Lets Get to the Worm {ask}

[Lillie Galleau]

((Only if you could forgive the length! Kyle's response just got my muses FLOWING, baybay! >D Dramaaaa!))

Okay, so where was that sales account that Tyson had wanted her to review before opening tomorrow? Carefully feeling around the desk, she traced her fingers along various pieces of paper, using brail and the ‘special tears’ that her partner was likely to leave on documents left for her.

As she searched, half of her mind keeping tabs on the heavy footfalls of her friend as he wandered through the Gallery, she could help the little grin that stole onto her face. Would Kyle like her pieces? She was sure proud of them, but others tended to drift toward the practical paintings, rather than the mystical landscapes that she provided. A giddy feeling descended on her, as the thought ‘what now?’ came to mind. Only once in her 28 years of life had she been alone with a stranger, a man, and her mind buzzed with nervousness. What was she supposed to do, now that she’d invited him in? Offer him something to drink? No, that wouldn’t do; he’d brought his own refreshment along with him. The Lillie the Wonder Slut voice that resided in the back of her head whispered a few other choice things that she could offer him, but she shoved those particular images back with a snort.

She might have been breaking with tradition, but she wasn’t THAT free spirited just yet. And anyway, Mr. Smokey Voice had done nothing but play the well meaning bodyguard. He practically coiled up when her pinky toe came too close to him; he’d probably run away screaming if she tried to turn up the charm.

A little sigh escaped her as she shook her head at herself. She’d been talking to old Mrs. Mahoney next door too much. As the resident matchmaker of the local parish, the ex-go-go dancer seemed to think that Lillie was fast approached the Age of No Return.

Heck, like anybody wanted to deal with a blind gallery owner who babbled like a fiend, had a certifiably psychotic family and couldn’t sleep a full night for her life. Not that she was complaining; she liked herself, thanks so much.

…Sheeze, tequila was definitely not her drink, with the twists and turns her brain was taking. What, was she some puppy-dog teenager again? God forbid she revert back to those years!

“Ha, there you are, you wily sales certificate,” She said with a triumphant ‘mwahaha.’ “Thought you could hide from me, could you? Don’t underestimate the Short Woman,” Turning from the desk, she walked carefully toward the back of the gallery, jumping a bit at the loud crack of lightning that burst outside. “Whoo, that was scary. Okay, I think I’m done here, Kyle. I’m just going to mosey on home. You should probably get going; it’s late and I really don’t want to keep youuuuuuuu...!”

Trailing off with a surprised squeak, Lillie suddenly found herself surrounded by a thoroughly angered male. His warm breath fanned her face as he caught her wrists in an iron grip. She could practically hear the gas exchange happening in his lungs, with the strong bursts of breath that was tumbling from his lips, and with another startled noise, she stumbled after him as he dragged her toward the painting.

Oh good GOD, he really was a serial killer! Damn you, you lying gut feeling! As he jerked to a halt, she tripped over a nearby table and would have fallen if not for the strength of his hold.

Her eyes wide open and face tilted toward her voice, shock and fear skittered onto her face, to be replaced with open confusion. Sorcery? Son? WHAT THE HECK WAS GOING ON?!

It was probably the pain in her shin, if nothing else, that spurred her to shove her face forward until it was inches from his. Thank God for his harsh breathing giving her some depth perception and their difference in height, or she’d have smacked her forehead against his. And it’d serve him right if she’d cracked his head open, the poop, for yelling at her like she was some sort of criminal!

Men these days!

“First off, I have no idea what you’re talking about!” She bellowed back, filmy eyes narrowing in a display of both anger and fear. “What the heck do you mean, sorcery? I’m just a gallery owner! And I have no idea what you’re talking about…your son? I’m sorry if you can’t find him, but what the heck would make you think that I…I…oh my God. You’re one of THOSE,”

Hello, lightbulb. As if someone had come over and poked her with a pin, all of her previous steam proceeded to leak out. He’d been alright, if not quiet on the way back; normal, for the most part. Until they had come into the gallery, and he’d seen something that he didn’t like.
Oh yay, her ‘talent’ coming back to bite her in the butt once again! She could die happy!

