#Having nightmares about all those people who draw elders as young people with wrinkles

[shiawasekai]

Before I go to sleep, remaining bits i want to cover in the Endless Reference Sheet:

-Act 1 and Act 2 designs, which are for the most part iterations on material I already have. So that's not particularly hard.

-Pre-game (aka teenager) design, together with Samel's teenager design.

-Post-recovery (in other words, years post-game) design, + Samel's design as an elder man.

Which is a bare minimum on 3 extra "slides."

The post-game stuff is the scariest because I need to find a proper way to fit the feathers (she IS supposed to be embracing them, so just making a hole for the longer ones won't do) and I need to figure out an ellaborate design for a man that looks like a spry elder in his 70s despite being actually on his 90s, high-level spellcaster benefits

That's a lot of designing from zero and i'm tired just thinking in it.

#a shadow's rambles #I'm also wondering how spry should I make Samel #He may not be in his last leg (as someone his age usually would) but he IS definitely a grandpa #so I'm worried about being unable to hit a good balance #Having nightmares about all those people who draw elders as young people with wrinkles #I don't want to be that kind of artist lmao #the teenager stuff doesn't worry too much because... #they were freaking commoners in a mostly rural area they weren't wearing anything fancy

[jouissezduprintemps]

Something to Gain, Chapter Seven: Rasa’s Daughter

Rating: T Words: 3052 Fandom: Naruto Summary: Sequel to Something to Prove. Shikamaru and Temari navigate their relationship now that it’s in the public eye.

Something to Prove   First     Previous      Next

Kankuro stuck his hands in his pockets as he walked down the empty corridor, on his way to his brother’s office. Evening had fallen, and the building was mostly empty at this time of day. Gaara was always the first to arrive and the last to leave; Kankuro had come to remind him that he needed to eat and suggest that he join the rest of his family to do so. In the dimly-lit passage, he grew too comfortable in the relative silence. He was startled when a voice shouted, shaking through the building.

“Damn it, Joseki!” Tojuro shouted, slamming his hands down on his colleague’s desk. “We gave you your two days. Baki is the only council member who agrees with you. Rasa would never stand for this!”

“Rasa is dead.”

“And we have a demon ruling in his place! You think this is stability?!”

Kankuro hid himself inside one of the darkened alcoves that littered the hallway. Once displays for Suna’s treasures, they had long since been abandoned in favor of proper storage. At the moment, they were perfect to conceal himself from sight. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Tojuro was far too bold if he was voicing such opinions.

“Careful, Tojuro,” Joseki’s voice remained calm and even. “The wrong person might hear and accuse you of treason.”

“Right. Rasa’s daughter goes and makes herself a Konoha whore, but I’m the one committing treason,” Tojuro spat.

“Get out of my office.” The next word was a growl. “Now.”

Tojuro stormed through the door, slamming it hard enough to rattle the wall. Kankuro remained concealed. A quick series of hand signs produced a clone, which he sent to follow the loud-mouthed councilman. He needed to report to Gaara, and quickly. If Tojuro was indeed their information leak, he was likely to slip up when his anger ran high. After a few seconds, when he could be sure that Joseki wouldn’t leave his office, Kankuro hurried down the hallway as quietly as possible.

“I don’t need to practice. I know what I’m going to say.” Temari ran a comb through her hair as she spoke. “Besides, none of it really matters. Once Gaara finds the leak, he’ll come forward with how all of this was planned. Those councilmen can shove their walking sticks back up their asses and get on with their lives.”

“See, when you say things like that, it makes me think you should give it another run-through.” Shikamaru’s eyes scanned the paper in his hand, moving over the outline that he, Temari, and Gaara had agreed upon.

“I’m just tired,” Temari explained as she turned the knob on the sink, letting cold water run through the pipes. “I’ve talked more to people in the last few days than I do in a year. That’s a lot for me.”

Shikamaru hummed his acknowledgement, listening as she splashed her face. After a moment, he looked up and admitted, “I’m worried that we don’t have any solid leads.”

“We’ll have Ino’s sensory skills in the council chamber with us. If anyone reacts, we’ll know. Kankuro will be watching the village from the aviary; Choji is going to patrol the kazekage building, where we’ll be. Baki is going to lead a training exercise for the guard as an excuse to keep watch over the gates. If they show themselves, they won’t have a chance. I imagine they’ll assume I can’t, or won’t, fight because they think I’m pregnant. Trust me, we have the upper hand.”

Well, at least she wasn’t worried about it. If only he could be so sure. “Lady Tsunade is going to have a field day with this when I file my report.”

“You’re helping preserve the alliance from outside forces. Yeah, it’s a little unorthodox, but Ino’s the one who needs to take the fall for that.”

“You’re not wrong.”

“Now, stop using all your energy thinking of contingencies. I need you sharp for tomorrow morning.” She took the paper from his hands and set it on her dresser, well out of his reach. “We’re too far gone to back out now.”

She might as well have been walking into her own trial. The judgmental glares of the councilmen tried to burrow into her skin as she approached the table, at which she boldly took her usual seat. Ino stood behind her chair to her right, severe and unyielding in her assumed position as bodyguard. The role came naturally to her, which was a blessing to the operation. To Ino’s left stood Shikamaru, who did his best not to look alert. The village knew him as the lackadaisical chunin exam proctor; to change his demeanor would be a complete giveaway.

Gaara glanced to his immediate left to look at his sister. To his right, Kankuro’s seat sat empty. It would be incredibly taboo to invite Shikamaru to take the seat, even if there was no real reason for him to stand. The gesture of allowing a Konoha nin to sit at the Suna council table would be too bold a move.

Temari’s eyes were cold as she stared down each of the councilmen in turn, daring them to make the first move. Her power play worked in her favor, and she decided to push it further. She shifted in her chair and leaned forward, placing her elbows on the table and weaving her fingers together. “I know I wasn’t called to the council to be gawked at. If you gentlemen have something to say, I suggest you do it.” Her challenge hung in the air, refusing to be ignored.

Shikamaru resisted the urge to wince at her brash tone. She clearly thought she’d already won, even though the battle hadn’t started. For now, all he could do was stand back.

