Okay, so I'm goint to post here the trial run (aka: please-give-Kaya-feedback) of a story I've been working on for quite a while now. I'll start with chappy one, then go from there, depending on how it goes. Enjoy ^^

                                       Chapter One
  
                I hate crowds. It’s a simple fact. So why do I find myself in the biggest crowd within 30 miles of where I live? Because it is the Autumn Leaf Festival, that’s why. For those people who are not familiar with the wonderful Autumn Leaf Festival (which, I’m assuming, would be just about every person in existence minus a few thousand), allow me to explain. The infamous ALF is a small, carnival-like celebration, set up for the purposes of hosting the small town of Clarion, Pennsylvania’s largest possible get together. It comes around once every year, bringing with it a whole assortment of exotic things. Food stands proffering everything from French fries to funnel cakes, gyros and fried steak on a stick, even the occasional candy stand; they all vie to grab a person’s attention. They use misleading flashy signs and deceptively good-smelling food. There are rides, and games, and trash cans teeming with discarded paper cups and who-knows-what else.
          
                 Even worse, is the human aspect of it. Bodies press against one another, weaving between stands and over the electrical cords that are essential to running all the rides. Those same electrical cords are also essential to tripping dozens of unsuspecting persons. The noise factor is outrageous; music plays from some unknown source, blasting out the latest Taylor Swift and Tim McGraw. This is, amazingly, almost drown out by the obnoxiously eardrum-blasting roar of human voices. An overwhelming smell of sweat and greasy carnival food fills the air, and the grass is trampled down to little more than slightly discolored mud.
 
                  Every person within at least 45 miles has to be present, as a rule. There are houses hosting beer parties just down the residential streets, and businesses open with special sales all down Main Street. It’s like a huge family reunion for the whole town, the annual get together where a person is sure to find anyone they’re looking for. Kids drag their mothers, fathers, pet gerbils, and anything else that happens to move along with them on their wild run through the festival. Aunts and uncles ferry their nieces and nephews around like large dogs; even grandparents show up, if for nothing more than the memories that come with the lights and sounds. People from miles away flock to the disgusting scene, just for the novelty of it, the pure amazement that comes from watching such a waited-for event play out in such a small town.
 
                   Every year, it is the same festival, in my opinion; the only exception being that it gets worse with every passing time. But to everyone else, each year holds an entirely different experience.
 
                    As I gaze around myself, contemplating how hot it would have to be to drive the crowds back to where they came from, I can’t help but internally cringe. Even with my long hair draped across my face, I still have the feeling that all these people are staring right at me. In my mind, they glare coldly at me, judging the girl with the black clothes and thick eyeliner.
You see, I’m not exactly what you’d call Goth, but with my midnight hair and dark fashion sense, a lot of questions tend to arise.
                     Did I mention I hate crowds? I don’t even go to school assemblies; I spend lunches tucked away in one of my many hiding places. I’m what you’d call slightly anti social. Of course, my two best friends, Tori and Cal, don’t really care about that. My reclusive habits are more of a mild annoyance to them than an actual problem; they drag me along on their crazy schemes regardless of my protests. You’d think that with all the time we spend around each other, people would be used to seeing the three of us in the same place. But it never fails that someone will stop and stare when we so much as walk down the street. I do have to admit, we make an odd group at face value. Tori, with her small, bubbly form and penchant for pink; Cal, with his wallflower country boy looks; and me, the freak with an attitude.

                       All day I subject myself to being dragged around the festival by them. And around we go. Ferris wheel, the hurricane, the salt & pepper shaker… Name some obscure, seldom heard of ride, and we probably ride it. Tori, being the force of nature that she is, bounds from one thing to the next with an almost endless store of energy. Cal and I follow more slowly behind, as we tend to do. By around 4, we have exhausted all and any rides Tori has laid her eyes on. Naturally, this means it’s time to start on the games; my pleas for a rest are ignored.

                       Cal, after little persuasion on Tori’s end, breaks out the basketball skills he is so little known for, and wins Tori one of the big prizes. It is a huge panda bear, with a head bigger than my own, that almost completely hides Tori beneath its massive body. Tori is overjoyed. She proudly totes around her prize while clinging tightly to Cal’s hand as we continue to make our way through the elaborate scams around us. Between Cal and me, she looks like some five year old kid of ours. I shake my head quickly at the thought of Cal and me sharing a kid. Gross-nasty.

