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Gothicbloodygem
Aleana watched, helplessly from above, as Dante was ruthlessly sucked of his life –and levels. She cringed and turned her head as she watched the color being leached from his skin. She was only glad that the boss man for this quest kicked out the ‘player’ before mangling the character. There have been a couple times in which Aleana had been sore for days after such encounters that leave her . . . embodied.

Aleana opened her eyes and found herself in the void that was death. . . at least for Crossing Swords. She groaned and clicked the ‘Start Over’ option . . . this time the ‘Reverse to where you saved last’ was gone.

“You will be lined up with a n00b. Because of what your power level use to be. You won’t have the option of showing them around, as normal, but after the first quest you can, of course, decide not to be their partner . . . and be reshuffled. This is a new function of Crossed Swords. Now as you are put into the lottery please reset. The next time you come on your partner will be chosen . . .”

Aleana shifted and time jumped.

“I’m a fragin level 3!?” Dante yelled, looking down at the patchy leather. The only thing he got to keep was his sword and Crested Shield . . . neither of which he could use at the moment. “And I’m going to get stuck with a n00b? God damn mother . . . .” he cursed kicking the dirt with a worn boot. He sighed and shook his head. ‘Nothing you can do about it.’ he told himself. Pulling up his messages he read the new one there.

“The Bard and Lute, eay? Fine.” He said, aloud, making his way there . . . only to see a skinny little thing in the whitest of robes pass by him. He watched as a thief knocked into her and swiped what little coin the girl was probably given on starting . . . and all she did was apologize. Dante sighed and caught the thief by the scruff. “Give it back,” he growled.


“No, honestly, it’s ok. I ran into him!” The slight elf was saying, her voice quiet as she talked, almost meek.

‘What’s a girl like her doing playing this game?’ he wondered, almost stunned that she hadn’t been killed a handful of times yet.

“Give it back,” he repeated watching the thief tremble. Dante may not have been a very high level . . . but he had rep. Plus his stats were still pretty high--higher then a third level. He watched as the player dug into his pocket and handed over the coin bag with a mumbled sorry.

“Oh!” the elf exclaimed, taking back her coin purse. “I hadn’t even realized. . .” she murmured.

“An elf . . .” he said shaking his head. “Zeus, next you’ll say that she’s a magi!”

“Is a magi elf a bad choice? I didn't know. I just chose . . .” She told him worried she’d already messed up.

Dante gave her an odd look “It’s not bad . . . it’s just . . . not great to start out with.” He told her. The girl looked so worried, he couldn’t help but try and reassure her. For some reason she reminded him of someone whose growth had been stunted. Not in height—hell she was probably a good half foot higher then Aleana if they ever met in RL—but in spirit Aleana might just run over her. She knew she was a volatile person . . . even if she could only show it here in Crossed while her father was sick . . .

“It could get better if you get your intel and wisdom levels up,” Dante told her as Aleana forcefully pushed ‘herself’ out of the picture. It was to confusing to think of both ‘he’ and ‘she’ while gaming.


“We haven’t even properly introduced ourselves!” The lithe elf extended her hand. “My names Deirdra, or well . . . it’s not my real name, but you can call me that,” she continued on “I’m heading to the Bard and Lute to meet my new partner . . . maybe you could tell me where it is?” she asked hopefully looking up at him.

Dante looked at her and slowly shook his head.

“No?” she asked, sadly, misinterpreting the shaking of his head.

“There’s no need: I’m Dante. I’m your new partner.” He said sighing. “Come. We need to get food stuff . . . and maybe light armor or a spell so that you’re not completely useless . . .” He shook his head again and rubbed is forehead “Just . . . don’t die.” He said, uttering another long suffering sigh.

Another rift of memory shifts everything over to an ice cave. It’s the climax of their first quest: they are fighting the Snow Demon that lives on the top of Hallow-mallow Peak.

A rusty sword hangs from Dante’s hand. Deirdra was behind him downed from a swipe the monster had dealt her. His grip was firm, even past the pain in his shoulder where the shaggy beast had struck at before dealing Deirdra her blow . . . at least the blood had frozen almost immediately upon leaving the wound.

