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| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/SecondMovement|Second Movement]]
| + | #REDIRECT ADanceOfAngels |
| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/DanceOfAngels|A Dance of Angels]]
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| − | == Invasion of the Zephyr ==
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> <i>Tee-hee-hee!</i>
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| − | The chamber is silent, save for an occasional rustle of a new page being turned over and the laborous, halting breathing of Vorpal deFay as she struggles... Not against her burning wounds, not against the feverish visions that had accompanied them, but against a foe so devious that even the infamous Pale Angel has trouble at holding it at bay.
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| − | She twists and she writhes atop the sheets of her bed, heedless of the stabs pain coming from her wounds with each move. Her hair is in disarray, her legs are entwined around each other, her hands are clasped convulsively around the covers of the book which the prince had given her. Her eyes, usually so red and frightening, now gobble up a line after line of the romantic prose written onto those pages. A hot and healthy blush glowing on her white cheeks, she struggles and she fights, but she cannot hold an occasional laugh and a gleeful giggle from bubbling up to the surface from the deepest recesses of her soul.
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| − | <i>Tee-hee-hee!</i>
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| − | Ooh, it had been so long since she had had a chance for such luxury! After weeks of nothing but swords and battles and blood and death and scantily-clad harlots strutting their wares at her, she had missed an opportunity to lower her guard even for a moment...
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| − | <b>Anne:</b> <i>Knock Knock</i>, she hears on her door.
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| − | <i>Knock Knock,</i> remembering her the world exists.
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| − | The voice comes, uncertain... "M-m-miss Lilith?" comes the young girl's voice... "May I... come in?"
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> Vorpal had noted long time ago that the least painful way to wrench herself from the beautiful dreams and back to the harsh reality of Creation was to not think about it at all. And furthermore, sudden intrusions of hasty reports and urgent audiences were an everyday life for a war commander, and thus she had developed a reflex just for situations such as these.
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| − | This reflex now kicks in, and she acts with all the efficiency of a woman with a secret to hide. The book is flipped immediately shut without a sound, while her legs rearrange themselves into an alluring display of white flesh. One hand lifts the pillow while the other thrusts the book underneath. One whisk of a hand pushes her hair into an artistically unkempt order, one elbow stomps down onto the pillow, one cheek rests against one palm... and the transformation is ready. Within seconds, Vorpal deFay has changed from a giggling dreamer to the lethal lady of war, lounging with all the lazy grace of a panther on her bed.
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| − | "Hmmm? Come in, then."
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| − | <b>Anne:</b> After a moment, some sounds of clattering... and the knob turns. Door open most of the way, the figure behind it bends to pick something up... and opens the rest with her foot. Her pretty blonde hair just slightly greasy, Anne comes in, a plate on her hand, smoking with the scent of... food. Chicken, rice and some salad, quite mixed, seems like... "I... wondered if you weren't hungry.... I made some food for Calisara, but she said she doesn't eat... sorry if I'm bothering, but.. mommy said to never leave food to waste, and..."
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> Vorpal already prepares to aim the girl with one of her piercing gazes, but then realizes the sheer foolhardy of such a deed. Feeling once again the mild pang of shame of thinking about bullying her smallers without a reason, she sighs and alters her posture slightly, to seem a bit less dangerous and alluring... but does it slowly and nonchalantly, so that no-one would notice.
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| − | "Have you eaten yourself?" she asks, experimenting with non-threatening words.
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| − | <b>Anne:</b> "I have, yes... I did some for me, too..." Her look at Vorpal is one of awe. She does feel the fear, but what intimidates her more this instant is the awe of the pale perfection and confidence in front of her... "I made some for me too. But I couldn't eat anymore..." Her eyes turn too low into the ground, her head drops, "B-but, if you don't want, it's ok too..." She says, beggining to turn around, to walk away...
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> "Wait", Vorpal says, mentally bonking herself to the head with the poor beginning. The art of intimidation she knew well... a little <i>too</i> well, but...
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| − | "Come here."
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| − | <b>Anne:</b> She turns around quickly, almost stumbling into herself, complying as she gets close to Vorpal, espectancy on her eyes... "Yes?"
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> "Anne, wasn't it?" she asks softly, pushing herself a little upright on the bed and holding her hands out for the plate.
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| − | <b>Anne:</b> The plate lands on Vorpy's hands softly, and she smiles, "Yes... that is my name. Anne... glad you remembered..."
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> "Making yourself useful, eh?" she asks next, returning the smile with a slanted one of her own.
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| − | <b>Anne:</b> "Yes. That way, maybe... they will keep me around. It is so beautiful, so comfortable, here... so different from my home...."
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| − | Her voice gets a little bit more saddened then, but more... direct, less stuttering. "I wish I could be here forever. But if I am not useful, maybe they will just find me weight... cast me away... they have no reason not to."
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> Vorpal stares at the girl for a moment, her mien unreadable. Then her brow furrows slightly in what one could interpret either as annoyance, disapproval... or both.
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| − | | |
| − | <i>Oh, by the blazes...</i>
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| − | | |
| − | Swinging her legs over the bed's rim and sitting up, the Ghost-Blooded taps the sheets next to her with her free hand. "Sit down."
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| − | <b>Anne:</b> Anne does so, obediently, part of her sighing for the loss of Vorpy's position... she was like a painting, then.
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| − | Her pale blue eyes, the color of ice, eye Vorpal in expectation.. part of her happy to be sitting next to her, another part fearful... sometimes, people were the nicest, closest to you when they wanted to tell you bad news... to disappoint you.
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> "First, I will make something clear", Vorpal begins, shifting her position carefully into something more merciful to her wounds. "I am a scary lady and I bite. A lot and hard, because that is what I do. But I bite only those who deserve it." Turning her head slightly to give a meaningful glance at the girl, she adds: "All right?"
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| − | <b>Anne:</b> Anne's cute face goes up and down furiously, and Vorpal can see her recoiling just slightly out, as if fearing that she will be deserving...
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> Inwardly, Vorpal grimaces at that move. It seems that no matter what she says or does, it always ends up seeming frightening to those around her.
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| − | "Just making it clear", she sighs, turning away. "Most people tend to get the wrong impression right when they first see me."
