Eye of Prophecy

Chapter Ochd: Some Girls Get A Looking Glass...I get...

Chapter Eight: Whereas some girls get a looking glass...I get...

So...apparently (although, seriously, I have my doubts) there are "magical" moments in every girl's life: meeting "the guy," going through some stupid ritual, like courting...getting married - cue the violins, and a big ridiculous white wedding - but fuck that- romantic white weddings (hell, let's talk weddings in general) went out with the total collapse of our world.  Now, if you find yourself an actual preacher to get hitched, consider yourself a lucky sonofabitch, oh, shit, I digress.  Okay, so, yeah, back to "magical moments," another moment, popping out a kid or two - cue more fuck thats — Because, come on, honestly, what kind of braindead asshole wants to bring a kid into this shitshow we call, "life as we know it?"  Although, come to think of it, and contrary to my prior statement, women are (I've come across shitloads of them in every town I've run through, and sometimes taken up residence in) still popping out those, "dependent upon you for absolutely fucking everything," small, little human beings.  Hmmm...sooooo...maybe it's just me, then? Maybe I'm the only one that breaks out into a cold sweat in the presence of  those small "they're so fucking fragile, and so fucking easy to kill," little humanoids.
I laugh then, because, really, the thought is actually just that goddamn laughable.  And, oh, the fucking irony of it all.  I mean, I'd been raised (and what an upbringing it was too) on the systematic belief that my existence, which I owed (and they made certain I knew how much I owed them) to my oh-so-awesomely, two cards short of a full deck, insane parents meant nothing, would mean nothing, unless I were to lay flat on my flayed open back, spread wide my thighs and produce Legacy upon Legacy until I withered miserably away (and that, of course, would be if I were lucky).  And my "gift," my powers, they belonged pack and parcel (just as I did - like chattel) to my crazy as fuck parents, who used and abused them as easily as they breathed.  What the holy fuck would I do with a kid? Probably kill it.  Very much like the fish I had kept, and tried to make a pet out of in my much younger, much "I was seriously stupid," days.  So, yes, can you see the reason now? The reason I  don't even pretend to care about people or their fuck stupid notion of pets?  Everything and everyone dies.  There is no escaping that fact.  And, if there is but one constant in every world, every realm...it is that.  Why bother getting attached, only to have whatever you form an attachment to, up and croak on you in a week—or in my pathetic case—a day.
But, yeah, supposedly girls are meant to have these "oh-so-magical-moments." Yup. They even define some girls lives (well, normal girls that is, definitely not me) and do so much as to leave lasting life-long impressions — my lasting impression? My foot up someone's ass, usually.
Nope, it was clear to me, in f'ing spades, that this here was the best I was gonna get, this here was my magical moment—lying face first in shit—no, really—I was laying, face first in actual horse shit—well, I think it's horse shit—could be an ass, a donkey that is—hard to tell donkey shit from horse shit.  Hmmm...considering this is me we're talking about...ass...yup...I'm lying in ass shit.  Only lucky suckers get to lay in horse shit, and we've definitely established that I'm not one of those oh-so-golden-lucky-few.
I snort, and end up getting a nose full of the delightful turd I'm lying in.  Spitting and snuffing out, I jerk upright, and sit on my haunches.  Oh yes Del, you are the lucky winner of a great getaway vacay to oh-so-beautiful— I look around then, hmmm...yeah...where the Hell was I, now? I quickly sift my vast memory banks, pulling up every realm I'm familiar with and the topography, trying to place where the rat bastard Portal sent me...nothing...I'm coming up blank.
"I fucking hate you, you nasty fuckturd bastard of a Portal!" Hell, I'm probably going to be struck down dead for my foul mouthed, sacrilegious, disrespect, but I can't seem to give two fucks right now.  "No...no I'm not gonna ever appreciate being shoved through you, you sneaky ass clown," I continue to rant, I haven't been struck down dead yet...yeah, okay then, I have more to say, "...sacred my ass! This is how you treat someone you consider sacred? And what's this shit about a great, grandiose plan you have for me...fuck if it wouldn't be nice to be clued in to the plan that has to do with me!" I throw my hands up into the air and let out a long, loud, scream of utter fucking frustration.  I almost wish—almost—that I had been struck down dead, then I wouldn't be sitting in shit about to tear out the poor remains of my hair. 