                      “OhmyGod, Deserei, look!” Tori screeches in my ear, eagerly pulling Cal off at a right angle. Set up at yet another stand is a huge pool filled with goldfish in various stages of dying. You guessed it. It’s that stupid, rip-off bottle game. The one where you have to take this ping pong ball and throw it into the sea of bottles they have set up, hoping to land it in one of them. I glance at the poor goldfish. These are the prizes, the beautiful sales trick meant to lure small children into the game by beckoning them closer with the promise of a living creature in exchange for their wasted money. Tori is, apparently, one of said small children. I follow her pensively with a mixed look of one part pity, two parts disgust.

                        It is that exact moment that Tori chooses to turn on me with the doe eyes. Now, I don’t know if you’re familiar with the doe eyes, similar to the puppy dog eyes, but whether you are or not, you should know that Tori sports them on a whole new level. With her innocent, angelic figure, and large, enchanting green eyes, the look is simply impossible to deny.

                         “Des…” she whimpers pathetically “Des… you’re a ping pong goddess at this game…”

                        “Oooohhhh nooo…” I say, throwing my hands up in defense, trying uselessly to avoid her unwavering gaze. “No, no, no, no, no. Nooo, I will NOT win you one of those-“ I mentally scrounge for an adequate deion. “- those mid-to-death, cold-blooded vertebrates!”

                        “But just LOOK at them…” she says, turning her sights sadly to the goldfish pool. God. How am I supposed to resist THAT?? “They look so sad…”

                          “Yes, and I know you. If I win one of those for you-“ I gulp, trying to regain my train of thought as she turns back to me, still wearing the eyes. “If I- if I win- if you get one of those- and it dies- and and- you’ll cry- and then… Gah! Fine! I’ll win you the stupid fish!” I huff in exasperation and pull out my wallet, trying in vain to ignore Tori’s squeals of joy. And of course, I’m the one who ends up carrying our new dying friend.

                        By around 6, it is officially dark out. With the darkness comes a renewed sense of energy. I’m a terrible insomniac, a creature of the night at heart, and the night brings out a different, bolder side of me. I throw my head back, breathing in the warm summer air, tossing my hair out of my face for the first time today. Tori smiles a toothy grin, one I take no time in returning, and grabs my hand. After sharing a quick, unspoken conversation, Tori and I take off, dragging Cal along behind us. We snake around and through crowds, miraculously avoiding all the bodies in motion. When we come to the road, we all release each other’s hands, and throw ourselves into an insane race. Three sets of feet beat paths down the pavement, me in the lead. Before we’ve gone too far, I spin back to face my friends, and grab Tori up into an odd sort of dance. We spin along, laughing crazily for a moment more. Finally, we all slow to a stop, heaving for breath.

                         “Are you,” Tori says with a smile, attempting to catch her breath, “totally mad? Insane? Do you have any idea…” she looks up at me, smiling wider “how LONG I’ve been waiting for you to lighten up like that?!” I laugh so hard, I have to press my hand to my mouth. I laugh until my sides hurt, almost like I’m drunk.

                          All night, that same restless energy follows us around. We chase shadows, and buy pizza, shake hands with random people, and eventually find ourselves back at the park where the center of the festival has been set up.

                         “Look, it looks like they’re going to have music!” I say a little too loudly, eyes wide like a child who’s been given a particularly cute stuffed animal. The gazebo in front of me has been adorned with Christmas lights and sound systems, and some older couples are setting out frayed quilts on the ground. I turn to Tori. “Get us some good seats, fast! I’ll be right back.” Then, with a wink, I spin and run off to find ice cream. Yes, ice cream. At 11 o clock at night, in the middle of September, I am craving ice cream.

                         When I return, somehow miraculously balancing three separate cones (one vanilla, one chocolate, and one twist); Tori and Cal have found us seats, as instructed. I smile and plop down between them, so we form a sort of triangle. I hand out the ice cream, careful not to drop any, giving Tori her twist and Cal his plain vanilla.

                       “I simply don’t know how you can eat that disgusting stuff,” I comment, wrinkling my nose at Cal’s. “Vanilla is an adjective, not a flavor. When something is vanilla, it is plain and boring.” Cal, being Cal, only shrugs and proceeds to methodically relieve his cone of its nasty vanilla contents. He is unscathed by my sarcastic insults. It’s a talent of his, I swear.