Sajo, the narrow-eyed councilman on the other side of the table, was the first to speak. “Lady Temari, you must know that this council puts the good of the village above all else. Due to your…” he cleared his throat, “predicament, there are factors that need to be considered for the sake of Sunagakure.” He proceeded with caution, carefully choosing his words. “You are Rasa’s eldest, and, although the council selected Gaara as Kazekage, any child you bear will be from the main branch of the kage bloodline. Ordinarily, this would be natural, but the child in question isn’t entirely Suna.”

Picking up for his senior, Goza stroked his goatee as he spoke. “Even with the alliance in place, this council cannot accept a Konoha child as an heir to the kage bloodline, even as a firstborn. The conflict of interest is too great.”

“You talk as if my brothers will never have children of their own,” Temari countered.

“As that may be, there is no way to know that either Gaara or Kankuro will produce an heir of their own before tragedy strikes.” Goza’s words clearly referenced Gaara’s temporary death and Kankuro’s brush with Sasori’s poison. Both young men could easily be dead by now, and this served to emphasize his point.

Ebizo moved in his chair, surprising most of the council that he wasn’t asleep as they had assumed. The old man narrowed his eyes and looked directly at Shikamaru. He said nothing, and Joseki took his chance to speak.

“I suppose it would be best if we start at the most basic level,” Joseki spread his hands on the table. “You clearly intend to keep the child.  What does your…” he hesitated, trying to find the best word to describe Shikamaru in this situation, “lover plan to do?”

Speaking for him, Temari stated, “If you’re asking if he plans on remaining a part of our lives, the answer is yes.”

“The council cannot support a relationship such as this across village lines. Emotional ties are one thing; with a child in the mix, it could be a diplomatic nightmare if our villages go to war.”

“And would the council continue to disapprove if he were to relocate?” Temari asked, addressing the entire table.

There was some mixed murmuring before Tojuro voiced their answer. “Yes.” His decision fell heavy in the room. “He is born and raised Konoha. Relocation is no guarantee of allegiance.”

“Well?” Ebizo spoke, his voice strained and wavering with age.

“Honored Grandfather,” Temari began.

“No, Princess. I was talking to him.” He pointed a bony finger at Shikamaru. “I want to know what he thinks.”

Shikamaru wasn’t expecting to be addressed so openly. His mouth felt dry, but he pushed himself to speak. “Honored Grandfather, sir,” he used the same honorific he’d heard Temari employ, “I will do whatever it takes to remain with Temari and our child. I don’t know what this council will decide, but I would swear my allegiance to Suna tomorrow if it was required.”

The old man smiled a toothless grin, chuckling to himself. “Oh, Chiyo will haunt me for saying it, but I like him!” He looked over at Tojuro. “You don’t get to be my age without knowing what loyalty looks like. That boy would die for our princess, I guarantee it.”

“Honored Grandfather, that doesn’t have much to do with the problem at hand,” Tojuro did his best to maintain his respect and civility toward his elder. “Rasa would never stand for this, and neither should this council.”

“Rasa is dead,” Gaara rasped, adding his voice to the mix for the first time. “You’d do well to remember that I am not my father, Tojuro, and my Suna is not his.”

Tojuro’s hand balled into a fist underneath the table. “Yes, my lord.”

“Don’t misunderstand,” Temari said coolly, “I came to this council meeting as a courtesy. I have already made up my mind. Whether the council approves or not, I know which move I’ll make.” She met Tojuro’s gaze. “You say my father wouldn’t stand for this. I’ll remind you that he was strictly utilitarian. Tell me, what solution would he choose?”

Tojuro clenched his jaw, angry that he didn’t have an answer. Fighting her insolence would only put him in a bad light, and so he remained silent. To his ire, Ebizo’s wheezing laugh sounded to his side.

“Very good, Princess. Very good.” Ebizo’s face wrinkled more dramatically than it already was. “I couldn’t say you’re wrong, either. Your father wouldn’t be pleased, but he would draw the same conclusion, I’m sure.”

“And what would that be?” Joseki asked.

“Our Lady Temari plans on relinquishing her bloodline claim and relocating herself.” Ebizo’s tone made it sound as obvious as telling someone the sky was blue.

The table went up in a roar as protests fought over one another, trying to be heard above the rest. Ebizo, Gaara, and Temari remained silent, and the glint in Temari’s eye betrayed her amusement at the result. Leave it to the Honorable Grandfather to land her shocking twist better than she ever could.

Shikamaru looked down at Temari with wide eyes. This wasn’t what they’d discussed, what they’d planned. Sure, it got a bigger reaction than they’d hoped for, but he didn’t know where she was going with this. She’d completely abandoned the strategy.

When the room quieted, Temari explained, “To the council, having Shikamaru relocate is a risk. My child having Konoha blood is a risk. You’d have me abandon both, I’m sure. But Suna has my brothers, two possible branches for the family. If the council wishes to follow the law of my father, it should see that my relocation will cause the largest net benefit to the largest group of people.”

Ikanago slammed his fist on the table. “Such an action would have you branded a rogue nin!”

“That decision is mine and mine alone to make, Ikanago.” Gaara didn’t try to veil his threat. “This council serves to advise, not rule. Remember that.”

Ikanago stood, his chair scraping along the sandstone floor. “I refuse to stand by while this council seals the fate of Suna. I will have no part in this.” His footsteps echoed throughout the room, and, by the time he reached the door, Tojuro and Ryusa followed his lead. When the door clicked shut, Gaara stood, placing both hands on the table.

“Dismissed.” In an instant, his sand enveloped him, and he was gone.

“Let’s go,” Temari looked up at her companions before standing. It was time to move. So as not to arouse suspicion, the trio walked out of the room with purpose. In a low tone, she whispered, “Ino, go back up Choji. Check the offices. We’ll head to the street and see if we can’t use ourselves as bait.”

