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[unflagging]

[Herein shall there be PSLs and goings-on.

Please exercise caution if you so choose to read this. Flagg being Flagg, I cannot guarantee everything that goes on here will be safe for work or even safe for life.]

Comments

[advancedbosoms]

"You don't have the figure for it. And for the record, neither will I if you chop all my limbs off."

Okay. Gross move, Cordy. Gross, sick, pretty seriously dark move.

On the other hand, he was still a guy, right? An evil, powerful, magic guy, sure. But still male. And sex usually made a pretty good stalling tactic with men.

"There's a lot of other things I couldn't do to you if I didn't have arms or legs," she added. "Or were all those once overs just to measure how small of a box you can fit me into?"

[unflagging]

"There's plenty you could do without arms and legs. And without teeth. I didn't say I was going to kill you, did I? No."

[advancedbosoms]

Okay, definitely making a face.

Gross. Seriously gross. Try to move on and mask the horror at that image.

"Not nearly as enjoyable. Besides, if you want someone without teeth, go find some cougar at the nearest nursing home. She might even let you share her pudding cup. Let me guess, you're a butterscotch man?"

[unflagging]

"It wouldn't be as meaningful. Or as pretty. Your skin looks softer too."

He smiled again.

"Am I laying it on too thick again? I just thought I'd ask."

[advancedbosoms]

"About what I'd expect for a Midwest boy."

She ran her fingernails along the stone altar, creating a soft, grating skritch of a noise.

"You know they'll notice I've gone missing. More than one person will be suspecting you. They'll follow you here."

[unflagging]

"That's why I'm going to wear your face. I can do that too. I can take your shape, your face, your voice. I can walk around as you and no one will be the wiser. You can wait here while I go about living your life for you."

And if he ever wanted to see a naked woman while wearing that shape, well, that was as simple as changing clothes.

[advancedbosoms]

"They'll know. Even if you can do they, they'll know. Bert, yes, but my friends from home too. You can steal a face, but you can't steal memories and inside jokes and gifts and mannerisms. You've known me for months, and that's just not enough studying to get away with this. You couldn't pass as good if your precious powers depended on it.

And you know why? Because someone as alone as you can't begin to grasp what family is supposed to be like."

Another attack. Less violence, more disgust. This time, the Seer leaned across the altar and spit at his face.

[unflagging]

Well, that's not the first time that's happened, being spat at, that sort of thing. And, yes, he flinches back initially.

And then, with an expression of almost obscene patience (eyes closed, face calm), he passes his hand in front of his face and magics the spittle away without a further thought.

"It's not really so appalling. I've kissed you, after all. But it's the principle of the thing, you know. The meaning of it."

Still, she was more right than she knew. He was outside. He was always outside. Even when they'd ridden from Dagaz to Thurisaz, he'd sat outside the circles around the fire or crouched alone. When everyone turned towards each other and faced inward in their own circles, in their own conversations or plans, he stood outside. He was always outside. She was shrewd and she was bright. Aye, trig delah was she.

"What is it that happens when someone leaves this place? Oh yes. There's a toy left in their place. Perhaps I'll find some doll to put in your place while I keep you here. Can you imagine that? Can you imagine all of them clinging to this plaything while I have my plaything here?"

[advancedbosoms]

"And what's the point?"

The temptation is strong to spit again. Again and again and again and make him keep wiping it away, see how long it takes before he finally snaps.

"If Bert doesn't know, what's the point? Isn't that what this is, part of your game? Because it can't be revenge for hurting you, can it? You can't be that petty, your ego can't be that small? Someone hurts you so you have to prove you're tougher, bigger, meaner?"

[unflagging]

"Maybe I'm just bored. Do I really need a reason? But you know he'd mourn you if you were to vanish. He's so fond of you. But maybe I'm just bored and you were convenient. How does that sit with you."

Again, another charming smile.

[advancedbosoms]

"Better me than someone else."

She's instantly annoyed with herself, if only because she meant it. Yes, she's strong and yes, she's proven herself to be a survivor.

Cordelia also has no desire to be a martyr. They annoy her.

"But I don't buy that. You're a planner. I've seen that much in you already. You're not the fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants type of evil. You've been trying to squash down Bert and his friends for how long, now?"

[unflagging]

"If you're counting both him and his friends--so strange to hear it in that order, you know; normally he's mentioned secondarily to the friends and the friends are mentioned by name, but I digress--it's been for...several hundred years now, I think." Another pause while he considered a little mental mathematics. "Yes, several hundred years now. At least."

[advancedbosoms]

A shrug, a gesture as if to say I told you so. Knowing Cordelia, the implication was probably meant to be more of a Duh.