                        My train of thought is brought to an abrupt halt though, as I am hit over the head with a two by four. Not really, but that’s what it feels like. The guy who has been up until now setting up on our little gazebo has begun playing. His voice catches me by surprise. It is something completely out of this world; enchanting and melodic. The absolute personification of perfect tune and pitch. My eyes, of their own accord, find their way to his face. Standing on the gazebo, framed in old icicle lights and small town dwellers, is a miracle on earth. There is just no other way to describe him. His hair is the color of pure spun gold, and falls in jagged shards almost down to his brows. He wears loose clothes that complement a decent build, and stands so sure of himself that it would take serious determination for most people to go against him. But the most truly stunning thing about him, the thing that really sticks, is those eyes. They are cerulean blue, deep and pure, and seem to be staring straight into me. His eerie, unearthly melody washes over me, accompanied by those eyes and that voice, and I find myself drifting off to a different time, a different place. His guitar has a mind of its own, and his song weaves the most beautifully terrifying things into my thoughts.

                        All too soon, he stops. I bl
ink, confused and disoriented for the merest second, and slowly allow myself to return to the present. In a show of incredible willpower, I force myself to take my eyes off of him. “Did you… did you hear that…?” I say, stumbling over my words as I turn back to my two companions. They are not, I am shocked to find, anywhere near as ruffled as I am.

                        “Well, of course we heard that!” Tori says with mock hurt. “That guy was amazing! How could we have not heard that??” she then launches into a discussion with Cal about what musical category the guy’s voice should be put in. Boring stuff, all technical and such. I sort of tune them out, simply waiting for the next song to begin. I WILL be buying this guy’s CD. Only, the next song never comes. I chance a peek towards the gazebo. I could honestly cry at what I see. Guitar Guy has officially disappeared, and in is place is some scrawny kid whom I’m sure isn’t even in the same league as him. Without really thinking, I shove off the ground and dash over. Kind of impulsive, I know, but drastic times call for stupid plans… or something like that. By the time I make it to the inept drummer boy, I am pushing back panic at the thought that I might lose track of Guitar Guy for good.

                         I stand awkwardly, shifting my weight from foot to foot. This guy is oblivious. I clear my throat, so painfully obviously trying to get his attention without actually disrupting him. My composure is quickly wearing thin, though, and when he finally does turn, my words come out in an angry gush.

                       “Hey, did you see where that other guy- the one before you, and I just- I mean, I really need to- and he just kind of- if you could only-“

                        “Des, come here!!” Tori says, abruptly grabbing me by the wrist. She jerks me forcibly away from my poor questionee, leaving a very bewildered looking drummer.

                          “But- I- he- the guy with the-“ I protest uselessly as I’m pulled along.

                       “Hurry up, before it disappears or something!” Cal shouts from further away. He motions impatiently for us to move faster.

                        Tori drags me through crowds and around the towering civil war monument until we make it back towards the tree line. There are no rides or stands or anything back here, so light is more or less nonexistent. It takes a moment for our eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness, and Tori finally releases her hold on my wrist. I think I might have bruises developing there, shaped to the delicate lengths of her fingers.
                        
                          When our eyes finally begin to make up for the lack of lighting, there is no mistaking what is in front of us. I have to bl
ink a few times before I can be satisfied that I have, in fact, gone thoroughly insane. Because, you see, what stands before us, in all its seven foot glory, is a portal. Simple as that. Your average, black and white, sci-fi variety, swirly random mass of vaporizing portal.

                          Without a word, Cal takes a step closer. My eyes widen, and I grab his arm, laughing nervously.

                           “Where are you going??” I demand timidly, with that same, disbelieving half smile. “We just found a random portal, in the back of the public park, in the middle of the night, and your first instinct is to walk into it??!” Cal smiles in return, calmly extricating his arm from my hand.

                            “Well, I don’t see how else we’re going to find out what’s on the other side.” With that, he takes four more steps and steps directly into the portal thing. My jaw drops. Finally, I turn to Tori, looking for her to shed some rationality on the situation- only to find that she’s following him!

                          “What- what the hell are you guys doing?” I yell, stumbling after them. I jerk to a stop just before I reach what appears to be the edge of our new mystery of science. My friends are insane. That is all I can conclude about the situation. I look upwards, speaking to nobody in particular.
                       “Oh, what the hell. Not like I’ve got anything better to do.” That being said, I step straight into what could quite possibly be my sudden and certain death. Brilliant, I know.

