KennedyChapter 11 Kennedy s Ruby Tuesday
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KennedyChapter 12: Kennedy Loses A Friend free porn video
Kennedy bounced out of bed the day after she got back from camp and all but ran downstairs, then threw herself into her exercises.
Mr. Glastonbury arrived a few moments later, a tray with a coffee cup and some toast in hand. He watched her for a few moments, then picked up the paper and started reading it.
Kennedy finished her usual set, feeling not the least tired. Yes! There is magic and there is magic! Ferinc and those others had theirs and she had hers!
She plunked herself down opposite Mr. Glastonbury. "We need to talk," she told him. It wasn't a question.
"Do we?"
"Yes. What, sir, do I do about a dark human? One as evil as any vampire or demon?"
"You are not their judge, Kennedy. You can stop them, but you can't hurt them ... at least not lethal hurt. Modest amounts of certitude."
"Could you explain why I can't kill someone as evil as say, Adolf Hitler, but I can kill some demon who might be as innocuous as Mr. Waterman?"
"Well, first off, you've made an unwarranted assumption about Mr. Waterman, one that you know for a personal fact isn't true. He's not on the side of evil; he's on ours. This is called 'using judgment.' It isn't the long suit of most teenagers. Still, one hopes that one's teaching isn't totally wasted.
"True evil, other dimensional demons, our own vampires and werewolves aren't the same as a living, breathing human beings. They're dead. Cut a vampire and it isn't going to bleed to death. Cut a werewolf and it will bleed. You'll want to be careful of that blood, because if your bare skin touches it, the next thing you know, you'll be one of them.
"There are a few werewolves who've managed to control their lust for human flesh. You'll know it if you ever meet one.
"But the bottom line is that vampires don't have souls and werewolves rarely do."
"So, I'm not a judge of the living, I'm the executioner of those already dead?"
"Lady Kennedy, you speak of the duties of a Slayer. You aren't a Slayer and may never be one."
"But that's the essence of it, right?"
"Yes."
"Did I show off too much at camp?"
"No."
Kennedy lifted an eyebrow, expecting a different answer.
"Why not?"
"You only used Lady Kennedy twice, for the play. Everyone, except you, knew the story you played a scene from. Everyone laughed. No one takes anything seriously that they laugh at."
"And why have you never taught me a team sport? I do pretty good at those."
He met her eyes. "For the first time in quite some time, Miss Kennedy, I'm alarmed. You haven't used 'sir' but once to me since you sat down. You haven't the wit to understand why meditation is bad, or why slaying isn't a team sport. It seems that I've taught you nothing at all."
Kennedy had been unprepared for his anger. "You've taught me several sports, sir."
"True. Archery, swordsmanship, unarmed combat, various martial arts. Miss Kennedy, would you say your schedule has been easy or busy? Empty or full?"
That was easy enough and the answer, of course, was why she was being stupid. "Full. You didn't want me wasting my time and it's not easy."
"Such sports are, at best, diversions. I could have taught you chess, too. To learn any of those sports well you'd have had to devote considerable time to that study. Time you don't have. It's why you don't play a musical instrument."
"Is that why I don't ride a bicycle?" She was a little angry with that.
"Miss Kennedy, contemplate a battle against a vampire with you mounted on your bicycle. Or your skateboard or your ice skates. I've taught you to swim, because you never know when a battle will end up in the water."
She sat fuming. "And I'm just supposed to supinely let you guide me in all of this? Following by rote anything you try to teach me?"
"That, Miss Kennedy, is what students do."
"And yet, there you sit, wondering why Slayers always die! Tell me, Mr. Smarty-pants-Glastonbury, why do you think your methods work, when they've failed every single time? Or has a Slayer ever died of old age?"
"Because we are always looking for new ways, new techniques. Slayers live longer these days, Miss Kennedy."
"I'm sure Amanda appreciates that! She was what, eighteen? Her Watcher gave her what? A couple of years?"
He waved at the door to the room. "If you like, I'll leave."
Kennedy moved then, without thought, without preparation, filled to the brim with anger. She went across the table, tackling him in his chair. She sat on his chest, her knees forcing his shoulders to the ground. "Yield!" she commanded.
He twisted and bucked at the same time. She hit him in the chest with the flat of her hand, careful not to break anything, but leaving him gasping for breath. "Yield, I say!"
He tried to gouge her eyes and she slapped his hands away. Her next stroke against him was blocked, and then he heaved again, catching Kennedy by surprise, when his legs wrapped around her upper torso and pulled her away from him.
She flipped away, coming up as he was trying a leg sweep. She coldly stepped forward, caught his leg and spilled him on his butt. His leg jerked out of her grip and he came up at her, launching a full bore punching attack, an attack that would have crushed most tae-kwan-do opponents. She blocked what she could and let the rest bounce harmlessly away.