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| − | <b>Anne:</b> "... Actually, that is pretty much the intention I got, lady Lilith..."
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> Vorpal pauses, frowning. <i>You did, eh?</i>
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| − | "Right", she then grunts, her eyes dropping down to the plate in her hands. "You need to pull your own weight to get anywhere in this world. That part you have gotten right. So let's see what you can do, Anne..."
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| − | And with those words, she plucks a piece of chicken from the plate and gives it an experimental bite.
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| − | <b>Anne:</b> Anne nods, expecting the answer. Not the worse she could have gotten, not the best. Simply... an answer. And looks at Vorpal, expectantly, admiring her pale skin, her pale hair... the red eyes. With curiousity, never having seen an albino before... unless a rabbit would count.
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| − | Vorpal bites. Vorpal tastes.
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| − | Vorpal probably knows what a bit of Malfeas' flesh tastes like right now.
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| − | Military food is bad, that holds true even for officers in war, even though Vorpal was probably away from the grunt foods... but... this is...
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> <i>Och.</i>
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| − | Vorpal closes her eyes for a moment, chewing slowly, careful to keep her mien neutral. This taste... this taste reminds her of something. A memory from the good old days, when she was still but a Ghost-Blooded. What was it again...?
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| − | | |
| − | Ah, yes.
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| − | <i>Aghar's pea soup. It tasted something like this. The last time I let him do the cooking.</i>
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| − | It is this past experience and her own abilities in bluffing that allow her to swallow it down with a straight face. She chooses another piece for the show, picking some hopefully-slightly-safer salad this time. "Good enough", she states non-chalantly as she chews.
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| − | <b>Anne:</b> Suddenly, her face brightens. A smile appears, and it seems to light... her face, at least. Vorpal can just see the warmth creeping in her, the slight tinge of red in her cheeks... she tries to say something, but she just can't... being so... happy!
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| − | The salad, unfortunately, tastes no better. How could the girl screw _salad_ up is beyond you... maybe she used too much of some weird spice?
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> "So..." Vorpal continues, gently steering the girl's attention away from the food to the other topics. "You said you wanted to stay aboard this ship? How hard would you be willing to work for it?"
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| − | <b>Anne:</b> She crosses her legs, her hands over her feet, smiling up at Vorpal in admiration, "How hard? Oh, I would do... I would do anything. To be here with you... among gods like you.... safe. I know monsters of blood won't come here, you won't let it, right? I know bad men won't come here..."
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> "But what if they do?" Vorpal's red eyes suddenly turn, staring intently at the girl. "What would you do then?"
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| − | <b>Anne:</b> "I... I...."
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| − | "They... they won't, right? Right? You are here... Calisara is here...Cael..."
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| − | Suddenly, the door closes. <i>Click</i> it locks.
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| − | No one was there to actually do it.
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> Vorpal's gaze darts up to the door, one hand flashing to the handle of her sword while the other sets the plate down. Her birthright as a Ghost-Blooded activates immediately, and she throws a glance around the room, to see if there are any ghosts around.
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| − | <b>Calisara:</b> No ghosts... but, as she looks, she sees an image... flickering, coalescing air and light into bringing her into being.
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| − | The generous body of a woman, covered only in marks and tatoos, sharp clouds in a sky of herself.
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| − | Calisara.
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| − | "Lilith? You are with Anne! Good, I was about to tell you to go to her... some naughty guests came uninvited into the Zephyr!"
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> <i>Speak of the devil...</i>
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| − | Vorpal rises to her feet with a deep exhale. Bending her legs so that she wouldn't need to trouble her wounded torso, she reaches for her cloak and soulsteel breastplate. "How many?" she asks as she sets to the task of donning her armor.
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| − | The Black Queen's vestiments still feel strange. As part of her, they move in a sleek, fluid way around the Pale Angel, but... slowly. Much more slowly than before... hurt. As hurt as Vorpal herself is...
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| − | Calisara snaps her fingers, looking as Vorpal places on the soulsteel... "All of thirty men. A couple of them feel... strange, too.I just can't quite place why yet... had to make sure you two were fine. They split, two groups... lightly armed. They must be searching for bounty, or to steal the Zephyr itself... East and West. No way I can pick both before one of them comes knocking...."
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> <i>Thirty, huh...</i>
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| − | "Very well", she says as she fastens the brooch of her cloak. The garment had so far been dark green, to camouflage her in the green forests and to complement the mercenary look she liked to emulate. Now, however, it suddenly begins to change its color, darkening before their very eyes, until it reaches the deepest shade of immaculate black. Its texture changes, too, shedding the rough, worn surface of a travelling cloak and replacing it by the sheen of the finest, soft velvet. The mercenary leathers she leaves behind, deeming it not worth the time to don them.
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| − | "Keep me informed of their location the best you can. It will be a game of cat-and-mouse, and I will pick them one by one."
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| − | <b>Anne:</b> Thirty... men...
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| − | The men with swords, the men in black leather, the leering, killing, barking men...
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| − | And Moon is not here, only Vorpal is here, and Vorpal is hurt, and Vorpal will leave her....
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| − | All alone again. All alone with men running about. Wanting to grab her and push her down again...
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| − | She recoils down the bed, to the edge of it, down to the wall, hugging her legs against her chest... "She had said it... the monster.... the monster had told me... nowhere to run... nowhere to hide... even among gods... she found me..." She says, hiding her face on her legs...
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> "So what?" Vorpal responds, her words cold and straight like the razor-sharp edge of her blade. "If the beast comes seeking for you, all the better. That way, you can prepare the battleground where you meet it."
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| − | <b>Anne:</b> An eye peers from over her knees, tentatively... "I can't do anything... not even Moon could, he ran with me... I couldn't even stop the men, much less the monster... I am not like you."
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> "Aye", Vorpal says and strides across the room, halting to loom above the girl. "You are not like me, and there are no words which could possibly describe my envy of how lucky you are." Leaning down, she hurls the full force of her gaze into the girl's face, capturing her eyes, gathering up her attention into a single fist. "But you can become strong without being me, Anne. You will have to become strong, if you wish to stay aboard this ship." She pauses, and then snaps: "Isn't that what you want, girl? To stay on this ship?"
