The Mansion

"You are not keeping me from anything, Cait. I just got a phone call that my appointment has been postponed to next week. I was in a rush, but not anymore."

He smiled softly at her.

"I know you will be fine, Milady. I have no doubt about that..."

He kept gazing at her, with a slightly worried look in his eyes, knowing that maybe She was the one who needed his attention at the moment. He leaned back against her desk, extending his left hand and stroking her arm gently.

She read his eyes. Studying people is something she does without thinking. People fascinate her. She stepped closer to him, raising her face to his and crumbling a note in her hand.

"There will come a time, M. Soon. Unfortunately," she raised the hand with the note held in it, "I have been just reminded of things that need doing in the RW."

She stood on tiptoe to brush her lips against his.

"Don't worry so, Gentle Tiger. I have need of your solace, greatly so. But for now, I shall have to bide my time."

Richard emerged from his room rested and decided to go and walk around a bit before clamping down and writing some more. Went to the kitchen and grabbed some coffee and went and sat down...he must have slept funny as a pain eminating from his legs was apparent. "hmmm....wonder how I did that?" He said softly and sipped his coffee before plunging into the abyss of creativity in the library.

Richard began to emerge from his creative writings and then had to go. He was sad at leaving but excited at the same time.
He wrote a note and put it in an envelope .
It read
My dearest cait,
Thank you for being such a good friend but I must take my leave of this wonderful mansion for now. I won't be back for a while as I have a project to attend to.
He drew the map required to find him. If you ever want to come and visit in my little house, feel free. I'll be there usually.
Take Care
Your Archangel Friend
Richard
ps- say good bye to Sir Thomas for me. He is such a great man.

He took the envelope and slid it under the door to the closed study.
He opened the front door of the mansion and closed it behind him.
He started running like a child and leapt into the air and flew away happy as a clam.

Stepping into my study I spy an envelope on the floor and pick it up, opening it, as I make my way to my desk and sit down. Pulling free a note I read it. I smile and shake my head, reaching for the mouse on my desktop and pulling him up to communicate with... he forgot to give me the address!

*Foot tapping*......
*More foot tapping* .....

Finally! Ah there we are. Now to subscribe.

Done deal.

Now. To that work on that story, the picture from Veroe's thread inspired in me.

Creative Scribble



“But…. but, I love you, doesn’t that count for anything?”

Her tone was teary but she held back the tears. She knew how they affected him. He would damn near give her anything she wanted just to get her to stop crying.

“Jennifer, it counts for everything, but try to understand where I am coming from.”

“Timothy, I understand you’re a Marine. I understand you’re going to Afghanistan, but why does that have to change anything?”

He sighed, prowled back and forth across the room, his hand lifting to run over his shaven head, from crown to back. They had been over this time and time again. Why was it so difficult for her to understand? There was a good chance he wouldn’t come back. He didn’t want to think like that. He wanted to be optimistic, but given his job, what he did, the fact was, he probably was fodder.

How could he explain that he didn’t want to worry about her worrying about him while he was over there? If he came home a cripple, how could he expect her to live with that? She deserved better. If he came home in a box, he didn’t want her to have to deal with that either.

He stopped pacing and came back to her, his arms slipping around her waist and pulling her close.

“Listen, I’ll make you a deal. This tour is only for a year. If,“ he corrected himself, “when, I come home, I’ll marry you the minute my feet hit the tarmac. Deal?”

Jennifer didn’t understand why this was such a big deal for him. What choice did she have? How could she tell him that a ring on her finger or not, she was going to worry about him every single day he didn’t or couldn’t communicate with her. How could she explain to him that it didn’t matter to her if he came home a cripple. It wouldn’t change how she felt about him. How could she explain that if he, heaven forbid, came home in a coffin, she would still feel the same sense of loss. The lack of a ring wouldn’t change a damn thing about the way she felt.

“The moment your feet hit the tarmac,” she reinforced, “I’m holding you to that, Mister. Promise me.” she poked his chest as playfully as she could muster, for both their sakes.

He drew her against his body, kissing the top of her head tenderly and whispering into her hair.

“I promise.”

His arms slid up her back and became bands of steel across the lower part of her shoulder blades as he held her close. She laid her cheek against his broad chest, her arms tightening around him as she fought to keep the tears down. They had two months left before he shipped out. She was going to do everything in her power to make sure he didn’t worry about her.




Here they were, two months later, standing on the tarmac, holding each other tightly, trying to say good-bye. Everything but those words came out. You can’t stop time from ticking by and it was time to go. He kissed her as long as he dared before he ran off to join the rest of the men leaving. He didn’t look back. She didn’t expect him to. She stayed with the rest of the families until the plane was gone from sight. She got back to her car, but she wasn’t sure how. She opened the door, slid inside and smelled the aftershave he used. It was the last straw that broke the camel‘s back. Her hands came up to her face and she wept. Tearing, body wracking sobs.