Just two weeks earlier, a man had come into the gallery. She’d mistaken him for a simple customer and, with a practiced ease, had told him about the imaginary artist who painted all of the pieces she sold. Rebecca Beaumont, she’d said, was a hermetic artist who lived out in the bayou. Nobody knew what she looked like, and the only two people that she spoke to were herself and her business partner. The lie had been created long ago, when doctors and concerned teachers had begun to knock on her brothers’ door when she was young; all curious about the blind girl who could paint so vividly. In order to protect her, they’d created Rachel, allowing her to do what she loved, and be left alone in the process.

But, in the span of one afternoon, a man walked into her gallery and saw straight through her lie. He’d patiently listened to her lies, her insisting…and proceeded to throw her right off the boat and into shark infested waters.

“Let go of my hands…let go! I have to see you…LET ME GO!” Wrenching one wrist free of his grasp, she ignored the answering throb and pressed her palm to his cheek. She took a step forward, chasing after him when he jerked back, and slid her fingers over his forehead, nose, cheeks, chin…

“Oh my God,” The words came out in a breathy whisper, shock written on her face. “Oh my God, you’re…’The Eyes of the Beast.’ That’s you…your face. Well, half of your face, and the other half…oh my God. This is really happening. Holy guacamole and its best friend wasabi…”

She quickly grabbed onto his other hand still holding her wrist as her knees began to wobble. She wanted to sit down, to somehow chuck him out of her gallery and pretend that nothing had ever happened. She’d managed to do so after the strange man- Marius- had left her shop. She’d tried to pretend that he’d never come in, that he’d never told her about the truth behind her paintings…that he was the gladiator from one of her most popular pieces, ‘The God Reborn.’

Steeling her spine, her free hand drifted up to her forehead, fingers massaging at the headache that formed there.
“Not sorcery,” She croaked, suddenly feeling like the world beneath her feet was slipping. “Visions. I didn’t want to believe it, but…God, first Marius, now you. It has to be real. I have dreams, I always have, and I need to paint them, or else I get sick. Even when Mama and Daddy were still alive, I was always drawing. I don’t know your son…but I do know YOU. You’re the dragon in my paintings. Oh my God, you’re real.”

And please, for all that’s holy, say that he wasn’t about to let her go and jump clear across the room. The need to babble was practically ready to burst out of her, but she managed to hold it back, while she reached her free hand up to brush her fingers against his cheek.

“You’re really real.”

[Kyle Aodhagán †]

The shifter hadn’t meant to hurt her. Sometimes his strength and speed escaped him; especially when his anger made the urge to breathe fire difficult to resist.
He drew in lungfuls of air; his massive chest rising and falling with violent trembles.
All the years searching for the evil that had made him what he was today; cold and empty; all the years looking for the one thing that could free his heart and his mind...he never felt closer to it than he did in this moment.

Kyle let out a ragged breath when Lillie defied his anger by lifting up on tip-toes so that her milky almond-shaped eyes were nearly even with his; the azure orbs now fairly glowing like the moon and his pupils narrowed and lengthened to reptilian slits. He was becoming the monster that stared back at them from the canvas on the wall; half man, half dragon; and he tasted brimstone on the back of his tongue. The odd thing was the shifter was ephemerally distracted by the troublesome thought that he was glad to have finally gotten to see her eyes...

The tempest outside raged in rhythm with his panting breath; wind howling loudly like a banshee and the rain coming down in fierce sheets that sounded like the clawed hooves of demons dancing on the rooftop.
Kyle loosened his grip on her wrist; the staccato beat of his heart hammering in time with that rain as he saw an awareness cross the face of the artist.

‘One of those...’ were the words that fell over her cupids bow lips and wrinkled the fine porcelain skin of her forehead, and the dragon suddenly knew she recognized what he was. Suddenly she pulled her wrist free from his grasp and firm hands were ghosting over his cheeks, face, and eyes; reading the map of his face like a novel. At her touch, an electric current passed through the delicate fingertips and surged into the dragon; staggering the male so that he weakened for the slightest moment. He took a step backwards, but still she reached; holding him to the spot as if he were one of the stone effigies that stood on display along with her paintings.

