purple evening gowns


Dressed in a white, flowing tunic, Deban Grothis smiled generously at her lover, friend and companion. The twenty-seven year old's soulmate for the past seven years or so. Its taken the Anglo Oriental this long to get to where she is right now, having achieved major milestones probably a lot quicker due to that one special stroke of luck that one night in mid September. Now entering a brand new era when she can really commence the building and cementing of her empire, the first major stamp on the planet, and the securing of their future together.
Kirsten McHigham, four years her senior and naked, returned the smile with a mixture of classy grace and impish mischief, her warm and dark brown eyes a sparkle of contented joy. She gently lifted her long, oval-ish face to survey the skyline with Grothis, as they sat on the large, gold trimmed blacked blanket on the summery grass in the lush green deserted park, as the dawn broke.
A blood red sun rose and the scenery abruptly transformed. Darkening considerably, the previous glowing warmth that had enveloped them swiftly dissipating in tantum to a sudden constant rush of wind that swirled around them.
They turned to each other in brief confusion then in recognition to the contorted facial expressions of agony and deep sorrow they both felt.
Grothis began to c the bruises and light cuts on McHigham's weathered face which mirrored hers. Blood seeped down from her forehead and she opened her mouth in a soundless scream as she rose, her tall slender body betraying a myriad of bleeding cuts and bruises. The two lovers struggled to reach out to them but failed. The ground broke and a deep chasm swiftly formed between them, growing ever wider by the second.
Slowly rising, Grothis bent double, her pained eyes widened as she saw a mass of blood spread out from her groin area and spider off in all directions. She screamed too except no sound could b heard either. In determination but with difficulty she did manage to straighten up, to stare once more at McHigham.
Both now elevating upwards towards the sky, now black but sparkled with a thousand stars that swirled around them, the ground below them fast fading to join and meld into the stark starfield.
Suddenly, the scene changed again. No howling wind or blazing sun, nor starfield. Grothis found herself standing on an ocean. Naked. Her skin now unblemished by physical trauma, sensing no pain, as is McHigham standing opposite her, staring at her with a solemn mournful gaze. Resignation in her eyes. Then, McHigham lowered her head.
Grothis knew at that point, she had lost McHigham. Rage boiled within her. A skin of blackness formed and spread to cover her entire body. Her deepset, small, eagle eyes turned jet black. The dramatic transformation rendering Grothis to a featureless shadow, as McHigham zoomed backwards into oblivion.
The Shadow now screeched with the voice of a billion banshees from hell. A sound void of all comfort, purity and positivity, and all embracing of the cold cruel sheen of hellish fury and vengeance...

..."Charge to forty...clear!...again!..."...

....Features phasing back, Grothis found herself lying down on some boat floating on calm waters. The sun now radiantly beamed out around her, mingling with a curling mist. The warmth however, never reaches her. She sat up and looked around her, wooded banks at a distance surround her. The squawk of a pair of hawks and a pair of eagles, break the stony silence as they streak around overhead. Then, turning to her left she saw vague silhouettes...a silvery black panther...a lush golden furred lioness...a hulking white arctic bear..a silver streaked wolf...and a very oversized, emerald green eyed, jet black rat which towered over the rest....

..."We're losing her!..."
"Three hundred cc of..."
"Ok let's try again! Charge the paddles to...and CLEAR!..."

....To her right Grothis saw a group of people have gathered, some she knew, while others appeared to b strangers though with an odd sense of familiarity about them. Their faces now a searing memory. Both the animals and people stared stonefaced at her.
A tug sent the boat swirling backwards, and she saw a taut rope secured at the tail end, leading into a dense block of fog behind her.
Then, slowly rising above her from within the waters in front of her, three massive monoliths, the central one dull grey in color, the other two white and black, which began to revolve around the grey one....

Chapter One
One Year Later...
Katerynna Ashmoore stared at the bank of security monitors, eyeballing the six men now housed into individual cells miles underground of Fort Artemis, one of the numerous installations her son co-designed with her one time protege; Deban Grothis. The sixty-three year old warhorse pursed her thin lips tightly in a cold grimace. They would b suffering ten kinds of hell with her, but with Grothis? Well, it would b legendary even in the depths of Hell. And the men all deserved it. Worse is yet to come however, Ashmoore knew, when they find out who directed the attack on Grothis and McHigham a year ago.
She swiveled in the chair to view other flanks of cameras. One monitor showed a group a women huddled together, confusion and terror on their faces, while on others, further groups of bewildered men were kept. Ashmoore could almost taste and smell the fear, the atmosphere was pungent with it.
The feeling normally un-nerves everyone -except Grothis, this somewhat perturbed even Ashmoore, and not being the only one to have noticed that ever since the attack, Grothis's darkside had been exceptionally emphasized. She's become all the more ruthless and detached, and rather more unforgiving even on the tiniest erroneous matters. Grothis has let rip now when she really feels like it, and furthermore she can now mostly do so unhindered. No doubt in Ashmoore's mind that Grothis is an exceedingly dangerous individual, especially now with the wealth, power and influence that she has accumulated which one may argue surpasses even that of Ashmoore's. But she does cling onto the belief, Grothis would never harm her or the ones she considers friends- thankfully, Ashmoore said to herself as an afterthought. purple evening gowns


Mid-September 1990...
In effect homeless and almost broke, Grothis hardly had much choice, save to stay on couches of the few friends she has. She could've stayed with her sister, Graiyce Tzieng, two years younger than herself, for as long as she wished. However, the twenty year old just didn't feel quite right doing that.
She has to do something more to turn things round...hence her journey now enroute to Andrew Kirkwell, her bestfriend of the past two and a half years.
With a passion and a talent in engineering, and a good job in the fields of electronics and computing, the thirty-four year old, living at the far outer edge of London, also has a job as security for various clubs.
Something she could most certainly do, having taken the odd professional selfdefence classes, and basic though more lethal and effective combat training from Kirkwell to supplement her own honed and unique style of street fighting, Grothis was confident she can take on a few without much trouble. Speed and agility was her key. Grothis was petite enough. Supple limbs to a well toned physique, she tried to go to gym training regularly.
Grothis stood almost 5'8" tall, with a long slender neck and highly defined collarbones that matched the handsome robustness of her cheekbones, on a oval-ish angular face. Her small and deepset, emerald green eyes sparkled and quite penetrating. She kept her thick and long hair tied up into a tight ponytail.
Always outspoken, Grothis did always have issues with anger, and she relished a good hardy fight. Yet, she's mindful that the law does frown on violence -while advocating for criminals, she thought bitterly. If only she was in power...in charge...things would b...different.
Stowing her worldly possessions -two suitcases and a few bags full, into a corridor luggage area, Grothis sank down in to a seat on the almost deserted late night last train bound for Totteridge Hills.
Opposite her she suddenly realized, sat a golden blonde haired woman Grothis estimated to b maybe in her mid to late twenties. She stared out at the wintery scene outside with weary eyes that almost mirrored her own, as she listened to some music on her CD Walkman.
She turned briefly to offer a brief half smile and a nod to Grothis's less than confident smile, as the train slowly chugged out of Charing Cross.
Totteridge Hills, out in the middle of nowhere almost, would take just over an hour. Being the last station on the journey it wasn't likely she would miss the stop, so somewhat drained, Grothis decidedly closed her eyes for a doze. Which got interrupted soon enough when a group of drunken louts boarded a few stations late, and sighing with severe irritation, Grothis snapped open her eyes. The blonde opposite her had her eyes peacefully shut still Grothis noticed in envy, and she stared out miserably at the near pitch black darkness prevailing outside.


-more will b added soon-