Kankuro scanned the streets from his perch, hidden in one of the many open windows of the aviary. He’d come close to falling asleep when he saw three figures storm out of the building that was his mark. He narrowed his dark eyes against the sun, watching their movements. They stopped and seemed to exchange words before parting ways. One of them walked to the north, but the other two broke into a run at the west and south. Now, that was interesting. To his regret, none of them seemed to be headed his way.

He had a choice to make. He could only track one of them. Trusting his instinct, he set off after the westward-bound council member, running along the rooftops, just out of sight. He couldn’t be caught before he had proof that this man was a part of the information leak. For the moment, he had to lie low and keep his distance.

The council member – Ryusa, he could tell now that he was closer – took him in a massive loop back toward the administrative building, and Kankuro started to wonder if his presence had been detected. Ryusa slipped down an alley, turning left, then right, then left again. When he stopped, he stood in front of a back door, shrouded in shadow. Kankuro hid himself in wait, and it wasn’t long before Ryusa was joined by both Tojuro and Ikagago.

Ikanago knocked four times on the door with various pressures, and the door cracked open for him. He and the two others slipped inside, and the door was swiftly shut behind him. Kankuro had to move quickly if he was going to get backup for this one.

Ikanago put as much detail as he could into the scroll, trying not to leave out anything of importance. Tojuro was peering insufferably over his shoulder, and he resisted the urge to stab him in the thigh with his pen. If this plan was to continue unhindered, they needed to maintain some semblance of camaraderie.

Once finished, he rolled the scroll back up and made a series of hand signs, sealing it with a jutsu. To anyone else, it would look like a basic letter. There was nothing to make it official or any sign that it would be from someone of importance. The messenger was chosen for the same reason; a boy of sixteen, with nondescript features and an average build, stood across the room, waiting patiently for his assignment. They were paying him handsomely to deliver the message, and their partners were sure to do the same upon his arrival.

Ryusa stood opposite the boy, making sure he knew his responsibilities. “Now, tell me again.”

The boy bit back a groan. “I’m taking the message past the demon desert, to the boarder of the Rain. I’ll be met by a man in a black and red cloak with a mask over his face. I’m supposed to pass the scroll off to him and take the long way back, so I don’t look suspicious.” He frowned at his employer. “Can I have my money now?”

“Ingrate,” Ryusa growled as he handed him a bag of coins. “Ikanago!”

Ikanago tossed the scroll to the boy, who caught it and tucked it away in his pack, along with his payment.

“Now get going,” Tojuro commanded.

The boy disappeared up the flight of wooden stairs, headed for the back door. In a matter of seconds, there was a loud crash, a heavy thud, and the boy came tumbling back down into the cellar. The three councilmen jumped to the ready, kunai drawn.

Kankuro threw himself over the railing, diving at Tojuro. Their kunai clashed, and they broke apart, only to clash together again. Temari followed her brother, using her closed fan as a club to send Ryusa flying into the wall. Shikamaru engaged Ikanago while Ino bound the hands of the messenger boy, her knee planted firmly against his spine to keep him from moving.

The cramped quarters made fighting difficult. Kankuro and Shikamaru were used to mid-range tactics, but Temari was a long-distance fighter by nature. This almost proved fatal when Ryusa threw himself at her, lodging his kunai in her abdomen up to the hilt. Ino was quick to intervene, engaging him in hand-to-hand combat.

Temari stumbled, her hands clutching her side. She knew better than to remove the kunai. There was nothing more she could do. She barely registered that Kankuro had trapped Tojuro inside Black Ant before he was at her side.

“Tema! Aw, shit. Tema, you’re gonna be ok. C’mon, sis, stay with me.” He gave her a small shake as her head fell onto his shoulder. “Fuck! Hurry it up!” he shouted at his comrades.

“Ino!” Shikamaru shouted, holding on to Ikanago with his shadow possession. His teammate struck her opponent in the head hard enough to concuss him before hurrying to his aid. She wasted no time in binding him. As soon as she was done, she was at Temari’s side. She took her from her brother and lay her gently on the floor.

“Shit. She’s losing a lot of blood. I’m going to have to do some patchwork before we can get her to the hospital.” Ino looked at Kankuro, who nodded. “Tema, this is gonna hurt, but you’ve got this, okay?”

“Just do it,” Temari hissed, clenching her jaw as Ino removed the knife. She was bleeding freely without the obstruction, and Ino worked quickly to close the wound enough that she wouldn’t lose anymore blood. The last thing she saw was Ino gesturing to Shikamaru and Kankuro to give her more room. Then, everything was black.

#shikatema #naruto #naruto shippuden #naruto fanfiction #fanfiction #shikamaru nara #temari of the sand #kankuro of the sand #ino yamanaka

[minkfly-blog]

Excerpt from The Chinese Lantern Bride (NSFW)

“Cazzo!”

Gianna cursed, as she tried in vain to find a comfortable position. Her squirming earned her a glare from the stuffy gentleman sitting across from her and she stuck her tongue out in retaliation. Such unladylike behaviour was uncommon for her, but Gianna was long beyond any form of social etiquette. 

“Cosa vuoi ora?” She snapped when it seemed apparent that he was not planning to take his beady eye off her anytime soon. Clucking his tongue, the man shook his head before turning back to his newspaper.  

Gianna knew deep inside that she could barely blame him or any of the passengers for staring. She looked like a rare oddity. The Italian girl dressed in traditional Chinese garb. From the moment she pulled on the qipao that Feng Ling had passed to her, she knew that she was in for a hell of a time. Being considerably more voluptuous than her Asian friend, the tight silk fabric was stretched to its limit over her curves. That, coupled with the garish design of golden dragons and engine red fire birds, made her feel like a circus sideshow.

 “I look ridiculous, Ling!” She had protested as her friend struggled to keep a straight face.  

“Oh, come now. You don’t look too bad. Besides, it was your idea to keep the act as authentic as possible.” 

“I’m having serious doubts about my sense of judgement,” Gianna muttered as she checked out her reflection. “Dios! My butt looks huge!” 

“Really?” Feng Ling perked up as she scooted over for a better look. “I think you look really hot.” 

“Thanks,” Gianna snorted.  

“No, take it from me. I ought to know.” Ling laughed. 