‘Damn it, I can’t use any of my spells or wards! Damn penance for dying. . .’ he thought, trying to keep his mind here. The ice in the cave was numbing . . . his arm was already numb where it was hit. His other was from the weight of his shield. He backed up and looked down at Deirdra. ‘Damn,’ he thought. His eyes widened as her bust rose and fell evenly. ‘She’s not dead, just out cold. Bravo Deir,’ he thought before looking back to the beast.

‘This complicates things a bit . . . I can’t just leave her there unprotected, I can’t really just charge in . . .’ he thought, mind whirling at all the possibilities that entered and were dismissed. ‘Sekhmet, I never realized how heavy this damned thing . . .’ he trailed off and looked at the huge tower shield. It wasn’t as heavy as his other, though it was bigger, it was rounded . . . and it did have more then a few claw marks in it because of the beast. He looked to Deirdra. ‘That could work.’ he decided before bending to put the shield on her real quick.

“Now, to charge.” He said advancing as quick as he was able considering he felt half frozen.

He attacked the beast head on his sword slicking up the things claws whenever it would swipe at him as Dante tried to get in closer, or just push it into a corner. That was really all Dante had for options.

He continued to beat at the animal, glad that it had no magical properties—at least not anymore: the thing had used up that from the onset— trying to keep one step ahead so that he could stay even with the beast. It was at home here. It didn’t feel the cold like Dante did. He slashed again and was shocked to see that the beast had caught onto his sword. “Fuck,” the word slipped out as the beast pulled him in close using the older rusty sword.

When the thing let go it was too late for Dante to back up: soon his shield shoulder replaced his blade. Dante grunted and tried to shift his other arm in order to strike . . . only to find that he couldn’t move it properly.

He groaned, trying to refrain from the unmanly scream that wanted to come out as the jaws tightened. Then, all of a sudden, he felt a tingling. It filled the air, touched his body, and then the jaws loosened. Dante was dropped back onto his feel and he looked at the beast to see that his mouth was forced open by vines. His front legs were frozen where they were by the vines, the hind legs forced to the ground. Dante didn’t hesitate; instead he swung the sword around and cut through the tender flesh of the beast’s throat.

The blade kept going even though it was through the beast and Dante went with it, his strength gone. He fell heavily onto his side and saw Deirdra standing over his relinquished shield arms outspread, red-gold hair flying around her as she quietly hummed. Dante watched as a pair of pale golden swirls swiped the flesh of her neck and glowed for a moment before dimming and disappearing into her ethereal skin.

Dante shifted onto his side with a grunt and smiled as Deirdra rushed over to him fussing and grousing over his wounds. He watched as one of the swirls appeared and she actually started healing him!

Dante smiled slightly at the sight and chuckled. It was short lived as the pain in his shoulders increased and he cringed, “Hey girl, not bad . . . seems like you learned that spell good and got another . . . plus a level it looks like.” He told her, a lopsided smile tilted his lips. “I’ll see you next time . . . partner.” He said giving her a wink as he logged out.

