one wall. She placed the book there, while perusing the others left. There were some new additions. This too, brought a smile to her lips.
She tucked a stray strand of crimson hair behind her ear, choosing a book that seemed interesting, and oh so like something her other would read and want to share.
Leaning her back comfortably against the tree itself, Nems settled in with the book, opening it to page one and began to read.
This night was about remembrance. About a bond. About a time the two women may have forgotten, but apparently didn't.
This quaint, hidden, secret Tree-house built by two determined little women. A fortress of secrets shared and giggles abound.
The smile stayed on her lips as she took an unneeded breath, thinking of her other as she immersed herself in the written words of the well-worn and seemingly much loved book.
Before she knew it, the sky was lightening. Dawn. And she didn’t have time to make it back to the Asyl Manor.
Thankfully she and the other had prepared for such occasions. Nems placed the thick blinds up, and covered any nooks and crannies that sunlight might shine thought with extra boards.
She slept the day away, falling into her deep dreamless slumber like most vampires do.
The next evening, she woke alone.
She waited.
She waited.
She waited.
She hadn’t fed properly, as small woodland creatures were not a fetching meal.
She waited.
She waited.
Frustration and irritation set in.
The bad thoughts rolled around in her little head.
She waited.
She waited.
She wasn’t waiting anymore. It wasn’t her idea to come here. I was to be a clandestine meeting of the feisty redheads from hell.
She waited.
She waited.
Nothing.
She began destroying things. She knock an old oil latern over, letting its contents flow where it pleased.
She pulled pages from books. She took things that were important to her and her alone.
Was she behaving childishly? Oh, hells yes. But that’s what made Nems, Nems. That childish spark that ran through her.
She pulled the lighter from her pocket and set the flammable oil aflame. She stood watching as things burned here and there. The smoke started irritating her. The damned pillows billowed a foul stench from their stuffing.
She went to the opening of the treehouse, slipping out and down onto the ground. At least no one had stolen her shoes.
Slipping the shoes on, she looked up to watch the secret fortress burn. Flames dripped embers and ash onto the forest floor all around her and the base of the tree.
The tree would probably die.
All things die.
Friendships most obviously.
She was grinding her teeth unconsciously. Fidgeting. She had seen enough. She had felt enough.
Nems turned, looking for her way back out of the stupid forest to head home, back where she belonged in her insane asylum she had gutted and remodeled, living with ghosts.

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