So...all my careful planning...and running...got me...where?  And the freedom I thought I had brutally won...wasn' t freedom at all, it would seem.
I laugh, but it's a bitter laugh.  The Portal knew me, harking back to my childhood (like that wasn't creepy or anything)...clearly there were greater (still assholes all of them) forces watching me...planning...planning what? And was my total nightmare of a childhood and adolescence part of this grandiose plan, if so, I'd beg the question; "why?" - no- "FUCK WHY?"
Taking in a long, deep, still turd smelling breath, I finally look around...really taking in my surroundings for the first time.  I'm in a field, a vast, open, very green, and actually, very beautiful field.  If I wasn't covered in shit I might actually really love where my ass was currently planted.  This much rich, lush greenery was foreign to me.  We didn't have such bounty on the Earthen realm.  I soak it all in, all this beauty, all this bounty...all this...LIFE.  So, much life.  I frown, then.  Was this what Earth had once looked like? My small rickety home, had it once stood upon rich, unsullied fields of green such as this?  Was this what they had taken from us, torn from us? Of course our own arrogance could have had a hand in our downfall as well. We humans definitely had that in abundance...arrogance, that is. And what we lacked in magic, we more than made up for in our sheer leanings toward a superiority complex that stretched wider than the oceans of old. But enough with the musings, already. The day wasn't getting any shorter, and I wasn't smelling any better.
"Get up, Del, get your pathetic, unlucky as shit, ass up," I mutter.  There's no good to come in morbid meanderings...not to mention the longer I sat in this pile of shit, the more the smell seeped into my clothes.  I stand, then, wrinkling my nose at the pungent smell.  Hell, I really did smell like shit.  "Okay, here's what you know," I snort before continuing, "...hell, there's nothing like listing the facts to brighten your post apocalyptic day, right? So, okay, you were dumped into a field with no weapons, no idea as to your purpose or plan, you're pretty damn clueless...and...you stink to high fucking heaven...sooo yeah...right then." I narrow my eyes, and after wiping my hands on my skirt, I begin to walk.  Because, come on, was there really anything better to do at the moment? It wasn't like I had any better ideas popping up into my rather addled brain. Of course, there is the fact that I have absolutely no idea where I'm going, but I can't imagine walking without a destination in mind is any worse than sitting like a dumb bag of rocks in a pile of steaming donkey shit. And, I've never let the little matter of "not knowing where I was going," stop me before.
I've made it perhaps a hundred yards when sharp, searing pain shoots through my body. This is not the pain of my gift...no...this is different. It feels like my leg is on fucking fire. "Shit, shit, shit ten times over, seriously? What the hell more do you want from me?!" I shout then, stopping dead in my tracks and hiking up my skirts, because, yes, it really felt like my legs were on fucking fire...and disintegrating to boot.  Well, nope, nada, niet, both of my legs, were currently still attached (having NOT been burned off) to my extremely bedraggled self, in fact, my left leg even sported a spiffy new tattoo a tattoo that...THE FUCK!?
    Yes, there, on my left leg starting at my ankle, graceful, fluid, calligraphy graced my skin. The writing went up to my knee, ending with a swirling intricate flourish. "The old language," I murmur to no one in particular. What did this mean? Hell, could it mean that now I could call on a Portal? That thought was simultaneously both super exciting and really fucking daunting to boot. I was a hotbed, no, try a fucking sauna, of powerful as shit magic that I never asked for or wanted, so the thought of adding anymore magical ability to my already stuffed to the gills self, threatened to turn my already sallow complexion a lovely shade of puce. Of course, with how I currently was feeling...puce would fit right the fucking in. The script, aesthetically speaking, was an entirely elegant creation, and eerily similar to the swirls and dips that graced Tala's skin. And yet, intrinsically I knew, down to the very marrow of my bones, that this magic, my words were a deeper, stronger magic than Tala's.
    So, dumped unceremoniously, yes, but not entirely unequipped...maybe?  Now, if I only knew how to work this new magic.
    "Shazam! Kablooey! Open Sesame!" I wave my hands in front of me as I say each ridiculous old Earthen word after another. "Yeah, well, fuck me, it works in the old stories," I mutter. Okay, this was getting me absolutely fucking nowhere...somewhat like where I was for that matter; nowhere.  I take a deep breath and search within myself for "it," my magic.  And there, like a brewing storm, it is...just waiting for me to tap into it.  I can feel it swelling, roiling, waiting to crest and break over...take over.  And part of me...the "I'm a total freaking masochist," part, wants it to...wishes it would.