Seems interesting, though watch out-- your main character is one I've seen before. 

night: you've seen her before?? O.o Deserei is completely my own creation....
det: oh yeah, sry bout that. ive recently edited this chapter a bit, and i jst havent gotten a chance 2 transfer the revisions onto here. hopefully will have that fixed & the nxt chap up by tuesday ^-^ thnx for the feedback!!

FINALLY! sorry it took me so long to update, major life/comp issues >.<;;. ANYWAY. Chapter one edited, although I know the end is kinda rushed. I will eventually get around to fixing that. Chapter two about to be posted, Chapter three coming soon (hopefully) *crosses fingers* thanks for being so patient!!!

Chapter Two

                   When my mind once again begins to register my surroundings, I first come to realize that I am not, in fact, dead. At least, I don’t think I am. There is a green glow, like midday sunlight being filtered through a canopy of trees, which sheds light to everything around me. I seem to be in some sort of dense forest, with huge trees that seem to be untouched by any human interaction. There are leaves bigger than my hand, some large and heart shaped, some long and spindly. Small sounds drift to me, much as you’d expect in any normal forest, a sure sign of life. But something seems off about them. It’s almost like listening to a remake of an old favorite song; still the same song, just not quite what you’ve known. The ground is softer underfoot than I’m used to, and the air is thick and clear.

                    Tori and Cal, who have had a moment more to adjust already, are standing near me sharing similar reactions to our newfound surroundings. My attention is consumed, however, by what seems to be the biggest change between there and here.

                    “The sky… is red?” Cal says loudly, following my gaze upwards. Dazedly, I nod my agreement.

                    “Freaking fuchsia...” I murmur, unable to take my eyes away from the unusual sight. The sky is pure crimson; almost like the deep red that would result from a beautiful sunset. Only in this case, the color covers the whole sky in an even, unending shade.

                    “No sun, either, for that matter,” Tori adds, turning slowly to look at all she can see from her limited position on the ground.

                     “Where’s the light coming from, anyway? I mean, it’s obviously got to be coming from somewhere.” I ask, stating the obvious.

                    “I don’t know,” Cal responds, rubbing his hand along his chin. That’s what he always does when he’s thinking about something particularly challenging. “I’ve never seen anything like this before, ever. Certainly not from this earth.”

                    “Or, should we say, that earth.” Tori smiles, first at me, then at Cal. When she speaks again, it’s with an early 40’s movie star accent, and she’s looking down at an imaginary dog. “Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.” Conceding to how great that joke should be in this situation, I can still barely manage even a faint chuckle. The trip through the portal has left us all in a bit of a deadweight mood. The only thing I want to do just now is turn around and go right back the way we came. But that’s not really an option, seeing as our swirly transportation device has disappeared. Way to leave us stranded, O Mysterious Gate to God-Only-Knows Where.

                   “Okay, seriously,” Tori continues, looking uncharacteristically serious. “What do we do now?” She looks around at us, taking in our appearances one by one. Cal, quiet as he is, seems to be lost deep in thought. With his cool demeanor and steady build, he could almost pass as unshaken. We know better. I, as well, am quickly forcing myself into a composed state; on the outside, at least. Tori is simply waiting for someone to tell her what to do.

                  Cal, acknowledging her inquiry as to what to do next, shrugs and wraps his arms casually around her shoulders. This being in charge thing is not, as he often says, in his area of expertise. Nor is it in his large, multi-faceted job deion. To answer Tori’s question, that leaves me.

                  Seeing as nobody else is going to come up with anything, and the likelihood of them rejecting any plan at all is low, I figure I might as well give it a shot. Never hurts to try, right?

                   “Okay. Here’s the deal,” I begin, talking as I think. I’m completely winging it, and this is totally gonna be hashed out of nothing, pulled out of nowhere, but at least it’s something. “There’s gotta be someone- or even something around here somewhere. I mean, anything’s got to be better than sitting around where we are now.” I take another look at our surroundings, noticing the multiple paths going through the trees. “We’ll stay together, that way no one gets lost or anything. Now… we shall go…” there are two prominent paths before me, one to my right and one to my left.

                    I nod. “Left. We’re defiantly going left.” With a small, hidden smile, I start off down the chosen path. Always the odd one out; left is my favorite direction.