Days settled into routine. She got up and went to work. When work was over, she went to the gym and found things to do to fill her nights until she was so tired she simply fell into bed. She tried not to think. About him over there. She couldn’t help it. She had a clock gadget on her computer desktop that told her what day and time it was in Afghanistan.

It was about a month before he popped into her messenger and they could talk. It was brief, but they set up days when he could conference with her on the computer. On days other than that, she wrote him letters, though those, he told her, took forever to get to him and his responses would probably take forever too. She didn’t care. So, she wrote letters and once a month she made up a care package for him. She put silly little things in the box that she knew would make him smile and laugh. She took pictures of herself doing goofy things. She hated having her picture taken and he knew it. She made cookies and stuck them in too, making and sending plenty so he could share.

He never knew what to expect from her from month to month. His packages eventually caught up with him. Some months it was comics and books he wanted to read. Now he knew why she wanted a list of books he wanted to read and a list of his favorite authors. Sometimes there were silly things, like silly putty or slinkies. It was the letters he looked forward to the most. Sometimes the envelopes were so thick. They had started a small role playing story, designed just for this situation and even though it was slow going, he looked forward to seeing what she wrote next. They had met on a role playing site. It was funny how things turned out in the end, wasn’t it? It took months, but they finally met and they had been together ever since.

Having the ability to communicate with him at least once a week kept her going. It was when she had to go without hearing from him for days that she worried. Her tv was always on when she was home, just in case there was any news of some type. Jennifer knew it probably wasn’t healthy but she couldn’t help it.
Six months into his tour, she got a call from the base. Timothy’s commanding officer wanted to speak with her. How odd. They arranged an appointment. For some odd reason, she never mentioned it to Tim. She would wonder about that years down the road.

She came away from the meeting with her head spinning though she was grinning like a fool. Unbelievable. But then, Marines always look after their own and she was finding that they thought of her as one of their own. Now to take care of her side of things. The next three months went by like a whirlwind. Between seeing to things she needed to, conferring with his CO and seeing that Tim got his regular letters and packages, she didn’t have time to think about anything else.




Her eyes opened in the morning and her first thought was...

It’s here! The day is finally here.

Her heart was already beating so fast. She could hardly catch her breath. She sat up in bed pushing the hair back from her face and she glanced at the clock. Twelve hours. She had twelve hours. How was she going to wade through all that time?

Well, first things first. A shower. After that, she managed to find the little things to do, her hair, her nails, finding everything she would need. Then she went downstairs in a robe to fix herself some coffee and a something light to eat. Her doorbell sounded and she went to answer it, opening the door. She smiled and squealed, throwing her arms around her mother, kissing her, then her father, giving him a kiss as well. She ushered them inside.

The helicopter was waiting for her and her parents. They were met by Timothy’s commanding officer. Jennifer introduced everybody. Tim’s CO made arrangements for her parents to meet them at the chapel later. He was bending rules as it was. She hugged both her parents and boarded the helicopter with the commander. She had never been on a helo before. She pressed her hands to her stomach as they took off. She could hear the commander and the pilot talking in the headset. She smiled as the commander asked her something and replied easily. Her eyes went back to scanning the water outside her window.

Then they were landing. They waited inside as the blades stopped rotating. The commander got out first and held the door open for her, offering her a steadying hand, which she accepted gratefully. He spoke close to her ear and she nodded, her head shooting up as she heard the loud cheer of male voices as she cleared the helo. She turned three shades of red. Everyone was on deck. Everyone, her eyes canned the crowd, except for Timothy. Where was he? The commander carefully guided her toward the back of the helo, a finger to his lips before he pointed below. Then he stepped back, keeping a careful eye on her. She found a grip on something, she wasn’t paying attention, her eyes were scanning the crowd below her. Soon enough, the men below parted and there he was. Her Timothy. The man she loved with every fiber of her being. He looked confused. Someone spoke in his ear and she watched as his face turned in the direction of the helo and looked up. As if he was seeing a ghost, he moved toward it. The commander took her arm and guided her carefully down and straight up to Timothy. She was dressed in white, her wedding dress.

“Jennifer, how…” he began and had to stop, "you look...beautiful."

“Your commander and the men of your unit, Tim . They arranged everything and gave me a list of things I had to do.”

“But,” he looked around at the sea of faces. “You deserve better. I don’t look my best and I want to.” She said only two words, holding his eyes with her own.