‘What sorcery is this?’ His mind repeated as his eyes slid closed and a moan escaped from his slightly parted lips. Kyle felt as though she were bewitching him; enchanting him with her touch.

When she uttered the name of the portrait, his eyes shot back open, and once again his stance was unwavering. She trembled, and it was with his hand she regained her balance, and the dragon couldn’t help but wrap a strong arm around her waist to keep her body from meeting the cold wood floor.
Kyle’s face was contorted in confusion. The anger had turned to repentance; a sentiment he hadn’t felt in ages and something else... something else that was foreign in his chest and made him shudder at the core.

Not sorcery, but a gift. The mental pictures; the dreams had replaced the vision she had lost. The dragon shook his head in uncertainty and disappointment. What were the Fates playing at leading him to her?
He raised his hand to lightly grasp the tender fingers still resting on his cheek. Reluctantly, Kyle drew the hand away and used it to lead her to a silken divan that was expertly placed against the wall for weary footed gallery browsers. Letting her hand drop as her body dropped onto the chaise longue, the dragon inhaled deeply to steel himself against the hypnotic feelings that were clawing at his insides like a great beast.

“I am that creature...the dragon in your painting.” Kyle answered firmly; his brogue husky but with more patience than a moment before. “There are those of us that walk with strides both in this world, and the other realm; some more dangerous than others.”
He let out the steely breath that had begun to burn his lungs; eyes trained on the artist as if seeing her for the first time.
“Your talent is a gift and one that sings of the world that I hail from; if you are to believe in things such as oracles and prophets and...dragons.”

Impulsively, the shifter lifted his hand to his cheek; staggered by the ghostly sensation of warm her fingers had left behind. His eyebrows creased with concern. It wasn’t safe for humans to know such things; especially if they when searching them out. He felt as though he'd already said too much.
Another remembrance carved a frown over his face; a name; and one that brought an intense concern to his psyche.

“Who is this Marius? How well do you know him? Have you a painting of him too?”
Perhaps this Marius knew something of the other realm, or...something about the witch and his son.

{ I looooved it!! <3 }

[Lillie Galleau]

‘Oh my God, oh my God,’ the words played like a mantra in her mind. He was the man in her painting; the man in her dreams. She had others, stored in a secret room in the basement of the Gallery that only she knew about; bloodied scenes, carnage and war, pain and suffering…she’d practically begged for a dream about the beautiful dragon and his movement amongst the stars.

Taking deep breaths to match the rhythm of the storm outside, Lillie tried her best to calm down. Okay, so she’d been a bit brash when she’d decided that the best course of action was to ignore everything Oracle-related. Marius had come in, informing her that she’d just painted a real, living person, instead of the figment in her dream…and heck, she should have expected this. If one dream was real, why wouldn’t all of them be real? The practical woman in her asked, rationality doing its best to take some of the panic away from her chest.

But did that stop a little voice from screaming how it didn’t want to be rational? She was PAINTING REAL PEOPLE! Real, breathing, walking, talking…doing-other-things people! People she’d never met, never spoken to, never seen- well, a give in, but she was allowed one little pun after a bitch slap like this one- and, given the nature of some of the scenes, never thought could be real.

If the half dragon man was real…were the other things real? The fairy people, the werewolves, vampires…God, the monsters? Not all of her paintings were happy Fae lands; some were dark and brutal, depicting worlds straight out of a childhood nightmare. Were those real, too?

Man, she needed another shot of tequila. If only Kyle hadn’t dropped Miss Wormy onto the floor…

Like he was some kind of big, panting lifeline, Lillie held onto his arm with a vengeance. The soft moan that slipped from his lips startled her, the sound cutting through the breathy stillness of the room around them. Slowly, a shiver worked itself down her spine, intensifying into something…electric as his arm wound around her waist.

It was probably really wrong; the urge to swoon and see what happened. She was going back into Victorian mode, wanting to feel that strong heartbeat under her fingers as he held her close against his chest…

Yeah, definitely wrong. Wrong time, wrong place, wrong DRAGON-GUY.

On shaky legs, she allowed herself to be led to the little settee at the back of the room. It had been made by a local carpenter, and she had to stifle the sudden urge to giggle. Carved into the arm rests and the sturdy back were little smiling, ‘Puff the Magic Dragon’ style dragons. Talk about apropos.