AAAANNNDDD just to further apologize for the late updating and all... Here's an extra scene meant to be a sort of preface. Got some good reviews from friends, think it might be worth posting. Thanx for reading! ^^

         “Have you ever wanted to be something great?” I wonder idly. My voice drifts out into the quiet fog, and I’m not sure if he even hears me because for a while my words just hang there, unanswered. The soft, damp groundcover shifts slightly beneath me, squirming to accommodate my weight. I’m about to repeat myself when, slowly, his voice drifts back at me.
  
          “You are something great.” Bull *censored*, I think irritably. But the anger doesn’t have a place to hold onto, and is gone almost as quickly as it came, like water boiling and evaporating all within the space of a minute. It’s perfect out here, and something about the air seems to call for calm. There is a muted feeling to everything, making anything too sharp seem out of place. My thoughts move on quickly.
  
           “What about you, Hero?”

            “-Don’t call me that-” he interjects sternly. Ignoring him, I continue.

            “What have you done with yourself all these years?” His eyes flicker over to me before settling back on the sky, his face nearly a mask of indifference. But when he starts to speak, the façade slips, and I catch another glimpse at the maybe person he tries so hard to hide.

              “Someday, I want to be a sailor. Get myself a boat; I don’t wanna go somewhere nobody’s been before or anything, nothing ground breaking like that. I just want to sail. I can't really explain why- maybe because it’s kind of like flying, and the ocean doesn’t care whether or not you have wings.” His eyes never leave the sky, but I have a feeling he’s not seeing the same red canvas I am. A slight wind picks up, carrying a crisp, musky smell of autumn. It ruffles through the soft, downy feathers on our wings, and I’m caught by the spell of this place.

               Around me, everything lays under a slight grey hue. Fallen leaves paint the ground, not vibrant in their autumn colors, but rather faded, like a photograph that might hang in a small town diner. Trees move slightly with the wind, clinging to the last vestiges of summer.

               “At first, I hated this place.” I say slowly, rolling over and propping myself up on my forearms. I stroke Malelay’s red-black feathers, wondering over their very existence. “It was strange, and complicated. Nothing was the way it was supposed to be, and I didn’t know anything about anything. I felt so lost. And I hated that.”

               He looks at me with eyes slightly narrowed as though in irritation, but does not move away from my hand. I may be imagining it, but it looks like there’s a glint of curiosity in his face. My fingers continue to explore his wing, and my thoughts resume their verbal state.

                “But now… there’s a kind of beauty about it. I look around, and all those strange things have become wonderful.” I smile at him, openly showing the sharp white tips of my teeth, then fold my wings a bit closer to myself. “I think I’m warming up to the idea. Reality’s sorta growing on me, you could say.”

                 Finally, Malelay breaks away, pushing himself to his feet. From my view point, I can still see that frustrated look plastered across the side of his face, more anger now than anything.

                “I’m going back,” he says, looking at me as he says it, almost in a growl. For the first time, I can clearly see his teeth when he speaks. Then he turns back around and is gone before I can even make it to my feet. I sigh.

                “That went well,” I mutter to myself, brushing the dust off me. For a second there, I thought I had him. Instead, it seems all I’ve managed to do is make him mad with me. Damn.

I think this is great. Love the formatting and long sections. Long, but not too long. Short enough for you to really understand what is going on. I love it!

thanx so much. you guys have no idea how much your feedback means- keeps me writing, for sure. chapter three hopefully coming soon; a lil bit of drama for ya

Chapter Three

             In conclusion, my idea of a plan is effectively worthless. After hours of wandering around aimlessly, tracing circles through the dense forest, and generally being lost, I somehow manage to lose Tori and Cal. How I have managed to accomplish this is beyond me. On top of that, I am now standing in almost exactly the same spot from which I began. Lovely. I should win a medal or something. Although what it would be for, I don’t know. It is in the middle of this train of thought during which my eyes catch sight of him. And by him, I mean the single most unexpected person I could possibly encounter right now.

               “You!” I exclaim, jumping ungracefully to my feet. My balance and grace are pretty much nonexistent, so it’s more of a stumble than a jump. I recover well in my excited state, however, and continue my speech. “You’re the one from the live performance! At the ALF!” the Autumn Leaf Festival is worlds away right now, but I’m having no trouble remembering those eyes; those perfect blue eyes.