“Yes, you would, wouldn’t you?” she sighed. Slouching her shoulders, she turned to her friend. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”

“Are you serious? This is probably the best idea you’ve ever had. I mean, come on!” Gianna yelped in protest as her friend smacked her teasingly on her bottom. “One look at you and he won’t give a rat’s ass about your race.” 

“Such vulgarity from the shy little Chinese sparrow,” Gianna quipped which earned her a punch on the arm. “Ouch!” 

“Laugh all you want,” Ling scoffed. “But I’m a New Yorker, born and raised. Having said that, you’d definitely play the part a lot better than I would. Soft voice, little nods. That’s practically just being yourself.”

“Oh ha, ha,” Gianna rolled her eyes. “I’m going to miss you, you know,” she said drawing her friend into a sudden embrace.  

“Yeah, the reality of it all is just starting to sink in for me too,” Ling sniffled as she returned the hug tightly. “Take care of yourself, ‘aight? You know I’m forever in your debt.” 

“As am I,” Gianna’s voice broke. “That money means all the world to my parents. Thanks for wiring the cash for me.”

“Thanks for marrying the cowboy for me.”

They broke apart, giggling at the absurdity of the situation.  

A train whistle brought her back to the present. As the unfamiliar terrain of the western frontier appeared, a giant wave of homesickness washed over Gianna. Her move to America had been terrifying, but at least she had known exactly what she was going to do. Pretending to be someone she was not and marrying someone she didn’t know: that was something else altogether.

Tugging at the high collar, Gianna tried to banish all images of a noose from her imagination. Instead, she focused on the last words her friend had said to her, just before she had boarded the train.   “Be careful, Gianna,” Ling whispered into her ear as they had hugged goodbye. “You mustn’t let him know that you’re lying. He’ll send you back and you’ll have the entire settlement sum on your shoulders as debt. I’m leaving for Wyoming tomorrow, so I won’t be around to clean up your mess anymore.” 

Threats of an impending debt that she would never be able to repay! That was the perfect pick me up. Gianna rolled her eyes at herself.  

“Next stop, Sparks, Nevada!” the train conductor called out as he passed her cabin. 

Gianna stuffed her belongings into her purse and paused as her fingers brushed against her grandmother’s necklace. Rubbing the cameo for luck, she whispered a silent prayer as the train platform emerged in the distance.  

“Well, this is it,” she told herself.  

As the train slowed to a stop, Gianna gathered her suitcase and smoothed out her skirt. As she descended from the train with a couple of other passengers, she scanned the train platform. I wonder who he is, she thought.  

“Miss Ling?”

Gianna jumped as a tiny tentative tap landed on her shoulder. 

“Yes, yes,” she answered hastily. “I’m Miss... Miss Ling.” 

Turning around, she saw a kindly faced elder lady in a blue dress. Her silvery curls were neatly tucked beneath a white bonnet. Gianna guessed that she was about a decade younger than her grandmother.  

“Oh!” Gianna’s heart sank as she saw the uncertainty cross the lady’s face. “My, my, you’re quite...different from what I expected,” the older lady said hesitantly. “You are Miss Feng Ling? The young lady that Mister Davis is expecting?”

“Yes Madam, I am Feng Ling,” Gianna resisted the urge to drop a curtsy, opting instead for a low bow.  

“And you are... Chinese, I believe?” A frown settled upon the lady’s face, terrifying Gianna. Were things going to go wrong even before she left the train station? She hastened to reply.  

“My father is Chinese, ma’am, and my mother was from Italy,” she whispered, lowering her eyes to the ground. She could feel her lips quivering as she uttered the lie.  Moments passed in unbearable silence before a merry chuckle made her look up in surprise. The lady’s eyes were twinkling again and she warmed to her right away.  

“Well now, dearie, come along. My name is Matilda Beauchamp, and it’s very nice to meet you. I’ll just get Jackie to pick up your things and we’ll be on our way. Jack!” 

Mrs Beauchamp beckoned to a young boy of approximately fourteen who had been staring unabashedly at her since she descended from the train. Gianna blushed a little.  

“Right, right away, Miss,” he stammered. “Are there bags on the train then?” 

“Oh no, no,” Gianna lifted her suitcase. “This is all I have.”

“I’ll take that for you, Miss,” the boy shyly received her proffered bag and hurried off. 

Mrs Beauchamp chuckled. “You’ll excuse Jackie there. It’s not often that he interacts with such a pretty young lady such as yourself.” 

“Are you... are you both related to Mr Davis?” Gianna inquired, thinking that she wouldn’t mind if these two lovely people were part of her future family. 

Mrs Beauchamp laughed heartily.  “Good heavens, no! I’m his housekeeper and Jack is his stable boy. Mister Davis would have come himself today, but he had something to attend to. The life of a hotel owner is oft’ a busy, busy one! He’s a good man, missy, and I’m sure you’ll find him very charming. A fine gentleman he is, do you know he used to be sheriff of our town?”

Gianna smiled as she walked alongside, her eager eyes taking in the unfamiliar sights. There was the faint outline of mountains in the distance, surrounded by large expanses of green lands. So far, everything was going beautifully. As the whistling of steam engines grew fainter behind them, a beautiful horse wagon came into view. But it wasn’t the large mahogany stagecoach which captured her attention.  

“Horses!” she exclaimed, and clapped a hand over her mouth as she realized that she had interrupted Mrs Beaucamp in midsentence. Thankfully, the woman chuckled good-naturedly.  

“Are you an animal lover, poppet?”

“Oh yes,” Gianna stared longingly at the two beautiful horses. One was a chestnut mare with a lush brown mane, a long swishy tail and the softest chocolate eyes. The other was a unique specimen. Its shiny coat was ebony and had large patches of white so that it resembled a cow. She had never seen anything like it.  

“That’s our piebald, Jenny,” Jack offered shyly. 

Without realizing it, Gianna had wandered right before the horse. “She’s beautiful,” she said in wonder, laughing as the horse whinnied softly as though thanking her for the praise. “I’ve never had the opportunity to see one up close before,” she mused. She held up a tentative hand to the horse who sniffed it with interest.  

