On May 14th, 2008, the Doom Lounge Irregulars celebrated FIVE years of collaborative creative writing.

The Doom Lounge Writing Project exists to provide a collaborative forum, set in a strange and mythical world for the purpose of improving on writing abilities and entertainment.

Many of our core writers wrote together on other writing forums, and sought to resurrect a few beloved characters with stories still to tell, to bring old friends together, and once again test the limits of our imaginations and writing skills. Now, in an atmosphere of friendship and in the hopes of inspiration, we provide each other with constructive criticism and encouragement. We write together to tell our stories. We write together to torment our characters. But most of all, we write together.

Come and join us!

"Jessafine"

Warning: Mature Content!

Jessafine’s pale arms clutched the sheets tightly to her chest. She tried desperately in her mind to reconcile the evening events and the Watch Detective snoring next to her.

She had been in Master Fook’s kitchen. Baby Neral had been upstairs sleeping in his crib for over an hour. The young gnomeling fell hard asleep half-way through his favorite fairy tale, before Jessafine got to the part the clever gnome hero had tricked the neglectful, greedy weaver into surrendering her child to a less abusive family for the ability to sew wheat into gold. Master Fook was in his workshop, no doubt tinkering with the gears of a broken clock, or some other nonsense. The kitchen was almost in good order, with the exception of some unruly turnips and the wooden bowls and dishes from supper. Her candle had guttered wildly as Captain Josh Savage entered, and, as subtle as a hurricane, swept her into his arms, kissing her passionately. There had been no greeting, no request of permission. After months of dating as if they had a chaperon, he had pressed her into her chambers with alarming abandonment.

She did not remember assenting or protesting, only a sense of great surprise. She still did not know what to think. She was not even sure how they became undressed so quickly. What had possessed him?

Afterwards, she lay next to him, in awe of the events that had transpired. For someone who had worked in the midwife field since she was barely nine years old, she had felt completely lost at this end of the act of conception.

Obviously, that was not the case for Josh. He had proceeded with complete confidence, taking her virginity effortlessly. It vexed her to watch as he had produced a silk handkerchief out of his nearby clothes like a magician’s act, and emptied his seed into it as if it was a practiced habit.

She would never ask to borrow a handkerchief from him again, of that she could be sure.

Afterwards, lying in sweat and the after-glow, it had been as quiet as an empty church. She thought at first he would roll over and sleep, but instead he had stared at the ceiling, like a man who had lost his soul.

She had barely moved, shifting a leg, covering herself in a belated attempt at modesty, and Josh spoke. He had been looked over for promotion, and was angry, no more than angry. He was livid about Lord Dor, and fumed with such focus, he did not notice Jessafine’s face as he discussed the reason of Adolphus Dor's alleged jealousy. It both fascinated her and disgusted her that Josh had been the consort of Lady Reagan Mudd.

If he had been a servant of the flesh to Lady Mudd, what was she to him?

Still, she listened until hot tears ran down his cheek. A maternal instinct took over, and she initiated another round of love-making, clumsily climbing on him, calming the man despite her own misgivings.

And now she lay awake, wondering. She thought of the small bags of coins he delivered to Master Fook. According to his story, her dear, dead brother had somehow told Josh he intended to pay off her indentured contract with the reward money. It was an obvious lie, she thought. Jeradin had been found dead alone in the house on Haunting Hill for well over a year now, and what long row of hardened criminals had lined up for the Hanging Tree? Now, more than ever, she worried that Captain Savage was buying her attentions. How could she say no to such an obvious dashing hero?

What else could explain his sudden change in behavior? He had never mentioned the prospect of matrimony. So what was she to him? Stress relief after a hard day? And how dare he assume she would be willing, without first asking. And how deeply disappointing she had fulfilled his expectations.

The more the thoughts ran through her mind, the more distressed she felt.

Before morning, she decided she would slip out the sheets and into the early morning darkness. It was her day off, thankfully, and she could disappear easily without having to make breakfast for the household. Had Captain Savage expected to eat at Master Fook’s table, with her serving his appetite just as she had served his carnal needs?

You’re seeing too much into this, she thought, but it was only thoughts of escape which comforted her enough to allow her finally to surrender to sleep.

“Lia”

The evening had started and ended in unlikely duets.

Lia smelled him on her red, wolf-spider silk sheets. Content, she sighed.

It had been a hot night. She thought it best to avoid Dolby Manor. The sudden replacement of Dolby Manor’s guard had caused the Dolby’s daughter no end of grief. How unfair, Marina cried, just because her father thought she smiled at him too often.

The Doom Lounge crowd was swollen with future refugees that particular night, waiting for the Rebel Law or Cinder to take them to Deadwater to serve their minor sentences, demeanors, or bout of political disfavor.

Psyche Savage, an imposing figure behind the bar, looked out of place dressed in plain clothes instead of monk robes. Burg, freed from his responsibilities of night manager, was doing saints-know-what with the night’s earnings in the back. Fafnir’s wedding loomed closer, and he was nowhere to be seen. Lia imagined he was probably at the barrel factory, or walking the halls of Grimke Manor, under the sharp looks from the portraits of disapproving Grimke ancestors. She missed Fafnir’s father-like presence; his unique spark of life. Even if he spoke of his pending nuptials the same way one speaks of a pending hanging.