    My power had been growing, and I had been ignoring (because hello, it wasn't like I didn't have a freaking shitload on my plate to deal with already) the obvious, as a goddamn brick to my forehead, signs, of my growing power.  Only an idiot, or magical virgin, would've been immune to the clear signs, and I was neither (despite some, okay fuck, a lot of evidence to the contrary).  But, God, what would it feel like to just let my power take me over...wash me away...take me away...completely.  End it all. Hell...I was just so fucking tired...so very, very, very fucking tired...and how lovely would it be to just...be washed away...completely?
I laugh, mirthlessly, and let out a deep, beleaguered sigh.  "Wow, you're getting fucking morbidly defeatist in your old age, Del," I murmur.  Because I was, clearly, getting morbid AND defeatist, that is.  Shit. What the fucking hell? This wasn't like me...well like me much.  I wasn't usually such a "give it up grumpy asshole"... okay, the asshole part was right, but the rest.... I blamed the Portal, yup, it was definitely all the damn Portal's fault.  I was sticking with that  too, blame the fucking Portal.  I mean, come on, if it weren't for the Portal, I'd be safely tucked away in some  Goddamn Fairy garden trying to resist the advances of one way too sinfully handsome for his own fucking good, Fairy king, and not, I look around and frown, not stuck in some unknown to me realm smelling to high heaven of donkey shit.  And, well, I couldn't forget the yummier than triple scoops of ice cream on a hot summer day, Fairy captain of the guard...hmmmm...yeah, fuck if he wasn't pretty freaking damn scrumptious too. Hmmm...Fairy king and fairy captain of the guard...well...wouldn't that be the most incredibly delicious "bookend" ever. Gah...a fairy fucking sand which...yum yum and yummy...best goddamn sand which ever! Hello! Oh God...Caed, Cael, and lil' ol' moi, "stuck" right in the middle. Heat crawls deliciously throughout my body, and thoroughly focuses, centers between my thighs...like, where I wished a particular piece of gorgeous fairy king's anatomy was right about now.  "Jesus, John and Josaphat, Del, sex starved much, are you? I mean, fuck, you've been dumped on some planet god's knows where and you're thinking of sex with Fairy's...uhmmmm...lots and lots of sex with Fairy's...lot and lots of kinky sex with uhmmm, multiple Fairy's, multiple Fairy's at once, oh my God, fucking hell, now that really would be fucking delicious! Hmmm...Caed holding you down as he fucks you...Cael taking you from behind, while Cael fucks you...OH. MY. GOD!" I cant stop the involuntary shudder of pleasure that hits my body, or the moan that I emit. Fucking hell, the trip through the Portal had totally fried my already incredibly degraded brain cells.  I needed to stop thinking about sex with Fairy's...hot, really, really hot, incredibly steaming fucking hot sex with really, really beyond incredibly gorgeous as holy fucking sin, Fairies. Yeah, okay, I wasn't doing such a great job in the "not thinking about hot sex, with hot Fairies," department.
    I throw up my hands, exasperated, but I'm not sure with whom I'm more exasperated with at the moment, the freaking Portal from Hell, or myself.  It was coming in at a very close tie right now. "Hell, you couldn't even give me a fucking hint, could you?" I say out loud, hoping against dying hope that the sneaky Portal from Hell will somehow hear me and show her ass already.  "I mean really," I gripe, "...I'm not against Pictionary at this point...or maybe even Charades?" I continue.  "Hey, since I'm being magnanimous, I'll even let you start."  I cluck my tongue, and look down at my feet planted in the green grass, as if waiting for some sign from above...or below for that matter...hell I'd even take freaking smoke signals (yup, Gah, I'm totally pathetic, it just shows how desperate I am, right?)...of course nothing happens. "...So...huh, totally too much to ask for...?  Yeah, well, it was worth a try," I finish.  God I'm so tired of this shit. So. Fucking. Tired. "So, what will uh, happen, if I just, well, call it a fucking day, uhm as in right now. Yeah, like, right this second I'm gonna toss my proverbial hat into the ring...yup...wait for it...wait...wait...wait for it...it's happening right...yup...right now." I give my surroundings a quick furtive look, and then, just like that, I ridiculously (because, seriously, "it," this situation I found myself in, was absolutely ridiculous) find myself laughing really fucking hard. And then I plop my stinky ass down on the insanely greener than green grass (remember, me calling it a fucking day, and tossing my proverbial hat into the proverbial ring) this was me, doing just that. I wait. A long minute passes...then another...and another...and nothing happens. It's not like I was expecting anything to happen...well, not really. But part of me (the "maybe I'm not entirely cursed - and bad shit doesn't follow me around like bad B.O." part) was entirely let down. "Sooooo...just to let you know," I say, conversationally this time, and not all snarky like...well not entirely all snarky like, "...I really am prepared to wait this out. I mean, uhmmm..." I chuckle dryly, "...Because of you, it's not like I have a lot else going on...or any pressing dates waiting for me." And, once again, it wasn't as if I expected a response, no matter how much I wanted one (see, I was learning).