“Oh yes, I don’t expect that you city girls would have the chances to interact with God’s animals. How wonderful that you get along with animals! Mister Davies runs a stable of fine horses on his land. How lovely that you’ll both have that in common!”

Gianna smiled at the old lady fondly. It was obvious that she loved her employer and for the first time, Gianna allowed herself to hope for the best. 

Getting a hand from Jack, she mounted the wagon and settled herself on its seat.  

“Well, off to home now!” chirped Mrs Beauchamp as Jack clicked smartly at the horses and they moved off in an enthusiastic canter.  

“The Chinese Lantern Hotel is right off the edge of town,” Mrs Beauchamp offered, seemingly eager to acquaint Gianna with her future home. “Mister Davies owns a large plot of land, just over twelve grand acres, I’d reckon.”

“The Chinese Lantern Hotel?”   

“Aye, poppet. I guess that’s a strange name for a hotel this parts, but Mister Davies is a man of innovation, as they call him. He redecorated the building with Asian antiquities and now we’ve got visitors coming from miles around.” Turning suddenly to Gianna with sparkling eyes, she quipped, “I guess you’ll feel right at home! It’ll be nice to have someone who can tell me more about those art pieces and decorations.” 

Gianna stared in horror. She had assumed that there would be questions about her fake heritage but this was a brand new nightmare altogether.  

“I must say, your outfit is exquisite!” Mrs Beauchamp tittered on, blissfully unaware of Gianna’s plight. “Those are some pretty birds. What are they?”

Trying desperately to remember what Ling had called them, Gianna did her best to keep her voice calm. “Oh, they are urm, peacocks.”

“Peacocks?” Mrs Beauchamp wrinkled her nose. 

“Fire peacocks,” Gianna added hastily. Flapping her hands like wings, she blathered on. “They’re mythical birds that breathe fire and... fly fast.”

“How exquisite,” Mrs Beauchamp said, her eyes wide. “My, such a rich heritage.”

Gianna smiled weakly and offered a silent apology to the Chinese for the unintended butchering of said heritage.   

“I ask because Mister Davies imported some lovely silk fabric for our new uniforms. They have the exact same birds on them and there I was all a fluster. I didn’t want to ask him for fear of sounding silly, but at least now I have something to tell the townsfolk when they ask – oh, dearie, are you alright?”

The horrible notion of a triumphant Mrs Beauchamp telling the whole town about her made up fire peacocks had sent Gianna into a coughing fit.  

“My, my, it must be the change in climate,” the kind old lady clucked, patting Gianna comfortingly on her back. “A nice cup of tea is just what you need. And just in time, look, we’re here!”

Anthony puffed at his pipe as he paced restlessly through the lobby. He kept his eyes on the path that led up to the hotel as he absentminded toyed with a loose thread from his waistcoat.  

They should have been here by now.  

Mayhap the girl had changed her mind. Anthony felt a flush of relief as he considered that possibility although it was tinged with a touch of disappointment. Despite his misgivings, some part of him had taken the initiative to prepare for living with a woman. He had the maids put up fresh sheets over the bed, installed a new wardrobe and a large bathtub in the corner of the room. As an afterthought, he had placed sprigs of sweet smelling sweet pea blossoms he had gathered on his way back from the stables around the room.  

Ah well. Anthony snuffed out his pipe. Perhaps it was for the best. All that worrying had chipped away at the emotional wall he had so carefully built. Finally noticing the fray in the fabric his meddling fingers had created, he made an irritated noise.  

“Confound this woman,” he muttered as he examined the damage. Even the mere notion of a wife had taken its toll on the careful control he had established over... well, just about everything.  

“Mister Anthony,” a soft chirp from below got his attention. He smiled as he saw the bashful young daughter of one of the maids tugging shyly at his jeans.

“What is it, Marie?”

“Mama said that the young lady will be arriving soon. I want to see if she looks like the princess in my book,” the five year old lisped adorably, as she offered him a worn out book. Taking from her, he turned the pages.  

“Well Marie, she’ll look a bit different from your princess. For one thing, she’s Asian, so her eyes won’t be green.”

Disgruntled, the girl plucked her book back rather grumpily. “I still think she’ll be beautiful,” she said with firm resolution. “Oh!” she started hopping up and down in excitement. “There’s her carriage now!”

“Slow down, Marie!” Anthony rushed after Marie as the little girl dashed to the glass doors. As the wagon drew to a stop, he sucked in a deep breath.  

Well, this is it. 

Jack opened the door and held out a hand. Anthony watched as a young lady with curly locks of thick, black hair emerged and daintily hopped out from the carriage. As she turned her face in his direction, Anthony let out a gasp.  

The girl was stunning, with flawless skin and sensual lips that curled into an uncertain smile. She was wearing a tight fitting silken dress that made her bosom and ass look exquisite, even from a distance. 

She was also obviously not Chinese.  

“Look, Mister Davies, she looks exactly like the princess in my book!”

As his prospective bride’s emerald green eyes met his stormy blue ones, he smiled with no apparent mirth.  

“Yes, she does, Marie. Well, that’s a surprise.”

As he walked over to greet them, his mind was racing. This girl was obviously not the one whose description he had read about in the mail order bride form. Had there been a mix up? Either way, someone had fucked up along the way, and he was going to find out who.  Gianna’s heart was racing a mile a minute. Here he was, her future husband if everything went well. Extremely tall and tanned, he looked older than she expected. His shaggy brown hair was touched with silver and he was smartly dressed in a tweed waistcoat, a pair of black denim jeans and a pair of cowboy boots. “Welcome back, Mrs Beauchamp. I do apologize for troubling you this morning,” he murmured distractedly as he raised her hand to his lips in greeting, making the woman titter happily. Well, at least his manners were exquisite, and he was obviously well loved by his staff. 

He turned towards her now. Gianna felt dwarfed as he towered over her, his dark blue eyes piercing as they ran over her. “And a very warm welcome to you,” he enveloped her hand in a firm, strong grasp. His lips were soft and warm as they brushed against her skin. Not used to such gentlemanly treatment, she blushed a little. “Thank you sir, the pleasure is mine,” she bowed her head in greeting.    “Let’s dispense with the formalities,” his voice was strong and flowed like molasses. “You can call me Anthony, Miss…?” 