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| − | <b>Anne:</b> Her eyes rise. They meet Vorpal's... and for a moment, she sees the strength of the Pale Angel... the strength that let her endure every day, even as an outsider. The strength that let her endure every moment, even as an outcast, as a weapon, as a half-dead....she sees all that... and for a brief moment, even not fully realising it... understands.
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| − | "Yes."
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| − | "That is what I want"
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| − | "More than anything else in the world."
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| − | "That is what I want."
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| − | "And I will be strong. I don't... know how... but I will become strong. Strong enough to stay."
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> "Then hold on to that", Vorpal responds, her words like liquid steel which she applies, drop by drop, into the girl's bones, to strengthen her body, to give her heart courage. Her eyes never breaking contact with Anne, she reaches down to her boot and pulls out a beautifully crafted knife, oiled and well-sharpened. "Fight tooth and nail against anyone who tries to take it away."
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| − | Flipping the knife over, she slowly offers it, hilt first, to Anne. "If a monster comes through that door, stab it. Stab it until it ceases to move. Tell it that you will stay here, and that there is nothing it can do to take you away. And don't sit here in the corner - wait for it behind the door. Don't give it a chance to hurt you. It hasn't earned it."
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| − | <b>Anne:</b> The girl who picks up the knife takes that iron. She takes it to heart. "I will. If they come, I will stab them again. I will prove you I can stay on the zephyr..."
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| − | "I will prove you I <i>should</i> stay on the Zephyr."
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| − | She shakes still. Her words trying to convince no one but herself that she can. She shakes, still, but she grips the handle. And tightens her fingers around it, with all the determination she can muster. She still shakes... but she will try.
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> "I'll remember that promise", the Ghost-Blooded whispers, with a surprisingly gentle tone when compared to what she used earlier. She gives a quick ruffle to the girl's hair, then straightens up and strides over to the door. The cloak resting broad and dark around her frame, Mournful Kiss quiet and expectant against her shoulder, she cannot help but to smile a little by herself. She was not good with soothing words, but she did know how to lead.
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| − | The smile melting away from her lips like a drop of warmth in the face of the heart of winter, Vorpal gives Calisara a quick nod. "Open the door, and lock again it after me. I have some mice to hunt."
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| − | <b>Calisara:</b> Out of the room, the luxurious interior of the Zephyr, carpeted, supernaturally lit, walls filled with paintings and releve sculptures that make little sense for inhabitants of the Second Age. At Vorpal's side, Calisara's voice is a swift breeze, caressing the Pale Angel's ear. Her quicksilver eyes losing themselves in the distance... "A few to our right... a few to our left. Some.. five... no, six... of the ones to our left will be in this corridor soon." She says, her words in skytongue ethereal as they leave her silver lips...
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> "Are there any clues about who they are and exactly what they are doing here?" Vorpal whispers back. Slowly, soundlessly does she advance towards the left side of the corridor which Calisara indicated, her sword ready and cloak-clad back close to the wall. Wounded as she is, the Ghost-Blooded has no intention of taking any risks this time, and thus she activates Five-Fold Sensory Excercise, sharpening her senses to supernatural levels in order to keep track of everything that might be happening around her.
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| − | <b>Calisara:</b> "Common Brigands. Bodyguards, former soldiers, maybe... bandits. Quite a mish-mash. Someone probably had their personal militia laying around and found the Zephyr being on the ground a good opportunity...."
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| − | "Or so I would say, except for the two of them who get me this... strange feeling."
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| − | "And I would think what they want is obvious, Pale Angel... you are inside the only independent Skyship in the North. Trouble comes with the territory, sadly..." She turns to Vorpal, her silver lips smiling cutely... and the sharp-cloud clad woman seems so cute, for a moment... "..But it is something you get used to, I did. So, what do you intend to do? Each of us to one side?"
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> "That'll be up to you", Vorpal, in a courteous mood, responds quietly. "Do you wish this ship to be a slaughterhouse or shall I just scare them off?" Throwing the mistress of the ship a side-long glance, the Ghost-Blooded shrugs. "If they aren't the Lover's minions, I'm fine with either."
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| − | <b>Calisara:</b> "If they are, I want them out either way. I would not mind a crowd, but I do not have to like uninvited brutes on the Zephyr!" She says, hands on her hips, "Hmmm... try to scare them away. I am the one who has to clean those corridors, you know... and..." She nods her head to the room, "I would not want to see Anne finding a severed head under a table."
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> Vorpal halts, looks up at Calisara... and smiles. It is a wicked mien, the smile of a cat who wants to play with the mice, mischief twinkling in her eyes. "Your wish is my command", she whispers, sweetly. There had been too much blood and battles lately - even someone such as Vorpal eventually grew weary of such things, and wanted to try out different approaches every now and then.
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| − | "Now, tell me... you can control the lights and the doors of this place, yes?"
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| − | <b>Calisara:</b> She smiles, deviously, understanding Vorpal's intentions. She had played such once before, for fun... "Why, yes... everything on the Zephyr, I can command with but a thought. It is my body, it is my mind."
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| − | She brings her finger to her jaw, thinking for a moment... and her grin broadens. "You want to make them run out?"
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> "Uh-huh", Vorpal nods slowly, her eyes red, twinkling slits. "You could prepare something of a straight escape route for them to use when their nerves break down."
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| − | She pauses, seeming to consider the situation for an instant before continuing: "But first, we'll need to start mildly - let their nerves boil a little before the actual scare. When I give you the mark, make the lights flutter and darken into something..." She reveals her teeth in a wicked grin. She's obviously enjoying this. "...moody. And do rattle the doors close to them a little too..."
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| − | <b>Calisara:</b> Suddenly, everything begins to shake... and Vorpal feels a pull upward, as if her heart wanted to stay somewhere down there, but was going up, now... and Calisara continues her devious smirk. "Waiting on your mark! Just an idea I had!" She says, in confidence, "See, there was a lake all dirty I saw just a mile back..."
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> Vorpal instinctively props a hand against the wall for support as the ship begins its ascend. She is a little at loss with Calisara's intentions at first, but then the smug smile returns to her lips. "Be my guest, then."