    And why is it when one is completely prepared, well, ninety-nine point nine percent prepared anyways...okay, maybe not prepared so much as resigned, to give in, and give up, that yeah, hell, that's when shit gets stirred and happens...both literally and figuratively—the literal having already happened, as made evident by my horribly stained clothing and the seriously horrific smell emanating from my person. There is a rider approaching, and approaching quickly, my sitting self. And I wait, because that's the only thing I can do at the moment, or, because I'm singularly too fucking lazy to do anything else. At the speed in which the rider is approaching me—and no, it's not arrogance that has me believing that the rider is headed straight for me, and more the fact that really, the huge, hulking beast (and I'm talking about the horse now, not the rider) is clearly headed right the fuck at me, and at breakneck speed too...hmmm, shit, in fact, was he slowing down any? No...no...nopity nope...yeah, that would be a big resounding no, not slowing down any. And fuck a flocking flock of fucking ducks if I wasn't about to get my ass run the fuck over in just...one...second...
"Nach bhfuil tú ag súil le súile an-bhroinn." The rider bellows out just as he comes to a shockingly (and yeah, impressive too) quick stop directly in front of me. Now, how in the flaming hell had he managed that? That was like, magical fucking horse wrangling right there. I was still musing over the magical horse wrangling shit, when I realized that all throughout my amused musings, he had been speaking, which meant...yup, I hadn't heard a freaking word he said after his rather colorfully loud "greeting." But hey, I was allowed my "zone out" time, considering he had almost run my ass over. "Tóg beagán beag anseo domsa, amhail is dá mba mhian leat an Diabhia a bheith ann domsa ... luach saothair b'fhéidir as mo chuid oibre crua."
Well, now I almost regret paying attention to his loud ass, as I kind of want to shoot him after what he just said. For starters, tart? Seriously, did the asshole really just call me a tart? Hell, he may as well have called me a fucking floozy. And, I was hardly just placed here, hell, anywhere for that matter, just for his asshole self, Goddess notwithstanding. "Listen here, you obnoxious shit for brains Neanderthal. Let's get a few things perfectly clear, cause, if we don't...well," my voice drops to a whisper, "I'll probably fry your rude ass self...and that's if you're lucky."
He cocks his head to one side. "Why would you fry...fry...my ass?" He asks suddenly, in lilting, heavily accented, English. "But ass, yes, yes...this word I know, aye," and, at this, his face breaks out into an alarmingly large smile. "An ach, aye, ye, I would very much like to see yours, s an Ear-Dheas.  Are ye to be showing it to me now?"
Little Tartelette? The fuck he did not just give me a pet name...a really, really obnoxious and seriously disturbing pet name. God, how I wished I had my Colt Walker revolver on me right now...or hmmm...my Smith & Wesson model 3 revolver would do in a pinch. Hell, considering just how much I really wanted to shoot the sonofabitch...I'd even settle for my Henry Deringer pocket pistol. It was a little, well, little for my tastes...and kind of stupidly cute (I so did not do the cute thing)...but heck, at this point, a gun was a gun, was a gun, and a bullet squarely placed right between his oh-so-laughing eyes...hmmm, yup, that image, it was a good, no, a great one.  "Ya know, we haven't even gotten to the 'name part,' hell, you know what, let's not get to the name part, and uh yeah, I already hate your ass."  Too late I realized I had used the 'a' word again.  And yes, of course the asshole jumped on it.