As his voice trailed off questioningly, he raised an eyebrow. Gianna swallowed. This was the moment of truth. “Feng Ling,” she prayed her voice reflected none of the nervousness she felt. Raising both eyebrows now, he searched her face and she forced herself to hold his gaze. “Feng Ling’s mother is Italian. Such a lovely mixture, isn’t it?” Gianna could have hugged Mrs Beauchamp. The old woman twinkled kindly at her and smiled reassuringly. “Is that right? Yes, quite lovely.” Not releasing her hand, Anthony walked in the direction of the hotel and she matched her pace to his. As they reached the glass doors, she stared in wonderment at the stone statues to her side. It looked intimidating, with a flat nose and great mouth that opened to reveal sharp stone fangs that reminded her of a cat. One paw lined with sharp claws rested over an intricately carved ball. “I trust you like the Shishi,” he murmured as he followed her gaze. Confused, Gianna looked at him. His eyes flickered as he tipped his head towards the statue. “Oh, yes,” she hastened, cursing herself for her carelessness. This must be one of those dreaded Chinese statue things that she was supposed to be familiar with. “Yes, it is beautifully crafted. I’ve never seen a bear quite so majestic and unique. It’s truly one of a kind.” Raising an eyebrow in a quizzical expression, Anthony intoned, “then you must not have noticed his exact twin.” 

Looking around him, she was dismayed to see the exact same statue in a mirrored pose. Those cursed things must come in pairs. Unsure of how to react, she jumped a little as Anthony guffawed loudly. 

“Forgive me, my beauty. I have a weakness for bad jokes. Do come in, out of the sun.” He opened the glass door for her and stepped back with a little bow.  

“After you.” Anthony wasn’t sure if the strong emotion that pulsed through him was one of rage or amusement. Perhaps both. One thing was for sure, she was a tricky little thing. She had obviously pulled the wool over the eyes of the unsuspecting Mrs Beauchamp. He was surprised by the boldness behind the blatant lie as she revealed her name to him without so much as blinking. There was some steel behind this one, but if there was one thing Anthony hated, it was being lied to. He had deliberately tested her by using the less common name of the Chinese stone lions and derived some wicked pleasure at watching her squirm. A bear. This could be interesting.    As they entered the hotel lobby with Mrs Beauchamp in their wake, Anthony turned to his false bride. Her flushed reaction to the stone lion fiasco left her cheeks colored prettily pink and her long lashes framed her nervous eyes. Pleased at the impact he had over her, he nodded at his housekeeper. “I’d like some time alone with my prospective bride,” he announced. Smiling brightly, the good Mrs Beauchamp replied, “I’ll get Jack to send her suitcase up in a bit.” “No need for that, I’ll take it from him now.” Anthony swiftly plucked the case from the stable boy’s hands. “Thank you, Jack.” “Would you please ensure that we are not disturbed?” He called back as he ascended the staircase with his bride in tow. This earned him a tittering of assurances from his housekeeper who no doubt had some assumptions of the activities they would soon be engaging in. He smirked inwardly. Oh, he had activities planned, alright. “Right this way, my lovely Feng Ling,” he enunciated her name deliberately. 

To her dismay, Gianna followed Anthony up the flights of staircases. She hadn’t expected to be left alone with him so soon. Despite his polished politeness and well-mannered charm, there was an undercurrent in his actions that made her extremely nervous. “If I may ask,” she whispered softly, “where are we going?” “I thought we might have a chat in my study, get to know each other a little better.” As they passed through the hallway on the third floor, he stopped to point out a particularly breath-taking painting on the wall. “Beautiful, isn’t she?” He gestured at the ink painting of a chinese lady clad in a flowing, traditional costume. Her jet black hair was tied in a complicated up-do and her willowy body was thin and delicate. “An artist’s impression of Yang Gui Fei, the epitome of Chinese beauty.” “Yes,” Gianna swallowed. She looked nothing like the lady in the painting and from the way his eyes roamed over her form, she was sure that he had considered this as well. “She is beautiful.” Turning to face her, Anthony placed both his hands on her shoulders. “And you are beautiful, too.” Tucking a stray hair behind her ear gently, he leaned towards her. For a moment, Gianna wondered if he was going to kiss her. Instead, he whispered into her ear. “In your own different way.” Shit. Before she could truly experience the fear that coursed through her veins, he was leading her through a great room with a large fireplace and a leather sofa set. The walls were lined with bookshelves and paintings that obviously originated from China. A large crystal chandelier hang as the centrepiece of the room. “This is the penthouse. It is my private home within this hotel.” Tilting his head towards the door on the right, he told her, “That door leads to the bedroom.” “But for now,” he continued as he led her towards the door on the left. “I thought we’d have our conversation in my study. Retrieving a key from his pocket, he unlocked the door with a decisive click. “Right this way,” he gestured for her to follow him. Stepping in, Gianna walked into the room and gasped. The room looked like a museum, with a range of oddly intimidating knick knacks, some hanging on the wall and others placed in glass displays. There was a large marble desk in the dead centre on the room and a leather armchair on either side. Sitting on one, Anthony waved her towards the other. “Please take a seat.” Gianna eyed him warily as she perched herself on the oversized chair. His words were polite but there was an edge of steel behind them which made her nervous. “So,” Anthony leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs in a lazy fashion. “Where should we begin? I want to know more about my lovely bride to be.” Her heart thumping an odd rhythm in her chest, Gianna replied, “As do I about you.” “Fantastic,” there was something a little unsettling about his broad grin. “Before we start, there’s just something you should know about me.” Anthony leaned forward in his chair, beckoning her closer. Gianna shuffled to the edge of her seat, unable to take her eyes off that hypnotic blue gaze.    “I don’t like liars.” Frozen on the spot, she dug her fingernails into her palm so hard that she was surprised she didn’t break her skin. Anthony sudden snort of laughter made Gianna jump. “Well, that’s not exactly an exciting way to begin this little tête-à-tête, is it?” Gianna forced herself to laugh along. Oh, he was an unsettling man, going from scary seriousness to mischievous mirth. “I do apologize, lovely one. I’m an old fogey. In fact, my daughter is always taking the piss on me.” “Your daughter, sir?” Gianna brightened. “Was she the little one I met at the lobby?” “Oh goodness, no. No, my daughter is a mother herself. She’s perhaps some seasons younger than you. You are twenty, aren’t you?” Surprised, Gianna nodded. She had estimated that he was quite a bit older than herself, but this was unexpected. He’s old enough to be my father? Try as she might, she couldn’t prevent the slightest curl of her lip. “Does that bother you?” Anthony cocked his head to the side. “Knowing that I am so many years your senior?” “No, Mr Davies. It… it doesn’t bother me in the slightest.” Gianna jumped as Anthony pounded his fist on the table. “Remember what I said,” he enunciated each word deliberately. “I. Don’t. Like. Liars.” Feeling her temper rise despite herself, Gianna snapped. “Then yes, it does unsettle me, knowing that you’re probably old enough to be my father.” Anthony laughed, throwing his head back. “Well, well. The little sparrow has some bite to her. Don’t worry, Gianna. I might be forty, but I can assure you that I am in excellent health, both mentally and physically. My finances are well in order, as is my reputation in this town. You will be very well taken of, if I marry you.” Gianna snorted inwardly. She had serious doubts about his mental health, given his somewhat psychotic mood swings. However, it was the word “if” that fixated her. If I marry you, he had said, not when.   Opening his desk drawer, Anthony retrieved a set of documents. “This is the marriage paperwork. Our signatures on this will confirm our matrimony. Half of my assets will be in your name, and the rest of it will be divided amongst Annie and any children we might have.” Children! Gianna almost choked. She wondered how she hadn’t thought about something so obvious. She had been worrying so much about keeping up this face that it never occurred to her that motherhood was something quite close in the horizon. “Now,” Anthony held his pen over the paper. “I need to fill in our names, so it would very much oblige me if you could tell me your name.” Lifting her eyebrows, Gianna stammered. “My… my name? I thought I told it to you.” Anthony cocked his head. “I’m an old man, remember?” He stared at her unwaveringly. “Your name, please.” Taking a deep breath, Gianna looked him straight in the eye. “My name is Feng Ling.” 