Reluctantly, she parted from the addictive warmth of his body and plopped back onto the cushions of the little couch. Instinctively, she scooped up one of the little throw pillows Tyson had bought to ‘color up the place,’ and hugged it to her chest.

“I was afraid you were going to say that,” She said, voice a bit strained. “I’ve been doing my best to ignore all of this…fantasy stuff, ever since that guy walked into the Gallery and scared the bejeesus out of me. But yeah, you’re real. You’re…a shape-shifting dragon,” This time, she did laugh, if only to let some of the tension out of herself. “Gives a different meaning to ‘man of my dreams,’ huh?”

Running a hand through her hair, she shook her head in wry amusement. Only her, the Queen of the Chaotic, would have this kind of crazy talent. “If you would have asked me that three weeks ago, I would have thought you were pulling my chain,” She sighed, slowly regaining her composure. “But now…holy guacamole. Oh yeah, and call this ‘thing’ a gift one more time, and I’m gonna throw my pillow at you.”

Should she tell him about the other paintings? The nightmarish ones that lurked in her basement downstairs? Before she could come to a decision, his voice cut through the quiet again, sharper this time. Instinctively, she bristled at his tone, picking at the edges of her pillow.

“Marius is actually the man who clued me in on my dreams being visions. Turns out that one of my favorite paintings was of him. Back in Rome…in some gladiator glory days.” Idly, she motioned toward the side wall near the door. “It’s called ‘The God Reborn.’ Given the fact that the gladiator was real, I’m gonna go with the idea that the ‘God’ part is real too. Before you ask, yes, he can be trusted. He hasn’t done anything but inform me that I’m some kind of weird prophet, and try to buy my painting. Well, his painting, given that he’s in it.”

And hello, babbling. Rubbing at her eyes, she bit back the urge to launch herself against his chest. Would he push her away, or pull her in, she wondered absently. A chill ran through her, icy and foreboding and she rubbed at her arms. Man, if there was one time that she missed her overly protective and affectionate brothers, it was now.

[Kyle Aodhagán †]

Thank the heavens this Marius had reduced the fire that knowledge of his -truth- had set to the human. He expected screaming; perhaps fleeing or assault, but the fragile female was actually quite calm given the information she’d just received from the dragon.
Her ethereal face; though pinched in concern, hadn’t broken open like the clouds outside to let loose her tears. Kyle wasn’t moved easily by the human condition, but for some reason he knew that seeing her cry would wound him more than any bodily injury. It was a strange sensation that was becoming more and more difficult for the shifter to abide.
His eyes drifted from her face to the cushion she clutched at her stomach as if it were a shield, and the fleeting remembrance of his arms around her waist drew a pensive sigh from the man.

“Man of your dreams?” Kyle repeated broodingly; his azure eyes narrowing under a furrowed brow. The simple words brought on the sensation that his lungs were being constricted; another unexplained awareness that was foreign to the shifter. Perhaps the lost hope of her knowing the whereabouts of his son was making him weary. The tequila was definitely affecting his psyche. What else could explain the odd way his heart hammered in his chest as she tightened her arms around the pillow?
The dragon reflected on the night’s events and the painting that hung over the bar counter at The Pit came back to mind. Lillie had ‘seen’ him more than once; this was obvious, but were there more images of him? If she could see the past; which was lucid considering the likeness of his dragon form sleeping over his village; could she see the future as well? Was there a painting somewhere that could put him on the right path toward his nemesis?

Kyle’s gaze shifted to the portrait that the artist pointed out when referring to the Marius she had spoken of, and he left her for a moment to move closer to the effigy. The dragon’s forehead creased as he took in the image of the gladiator; the ‘god’ that was now walking the same path as he was here in the bayou town. What purpose did such a deity have in such a humble place? Surely Olympus, or which ever Eden the man was from had to be better than swamps and voodoo.
The fine hairs on the back of his neck rose, and he had an ominous intuition that there was more going on in this town that he originally thought.

