Why Am I Doing This To Myself?!!!!

Be Nice To Me!!!! 
PLEASE READ THIS FIRST!!!!

Ok, so against my better judgement (and quite possibly proving that I am insane), I am posting up a snippet, a sneak preview if you will, of the novelish thing that I am working on.

Now this is really important, so please read...
This is a DRAFT!!!!! It is not in any way finished or polished. I am aware that there are grammar errors, that my punctuation looks like it has been done by a five year old etc. I am doing this only because a nice person asked me to!!!!
I am NOT LOOKING FOR ANY KIND OF CRITIQUES AS YET as this is a DRAFT and any kind of critiquing would be POINTLESS!!!!!!!!!
Equally, this isn't a tool to fish for compliments. I am not looking for praise (though if you insist on giving it, then that's fine. I won't stop you).
Thank you for reading

Right, let's get this over and done with.
Characters featured are...(to see more artwork, visit my deviantart account.

Faith was not happy.

She was stuck, on her own. 

With Raen. 

Again. 

To be fair, Tahti was still with her, but being so small, she didn't really count. Besides, since Arashi's marvellous display of how-to-be-a-butt-holey-dick head, the sprite hadn't stirred from her spot curled up on Faith's shoulder, gossamer wings tickling her skin in a way that would get irritating very quickly, akin to getting hair stuck up your nose, with no way of retrieving it. So it just sits there, and no matter how many times you forcefully blow air out your nose in hopes of dislodging it, it doesn't budge. Just buzzes against your skin with each breath, reminding you it's still there.
With a sigh, Faith settled in for a long wait. She sat on her bed, a sturdy thing built of solid wood, covered in a quaint patchwork quilt. She drew her knees up to her chest, fighting to keep her eyes open. Sleep was thrusting at her lewdly, beckoning to her, but with Raen in the room, unfurled like a lounging cat on the opposite bed, there was no way she was going to close her eyes, especially not with that look on his face, a feigned innocence that wasn't fooling anybody A look he usually wore when he was plotting something of a devious and/or dastardly nature. 

Luckily however, there were plenty of other things poking at her brain, wanting attention, doing a marvellous job of distracting her from wondering what misdeeds the faery was plotting, as well as successfully keeping sleep at bay.

            In the muffled quiet, surrounded by creature comforts that reminded Faith of home and feeling at least a little safer than she had in a long time, the last week finally had a chance to catch up with her, colliding with her conciousness like a steam train.

A deep ache rose from her toes, flashes searing her vision. An raging river of images that pressed behind her eyes, threatening to burst through and flood the room with truths Faith didn't know how to deal with. They came together in a great deluge, coalescing in waves of pain, fear, guilt, until they became a turbulent mess of tattered emotions. But where ever her thoughts drifted, they always, inevitably, returned to the crossroads. 

            Taking a shuddering breath, she wrapped her arms around her head. Pressing her eye sockets into her knees, she willed herself to forget, hoping she could push the memories out the back of her head, spraying the wall behind in her sludgy black memories.

Then came the shame. The crushing guilt that at least she could escape. And worse, that she wanted to escape. Wanted to stop seeing the hordes of marching souls, trudging on with no knowing what lay ahead, where their next meal was coming from. How could she sit there wishing it would go away, when those people were living that nightmare every day? Who on that road wouldn't want to wish themselves to another place? 

             From her perch, Tahti sensed Faith's darkening mood. Emerging from the nest of hair in which she had been cocooned, she landed on the duvet cover by Faith's feet.

Faith lifted her head, looking at the little faery. Tahiti's smile was small, and not just because she herself was tiny little person. Faith wondered what the faery would say, if she could speak. 

            From the opposite bed, Raen stretched his long limbs. "Aww, look," he drawled, "Isn't that sweet. Your insect is trying to cheer you up."

            Faith threw a pillow at him. There had been no conscious thought to it. Just a need to throw something. She only wished it had been something heavier.

Like a book, or a car.

It proved a pointless endeavour anyway, Raen deftly catching it before it could hit him in the face, Still, he looked surprised and that was good enough.

            "That,” he said with a frown of admonishment, “was uncalled for." He held the pillow out towards her. "I'm going to be keeping this now as punishment." He placed it behind his head, getting comfy whilst expertly shielding it should Faith try to reclaim it.

            The noise emanating from the pub downstairs began to swell, a dull, base rumble that rudely pushed its way through the floorboards, both uninvited and unwelcome.