"That's not the path a man who gets bored takes. That's a plotting path. Like a chess game, making one move and thinking three ahead. Isn't that right?"

There were two types of villains in the world, as far as Cordy was concerned. Spike had been the first kind, who caused chaos for the sake of not wanting peace. He had hurt out of boredom. Angelus was another kind of evil. He taunted and teased and drew pain out and set up traps that took years to unravel, all to watch and gain pleasure out of it.

Rory was definitely not a Spike.

[unflagging]

"But I do get bored, you know. And I hate getting bored. Sometimes it takes so long for someone else to make a move. It gets so tedious."

No, it was true: he played the long game. The very long game. He played by weeks and months and years and generations. He could and would and had set things in motion whose ultimate results would not tumble into place until decades had passed and worlds had changed--indeed, not until some had passed from one world to another, and that does not always mean death. Take the Lady of Shadows, for an example. Or the Lady Gabrielle for another. And why not?

"Well. Congratulations. You've got me talking after all, haven't you?"

[advancedbosoms]

"Told you. You like the sound of your own voice too much."

She looked around the room for a moment. She needed sole kind of weapon. The altar was good enough for now but unless he planned to talk her to sleep, she would need to find some way to get out, and a weapon was as good a start as any.

"If you're so bored, you could take up sudoku. Maybe cross stitching."

[unflagging]

"They're not really to my taste, I'm afraid. And there's nothing to see here, really, so you needn't keep searching around the room."

He'd chosen this room, with all its spareness and emptiness, with absolute purpose.

[advancedbosoms]

"No offense, but I'll double check for that myself."

What would Nancy Drew do?

Probably not get herself locked up with this guy in the first place. But say she did. What then? A loose piece of altar to his head? A hairpin in his jugular? (It was possible, she thought, that she was remembering Nancy as being more violent than she really had been).

"So what happened to Mrs. Wizard, then, if that part was true?"

[unflagging]

Nancy Drew and the Fight to Remember. That manuscript likely never got published.

"It was true. And she died. Obviously. And her name wasn't 'Mrs. Wizard.' It was Flagg. The same as mine. Mrs. Randall Flagg, née Nadine Cross. And she fell to her death from a very, very high rooftop while pregnant with our child. By that point, she was really quite mentally unstable. Are you happy now?"

[advancedbosoms]

She propped her chin in her palm, listening to the sad, sad tale with very little sympathy.

"I can only imagine that would have to be the case, if she was married to you. Anyway, you keep asking that. If I'm happy, if I'm content. Is that how you get your rocks off? Information?"

[unflagging]

"No. I just want to know if you're going to keep asking questions. It helps me to decide what to tell you next. Anyway--she could have refused me. I think. In theory, anyway."

And now he leaned on the altar too, propping one foot up, looking off at the walls a little distantly, a little wistfully.

"But I don't think she ever considered that at all. It wasn't even possible, so far as she was concerned. Things were set and settled in her mind. Oh well. It was what it was. And it was a very long courtship on my part, I know that much. One might almost think of it as an arranged marriage. It's a shame it didn't work out."

More of a shame that his son was never born--though some would say that was a mercy, divine mercy.

He turned his gaze back to her.

"Now. If you do manage to escape, you've a new story to tell your suitor. He won't know that one. And I suspect he'll be curious about it."

[advancedbosoms]

"He's curious about most things, but I think stories relating to his archnemesis probably take the freaking cake, yeah."

Truth be told, she didn't know how much more she was asking.

Stalling tactic, yes, but also simple curiosity.

"Did you love her? Can you love?"

[unflagging]

"When we first met in the desert, I told her 'how I love to love Nadine.' She was perfect and she was mine."

And he smiled gently.

"There was another woman whom I loved. Or...at least coveted."

[advancedbosoms]

Okay. Okay, no way to know if he was BSing but if he was telling the truth, that was good.

If he loved, then he was capable of good, she thought. It wasn't much to hope for, but it was better than resigning herself to death.

Slowly, she began to work her way around the altar, one hand still dragging across it's surface.

"Who was the second?"

[unflagging]

He watched her, the gesture, the show, her movements reminiscent of any number of thousands of women in life and on screens trailing along bars and piano tops. The same gesture, the same intentions.

"Gabrielle. More properly, the Lady Gabrielle. Have you heard of her? Like as not you have, but I wonder if you know her name."

[advancedbosoms]

She nodded, briefly, as she contined making her way past him, walking backwards toward the door, hand behind her back.

"The mother."

Roland's mother, maybe. Or Alain's. She wouldn't ever admit it to Bert, of course, but she did sometimes zone out during those stories about the good old days or whatever they had been.