Anthony threw his pen down on the table, watching in satisfaction as the girl jumped. Despite his anger, he couldn’t help feeling impressed by her vigor in sticking to her little tale. He had been deliberately unsettling but somehow, she had always recovered her composure. Was she doing this for money? Was she a seasoned con woman? Walking over to her slowly, he stared her down. She looked so tiny and fragile in the chair. “I’ll give you one last chance. What is your name?” In spite of the slight tremor that animated her white face, the girl’s voice was steady as she spoke. “My name,” she repeated. “Is Feng Ling.” His temper flaring, Anthony pulled the girl to her feet, ignoring her gasp of surprise and pain as he drew her close to him. “You must think me a fool,” he said with his jaw clenched. “To think I would fall for your little tale. You’re as Chinese as I am a talking frog.” “Let me go,” she struggled against his iron grip. “You’re hurting me.” Anthony barked in laughter. “Hurting you?” This girl is going to be so easy to break. Gathering her up in his arms, he sat back on the table as he laid her face down across his knee. She struggled against him wildly as he pinned her down on his lap. The short skirt of her dress rose up high above her upper thighs, offering a tantalizing peek of her bottom. He felt his groin awakening with interest. “I have given numerous chances to own up to your deceit,” he said, satisfied as he felt her stiffen. “But fine. I’ll give you one final chance to convince me that you are who you say you are.” “Let me up,” her voice was strained as she tried to turn her head towards him. “Let me up, and we can have a decent conversation about this.” The girl squealed as he brought his hand down sharply upon her shapely derriere. “The time for mutual respect is over. Say your piece, or I will discipline the truth out of you.” When the girl spoke again, her voice was laced with anger. “I am Feng Ling. My mother is Italian, and my father is Chinese. I have my mother’s eyes and my father’s name.” She cried out, as his palm went down again. “My contact spoke with your mother on the telephone,” Anthony lied colorfully and he took pleasure at how she paused her struggling. Obviously, this was news to her. “Seems funny to me that an Italian lady would master Chinese so perfectly that there was no trace of an Italian accent in her voice. Unlike you, I must add.” He could almost hear the gears in the girl’s head whirring as she replied, “She met my father in China so it’s no wonder that she picked up the language there. Mr Davies, I must ask that you let me up so that we may speak like civilized humans.” Anthony seethed. He wasn’t sure which outraged him more: her blatant lies, or her petulant little demands. He slipped his hand under her skirt and drew the fabric up over her naked behind. He marvelled at the smoothness of her olive skin that bore a slight reddish flush. He caressed a full butt cheek and squeezed it softly. Her bottom was so perky and full that he could feel his erection straining at his pants. At the sound of her outraged gasp, he brought his hand down on her naked behind, much harder than before. “Let me make this clear,” he soothed her wounded skin with the back of his hand. “You, my lovely, are in no positions to make demands.” Pain seemed to make her braver than before as she snapped, “You, Mr Davies, are nothing but a brute.” “A brute, am I?” Anthony laughed in surprise. “Yes,” she spoke clearly and slowly. “I must demand that you let me go.” “And that I will,” he agreed sombrely. “Just as soon as you tell me the truth.” “I have told you nothing but the truth,” she insisted. “Fine,” Anthony felt a surge of need to own this lying little tart. “Have it your way.” He reached across his desk for his favourite bedroom tool – a wooden paddle. He brushed the smooth polished surface over her bum that was now patterned with red hand marks. “This is how we discipline our women in the west,” he whispered bringing the paddle down on her with a satisfying loud thwack as she screamed. Gianna could feel the tears rolling down her cheeks as she screamed in pain. Her face burned with anger and shame as she kicked her legs in a wild attempt to inflict some form of damage on him. Any favorable notions that she had of him were long gone. It took every ounce of strength and resolve to remember why she had to stick to her story and be married to this brute instead of following her instincts to run away as far as she could. As she kicked out, she took a savage satisfaction as her legs finally came into contact with his shin, causing him to cry out. “Why, you little wildcat.” Blow after blow descended upon her injured behind, and each smack of the paddle left a stinging impact that burned. She felt as though her skin was on fire as every nerve was awakened and ablaze by the assault on her delicate skin. All of a sudden, the spanking stopped. The room was filled with silence, save for the sounds of her heavy breathing as Anthony rubbed his hands over her sore behind. His touch was gentle, almost a welcome caress on her wounded skin. “Are you ready to sing, little sparrow?” Before she could stop herself, she snapped, “Are you ready to let me go?” “I will, just as soon as you admit to your deceit.” Taking a deep breath, Gianna sent a silent prayer to the heavens for mercy as she said firmly, “I am Feng Ling, your sore, beleaguered and shamed bride.”    “Sore and beleaguered you are,” Anthony continued to molest her, alternating between caresses and squeezes. “But do you know shame?” His hands wandered downwards, and she twitched in alarm as it came into contact with her womanly parts ever so gently. “Anthony,” she said urgently, her distress rising as she guessed at his intent. “You must let me go.” Ignoring her plea, he caressed her vulva softly. In spite of herself, she felt a heat pooling around the area. It caused her discomfort, but in a much different way. She blushed in frustration and shame. No one had ever touched her there, and yet here he was, brazen as day. All of a sudden, he unexpectedly slapped her outer lips causing her to cry out. It was more the shock at the outrageous act since he hadn’t used remotely as much force as he had on her behind. Despite the fact that it didn’t hurt as much, this seemed even more degrading and she redoubled her efforts to get away. Her struggles were punctuated with more slaps to that area and she gave in to the sobs that racked at her. “Stop this,” she wept, angry tears coursing down her face. “Stop. Lying. To. Me.” She shook her head, squirming and struggling against his iron grasp. “For heaven’s sake,” he shouted. “Tell me the truth or I swear I will send you back.” Gianna froze as she heard her worst fear put into words. “Anthony, no,” she whispered. “You can’t send me back.” “Oh, but I will.” Thoughts raced through her head. From the resolution in his voice, she knew that he meant what he said. It was also clear that she could repeat her lie a thousand times, in a thousand different ways and he wouldn’t accept her story. It left her with one final option. She slumped in resignation. “Fine,” she said softly. “My name is Gianna Delucca.”

