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Saturday, January 13, 2024

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[Text][Fiction][Excerpt][GR&SB] The Commissar & The Sister

Excerpted from:
Green Ruins & Shallow Blues:
Book II: FRUITFUL Chapter 35: Bloodlines 
(c) 2023-2024 Kyrinn S. Eis  All Rights Reserved Worldwide

The door opened and a bruised blonde in a blood spattered red cape and a greasy apron walked in, a dark leather case of a bag in her twisted and gnarled right fist.  She looked down at the Commissar's victim, looked to the guard who remained, and she walked inside.  The guard then exited.  Devyn looked to her, reached out for her help.  She regarded him, and then stepped over him to the bed, straightened the covers and pointed at it.  Devyn snorted, looked down, sighed, and looked up.  She wore a smile, soft, almost sweet; she cocked her head in the bed's direction.  The Commissar struggled to the bed's frame, tried to pull himself up.  She stepped, pressed lightly upon that hand.  The woman in red then made a push-up gesture; her smile now through somewhat narrowed eyes.  Devyn snorted and smiled, oh, she's like that, huh?  He thought of Avrhon and some of their games together.  Devyn struggled to push himself to a crouch; he knew better than to look to the woman.  The Commissar spat and strained, his vision grew bleary and he thought that he would pass out.  He managed to rise to a crouched, stooped position; things had torn in torsion, likely material seared onto his flesh had been pulled free.  He felt blood or other fluids trickle down.  With more spit and hard breathed grunts, Qomz-Beecher forced himself upright, or some facsimile thereof.  The red-cloaked woman then neared and removed his suit.  When the zip stopped and she could not force it; Devyn's hands on her shoulders -- one was knobby and he could feel a bone shard penetrated her skin; a foul scent emanated from her wound; she withdrew a slender piece of glass, and cut away at the synthetic fabric until she had undressed him.  She smiled, nodded to the bed.  He wanted to simply flop onto it, but for some reason, he felt he owed her the respect to continue her high standards for his comportment, and to that end Devyn bent over and placed his hands, shaking arms, onto the cover and lowered himself as surely and slowly, precisely as able.  Her expression was one of examination; his movements meant something to her, and her twisted fingers, calloused and jagged nailed, softly, so very softly traced over his burnt and blistered, red to pink skin.  She pushed him down to the bed, and then knelt as she examined his fused boot.  Devyn, Qomz-Beecher, the Commissar, felt better, although he ached, -- was in a sort of absent agony: as if a diagnostic board had lit up in flickered lights of warnings, indications of systems glitches, and indications for suggested courses of corrective action.  He wondered if she exerted some sort of psychic control, or if it were simply her most unorthodox bedside manner.  As she worked, she changed her grip on him and occasionally, her hair would caress the inside of his thigh.  He reacted naturally; was glad that still functioned; was impressed with himself.  His member now seemed to throb in time with sone unfathomable sensation -- ah, his foot.  She looked at his face, noticed his member and smiled appreciatively, and then handed him the boot.  He took it and wondered how the charred ankle and lower shin of his foot could be in the boot while he looked at it so calmly.  She stood and without malice, a slight hesitation to convey the latter, she punched him.  Everything went black.


Maybelle licked him awake.  Devyn smiled, laughed, patted the bed, and like the good girl she was, she jumped up, her tail awag, and flopped on her side, leg up.  Devyn smiled, laughed, patted her belly, closer and closer to her privates; her tail wagged harder and her leg kicked.  The woman in red moaned and sat up, her hair clean and nicely styled.  She smiled, leaned and patted Maybelle's rump and thigh, then leaned in.  She looked longingly, searchingly into his eyes.  She looked adamant to give him a kiss, took his head in both her hands and pressed hard her lips to his.  He gasped at her forcefulness.  It took away his breath.  He began to choke.  She pulled away, lifted his lids of each eye in turn.  The older guard was there now.  Grabbed her hair, yanked her up.  She pointed to Devyn and moaned a few guttural wordlikes and he then threw her head down, and stepped back.  She pointed to something Devyn couldn't see.  He threw the bag onto Devyn's abdomen.  The Com...  Devyn barely felt it; -- more like a shove.  She produced a hand bellows and grunted to the man.  He roughly held Devyn's head flatter, arched his neck and peered unfeelingly into his eyes.  The older guard's eyes then moved to her, and he nodded.  He pinched-closed Devyn's nose.  Smiled, the smile softened somewhat; he nodded at him.  Devyn's world dimmed and shrank within a circle whose diameter narrowed with each second's passage.  He convulsed in regular pulsations and as he resigned himself to restful sleep...

Devyn woke with the smell of a woman's scalp in his nostrils.  The blonde hair had the relaxed curl of the woman who had healed him; saved his life.  He wanted to hold her, to feel he had let her know he appreciated it, but instead immediately upon receipt of his being alive, went back to sleep.

He was shoved awake.  She, the healer, the Red Sister, looked at him -- somehow, her face was less damaged, even if only slightly.  He felt almost human.  She mouthed words and moaned them to aid in his understanding, but she also moved his fingers with each.  She left the bed and put on the apron over her nude form, and then threw on the hooded cape, tied it off, just before the door opened.  The older guard looked at Devyn without emotion and then gestured to her to accompany him.  Devyn sat up,  she pushed his shoulder to indicate bed rest, and took the man's hand.  The older guard looked back with something like a sneer and a look of congratulations -- however begrudged.  The door closed behind them.  Devyn looked under the relatively clean sheet at his pink body.  The burns were now localised to coin-sized marks of puckered red-pink.  He also looked at the large wet stain on the bedding.  He wondered at that the most.  Had she, had they?  What had she said to him?  Devyn -- the Commissar closed his eyes and remembered; recalled her mouth's formation, each moan which accompanied them.


[Art][Red Sisters Series]

A Day's Delicate Toil
(c) 2024 Kyrinn S. Eis  All Rights Reserved

While the life of the Red Sisters is completely voluntary in the joining, once the Red Orders are taken, the Oathen is already so altered by the process of experiencing Informed Empathy that to renounce is so unimaginable as to be whispered rumour only.  These women, likely returned from treating victims of political violence, are both medical and psychological specialists, while the sister in the rear, in bronze over white, is in Proof Sanction while she recovers from her tremendous empathic transfer wounds.  Her face became distorted as she took-on the damage of those she healed, and the white vestment she wears under the bronze vest is used to numb her from the terrible trauma she had absorbed in the transmutative process.  She ambles behind the active members on their way back to a Red Tower, an allied Slayers' Keep, or whatever travel shelter they can find to get her out of the elements.