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[HAZY HAVEN IS NOW OPEN]

For all those who've anticipated it, and to those whom from the secret was kept, HAZY HAVEN IS NOW OPEN!
-flail-

Click here, for the new fantasy.

Howdy guys.
I've just read and reread every book of my two favorite series - The Dresden Files by Jim Butcher and the Riley Jenson series by Keri Arthur.
Absolute favorites.

But anyway - while I'm waiting for the next installments to come out, I need some summer reads - of any kind.
-If they're good. ^_^

Have any suggestions?
What are your favorites?

["Ginny..."]

(open. a paragraph or more is asked, however.  --No, Xaver is not in England anymore. No, he's not immediately accessible. And no, he's not really okayss.. =(
GIINNNNYYY, I callll on theeee! ^_^ First, post, anyway? lol. idc. <333 lubbb - Xav.)


   It was the smell of antiseptic that woke him. Permeating his senses, his nose, his mouth. There was no sight. No sound. Nothing but the smell and the proprioception that he was still whole, and flat on his back; nothing but the wonder of the wrongness that was so deeply engrossed in the depths of his soul. Fingers felt distant as they brushed his all too fuzzy cheek, and the light tones that sounded overhead were jumbled, and agonizingly unfamiliar in the murky depths of blackness that was all but smothering him.
Ginny.
Xerxes.
Meliody.
The loves of his life, and the only images he could seem to formulate through the fog – where were they now? He was stuck somewhere between the living and a hearse, if the water-logged feel of his body was anything to go by, but–
A prick in the right underside of his wrist startled him, but he physically gave no response, surprised at the feel of a cool needle sliding into his flesh, but not able to muster any form of reaction. Everything was too heavy, and the numbness was too complete. Warmth flooded into his arm, and all too soon the small break of alertness he had faded, and again came the rush of everything he couldn't understand, and nothing at all.


"Ginny..."
His brow pinched, sudden awareness startling him into a sort of half-awake, half-dead haze. His tongue felt thick, but even as he soundlessly murmured his wife's name, he felt more at home within himself; more alert. More confused.
"Sir?"
The light, feminine tones that he didn't recognize but found strangely familiar came from his left. He couldn't force his head to turn or his eyes to open, but his brow pulled in understanding. The small movement brought an odd pain to the side of his head, but through the haze of drugs he seemed to be under, through the steady flow into his arm, he couldn't tell the extent of it, the pain or the injury.
"Sir, can you open your eyes for me?"
No, he couldn't. He didn't really want to. He was still dog tired, and-
Fingers pried his left eye open, and a light was pointed into it. Reflexively, he bristled, but no muscles responded below his throat, and few even stirred in his face. Even so, the woman released his eye, and a click sounded the light being turned off.
"Sir, can you tell me your name?"
He stilled.
His name?
His brow pulled again, furrowing, this time bringing a searing pain through his temple, though he fought to ignore it, tearing through his thoughts. His name?!
"Sir?"
He knew his name.
He knew his name..
"Xa.."
He hiccupped mid-word, his throat a swollen and torn mess and his tones coming out too light and thready to even be understood. A small hand lightly patted the top of his arm, just over the needle pumping the drugs into him.
"No worries, sir. You're alive, that's what counts. We'll get your details later."
His lips parted, but little but a hoarse whisper came out – and she was gone. He clenched his teeth together, annoyed at the little strength he could even muster in that. They were drugging him. They had to be. There was a reason, that..
Darkness and the endless depths of nothing took him without a breath of warning.


"Joy, we don't even know this fella's name. He could be a criminal, for all you know. A freak. They don't just come 'n here lookin' like that while retaining any semblance of innocence."
"I know, doctor. But-"
"It's not doing you any good getting yourself emotionally protective over your patients."
"Doctor Sanders, I know. But you can't just move him. He's safe here; and he's been in and out of a comatose state for nearly three days. It's not like he's going to even be walking in three months. Moving him to another facility might put him at risk-"
"For wh-"
"I've been doing this job for a long time now, Manny. They don't come in here looking like that on accident. Someone did this to him. Someone who is still out there. A public facility just isn't appropriate right now."

American accents.
Xaver's eyes slowly slid open, the dark, icy depths of his blue oceans flickering over his surroundings. White seemed to be the theme here, from the curtains of the barred window across from his bed, to the walls and the floors, the furniture, and the bedding. It was dark beyond the curtains, and no lights were on in his room, but enough light penetrated in through his open door from the hallway – another expanse of endless and boring white. At least the maze of bruises coating his body brought a little color to his area. Looking down at himself, his lips twitched at the thought, though slightly despairingly. The two down the length of the hallway at the nurse's station had been his primary care-takers, but he'd been adamant in keeping them ignorant to the fact that he'd fully awoken from whatever darkness had swallowed him so wholly. He rarely trusted, and strangers that had him pinned in a strange room were at the top of his list for distrust.
Gaze flickering to the rise beneath the pale sheets where his feet idly jutted, his brow furrowed. He wiggled his toes, focusing through the numbness that had enraptured his body so completely. Though he was not comforted, he was satisfied as they wiggled at his command.
He had to get out.
Even if he hadn't stood on his own in who knew how long.
Ginny.
He had to get to Ginny.
The instinct that was so deeply ingrained within his creature struggled with every passing moment lacking action, his heart strumming an aching bruise into the underside of his chest. He was not built for confinement – not built for cages, or walls. Which was within exactly that he seemed to be stuck.

