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A Dreamer's Realm Ch 7, Pt 2 (content warning)

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Old 07-29-2008, 07:19 AM
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Default A Dreamer's Realm Ch 7, Pt 2 (content warning)

Second part of chapter 7. I hope you enjoy it and read it... and tell me all about it later. Thank you!

Warning! This chapter contains material not suitable for some people.

A Dreamer's Realm Chapter 7, Part II

Kalavan was later walking along the Time Castle’s main hall, heading to his studio, mumbling and growling to himself. That man is completely irritating, he thought as he walked sternly through the corridor that led to his studio, why in hell’s name am I still his friend? Why do I care about him or whatever happens to his stupid little playground? Why is Sejirah working with him? Why does he do this to me?

As soon as the door opened, another sweet sight for his eyes. Ion (the angel with the crystal wings, short golden hair and honey-colored eyes that had a certain fire to them) and Itzbul (the cat-like young man with black fur and blue-jeweled eyes that made a contrast with the emerald he had embossed in to his chest) where there, arguing passionately among themselves about something-something. It took Kalavan’s loud whistle to get them to shut up and turn to face him.

“What in the world is going on here?” he screamed, huffing and puffing.

“There is something weird going on in the Line Sector, and your cat is being a pain in the ass about it! He won’t let me do my job!” Ion growled.

“That’s because your angel is a dim-witted buffoon and doesn’t know how to do it!” Itzbul hissed back at Ion, both of them practically breathing on each other’s faces.

“Okay, break it-up you two!” Kalavan pushed them apart. Both of them turned their backs on each other, looking completely offended by each other’s presence. “When are you two going to start being civilized with each other?” Kalavan sighed.

“When he stops being a prick!” Itzbul mumbled.

“That’s going to happen when he stops being an asshole.” Ion replied. Kalavan gave a deep sight.

“Okay. What seems to be the problem?” he asked. Itzbul looked over his shoulders toward Ion before he began to speak.

“Some of the lines have stopped vibrating.”

“And others have gone pale,” Ion interrupted. Kalavan looked in awe at both guardians of time.

“Show me,” he told Ion. The angel turned to the shocked cat and stuck his tongue out. Itzbul hissed and turned himself in to a cat, walking away. “Where are you going?”

“It’s obvious that you’re as dense-brained as your angel, so I might as well make myself useful, don’t I?” the cat replied, walking away afterwards. Ion puffed.

“I still don’t know why you let him speak to you like that,” he said solemnly. “He has no right to do so.”

“It’s part of his charming personality I guess,” Kalavan pretended not to care, but Ion knew him better and knew Kalavan was hurt.

They reached the Line Sector shortly after that. This was an enormous room filled with delicate, silk-like lines that shone under the special light that went through the big dome on the roof. All these lines belonged to every living creature in the universe: they had a beginning and an ending; some of them went on for centuries, other where cut short. When a line was dead, it turned to a grayish color, and shortly after that it would fall and turn to ashes, or shine again, if the soul had been reincarnated and remembered his or her previous life. All the lines were glowing, except the one Ion pointed out – it was pale, almost like a white threat of some sort.

“Are you sure it’s not a spider’s web?” Kalavan mocked. Ion did not find it funny at all. “Okay, not funny. Let’s see…” Kalavan gave it a tinny tug, and the line did not vibrate like it should, “Odd… I can feel it alive,” he said, examining it closely, “but yet… it doesn’t make a vibration.”

“The odd part is this one,” Ion pointed out the line. It joined another shinny line that turned just as dull as the first one from the point of junction on forward. “This line does just fine until it joins this one,” he tugged on the shinny line, and in fact, it did make a marvelous vibration up until that point. Kalavan was shocked.

“I-I’ve never seen this happen before,” he whispered, doing the exact same action Ion did, with the same results. “I’ll have to look in to it… I’ll ask Itzbul if he’d ever seen this…”

“He says he hasn’t,” Ion shrugged his shoulders. “But then again, when is he honest about things?”

Kalavan found himself in deep thought inside of his library, a big book opened just in front of him. Not a clue on whether that thing about the lines actually meant something, or if it was just a freaked-out incident, like many he’d seen before happen (and usually those incidents fixed themselves in a matter of days). Itzbul walked inside.

“Ion said you wanted to speak to me,” he said jumping on top of the desk and sitting there. Kalavan told him about the lines, and Itzbul replied just as he’d replied Ion before – that he hadn’t seen anything like that happen before, and that he was really concern about it because not a single line had ever joined like that ever.