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| − | Sobering, she turns back towards the corridor, her Essence-sharpened senses probing for the reactions and the location of the intruders. The gleam in her eyes, however, remains as she states: "All right... from this point on, Zephyr Falcon will be a ghost ship."
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| − | She pauses, inhales deeply, and then begins to speak, her voice suddenly inhumane and otherworldy. It is like an invisible stream of darkness pouring gently forth from her mouth, her words tiny islands of coldest ice floating atop black waves.
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| − | <i>"Ahhhh"</i>,
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| − | she intones in an achingly sultry tone, sending her voice drifting down the corridor like cold fog, where the intruders are sure to hear it.
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| − | <i>"Sweet, fresh blood, and so many warm bodies... My little slave outdid himself this time. The trap never fails."</i>
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| − | Every sentence that leaves her mouth is repeated by a chorus of fading echoes, like a thousand damned souls speaking in unison. Her hand quickly signaling for Calisara to begin the other task, she chuckles, her voice conjuring up images that are a macabre combination of the coldest nightmares and the darkest, wildest fantasies that have ever tickled the loins of a man.
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| − | <i>"Come, come, little sweetlings. I thirst..."</i>
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| − | The lights dim. The doors begin to rattle. And then, they run to Vorpal, seeing nothing but her dark sillhouette... and hearing. And hearing her words, almost stopping their hearts, whispering ice in their souls.
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| − | And then, in the dark corridor, they scream.
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| − | And then, from the dark corridor, they run. They run like the Ebon Dragon himself was after them.
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| − | They run, because any price for failure would not be worse than dealing with that demon!
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| − | <i>Whoops,</i> Vorpal lifts a little surprised finger to her mouth. <i>A little too much of the whispering, maybe?</i>
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| − | | |
| − | Oh well. One must strike while the iron is hot, so to say. Shrugging inwardly, she sets out after the fleeing intruders, walking slowly and leisurely as is fitting, making certain that they hear her every step in the darkness.
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| − | At the same time, however, she remembers her wounds and keeps a cautious eye and ear open, to make certain there won't be anyone preparing some nasty surprises to her during this little... er, show of hers.
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| − | The steps, coming closer. Closer and closer, the thing hunting them, runrunrunrunrunRUN!
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| − | They run madly, falling, tripping on themselves, breaking furniture and going through anything on their way just to get out... and then Vorpal hears the screams.
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| − | And then, Vorpal hears the splash.
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> "First group done", Vorpal says and turns around, allowing herself a little, satisfied smile. "Where are the others?"
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| − | <b>Calisara:</b> Behind her, she hears the giggling. The mad giggling, the laughing. Calisara bends over, laughing, unable to contain herself. "That... that was just...." She tries to speak, her voice like the quiet wind of the afternoon, calm, soothing, merry. Laughing wind. "Good thing... you didn't say 'Zephyr Falcon' on the dark whispers. They would be really puzzled why the demon of the ship got its name wrong!" She says, falling on the wall, and laughing a little more before relaxing... focusing... and replying. "The other side of the ship. The administrative room, the utilitary chambers... . Close to the Cabin now. Not that I think one of those idiots could actually handle piloting the Zephyr, anyway."
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| − | "And... a few of them on the lounge, on the top deck."
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> Vorpal just smiles quietly at the goddess' reaction to her performance. Sometimes, if you seemed frightening enough, you could avoid a confrontation altogether. It was a philosophy which she had always liked to follow.
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| − | "Oh?" Ghost-Blooded lifts an eyebrow and cocks her head slightly, lifting her black Daiklave to rest on her shoulder. "Which place is closer from here? They must have heard the screams of their companions, so they will be more cautious."
| |
| − | | |
| − | "The lounge. Straight up, and to the right. There will be a set of stairs, they are checking it... it has many glass panels, but I, and only I, can open them.... I will do so for you." She nods, laughing just a little more, then giving a last, heavy breath. "I sure as hell would not want to be on the other side of that intimidation, though."
| |
| − | | |
| − | Vorpal chuckles as she moves past Calisara, following directions the goddess gave her. "Be sure to tell your master to stay on my good side, then", she responds, in good humor. Then her smile becomes overshadowed by a slight frown, and she asks: "...But what was the name of this ship again? Everyone always called it just Zephyr."
| |
| − | | |
| − | Calisara smiles and nods, her silverly eyes glinting, sure that she <i>will</i> say so!
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Why it is the <i>Quicksilver</i> Zephyr, of course!"
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> "Ah."
| |
| − | | |
| − | ..And, past a couple of corridors, she gets to the flight of stairs, hearing movement and seeing sunlight come from above..
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> <i>Sunlight?</i>0
| |
| − | | |
| − | Vorpal slows down, stops... and ponders for a breath or two. "This isn't open air deck, is it?" she whispers quietly to Calisara, her white fingers brushing her chin thoughtfully.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>Sunlight?</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | Vorpal slows down, stops... and powers for a breath of two. "You said you can open these glass panels, did you not?" she whispers quietly to Calisara, her white fingers brushing her chin thoughtfully.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "As a recourse for evacuation, I can; For the safety of the passengers, they cannot." The spirit nods, leaning against the air, as if sat on a couch made of the ambient.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Now, it might be a little harder to pull a trick like that in broad daylight..."
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> "I thought as much", Vorpal responds, placing arm across her torso, the other hand still caressing her chin. Suddenly, however, she turns to the goddess and lifts her hands in front of her, as if holding an invisible box which she then tilts, as if pouring something out. "Maybe you could <i>tip</i> this ship a little?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | This incredulous suggestion she states with a perfectly straight face, not entirely certain if there even is any sense in this wild idea of hers. But still...
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Calisara:</b> "I... could, but why?" She says, uncertain... "It <i>would</i> make a mess out of half the ship, you know..." She makes a face. "Unless you want to pick up the apron and the broom and go cleaning everything up yourself after I do it!"
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> "I feared you would say that", Vorpal responds, not very surprised. "I was just wondering if you could simply throw them out of the windows. But I suppose we shall have to do it the hard way, then."