Xaver sucked in a sharp breath as his eyes slid open, ravaged with a misplaced terror and touched with the confusion of dreams. He stared up at the ceiling as his racing heart settled, becoming more and more aware of his surroundings by the moment. He wasn't, as his nightmare had entailed, in some godforsaken prison. There were no bars on the large, curtained window to his left, there wasn't cold cement pressed against his back, and there was no rotting smell.. He was in his own bed, entangled in the soft blankets, his head on a pillow and his wife curled up beside him, a slender hand splayed over his chest and her fingers gently curled in sleep against the contour of the slope of his neck.

He tilted his head slightly, glancing at the inflamed digits the clock read out, and then sighed.

Four o'clock.

It was snowing out, if his senses told him right, and it was winter.. The sun wouldn't be up for hours.
And as Cody, their son, was at Ginny's parent's house for the night as a holiday treat (for holiday treats, Xaver presumed) - there was really no reason for him to be up..

Xaver turned his head and planted a kiss over Ginny's temple, then gently slid away from her, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and standing. He brought his arms up, tilted his head back, and stretched, the whole of his toned, lean form tensing. Just as suddenly, he dropped his arms and padded out of the room, not needing a light to navigate his way to the door, or out of it. He made to the kitchen, the little dome light over the sink acting like an odd sort of beacon, and drawing him to it. He turned on the water, the cold side, then bowed over and stuck his head under the chilly stream.
Turning the water off, he snatched a towel off the nearby dish rack and mopped it over his head, closing his eyes as he rubbed it over his damp and chilled skull, and leaning his hip against the counter. The marble was cool to the touch, his flesh bare from the waistline up - his figure clad in only a loose pair of dark sweatpants that hung easily and low at his hips.

He turned and pulled the towel down, clenching it in one hand as he leaned foreword on the heels of his palms, staring at his reflection in the moist window.
He supposed he looked like himself.. His raven hair getting long again, tufts standing up at odd angles now after his drying. He'd put back on some muscle mass, and was far healthier than he'd been when he'd first come back. He was still lean, but in a fit manner, and he wasn't skinny anymore.
There was no denying, though, as he stared, the chill that was beginning to seep through his skin, and mold into his very bones..
He was cold.
What was wrong with him?

The dark oceans in his reflection gave no answers, only a sleep-deprived, solemn stare..

"Today is the tomorrow you worried about yesterday.
Now you know why."

The words haunted him. As did the face from whose lips they had been uttered. A narrow, familiar face, with gentle, knowing eyes.
Eyes that effectively lied, and foretold a story far different than that which lay dormant, just beneath.
Eyes that faked a soul.


Xaver mopped a hand over his face, rubbing at the tired and weary lines that fatigue and anxiety had pressed into the handsome angles of his face, then drew his fingers through the still short, but thick raven locks of his hair. He needed sleep. Badly. But there was never time, anymore, and less, he doubted he'd be able to sleep even if he did find a moment to lay down. Not with the paranoia of his family's safety, with a brand new member on the way, and both the Ministry and Conan Sulai more or less banging down the door of his home and threatening the sanctity of the peace that was always his home-life.

Memories of his old and deceased mentor and friend weren't helping matters any, he reminded himself.
The old man had wanted to see his downfall as much and as greedily as his new assailants did. However, given, the old man had used far more tactic and finesse. Xaver had even loved him like a father figure. The bastard had effectively wormed his way into his heart.
Which is why, he believed, a small part of him had died, in every way as much and as evenly as the old man had died, when he had executed him.

Xaver pulled a face, and set his now empty mug down on the wooden table with an aggressive thump that quivered through the table, and enticed the few allotted stares of those at tables nearest his corner booth. The disgruntled Fallen angel pointedly ignored them, shifting in his plush seat and leaning against the glass pane of the window beside him, staring out into the street, crowded despite the winter blizzard. There was no stopping those determined Humans. He'd surmised that long ago.
With a sigh, that hardened exterior shifted, and faded momentarily, as he lost himself in thought, the dark oceans of his gaze far beyond in the snowy haze. That stone face he always held so effectively, briefly dropped, and what was truly beneath the surface showed with a solemn vigor.
Pain.
Animosity.
Fear.
Emotion that was real. True.
Emotion that truly told that he was, at heart, just a man, who could like any other feel, and hurt, and bleed.