“You think I should ask Ka… Sejirah?” Kalavan said, making a big effort not to say Sejirah’s old name. Itzbul blinked a couple of times in amazement.

“He’s back?” he said.

“He’s in town. I saw him at the castle today; he’s helping Kube fix some things…” he stopped and giggled. “Actually, the bastard made him his Senior Advisor… as if he knew anything about the post… I bet you he did it just to spite me.”

“Yeah… ‘Cause we all know this universe revolves around you,” the cat smirked. Kalavan pretended not to hear that. “Maybe you should ask,” Itzbul said. “It gives you the perfect opportunity to go visit.” At the sound of those words, Kalavan arched his eyebrows. The cat smiled. “Just because you’re not shagging anymore doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t be friends, you know?”

He was right, Kalavan thought. He would give Sejirah a visit and he would ask him about the lines. Nothing wrong with visiting old friends, right?


The next day he landed in front of a big house just outside the city. It had a very worn-down front yard, that according to what he could witness, it was on the process of being remodeled. The house was old, but it also was being worked on. He then turned his attention over to a part of the yard where an angel was working on pulling weeds and cleaning the sweat on his forehead with a dirty, old piece of cloth he had around his wrist. He was a clear contrast of his former self (Kalavan thought to himself, and the cheer thought of it brought a smile to his lips): as Kat-Wa, he’d been tall, with broad shoulders, well-built body, with long straight hair that resembled the rays of the golden sun, and eyes that had this honey-color that made them look completely innocent. He’d had three pairs of wings, each pair representing a time period, long and pearly-white. And his voice had a deep sound that made shivers run along his entire body. But now, as Sejirah, his aspect was completely different: he was short (he reached Kalavan’s nose), slim (not skinny, nor bony, but more like a very athletic, not-so muscular body, yet firm), with moon-like skin that got bruised easily and that seemed even paler with that long, smooth hair that reached just beneath his buttocks, as raven-colored as the wings he carried on his back. And his eyes were strange; he had silvery eyes that had a blue spark when light hit them at the right angle. His features in general where more delicate than before yet he had that charm that could, indeed, hypnotize the moon.

“Good morning!” Kalavan greeted from the other side of the small fence. Sejirah turned and smiled. That smile was the same, delicious smile he’d known and loved for so long, he thought.

“Good morning, Time Lord!” Sejirah replied. His voice was jubilant and his eyes were sparkling. He got out of the ditch he was in to greet Kalavan. “I’m sorry I don’t handshake, I’m a bit dirty. How are you?”

“I’m good! I’m good. I came by to say hi… And to ask you something.”

“Do you want to come in? I have coffee and wine.”

“Ok.” Kalavan smiled politely.

They walked inside. “Sorry about the mess. I just came back and I still have a lot of stuff to do… but the chairs are out, and so is the table,” he said pointing to the small dining table in the center of the kitchen. “So, what will it be?”

“Coffee,” Kalavan said.

“No sugar, I remember,” Sejirah said proudly. He turned around to fix the beverage.

“I’m glad you remember stuff,” Kalavan said, “because I need to ask you something…” Sejirah turned around as Kalavan began to speak about the lines. Sejirah closed his eyes, trying to remember. “No,” he said finally. “I don’t recall anything like that ever happening when I was there… I’m sorry.” He gave Kalavan his cup of steaming coffee and sat in front of him.

“It’s alright,” Kalavan looked at the glass. “I was sort of figuring that you probably didn’t see anything like that either. So, how have you been?”

“Good. I’ve been good.”

“Are you seeing someone?”

“Yeah,” Sejirah replied without hesitating. Kalavan could not help but to feel a little betrayed by the response, a thing that Sejirah could notice by the way his body tensed. “He’s – nice.”


“Old habits die hard, I guess.”

“Right. Well, I’ve been seeing someone too…”

“Lore, I know,” Sejirah rolled his eyes with a sarcastic smile. “Look, no offense, but I hate that bitch. She took my place.”

“Your place?” Kalavan asked curious.

“Acbal’s Army,” Sejirah sighed, looking thwarted at the cheer memory of it. “And it’s pretty darn pathetic considering that I am the son of Acbal, and yet I have been outranked by… boobs.”


“But, hey. I’m sure she’s a good girlfriend.”

“She is.”

“Are you happy?”


“I guess that’s what counts.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I have ever been this happy before.”