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Calisara:</b> "Hard way?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> "Scare them, or kill them", Vorpal says, her voice cold as she turns towards the stairs. "I will give them the alternative. They can run, or they can fight. Can you seal the other entrances except for the windows after I have entered?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Calisara:</b> "Easy enough!" She says, taking a step back, and waiting for the Exalted to do the hard work.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> Vorpal does not hesitate as she climbs up the stairs, moving slowly, careful to keep her wounds from showing in her movements. Mournful Kiss still resting on her shoulder, she steps into the lounge, making an effort to not to squint in the bright sunlight that hurts her eyes... especially now, when her Charms have enhanced her senses and opened her mind to the true beauty of the world her mistress has sworn to destroy. Never has sunlight been so beautiful, so painful to her eyes.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Invaders:</b> Clear sunlight pouring through the large windows of the sundeck, images of creatures long gone adorning the windows, the five caste marks of the sun on the ceiling, changing to indicate which is its position on the day and where they are from the East and West, they turn to see her... distoating completely from the sunlit, clear background, clad in night and shadows, flesh of one that can never see the sun. Six men turn around, mercenaries, beads in tranced hair, sharp swords on their hands. The sort of mercenary one sees all throughout the Northeast.... they turn around, taking a step back, blades turned to her, fearful of such an unearthly, strange apparition...
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> Vorpal halts onto the top of the stairs, the eerie, cold glow of her anima outlining her lithe form as she lifts one hand to her hip and shifts her weight to one foot. Pale glow surrounding black velvet cloak, which in turn surrounds milky-white flesh, which in turn surrounds soulsteel armor. Black on white, white on black, the contrast is a spooky one, the very sight of her otherworldy, with only her eyes as two bright points of red on an otherwise colorless background.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>"There you are"</i>, she purrs, her gaze slowly moving from one mercenary to the other. "I see northmen of this era have no manners, either. It is usually proper to tremble when in the presence of Calisara the Black, the mistress of the Quicksilver Zephyr."
| |
| − | | |
| − | One hand resting the heavy black Claymore on her shoulder, she makes a lazy gesture with the other, covering all the exits to the room with a sweeping motion, counting that Calisara is observing the situation and understands the sign to seal up the entrances.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Invaders</b> ... And, as she gestures, all the entrances close. The window panels come down, golden motes shining as they are sealed.... leaving only a few, rays of light outside now an unnatanable outside, the demon glowing even more on the darkness...
| |
| − | | |
| − | They gulp, they gasp, stepping back...
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> "You know", Vorpal continues with husky tones, closing her eyes and lazily running her free hand down the snowy avalanche that is her hair, every single move she makes clearly illuminated by the cold light that clings to her skin. "That pretty little slave of mine does have his flaws, but he never fails to lure fools to this ship for me to feed upon."
| |
| − | | |
| − | Her eyes glint open again, bright with hunger and malice. She licks her lips, slowly, sensuously, as if enjoying a lingering aftertaste of... <i>something.</i> "Of course, since you are the last ones remaining, I thought we could have a little game, you and I."
| |
| − | | |
| − | Raising her arm again, she points languidly at the window with one hand, making a quick, flicking gesture. "I will open that window - it is your path to freedom. But just for a little while. The slowest one will remain in this room with me..." She smiles, like a snake smiles to a mouse, like an assassin smiles to her prey. Her voice drops to the level of a sultry whisper. "So be sure to do it <i>very</i> slowly, 'kay?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Invaders:</b> With a loud click, the window opens. The mercenaries try to stand their ground... they try.... oh, they sure try... in vain. White faces grow paler than even Vorpal's skin, their faws are left open, trying too hard to close... one lets his weapon come crashing down. And, as soon as the window opens.... they <i>run!</i> They run away as fast as they can, trying to stay away from that demon, jumping out of the Zephyr's smooth surface...
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> Vorpal toys for a moment with an idea of giving them a further push by pretending to be ready to shut the window any moment now, but she doesn't bother. With ill luck, Calisara might misinterpret her intentions and close the window for real, which would go against their plans.
| |
| − | | |
| − | So instead, she takes a step forward, approaching the fleeing mercenaries, her hips swaying, that terrifying smile on her lips, slowly yet surely...
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Invaders</b>... And as she takes the final step, in front of the window, she sees the last one of them slide down the smooth hull of the Zephyr, and the sixth splash on the water. Suddenly, all the windows open, and sunlight pours on the deck again...
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> The smile abruptly turning into a wince, Vorpal lifts a hand to shade her sensitive eyes from the glare. Again the beauty of that sunshine hits her, and she turns away. A vague sense of annoyance stirs within her, annoyance and disgust. Annoyance at her role as the Pale Angel in a world that was as beautiful as this, and disgust at the pleasure she draws from playing that role.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>At least none of them was slain,</i> she justifies her actions as she heads back to the stairs and Calisara.
| |
| − | | |
| − | But still...
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Calisara?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Calisara</b> She manifests, close to Vorpal, running a hand on hair, her laugher coming from everywhere on the room... the singing of gentle wings. Winds of morning, of spring, so alike the very sunlight that pours in.... "<i>Calisara the Black....</i> now, now, I will have to ask people when this spreads. How do you think I would look in a black coat?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> Fortunately, the goddess' good mood is contagious, and even the Ghost-Blooded cannot help but to let the little smile back to her face once again. "I thought you'd like that", she has to reply. "Just keep up with this new reputation of yours, and there should be no problems with any brigands for a while. No-one wants to own a haunted ship."
| |
| − | | |
| − | Suddenly Vorpal pauses, and turns, her broad cloak folding around her frame. Frowning, she casts a glance over Calisara's nubile, clothless form, and lifts an eyebrow. "...so you do wear clothes once in a while?" she asks and turns back to the stairs.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Calisara</b> The ship-spirit giggles, her toes touching the ground only slightly as she follows the Pale Angel... "... Once in awhile. Some parties need me all covered... but on most, I am perfect like this. And it is a good way to frustrate <i>certain</i> people who come around just to see me wearing so little... thankfully we had none of those in awhile!"
| |
| − | | |
| − | "You must never get that problem, right?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | As they get to the stairs, she closes her eyes.... "The remaining nine... right down, turn left. They are already trying to find out how the control room works... wait... one of them is moving. Towards Anne's room..."
