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Message-ID: <31020asstr$993211802@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Crimson Dragon <dcrimsonp@nym.alias.net>
Subject: {ASSM} New: Inverness - Endings (1/11) (FF, fantasy)
Date: Fri, 22 Jun 2001 08:10:02 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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Inverness is a land of magic. We all live there, in some sense.

This story is the continuation of "Spring Equinox" and "Autumn
Equinox" that I wrote in the past and can be read on my website. If
you didn't enjoy them, then you probably won't enjoy this one either.

In a break from tradition, I've switched main characters. I'm sure
Janey won't mind.

This story is fiction. Hear that? Fiction. Those that can dispute that
statement, won't.

In a further break from tradition, this story is rather long. As such,
I decided to break it into eleven parts for posting. Rest assured that
all eleven parts are written, and will be posted, but I will only be
releasing them about one a week. Real life intrudes sometimes.

I want to thank Mike Ink, especially, for providing invaluable
assistance, once again, in editing and proofing the story. Sorry MInk,
this one was a long one, but I appreciate the effort. Even so, I must
take responsibility for any errors in the text. If it's wrong, most
likely it was pointed out and I ignored it.

Comments, and questions, are always welcome at dcrimson@yahoo.com.
Offers for fast money and pictures of Britney naked, are far less
welcome.

Please don't redistribute or repost this work in any format without
written permission from the author.

As usual, this story contains scenes with erotic imagery. This may
include depictions of nudity, female-female sexuality, outdoor
settings, group sex, and all sorts of other wonderful activities that
may offend the moral minority. I have no idea what the moral minority
would be doing reading anything here, but consider yourself warned.

On the other hand, my descriptions of human sexuality aren't nearly as
graphic as some around here. We are all blessed with an imagination,
and sex is much more than slippery hydraulics. At least to my
characters it is. And so, if you are looking for detailed descriptions
of pussies and penises, there are many "stories" lurking about that
can do that. Consider yourself warned.

And for the rest of us, on to the story,

- Crimson (dcrimson@yahoo.com)

http://www.asstr.com/files/Authors/Crimson_Dragon/www
http://members.tripod.com/files/Authors/Dr/wwwagon_Of_Crimson


========================================================================

Inverness [FF, fantasy] - Part I - Endings

Crimson Dragon

========================================================================

(c) Copyright February 2001 - All Rights Reserved

========================================================================

The bartender at The Portal could have passed as a professional
wrestler, but the bar refused to shiver as he settled his weight onto
his forearms in front of the girl sitting alone at the far end.  She
hesitated a moment, fully aware of his presence, before she raised her
green-grey eyes slowly to capture his.

He faltered for a moment withering under the intensity of her gaze,
but eventually found his tongue.

"You look lonely, tonight, Alison," he observed in a voice only raised
loud enough to overcome the amplified strains of Soft Cell and the
revellers dancing frenetically behind her.

She slowly shook her head, her black tresses dancing about her
shoulders.  Her eyes never left his.  After a time, he lowered his
eyes, almost as though ashamed of disturbing the girl.  A brush of her
fingers on his forearm pulled his eyes back to her face.

"Don't want to talk about it, CL.  Not tonight."  Her indifference was
unusual, as was the lack of a smile upon her lips.

He nodded understandingly, a gesture honed by years of serving drinks
to friends and strangers alike.  Without asking, he topped her wine
glass with a golden mead brew unique to the Portal.  He gave her a
weak smile and straightened himself.

Alison watched the big man as he ambled back down the bar, nodding at
happier clients and passing out bottles of Molson's or Labatt's to
clutching hands.  The bartender set the flask of mead almost tenderly
onto the smoked glass shelves behind the bar, before laughing and
mixing an evil looking concoction of Sambuca and Vodka for a girl that
barely looked old enough to drink.

Alison sipped at the sweet liquid in her glass, sighing.  Her eyes
returned to trace the grain in the bar.  Her lips followed Soft Cell
in their final refrains.

"Where did our love go?"

                         <---===***===--->

Alison rubbed at her eyes.  The smoke hung like a palpable fog in the
atmosphere of the bar.  She coughed gently, covering her mouth with
her left hand.  Her fingers had worked most of the stinging from her
eyes, but she knew that she would have to take a long, hot shower to
rinse the stale reek from her hair when she finally summoned the
courage to leave her sanctuary.  And her clothes were going to need to
be dry-cleaned.  She shrugged and sipped the last drop of mead from
her glass.

Patrons now filled the bar, bodies jammed together like sardines in a
tin.  Though she had some breathing room at her corner of the bar, the
dance floor was brimming with nubile bodies gyrating to the amplified
music spun by the female disc jockey.  The DJ had an unusual name,
spoken once in one of her infrequent interruptions of the music. 
Alison struggled to remember it, grasping at names as they flipped
through her mind.  Chantal?  Celia?  Yes, Celia.

Celia was currently spinning an oldies set, the dancers far too young
to remember the artists, but loving the music anyway.  Del Shannon,
followed by Buddy Holly, followed by the Supremes, followed by the
Bobby Fuller Four.  If she remembered Celia's patterns, she'd probably
drop into an 80's set after her four-song oldies indulgence.

The man entered The Portal as Bobby Fuller discovered that fighting
the law wasn't always a winning strategy.  Alison wasn't the only
woman to raise her eyes to the entrance to watch the tall, lean
presence saunter into the establishment; however, she was the only
woman that the man lifted his eyes to capture.  She shivered under his
gaze for a moment, but refused to look away.  He flashed Alison a
quick smile with a slight incline to his head, then slipped
effortlessly through the crowds of inebriated patrons, finally
settling into a miraculously unoccupied booth.  She blinked, sure for
a second that the smoky haze of the bar had parted for his passage. 
His image shimmered, almost as though he weren't fully in this plane
of existence, then solidified.

