Togetherness (part 10 of 14)

a Shoujo-Ai Mascots fanfiction by Baka Gaijin30

Back to Part 9
Arine took the hand Katie offered her, and was once again surprised by 
how real her hand felt. The redhead noticed her reaction and smirked.

"So yer th' young lass me Mia's fallen fer, eh? Arine, right?"

Arine nodded her head, "Yes, Arine Lloyd," the blonde answered. Katie 
smiled at that, apparently liking the name. As she watched Arine 
continue to look around herself in a daze, she leaned forward.

"Doesn't feel like a dream, does it?" she asked. Arine shook her head as 
she looked out at the shoreline and the ocean, the waves breaking 
against the sand, "'Tis alright, ye'll get used t'it."

As Katie began leading Arine away from the shore, the blonde tried to 
make sense of what she'd just said, "Get used to it?" she asked, "What 
do you mean? This is just a dream, right?"

Katie stopped walking. She released Arine's hand and looked back at her, 
"'Tis a bit more complicated than that lassie. Ye see, yer body's still 
in bed with me Mia... Our Mia, but yer also currently here as well."

"Oh?" Arine asked, not at all understanding what the redhead was going 
on about, "And where is here?"

"Well, it has several names; Hy Breasil or the Secret Island, Tir 
Tairrngire or the Land of Promise, Fairyland, the Summerlands, but 
basically it all boils down to being the Irish land of the dead, located 
past th' ninth wave," she explained as Arine saw what looked like a 
large green dragon come out of the woods behind Katie. The creature 
headed for a large oak tree by the shore.

"You... You mean... I'm..." Arine gasped as her heart began to race.

Katie laughed sweetly, "Heaven's no," she said as the dragon reached 
behind the tree, grabbed a gigantic pair of spectacles and a large book. 
As the dragon sat by the shore to read its book, its large wings folded 
up at its sides, Katie continued, "I'm th' dead one, remember?"

"Oh, of course," Arine said, "Then exactly why am I here?" she asked.

"Well," Katie said as she took on a more serious air, "As ye know, th' 
black hearted Donovan O'Brian has reared his ugly head. You and Mia are 
both in danger, ye see. I'm forbidden from tellin' ye what kind of 
danger, but I was allowed to bring ye here to tell ye that ye've got a 
choice ‘afore ye, Arine. In th' upcomin' drama gettin' ready t' take 
place, ye can either be th' damsel in distress, of ye can be a hero an' 
join in th' fight. Both paths are opened to ye, an' both are fraught 
wit' danger. If ye choose t' fight though, I'll help ye."

The blonde looked at Katie silently for several seconds before 
answering, "If Mia's in danger, then I want to help her," she said.

Katie smiled broadly at Arine, "Aye, I somehow knew ye would, lass. Now 
we haven't much time ‘afore ye wake up. I'm goin' t' teach you how to 
fight."

Arine raised an eyebrow, "You're going to teach me to fight? How?"

Katie seemed offended at the question, "How, ye ask? How? Listen, I may 
be a woman, and a small one at that, but I'm also an Irish woman, and 
the Irish are born fighters. Why, shortly after th' flood, Parthalon and 
his followers fought their way across the waved to Ireland. Then th' 
conqueror Nemed came, then the Firbolgs, then the Tuatha D'e Danann, th' 
children of the goddess Danu. Finally, the Milesius conquered the 
Emerald Isle, and have been there ever since. The Irish have always 
fought, both for Ireland herself and for what's right and true. Asides," 
she added, "Me father was a boxer. He might've gone pro if he didn't 
have to take care of me and my siblings by working in the coal mine. 
Still, I watched him enough to pick up some pointers."

Arine suddenly felt very foolish, "I'm sorry," she said, "I didn't mean 
to offend. Please, teach me to fight."

The redhead smiled once again, "That's what I wanted t' hear. Sorry if I 
got carried away, lassie, but we've not much time and everything's at 
stake. Now first, ye've got to learn th' proper stance. Here, let me 
show ye..."

Over the next few hours, while Arine's body slept next to Mia's, her 
dream self was being put through its paces by Katie. The blonde soon got 
over her initial discomfort at her lack of clothing as she learned 
everything Katie knew of from watching her father when she was a youth. 
She showed her how to duck and weave, how to guard her chest and face, 
and how to punch and jab. Occasionally the dragon would look up from its 
book out of curiosity to see the two young women, then it would go back 
to reading. Several times Arine had to stop in order to catch her 
breath, surprised by how physically exhausted she was.