“You promised.” It took him a moment, then he gathered her close and laughed.

“I promised.”

So, standing on the deck of a ship that was winging its way back to a home port, back to where her parents and his, waited in the base chapel with their friends, where some of his best friends waited with his dress uniform, the chaplain aboard ship married them.


(Poetic license was taken with the end of this tale. Some things, in reality just don't happen.)

He tossed and turned on the bed before waking up. His muscles ached slightly. His eyes were not fully open. He had gone to sleep late last night. He checked his phone for any messages, rose from the bed and walked straight into the bathroom.

He always took a hot shower no matter what the weather was outside. Well, almost always. Letting his body drench in the hot liquid, he let his mind wander...thinking about the events of yesterday, then the past week, and then...the past month...or two. He had traveled a lot. But there was nothing like coming home. Always so sweet and soothing. His mind shifted to the occurrences of last night, bringing a smile to his face, as he lathered up his entire body with soap. It had not been exactly how he had planned or imagined, but the best things are usually spontaneous, and happen when you least expect them to.

He walked to the closet and chose to wear a pair of denims and a red t-shirt today, before heading to the kitchen, and then the library.

The morning dawned brightly and she woke earlier than she had been for the past few days, a sign she was well on her way to catching up on her sleep. Slipping from bed, she paused to stretch and moaned softly as her body decided to complain a little. She grinned as she headed for a hot shower, pinning her hair up as she did so.

The shower was another place, the main one, where she let her mind wander, let ideas and continuations come. She plotted, she came up with plots. She thought about people and she thought about her day. However, she couldn't remain in the shower forever. All the usual things were seen to before she sough out clothes for the day.

Another hot day to come about, so a pair of tan shorts and an emerald green tank top to tuck into it. She left her feet bare to enjoy the feel of the cool flooring beneath them. Making her way to the study to check on her stories and see if anything else clicks while she's there.

She drug herself from study to bedroom, closing the door softly behind her. She'll let Thomas lock up tonight. Clothes are discarded and wherever they fell, so tired is she at the moment. No walk along the shoreline as was her wont, not tonight. She had one post owed to CG and will see to it in the morn. She had a post to compile for WIC that one could wait for a bit yet. She wanted to work on her two creative scribbles but Raven had caught her attention with an offer of a thread they were still ironing out the wrinkles for.

Life in this realm seemed to be re-settling down and she was glad for it. She wanted peace to write, to express, with friends. Life beyond this realm was already wrought with worry, frustration and stress. She didn't want to come here and find it too.

Morpheus was tugging insistently and she simply needed to give in and dance with the Dream Maker.

Tomorrow was a new day.

Journal Entry

Truth is defined by each individual as our hearts and souls tell us what is right. What speaks as truth for one does not speak truth for another necessarily. Truth is a doubled edged blade that can cut another and at the same time, cut the believer.

No matter what rages in the heart, one can not rage against the truth of another. It is theirs, their path, their way. It must be given the respect it is due. There will be times when the truth that belongs to another brings pain and sorrow. There is naught for it, but to carry on.

Sometimes, with truths, there comes a parting of ways. Sometimes, those partings come with relief, some, with sorrow, some with regret. Such is the way of life and mortals.

All we can do is hold our heads high and keep walking, knowing that whatever truths we hold dear and clear, belongs to our own resolute moral compass.

The main doors parted at his presence, his both demanding yet light aura allowing him this freedom of movement. However, these were not his lands. And that had make him respectfully bow his head as he walked into the Mansion. Indeed, the owner had good taste - if anything.

Quietly did he walked through the many rooms. The Great Room had indeed tempted his presence. He even considered falling into one of them, and allowing himself to nap while he awaited for his Hostess. But it would be an insult to fall in the clutches of Hypnos while sitting and awaiting for her. He decided against it, and kept walking around the place - finally allowing himself to await for her in the Library.

Outside, he could see through the small windowns that rain poured from a dark, cloudy sky. Would she arrive home in time and in shape to their rendesvouz? Setting aside such thoughts, he wanderd his finger above most of the books capes. "Il Principe". "Essays on Logic". "The Comnenus Hierarch". "The Mating" ?

He decided to take upon one randomly, and quietly he sat down, awaiting for her. He flushed through the pages, but would not concentrat. Where was she?

Sir Thomas had quietly informed her that she had a guest. She plucked the pencil from between her lips, setting it on her desk to before she got to her feet, taking the tray he was carrying with two frosty glasses of cold apple cider.

"I'll see to him now, Thomas. You may go."

She waited until he departed before leaving her study and walking the short walk to her library, where she stood just inside the door watching her guest. A slight tip of her head and she realized she had met him before, briefly, on the beach of the Outlook. She cleared her throat softly as she advanced into the room, tray in hands.

