Dear Lord, guys... it's been a bit of time hasn't it? (And to think it's been even longer for my other stories. ._.;) But here it is in all its slightly crackish, mundane glory! This section was kinda difficult for me to write, 'cause I haven't read the books since the Summertime (damn, it's been a WHILE) and don't have them with me up here at WWU. **Come visit if you want. I know most of you won't even know where that is, and if you do, you probably won't know me from any of the other thousands of females on campus. And if you CAN find me, I totally owe you a hug, a stuffed bear, and lots of coffee.** But I did try to be good to it and give the characters good lines and all that... eh, who am I kidding? You guys be the judge of if I did well. ^_^ So without further ado, READ ON!

Truska stared at me the whole time I sat within her little van, though she was still sewing wildly the entire time. Her fingers worked the fabric easily, pushing and pulling gently through the whirring needle of her machine, but her eyes never watched her handiwork unfold. No, they just rested on my face.

After a few minutes' worth of only the ticking whirrs of the machine, I finally sat up straighter in the chair she had offered me upon entering and glared at her. With a small huff, I let my lessons in her language stretch their underused legs and said, "What is it?"

She smiled briefly upon hearing her own tongue fluidly coming from another. Again, without looking away from my face, she withdrew a small pair of shears from beneath her tiny working desk and snipped the loose ends on her stitching; with a practiced movement, she flawlessly pressed the other 'side' of the unknown garment under foot and gave it unto the teeth of the feed-dog for more flawless stitching movement. She didn't answer me.

"Truska," I finally said with a strong hint of exasperation, "why are you staring at me so intently?"

"Because it makes my heart glad to see that you have been spoken for."

"E-excuse me?" How had she known anything about my being marked? And why would she refer to it in such as a way as to make it seem that I had been marked for more than… feeding? She spoke of it as if I had acquired a girlfriend or some such unlikely silliness.

"That is a mark of your mate, no?" The smile on her face was getting closer and closer to just being a shit-eating grin. And those types of grins always ate away at my short patience rather quickly. Truska knew that, though… she just liked to press me to the edge of my sanity to get answers out of me that I wouldn't usually give freely. The Bearded Lady of the Cirque was an odd one, but she sure knew how to manipulate others to get what she wanted, and without negative consequences for her.

I pressed a slightly shaky hand to the scars on my neck and jaw, covering them completely as I blushed a deep shade of pink beneath my delicate facial scales. The hope that she wasn't able to see the blood rising to my cheeks at her question was dashed when her smile widened to the point of what I was more than happy to inwardly call 'The Joker' smile. "It's not like that, Truska…"

"The smell left by your mate speaks otherwise."

A loss for words and a piercing embarrassment left me breathless and confused. The smell? What smell? My snake was one of the most sensitive to smells in the whole camp, and she hadn't seemed to pick up anything odd about me. Then again, if she was as seemingly happy about me having a 'mate' as Truska was, there was no way I'd be able to tell if she sensed it or not.

The sewing machine whirred on, buzzing a pinpoint into the back of my skull. A headache was already forming from the stress.

"They leave very particular scents; men always do on the ones they care about the most. But this one left one quite unique, didn't he?"

Finally pulling my hand away from my face, I raked it through my hair, which had been out of its ponytail for a while now. Truska's eyes tracked the movement fluidly, and I took a moment to wonder if maybe she was psychic or something. But that would be silly… she was just a woman with a different set of senses than most of the rather dull people I knew. Her perceptive qualities were keyed into different things than I was used to, which turned out to be helpful at times. At least that's what I hoped she was all about.

"Yeah. The bastard cut me. Marked me, really."

"His kind always do that; it's no longer unique if it's done to all. But the scent he left… it's sweet. Innocent, almost, with a note of spice. Lust, maybe. His lust for you wars with his infatuation."

"You can smell all of that?"

"I recognize your smell every time you pass by my van, do I not?"

"Well, yeah, that's why you always know whether or not to come bursting out of here with an armful of sequins, polyester, and gold braiding to size things to me."

Truska smiled happily knowing full well that, pushing aside my condescending tone, I loved it every time she ambushed me for a fitting. It made me feel like I was needed for something more interesting than hunting for the Little People or cleaning up around the current camp site. She always made me feel like I was worth the time to talk to, and was one of the few to do as much on a regular basis. Also, it never hurt that she would give me Oreos or other various junk foods whenever I agreed to be fitted.

"Yes, and now you smell different. Innocent infatuation and lust are on you now."

"How do you know that's what those smells are, though? And what if they're just coming from me, not from the freak that marked me as his little pet? Or maybe from one of my friends?"

"I have smelled your infatuation before, and your lust for another. They were different. More immature. This mixture is more intense, different, older."

"Maybe it rubbed off of Creepy Crepsley when I was with him and Darren in his van. I swear, that man had a raging boner as soon as he saw that Darren was with me…"

"His lust is different as well; for his is out of a confirmed love, not an innocent infatuation. Darren's scents when he is thinking of Larten are similar as well, but much younger than the smells lingering on you."

