If you can resist, lol don't read this. It's really blah, I just wrote it in my T.A. period and I'm gona take it off of here when I get home. I don't really much like it but I don't wanna delete it, stupid dry spell in writing isn't letting me write much more than this. I hate it, feel all @__@ when i write, not focusing. But I NEED to write or I'll drive myself crazy. Well anyway yeah… if…you can, don't…read it lol I'm grately ashamed of it. If flashback or any of the other mods have a problem with it, I'll take it off as soon as I copy it to word, if not? Then I guess…I can leave it up here.

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EDIT: not a full story, it's just part of a story I'm currently writing

Sacrifice walked through pub, constantly shoving drunken men out of her way to get through. She tried her best to avoid contact with them but was forced to swing at a few after feeling a small, un-welcomed pinch on her rear. The small bar hadn’t changed at all since she had last been there, the costumers were the same, the whores no different and even the bartender hadn’t changed.

She made her way to where Almarir and her had sat on their visit only to find a grizzly, drunk man sitting on one of the seats, a pale, doll-looking whore in his lap. His lips constantly moved down her face and across her neck, his hands moving busily in places no civil woman would ever allow.

Ice shook her head and began to move away when something caught her ear. Over the shouting, laughing, belching and shameless cursing Ice heard a voice she distinctly recognized. Her blood began to race, her mind jumping to hopeless conclusions, she shoved through the crowd towards the end of the bar getting closer and closer to the voice.

Finally she reached a small crowd in the back of the bar, men and women alike were huddled around a small table and it was from there Sacrifice could hear the voice. She rushed to the table and shoved passed the on-lookers, receiving in return countless of foreign, drunk curses. She pushed past the last two people and there, just as her whole mind had hoped she’d see, sitting in a wooden chair with a cocky expression on her face was Almarir.

Everything in Ice’s mind fell silent, all else seemed to vanish in that moment. Her best friend, the one she was so sure had died was sitting there in a chair, playing against an opponent as if nothing had ever happened.

“Ari?â€? Her nickname was all Sacrifice could manage to say.

The drow froze just as she was to take her turn, she sat for a moment with a blank expression on her face, the entire crowd watching with baffled faces. Slowly Alamarir’s eyes came up and finally met with Sacrifice’s. Her amber eyes moved over and over Ice’s face, the pale complexion, the golden colored eyes, the coal black hair it was all there. Every familiar bit was there, it was real, she was there. She rose slowly out of her seat, still unable to bring herself to do much more.