Raen huffed. "That's going to make sleeping difficult." He stared huffily at the ceiling, hands behind his head. Faith didn't mind it so much. After so long spent just the five of them in the wilderness, she found the feeling of being connected to other human souls a comfort.

Just at that moment, someone found a fiddle, deciding it would be a jolly good idea to start playing it, loudly, at a tempo that was bordering on manic. Raen removed the pillow from behind his head and attempted to smother himself with it.

Faith felt inclined to do the same, the wild sawing of a violin a little too much for her. She was thwarted however, by the fact that Raen was keeping her pillow captive. It wasn't that tune was being played particularly badly, more that it was far too jolly, not in tune with her sombre mood. It reminded her that there were people still capable of having fun, and one is feeling somewhat maudlin, that's just not very nice. 

            Raen muffled something from beneath his pillow. With a curse, he tore if from his face and threw it. It puffed against the door as the Faerie shot to his feet.

“This is insufferable. I will not sit here a moment longer when there is fun to be had and drinks in need of quaffing." 

Faith looked at him, baffled, wondering what the hell he was on about. 
Straightened his shirt, then adjusting a waistcoat that Faith was sure he hadn't been wearing a moment ago, he stalked with purposeful strides towards the door. 

Faith scrambled to the edge of the bed. "Where are you going?" She cringed, her voice sounding shrill, pathetic and whiney even to her own ears.  

Raen opened the door, "To get a drink madam," he gestured to the buzz of activity that bombarded them from below, "we are in a pub after all." He paused, absently stroking his chin. "Hmm, though drinking alone would be preferable, far be it from me to stop you if you would like to join me." He gave her a hard look, dark green eyes giving away none of the thoughts hidden behind them. "I dare-say you could do with a long stiff one yourself." His lips curled as he melted into his usual easy-going manner, as he amended, “I of course mean a drink.”

             Faith cast upon him a glare she hoped made clear that such lewd jokes were not appreciated. She looked past him to the open door, to the hallway that lay beyond. Sat on her knees, hands clenched at her sides, she hesitated.

Tahti started barrelling around the room in what Faith took to be encouragement, yet was probably more likely the opposite. Faith didn't bother to analyse it to closely. Temptation pulled her to her feet, guiding her towards the door, but the wrath of the Tempest held her back. 

"Arashi told us to wait here."

            Raen snorted derisively, "That he did, but I am not inclined to take orders from a man/dog hybrid who takes pleasure in licking his own balls. Besides," he could see her resolve weakening once she had removed that disturbing mental picture from her head. He smiled widely, “he's not here. It’s his own fault if he failed to specify as to where 'here' actually is."

Going for the final push, pouring on every ounce of charm, he whispered. “We won't be gone long. They'll never know."

            The wish to escape from reality and the distressful thoughts that hounded her rose like an itch demanding to be scratched, impossible to ignore. She debated the sensibleness of going with him. It didn't take long. 

Sure, it was reckless. She'd only known him a short while, yet in that time he had tried to slice her arm off, left her to drown and in general, been a bit of a prick. Then there was that grin, smeared like grease across his jaw, reminding Faith of how little she should trust him. 
 The fiddler downstairs changed his tune, a rampaging succession of notes that didn't seem to know what they were doing but were going to have a damn good time anyway. 

It was almost certainly a stupid thing to do. There was a very good chance they'd get into unimaginable amounts of trouble, her midnight run of a few nights ago springing to mind. But after what she’d witnessed that day, the face that haunted her every time she closed her eyes, all she wanted, what she craved more than anything, was a relief. A fire of rebellion ignited in her gut and there was no stopping it now.  Taking a step of unwavering resolve, Faith announced, "I want alcohol."

Raen swept a graceful bow, "Right this way my lady." 

            Her unwavering revolve wasn't quite so unwavering as she thought. Though her feet wanted to go, the fun spoiling part of her was reluctant to budge. There was the door, open and inviting, but she just couldn't get herself to move.

But this journey is about change, she told herself firmly, then amended, and all that other stuff about stopping the bad guys and saving the worlds, etc.

This was something the old Faith would never have done. Which was why she put one foot in front of the other, and walked out of the room. Quickly, before she could change her mind.

Behind her, the door closed with a soft click, Raen’s hand still curled around the handle. Glancing back, the sounds of tiny fists tapping on the wood were audible only to his sharp, Fae ears.   