A few coins extra and she’d find herself at an inn next time she logged in . . . maybe with her new partner in toe. . .


~~~

Many times Dante and Deirdra stopped in town to get supplies and subsistence to last them their next quest. And although it was mighty cliché, they attended a tavern, The Swan, to relax for as long as they needed. It was a suitable place, not too shabby or overcrowded. The only issue was the infinite supply of apparently horny male players.

It only took two minutes or so to figure out that the local bar wench was a ‘bot.’ (Besides, given the option of any type of creature and job, the odds of a woman player choosing to be a bar wench were obviously extremely slim.) Thus flirting with her only yielded so much pleasure. (Though apparently, given the right tip, that quantity of satisfaction could be prominently increased.)

It took about the same amount of time to figure out that Deirdra was indeed a real woman or such a good actor that it didn’t matter anyway. Word quickly spread about the ravishingly Earth elf magi. Apparently so much that a semi-club (in this setting, a ‘guild’) was invented in her honor. This was all unbeknownst to Deirdra, who thought the compliments and even the leers were sort of flattering. That was all most of the males she encountered in Crossed Swords did; however, one particularly determined player took it a tad too far.

Dante was away for just a moment. Seizing the opportunity, a human barbarian type approached Deirdra and offered to buy her a Golden Egg, The Swan’s specialty mixed drink. She blushed and denied him, “Even virtually, I’m not fond of drinking. Thanks generously, though, good sir.” She smiled.

He placed his hand on her shoulder and insisted, “Trust me, it’s worth it. Let me buy you this Golden Egg and then I can show you this crazy axe move I just learnt when I leveled up. I even have a Nature’s lore that could be of use for you.”

Though the offer of tutorship piqued her interested, Deirdra shook her head again and looked around for Dante. The man was unshaken. “I insist, c’mon.” He grasped her arm and tugged lightly. Given his size, this action caused the slender wisp of an elf to stumble off of her stool. She became frightened and was ready to ensnare him with a poisonous vine, but before she could think of the spell, a strong voice came out from behind her.

“Get your brutish paw off of my partner. Jackass.” Deirdra glowed as Dante’s voice echoed out. The man withdrew his hand and turned to see who uttered the remarks, sizing up Dante, in fact looking up to Dante. “Leave her be,” Dante told him in a low growling voice, it was a rolling purr; his most serious, most dangerous. Apparently he didn’t think much of him, much to Dante’s amusement: He made a Pfft! noise and turned back to Deirdra. With Dante as a distraction, however, she had snuck away. When the pervert turned to where Dante had previously stood, he too, had left with a simple “Leave her be . . . I don’t give second chances” in his wake. Dante didn’t see the point in fighting the brute and he knew Deir didn’t like making a big fuss . . . he’d leave it. It did leave him oddly unsatisfied having to let the meathead go . . .

The partners had left The Swan and the town altogether, in a flurry of speed, to camp out for their next quest. Ready to finally get that relaxation time they had longed for before, they were disgruntled when a familiar thug approached. Deirdra was flabbergasted. Never had she encountered someone so forceful, who couldn’t comprehend the negative feeling against him as the barbarian. Before she could conjure a spell, however, Dante hushed her with one finger up to his mouth and stalked away.

The swine approached Deirdra and smugly chuckled upon seeing that she was alone. As he leaned in close to Deirdra Dante grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, much like he had the thief when they’d first met, and spun the brute around. “Didn’t I tell you to leave her be?” he growled before bringing his gauntleted fist forward to give the brute a sharp punch. He flew back to where Deir had been and landed against the tree. “Jack-Ass,” Dante repeated, and as the man gathered himself up Dante rephrased the insult: “Dumb-Ass, too, huh?” He brought his left forward and snapped the guys head back again. The sickening thud and a crack resounded through the quiet glen.

“Did I not tell you to leave her alone?” He demanded, throwing another punch as the meathead tried to get up. “And I told you I don’t give second chances . . .” he murmured when he finally saw the dazed look leave the idiot’s eyes. Dante didn’t feel like dealing with a barbarian rage. With a quiet chanting he brought back his fisted hand and returned it to make contact with the guy’s face this time it glowed white. “Jack-ass,” Dante repeated, disgusted as the barbarian pixilated, floating up for a moment before being sucked down through the cracks in the game.

Dante turned, brushing off his pristine pants, to see that the lithe beauty was all smiles. He paused as she strolled up to the Dante, as happy as could be, and embraced him. He blinked and awkwardly returned the hug. His metal covered hands feeling odd sinking into her soft armor, the gentle curve of her waist. He swallowed as she pressed closer feeling oddly affected as her slim curves pressed into the soft armor he wore.

