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Ah, back to this piece. Some solid ground at last. Sorry for the length of time ladies. For those not reading the posts in between, the quote from my last post was none other than The Bard, William Shakespeare. The play being Taming of the Shrew. Thanks to wormie again for guessing. Tell me what you think of the tale I'm weaving, and what you think of the characters. Like whether they are in character. Still trying to get a damn title...Any ideas, toss em my way. And there is a swearing in here. Sara being Sara and all that. This may be an R fic. Not sure. And so no further ado, and disclaiming that which has been disclaimed formerly, here is the next bit. Hope you like it!




When Sara trudged noisily into the loft after another exciting day at work. She mentally snorted and rolled her eyes. Yeah exciting, uh huh. An idiot rookie, an ass for a boss, and dealing with the scum of New York. Yeah that constitutes excitement. Man, she really needed to get a life. How long had it been since she'd had any sort of companionship? It was a shocker that her plumbing hadn't become the Sahara desert for all it was used for. She kicked off the boots, pulled the sweater over her head, unzipped the jeans and headed to the bathroom to wash the film and dirt, figuratively and literally, of the city from her skin.

In the shower, she debated with herself silently about what to have for dinner. She thought she had smelled last night's Chinese very faintly. Chinese sounded good again for tonight's dinner. She hurriedly washed her hair, conditioned, washed her body rinsed and washed her face. She stepped from the tub, shivering vaguely. She toweled off quickly, stepping from the bathroom, and entering her bedroom. She quickly put on pj pants and a tank, wandering towards the kitchen. As she flipped the switch for the lights, the bags of food caught her eye. "Dammit! Sonofa-!" She was interrupted by her ringing cell phone. She walked to it, looking at the screen Flipping open the phone, barking a terse "Pezzini, go!" into the phone, she war danced her way back to the kitchen. She only listened with half an ear as Jake babbled innanely about a date. "Thanks, Jake, but I'm not really in the mood for a date." More like I'd rather kill someone right now. A six foot something guy with midnight hair, caramel eyes and stalker/psycho tendencies. Pretty to look at, but as far as she was concerned, a royal pain in her ass. She realized that Jake was saying her name. "What? No thanks I'll see you tomorrow, Jake." she said, closing the phone and cutting him off mid plea.


Couldn't he take a hint? Either of them? One was physically completely her type. Hardbodied treat that he was, Nottingham was a obsessive, bordering on psychotic, an assassin and thug, and all round confusing to a simple chick like her. The man either spoke in one words sentences, if that even qualified, or he spoke in nothing but rhyme and riddle. And Jake? Ha! Blonde doofus of a surfer boy that didn't know how to receive "Not Interested" signals. All that sea water must have scoured his brain and pickled it for all the good it did him. He was such a pretty boy too. Ugh, no thanks. Looking at the bags of food in disgust, she opened them and peered inside. Inside, of course, she found all her favorites. Even a fortune cookie. She began unpacking the food, laying out the veritable buffet in front of her. She walked to the counter over the coffeepot to pull down a plate, and spied the pad. On it was a note, surprise surprise, from Nottingham. Probably apologizing and groveling for having offended me, she thought to herself smugly. For such a stud, he really needed to get a backbone. How do you respect a guy who won't even defend himself? Not that he had any right to in this case. But still, you would think he would say something.


She picked up the note, the elegant script seeming out of place for a male, yet so fitting for Nottingham. She began to read, Sara- wait since when did he just call her Sara? Sure she hated it when he called her Lady anything, but he'd never called her just Sara. It was always Lady Sara, my lady or some knightly form of address. Shaking her head and continuing to read, her eyes slowly widened. Her mouth fell open in shock and her hands started shaking very faintly. "Sonofabitch. That motherfu- ooh, I can't even believe him!" How dare he insult her, and rebuke her for not thanking him for the "simple courtesies" he did for her. Did she ask for them? No. She'd told him she didn't want them, in fact. But does he listen? No. Never. And him being so angry about her insinuations that he might hurt her. Well, how did she know? His Master wanted the Witchblade. How was she to know he wouldn't take it, or harm her to retrieve it? You can only serve one Master. His was Irons. And Nottingham had told her himself, one of the methods of getting what he wanted could be seduction. And considering she didn't want sex with Nottingham, that would make it unwilling. So why the hell was he so damn upset. And that jibe about not reffering to her as Lady anything any longer, not because of her wishes, but because when a woman acted like a shrew, she ceased to be a lady. Well that just cooked her noodle for her right there. How dare he?!