Faith stood on a cosy landing. A warm, slightly stained and worn carpet covered the floorboards, a rich dark red tinted orange in places by the thick white candles that lined the walls. Split levels sat to her left and right, a higgledy-piggledy jumble of ups and downs. Twisting from side to side, disorientated, Faith had a moment of confusion as she tried to recall in what direction the stairs lay. A particularly loud burst of laughter exploded from the right. Following the raucous sounds of men slowly pickling their insides, Faith eventually came upon the slightly worn looking staircase, leading to both the upper and lower floors.
(not sure why this section has indented, but I can't seem to correct it)

Her foot, mere inches from the the first step, poised to descend, hovered in mid air as Faith noted her Tahti-less shoulder. She turned to Raen, hands clasped behind his back, affecting the air of someone who hadn't just done something he shouldn't.
"Where's Tahti?"

            "Who?"
            Faith closed her eyes, blowing air that could very well have been steam out of her nostrils. She repeated, "Where is she?"
           "Oh, you're referring to your pest, I mean pet. I think it's best if she stays in the room, don't you?" His tone made Faith feel like a highly volatile and unpredictable mental patient, capable of going bat-shit crazy at any moment.

            "You shut her in."

            "Yes, I did." Raen saw her frown and hurried to convince her that it was for the best. After all, they didn't want to risk Tahti getting over excited and exposing them.

He could see her thinking it through, weighing up the obvious wisdom of his words. She nodded her agreement, though she looked towards the door with a decidedly anguished expression.
Facing away from the door, Tahti still hammering away, Faith resumed her descent, not seeing Raen rolling his eyes behind her. These mortals and their constant emotional struggles. How exhausting it must be to constantly question the merit of every single little thing you do, or say. Thank goodness I don't have that problem. 
  But his scheme was working, and though very tempting, he resisted the urge to rub his hands together with devilish glee. It seemed his boredom would soon be at an end. 

            
They entered the stifling warmth of the common room, the air swilling around them like a thick, floating soup, chunks and all. Faith found it strangely welcoming, for all of five seconds, before she started gagging, her lungs struggling to adapt to the unique atmosphere of Portshore’s premier drinking establishment. 

Raen ushered her to a stool at the bar, all the while being careful not to risk any actual physical contact. It was widely known fact among the Fae that mortals carried at least twenty disgustingly icky diseases at any one time. Despite the fact that, not being mortal, faeries couldn't catch any of them, whether they be real or imagined, it always paid to be careful. 

Faith slithered on to her seat, where she sat, hands squeezed between her knees, looking every bit as awkward and out-of-place as she was trying so very hard not to be, a task that was always going to be difficult in a room full of burly sailor types, all men and none of them appearing to be under thirty.  

By contrast, Raen was in his element. Rolling up his sleeves, he gestured to the innkeeper, ordering two of something Faith didn't quite catch. The man, who must have had 'barman' stamped on his birth certificate, grabbed two glasses. They appeared clean, but spying Faith watching, they were given an extra once over with a cloth for good measure. The cloth returned to his shoulder, where it hung like a badge of honour.

            The Innkeeper then placed the extra squeaky clean glasses on the counter. With a dubious glance at Faith, he grabbed a mysterious brown bottle, which could have contained anything from orange juice to weasel spit, and poured a small measure into each glass. Faith wondered vaguely if there was an age limit for alcohol in Faerie, but as the Innkeeper slid the glass across the bar to her, slopping a bit in the process, now not-so-full of a strong smelling amber liquid, she guessed not. 

            Raen’s eyes positively sparkled as he regarded his own tiny glass of paradise. 

            Faith lifted hers slightly more apprehensively, bringing it to her nose for a sniff. It burned, singing her nostril hairs, the chemical concoction of fumes forcing her taking in great lungful’s of air through her mouth. 

            Beside her, leaning the casual lean of one who had frequented many a pub in his time, Raen tut-tutted. "Amateur," he chided, swirling the drink in his hand, "everyone knows you never smell before you sample. It ruins the surprise." With a nefarious gleam in his green eyes, he knocked back the glass, consuming it in its entirety in a matter of seconds. He thumped the now empty vessel on to the bar, making the face of one whom has suffered a slight and found it highly offensive. "My goodness man, you call that your best? I've drunk goat milk with more alcoholic content than this swill. But," he thrust a finger under the man's nose. " I am willing to give you another chance, before I take myself and my considerable coin to another establishment of equally questionable hygiene standards?" It was complete bollocks of course. Raen had no money at all, but a few leaves and a bit of mind-fuckery, and his pockets would be brimming with the gold stuff.