"Lord Luck, is it not, Milord? It's been awhile since I last saw you. What brings you to my humble home?"

Ah, yes. It was she. The woman that he had once met, and would love to get more intimate until she was taken back by one of her other acquaintances.

"Please, Mistress...", he said as he got up, respectfully laying the book aside. "Call me Luke, Luc, Lucca, Lucas... there's no need of titles when we stand between equals."

He admired her. She was indeed even more beautiful than he remembered - and Luck thought he used to remember bodies quite well.

"I've come to spend some time with you, of course. It was... sad that we had to part ways so eagerly."

She held up a hand, smiling "Call me Cait, Luc." She set the tray on a nearby table, "May I offer you a cold glass of cider?"

"I would love it."

He said, reaching for a glass. Cider. This woman really knew how to please her guests - even those uninvited ones, he reminded himself, his ears growning red.

"I've heard you was quite a charming woman, Cait. And I am pleasant to see that those voices were accurate. A gorgeous and charming Hostess, indeed."

She gave him a friendly smile, gesturing with her hand for him to resume his seat as she chose a chair adjacent to his yet, situated in a way she could look at him directly as she took up her own cider.

"Please, retake your chair, Luc and thank you. My home, I'd like to think, is an extension of myself. Friendly, warm, inviting and open."

He sat down back where he had been awaiting for her, and took a sip from the delicious, well-aged cider. Indeed, that must have costed her a fortune! How would she allow herself to spend so much with her guests?

"Heh. My dearest Cait, that kind of wording could get you into trouble... or are you implying something?"

"Me, implying something, Luc? I seldom imply. I find it's easier to just come out and say something unless, of course, a more subtle touch is required. I suppose," she mulled over his words, "that wording could get me into trouble if I was looking for it." She raised her glass to her lips and let some of the cold cider slide down her throat.

"Indeed. I have no doubt that you'd be far more direct in your approach to engage in conflict. After all, you do possess some finesse..."

He looked to the woman, calculating. She was indeed beautiful. Her tastes were more than fine, as he took one more sip of the wealthy cider, and his eyes darted around the room.

"...I can only guess how could I repay you for the kindness of allowing me here, Cait."

"Conflict?" Her brow rose slightly at that, "Were we speaking of conflict? I thought we were speaking in general terms," she inclined her head slightly, "You are correct however, if the conflict is going to be worth the effort and bear results, I am indeed far more direct. However, if the conflict is not going to produce anything of worth, I will walk away from it."

Her brow remained arched however over his words of 'some finesse'. Surely the man was not blatantly being arrogant in her home, was he? if she thought for one minute he was, Sir Thomas would be in here and tossing the good man out on his ear. However, Cait was not one to make a snap judgement and gave him the benefit of the doubt. She ran a finger idly over the rim of her glass as she watched him.

"Repay my kindness, Luc? Unnecessary, I assure you. Everyone who steps into my house receives my hospitality, openly and honestly. I expect nothing in return."

He could see that his words had a different effect than what he had intended. He was the guest here. He should watch his tongue more properly rather than just speak it aloud. Maybe his tone had shifted?

"It is most gracious of your part, my good Cait, but in my heart, I abide to the Chivalry code. I insist. There's any way I can repay you? Think of this as an offer back, not a repayment."

"How inviting and open would you be, my dearest Cait?"

"I understand well the Code of Chivalry, Milord. Very well then, if you insist. A boon. To be granted when I desire it. Will that suit you, Milord Luc? And as for inviting and open I would be, that, good sir, depends on exactly what you're trying to get at."

Cait had hated court when she was summoned to attend. Undercurrents to words spoken, flirtatious ways without being open about anything. She hated it. She was not some coy lady to play games. She preferred men to deal with her straight up and openly. She didn't know Luc yet. Again, she'd give him leeway and the benefit of the doubt as to what kind of man he truly was. A simpering fool of court or a man who knew what he wanted and didn't give a bloody damn what anyone thought for saying so.

"Indeed it would be. I am in your debt until you require me this favour of yours. I would be more than happy to oblige."

He said. He could feel, however, that Cait somewhat disregarded his flirts. Perhaps she was not used to the courtly manners. Perhaps she despised them. Luc would not dare to go so far and to keep her in a game she knew not about - or hated once perceived it.

"I really do not wish to be imposing, my dear Cait.", he started once again,"However... I would surely... wish to get far."

"I mean you no offense, Cait, but I have more than once heard about your beauty and your wisdom, and I confess that both call upon my desires. And now, as I see you again, my heart tells me I do desire... you."