In the midst of a tight hug, she kissed him deeply on the lips. Before he could react, she was off in a moment going about creating an Earthen barrier to shield their campsite. ‘I thought we were trying to avoid slobbering idiots. . .’ Dante thought looking after her oddly as she worked. The strange feeling she’d managed to start in him from their very first meeting seemed to grow as he watched her, finally, uninhibited movements. She didn’t look so controlled . . . she just looked happy. That made him, it made her happy. The latter of the equation was what had Aleana start to worry.


Once a wall of vines and other plants under the sway of Deirdra was erected, Dante created a fire for them to sleep next to. Deirdra sat down beside him, but stared up into the nighttime sky. Out of nowhere, she began to speak softly. “What do you feel about love?” she queried lazily. “I…in real life…I am married. My husband is a wonderful man, he truly is. He is great to me, better than anyone I have ever known still I only love him. I am not, and haven’t been in love with him. Is that wrong of me?”

He looked down at the fire for a long moment before leveling her with a serious look. “You need to build love off the solid foundation of trust. . .” he started slowly, “You can hide from it but it will catch you,” he continued almost softly “When it does . . . you don’t have a choice. Not on when and . . . not on who,” Dante frowned and stared deeper into the fire having the feeling he was talking about himself, the real self, and not to Deir. He paused for a long moment before his eyes shifted to look at her. “You tried your best to love him didn’t you, Deir? To be ‘in love’ with him as you think you should and you found you could only ‘love’ him, didn’t you?” he questioned quietly.

Her gaze fixated on the wondrous night sky above her, the elf rest her chin on her left hand. Her right hand cupped the left. She sniffed a sort of nostalgic laugh. "I tried...but they all lied to me. Our families all said that being in love wasn't important. I had a duty to be married, and I need to follow through with it. At the time I agreed, and I suppose I still do somewhat. But they all lied to me." Her throat convulsed in a hard gulp and she stood up. Walking a few steps, Deirdra turned around and finally faced Dante. She explained her thoughts, but it was as if she was pleading with him: "I don't think I'll ever be in love with him. I don't think it's possible if it just doesn't exist from the start. Maybe you don't realize it at first, but no one falls in love years into a marriage. No one."

Dante listened as she talked. As she turned to plead her case he smiled slightly, sadly. As she kept on he forced himself from moving his eyes back to the fire, it was easier to listen and understand words then to know just what was being meant. As she finished he shifted slightly to draw a knee up and prop his arm on it. It was the pose he normally took: back settled against a tree, one leg bent the other out straight, his sword within reach. It was comforting, especially when talking about this subject.

He drew in a breath. “I know.” He started, quiet, keeping his voice even, “I have someone back in the real world too . . .” Aleana thought about him for a brief moment, looking into the fire, before sliding back into the conversation ad looking back to her eyes. “I’m not married but we’ve been together for a while.” He paused “Sometimes people choose relationships that only have the milder feelings. It’s supposed to be easier . . . not harder, but that’s what it ends up being. The real joke is the fact that I choose it. . . I knew from the start because you’re right: love doesn’t grow like a magical thing out of nothing. If you don’t have something that connects you to them all you can feel is a mild parody.”

He paused and looked to the fire. “It’s safer,” he murmured, “but it isn’t love. It can’t hurt you: there isn’t the strong trust there to allow that. It’s just . . .” he hesitated “I’m not sure,” he looked back to her, brows knitted, “almost a business relationship to meet physical needs, maybe mental ones. It’s not real love. I know that.” Dante said quietly.


Deirdra sighed heavily. “I had something that connected us. Just one tiny connection that was the reason for our being together...” She stopped talking and turned away. She stood there a few moments, just breathing, before speaking again. “But then that got stolen away. And now I feel as though we have nothing in common besides living in the same home and some form of sadness over our past. I guess that’s why I spend so much time on here, why I like you so much.” Deirdra turned back around and knelt down in front of Dante. “I’m so far along in this nothingness, but you, you can get out. Don't be with that girl if she doesn't mean anything. You won't realize how much time it steals from you until it's too late. Lovelessness ages you so quickly.”

Something in his chest caught and halted his breathing when she talked about being connected with whoever she’d married. It loosened and he let out the breath when she dismissed the connection only for his chest to tighten again as he realized what that stolen ‘connection’ could have been. Any number of things but what would force a marriage? Dante closed his eyes for a moment and mourned silently. His eyes opened as a shifting in the air said that she’d moved toward him. The rustling of robes and the fact that she knelt in front of him were even bigger indications.