           The barman chuckled, eyes alight beneath bushy brows, the promise of a challenge to hard to resist. "Oh, I see" he mused, "am I to believe then, that the fine sir would like to sample our Very Best?" Faith, aware of the exchange only because it was happening right next to her, had always wondered what it had when books claimed that characters, ‘pronounced the capitals.’ Now she knew.              

           Raen sat himself down. Leaning back, arms folded he proclaimed, "I most certainly would, my fine man."  There was no way that Raen thought this man was in any way fine, but if he kept producing the alcohol, who was he to judge?

           Another unbranded bottle appeared from under the counter. This time Faith could smell it's noxious wafts without having to put her nose anywhere near it. 

           A measure was poured, the barman brimming with anticipation. His wife, the daft old trollop, had forbidden him selling his own, very special, home-made concoctions. However, at that very moment, she visiting her sister two towns over, and therefore would be none the wiser. He regarded Raen over the bottle through eyes so squinty they looked shut, even when open. 

           Now here was a strange chap, in his fine clothes, with that fancy hairdo and posh accent. Not the sort to visiting a dive like Portshore. His companion, if anything was more odd, and couldn't have been more than twelve to his eyes, but out in the back-end-of-no-where, the rules weren't quite so rigid to the point where they were often twisted into some very interesting shapes. But he had been longing to test the potency of his home brew for ages, as none of the locals were stupid enough to try it, not after what happened to Dave, who had never been quite the same since.  

           The handsome fellow sat at his bar didn't strike him being overly stupid, but was certainly reckless. With a smug grin, the barman slid the drink over.

           Raising it in salute, Raen winked as he brought it to his lips. He looked over at Faith, her glass as yet untouched her hand, frozen inches from her lips. 

           He gasped, a hand flying to his face, as he said, appalled, "You would let a lady drink on her own? You unforgivable rogue. Here." He reached over, nudging the glass to her mouth, "Come, come. Drink up, there's a good girl." 

           She jerked away. Raen shrugged, "suit yourself."
           The glass sat in her hand, as Faith pondered, once again, the wisdom of her actions. Her rebellious was growing rather tired of her inability to make a decision and see it through.  

           Was it really worth it? No matter how bladdered she got, no matter how numbed she was to the world, it would all be waiting for her again when the effects wore off, accompanied by an almighty hangover to boot. Would one glass of alcohol stop her from drowning in the overwhelming misery of a world that was choked with suffering? Where little girls were murdered for the simple crime of being hungry? The short answer was no.

             Raen could see more convincing was needed. Faith was wearing her thoughtful/vague expression which meant she was backing down, which wouldn't do at all.  With was snide leer, followed closely by a sigh, he said, "it’s ok, don't worry about it." He took the glass from her hand, "It was stupid anyway, thinking that would risk getting in trouble with the big bad wolf. I only thought that perhaps you were tired of being afraid, but I forget that you're too much of a coward. Never mind."  

             Raen could tell instantly the moment his words hit home. With a rebellious set to her jaw, looking ready to start a fight with anyone stupid enough to get in her way, she snatched her drink out of his hand. Putting the beverage to her lips, she tipped the whole thing down her throat.
             It was like drinking liquid fire. As it travelled through her body it sucked up all the moisture, leaving burned out wasteland in it's wake.

             Raen's whole body shook, pointing and laughing at her distress. Eyes tearing up, wheezing out coughs an old man would be proud of, Faith thought she was dying. Within seconds her face was positively luminous.

             Still chuckling, Raen downed his own drink in one, slamming the glass on the wooden counter top. with a smile that was almost feral. 

             The barman leaned over, eyes creased with worry as he watched Faith turn puce, great breathes rattling about her lungs. "Is she going to be all right?"

             "I think I'm dying," Faith sputtered.

             "She'll be fine," Raen replied dismissively, "I however find myself with an empty glass," which he waved under the barman’s nose, "If you would be so kind?"

             "More of the same, sir?"

             "Oh yes, I think that will do nicely. No, no," he said, as the barman went to fill his glass, "just leave the bottle. There's a good chap."

             The barman’s eyebrows flew into his hairline, "Are you sure that's a good idea, sir?"
             "Hmm? Oh yes, quite sure. I plan on spending a very fine evening with my new friend," he clutched the bottle, shaking it at the barman, who shrugged.
             Wandering off,  he muttered under his breath, "Very well, it's your funeral."