   "Aye, have we na already spoken of this, s an Ear-Dheas? Aye, I would like to see it.  Right now, an ye, here will be fine.  Ach," he frowns then, "...this tongue which we speak in, I do na like it s an Ear-Dheas.  'Tis ungainly, awkward on the tongue...an frightfully commonplace. Bhí blianta fada níos mó ná mar is féidir liom cuimhneamh ó bhí orm úsáid a bhaint as an teanga seo. Agus is féidir liom a rá, go fírinneach, ní chaill mé é. Cén fáth a bhfuil an Ghaeilge den sórt sin ag iarraidh a leithéid de theagasc a bheith, fíor thar liom. Go fírinneach, teanga níos measa ní féidir liom a shamhlú go bhfuil."
Okay, honestly, enough is enough, since really I'm only prepared to be insulted up to a point. And I only allow (and ignore) those first few insults at all because I'm quite aware of how "common" the Earthen language is...not to mention how common we are...we super commonplace Earthen plebeians.  I don't need to travel off world or even inter dimensionally, to know just how little Others think of us.  Hell, isn't that one of the reasons (probably one of the biggest reasons) our world fell so easily??  Maybe if more humans had strong magic we wouldn't be viewed as having about as much substantial value as, oh, a sack full of slugs.  As it stands now...yeah, the Others clearly consider us about as valuable as livestock...heck, they often use us as such.  But, oh yes, back to the matter at hand, the asshole on the ginormous beast, who is staring at me as if I were a particularly tasty little morsel he was looking forward to sampling. So, right then. "Níl mé torthaí, a ghearradh suas agus a chur taobh istigh de pie. Má ghlaonn tú go bhfuil mé níos mó ama, cuirfidh mé do chos fhuilteach agus buillefaidh mé tú chun báis leis." While I speak I make certain to find the sweetest smile I can, pull it forward, and fix it firmly onto my face. With each word I speak the stupidly ginormous smile on the face of the giant idiot in front of me, well it slides further and further off of his.  Now, how I'm going to make good on my promise and threat (if the giant moron decides to test the truth of my words) well, I haven't figured that out yet, but I'm sure I'll think of something.  Yeah, because I'm just so full of surprising tricks, and with that thought, I feel a bitter smile come rest on my lips, and replace the sweet one that was, just moments ago there.
   "Ye speak our tongue." The giant oaf spits out the words, he almost sounds accusatory.
   "Yes, along with a few dozen more," I say dryly.
"Then mayhaps ye be a spy," he looks me over, "...aye, I ken ye be a spy."
God help me, it seems there are no shortage of idiots...and every dimension, world, or plane of existence can lay claim to some. And even though the dolt does not have the otherworldly beauty I have come to expect from Fae folk...the language he's using...and even more telling, his accent and the way he speaks (like he's in some bad Shakespearean play from the great Time Before, the old times) has me thinking that I may be on one of the planes ruled by the Fae. Great...just fucking flocking ducks great, because that's all I need, all my shit stain of a day needs...more bloody Fae.  But maybe I'm jumping the gun, coming to the wrong conclusion...the big lug doesn't look like a Fairy.  So maybe I'm worried for nothing.
I'm so wrapped up in my thoughts, I do not even realize, don't even see the moron coming.  One minute I'm on the ground, contemplating the train wreck masquerading as my life, next thing I know...well let's just say being thrown over and atop a horse is about as pleasant an experience as getting hit by a hoof of a horse in your solar plexus. 
I'm fired up, and totally ready to light into him, but my common sense and logic kick in and rob me of any "fun" I might've had with my retribution.  Think a minute, Delphine, take a damn minute and take stock of what you know...yeah, that's right (whose the idiot now?) nothing...you know close to nothing about, well, that would be nothing about nothing.  You have no idea where you are.  You have no idea who the idiot with the horse is—the horse you are currently slung over like a sack of potatoes. You have no idea why you are, where you are.  And last, but certainly not least...you have no idea how to get back to the Earthen realm.  So, yeah, while it sucks ducks being jostled to the point you might upchuck all over your captor (and actually I'd like to do that—hurl all over him.  Would serve him right, too) you might learn, for starters, where the Hell you are. So sit—or uncomfortably lie over a damn horse—the fuck back, and get some fucking answers.