Anthony felt a sense of relief mingled with triumph. Finally, he had her confession. “And who are you, Gianna Delucca? Are you an accomplished con woman? A practitioner of deceit? A wannabe Catalogue Woman?” He asked her sore behind that was starting to bruise beautifully. Patches of purpling pink flowered across her soft skin, and he knew that she was going to have trouble sitting tomorrow. She bristled, as though out of indignation. “I am none of those! I did this to help my family,” she bit off a sob. “My friend had this arrangement made, only it was against her will. She agreed to give me the money I needed to treat my father’s illness if I agreed to take her place.” “You did this for your father?” Anthony frowned. “Yes,” she whispered, her voice so soft he almost couldn’t hear her. “He’s dreadfully ill, and my mother didn’t have the money for his treatment. I was slated to be a governess but the agency ran away with my savings, so I couldn’t send her what she needed.” Despite himself, Anthony felt a twinge of pity. Still, he had to press on. “And so you decided the best thing to do was to lie? Have you no respect?” “I’m sorry,” she sniffled. “I don’t have the money to pay off the settlement if you broke off the arrangement. I had to try, even if it was all for vain.” Anthony lifted her off his knee and helped her stand. Her face was tear stained and flushed, whether with distress, shame or anger, he couldn’t tell. Perhaps it was a mixture of the three. He put a finger under her chin and tilted her face towards his. Her tear stained eyes looked up at him, flashing with anger. “At least I know that I’ve tried my best. Perhaps the hunger and homelessness wouldn’t be so bad.” Try as she might, her voice held a tremor. He could tell that despite the bravado in her voice, she had a genuine fear of what would happen if he turned away. Anthony was torn. On one hand, she had been out to deceive him and she was annoyingly rude. On the other hand, her story raised some sympathy in him. Years of interacting with people from all walks of life had cultivated his uncanny talent to know when people were lying. She was finally telling the truth. Besides, it did help that he found her incredibly attractive. She was physically beautiful, that was obvious, but there was something else that drew him to her. Perhaps it was her bravery, or that sheer will in her. Either way, he had made up his mind. Turning away from her, he walked back to his desk. “I’ll sign the papers.” She was so silent, that he had to lift his head to look at her. Her face was alight with astonishment. “What did you say?” She wondered aloud. “I’ll accept you as my wife, Gianna Delucca.” He signed the paper with a flourish and beckoned her over. Wincing as she made her way over to him, she picked up the pen he offered her and signed her name in a delicate script next to his. “There. Now we are husband and wife,” he gathered the papers into a neat pile and placed them back in his drawer. He eyed her disheveled form. “Did you pack anything else other than ridiculous outfit?” Anthony fought a smile as he could see her visibly struggle to not retort back at him. “Yes,” she forced a smile. “I packed a dress or two of my own in my suitcase.” “I’ll show you to the bedroom. There is a tub in there that you may use to freshen up. I’ll have your suitcase sent up.” Leading her to the bedroom, he stepped back as he opened the door for her. “Thank you, Mr Davies.” Again, he could hear the slightest hint of a sarcastic bite in her polite words. No doubt she still held the spanking against him. Oh, she was such a delightful challenge. For the first time, he was happy that she had been sent to him instead of the Chinese bride his friend had ordered. He couldn’t resist another jibe at her. “Oh please,” he laughed. “Call me Anthony. I must say, I rather enjoy hearing my name coming out of your lips, especially when uttered with such emotion.” He saw the surprise and outrage ripple across her face as she took in the full meaning of his words. “Have a good bath, my new wife.”    He smiled as she entered the room and slammed the door behind her. Oh this was going to be fun.