Monday, September 24, 2007

   Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
Hay every body. I am so stinking furstrated!!!!! Ashley Huddleston kepy running her mouth. In German class today I asked Buderer for help and she said, "Rebecca Why don't you try to ask someone you don't like?" I just want to B*Slap her! I have a story today. A freind wrote this on another site.

Rome was not built for snow, the priest noted absently, trudging past a faltering line of sisters who were skidding and teetering dangerously along the slick cobbles. In their light, smooth-soled footwear they really shouldn’t have been out in the weather, yet there they were, holding each other up, occasionally making a loud squeak of alarm as someone’s feet went out from under them and pulled several others to the ground with them. That had happened twice as he’d passed, and each time had resulted in nearly the entire group dissolving into fits of giggles and shrieks while the matron in front looked on in stern disapproval.
His heavy, steel-toed boots were somewhat more useful, but it was really the manner in which one walked that made the difference between forward progress and ignominious falling on one’s posterior. And his stride was automatically shortening into the nearly-mincing step that set the entire foot down as a whole, with no rolling of the toe or heel and a full, careful balancing of weight. It was a trick he’d learned in Albion as a child, before he’d been introduced to the three other ‘experimental humans’ which were to become his family in a home far removed from this one...
Strange what things one retained, after nearly a century of disuse.
A cold, feathery flake stuck to the tip of his nose and melted almost immediately. He brushed the moisture away with a glove, which was unfortunately also cold and wet, so it really didn’t improve matters much. With a faint snort, the priest flung back his head into the elements, the hood of his woolen traveling cloak sliding into a heap down his back. At this seeming victory, the snowflakes appeared to swirl even more thickly, settling on his exposed platinum hair and the wide shoulders of his uniform in a mantle of fluffy white.
The giggles faded into the distance, and the darkening streets were empty of travelers. His boots made a satisfying scrunch, scrunch in new, intruded snow. Ahead, the snow whirled; light in darkness, strange pallid silhouettes against the charcoal grey of evening. The sound of the city was lost, silenced in the muffling white, mute and breathless in the face of such ephemeral grace and beauty.
“Father Nightroad!”
The priest blinked. Twenty-five candles were coming towards him from the open gateway to Cardinal Sforza’s compound. Or – wait, no, it was only one candle, but the flame was reflected so many times from the water droplets on his spectacles that it looked like twenty-five. He tipped the thin wire frames down on his nose and peered over them curiously. “Sister Esther! What are you doing out here? You’ll get soaked!”
The speaker, who had indeed been Sister Esther, glared at him with exasperation on her pert features. “Father - ! Honestly. And you aren’t?” The candle sputtered as a snowflake passed too near and met an untimely demise; one white-gloved hand flew to protect the flame.
He spread his gloved hands innocently. “Well, I was already out in it– one of the hazards of being a traveling priest, you know.” He cast the nun a sidelong glance as she settled into step beside him, matching his careful stride without batting an eyelash.
“Well, that’s as may be but I’m sure Lady Caterina didn’t want you to catch a cold from it,” Esther was continuing, her eyes firmly on the ground in front of her and the candle she protected. Her white overcoat and boots blended with the new snow perfectly; only the cobalt trim of her habit and wimple and the bright red strands of her hair broke the monochrome of the scene. A bit like the snowshoe hare in winter, he mused absently, recalling a moment long past when he’d been assigned further north and had startled a pair of those very animals from their resting place in a field. They’d been almost invisible, save for their sparkling dark eyes and twitching pink noses. Scared him half to death, too, as they had exploded in a flurry of snow right in front of his feet.
Esther, her new white camouflage notwithstanding, was sometimes very much like a hare, the priest smirked faintly to himself. Jittery, reactionary, and entirely unpredictable in what way she could turn next… Her nose even twitched a bit like one, when she was annoyed (as now). Covering a sudden grin behind his glove, he let his gaze linger a moment as she concentrated intently on the placement of her feet. He wondered if her hair would be as soft… watching as the scarlet locks fluttered in silken ripples, teasing the crystalline snowflakes as they danced past, longing to catch in those fiery strands.
Shame on you, an amused, faintly accented voice echoed in his mind, clear-toned as church bells.
He drew in a sharp breath, jolted from his reverie, and then began coughing violently from the frozen air hitting the back of his throat.
Why, when dealing with this girl, he wondered, did his conscience always end up sounding like Lilith?
Esther turned her head and glared at him once more, but the look softened as he nearly doubled over, clutching his neck in a futile attempt to warm the inside from the outside. “Oh! Now see, that’s exactly what I was talking about, Father Abel! Oh, for Heaven’s sake… why did you take your hood down, it’s all full of snow now and useless! Do you do this on purpose…?”
Eyes streaming, Abel managed to get the coughing under control as she fussed over him; a rather amusing sight considering her diminutive stature. When standing straight, the top of her head barely reached his chest. He took a more cautious breath and let it out with a sigh and a weak, embarrassed smile. “Ahh… Sister Esther, it’s only the cold air, nothing to be concerned about…”
“Well, you need to get inside and dry off anyway. Lady Caterina will want to hear your report, and I’m sure she’d prefer not having to worry about you dripping all over the paperwork.” The young nun’s prim, snappish tone was belied by the gentle hand that remained supportively at his arm; the candle had been left to fend for itself. Abel felt strangely warmed by her attention.
“Ahh, of course,” he managed to respond while she began tugging him onward up the uneven walk, continuing to grumble under her breath about how he had absolutely no care for his health and really, he should have been back days ago and honestly, could Rome have asked for worse weather?
His eyes widened suddenly, remembering something. “Esther – watch out, there’s a loose – “
“EEEP!!!”



I have to do it in sections okay? It is so long.

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