Finally, Katie put a hand on her shoulder and smiled, "I'm sorry if I 
pushed ye, but ye've got precious little time to learn what I'm teachin' 
ye."

Arine breathed hard as she wiped the sweat from her brow, "I 
understand," she said. The redhead then pulled the reporter into a hug.

"Take good care of her," she said, "I'm trusting her to you."

A moment later, everything went black. Arine opened her eyes to find Mia 
smiling at her as she stroked the blonde's hair. The blonde smiled back 
as she realized the elf had been watching her sleep again. She started 
to get up when she let out a groan. Every muscle in her body felt sore 
and fatigued.

"Arine, love?" Mia asked out of concern, "Are you alright?"

The blonde looked at the elf silently for a few seconds as she debated 
whether or not to tell her that her late partner was giving her boxing 
lessons on the side, "I'm fine," she finally said, "I guess I kind of 
got wore out last night."

Mia leaned over and kissed her tenderly on the lips, "I'm sorry," she 
said, "I didn't realize..."

"No, I'm fine. Really," Arine reassured her as she looked into the elf's 
gentle brown eyes. She remembered it all, every detail of her visit past 
the ninth wave, and she had her weary body to remind her of her workout. 
Mia was in danger, and when given the choice, the blonde had chosen the 
role of the hero. As the elf continued to stroke her yellow locks, Arine 
brought her lips back to Mia's, holding her tight as she hoped she was 
up for whatever was coming.

------

Morning found Manhattan's Little Italy district still. The sun rose over 
a sleeping borough, the restaurants and businesses yet to open. All was 
quiet, or almost all quiet.

In a building on the corner of Mulberry and Broome Street, on the third 
floor, the extended family of mothers and fathers, grandmothers and 
great grandmothers, aunts and uncles and cousins all living together in 
the various apartments were up bright and early. The family matriarch 
had put the Italian gypsy tribe of Strega on alert; their "adopted" 
family member, Mia, had a new love, and that love was in danger; Mamma 
De Luca had seen it in her palm and in her eyes.

And now, all throughout the apartments, the stregheria was at work as 
the family members worked with rubber gloves and handkerchiefs over 
their faces as they handled plants such as belladonna and foxglove, the 
toxicity of the plants forcing the precautions.

If taken internally, the dangerous plants were lethal in even small 
doses. When mixed with other herbs, however, and then combined with 
heavy lard and rubbed on the underarms and between the thighs where the 
thin skin could easily absorb the tropane within the deadly plants, the 
Strega using it would pass out, sometimes for days at a time, while 
their astral selves traveled abroad.

The ingredients may vary from family to family, and the 
tropane-containing plant might be deadly nightshade, mandrake or 
hemlock, but the witch's flying ointment always worked the same. As the 
extended De Luca family worked on, making sure always to keep from 
adding too much belladonna or foxglove (and thus make a lethal batch of 
the greasy ointment), Amadora came up the flight of stairs to the third 
floor, going to room three where Mamma De Luca was waiting for her. In 
the great granddaughter's hands were grocery bags, piled up with lemons.

"Great grandma," the dark-haired youth began, "I've got the lemons you 
wanted."

"Good," the matriarch said with a smile as Amadora came over to her, 
"And how's your sister Delanna doing?"

Amadora suddenly looked sorrowful, "About as well as can be expected, I 
suppose," she said. Her older sister was now six months pregnant with 
the child of a gangly college student who disappeared soon after finding 
out Delanna was carrying his child. ‘Damn druid' Amadora thought 
bitterly.

Gemma De Luca's smile faded as she nodded her head knowingly. She patted 
the chair next to her, and her great granddaughter brightened as she sat 
respectfully at her great grandmother's side. She was still a youth in 
the gypsy family, and had to be taught the lore of the ancient Strega 
before she could learn to bless or curse, or join her family members in 
their dances beneath the moon. Her apprenticeship was nearing its end, 
but she was not yet ready to join in the making of the flying ointments. 
Which was fine by her; unlike society at large the Strega treasured the 
elderly for their wisdom, and Amadora loved to hear Mamma De Luca tell 
the old tales.