Just as suddenly, his expression faded away - as his eyes slid closed, and he slid into the only escape he'd ever known, before his family; sleep.
His temple pressed against the glass, and one arm draped over the mess of papers arranged in front of him on the table, he fell asleep, sinking into the contours of his seat..

["F@%K!"]

"F@%K!"


A line of swearwords that would have shrunk a sailor seared through the light, cooling evening breeze as Xaver struggled, his tempo and agitation becoming more fierce and unholy by the passing moment. Blood and sweat moved as one in beads over his forehead, stinging his eyes, and sending silvery trails of tears down the contours of his handsome face, pooling beneath his chin, and seeping into the ragged remains of his shirt. He swiped at the swell of the gash over his forehead even as his vision blurred, and he violently shook away the spell of dizziness, fingers trailing over his head, and through the thick buzz that was the remnants of his long, obsidian locks. Closing the dark blues of his eyes, he slumped backwards, fighting the urge to be sick, and the pulling desire of unconsciousness.

The barbed-wire that he was sorely entangled in, was little in comparison...
Little, to the memories that were flooding back, as sure as dusk was to come within the hour. Xaver panted a breath, wheezing slightly as he inhaled dust, his left cheek pressed firmly into the dirt.

He was amazed the fence was still whole.
He had ripped numerous posts from the earth with the impact of his landing, sure, but the metal wires had remained wholesome – wholly and effectively snagging him in an odd sort of death trap that was easily bringing out the caged-animal feeling, quickly. The jagged spikes were ruthlessly biting into him, all over, through clothes and skin and feathers, and he was twisted into an odd, uncomfortable position on his belly, one arm free, though the other was pinned behind him. How, yet, he didn't quite fathom, though his thoughts were rocking too quickly, still, for him to even fathom how to get himself out of his predicament.

Xaver had fallen.
Tumbled from the skies, as his mind had ruthlessly been invaded and overwrought by old and suppressed thoughts.
He'd hit the earth hard.
Hard enough to bring the bliss of blackness for who knew how many hours.


Breathing deeply, his blue orbs closed, as he caught the scents around him. Recognizing that he was close to the Forbidden forest. Close, by a few miles..
No other scents he knew were so tangy of undergrowth, magic, and the supple ancient, mossy mystery.

His limbs slackened as he pressed his face into the dirt, wincing, and cursing, the silvery essence of his agitated tears staining the already pale planes of his face, and mixing with the dirt that was clinging to him in a gritty film, as he struggled..

"Xaver..."

His mother kneeled down before him, as to be of equal height, and met his eyes with a leveling gaze, sea blue eyes glinting like diamond encrusted jewels, and matching so well his own dark oceans. Though his now swam with tears, and moody thought, his eyebrows and very young, frowning mouth pinched with hurt. She reached to him, and cupped his jaw, tilting his head up to look at him fully, and bore down at him with the full weight of her gaze.

"Do not despair.. You know your other half loves you. It is a wonder you were born so seperately... I'd think that put together, you'd be a whole Angel. You, the compassion, and he-"

Xaver pulled his face away, and stared at the floor.
"I want to be compassionate no longer."
He was young, yes.
But you didn't speak to his mother like a fool. It wasn't accepted..

His mother smoothed her skirts over her knees, the silks and embroidered fabrics glittering slightly as they shifted.
"You cannot change who you are, my son."

Xaver lifted his head and met her familiar gaze.
"I don't know who I am.."

She shook her head, and finally reached out for him, wrapping her arms around his lean figure, just beneath his wings, pulling him close to her and enveloping him in a hug.
"That is fine, Xaver Aleksander. In time, you will find yourself." She nodded, cheek pressed against the top of his head. "You must lead Xences a little, though... Else he might lose his way..."



Xaver shook his head, violently forcing the reverie away, shifting the heavy cloak about his shoulders as he stole, soundlessly, into the dark and shroudy Hog's Head, his pupils  fixing quickly so that his vision was as adequate as in daylight, in the barely-lit bar. Just inside the door, he seated himself at the immediate table, leaning back into the wall, and allowing the shadows to envelop his shady figure, dressed in no color, the hood of his cloak concealing the pale girth of his throat and face, magics concealing his enormous wings in a vanished state. Completely soundless, he went unnoticed by the others already well on their way to drunkedness.
He folded his hands neatly over the wooden tabletop - and he waited. Utterly still, and with a practiced patience only centuries could teach and endorse.

Finally, the door opened - loudly this time, springing back to crack against the wall, the heavy-set figure jerking as he twitched, eyes scanning. Not wearily - but searching, finger resting idly on the trigger of an old-fashioned revolver.

"Where are you, you big bastard..."

