10-11-2016, 07:24 PM
That wasn't true. He had the strength to sit up but not the will. Jaxen sunk back into the mattress, limbs heavy, lids low. It was like he was drugged. Having had his fair share of drugs in his day, he recognized the sedation. At the same time, he almost didn't care. Almost.
He grappled with his senses, pushed his lids high and clawed his way to one elbow, forcing himself to look around. He wasn't a prisoner. No chains shackled his joints. He was light-headed though, and the idea of standing made him nauseous. So he was a prisoner in his own body, apparently.
"Petra?"
He remembered her in the library. He met her in the archives room. Then nothing but fuzzy movements and abstract thoughts. The interim was gray and formless. If he could just concentrate.
Then a voice like a hiss licked the air. "There, there trickster. You are in no danger of dying."
Jaxen whipped his face around, reeling at the sudden bout of nausea summoned by the centrifugal force in his head. She stood in a doorway, a figure split into thirds, hovering back and forth. Jaxen made himself focus. His eyes wouldn't look upon her. It was almost like his gaze slid off her completely. "Petra? Is that you? What's going on?"
He touched his temple, swaying and sinking back into the mattress. He remembered seeing blood beneath his head, but he was too dizzy to care.
The voice slithered closer, and fear clenched Jaxen's spine stiff. She was no snake. Although her stride was serpentine, her limbs and hips swaying, no scales dotted her skin. Her eyes weren't slits. She leaned low over him. The ends of her hair tickled his cheeks. Her breath smelled metallic.
"You seek something, trickster. You will bring me what you find."
She curled her nails down his cheek, and Jaxen was almost soothed by the motherly touch. His lids slid low. Had he been drinking again? He'd never been drunk like this before. His thoughts slid away. In their place, a fountain of desire erupted. Desire to obey this creature of myth, legend and beauty. He blinked, fighting the sense.
"You said you were a professor,"
he managed to spit an accusation. His hands curled into fists. He wanted to get away from her.
"I lied,"
she answered. Leaning low, her hair puddled on his face and her lips nibbled his earlobe, whispering a secret she held for thousands of years. "My name is Sybaris,"
she whispered, licking his ear. Jaxen shivered. The name pierced his mind.
A pinch on his neck and he winced, but quickly grew sleepy and relaxed. She smelled like perfume mixed with death. When she leaned away, he missed her. His eyes longingly sought hers.
She touched his lips with her finger, and a metallic taste flickered across his tongue. The final warnings in his mind receded, and he quickly fell asleep.
Midnight
He woke in his bed in the hotel suite from a horrible nightmare. Snakes wrapped their unhinged jaws around his ankles, having pulling him into swamp waters. Panting, he clutched his chest like his heart was going to beat out of the ribcage. Sweat clung his shirt to his torso. He must have been napping and overslept. The windows were dark. He rubbed an ache from his neck, and vowed to down a long swallow of vodka as soon as he could. He needed his bearings. That was a hell of a dream.
Rubbing his mouth, his eyes. Why did he feel like he had a hangover? That was a good, long nap. Shit! Too long! He realized, looking at the clock. It was already past midnight. He should be breaching the library right then.
Jumping from bed, he gathered his things, already forgetting about the strange nightmares.
Edited by Jaxen Marveet, Oct 11 2016, 07:27 PM.
He grappled with his senses, pushed his lids high and clawed his way to one elbow, forcing himself to look around. He wasn't a prisoner. No chains shackled his joints. He was light-headed though, and the idea of standing made him nauseous. So he was a prisoner in his own body, apparently.
"Petra?"
He remembered her in the library. He met her in the archives room. Then nothing but fuzzy movements and abstract thoughts. The interim was gray and formless. If he could just concentrate.
Then a voice like a hiss licked the air. "There, there trickster. You are in no danger of dying."
Jaxen whipped his face around, reeling at the sudden bout of nausea summoned by the centrifugal force in his head. She stood in a doorway, a figure split into thirds, hovering back and forth. Jaxen made himself focus. His eyes wouldn't look upon her. It was almost like his gaze slid off her completely. "Petra? Is that you? What's going on?"
He touched his temple, swaying and sinking back into the mattress. He remembered seeing blood beneath his head, but he was too dizzy to care.
The voice slithered closer, and fear clenched Jaxen's spine stiff. She was no snake. Although her stride was serpentine, her limbs and hips swaying, no scales dotted her skin. Her eyes weren't slits. She leaned low over him. The ends of her hair tickled his cheeks. Her breath smelled metallic.
"You seek something, trickster. You will bring me what you find."
She curled her nails down his cheek, and Jaxen was almost soothed by the motherly touch. His lids slid low. Had he been drinking again? He'd never been drunk like this before. His thoughts slid away. In their place, a fountain of desire erupted. Desire to obey this creature of myth, legend and beauty. He blinked, fighting the sense.
"You said you were a professor,"
he managed to spit an accusation. His hands curled into fists. He wanted to get away from her.
"I lied,"
she answered. Leaning low, her hair puddled on his face and her lips nibbled his earlobe, whispering a secret she held for thousands of years. "My name is Sybaris,"
she whispered, licking his ear. Jaxen shivered. The name pierced his mind.
A pinch on his neck and he winced, but quickly grew sleepy and relaxed. She smelled like perfume mixed with death. When she leaned away, he missed her. His eyes longingly sought hers.
She touched his lips with her finger, and a metallic taste flickered across his tongue. The final warnings in his mind receded, and he quickly fell asleep.
Midnight
He woke in his bed in the hotel suite from a horrible nightmare. Snakes wrapped their unhinged jaws around his ankles, having pulling him into swamp waters. Panting, he clutched his chest like his heart was going to beat out of the ribcage. Sweat clung his shirt to his torso. He must have been napping and overslept. The windows were dark. He rubbed an ache from his neck, and vowed to down a long swallow of vodka as soon as he could. He needed his bearings. That was a hell of a dream.
Rubbing his mouth, his eyes. Why did he feel like he had a hangover? That was a good, long nap. Shit! Too long! He realized, looking at the clock. It was already past midnight. He should be breaching the library right then.
Jumping from bed, he gathered his things, already forgetting about the strange nightmares.
Edited by Jaxen Marveet, Oct 11 2016, 07:27 PM.