Drifting back over to the female, he rubbed a weary hand over his lips and watched as she rubbed her eyes. The night, it seemed, had lasted an eternity and he knew he would need to leave her to her rest soon...but not yet.

“Lillie, have you more of these... prophetic images anywhere else than what is shown in the gallery? Perhaps those which are not so pleasing to your patrons? I’m sure you are aware there are others like me here in New Orleans... like Marius; different, but alike that we are from a different plane of existence.” He paused, hesitant to upset her anymore than he already had, but desperate to understand how much she had foreseen. “Some of these...creatures are not as reverent to the continued existence of...humans. If there are more, I need to see them. It is important that I see them...”
Kyle’s voice was throaty and grave. It mattered not that he needed to see if there were images of the witch or his offspring, as long as she believed it was for her safety. It also wasn’t significant that she know he wanted to see if there were other images of him. Why that mattered was beyond the shifter’s understanding; but it mattered.

[Lillie Galleau]

Slowly, more due to her mantra dying down and the deep, rumbling quality of her guest’s voice, Lillie found herself able to push back the urge to go into hysterics. She’d always known that she was different, ever since she was a child, before the accident. There was always that little voice in the back of her head that urged her to paint, to draw, to do SOMETHING with her hands, until the compulsion wore off. She’d get sick if she couldn’t draw; wracked with pain, as if her brain were on fire.

All of that? Definitely not the quirks of a normal person. So…why was she finding it so darn hard to accept that she was different.

Shaking her head, she drew in a deep breath and stood. Kyle’s voice was like a lifeline, the words and questions keeping her grounded in reality, and she hung on like a drowning woman. Slowly, using it to judge the distance between them, she moved over to where she stood.

“I have more paintings than any storage facility can hold,” She said, reaching forward to run her fingers over the brail beneath Marius’ painting. The poor man…she’d practically broken down like a rusty engine when he’d broken the news.

Absently, she couldn’t help but return back to ‘what ifs.’ If Kyle had been the one to break the ice, how would he have reacted to her…well, ‘freaking out’ was a bit harsh, but it did cover her reaction. Would he have run away? Told her to suck it up and accept it? Or would he wrap her up in those iron-like arms? Her mind just kept coming back to that secure hold he’d had on her before. She’d felt safe. As if he were an anchor in this earthquake that was beginning to take shape as her life.

Before the little voice in her head could start spouting more common sense, she let one hand drift up until she had his sleeve in a light grasp. She had a feeling that he’d pull away, just as he had before…but God, she needed a hug; some kind of reassurance that the world wasn’t about to explode, if only to kick her butt some more. Getting one from this guy would probably be the epitome of spurring world peace, but heck, she’d take what she could get.

“The worst ones are in a special storage facility under the art department at Tulane,” She said, after a moment, voice soft. “The ones that I don’t…I don’t want near me. I always thought that they were nightmares; that those monsters were just the things my masochistic mind cooked up. I’m still hoping that I’m right, because some of them…”

She shook her head, trailing off, her fingers tightening on his sleeve for a moment before she released him. Steeling her spine, she turned to walk toward the back of the room. With a practiced ease, she maneuvered around various pieces of furniture and slid her fingers along the wall next to a particularly hazy image of a forest fortress, sporting a snarling wolf and his half-animal followers. Finding the hidden catch in the colorful plaster, she pushed forward, pulled at the now exposed lever and revealed a hidden door that led down into the bowels of the building.

A wan smile on her face, she motioned toward the doorway. “My brother’s a carpenter,” She explained, leaning over the threshold to flip on the lights. “He built the passage so none of the paintings downstairs would get stolen. I can’t show the others to you now, because the campus is closed, but there are more, just downstairs. They aren’t as bad, but I can’t sell them. They aren’t as bad, but…I don’t know. Something told me that they were important in some way. Maybe you can tell me why.”

Without waiting for an answer, she turned to walk down the stairs. The basement had been closed off when she and Tyson had first bought it, and it had taken them almost half a year to clear it out. Thanks to her brothers and her business partner, it had been turned from a musty, cob-webby mess, into a storage room fit for a restoration department. A cool blast of air greeted her as they reached the bottom of the staircase, the ventilation system working overtime to keep the pieces below in pristine condition. The paintings themselves were stored in individual glass cases, partitioned in sections according to place, person…or beast.