Xaver snorted at the language.
At the sound, the man jumped, eyes widening, even as he pointed the weapon, aiming directly at the Fallen lord's forehead.

"There you are. ..Finally, I can get rid of your black-blooded filth for go-"

The man was cut off - and Xaver was gone. Even stalking back into the night, he could hear the upset cries and screams of the others as the man buckled and collapsed to the floor, blood pouring from the gaping hole in his throat.
Xaver shook his head, emotions and expressions concealed by the hood, and threw the oddly curved dagger into the air. He flicked his fingers, after it, and the weapon glowed an eerie, odd shade of blue, before melting, the piece remaining suspended in mid air until all of it had dissapated, collecting in a pool of foreign, glassy, liquid substance.


He had been gone too long.
Again.

Too far.
Too long.
..Too wrong.

Perhaps it was only right he would come home to this realm, and with his entrance, be hunted.
He bowed his head against the street lamp, the light boring down over him almost heavy - and he trudged on, his steps light, and almost careless, though there was an underlying wariness and power, to every of his movements...

["Cody, I can hear you.."]

"Dad."

Cody's voice made only a slight impression, through the thick, lazy haze of sleep, and Xaver grunted, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Dad.."

Xaver grunted again, and folded his arms under his head, rolling onto his belly, where he was laying in the middle of the living room. Cody climbed up onto his back, a small leg brushing either side of his ribs, and messed his hands through his father's dark, lush hair.

"DAAAADDD!"

"Cody, I can hear you.." Xaver mumbled, wincing as Cody rapped on his head with his knuckles. Gently, but the spot smarted after a moment.

"Then get up, sleepy-head! You promised!"
"I said-"
"You said today. TOOdayyy."

Xaver turned his head slightly, peering up at his son, sitting on his back, through one opened eye. He frowned, wolfishly.
"If I got some sleep, I said."
"But you've been sleeping off and on all day!" Cody whined.

He was right - much unlike himself, Xaver had been crashing, falling asleep, all over the house.
He was exhausted.
He'd taken a day to run to his realm, and work.
And work.
  And work.

Cody hopped up and down on his back, and Xaver sighed, then rolled, toppling Cody off of him, and attacking his sides, tickling him. Cody beamed, giggled, then screamed.
"Stop! Stoooooppp, okay, ok!"

Xaver let him go, settling on his knees with a chuckle as Cody scampered to his feet, and hid around the couch.
"Get dressed, you silly bird. And hurry up, alright?"

All he got was a boyish giggle, and the sound of footfalls as Cody bounded down the hall, and into his room.

["They will try, I know."]

Xaver mopped his hands over his face, careful to avoid skimming over the open fresh, and still oddly unhealed gash that ran deep into his left cheek and up into his hairline, closing his eyes for a moment as he walked, soundlessly, down the dark and dreary cobblestone street toward the Hogs Head. Xaver had been having a fair few more scuffles than ever, recently - and he was no immortal. Xaver was just as suceptible to pain, to injuries, as the next.. Even if he wasn't human.

He dropped onto a barstool, unable to hide the sheer, uneasy exhaustion that stung every nerve, and ordered a drink, at about the same time another figure sat down, beside him.

When the tall, thankfully clean, glass of water was set before him, awkwardly, Xaver picked up the glass and drank, giving no inclination to if he'd even seen the other.
It wasn't until the man beside him spoke, that Xaver set the glass down with a dull clunk on the wood.

"They are going to kill you, Milord."

Xaver looked over at him. Calmly
Expressionless.

"They will try, I know."

The figure beside him pulled down the hood of the black cloak that had concealed all of him, his features young -younger than Xaver- and urgent. Stressed.
Concerned, and, badly-masked, scared.
"They are SERIOUS, my l-"

"Xaver," he cut in, tones low, but sharp.
The younger man swallowed, and shrinked away a little.
"It's Xaver. Not 'my lord', not 'my king'.. Just Xaver. Do me that little respect, please, whilst you sit in my presence upon the request that took me from my home.."

That wasn't exactly true - Xaver had been out for a little while before he heard the boy's summons, trying to clear his head.

The boy looked pained.
"That's exactly what they are on about! They feel threatened, and you are never around!.. These aren't like the others!"
His voice rose when Xaver stood up, and started away.
The boy jumped from his stool, after him, ignoring the stares.

"They know.. GOLD! That's it! They know about your-"
He faltered, upon Xaver's cold, unnerving stare, and then suddenly dropped to one knee.
"Please, Milord, take heed to me! You saved my baby sister her life and I would give my wings before see you lose yours - you've been a friend to me, despite everything! Listen to me!"

Xaver sighed, very quietly, looking at the boy for a moment, before he went to him, gripped his cloak, and drug him to his feet.
"I am listening to you," he said, quietly.

