'Firefly meets Battlestar Galactica'.
A merchant's daughter is captured and sold into slavery.
A genetically modified survivor of an alien attack scours the galaxy for her taken brother before he is 'disassembled'.
An alien scientist u...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
It was the first night since their tryst began Macbeth beat Lulubelle to their meeting place. Rather than wait until the kitchens were abandoned, she slipped away after her evening meeting with Nero. Julius caught her in the front hall, his goggles hiding his eyes, but not the lines of concern creasing his face. He leaned to her ear.
"Macbeth, do not do this." He whispered. She tugged her arm from him, her emotions firmly in check. The last thing she wanted was to attract the attention of Nero's lingering guests. She didn't look at Julius, her voice thick in her throat.
"Don't you dare stop me." She left him standing there, loping through the gardens. Shutting herself into the storeroom, she waited, stewing in the poisonous swirl of her thoughts, over and over.
Macbeth was the sibling who swallowed her anger. When her brothers and sister teased and tormented one another, devolving into fist fights and screams, she shoved her hurt and her anger deep inside. She used to think it was a sign of her maturity, to hide her emotions. After a while, her siblings didn't tease her anymore, or rather they didn't include her at all. She was the one they went to with their problems, the one who took care of them, but they stopped inviting her on their adventures. Her careful control over her anger left her alone.
The anger she continuously shoved down didn't go away, it festered, a hidden sore scraped raw. Each time hurt more, grew harder to seal away. Someday soon, Macbeth knew it would boil over. She couldn't let it happen now, not with so little information. She needed to talk to Lulubelle, needed the truth. She needed Lulubelle to tell her it wasn't true.
She jerked as the door creaked open, Lulubelle slipping inside with a swish of skirts. She shut the door, smoothing her clothes with a playful smile, pushing her breasts up in her bodice, tugging her curls; primping for Macbeth.
A drop of fire sizzled against the ice of her anger. It would be so easy to lose herself in those silky breasts, entangle her fingers in curls that smelt of honey, so easy to push her anger down for another day. Another day when Calliope used her to create a new torture for Macbeth.
Lulubelle started, noticing Macbeth at last.
"You snuck away early tonight," she purred, swaying her hips as she sauntered up to her. "What are you doing lurking in the shadows? Trying to give a lady a fright?" She teased, twining her arms around Macbeth's neck, pushing her body against hers. Macbeth let her, let her lean in and lick her lips, let her nuzzle against her shoulder, enjoying the Erosia's affections before gently pushing her away.
Lulubelle frowned at the serious expression she wore. "What is it?"
Macbeth swallowed, her throat dry. "Do you report my sessions with Nero to the Mistress?" Her tone was even, but Lulubelle reared back like Macbeth struck her, her lovely face pale.
Silence greeted the question as Lulubelle's eyes told her the answer. Macbeth felt the fire between them snuff out, freezing, to ice.
Lulubelle grabbed her wrists, her face earnest. "Please, let me explain."