Stopping at the base of the stairs, she leaned back against the wall, hugging her arms to her middle again.

“I don’t think I’ve ever shown these to anyone,” She said with a tight little laugh. “I feel like I’m at some sort of art show. The ones over there, to the left…I think they’re of you,”

She kept her face pointed down, eyes closed. The mere fact that her ‘imaginary’ dragon-man was real was both shocking and embarrassing. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like if someone were looking into her past, her worst memories. “I’m sorry about your family,” She said softly, fingers playing with the fabric of her dress. “Everything that I had of…you, is in that section. The others are of other people, other…worlds, I guess. The worst of all of them are at the back of the room.”


((Mwahaha. So, I wasn't sure if you wanted Lillie to see the Witch and/or Kyle's son, so I left it a bit open. Maybe the both of them fall under the 'bad' portion of her paintings, and the rest is about his enslavement? I can work more info in there; just lemme know. ^^ ))

[Kyle Aodhagán †]

Kyle watched the blind woman make her way closer; his chest tight in unease and his breath seized so that he couldn’t smell the enthralling aroma of strawberries and soap and the oily paint that stained her sunflower yellow dress; a maddening distraction that drew his thoughts away from the subject at hand. He realized that he should be focused on her extraordinary visual prophecies, as well as any evidence or information about his charge, but he couldn’t quite get past the thought of the magnetic human having him appear at her most vulnerable of times; asleep in her bed.
What other sorts of things had she seen? What kinds of things had he done? Were they always replays of past events, or did she see things that had not yet happened. Profound dread overcame him. Oh gods. What if she had seen him at his weakest? Beneath the witch or the whores that he’d been made to lie with...or in shackles like a slave...

All of these reflections were erased from his mind like a stone skipping across a pool of water when her fingers found the fabric of his sleeve. For a moment the dragon couldn’t breathe. Oracle or no, she had a witches spell in those fingertips, for at her touch he lost his mind.
He exhaled long and hard; his opposite hand lifting slowly as if he meant to place it upon hers, but just before it reached the smooth digits, he stopped, letting it fall back at his side. This was foolishness. Such insignificant human gestures should not mean so much, and after all, he was no human.


Kyle nodded in acknowledgement when Lillie confirmed his hunch that there were more paintings. His chest deflated a little when her fingers left his arm and then she confessed that they were elsewhere, and could not be retrieved as easily as he hoped.
Her voice wavered, and when her closed eyes tightened for the briefest moment, the dragon felt his heart stir again. He was bonded to his spot on the floor as he watched her turn her back on him and walk away; disturbed that he could not reassure the female when it was so blatantly obvious she needed it from him; from someone.
His gaze fell to the floor; his brow creased in bewilderment as he listened to the light footfalls as she made her way to the back of the room.

Suddenly, there was a click and the sound of plaster giving way, and the shifter lifted his amazed glance to the pale smile written across Lillie’s face as she opened the secret passageway. Kyle’s face lit up in wonder, a cynical smile stretching over his visage as he followed her down the faintly lit stairwell. “You’re brother must be a prophet as well.” He remarked softly; that same stimulating current passing from her skin through his when he brushed lightly past her at the bottom of the staircase. “If you are ever in danger, or feel threatened, this place is a good one to hide...”

Kyle could tell by the sudden timidity in her voice, as well as the way she clasped her arms around herself, that she was uneasy about showing him what was beyond. The artist was extending a great act of kindness to him, and for that he was grateful. Turning back towards her, he laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. Though the blind woman couldn’t see the profoundly appreciative expression on his face; it was apparent in the intensity in his voice. ““Thank you Lillie.”

It was the only expression of thanks the empty-hearted dragon could muster, and it was with a deep inhalation of air that he turned to make his way to the paintings she had pointed out.

Lips pressed tightly together tightly in apprehension, Kyle approached another image of himself; this one as the dragon slayer, proud warrior with sword held high against a terrifying beast that threatened the sky with violent splashes of bright orange fire.
Next, he brought his hand up to finger yet another image of himself...this time, an enamored man on his knees clutching his mate around her rounded belly as a hazy storm colored the sky with dark purples and white streaks of lightening.