“Really?” Sejirah looked completely hurt by the words. Kalavan realized what he’d just said.

“I didn’t mean---”

“It’s alright. Leslie makes me happy too,” Sejirah tried to bounce back.


“He’s one of Divatox’s officers. He’s pulling a 24-hour since yesterday, so he’ll be home any second now.”

Oh Goody!
he thought. “Great!”

“Would you like to stay for dinner? We’re having lamb. Leslie loves lamb. I’m making lamb for Leslie, would you like to stay?”

“No,” he said sternly. He turned to the window and saw part of the garden. “I see you still like to garden, hum?”

“Oh yeah! I think it’s one of those vices that you never shake off, no matter how many times you reincarnate. I love to garden, no magic, get my hands dirty and all that. I end-up with nasty bruises, like this one,” he showed Kalavan one right above his wrist. “I did this one pulling some nasty weeds yesterday. Leslie gets all pissed when I hurt myself like this, but he’s learned not to mess with me and my garden vices. I practically bit his hand off when he tried to help me plant some wild Urees the other day; he’s such a klutz when it comes to plants!”

“I remember your hobby,” Kalavan smiled. “I remember that you used to spend hours, and hours inside that greenhouse.”

Sejirah didn’t say anything, nor did he nod or shake his head. He just looked outside the window, his gaze lost in some memory from far, far away. Kalavan smirked. “I should get going,” he said standing. “It’s been nice seeing you again.”

“Come by another time,” Sejirah said shyly, following Kalavan to the door, where they stood while they began talking again. “I would love to talk to you again.”

“Sure… I’ll bring bagels next time.”

“Say hi to Itzbul for me.”

“He would love to drop by sometime.”

Sejirah was about to respond when he turned to the front gate, where a tired warrior was making his way in, looking strangely at Kalavan, speeding up his steps towards them. “Leslie!” Sejirah waved. The red-haired angel stood next to Sejirah and kissed him as soon as he got there, taking him by the waist line and pulling him close to him. Sejirah barely reached his lips (he had to stand on tip-toe to do so; Leslie was taller than Kalavan was; more built, with strong, muscular body type, and the God of War’s emblem tattooed to his left side of the neck)

“Hello,” Leslie stretched out his hand to Kalavan, who took it and shook it with force, “I’m Leslie, who are you, and what are you doing here?”

“Leslie, darling, this is Kalavan. You know, the Keeper of Time?” Sejirah was nervous.

“Oh!” Leslie’s attitude changed suddenly, turning all shades of red in an instant (and since he had white skin this wasn’t hard to notice at once). “Oh! I’m so sorry! How rude of me! My Lord! My house is honored---!”

“Can it, Leslie,” Sejirah shushed him, “he was about to leave.”

“It’s a pleasure,” Kalavan said, letting go of Leslie’s hand (until that moment they had been shaking still). “Sejirah…”

Kalavan walked outside and vanished as soon as he reached the front gate. Leslie kept looking at the road Kalavan took and Sejirah sighed, shaking his head and rolling his eyes, pulling away from Leslie’s grip and walking toward his garden, “You are a fucking-unbelievable-child!”

“What?” Leslie followed. “What did I do?”

“You practically threw him out! How embarrassing! Telling a God to piss off!”

“I didn’t say that! (I wanted to, but I didn’t). Besides, he’s not a God!”

“Be that as it may, it was still a very rude attitude, Leslie,” Sejirah took his paddle. Leslie took him by one arm and pulled him close to him, holding him tight and snuggling his lips against Sejirah’s neck.

“I love you,” Leslie said, placing small kisses all over Sejirah’s neck. Sejirah tilted his head over to give him more room, closing his eyes and getting lost in to the feeling he got every time Leslie did this.

“I know,” he sighed. Leslie laughed slightly.

“Say what?”

“That you love me. However, you are a dimwit. I love you, darling. I just don’t see why I have to say it every time you get nervous around other men.”

“That look at you like they’re about to jump you.”

“He’s practically a God, darling: he can look at me however the fuck he wants.”

“Not this ass!” Leslie groped him tightly. “This ass is mine!”

Sejirah laughed aloud as he pushed away and turned around to head inside the house, followed closely by Leslie, who had to stop before entering the home, turn towards the front porch trees and grin. “Mine,” he said to the shadow hidden behind the trees.

Los cheques de tus insultos no tienen fondo en el banco de mi ánimo
-- Manolito (Quino)
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