               “Guess who we happened to run into,” Tori says needlessly, bounding up behind the guy. Guitar Guy’s lips tweak into the very beginnings of a smile, and he looks me up and down, taking in my appearance as though appraising a bit of fine meat. This, I think with grim satisfaction, is more or less what I am. “We have no idea how you got away from us, but we figured the best way to start looking was to retrace our steps. You know, like in that blues-clues episode. The one where Steve and Blue were trying to-”
Cal gently taps his foot against Tori's, pushing her back to the topic at hand.

                “Oops, sorry. Ramble much? Anyway, we found you!” Tori throws out a dazzling grin, one that many a man would give his right hand to see.

                 I shake my head helplessly at my friend. You could never tell by looking at her, but she really can be a very serious person. She’s loyal and blunt, but somehow reminiscent of a five year old much of the time. That’s kind of what I like about her.

                  “Deserei Monterei, at your command,” I say, extending my hand, a broad smile on my face. Without hesitation, Guitar Guy wraps his much larger hand around mine, his lips curving as well into an easy ex
pression of welcome. I am entranced by the way his hand envelops mine. You see, I have big hands for a girl. They are square and boney, with pronounced knuckles; my fingers are defiant, and most definitely not delicate. His hands, despite the unusual size of my own, are still huge in comparison. They are rough, like farmer’s hands, and I can feel the calluses he has developed, I assume, from his musical endeavors.

                    After I finish assessing his hand, my eyes travel up the lines of his arm, following the prominent veins. A sliver of black catches my eye on the inside of his forearm. It’s a line of markings, each about the size of a quarter, tattooed into the soft flesh of his right arm. “Servant?” I question, eyeing the unusual writing.

                    “Oh, that- wait, you read Greek?!” the ex
pression on his face is priceless. I grin, nodding, then pull back my hair to reveal my own small tattoo, hidden on the back of my neck by my long hair. “Insanity?” he says, curious and still obviously miffed. I shrug, offering no better explanation. He doesn’t have long to wonder.

                     “Hey, where did you get that bracelet?” Cal suddenly asks, cutting off any further discussion. His tone sounds indifferent, but the moment he points it out, all three of our attentions are riveted to the article in question.
Our interest in this bracelet stems from a very odd coincidence. It is something that connects Tori, Cal, and I- that is, besides our triangular friendship. The coincidence has to do with a bracelet that each of us wears. We’ve worn them for as long as we can remember, and nobody we’ve asked has ever seemed to know where they originally came from. The bracelets are all made of some odd material that we’ve never been able to match with anything. Each has a different range of colors, with its own unique pattern and size. For instance, mine is made up of different hues of brown and deep, fiery reds. Tori’s, although similar, is filled with an added blue that somehow manages to overpower all the other colors. Cal’s is all greens and yellows, and is thicker and sturdier looking than Tori’s or my own.

                  Guitar Guy glances down at his, icy blues, golds, and silvers, all harshly intertwined, and shrugs nonchalantly. “You know, I really have no idea. I never really noticed it before.” Then he shakes his head as if to dispel some minorly bothersome memory, and turns to walk away.

                  “Hey, where do you think you’re going?!” Tori yells, charging after him. Cal and I exchange knowing glances before following them with slightly more caution. Typical Tori; she doesn’t even know the guy, and is already treating him like part of the gang. Somehow, with her, it works. Just like that, she’s pulled Guitar Guy into our midst, and claimed him as her friend.
 
                     Tori leaps at Guitar guy, wrapping her arms around his neck and smiling maniacally. This soon transforms into a half-effort wresting match that, of course, ends in Tori’s victory. From her winning position on Guitarist Guy’s chest, Tori looks up triumphantly.
                     “Des, Cal, I woooonnnn!” she squeals, giggling childishly. I gotta say, there is never a boring moment with her. I raise one eyebrow; one of the many talents I have proudly attained from my many hours in front of old movies.

                   “Well, Vittoria, I would say you do have the advantage,” I reply, daring to bring out her full name. I gesture back towards Cal with my hand. “And I would also say that someone is now jealous.” At this point, I can no longer hold back my laughter. After a moment, I notice that no one else is laughing with me. Instead, they are all staring at my hand, which, I soon come to realize, happens to be holding a knife.