"OK," the boy nearly panted. "Now, what I brought you here to tell you, most importantly. Xences-"

He stopped, and his eyes widened, and Xaver could smell the blood before he saw it. Glancing down, he saw the tail end of a blade portruding through the boy's middle. Xaver wrapped his arms around the boy and brought him carefully to the floor, removing the blade and throwing it to the side, leaning over him, as the rest of the pub rushed around, and fled.
The boy was pale, though his skin was naturally a very soft browninsh hue, deep chocolate eyes, now wide with still silent terror, stared out from thick strands of his mop of chestnut hair. Xaver messed the boy's hair, distractingly, looking over the wound, and looking around at the same time.

WHERE had that..?

A foot connected squarely with Xaver's back, and he toppled foreword, over the boy, hearing the brown-haired boy's squeak of protest when he faded from view. Xaver rolled to his feet, and turned in the same movement, ducking beneath a fist and kicking out into the middle of the attacker.

It was all so odd..
Nothing felt right.
What was wrong..?

All of it.

Xaver screamed when the blade ripped through his lower back and up his shoulder, his knees buckling when a hand gripped his neck and pulled him back, driving the blade completely through until Xaver could feintly feel the hilt brush his shoulderblade.

Gold.
Of course it was gold.

Fate had never been kind to him, and he didn't expect her to have an epiphany any time soon.

The hand around his throat slid up the side of his face, and gripped his hair, jerking his head to the side. Xaver closed his eyes, his chest heaving, snarling against the pain that boiled from his shoulder, as he was tugged, the blade still an ominous presence within him. He looked around, almost frantically, when he heard the boy's screams. Silent even when he'd been stabbed, it was blood-curdling now to hear his cries. Xaver thrashed, despite being literally fishhooked by a blade he was fatally allergic to, kicking, and crying out - but by the time he'd ripped himself away from his captor (who lay in a series of pieces, behind him, amongst the gold sword) it was too late.
The rest of the group disappeared in their places, content, even as Xaver threw himself.. more like fell.. to the floor beside the boy, gathering his will and forcing it into him, though in vain.
The boy was dead.

His wings had been torn off, their soft white-brown entities lying still, beside his body.

Xaver gaped at him, panting, kneeling over the boy's ravaged body until it seemed just as much of his own blood stained the dirty floor. He fought it, and tried to stand..
But it was only a matter of moments before he, himself, slumped over, and fell still.

["Good to see you, too, brother."]

(This one is open, and not really planned. Just don't go all-out posting without me! I'll be back for more posting around the 26th)



The Cruciatus curse was illegal.
Ginny had said so, known so - so why on earth, left, and right...


Xaver cracked his head on something uneven, and solid, rolling to lay face first on the damp, undergrowth-ridden forest floor of Hogwarts, sucking in a few mildewy pine needles, and cussing as he did so.

"You sick, filthy black-breed!"


Xaver snorted, chuckling, despite the unevenness in his voice, and slowly pushing himself up, he spit, the thick and metallic taste lingering, even as the blood left his mouth.
A foot connected with his side and he grunted as he jerked, tumbling over himself in a tangle of arms, and wings, and body, and bushes until finally he connected with a tree with a dull crunch. He slumped to the ground, crumpling slightly, his wings at odd angles draped over him.

"Good to see you, too, brother."

There was a laugh, from across the clearing that, should the octaves have been a bit lower, and warmer by a season, might have mirrored Xaver's own.
Xences shook his head, dark wings of his own swaying behind him as he walked to where Xaver lay, pushing him with the toe of his boot onto his back. Xaver grunted, but allowed himself to be moved, finding no energy, anyway, to fight it. He lay at his twin's feet in much of a heap, blood splayed over his chin, and cheek, and a stream trickling over his neck from an odd-angled gash at his hairline. His blue shirt was stretched way out, and torn.

"Call your dog off, will you?"

Xences snorted, and looked to the side, to the woman standing quite still, a few feet from the winged twins, her wand raised, and jaw clenched.
Ready to curse if given an order, just as instructed.


Xaver looked at her more closely, and began that humorless chuckle again, coughing every now and then.

"You're Mimi, right?"

The woman's cheeks puffed, and Xences delivered another heavily-powered kick to Xaver's side, silencing him, give or take a few gasps, and curses of his own.

["Mhnnffmm...."]

=[Based at ..Ginny's house? Say they (Ginny, Xaver and Cody) were staying there? This is open, though I have a plan for it. Anyone can join, so long as they make a reason for being at Ginny's (&Xaver's =) )  in the middle of the night.]=



Xaver hadn't been able to sleep for days.
It was wearing on him - the constant fear, that if indeed he closed his eyes at night, and let sleep carry him to his dreams... That he would see, what he really had no want to see.
His brother had been there, when Xaver had first awoken, beneath the cold, ruthless rain - and that could mean a number of things. Xaver had learned real quick, that there really was no end to how far his brother would go. To the extent his brother would make, to cross that line. Hell - he'd killed their baby sister.