It went around and around, a dizzying spiral of punch and counter-punch, blows landed, blows missed. Finally, nearly exhausted, she was once again on his chest, her knees pressing his arms down, her hand on his throat, sufficient pressure to have brought him to stillness.
"I suppose," he said conversationally, "that this means you now think you're the cock of the walk; the big bad dude who lives here. That you no longer have to follow any rules whatsoever."
"Don't be silly," she told him. "It means that for the first time in what, five years? I beat you in a fair fight. You expected me to pay attention, each and every time you beat me. Why is it you want to ignore me, now that I've beaten you? Why do you want to run me down? Does it make you feel better?"
He reached up slowly, carefully and put the mildest pressure against her hand, pushing it away from his throat. Kennedy let up and rocked back, coming to her feet. "You offered me your hand a thousand times," she told him, holding out hers.
He reached out and took it. It was clear, Kennedy thought, that both of them were wary of the other trying a trick. She hauled him to his feet.
"What do you want, Miss Kennedy?"
"A little respect. Not much beyond that. Mr. Glastonbury, I've respected you since the first day we met. You don't approve of the way I show it ... and I've never approved of the way you wanted me to show it. Let's call it a draw."
"No, Miss Kennedy. Call me what you will; you will always be either Miss Kennedy or Lady Kennedy to me. Don't tell me what to think or do."
She bobbed her head. "My friend Ruby lives in Tarrytown. I'd like to find a way to see her at least once a month and more often if possible."
His regard was steady.
Kennedy couldn't help blushing. "Not always," she told him. "But now and then would be nice."
He chuckled.
"I want to go to Faire more often. I want the 'sex' part of the rules lifted. I'm comfortable with the drug rules. You can throw in music rules, because as near as I can tell, I sing about as well as a lark farts."
He inclined his head, regarding her, then nodded.
"Mr. Glastonbury, this isn't my question, but Harriet's. Are you serious about her mother?"
He laughed. "This once, you can ask a question like that of me. I'll answer it regardless of how I feel about personal questions. After the answer you can ask another personal question and we will do this again. You will not always catch me on a bad day."
"Okay."
"Then, no. Then again, Harriet's mother is not serious either."
Kennedy nodded. "Harriet is worried."
Mr. Glastonbury shrugged. "At one point or another, her parents' marriage is going to come unglued. The first time I was ignorant of it. This time I just turned a blind eye to it. Sometimes, Miss Kennedy, you are a breath of fresh air, a new and unique insight on things that others -- including myself -- have made too complicated. I think Harriet's situation is as complicated as is possible. After the last two weeks, it's clear to me that it's not going to turn out well. I expressed my dismay, and I was told ... well, let's just say that I'm not welcome any more."
"I still want you for my tutor," Kennedy told him. "Sir."
He laughed. "Miss Kennedy, you really have no concept of duty at all, yet, do you? That's all right, because you understand what is required sufficiently."
Kennedy sketched a bow. "I'm going to get a shower, then breakfast."
"Fine. In an hour, we'll start on a bestiary of demons. It was pure luck you knew what a Sofai was. I will fix that gap in your education, quicker than quick."
Something about what he said made Kennedy frown. She remembered a hundred times before that he favored the phrase "lickety-split." It was almost enough to double her over with laughter, because he obviously understood that the phrase now had a new meaning.
She stopped, going to another subject she'd been thinking about. "That reminds me, sir. I had no idea what a The Princess Bride was or why everyone laughed uproariously through the entire sword battle that I fought with Ferinc. I felt like I was in a fog, battling unseen, unknown opponents. I'd appreciate it, sir, if henceforth we can include some pop culture in my curriculum."
For the first time in her memory, he made a rude gesture at her, but he was laughing.
Three weeks later, Kennedy lay on her stomach in a tent, with the post on one side of her, then Harriet, while Ruby was just inches away, touching her shoulder on the other side. The three girls had had their chins in their hands, watching the revelry of Faire village.
Harriet sighed. "In two weeks, school starts."
"Me too," Ruby added.
Ruby giggled after a second. "Lucky Kennedy! No school for her!"
Kennedy laughed at that. "Ruby, you have it backwards! You had the summer off; I had the two weeks of camp off. The rest of the year, I'm in school. Every day, six days a week. Seven, sometimes, because Mr. Glastonbury doesn't always take his days off. He told my father he's saving up for a two week visit to England this fall. My father thinks he's stupid, because he'd just give him the time off without having to save up days."
"So, what did you learn this summer after camp?" Harriet asked.
Kennedy shook her head, not wanting to talk about demon clans. "Well, I asked, and I read Cervantes Don Quixote and now I'm reading Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged. I watched the movie ThePrincess Bride and a few others."
"My mother would freak if I read Atlas Shrugged!" Harriet said with a laugh.
"It was the first book I saw Ruby reading," Kennedy admitted. "I was curious. Mr. Glastonbury said that I can read Red Storm Rising some other time." Actually, he'd said a number of things, mostly unflattering about how the Cold War had turned out and that Kennedy would be better off reading the lotto winning numbers than Red Storm Rising.