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> "<i>Hex on them</i>", Vorpal hisses through clenched teeth, picking up her pace, moving the best her wounded torso allows her to. "The most direct route to her?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Calisara:</b> "Turn left, second entrance!" She motions, urgent, "Follow it! You should see him, checking each and every door... god... I gotta go to her!" With it, Calisara's manifestation unravels as she goes through a wall, trying to beat the man to it...
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> Vorpal's visage darkens and she breaks into a full run. She'd like to use her ghostly talents and take a short-cut through the walls the way Calisara had done, but not being as familiar with the ship as the goddess is, she does not dare to take the risk of ending up to a wrong place.
| |
| − | | |
| − | So she runs, forcing her body to obey, ignoring the pain, concentrating only in reaching her goal in time. The sword bounces up and down on her shoulder, ready to be put into good use any moment now, for the time of bluffing and games is over.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Invaders</b> As Vorpal turns around the corner, she sees a man... big, bulky, as hairy as Aghar( A rare, rare feat, that! ), closing one door, coming closer to Anne's door....
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> Fortunately, the door to the room where they had left Anne should be locked. It offers some small comfort to Vorpal as she draws closer to the stranger, but the risk is nonetheless still there.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>Except that it will not happen.</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | Wordlessly she lifts her free hand, palm outwards, pointing it at the man. All around her form, tiny motes of cold light flicker into being.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>You shan't harm her.</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | The wisps quickly grow in size and strength, sizzling, boiling, <i>seething</i> as she unchains the anger in her soul, pouring it forth from her heart in a cold and focused stream, whipping it with her Essence into a weapon made of utter spite.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>You shall die before that can happen.</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | Vorpal clenches her hand into a fist, her arm trembling, not with the effort, but with the sheer power of the emotion which she is harnessing. And the motes burst into hissing beams of light that sreak down the corridor...
| |
| − | | |
| − | | |
| − | There are times when she likes to face her opponents fair and square, matching only her strength and cunning against theirs on an even battlefield.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Then there are times when she deems that it is necessary to even the odds a little and that is when she uses her strategic knowledge to rig the situation to her advantage.
| |
| − | | |
| − | And then there are times when there simply isn't time for anything else but to kill, the very first chance she gets.
| |
| − | | |
| − | This is one of those times, and she feels no remorse as she watches her spite cut through the man, tearing at his flesh with white-hot blades.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Calisara", she states aloud, turning as the lifeless husk of the man topples to the floor. "I suppose I couldn't handle this without killing anyone after all."
| |
| − | | |
| − | Heading down the corridor with measured steps, firmly and surely, limping only slightly from the pain brought about by the sudden and unhealthy sprint, she adds: "But you'll forgive me this one time."
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Invaders</b> The first blast of spite came straight to his foot, going through it, exploding it in blood.
| |
| − | | |
| − | He began to fall, and begun to scream
| |
| − | | |
| − | As he fell, he turned...
| |
| − | | |
| − | And the second went through his hand, splashing it in blood as well.
| |
| − | | |
| − | The scream began, as he turned to face the Pale Angel....
| |
| − | | |
| − | Just as the third came, and on the very first notes of the scream, exploded his head into a bloody lump, sending the body swiftly down.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Bloody and messy, the body dripped out... but Vorpal was already walking the other way. Coming closer and closer to the control room... and as she does, on her slow pace, she hears he whispers.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>"Fair enough. I would have done no less if the creep had came into the room."</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | And hearing that, Vorpal begins to hear the noise, few meters down the corridor, only one turn to the right...
| |
| − | | |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> She hesitates, frowns at the oddness of the goddess' response, a horrible suspicion slowly creeping into her mind. "What are you doing?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Calisara:</b> "Feeling it... looking at them."
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>"Demons!"</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | Her incorporeal form manifests close to Vorpal, urgency on her voice.... "Lilith... <i>duck</i>!"
| |
| − | | |
| − | And as she shouts, a red, clawed hand goes through a pael of colored, opaque glass on the wall, directly to Vorpal's head....
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> "Tch!"
| |
| − | | |
| − | Her battle instincts kicking in, Vorpal's hands move quicker than thoughts move in her mind. Calisara's exclamation registers almost at the same time as Mournful Kiss rises to the same level with her face. One of her gloved hands grips at the sword's handle, while the other takes a quick hold of the black blade. Her legs bending slightly to provide her with firmer support, she rams the Daiklave sideways against the attack, the razor-sharp soulsteel edge turned directly towards the reaching demon claws.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Blood Ape:</b> The clawed hand goes through the blade, holding the Pale Angel's beautiful face... and slamming it back against the wall. Another arm, twice the size of hers', goes through another part of the wall, lower, hitting her stomach, keeping her still, unmoving, clinched. Ready for the other creature, coming out of the cabin door, drolling obscenely at the Pale Angel's flesh... a great red ape, hands like those holding Vorpal...
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> "Nrrrrggg...."
| |
| − | | |
| − | Her wounds yowling in agony as her back hits against the wall, Vorpal clenches her teeth together to keep herself from gasping aloud. Her armor is enough to protect her from the blows, but the warm, red pain immediately after the impact is another matter entirely.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Stars twinkling in her eyes, she grabs a hold of that pain, turning it to her side, using it to fan her anger into a brighter flame...
| |
| − | | |
| − | "...rrhyagh!"
| |
| − | | |
| − | ...and then she seems to evaporate, the black sunburst of her caste glinting into existence on her ethereal forehead as she slides free of the demon's grasp. She leaps through the ape's massive bulk, sailing seemingly weightless in the air, proceeding down the corridor, taking some distance to her opponents.
| |
| − | | |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Blood Ape:</b> As Vorpal moves away, the obscene ape roars, leaping towards her pale, ephermeral form... losing its own form as well, mid-air abandoning its material body and becoming as ephemeral as the Pale Angel,
| |
| − | | |
| − | Going towards her, screaming as it jumps over the Pale Angel, dripping blood on the floor, roaring in a way its saliva spits over the Black Queen's Vestiments, its teeth yellow and hungry.... one strike. Another strike. Two arms, two pairs of claws. One bite, aiming straight at her neck. And yet another strike, in a maniacal dance of blood....
