(But take a deep breath for patience, because I’m not going to get directly to the punch line. Don’t you know me well enough by now to wait for it?)
I’ve been “detained” by the Pure Ones for a few weeks now, not exactly sure how long. But honestly, it’s not like I have anything better to do (evil machinations take time, and there’s really no rush), so who cares. I was wrapped up in a prison of hair—yes you read right, hair!—in the beginning, but at some point, the overly trusting do-gooders decided to let the freak (me) out of its cage.
I spent a few days wandering around the Pure Ones’ complex, exploring, observing, listening. Creeping along like the slippery little…well, creep…that I am.
Most doors don’t open for me, but the common areas do—the kitchen, dining hall, various chambers for entertainment like the study, the theater (someone really likes to play video games), and a few studios for art, music and dance.
Next time I’ll bring my leotard and practice some Pilates, because I just know those eight-pack abs are hiding beneath the skin of my stomach somewhere.
The library is where I spend most of my time when I’m not hiding and plotting (and mostly twiddling my thumbs waiting for visitors) in my own chambers.
I begin to think of the apartment I occupy as “mine,” because people tend to knock before entering, and it even has a lock if I want to keep visitors out. Granted, the privacy and seclusion may only be an illusion. I’m sure my “hosts” can open any door they want whenever they want in their base. For all I know, the place is bugged and I’m on candid camera twenty-four-seven.
Well, if that’s the case, my watchers would have gotten an eye and earful of me belting out golden oldies in the phenomenally acoustic rainforest shower while I bump and grind my boney hips to a beat that only I can hear, swinging my dingdong like a diva with a wired microphone.
All by myself…don’t wanna be, all by myseeeelllfff! Anyyymoooorreee…
I miss my underground karaoke bar, damn it.
Still, it’s a nice illusion. And as my existence seldom features strangely pleasant interludes such as this, I cling to my false sense of privacy and freedom like a vampire tick.
Another room that is accessible to me is the training hall.
Now, you may think, those stupid Pure Ones, have their brains gone soft along with their do-gooder hearts? How can they put Medusa’s number one henchman in the same room as three entire walls of modern and ancient weapons? Do they want to have their throats slit in their sleep?
Well, the Dozen are unfortunately not that dumb. They must know that I am useless in any kind of physical activity. Even fucking. Or getting fucked as is most often the case, despite having more experience in that arena than…there’s no comparison really.
Back to weapons and combat. I can’t fight to save my life. Literally. The thought of fists against flesh or bone, metal slicing through skin and muscle, blood and gore splattering every which way… shudder. I may not mind watching it, like a good horror flick, but I totally mind participating in it (and most likely, being on the receiving end of it). See my aversion to suicide by seppuku above.
It’s a different story if my opponent is immobilized, and all I have to do is torture them. I can easily do that. But only if there’s a point to it, if it’s a means to an end. Unlike my Mistress, for whom torture and pain are both the means and the end.
So perhaps the Pure Ones sense this uselessness and cowardice in me. Maybe they purposely give me access to weapons to trap me into using one so that they can then use my transgression as an excuse to punish or kill me (though that seems more like something my Mistress would do). Whatever the reason, the cavernous chamber where their fighters, or Chevaliers, and the Elite warriors train is open for my visitation.
I go there everyday to observe the combatants. Not to take notes for Medusa, though I should. Just to watch. It’s the one common area where there’s always people, but I don’t have to interact with the people in it.
The kitchen and the dining hall I avoid as a rule because I don’t like to eat and I don’t want to socialize. The library doesn’t have many visitors, especially since the Pure Ones’ Scribe and Seer, Eveline Marceau, is currently not in residence.
In the training hall, people don’t congregate to chitchat. They just practice beating each other black and blue. And I come to watch because my favorite pair of fighters are here, everyday, same time.
Tal-Telal and Liv what’s-her-name.
Since coming across them the first time, the legendary General of the Pure Ones has not asked me again to join them. But every time I slip into the hall to watch the fighters go about their routines from a corner wall, he always acknowledges me with a dip of his head.
For a blind man, he sees better than anyone.
Liv, a human Chevalier, never acknowledges me with action or word, but I know she knows I’m there. I can practically see the invisible hackles on the back of her neck rise whenever I enter the room. It’s obvious I’ve rubbed the little she-man the wrong way since day one, and the feeling is exceedingly mutual.
I’ve seen and observed all of the Elite warriors in action by now.
Let’s start with Cloud, the Valiant. A mysterious warrior of mixed Asian and Slavic heritage if I’m not mistaken. He specializes in distance combat with his long spear, his fighting style fluid and graceful. He seems to inflict maximum damage with minimal effort.
He’s stared at me a few times with those strange, piercing blue eyes of his. From the information I’ve gathered about him, he has the Gift of very strong telepathy. To the point of mind control, or at least extreme persuasion. But aside from a slight headache, I remain unpersuaded by him. Perhaps it’s because my mind is not entirely…whole.
He’s Mated to Aella, the Strategist. This seems to be a relatively recent event, because they can’t keep their hands off each other, and they’re not even paired together as training partners. But then, even I can feel the blast of heat from their mutual attraction and arousal, so perhaps their disgusting PDA is not just because of the honeymoon stage.
Aella used to be an Amazon warrior. Tough as nails and sharper to boot. She has the added Gift of superhuman speed. She’s the one who identified me amongst hundreds of Medusa’s mind-controlled minions despite my disguise, chased me down on the back of a flying white dragon, and took me prisoner. There was nothing I could do. She hit me, the big bully! Bloodied my nose, loosened a tooth, and almost broke my cheekbone.
I may have a slight crush on her for it. But I have enough sense of self-preservation to keep this on the down-low.
Aella is often paired with Tristan, the Champion. If my sources are correct, he used to be a medieval knight. As such, he is the youngest (and therefore weakest) of the Elite warriors, though still formidable. He prefers weapons from that time period—axes, swords, hammers, spiked-ball flails—caveman instruments, in other words, while Aella typically wields weapons in both hands, like her chakrams and short and long daggers.
Cloud is almost always paired with Valerius, the Protector. The warrior with the highest body count amongst the Elite. The one I tried to take down many years ago. Unsuccessfully, I might add. I accomplished my mission in other ways, however, not the least of which was putting a large dent into the Pure Queen, Sophia’s, trusted inner circle, both Elite warriors and Circlet members alike.