Post by Nathan Saniti on Jan 30, 2017 19:47:26 GMT -5
The Star of Babylon - Lust - Chapter 02
"Our adventure begins," Neville stated.
A small, almost meek rap came to the door of the hut. The gathered Harvesters looked at each other in wonder, completely unaware of any visitors to be expected.
"'Tis your abode, dear brother," quipped Nathan lightly, "The portal is yours to answer."
"Lazy bastard," growled Neville, walking past Nathan to reach the door as a second knock, this time a bit more authoritative, sounded. Neville flung the door open, curses at the ready on his tongue for the intrusion. His battalion of curses halted as his eyes took in the object of his brother's (and let's be honest here; his as well) desire, Kelli Starr, standing opposite him, looking edible, radiant, and perhaps a bit sheepish.
"Why are you knocking, Kelli?" Neville stood aside, motioning for her to enter. "Come in. Come in."
"I..." she stammered a bit, "It just seemed like I should, I guess."
"You are always welcome here." Neville studied her. He could scarcely hide his feelings for her, but his concern for her state of mind overtook it. "Are you okay?"
"I know you are all going to try and find the Seeds of Life, and I want in." She paused, unsure of how to say the next sentence. Nathan's appearance in the foyer nearly killed the words before she could speak.
Nathan gazed upon his love, overjoyed that she was here and ready for adventures once again, but in his heart, he knew there was a troublesome conversation that needed to be had. He nodded lightly, knowing exactly what Kelli was wanting, needing, to say. "Perhaps you and I should clear the air then?" Kelli nodded in agreement. "I desperately want you by our side, but if you can't trust me, then I fear your presence would be more of a distraction to my heart than a help to our mission."
Nathan led his love into the adjacent room, as far away from prying ears as he felt was needed. Neville rejoined Naomi and Rasputin at the table whilst the lovers had their conversation. Not much could be heard, though Kelli's voice did raise on more than one occasion.
"Should we go in there?" inquired Naomi.
"Nyet," replied Rasputin. "Let Nathan and the zaichik hash out their differences. It will either tear them apart or pull them closer. It is the order of things."
Neville turned his gaze to the room, finding it more and more difficult to mask his pangs of jealousy for his twin. He wanted to experience that sort of love, that level of devotion. Hell, he'd even cherish the unsettling nuances of an impassioned spat, just to have the heart of someone like Kelli in his life. His sister's silken touch snapped him from his trance.
"Is everything okay, brother?" She ran her hand across his neck with a motherly love.
"I'm not sure if I should accompany on this mission," he stated matter-of-factly.
"Nonsense," scoffed Rasputin. He leaned in close so that his own beloved could barely hear. "We're heading into a place filled with Lust. Maybe we could sneak off and find a brothel to enjoy."
Naomi smacked Rasputin not quite so playfully across the back of his shiny, bald head. "You'll do no such thing."
Before the Russian mage could retort, Nathan and Kelli rejoined the gathering. "Indeed. We must all do our best to avoid taking part in the sins, else we may lose ourselves in the process."
"Speaking of losing yourself, what do you plan on doing for your match against Whitey Ford and Grimm?" Kelli expertly diverted the conversation with her inquiry.
"I shall do my best, my dear," answered Nathan. "I barely surprised Mr. Dillinger last week long enough to garner the victory, and Mr. Ford and I, despite our backstage differences, have never met in battle. At least, I don't recall that we have. Both men are clever and conniving, so I shall have to be at my best. Should that not be good enough, then so be it." Nathan gathered the map and the Star of Babylon, and led the Harvesters over to a rather large, ancient looking chest at the end of his bed.
"You didn't seriously hide the door to your world in my foot locker, did you?" quizzed Neville.
Nathan smiled broadly and shrugged. "It seemed as good a place as any." He cracked open the chest, a green, pungent fog evaporating in its newfound freedom, but not before befouling the air. Tiny little stench ninjas silently climbed the would-be explorers, assaulting their olfactories with unforgivable mercilessness.
"Dear god," repulsed Neville with a scrunched up face. "Did you have to make it smell like feet too?"
Nathan smirked mischievously. "Mind your footsteps."
He lifted a leg, stepping into the locker with relative ease. He turned his body to assist his love into the portal as the smell made her eyes tear up. He guided his sister as she entered as well with held breath. He returned his direction to the downward. Rasputin fought his gag reflex and Neville simply shook his head in disbelief and contempt.
They got past the awful odor with fair speed, emerging in the halls of the Impossible Staircase, a great room filled with stairs leading to doors in every imaginable direction, as well as a few unimaginable ones. The choices of doors seemed infinite and a bit overwhelming.
Nathan strolled over to a bench with a New York City phonebook placed on it. He picked up the book, blowing dust off of it with relish. (Relish is the best thing to use for dust, you know. That and hot dogs are relish's only true uses.) "I simply must read this again."
"Can we skip the sentimentality and find the door, please?" growled an impatient Neville.
"Indeed," agreed Nathan, replacing the book carefully and perfectly back amongst its rectangular ring of dust on the bench. He produced the map, twisting it this way and that until he was satisfied that it had been oriented correctly. Soon, the pointer at the center of the map began to guide them through the labyrinth of steps until it came to rest upon a door. The arrow blinked enthusiastically, stating that this was the door that led to Gomorrah.
The placard on the door disagreed with the map as loudly as inanimate objects were allowed. It decreed that the door did not, in fact, belong to Gomorrah. It simply stated in big, brass, scripted letters: "Hotel California."