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> With an inhumane snarl Vorpal whirls in the air, her body still floating backwards with dream-like laziness, a startling contrast against the swiftness of Mournful Kiss as the Daiklave dances back and forth, seeking to interpect the approaching claws. Although she is still nothing but a phantom, she takes no risks when it comes to attacks from demons - too many times had her reliance in the ghostly powers cost her in situations such as this one.
| |
| − | | |
| − | To the left does her blade snap first, and then to the right. Then she suddenly pivotes like a wheel in mid-air, her body unencumbered by the shackles of gravity. For a moment her head brushes the floor and her boots swipe at the ceiling as her Daiklave flashes to catch a blow that had been approaching from below. And then she is upright again, just in time for the final attack that comes from the above...
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Calisara:</b> <i>"Thanks for coming here, ugly."</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | The voice comes, cute as singing winds... on a summer afternoon, walking on a ravine, not noticig as the same joyful winds throw you off it. Winds take the corridors, etheral winds, almost solid in this ephermeral realm, Vorpal feels it, ruffling her hair, the erimanthoy feels it, drying his blood-coated fur...
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>"I am Calisara, and this is my domain. And you uglies are <b>not welcome here!</b>"</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | With those words, three gusts of wind go to the Erimanthoy.... as wind on the cherry trees. As wind on sweet-toned bells. As wind howling in a valley. Three winds, sharp as the Zephyr parting clouds, to part the demon's flesh...
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Blood Ape:</b> Rending its body. Rending it. Pieces of spirti all around, red snowflakes on the world only Vorpal and Calisara can see. It slices the Erimanthoy down, its face barely recognizable, taking out some of its fangs and claws... but it is still alive. Alive... and angry.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> Finishing the feverish flurry of parries, she slides to a halt, murder glowing in her eyes. The next instant she solidifies again, her hair and cloak fluttering back down to obey the laws of Creation once more. The strain of her Essence-usage is beginning to weight on her - beads of sweat glimmer around the black sigil of the Dusk Caste. "Calisara..." she growls between pants. "Two demonic apes come rumbling through your ship, and you say you feel <i>something funny</i>?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | The last words are accompanied by an abrupt movement as she whisks her Daiklave in a sharp cut through the air, shifting it to the beginning position of her deadly dance.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Blood Ape:</b> The wounded ape growls. Tries to, anyway. Its eyes red dots trying to pierce Vorpal.... but it is too wounded to. Growling with seething hate, it sinks into the ground then, trying to disappear.... to run away before it is unmade.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Calisara:</b> "Hey, hey, hey!" The godling makes a face, offended. "Something was cloaking the uglies. Whoever brought those into life is a very decent sorcerer, to keep them from my scrying! Really!"
| |
| − | | |
| − | And then, the Blood Ape sinks into the ground. She looks down and narrows her eyes, her voice full of thrill, "Oh no, you don't!" She says, as she vanishes into the ground after the Blood Ape...
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> "You take that one", Vorpal orders, her gaze not wavering from the demon ape that is still in the corporeal form.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Her wounds ache and throb from all the strain put on them. Her voice is growing hoarse, and her patience is running short.
| |
| − | | |
| − | It is time to end the games.
| |
| − | | |
| − | And suddenly she screams, a shrill shriek, a war cry which expresses all the pain and frustration she has endured recently. Letting the outpour to carry her body with it, she darts forward, her suddenly-blazing anima leaving a trail of black-and-white afterimages in her wake as she rushes forward. Her arms are nothing but a vague blur as they weave a shover of jabs and slices at the demon, her blade so quick that it seems to be everywhere at once.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Blood Ape:</b> The arms retreating from the wall when it came... Mounrful Kiss, a show of afterimages, cutting him through the wall, so many attacks they ripped through the wall like it was so much as tissue paper. The Blood Ape is cut in tiny ribbons, splashing the control room full of its blood and entrails, mixed with the dust settling of the wall. And on the hole, Vorpal stands, seeing, through the falling dust and blood, the four men left....
| |
| − | | |
| − | <B>Vorpal:</b> <i>"Haa... haa... haa..."</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | Her form surrounded by the unearthly glow of her anima, Vorpal stands above the torn remnants of the demon ape, splatters of red staining her white skin and the black soulsteel covering it. Her lips are parted, her chest rises and falls in the rhythm of her heavy breathing. Blood trickles freely down her forehead from the sunburst of infinite darkness blazing there, and amidst the crimson rivers a pair of burning rubies stare at the last mortals to still remain of the thirty mercenaries who had attempted to invade the flying ship.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "I'm not happy", she states hoarsely, taking a staggering step through the hole which her blade had torn into the wall. Tiny shreds of demonic flesh squish under her boots, her cloak trails over the debris. "I could be in a bed right now. I could be taking a well-deserved nap. I could be reading a very good book."
| |
| − | | |
| − | Another staggering step, and she suddenly sniggers aloud. Her eyes are wild and feverish. "But nooo, you <i>had</i> to come to disturb my peace, did you not? And dragging some stinking apes with you to boot..."
| |
| − | | |
| − | Mournful Kiss whimpers as it hangs limply from her hand, its tip dragging at the floor, drawing an uneven line of blood and ooze across the chamber. "No, I'm not happy", she states again and shakes her head. "But I'm a nice soul, so I'm giving you one last chance. I hope you will appreciate it, for right now I am feeling like tearing all of you into tiny little pieces with my bare hands."
| |
| − | | |
| − | "GO!" she suddenly shrieks at the top of her voice, her entire body flinching with the effort. "Get out, or <i>die!</i>"
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Invaders:</b> ... And of course... they run. Out of open windows, out of the room, they run away. Leaving Vorpal alone as blood and dust finish their rain over the control room....