"Oh, God, don't tell me that you smell Darren getting all hot 'n' bothered over Scarface. That's just disgusting!"

"You find love between two honest people to be revolting; why?"

I rolled my eyes and waved my hand at her. "It's not that. I just don't like the mental image of Darren and Senior Pedobear getting it on is all. Or having the hots for each other. It's gross."

"I find it sweet. True love is always a treat to watch unfold… it rarely happens anymore."

"Eh, whatever."

"True love may be unfolding for you as well, my young friend. Smells do not lie to me," Truska purred with a demure smile and a wink. My stomach got all fluttery for a moment before I fixed her with a glare. Pearls of laughter poured from her as I crossed my arms and looked away from her gaze to survey her van. Messy, as usual, but homey and comfortable.

"They might not be from the Vampaneze creeper who decided to make me his next target and future plaything; it could be left over from someone I walked into when I was in… well, I…"

I had been planning to say 'downtown', but I knew she wouldn't fall for something like that. Even I couldn't get myself to believe that I had brushed into anybody with those pheromones the last time I had gone into town; nobody ever strayed close enough to me to let anything more than curiosity rub off on me. And even then, I knew that the only way Truska would be able to sense something would be if it was fresh, and the last time I had been into any towns had been months before. I had taken to avoiding cities after my little incident with Murlough.

Seemed avoiding them hadn't done me a damn thing; I was still marked. I was still prey to some weirdo who hadn't just accepted his fate and died like he was supposed to.

"You speak of him as if he means you harm, Evra. How do you know of his motives if you have no conversed with him personally?"

"What else am I supposed to think, Truska?" I laughed humorlessly, earning myself a slight and fleeting glare from the gorgeous woman before me, "He was a crazy piece of blood-sucking shit back then and he's bound to be the same now."

"When somebody loves another, they do not mean them harm," she replied curtly, obviously not seeing my side of the argument. Then again, she had never experienced the madness of 'young Murlough' in anything more than stories, so how was she supposed to know the full extent of his level of crazy? I watched her hands as she began stitching black cording onto the garment that was now looking more and more like a huge grey tunic. What looked to be matching trousers sat next to the machine, apparently finished.

"But this guy doesn't love me any more than he loves Darren."

The glare I received then was thoroughly chilling, and I averted my gaze once more, this time feeling extremely uncomfortable in Truska's cramped little van. She placed her sewing aside and walked quietly to my side, tilting my chin to look up at her and the gentle smile she was wearing. Without a word, she pulled me from my chair and into a tight hug.

With just that simple motion, I lost all of my manly dignity and began sobbing onto her shoulder. My arms seemed to wrap themselves around her of their own accord, and I clung to her as I cried myself out. Minutes later, Truska pulled partially away from me, looking me in the face and smoothing her hands over my hair and cheeks. "Evra."

With a sniffle, I rubbed at my eyes like a small child before looking at her directly. "Yeah?"

"He does love you."

"And how would you know?"

"I have my ways, my little serpent."

Deciding not to push for further answers, I just looked away in a sort of sad agreement. I could feel her smile still angled toward me, but refused to look up in case she wanted to say more unsavory, sappy things about me being marked by a crazy man (things I couldn't disagree with because she tended to be right even when I didn't want her to be).

"Now, I think it is time for you to go, Evra. It is almost time for dinner, and I do not want the others who you left so un-ceremonially to think that you have gone missing. Think about what I have said, yes?"

I nodded and hugged her once more, knowing full well that I would be thinking about what she said for many days to come… there was almost nothing else I could conjure in my mind that could tear my attention away from the scars on my body. Those markings, and the meaning they had according to the ever-mysterious Truska, had caused too much of an uproar for me to ignore them.

As I was leaving the little van to head for the mess tent, I heard Truska call out to me once more. Upon turning, a small silvery pouch was tossed to me with a grin. I thanked her profusely but didn't open it until I was almost halfway to mine and Darren's shared tent. Inside was a tiny, intricately woven charm made of what felt like downy goat fur. It was in the shae of a heart.

With a smile, I tucked it into the pocket in my shorts. I didn't know if it was a gift from Truska or someone completely different (after all, it could have been from Darren, one of the Little People, or a Cirque helper… though how they got any goat hairs or the ability to weave said hairs into anything was beyond me), but I liked it. And it made me smile.

"You can come out now," Truska giggled, focusing her gaze on her sewing project once more. She was attaching sleeves to the tunic now and she couldn't very well afford to look up and make sure the man was even awake anymore. After all, he had been hiding away in her closet for a good while and could have fallen asleep in the middle of that whole ordeal with Evra.