Faith had no notion of how long they had been sitting there in the bar. Or for that matter where she was, or even who she was. On some part, she wasn't overly certain of what she was. Alarmed, she pushed herself up from the counter upon which she had been laying, sprawled out in a drunken stupor. After a thorough pat down, she was able to confirm that she was still a human person in possession of all the correct limbs, all located in the right places. She sighed with relief, the bar tipped as she swayed. Her insides felt all fuzzy, which on the whole, wasn't all that unpleasant.
                With visible effort, she lifted her head, now filled with bricks. Looking up through drink addled eyes, she saw Raen sitting next to her. 

                "Raen!" she exclaimed loudly, with an embarrassing amount of slurring. The following sentence should have sounded something like, "what are you doing here?" had it not resembled the sound of someone chewing their own tongue.

               Where-as most would have struggled to convert Faith's noises into actual words, Raen just so happened to be adept at the learning and speaking of languages, drunk being one of them. 
               A now almost empty bottle of the barman’s Very Best sat in front of him. 
               "So, sleeping not-so-beauty awakes at last." 
               Other than the glass in his hand, there was very little evidence of Raen’s alcoholic endeavours.  No slurring marred his speech, his head wasn't swaying, even his eyes were bright, if possible more so than they had been when they first started their binge. 

                Faith leaned closer, pointing a finger at him, or more accurately, at something hovering over his left shoulder. Her limbs had noted her distracted state, and were in the process of acquiring a life of their own. She tried to muster a serious demeanour, instead ending up wearing an impression-of-a-constipated-person face. "I,” she started, “don't like you very much."        

                Raen smiled around his glass, "And there I was under the impression that you didn't like me at all. What a momentous day this is turning out to be." He drained the glass, gently placing it back on the bar. Once it was full again, he turned, folding his arms, giving Faith his complete and undivided attention. "Are you going to do me the courtesy of telling me why?"

                Faith blinked stupidly, "why what?"

                Raen sighed, whilst marvelling at the boundless depths of human stupidity. "You quite rudely informed me that you didn't like me very much. I was enquiring as to why that might be." 

                Faith did her another slow blink, except this time one eye at a time. Raen had used far too many words, some of them quite long and had successfully confused her. 

                After some careful deciphering, she gave up, instead returning to the beginning of the conversation as if Raen hadn't spoken at all. " I don't like you," she said again, pausing for dramatic effect, "do you want to know why?"

                "I will admit I am beginning to lose interest." He was also wondering why this had seemed like such a good idea at the time. 

                Taking his answer for a yes, as he hadn't technically said no, she answered, "because, you are, a dick head." Raen rolled his eyes as Faith descended into giggles. She then snorted loudly, which made her laugh even harder, so much so that she fell off the stool. Her voice, breathy with laughter and slightly too high pitched, rose up from the floor, "I snorted." 

                "You did, you clever girl," Raen indulged. He gave the barman a knowing look, 'women eh? Just can't hold their drink'.

                The barman replied with a look of his own, 'I know, tell me about it!' Out loud, he asked, "Are you just going to leave her there?"

                "I think that's for the best." 

                "Why am I on the floor?" 

                "That is a very good question, my dear," Raen replied, though was far too busy pouring himself another drink to actually answer it.   

                "It's sticky."
                "Is it?"
                "Ooo, a penny!" This was closely followed by a thump and an "Ouchies," as in the excitement of finding the penny, Faith had tried to stand, subsequently colliding with the underside of the counter. 

                It was Raen’s turn to laugh, almost spraying his drink all over the bar.

                With much scraping and cursing, Faith was back on her feet, rubbing her sore brain. Her eyes were decidedly bloodshot. Gripped the stool, she steadied herself, shaking as she did so. Then came the conundrum of trying to figure out how she was going to get back on to it, which involved a lot of staring. Her mouth opened and closed as if she were speaking but no sound came out.

                A few methods were attempted, all with varying degrees of success, until finally, she went with the hand spring and twist technique. Palms face down on the seat, she pushed off the floor, twisting in the air before landing on the stool. At least, that's how it was should have gone.

                Raen had been resolutely ignoring her and trying to convince the assembled patronage that he didn't have a clue who she was. The ruse was thoroughly shattered when Faith ended up sprawled across his lap, consumed by giggle-snorts. 

                "Hello," she said in a silly voice, "fanshy sheeing you here." With that she was off again, spiralling into mad giggles.