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> Vorpal stands there, alone, forgotten amidst the blood and rubbish and little bits of demonic flesh, the destruction she had managed to cause. She takes deep, even breaths, her body swaying a little...
| |
| − | | |
| − | "...huck."
| |
| − | | |
| − | ...before falling to her knees. The visage of fury and power crumbles into riven shards and leaving only a wounded, weary warrior behind. Leaning against her sword for support, she trembles and shivers with every wave of pain that washes through her body. The last, flickering wisps of her anima still linger around her form, but even that is of no help, for her powers have always been bent for terror and destruction, rarely to soothe and heal.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>...I think I... overdid it again.</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Calisara:</b> The airy form of Calisara comes up, materializing before Vorpal... looking around the cabin and frowning.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "This... will take awhile to clean up." She says, shaking her head.... "Quite awhile. Was there no way to be, you know, more subtle...?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> Vorpal looks up at the goddess' words, glowering through the stray tufts to hair that have fallen over her face and plastered against her bloody forehead. "He... he started... it", she manages to growl amidst gasps for breath.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "The... other demon? You got it?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Calisara:</b> "Yes. Cut the ugly into tiny ribbons as well. His spirit fell from the Zephyr in tiny little pieces."
| |
| − | | |
| − | She manifests an apron out of nowhere, fastening it around her generously-curved body, silver tatoos shining even on this bloody scene. ... "... Thank you, though. You got rid of them well. But... I would ask you to bathe before you show your face to Anne again..."
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> "Was... my intention", the Ghost-Blooded sighs in reply. Her body is already beginning to adjust itself to her condition, and the pain that had been so sharp and vivid just a moment ago fades into a dull throb. Her breathing becomes lighter and easier, and slowly, carefully does she climb to her feet again.
| |
| − | | |
| − | She cannot help but to feel dim remorse as she blinks around at the mess she had helped to cause together with the demons. <i>Yes... I did overdo it again,</i> she decides. <i>Just another ape, aren't I?</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Sorry about this", she mumbles and turns, stepping through the hole and back into the corridor. "Let's return to Hourglass. The others are probably wondering if we had left for a vacation without them..."
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| − | | |
| − | Once safely out the puttering goddess' sight, one of Vorpal's hands trails up and across her torso, her fingers pressing gingerly against her side.
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| − | | |
| − | <i>Damn... I really have to remember to be more careful. That last attack of mine... Probably tore open at least one of the wounds.</i>
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| − | | |
| − | <b>Calisara:</b> "True... Cael might already be back." She says, going to look for a wet tissue...
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| − | | |
| − | <i>Those men... too careless. Too many of them, but they should know that not even all that could stop Cael as soon as he came back, right? Unless...</i>
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| − | | |
| − | <i>...Cael!</i>
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| − | | |
| − | With those thoughts, the Zephyr moves back, at its top speed...
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| − | | |
| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> After cleaning the worst grime off her and changing fresh bandages for her wounds, Vorpal returns to the cabin where they had left Anna.
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| − | | |
| − | Knocking to the door once or twice, she calls out with mild tones: "I'm coming in, Anna. Try not to kill me, eh?"
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| − | | |
| − | <b>Anne:</b> Knife in hand, she waited.
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| − | | |
| − | She waited for the bad men to come.
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| − | | |
| − | She kept remembering them on her village, killing her father, throwing her on the ground, ripping her clothes...
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| − | | |
| − | She kept remembering Moon, and how he had her butcher one of them.
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| − | | |
| − | She kept remembering every moment.
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| − | | |
| − | For they gave her strength, gave her anger, gave her fear. And with them, she held the knife, clumsly, afraid, but ready to stick the pointy end on the first man to come by.
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| − | | |
| − | And then, relief.
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| − | | |
| − | She runs to the door, opening it in happyness, "Lilith! Lilith!" She says, glomping the warrior as soon as she open the door, so quickly she probably never had time to see, and would have glomped a Blood Ape able to do voices before she could even notice. "They... are the bad men gone?!?"
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| − | | |
| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> "Nrrrr....!" Vorpal grits her teeth, staggering backwards as the young girl's well-meaning hands press around her body, body that had been taking so much mishandling recently. "Yes, yes, they are gone", she responds, her voice trembling only slightly.
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| − | | |
| − | <b>Anne:</b> "Good!" She says, holding Vorpal to her tightly.... "Are you... ok?" She says, the knowledge she glomped the Pale Angel, whom she dared barely to look and not to touch, before, slowly coming to her...
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| − | | |
| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> "Fine, fine..." the Ghost-Blooded responds, her tone still straining a little. "We mostly drove them away, but a few ugly brutes wouldn't listen to reason..."
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| − | | |
| − | She pauses, aware of the little girl's touch, a little uncertain how to deal with it. Back from the battlefield, and to the unknown waters....
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| − | | |
| − | "...How about you?" she tests the ice after seeking for the right words for a moment. "Did you keep your promise?"
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| − | | |
| − | <b>Anne:</b> "Good, good, good..." She notices then.
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| − | | |
| − | <i>Touching... her....</i>
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| − | | |
| − | She keeps the embrace... on the knowledge that, if she lets go... she will never do it again. Ever. She tries to... but then, lets go, a few steps back.... "... Sorry..."
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| − | | |
| − | "Yes!" She says, proudly, lifting the knife! "I was here... I was afraid, but I did not let it stop me... I was here with the knife, ready to strike them! See? See? I can stay, right? Right?"
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| − | | |
| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> The girl lets go, but the touch still lingers, not just the pain it brought to her wounds, but also something else. Warmth, closeness, they were rare things for Vorpal deFay.
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| − | | |
| − | She is almost sorry that the sensation ends.
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| − | | |
| − | "That's a good girl", she ventures to say. "We'll make a warrior out of you one of these days." The question about staying she evades: that promise is not hers to make.
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| − | | |
| − | "All right", she then begins, gently pushing the girl into the room ahead of her. "Do you feel up to your next task? Help me with this armor a bit - I'm sore all over..."
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| − | | |
| − | <b>Anne:</b> <i>She acknowledged me...<br><br>She thinks I did well.<br><br>She... thinks I can be a warrior...</i><br><br>The image is so paradoxal on her mind... she, as someone like her... or Cael... or even Alex...<br><br><i>No...</i><br><br>But she did well. But she is alive. But she proved to her... she did... she...<br><br>...she cannot stop the tears running down her eyes, in pure, raw emotion....<br><br>”I...” She sniffs, coming closer.. touching Vorpal’s armor with such reverence she ignores the crying faces on the Soulsteel. “Al... right...”<br><br>Drying her tears, she helped a pale goddess get out of her armor. Knowing that, in some way, she had a place close to her, now...
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| − | ----
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| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/SecondMovement|Second Movement]]
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| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/DanceOfAngels|A Dance of Angels]]
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