With a self-conscious sort of shuffle, an oversized man wearing a bloodied and much worn greying suit emerged from the sweet smelling confines of Truska's overstuffed closet. His cheeks, which were usually tinted a lavender so pale as to seem an unhealthy shade of white, were even more pale than usual. In fact, if Truska was to say so herself, the man looked positively frightened.

"Happy?" She asked in heavily accented English.

Murlough scratched his cheek with a single overgrown, pinkish nail and stared at the blonde for a few moments, "But I couldn't understand anything…"

"Not matter. He accepts it."

"He accepts being mine?"

"To point, yes."

"But, to a point isn't acceptance. That's a general tolerance… maybe Cecily wasn't right about all of this," he sighed, looking around the room with an extremely dejected expression on his sallow face.

"You must believe! No believe, no love!" With that, Truska degenerated into muttering in her native tongue and rolling her eyes as she finished up with the garment in her hand. Then after a few minutes of her sewing and him standing there awkwardly in the middle of the van, Truska scooped both the pants and the tunic into her arms and threw they at the vampaneze. Even with his lack of blood, the garments were caught easily.

"Are these for me?" She nodded once with a smile and waved him away to try them on in the confines of her closet. "Are you sure?" Again, nod and smile. "And they'll fit?" Truska sighed then with a small chuckle and shooed the vampaneze again.

Murlough practically skipped into the closet with a smile on his face and the soft grey fabric clutched gently in his hands as if a harsh touch would break its very fibers. Giving no care to the garments he was currently wearing, the large man practically ripped the ratty suit from his body and donned the grey pants first. They fit perfectly, slightly fitted in the upper thighs and loosening as they continued down his legs. With a barely restrained fit of glee, he pulled the tunic of her head as well, marveling at how well it fit him as well. The sleeves were just barely tight enough to show that he was a formidable opponent for anyone (be they rat, human, vampire, or other nefarious creature) as was the chest, but it was loosely comfortable around his ribcage and thusly his abdominal scars.

The urge to roar his approval for the whole camp to hear was almost irrepressible. Nothing had fit him so well in so long… and this was the first time that he hadn't had to kill the maker of the garments afterwards. He hadn't even asked for these ones, which was good… he didn't feel quite at ease enough around the beautiful Truska. She gave off the sort of vibe he had only sensed in that tall man Crepsley tended to be in cahoots with. It was creepy.

And he felt it would be a bad idea to attack her anyway. She had an indestructible beard!

"Come out; want to see you," Truska called with a happy lilt to her voice that made Murlough even giddier. She sounded genuinely interested in seeing him and without even a touch of fear in her tone. This was a new thing for Murlough, and he quite liked feeling normal!

When he stepped out, Truska took one look at him and rose from her seat to give Murlough the very first hug of his entire life. His parents had never wanted to really touch him—they were those types of parents, the ones who wanted children for show but not for play—so being hugged by a woman who barely knew him was both a shock and a pleasure.

"Looks good, Murlough," she said as she stepped away from him and reappraised the new look, "Want shoes?"

The vampaneze bashfully smiled, still partially stunned by the woman being so nice. People were usually so mean to him, throwing things whenever all he had done was kill a single man or woman or had broken into a store in search of objects that could help make his life easier wherever he happened to live at the time. None of the things were too very horrible on Murlough's scale of Things That Are Really Bad To Do, so he never understood fully why other hated and feared him.

"I… I don't really need shoes… I kinda just… walk around just fine without shoes…"

Truska rolled her eyes and began to rummage through a small trunk before pulling out a pair of black slippers. "Try on."

"I doubt they'll fit," Murlough proceeded to lift one very dirty foot into the air, overgrown, sharp nails and all to show Truska what he meant, "I've got big feet. Always have."

"They will fit, I know it."

The slippers were thrust into his arms, and the woman watched him very pointedly, waiting for him to don the slippers as he was supposed to. Again, the large man was surprised… they fit him perfectly!

"How…?"

She winked at him and giggled coquettishly, waggling her finger at him to say that she was never going to share her secrets with a soul. Murlough didn't exactly mind though… he was just happy that he had clothes that weren't completely trashed and made him feel a bit more worthy of kidnapping the delicious, rather scantily clad serpentine boy.

Not that he hadn't felt unworthy or anything to begin with...

Isn't Murlough just a doll? XD I like writing him, even if he's kind of a creeper and not quite as cray-cray as Mr. Shan's version. But hey, I get to have my liberties as an authoress, no? And anyway, I like this version more. And what'd you guys think of my Truska 'creation'? I think she's pretty adorable... and much better than the book version.

Oh, and as an aside: can you guys tell that I have a think for scents? :P And eyes. Those seem to be two things that come up as focus points in a lot of what I write; probably because they're focus points in my life. But you know what they say! Write about what you KNOW! And I know how it is to tell a little something about someone by their eyes and by their smells. And my nose is sensitive... :\ BUT NOW I'M RAMBLING! Alright, skee-daddle my lovies; you have better things to do than listen to me rant about things that are pretty much off-topic. :3