His hand lifted and hr brushed back a gold red curl. “Not everyone can be a rock onto themselves; you know that,” he told her, almost sadly, “I need them right now . . .” he sighed and tucked the hair behind her ear, “and I think they already know. They need me in a way to make up for something.” He paused, shifting his eyes from her hair back to her face, ‘It’s hard to explain,’ he thought. Instead he gave her another small sad smile and dropped his hand to hers. Lifting it he dropped a kiss on her wrist.

After a moment he tugged her wrist lightly.
She leant on top of his large body and kissed him softly on the forehead. Lying there, she sighed again. “If only life could be like this instead.” Moira logged off and Deirdra faded away. . .
Crimson-Stilletos
Moira Vale unplugged the wire-like contraption from the back of her neck. She had been logged into a virtual reality program, not Crossed Swords, but one that allowed one to try outfits and hairstyles on in a matter of seconds. The image of her decision quite literally downloaded into her memory, the redhead was prepared to get ready for her neighbor’s father’s funeral.

She sat up from the plush bed on which she had laid and left the room surrounded in screens. Mechanically, she walked into her bedroom and the walk-in-closet that held her clothes. Using a remote, she cycled through her outfits before stopping on a particular black number. Visually, it seemed to combine an a-line skirt with a fitted blazer. From behind, the back had the same structure as a jacket, including a semi-high collar. The skirt was ruffled in a way that revealed it to be made of taffeta. Looking at the front, however, one got the impression of a very modern, classy dress. Having the neckline of a jacket, it was not overly revealing. It cinched at the waist and thus created a wonderful silhouette.

Moira’s clothes fit immaculately, and her black heels were scuff-less. Her make-up subdued, and her numerous wisps of curls tamed in an up-do, she looked appropriately elegant. Furthering this look were natural black pearls held together by a silver chain, and a matching silver watch. Looking at her petite wrist, the housewife was satisfied. She had time to freshly bake the muffins and cookies for the sympathy basket she was assembling.

Few people in that era still cooked the old-fashioned way. It became sort of an old art form, and Moira felt it a religious experience. Making things by scratch, using her hands—these were things that made her feel more alive. Not just that, but also important. Though Crossed Swords provided ample escape and romance for the sad woman, she was still a relative novice. In the kitchen, she was peerless.

Within the course of a few hours, she managed to fill a rather large and antique wicker basket. It was a bit time-consuming considering the ample alternatives available, but Moira wouldn’t have it any other way. ‘Well, certainly, it’s the thought that counts, but clearly some things take more thought than others.’ She wrapped the basket in some sort of cloth covering and placed it on a table near the door towards the garage.

“James!” she called in a melodious tone, “I’ll be waiting in the car.”

Moira didn’t drive. The doctors did not think she should, given what they called her ‘delicate condition.’ Though there was some truth to their concerns—a crying spell would certainly cause a collision—it just cemented her isolation. Thus outings, even ones as dour as these, were still sort of pleasurable.

The funeral’s proceedings were grand and pious. Moira had been glad to be out, and by all appearances, she was stoic and graceful. Inside, however, she was falling apart. This was the first funeral she had been to since that tragic one. ‘It’s not your time, Moira. You had yours to cry.’

For the repast, guests had gathered at Aleana’s home adjacent to Moira’s. She quickly slipped over to retrieve her baked goods before bestowing them upon the grieving daughter. Something just hit Moira as an appropriate thing to say…surprisingly it came from Crossed Swords. Giving the girl a hug, she whispered into her ear, “It’s okay, dear, not everyone can be a rock.”
Gothicbloodygem
Aleana never really had experience with ‘this sort of thing’. She didn’t know what was customary; she didn’t know really what order anything was suppose to go in or how long apart the different rites should be . . . ‘Was the wake suppose to be days after the death and then the funereal and burial service at other times?’ she thought, watching the long trail of black clothed people as they walked up the aisle and paid their dues. She’d forgotten what the curator had said. All that mattered was that the people were here and all of it would be over today. ALL of it . . . that was how it was planed and that was how it was going to happen.

‘Where had all these people come from?’ she thought, her brow wrinkled with confusion instead of distress . . . most of the strangers would probably just think it was distress. They didn’t know her. She barely knew any of them but father had left a list of those he wanted notified of his death. Aleana sent courtesy invitations to each of the names figuring he’d want them to come ‘Right? That’s why he left the list isn’t it? He’d even done it before he got sick . . . ’ she sighed and closed her eyes.

She sat through the memorial service with a sad, almost irritated, detachment . . . you would almost think Aleana had just entered the wrong place. She kinda hoped she had . . . but then again she would be free if ‘all this’ hadn’t been going on.

