Tar and Happiness

On A Bender.

Ice cold. Through the haze of lashes stuck together she peered. Her mouth was dry and yet tasted as if she had literally licked the bottom of an aged barrel of paga. There was a sickly sweet smell that clung around her head like a fog. Her eyelids peeled apart rather painfully and she looked around. White curtains billowed with the chilly autumnal breeze. It was after dusk or maybe before dawn, at the moment she couldn't tell. Oman lifted off the white marble floor she was sprawled over to perch on her elbows. Her fingers were blackened with sticky tar. 'Damnit', she thought, 'how in nine levels of hell did I end up here.' Her answer sat before her on a lounge chaise of white brocade. There lay a man in black. He was young, fair haired, and full of himself.

She pushed up to sit. " Who the bloody bosk are you, and why, please tell me why, you are in my personal home? "
He puffed up with pride and stretched out on her custom chaise. The taste in her mouth was becoming most foul. " I am Basle, Sister. I found you and brought you here to safety, " he had jumped up and posed like a temple statue. Oman was stunned by this dramatic explanation. Pushing herself to her feet, she swaggered off towards the facilities.
' You have got to be kidding me. I have been rescued by Herakles,' she thought as she stared in the large mirror. The sight of her was shocking. She was in quite the state. Certainly she didn't look like a beautiful maiden needing to be saved from anything. Her eye kohl was smeared to her lips. He wasn't the picture perfect Heraklean monument either, really. In fact he looked familiar. She washed her face and mouth and pondered where she knew him from.

Now more or less come-round, she went back to the main room of her Apartment. For not being home in more than seven years, it appeared clean. Perhaps the Cylinder's manager was taking care of that. " Did we have relations then? " she asked rather frankly as she whipped her hair into a knot. A look of shock and awe struck his features. He was handsome but not really her type. 'Not bad for a night on the bends, ' she mused to herself. " Sister I would never, " he stumbled for the answer, " It would never be my intention to, " he rambled on, her head was throbbing so much she could no longer hear him. When he had stopped blathering about honor and pride she asked soberly, " Do I know you ? "

" He wishes to see you, " Basle had said moving for the door, " I will wait until you clean up and escort you through the Anbar. "


' Fuck,' she turned around to go change.