"Once, long ago," the elderly witch began, "Diana the Moon Goddess fell 
in love with her brother the Morningstar. She lay with him, and beget 
Aradia. Aradia then became a human and was sent to earth to teach the 
stregheria," Gemma said as she motioned for her great granddaughter to 
pass her a box. Amadora did, and the old witch opened it to reveal pins 
with black heads. As she began to slowly stick the pins into the lemons 
she continued, "Aradia was the first Strega, and it is from her we have 
learned to bless and to curse, to heal others and to defend ourselves 
from our oppressors. When she was done, she returned unto the Moon and 
the Morningstar."

She continued on, telling the same stories she'd already told a hundred 
times before, and would continue to retell, driving the tales into her 
great granddaughter's memory so that she would be ready when it came 
time to take her place alongside the rest of her family in the Strega. 
All throughout the tales, Gemma continued pushing the black pins into 
the lemons, sixteen pins for each lemon. When at last she was done, 
Amadora held the bag with the pierced fruits up to the matriarch who 
closed her eyes as she stretched her hands over them.

"Al punto di mezza notte un limone ho raccolta, lo raccolta nel giardino 
ho raccolta un limone, un arancio et un mandarino..." she said, chanting 
words taught her ages ago by her grandmother and mother. When she 
finally finished, she nodded to Amadora who took the lemons away to a 
holding place until they would be needed. As Gemma watched Amadora 
leave, she frowned worriedly. If the tea leaves left at the bottom of 
her cup and the tarot deck she consulted were correct, the upcoming 
battle would be hard fought. She sat back in her chair and closed her 
eyes as she fell into a troubled sleep.

------

Joseph Stevens, his graying hair slicked back and his mustache neatly 
trimmed, walked into his office at the publishing headquarters of 
Amazing Fantasy, only to find a gangly young man in a blue jean jacket 
and faded jeans waiting for him. As the youth looked at him, his 
piercing green eyes meeting Joseph's brown ones, he smiled broadly.

"Mr. Stevens, right?" he asked. At the annoyed editor's nod he reached 
his hand into his pocket, "Good to meet you, sir. My name's Nick, Nick 
MacAulay. I realize you're a busy man, so this won't take long," he said 
as he pulled out a watch dangling from a chain.

"It had better not," Joseph said irritably, "I'm not accustomed to 
finding strangers in my office, and... and I... I..." the older man 
found himself being slowly distracted by the watch the youth was 
dangling by its chain.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" MacAulay said as his eyes twinkled, "It was given 
to me from my grandfather. See how it glitters and gleams in the light. 
You know Mr. Stevens," Nick said as he narrowed his eyes, "You look 
tired. In fact, you can barely keep your eyes open, can you?"

Joseph nodded through half-closed eyes as the druid took his hand and 
led him to the chair behind the desk. As the editor fell heavily down 
into the seat, the young man in the goatee and ponytail smiled 
gloatingly.

"Joseph," he said, "If you can still hear me, raise your right arm," he 
commanded, noting with satisfaction as the now hypnotized man obeyed 
him, "Good. Now I want you to listen carefully to me, and do exactly as 
I say. You're going to call one of your new field contributors, the 
young Miss Arine Lloyd. And this is what you are going to say..."

-End Notes-

Much of the information about Strega comes from the work Aradia, or 
Gospel of the Witches published by Charles Leland back in 1899. Also, 
the part about the flying ointments comes from the fact that during the 
witchcraft craze going on throughout Europe during the late Renaissance 
and later, among all the innocent women falsely accused were a very few 
who actually gave recipes for flying ointments. These flying ointments 
all seemed to center around hallucinogenic plants such as those 
described. Since these recipes were wrested from these village healers 
and wise-women under torture and threat, however, it's recommended that 
no one be foolish enough to try to make a batch based off of these old 
recipes. Also, as many modern Neo-Pagan Wiccans are quick to point out, 
the hallucinogenic flying ointments would seem to have developed during 
an age of persecution. Today one can achieve much safer results through 
meditation and breathing techniques.

"Al punto di mezza notte un limone ho raccolta, lo raccolta nel giardino 
ho raccolta un limone, un arancio et un mandarino..." is Italian, and 
translates to, "At the instant when the midnight came, I have picked a 
lemon in the garden, I have picked a lemon, and along with it, an orange 
and a (fragrant) mandarin..."

Onwards to Part 11


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