Still there were more. Kyle moved on to peer at another image, this one of him in chains and bowed head with the witch standing over him in defiance. In one hand she held a heart, he guessed either his own, or perhaps that which had belonged to his mate, and in the other palm she held a tiny dragon...his son.
The image tore a cry from his throat, and he quickly bit his fist to staunch the need to scream out in horror. A fleeting backwards glance at Lillie stilled him somewhat, and he moved on, unable to look at the painting again.

Instead, he moved past the other images of himself and towards the back, where the others were kept. ““It’s been a long time...” He said wearily in response to her apology; the simple words of kindness calming his thundering heart as if they were lullabies.

In trepidation the shifter approached the furthest part of the cellar. As if a hint at the darkness that awaited him, a cold draft of air moved the fine hairs on the back of his neck.
Indeed they were images of horror. Brutal wars that had taken place in the other realm, as well as those that had happened in this world, unbeknownst to the humans.
Terrifying monsters with innocent fae in their clutches, broods of savage vampire clans that had burnt down whole villages; all the horrible things that had been discounted as mere stories; horrible fairytales...

But there were a few that made Kyle pause in confusion. At least three he could see were depictions of the modern city of New Orleans, with hordes of feral dragons or savage monsters ripping the metropolis apart at the seams.

He moved on, and yet other showed scenes of destruction in other places around the world; Paris, and Scotland, the mountains of Colorado; all fallen victim to things that should not have been able to pass through the portal.

The last one he saw was a picture of half the mortal realm, half the ‘other’ realm and the very witch of his past with a long extended fingernail sharpened like a talon tearing open a hole between them, letting amass of monsters into the human world.

An intense awareness rocked the man. A tremble took over his limbs and the breath seemed to have been knocked out of him. ““No....no...it can’t be...” He whispered, shaking his head back and forth in disbelief.

But he did believe it. He believed in this human’s visions to the very core and it jolted the hell out of him.
On impulse he thrust his bare fist into the glass display case and took the painting from the wall. Rushing back to the startlingly beautiful oracle, Kyle took her hand in his and brought it to the painting. ““Lillie....” He didn’t know what to say. What could he say? Her ‘visions’ foretold the end of the world as she knew it?

““There is someone who needs to see this one. It’s of vital significance...” The shifter paused, looking down at the hand that still held gently onto hers. He swallowed thickly and then released his hold; discomfited by the familiarity with which he touched her now.

He hated to leave her like this; in such a state, but it was important that the council see this as quickly as possible.
““I’ll return it to you when I can...” Kyle drew in a breath, knowing that it meant he would see her again, and comforted by that thought.

He shifted to rush up the stairs, but was caught by the need to say something else...to do something else.
Before he had a chance to wonder at what exactly that was, and as if his body moved of its own accord, Kyle wrapped a steel arm around her shoulders and drew her close; his chin resting gently atop her russet head.
““Don’t be afraid....” The dragon whispered with closed eyes, wishing that the earth’s rotation would pause so he could stay like that for a bit longer.
But the moment was over to soon, and he was gone...gone up the stairs, and through the gallery; a blur moving through the streets of New Orleans to the portal that led to the Other Realm.

{ Ack...I hate to leave it like this, but at least we already knew it was coming. I can’t wait to play with them again. Perhaps we’ll have to move time ahead a little so we can do so, and soon. <3 And I hope my descriptions of her paintings were okay...I did take some liberties...)

[Lillie Galleau]

With a wry smile as she listened to him speak, the loud clunk of his shoes on the narrow staircase echoing in the room. “Yeah, that’s what my other brother, the cop, said. He was the one who insisted on all the secrecy. Actually, if I close up the door, this entire room is sound proofed.”

As the words left her mouth, she inwardly cringed. Despite the severity of their situation, her libido was still trying to make itself known. Wonderful. Well, it would help that she didn’t mean anything in an inappropriate context.

Another shiver crawled up her spine as he put his hand on her shoulder, her breath catching in her chest. Didn’t she?

