Falling Up

Chapter Thirteen

Enter (oh god xD we had to write a dialogue the other day and I started it like that... 'twas between to presidents on the system of congress and in my head the had british accents (because british accents are awesome x3) and they kept saying things like "my jolly good chap" ... Oo) Maria

Enter Maria's Dad~ (now I don't think we'll be hearing any of "my jolly good chap" from him... ¬.¬  xD)

Hooray for the weekand :D  I finally got this chapter finished x3  more new charries :D

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Chapter Thirteen

            Maria woke up in a warm bed, the familiar thick smell of smoke wafting through the room.  She could hear the faint, jolly crackling of a fire form outside the room she was in.

            She raised her arms to rub the remnants of sleep from her eyes, finding her left arm in a splint and bandaged neatly.  She recognized the room.  It had been her old bedroom, and when she was younger it had seemed much larger to her.

            Now the room was small and cramped, but she supposed it was all the old weaponry her father had stored in her room once she had moved out and gone to the city to go work with a blacksmith.

            Maria swung her legs out from under the old quilt her mother had made for her when she was little, smiling at it frayed edges.  Somebody had changed her into pajamas, Maria suspecting her mother had given her a bath as well while she was asleep, or rather, had passed out.

            Maria was careful not to knock anything over, aware that some of the guns in the room might still be loaded, and that those few swords and bludgeons would hurt.

            She stepped on something, jumping at first, but then realizing that it had only been a pair of slippers and she slipped them on, glad for their warmth and fluffiness.  As she made her way to the door, the wood paneled floor creaked beneath her.

            Maria drew the door open, cringing as it screamed in protest.  Everything in that house seemed to creak, or make some other sort of noise.  She believed her father had made things purposely so, so she could not sneak out.

            As if on cue, she heard an all too familiar voice coming from the living room from just down the hall.

            “M’ria?” a deep, booming voice with a very thick, sweet, fluid accent called from the room.  “Is that you M’ria?”

            “Moor,” Nolan spoke up in a high, jittery voice.

            As Maria walked into the room, she saw him on the couch, his face pale, cold sweat glistening on his forehead despite the comfortable temperature in the house.  His hands were curled to fists, his knuckles white and his hands shaking, his head bandaged, a few smaller bandages plastered to his arms and one on his right cheek, where a particularly nasty cut had been.

            “Shut the fuck up, I’m talking to m’ daughter!” the same booming voice called.

            Maria peered around the corner, seeing her father sitting on an old leather couch, a giant man that could easily pass as a bodybuilder, especially with his huge muscles practically splitting his tight shirt, his dark brown pants baggy (and a good thing too because otherwise he might not be able to sit down).  He was at least three times the size of a normal person, his dark brown hair donning gray streaks, giving him a skunk-esque appearance one might laugh about were he not a giant that could seemingly crush a person’s head in with his bare hands.