He hadn't gone to bed yet - not since he'd started having dark visions...

And slowly, his lack of sleep and care for his health was beginning to take a toll on his creature.


After Ginny and Cody had gone up to bed – Xaver swore he'd be up soon – he made into the kitchen, padding slowly around the table, lifting his arms high, and removing his black shirt, smooth, fit, hard muscle moving in his powerful creature, beneath the healthy bronze of his skin, revealed a piece of naked flesh at a time. He deposited the shirt into a dark pool upon the countertop, turning his back on it, and planting his palms behind him on the counter edge, leaning back, and crossing his legs at the ankle.

He tipped his head back, closing his eyes, and he sighed, as, with a soft simmer of released magic, the enormous entities of his wings suddenly materialized behind him, glorious as ever. The tile was cool against his bare feet – he was now clad in only black sweatpants, that clung loosely to his hips.


Who was he kidding?
Not anybody that mattered.
And definitely not himself.


..What a headache.

Maybe he had changed more than he realized, when he'd been away.
For three years.
Three years that he'd never get back.


Xaver pulled a rare face that most, in all their lives, couldn't fathom, let alone see, letting his head fall, as raw frustration, and pain, and sorrow ravaged him, the emotions clear as day upon his handsome features. In the solitude of the kitchen, unshed tears sprung to the corners of his eyes, though he fought them away quickly, roughly, opening his eyes and pushing from the counter, clenching his jaw against the tide of emotions threatening to swallow him.

His head ached with every movement, wearing him down step for step until solace upon the couch was the only thing fathomable.
Just for the moment.

He laid back on the couch, his wings open beneath him, one spread out onto the floor, and the other draped lazily over the back of the couch, his legs hanging over the arm of it, from the calves down, one arm crossing his muscled abdomen, and the other tucked behind his head, he stared at the ceiling.

He didn't want those nightmares.
...Just not the nightmares...
..Not the night...mares........

It was only a few moments before sleep stole his thoughts, and he was motionless, falling into the dream-world he was so wary of.


It didn't start off instantly.
For a former combat-trained warrior, he always spoke too much in his sleep, where a grunt was too much...
Over time, he'd taught himself into silence...
Though it only lasted a little while, anymore.


Soon it was sporadically twitching. Groaning..  And a sheen of cold, nervous sweat, that coated his tense, stiff form. His hands clenched into fists, his features locked into an expression of pain – pain that wreaked physically, and mentally.

"Mhnnffmm...."
He mumbled, his tones low, but almost panicked breathy, as he twitched, shielding his eyes with his arm, though against nothing..

"NO!"
At first strongly... Then with a lot less conviction...
"N-no.."

He tossed, and jerked, as if was painful to do so.

"S...st-..."

Xaver whispered a few choice words in his own language, turning his head. Dead asleep... though that was what he'd been afraid of, all along.

It had been a while.

Xaver made through the crowds on the old, familiar cobblestone walkway that donned the little town, avoiding the numerous Hogwarts students as they hustled about to get in all their shopping. He was a quite healthier creature than he was the last time he was in Hogsmead, if he remembered correctly, and the odd thought put a sort of halfish smile on his extrordinarily handsome features, as he stepped off the street, and out of the snowy weather, into one of the best known candy shops in the country. Despite a few scars here and there on it, he was still a kid a heart, and perhaps enjoyed candy far too much for a Fallen King.

The minute addiction didn't show however, in his lean creature, strong, and compact as ever - a whipcord of strength, and graceful movements, beneath his dark shoes, black jeans, and a navy blue shirt, under a thick, odd-textured black cloak. His eyes, blue, and deep as oceans, flickered about the warm atomosphere, moving over shelves, and shelves of candy. Staring, slightly.

Where to start?

Xaver had been staying in a small, bleak apartment at the end of Hogsmead road, for a few days now. It lacked lavish and warmth, but he looked at it like somewhere to rest his wings for a while. Literally.

He was clad in his jeans and combat/outdoor boots, still, though shirtless, his enormous black wings out, and open, their enormities filling up the length of the single-room flat. It was basically one room, with a side of some cooking appliances and a little square table, and a little bathroom doored at the other wall. Nothing fancy. Just living space.
His winged self didn't hear, for he was so deep in sleep, the creeping open of the door, nor the padding of footsteps across his floor. He did, however, awaken to the sound of voices. Only instinct had him lurch out of the way of the blades that slashed down at him. He got away quickly enough. But his attackers could not do the same.

Xaver apprehended them the way he thought best. By the time they were tied, they, both the two, were bruised and unconscious.

"Assassians," he snarled grumpily.
"At least they could send good ones..."

Grumbling, Xaver, caring not that he was shirtless, and winged to the public (it was 0500 in the morning), he grabbed the collars of both the men, and exited his little habitat.