As for Lia, she was singing with Yarbo. It was the most unlikely of partners, she knew, but the obese half-orc folksinger had bothered her for a year to sing together, and she finally ran out of excuses. No made up laws of the Prophet or imaginary customer requests came to mind, and so she took the stage.

“Everworry is a Wormling,” Yarbo warbled, strumming his out-of-tune mandolin with misplaced enthusiasm.

“Oh, no!” Instead of listening to Yarbo sing a morality lesson in iambic pentameter, the crowd would probably prefer to have Psyche throw them off the docks into the Cochtys. Like she had done to some rogue named Sterling earlier that evening. “That’s sophomoric. I pick the song.”

The smoky room focused on her, and she flashed them a fiery smile as reward.

“The hero loved the dragon,

His heart would not go on.”

The crowd warmed to her immediately, recognizing the bawdy song. Lia intended to smile at Psyche and Starla as hands went up for drink orders. Instead, she saw Captain Joshua Chamberlain Savage enter the door.

Their eyes met.

“A very unlikely romance,

He wished to show her his lance.”

Her hero took a seat at the bar, greeting his cousin with a chaste kiss on the cheek. Instead of his usual Chicoran Green Tea, Psyche handed him a mug of Blue Toad Ale. His eyes wandered the bar, and settled back on Lia.

“Dreamily, he sought a kiss from his desire,

Forgetting his beloved breathed fire.”

“Breathed fire!” Yarbo and a few of the Folke in the front row sang back.

She exploited the song, alternately meeting Josh’s smoldering stare and ignoring him.

Lia had always known it was a matter of time, since she had first seen him at the Harvest Ball over two years ago, gallantly dancing with Reagan Mudd. Since she had been banished from the Watch, she had not seen Josh often. In hindsight, she now knew the Watch frowned on the questionable use of magic to trespass on the dreams of her superior officer. As part of her punishment, she barely caught a glimpse of him, although she worked upstairs from the Watch Dungeon in the Customs Exchange, reviewing ships manifests and targeting shipments for search.

Her song ended to applause, and she made her way through the room, making the attempt to talk to everyone else before she found herself next to her former captain.

“Good evening,” Josh had said, or something to that effect. “And great song.”

The place was crowded, so they squeezed in a corner booth, sharing it with Grundy. The tobacco juice and ink-stained dwarf snored into his Shoggoth's Old Peculiar Pale Ale.

Josh said something about Lord Dor newly acquired oversight of the Watch.

Lia drank from her homebrew port Josh had bought for her. “I’m resigning.”

“Resigning?”

“I can’t serve that pompous fool,” she said. “I will tutor full-time, or who knows? Being from a fallen noble house means I can adventure, if I wanted. Can you imagine me, slaying owlbears? Engaging lizardfolk in a battle of wits over a campfire? Dealing with a goblin is preferable to Adolphus Dor.”

He should have reprimanded her loose tongue. Talking despairingly of a noble-born was against the law. Instead, Josh encouraged her. She chattered like she had not talked in months. She told him of the differences between Esani and Augian noble houses. How a civil war between houses had resulted in her house exiled, and how that experience led her to believe Dor harbored the embers of sedition.

Lia could not remember what she was saying when it happened. She reached across the table, and took Josh’s hand. The sudden charge of energy she felt made her realize what she had done. “Oh, I’m sorry! It’s an Esani thing. We touch when we talk.”

Neither withdrew.

They first kissed behind the tavern, and Lia thought he was going to take her, right there on the dock.

“No,” he said, when she tugged at the laces of her bodice. His mouth was on her neck, his warm breath on her bare shoulder. “I don’t want our first time to be here.”

The trip back to the Dolby Manor was filled with interludes in the alley shadows, each ensuring passion remained kindled. They snuck past a slumbering Morik Undervein guarding the door. The visage of the dour dwarf was not likely to attract the attentions of the young Marina, she had thought.

Lia locked the door behind him.

She undressed them both, and pushed him down on her bed. She planned this out long ago, many times. Deflecting his reaching hands, she lowered herself onto him.

He cried out.

Three trysts later, they slept.

A knock at the door jolted them from their nest. Morning light beamed in through the open window.

“Miss Mohr? Your door is locked!”

“One moment,” Lia said, pushing Josh out of bed. “Get dressed!” she whispered.

Josh looked at the door with confusion.

She kissed his neck, and pointed to the window. “I’ll be awhile longer, Marina.”

Josh’s perplexed look indicated he remembered they were on the second floor.

“What are you doing? You’ll miss breakfast.”

Lia opened her hope chest, and pulled out a rope. She tied one end to the bedpost. “Save me an apple.”

A good sport, or perhaps simply not seeing another option, Josh tested the rope.

Lia kissed him soundly, her tongue once more in his mouth, and sent him on his way.

Now back in bed, she stretched like a spoiled cat. Unlikely duets, she thought with a smile, and started humming.

“The hero continued his heart’s direction,

Not comprehending a dragon’s affection.”