Patchwork

Ouija

I type in the title to the new chapter in Patchwork, not including the first word. I don't like that subject.  But if any of my readers want to see what it would have been, you guys should go to the Homestuck map at MS paint Adventures. And read Homestuck while you're there. The first act can be pretty boring but from there on it's cool.

Author-sama: cut the crap and return to the story.

Okay, okay, I'm going.

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Lyra was subjected to a lot more poking and prodding, on the way to the courtroom. One of the guards had run off to get the other Player, so there were only two now, one in front and one behind.  They led her into a central tree/tower, where she was greeted by an astonishing sight.

High arches stretched to what must have been a fifty-foot high ceiling hung with aromatic flowers. Rosemary bushes ringed the room, adding their pleasent scent to the mix. In the center of the room stood a dais and a throne, both seemingly have just grown out of the earth in that form. The hedges that had formed these seats had been covered in luxurious-looking pillows and draped with sheer, delicate fabrics that looked as if they might float away at any second. And if the thrones themselves were impressive, those who sat on them were even more amazing and splendid. On the throne sat another plant elemental, dressed slightly like her guards. But these robes were clearly ornamental; the wrappings, instead of the cotton or linen the guards wore, were of the lightest silks and satins, and hung with amythests of every shape and size.  She did not wear a tunic but a short, airy dress that was a surprisingly attractive shade of brown. Wise blue eyes followed Lyra's movements, and green hands complimented by slender, long fingers clenched the fabric of the pillow. Lyra did not realize how old she was until she saw the plant elemental's faded, silvery hair styled like Sailor Moon's.

"Who's there?" She asked, forcing Lyra to realize that the High Monarch was blind.

"Us, Your Majesty," the guards chorused, "And a prisoner. They claim to be the Player."

"That's impossible," the man on the dais said, laughing. He sat up, sweeping his auburn hair out of his eyes.

Lyra couldn't say he was handsome, from the moment they locked eyes. She had never met someone with eyes that cold and calculating. A gloved hand gestured to the paralyzed Player. "First of all," the imposter said, "How could the Gatekeeper be one so weak? I doubt she could even hold open a gate for more than a minute."

"Excuse me?" Lyra demanded, snapping out of it. "I did not recall coming here for an appraisal of who I am by someone who has NEVER MET ME. I came here to tell the High Monarch what a phony she has been treating like a prince."

"Strong of spirit," the ancient queen whispered. "A mind of steel..."

"But a body," the imposter said quickly, looking at Lyra disapprovingly, "Of silks and satins. Pretty to look at, I suppose, but not durable."

It took both the guards to hold Lyra back. "And I suppose that's because I'm a girl," she snarled. "Watch your step, shithead. You're surrounded by girls." The guards lining the doorways exchanged venemous glances.

"Not because you're a girl," the 'Player' replied smoothly. "Because YOU are weak. Players aren't weak."

"Oh yeah?" Lyra asked, fighting the guards off. "Let's go, then, Mister Condesce." She'd almost gotten to the [super bad cursing omitted here] when the guards lept on top of her again.

"Tomorrow, then," The other Player said casually.  "The name's Darien. Remember it... when I beat you."

He got up, dusting off a white military-style jacket, and left. Lyra finally relaxed, allowing the guards to haul her to her feet.