There was nothing special about his situation. Nothing. He was neutral, ordinary, relaxed.
And there were neon green elephants, too.

Xaver lay out on his stomach, clad in dark jeans and a silver shirt, his arms folded under his chin. Facing the fire, the only light in the room, for it was past midnight, the light danced and oddly moved over his pale skin. His eyes were closed, and his pulse was slow and calm - he could have been asleep. To sharper eyes, he was simply just rapidly thinking over things.

Xaver came into the Hufflepuff commonroom, because, it was quiet. It was the middle of the day on wednesday, so even if there were a few who usually hung behind in the lonely common room, none were left then. Xaver was glad. He really didn't want to be around any students. He was furious, and with a temper like his, he didn't want to expand it on any others.
Xaver paced. That's what he usually did when he couldn't think straight. Occasionally, he stopped. Once, with a simple glance, he destrowed one of the chairs on the spot. A few of the splinters littered the ground.

Xences had hurt Kylie again. There was a days worth of events after that, and finally Kylie was asleep again in Ginny's room, but Xaver was furious. He wanted to tear his twin apart, but the dam*ed idiot..
Xaver held his hands to his temples and growled, a low, demonic sound.

The inside of the Great Hall was empty.
Though the sun (behind barricades of thick black cloud, and unseen except for flashes of light now and then) had risen hours ago, and the long dining tables were brimmed to overload with random assortments of morning fruits, eggs, breads, and drinks of juices and milk, and patches of candies even, no students or staff resided within the hall.
They were smart.

It was the coldest day recorded in Hogwarts history (and there were some really cold days recorded), and it was a weekend. No school, no studying. Most students were probably snug in their beds, with the covers tucked and high over their faces; asleep, and warm.

Xaver stepped into the hall with a sigh, jamming his hands into his pockets. He was used to the cold, but every body had its limits. He was the only one stupid enough to try to find out what his were, this morning. He dropped unceremoniously at the empty Gryffindor table at random, and scowled without taste over the frozen drinks.

"I like the cold, but this is too much," he muttered.

His breath frosted in front of him, in a soft cloud, evaporating slowly, rising where he didn't care to follow with his eyes. He picked up a glass of juice, rose and turned, and chucked it (with an inhuman amount of strength), scowling after it, watching shattered pieces of glass and frozen liquid scatter across the ground. Xaver sighed and shook his head.

Xaver exited the castle doors half past the morning hour of three, shutting them quietly, before he started toward the forest. He shook his head, and flipped the CD player in his hand closed, eying the top it with a growl. He had borrowed the thing from a younger student after dinner last night, telling the kid he would fix it. It didn't work around magic.

Xaver had offered to fix it.
Taking the thing apart was easy. Putting it back together was an interesting story. Xaver didn't really understand the muggle item. But he had put it back together, updated it, and made it better than before. And more magic tolerant. The little laser had been broken too, but Xaver had repaired that, as well.
Xaver tapped the plastic top of the Player, and it came to life, screaming words into what he took as earphones. He winced slightly, his head a bit sensitive this morning, and turned the volume down. He placed the headset over his head, and listened with interest, rolling his shoulders.
He had donned a large pair of athletic running black shorts, and a casual red shirt, and some black sneakers, but he knew he had been probably a bit over-cautious.

"I could have decked out in a full suit of metal armor without waking the others," he muttered testily.

Xaver rolled his neck, and yawned, then quickened his walk into a slow jog, stuffing the Player into his short pocket, after reading the label, 'Gorillaz – Feel Good Inc – Rock Collection.'
The kid had a collection? Interesting. The music was interesting. Xaver had never heard it before, and it wasn't the best, but it was alright. He turned it up louder, and lengthened his strides to a dead sprint, running for a flat two hours, slowing to a slow jog once the sun began to rise behind the hills. He panted slightly, unusually, coughing away the cold pitting at the bottom of his lungs. The frosty morning began to dissolve under the glance of the warm sun, though his skin remained pale and icy.

He was still confused and deep in thought, but in a more content mood. Lighter, than he would have been earlier, but still prone to snapping at things. Like the player. He slapped it slightly when it ran out of songs to play, then brought it out of his pocket, stared at it, and gave up trying to figure out the buttons. He knew they all worked, he had just fixed the thing, but he hadn't been raised around that stuff. It didn't make sense, and he became too frustrated to figure it out, to he waved his hand, and it evaporated, to appear on the bedside table of the kid he had fixed it for.

Growling at the ground, he once again sped up to a lengthy jog, covering distance quickly, speedily, and though he was at a pace most mortal sprinted at, he was jogging, lightly. His head ached and throbbed too much for any productive thinking, so he allowed his guard down slightly, and allowed some thoughts to wander. It helped a little bit, but his mood didn't improve too much, like it usually would have.