‘Maybe that’s why I can’t cry . . .’ She thought looking at the woman at the podium. She was her fathers mentor or something and was bawling her eyes out while she tried to get out what she wanted to say. All around Aleana they were crying or looked like they were grieving. . . most of them had told her that it was ok to cry and that it was normal, all with expectant faces that said ‘You should be crying! It’s not right if your don’t!’, but Aleana hadn’t been able to, not even for her closest Aunt.

‘Maybe I have no more tears to shed over Daddy . . .’ she thought picking at a loose thread on her black pants. After the thread was gone from the simply cut pants she brushed her hand lightly over a small punch stain on her button up black shirt and then started on a scuff mark on her older black boots . . . ‘So much black . . . he wouldn’t be able to stand it.’ She looked up slowly and around. ‘No, no daddy wouldn’t like this at all . . .’ she thought closing her eyes again.

She stood as the words for the processional started and she opened her eyes to watch the casket be taken away on a group of men’s broad shoulders. They wouldn’t be following the hearse all the way to the graveyard. Instead they turned and headed to her fathers house . . . her house.

She watched as they fell on the food. They only occasionally turned to her only to murmur sad condolences and apologies for slights they had done her father. By the time half the food was gone she had heard enough ‘Your father was a great man . . .’ to last her a lifetime.

She left them and sat beneath the weeping willow on her father’s favorite stone bench. Aleana was ready for them all to be gone. Maybe if they couldn’t find her . . . At least Deian refused to come to the funeral . . . he had something against them as a whole or something . . . she didn’t need to think about him in relation to Deir right then when she was trying not to leave her own house to get away from all these idiots. She sighed and stared through the parted willow fronds. It was almost a doorway between the yard and her. Beyond the tree was her neighbor’s house . . . ‘I don’t want to be here . . . Daddy . . .’ she sighed and then jerked when she saw a basket being handed to her. “Thank you,” she stuttered out while taking the basket and putting it next to her bench. ‘People still cook in RL?’ She thought in surprise. The only person she’d seen cooking had been some random cottage s/he’d landed on in VR . . . S/he didn’t even like cooking in VR.

Her eyes glazed over for a moment as she saw what could have been a banana nut scone. She blinked it away. ‘It’s just a scone . . . I hate scones . . . they’re always so dry . . .’ Aleana sniffed. She stiffened as, suddenly, the woman was leaning over and giving her a hug. She relaxed for a brief moment as the woman’s warmth and the feeling of remembered comfort overcame her. It felt familiar, normal, to Aleana. It was almost effortless how Aleana managed to let go for a moment, relaxing muscles she hadn’t known were tightened. Her eyes widened at the words of wisdom the woman imparted, her words of wisdom that she’d told to Deir.

Her arms dropped from their half raised position. ‘That’s a rather common saying.’ she told herself, closing her eyes as the woman disengaged. Aleana smiled slightly, words of ‘thank you’ on her lips, and opened her eyes. She froze again, the words unspoken as she saw Deir standing right there in front of her in modern dress. Her eyes searched the person in front of her seeing both Deir and her next-door neighbor Moira.

“Shhit,” she muttered blinking rapidly. Aleana rubbed a hand over her eyes and hunched over slightly in what could have passed for grief . . . she was really trying to see if maybe she wasn’t just imagining things . . . or going crazy. She felt a hand on her shoulder and the woman spoke again making Aleana’s breath come out in a short puff. ‘God, it even sounds like her.’ Her eyes teared up. ‘I don’t need this today,’ she thought, ‘Is this what a break down is? Seeing people you’d never see in RL because you need them? I thought I didn’t have anything left to let out . . . I’ve been watching him slip away for a long time. I thought I was glad it was finally over,’ she thought, not realizing she’d said the last out loud, if quietly. “I knew it was coming. . .” she murmured.

She raked a hand through her hair dislodging what she had forced into neat waves for the occasion and covered her eyes again trying to find control. Aleana felt Moira sit down next to her, her hand still resting on her shoulder. ‘He’s gone . . .’ she thought for a moment feeling the loss of it all. She didn’t know quite how long they sat there, her hunched over, hand over her eyes, breathing quickly in puffs and Moira simply sitting there quietly offering her company, understanding that Aleana had to deal with it on her own.

Finally Aleana straightened. With a quiet “Thank you,” she touched the other woman's hand briefly and stood. “Really,” she said looking down at her for a moment, giving her a small smile. “Be seeing you,” Aleana said with a nod, picking up the basket and beginning toward the house. Everyone was breaking up, starting home. They hadn’t even noticed her absence: the food was gone.









((I had no clue how to end it but I thought it better, maybe (?) to have them part for now. We can talk about it if we see each other on Aim and if ya still wanna do the rp. I was thinking have them go their own ways then have Aleana go see your’s. Cause it’s Deir and Aleana wants to make sure she wasn’t just going crazy, Lol, Plus, I have your Char’s basket ;P We can work it out or just do whatever and have the doorbell ring :) ))
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