HPM: The 30th

It was the dark ages. It was the day plumes of smoke and ash commanded the skies. Pyroclastic flows snuffing out thousands of lives on one mighty gulp! It was, oh how it was! It was the darkest of days! The blackest, the most void of hope! Where was the sun!? Where was the joy of laughter!? Where was her youth?

There a body lay flattened on a bed of smooth shimmering sheet. The head which bore red eyes laid to its side as fingers played with subtle winkles in the fabric, chasing each wave of reflection till it ebbed or caught in shadows.
Around her body was a subtle yellow stola with loose fabric that did not hug her frame, and a loosely wrapped palla. Yes, she had chosen a feminine garb for the historical competition that had plagued the islands with worthless, and unrealistic, toga parties. Why, if they had all stripped naked and sped to the arena she would have found their antics somewhat more tolerable, if not just due to an accurate portrayal of ancient culture.

Supple lips pulled into a deep frowns that drew lines at the edge of her mouth. She could have smiled today, if it were not that day. That horrible day. That wretched day of which bore only the darkest, most putrid, most eminent of reminders! It was, if one can bare the thought. No! No! One should be warned now! One should prepare a bucket for their clotted vomit! One should advert their eyes and plug their ears! One should flee this very room! For it was, oh how it was, oh this dreaded day! It was Rye's birthday.

Ah, but it was far too difficult for this bird to sulk in the gloom of her room. To lay in this bed and allow her tired gaze to travel over the various glistening treasures she had collected over the years. Tomei, her dearest husband, called it a mess. No, he dared not to say that where her ears could hear! Yet she saw it in his many glorious, shimming, flashing eyes that he considered the entire room in which they slept to be a good heap of trash. No, no. No, no, no she could not flounder in these silly sheets as this most horrible of days went by. Oh no, Darkrai's forest of an armpit no! She had to--

"Rye," peeped that familiar tone as the door creaked open on its rusted hinges. Red orbs lifted from the sea of luminous bed sheets to the travel the flowing fabric of a toga wrapped about her husband. She would not have him wear a mere bed sheet. No, she adored and respected history too much to allow such slack. He was in a decent fabric, which was more to say than some. A white toga hung from his shoulders, while the blue sash was pinned above by the most shiny of circular red broaches. In his arms were the wriggling parasites she had attached to the moment they had first been laid in her arms. They were swaddled only in white fabric, much to their dislike as they would prefer to crawl about or grab one of the wriggling tentacles that sprouted from their father's head.

"What's wrong," he whimpered next, though she sensed he knew the answer as he stepped further into the room, putting on a meek grin for her. But what was wrong? What was wrong!? "What is wrong," a dark voice, a tone drenched in self pity and sorrow. "What is wrong!? It is I!" She began to exclaimed, her head raising as arms flung forward to support her on pointy elbows. "It is I who is wrong! You, my foolish Tomei! You have chosen wrong! You have wed a woman who is aged! Wrinkled! The wind will splinter my spine, dear Tomei! A fall will shatter my ever bone! A raisin I have become! An unattractive beast who roams this haunted abode and keeps trapped a man who could claim any woman! Leave!" The crazed crow wailed as that curly mop of a head flopped down into the pillow below. "Leave me be! Go, claim the young, well endowed females who swarm the islands, wretched Tomei," came muffled words that were nearly unintelligible. "Leave for young women travel in hordes seeking your lips! Leave this ancient skeleton too bleached by the sun!"

If she could see the man's features, why he surely held a look of exasperation. For Rye did not have crows' feet at her eyes, or any other imperfection to blur her beauty. Her body had already toned back up after the birth, but he loved her any shape or size. And while his wife laid there in a puddle of despair he hesitated by the door way before plodding over. First the infants were placed by her side, Edgar blowing a bubble from his own saliva, and Ingrid wiggling with a frown on her pudgy features. Then he slid onto the bed as well, resting there with his two normal eyes locked on the buried head of his wife.

This was clear defiance! This was rebellion! Had Rye not just told him to leave!? Dare he disobey her final word!? He was to frolic with the young women, who would surely adore his grand height, and the toned arms which held two infants. A man with responsibility! A man with not one, not two, but five sparkling eyes! Five eyes that stole her breath away each time he stepped into the light of a full moon!
Yet, he defied her! He-- the soft touch of lips pressed to her obsidian waves. "Come on Rye," he whimpered next in her favored tone, a whine. "You know I won't do that. Let's just go enjoy your birthday." One moment, another. Silence and more, till three minutes passed and scarlet eyes peeked out from her pillow.

"You are a fool, my shiny heart," she growled with a partially obstructed voice as an arm reached back and slid into the folds of her own flowing garment. Out from a hidden pocket, meant to be filled with shining things she may find at this festival, was pulled a gift. It was something Rye had thought would be rather impressive. It could be used by the man when he went, Darkrai knows why, to swim in that cesspool of a monster's gullet known as the ocean. It shone, bright red with glistening designs that sparkled in an eye catching manner. It was, hanging from a fist she had shot upward so the man could see, a speedo.
"A gift for your birthday as well, my shiny heart," she said the her first smile of the day, obviously pleased with what could only be the best gift any man received.