                    And not just any knife, either. It’s a small and dagger-like, reaching from right about my elbow to my fingertips. Its balance is dead on, perfectly crafted, although that’s a near contradiction to its simplicity. As a whole, the weapon is plain enough to almost be considered crude, but at the same time, manages a sort of earthly beauty. The handle and blade both appear to be made of the same metallic material, with the thick, single edged blade shining wickedly in the light and winding down into a sturdy handle. Large, well-shaped coils wrap around the length of the handle, as though someone had circled a bit of rope around the inside of it. I, having a healthy appreciation for weapons and crafting of every sort, am caught up in admiring the thing.

                  “Uh… Des? Would you mind telling us where in the world you got that… that thing??” Tori says, pointing expressively at the knife. She slowly draws herself up and away from Guitarist Guy, allowing him to regain a vertical position. I am completely fixated on the weapon, though, and pay them little attention. The dagger seems somehow familiar, like something I may have seen in a dream once, or passed by with a cursory glance of the eyes. The thought continues to send vague tugging sensations through the back of my mind, but I am unable to pull up a definite memory.

                  “Deserei?” I flick my head impatiently at the nagging voice that is disrupting my thought process. I’m sure I’ve seen this work before, I’m sure I remember it from somewhere, but my mind refuses to offer up anything useful.

                  “Deserei, are you all right?” I bl
ink, my eyes slowly fixing to Cal’s face, as my mind finally registers his hand on my shoulder. He has leaned down to face me, and is gazing with concern as I work to bring myself back from the depths of my thoughts. Tori lingers in the corner of my vision, watching the familiar scene. She’s no stranger to my tendency to drift off. Addressing Cal’s question, I shake my head quickly

                   “No, no. I mean, YES. Yes, I’m fine.” I grind out, trying to reassert reality. Cal steps back, his eyes traveling from my face to a point just behind me. I turn, just as a hand reaches out towards the knife.

                     “Can I take a look at that?” Leon asks. I jump, dropping the knife instinctively. It flips, catching a ray of sunlight, and blinds us all momentarily. When we regain the ability to see, the knife has gone. It’s not on the ground, or anywhere else, for that matter, as far as I can tell. Hands shaking, I turn to Guitarist Guy, who has backed up a step or two away from me. Minutes pass, and an awkward silence sets in. Nobody knows what to say, as we are all caught in similar states of utter shock, and nobody is willing to fill the gap. The quite opens around us, as the tension in the air builds uncomfortably. Finally, I am unable to take any more of it.

                  “So… what did you say your name is, again?” I demand loudly, placing my hand on my hip. I’m putting on a show of bravado, puffing out my confidence and acting like I know what I’m doing, holding my head high and staring down my companions with a slight smile of amusement. “Or shall I just continue referring to you as ‘Guitarist Guy’?” I continue, not willing to let them see my insecurity.

                    “’Guitarist Guy’??” He replies incredulously, much to my relief. I don’t realize until he speaks that I’ve been holding my breath. “That’s what you’ve been calling me?!” his voice carries a note of laughter, and one could almost think that the two of us are flirting. Except, I don’t flirt, and talking to strangers is more of an intricate puzzle for me than anything. This guy is no exception.

                   “Only in my mind, Mr. Nobody,” reply jokingly, tainting it with a bit of an accent. God, you never notice how much old movies come in handy until times like this. He doesn’t miss a beat, either, coming back with a fluid imitation of my lilted speech.

                     “Well, in that case, I’ll just have to correct you, my misguided missus. You shall call me Mr. Guitarist Guy from now on.” Finally, I grin outright, relaxing my tensed stance. Without any real form of communication, the four of us all begin walking in a forward general direction.

                     “But really, what is your name, hmm?” I say, dropping the joke at last.

                     “If you’ve really got to know… My name is Leon.”

                     “What, no last name?”

                     “Only if you plan on marrying me,” he looks down at me, grinning wickedly. “But I didn’t quite get that impression. I don’t suppose I’ve any sort of shot in that area, now do I?” This sends me into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.

                     “Got- that- right- Mr.” I wheeze out between breaths. Shaking her head and smiling faintly, Tori adds her bit.

                     “No sir, not a snowball’s chance in hell. Good luck.” Cal, being to only one to have heard her, shares his girlfriend’s smile, and, ducking down to avoid a low trailing tree limb, snakes his arm around her waist, pulling her small body close to his own.

Awesome, I'm a lot like the main character, Des.