Covering the rough hand with her own, she managed a small smile, inclining her head. In all reality, she was quite surprised that he wasn’t having a titty fit over what she could do…the things that she’d ‘seen.’ She felt like some sort of sick voyeur, peeking into peoples’ lives, into their deepest, darkest secrets, just to record them for future use.

She had to resist the urge to catch his hand and pull him back. A sound of protest stuck itself in the back of her throat, and she tried her best to let loose a nonchalant cough…that, of course, came out sounding like she was being strangled. Man, this just was not the time to think about how her shoulder tingled from where he touched her. Or that he smelled really nice; leather, stormy and all male. Now was the time to start thinking about what she’d seen and try to piece a time table together. Events that took place in locations she recognized should be dated, catalogued and documented, so that Kyle, or Marius, could use them in the future.

She held onto the thoughts before the panic could set in again, or the need for contact made her reach out for him. The images he were seeing were personal- heck, they were horrible, some of them- and he deserved time alone to go through them. She could only imagine what he could be feeling, seeing all of those old wounds, those old faces. She’d never imagined that the people in her paintings were real, that the horrible things that had happened to them were real. And now that she knew…the urge to run over to the grumbly dragon and hug him silly was almost too much to bear. But, she had to give him space.

Well, she knew she had to give him space. At the low cry from the other side of the room, however, Lillie was pushing herself off of the wall and moving toward it. She got ten feet into the room when his voice sounded again, along with signs of his moving to the other sections of the storage room. Head tilted down, she moved back toward the wall, hands clasped tightly in front of her.

God, I’m sorry, she thought, wanting to say it aloud. But they were just words; just empty, really meaningless words. She’d heard them enough times when she was little, after her parents died and her world faded to black.
Another cry from him, however, and she would be hugging him until she popped. The silent promise made it easier to stand quietly by the stairs.

Man, there were some times when she really wished she could see. The sounds of his breathing and the slight rustling of his clothes let her know that he was in the nightmare section of the basement…but what was he seeing? And why was his breath catching like that?

Well, whatever the reason was, he was obviously unhappy. She practically jumped a foot in the air at the sound of breaking glass. “What is it? What happened? Oh my God, are you alright?” Using his voice as an origin, she hurried over. The layout of the room was a bit fuzzier in her head, as she normally didn’t come down into the basement, and she walked with her hands out, feeling for any obstacles in her way. Before she got the chance, however, her hand was grasped in Kyle’s and her fingers slid over the painting he’d taken out of the case.

Involuntarily, she shivered again, a current racing up her arm to kick her heart into an almost frantic beat. What the heck was it with this guy and his ability to make her feel like she’d just stuck her tongue in a socket?

Gently, she slid her fingers along the ridges and bumps of the painting. There was no way that she should have known what it was without a description or one of Tyson’s special plaques…but somehow, she just did. He was taking the painting of the scary looking woman and her Claw of Doom. Why? What did that mean?

As quickly as he appeared, the dragon-man pulled away and Lillie shot after him. “Wait, what’s going on? What does the painting mean? Who are you showing it to? Darnnit, Kyle, you just can’t disappear without telling me what’s going on!”

And then, as if her anger had called him back, he was there. Her breath caught in her throat as he pulled her up against his chest, and she almost melted right there. He was giving her a hug! A true, blue ‘it’s going to be alright’ hug, equipped with accompanying words. Tears prickled the back of her eyes and her hands slid up to rest against his chest, to begin to slide around his neck—

And he was gone. Again. Without answering any of her questions.
…But heck, she’d gotten her hug. Who needed questions when they got a hug instead?

Putting a hand to the wall to steady herself, she opened her ears to the room around her. “Kyle?” She called out, confused. Where had he gone? She hadn’t heard him take the stairs…

Ah, yes. Dragon-man. On shaky legs, she moved quickly out of the basement, closing the hidden door and making her way to the entrance of the Gallery. With a little clang, the bell overhead marked the opening of her door as she moved to stand on the sidewalk outside. New Orleans was quiet for a Friday night, the sounds of snoring and the soft commentary from someone’s television the only break in the silence.

Slowly, a smile drifted onto her face as she tilted her head up toward the stars. He’s coming back, she thought, crossing her arms over her chest. Maybe everything will be alright.