                Raen, lip quirked in distaste, pushed her roughly on to her own seat, "yes, yes you are most hilarious."

                "How many has she had?" the barman asked, walking over.

                "Just the one." Raen’s reply was punctuated by Faith thumping her head on the counter. She  groaned.

                "My head feels all squiffy and runny."

                "I doubt that was the alcohol." Raen lifted the bottle, disappointed to see that it was almost empty.

                "I think my brain’s starting to pour out my nose."

                "I'm sure your hand will be sufficient enough to catch it."

                Faith rolled her forehead over the counter to glare at him. "Meanie."
                "Why thank you."          
                "Where you born an arsehole," she had to pause, trying to remember what she had been going to say, "or is it something you've perfected over the millions of years you've been alive?"

                Raen decided that aside from the constant giggling and clumsiness, Faith wasn't all that bad when she was sozzled. She still irritating, but she also made him smile and was certainly more interesting than she was in her usual un-inebriated state; boring, nervous and insufferably stupid.

                A dangerous combination. 

                "It was a gift from the Gods," he replied. 
                Faith’s head had swivelled round again, a curtain of hair shielding her face from view. Through it, she mumbled, "Then they're as crap at getting gifts as my aunt."

                It was the first time he had heard Faith mention her aunt. His thoughts took him back to the Other Place, to Faith’s house and the woman he had found lying on the bed, seemingly dead but for the breath that still forced itself from her lips.

                "You did not like your aunt I take it?" he enquired innocently, ready to store any further information for later use.

                Faith didn't respond, trying to sum up her opinions of Clara in just a few words. She settled on, "She was like Hitler, without the moustache. Actually," she mused, "she did have a moustache." 

                "Who's Hitler?"

                She turned her head to look at him. "You know who Hitler was!"
                "Was he the charming gentleman with the fine moustache?" 
                "You really are an evil bastard."
                "When I can be bothered. So you were saying, about your aunt?"
                Faith lifted her chin so it was resting on her arm, staring straight ahead. "She was almost as evil as you are."             
               "I see. So, I guess she got what she deserved."

                Faiths mood darkened, flicking from jovial to mournful with liquid ease. "How could you even say that? No one deserves what I did."

                Raen took his focus off his glass for a moment to look at her. Rich red hair pooled over the bar, glowing in glossy waves that spilled over her slight shoulders. It was a waste really, that hair, as the rest of her resembled something that had been chewed up, then spat out.

                A blue eye peeked out from between a few coppery strands, staring at him unabashedly in a way Faith would never have done were it not for the one glass of alcohol.

                She was certainly a strange one.

                Rather surprisingly he found that he looked forward to seeing what this journey would do her delicate nature. Would she flourish, rising to the challenges that faced her, or wither?

                Sitting back, Raen's eyes locked on to a clock, hanging from the wall above the bar. A tempting array of bottles were perched on a shelf just below it, each containing a sweet nectar that Raen wished he had the time to sample. 

                As he pondered Faiths words, the seconds ticked away, reverberating through his skull, each one like a blow to the head. Oh how he hated the mortals with their accursed clocks, counting every second, measuring the passing of a time that should never be.

                He sighed, suddenly irritated and wanting very much to be anywhere else. Standing, he leaned in close, speaking only a hairs breadth from Faith’s ear. His voice was like velvet, quiet but still retaining the joviality of his earlier mood, which made it sound all the more malevolent. "I can say that my dear, because I hate, loath and deteste mortals with every fibre of my being. They are a plague on this world, one that I would very much like exterminated." He stood again, "I am also, not a very nice person."

                Faith didn't know which expression to display first. It flickered between complete shock and utter repulsion, the ring of truth clanging loudly in her ears. Her stomach chose that moment to lurch violently. Whether brought on by alcohol or Raen’s statement, she couldn't tell, but she needed to throw up. 

                Really needed to throw up. 
                Like right now.

                Without a word she leaped from the stool, hand over her mouth. It clattered to the floor as she fled the room. 
                Raen smiled. Turning back to the bar, he hailed the Innkeeper, ordering one last drink.


So there it is. For better of worse, it's out there. Obviously this work belongs to me (not that anyone would want to steal it) but still, it is mine, so you can't have it, use it, change it in any way or I will make bad things happen to you (not that I think you'd do that, but still, there are some nasty people out there!!)

I hoped you liked it, or at least found it tolerable.

Hmmm, there's actually quite a lot isn't there. I apologise, I obviously have no concept as to what a 'snippet' actually is.