The coronation was only a few days away. Kylie was as much of a nervous wreck as he was, and he knew she was worked up about going back to the realm again. When his little sister was upset, it upset Xaver just that much more, and he ran harder, until he could feel the strain.
Ginny had said a while ago that she usually never told others what she was feeling, because she didn't want to burden others with her problems; because the other people had problems of their own. He now knew exactly what she meant. Telling another the exact amplitude of what he felt right then would probably drive another more inanely confused than even he was. There was no way to explain it, and it was driving him crazy.
Xaver sped up again, until he was nearly reaching his peak of speed, though he still didn't feel tired of it, his footfalls beating the earth in a soft, smooth rhythm, speeding him along, through the forest. He leaped over random artifacts, hurdled over high ones, ducked branches, and avoiding certain things, but mainly, he let his feet take him where they would.

Xaver ran from one end of the forest, to the other, twice, then finally slowed to a stop by the lakes edge, panting. He rested his hands on his knees, and fought for breath; it felt good to find a way to over-exert himself. He was out of breath, and it hurt royally, but the buzz at the back of his mind was relieving in a way.

-twiddles thumbs-
I'm bored.
-makes sound-effects and a very convincing thumb war-

Xaver had been wandering through the streets of Hogsmead for hours, his hands jammed deep into the pockets of his leather trench coat, his head bowed slightly against the cold wind, his eyes watching random shop windows, when he had seen her reflection.

She was young, bundled in thick jean pants, and a big, bulky, fluffy looking coat, her hands covered with what looked like three sets of wool mittens, just as many socks over her small feet beneath her floppy, but child-approved pink shoes. She, in height, was only as tall as his hip, maybe an inch or so shorter, with all her fluffy clothes and earmuff slash beanie. Long, wavy black hair tumbled down over the many blacks and pinks and blues and greens, and so on, and blue eyes, a reflection of his, but not nearly as dark, stared at him, arms extending. She would have looked like a normal, 'adorable' little girl, if it had not been for the small black, bluish wings (her frame was still small, so her wings were still small, though big to her) sprouted from her back; a comfortable presence behind her, but an odd one to onlookers. She had never liked the cold.

Xaver whirled, a grin on his face, spinning to meet his little sister.
"Kylie!"
He kneeled down next to her, enveloping the little polar fluff into a tight hug. She giggled, and grinned, her wings fluttering happily. He missed letting his own wings out in public, but he had refrained from doing so, as of yet in this world.
"How are you?"
He pulled away, pinching her nose, picking her little frame up, for she was just a little child, after all, and out of harms way, holding her at his side. She wrapped her short arms around the one nearest shoulder, smiling.

"Happier now, 'aver," she said, her words a little slurred with tiredness. "Xences has been acting all weird since Father died, and no one has seen him in weeks. People keeps treating me like a baby, 'aver, and I hate it. They leave me with mean kiddy's who tugsed my hair, and no one listens to me. I'm all alone, 'cause everyone I loved left."
Kylie hugged Xaver's shoulder, as he walked toward the castle, frowning.

"You came here, all alone?" he questioned.

"Ya, 'aver. No one even noticed I lefted. No body cared."

Xaver scowled, though it turned into a deeper, concerned frown.
"And what would I have done, if my little sister had been hurt in some way? That was very dangerous, you silly kid."

She nodded, beginning to cry against his shoulder. He let her, of course, knowing that she had gone through too much to keep it all in. She was scared, she was tired, and she felt just as abandoned as he felt. And she was his very young, baby sister.
Xaver mumbled a few soft words to her, letting her rant and rave into his ear, passing through the crowds, not feeling her light weight against his side as he carried her.
He comforted her, but more importantly, kept her close and protected, his 'big-brother-instincts' kicking in. He didn't much like being in a big crowd with her, so distressed.

"Not everything turns out the way you like it, relay that to Father," Xaver finished in a mumble.
There was a sharp crack, and the towering figure of his great winged brother was gone. Not to leave Xaver alone, but probably to cook up some new plan of ruining Xavers present quote 'recipe for life'.

That was it. In one of the barren back alleys of Hogsmeade, Xavers entire future, one that he had never really wanted, was gone, taken from him. His one brother, his younger, more materialistic brother, was to now take the throne from his fathers grip. Xaver would merely be, the 'exiled Lord.' Not that this would have bothered him at an earlier time, but the tables had been turned. Not only had his malignant Father turned his entire rule against and out for Xaver, but, his little brother as well. Which stung. Xaver and his little brother had always been close.
Now, there was no where else to turn, except back into Hogsmeade, and the human world. Xaver couldn't explain it to himself, let alone to any other, so he kept it to himself, moving into the Hogs Head, ordering a small flagon of alcoholic beverage, and setting into a dark corner to mull over the events, of his ever souring mood and future.