Before she could determine if she was hallucinating, a slurred voice
broke her out of her daze.

"Exchuuuse me, mish, I...I couldn't help noticing you sitting all by
yourshelf over here."  The man speaking to her smelled heavily of Jack
Daniel's, his mouth only inches from her face.  She recoiled a little,
then composed herself.  Out of the corner of her eye she noticed CL
stand up a little straighter, his posture becoming more severe and
protective.  She'd already let two suitors down easy and they'd
wandered off without too much trouble.  In other circumstances she
might have been flattered by the attention, even by drunken idiots
with lame pickup lines, but tonight she simply wasn't in the mood. 
She debated letting CL take care of this one for her; CL had a certain
finesse with especially drunken or persistent slobs.  Instead, she
held her fingers up in a steady pattern.  CL relaxed, but she could
tell that he was still watching her.

"I like being alone."

The drunk considered that for a moment, actually leaning in closer. 
Alison gagged at his breath, backing away, somewhat afraid that the
guy was going to plant one on her.  CL began to walk towards her end
of the bar.  She was dimly aware of other patrons around her,
beginning to stare.

"Sooooo," he oozed, undeterred.  "Do ya wanna fuck me, then?"

Without thought, her fist rose, connecting solidly with his jaw.  He
staggered back, rubbing at his face.  She stroked at her closed
fingers, trying not to cry out at the pain that had blossomed there.

"Bitch," the man exclaimed before staggering away from her, still
rubbing his injured jaw.  She turned back towards the bar, seeing CL
motion discreetly towards the entrance where the bouncers stood at
ease, scanning the crowd.  After getting the attention of one of the
heavily muscled men, CL pointed at the oblivious drunk, stumbling
against other patrons.

"You okay?" CL asked as he ambled up to her.

She nodded, tapping her glass.  He had the flask with him, and
automatically poured some of the mead into her glass at her request.

"Never seen you hit one of them before.  Not even a ladylike slap," CL
noted absently, but with some admiration.

"He'll live."

CL nodded, glancing over his shoulder.  The crowd that had watched the
drunk get tossed had turned back to the bar, clamouring for more
alcohol once the diversion had exited.

"Gotta run."  CL jerked his thumb over his shoulder.  "But I'll be
back."

                         <---===***===--->

Alison looked up as CL dropped two wine glasses in front of her.  She
tilted her head, letting her eyes enquire.

"The Bomb."  CL grinned.

"Should I ask?"

"You don't want to know what's in it.  But the name's appropriate."

"Then let's try 'why'?"

"Because he bought it for you."

"Huh?"

CL jerked his head towards the mystery man still seated at his booth
on the other side of the bar.  Alison had surreptitiously been
glancing over at the tall man since he'd swept into the place. 
Feigning interest, Alison followed CL's motion, squinting through the
haze.  The man wasn't watching her, hadn't so much as glanced in her
direction since his entrance as far as she could tell.  Instead, his
head was turned towards the collection of dancers behind her.  Celia
was spinning The Bad Touch.  The song always made her smile, but
instead of following the mystery man's gaze, she returned her eyes to
CL.

"Who is he?"

"I suspect you'll find out."

"Why'd he buy me a drink?"

CL shrugged, and raised his eyebrows with one of his patented
do-I-need-to-answer-such-a-stupid-question looks.

She ran her teeth across her bottom lip.

"The Bomb, huh?"

"Said you might need it.  Supposed to shoot the first one, then chase
it with the second.  Then, if you are still standing, eat the orange."

She gingerly pushed the wine glasses back to the inside edge of the
bar with her fingertips.  A quick smile played across her lips, the
first one all day.

"Tell him...I don't need it, and I'm not interested."

CL nodded, picking up the glasses, one in each hand.

"I already did, but he insisted."

She slowly raised her mead and sipped at the sweetness.  She glanced
back at the booth.  As far as she could tell, the stranger hadn't
looked at her throughout the entire exchange.

                         <---===***===--->

She watched the waitress thread her way through the packed patrons
towards the booth.  Alison didn't want to watch, but her eyes were
drawn to the girl's back as she raised her tray with the two wine
glasses and the slice of orange high above her head with a practised
ease.

The tall man didn't look surprised at the waitress' presence.  He
merely accepted the drinks with a hint of a smile, and tipped her. 
Her face was aglow on the return trip through the crowd.

When Alison returned her eyes to the booth, the man was looking
towards her.  She started a little, but didn't drop her gaze.

With a smile, the man raised one of the wine glasses and downed it in
one long swallow.  His image shimmered for a moment, then the
remaining contents of The Bomb disappeared.  He popped the orange into
his mouth, and as though dismissing her, he turned away to resume
watching the dance floor.

Alison shook her head, and turned back towards the bar.

                         <---===***===--->

Alison shivered as her booted foot touched the concrete.  Small chunks
of ice crunched under the soles of her feet.  The pounding of the bass
stretched through the doors and spilled over the sidewalk, echoing
through her ribcage and rattling her lungs.  She wrapped her arms
around herself, hugging herself despite the faux fur coat she had
donned before exiting the bar.

It was too early for taxis, and besides, the cool air would do her
good.  The apartment would be far too empty tonight, but she had
nowhere else to go, and it wasn't a long walk.

Once outside of the influence of the bass, her footfalls echoed up and
down the nearly empty street.

                         <---===***===--->

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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