Kennedy reached out and started feeling up Ruby, until she found what the other had hidden under her skirt. Kennedy pulled the thick tome out. "War and Peace?" Kennedy asked, when she held up the cover to the firelight.
Ruby giggled. "You cheated! You tickled me!" For the next several minutes their play got very romantic.
Harriet sighed. "I think I'm going to roll over and go to sleep."
"Don't make too much noise rolling over," Kennedy told her. She knew her friend well!
Harriet stuck her tongue out, but laughed as well.
Kennedy and Ruby resumed their position as they had been, chins in hand, looking at the adults carrying on around the main campfire.
"What do you think?" Kennedy finally asked, breaking the silence.
"Of Faire?"
"Yes."
"When you first told me about it, I thought it was a bunch of grownups with some serious mental problems, wishing they were living in the Middle Ages. I got here and looked around. They are a bunch of grownups who wish they lived in another time. Rationally, it makes no sense. Life back then was nasty, brutish and short, particularly if you were a woman who wanted kids or a man who was a soldier.
"They really aren't rational, either," Ruby concluded. "But when I think about it, I wonder who among us is?" She leaned a little towards Kennedy and nudged her shoulder with her own. "I don't know why you love me. I'm not cute; I'm not as smart as you or Harriet. I can't sew, I can't swing a sword, and while I could probably swing those bamboo sticks of yours, I couldn't do it nearly as good as you. I shot a bow and arrow and hit the target next to mine, but the arrow wasn't going very fast, and it just sort of sagged there in the target.
"Yet, you do love me, because here we are."
"Yes!" Kennedy said, sneaking a peck at Ruby's ear.
There was a stir a few feet away and Kennedy looked up, a little embarrassed to be caught kissing Ruby. Caught kissing anyone.
Duke Roger appeared from the dark.
"Are you awake, Lady Kennedy?"
"Awake, even altogether dressed," she said, hoping to preclude his speculation on what she and Ruby were doing.
"Please, we have a situation back in the Faire area. I think you could help."
Kennedy snaked out of the artificial fur blanket she'd bought just to bring to Faire and stood up. She reached back and got Lady Kennedy from where she'd been laying on the other side of Ruby.
Sir Roger cleared his throat. "This isn't dangerous, Lady Kennedy. Friar Geoffrey would string me up higher than high if I even suggested something dangerous."
Kennedy inclined her head. She wasn't surprised to hear that, not at all. She put Lady Kennedy down where she'd been laying a moment before.
Sir Roger went on. "We have a couple of pairs of constables who patrol the Faire area after we close for the day." He saw her intent look and he grinned. "You have to be a badged peace officer, Lady Kennedy, sorry.
"Anyway, one pair just called in from over by the petting zoo; they can hear what sounds like a small child, probably a girl, crying. They've tried to find her, but it's clear, they say, that she's hiding from them. I'd just as soon as you left Lady Kennedy behind, this time. I don't want the kid more frightened than he or she already is."
Kennedy considered it. This would be the first time in years she'd gone anywhere at Faire without Lady Kennedy hanging over her shoulder. She chuckled. Sir Roger was right, though. The Faire area could be pretty scary, late at night, with strangers looking for you.
Harriet hissed and Lady Kennedy turned to her. "Come close," Harriet demanded. "Give us a kiss."
Kennedy got down on her knees, and Harriet actually pulled a little back, forcing Kennedy to move closer still to the tent. Harriet leaned a little forward and put her hand in the fur near Kennedy's. "Maybe some of that stuff from the gypsies rubbed off on me, Kennedy. Please, take this," she whispered. She slid her hand forward and Kennedy saw the stake Friar Geoffrey had given her so long ago, that until a few seconds ago had been under her pillow.
Kennedy moved her own hand and pulled the stake up, and slid it up the sleeve of her tunic as she stood. Without a word, Sir Roger set off, moving rapidly through the night.
Kennedy was used to Mr. Glastonbury doing the same thing; he never made allowances for her shorter stride, expecting her to match his.
They reached the familiar area of the petting zoo and he slowed down. A man waved to him and Kennedy followed Duke Roger over towards the Play House. There was a low, whispered conversation.
The man said quietly, "I'm pretty sure it's a girl, and young. I haven't been able to get a good look at her, but she's small and now and then you can hear soft sobs. When we try to get close, she slips away." The man waved at the area beyond the Play House. "That slopes down to the ravine, and it's fairly heavily overgrown. I don't want her to trip and fall in the brush in the dark, so I backed off."
"You did good. Kennedy, please, if you would, see if you can talk her out."
Kennedy nodded and started forward. The other man, who hadn't said anything up until then spoke softly, "Blacker than the depths of hell back there, girl! No light, lots of brush. Be careful!"
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