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| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/EighthMovement|Eighth Movement]]
| + | #REDIRECT ADanceOfAngels |
| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/DanceOfAngels|A Dance of Angels]]
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| − | == Neverborn Sanction ==
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| − | Amber Post....
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| − | It is raining outside. Thunder crashes, and at times it seems that it shakes the whole of the Citatel. A citatel that had only one topic to speak about at this time - the Pale and Dark Angels, and their spetacular breakup. Vorpal could hear it everywhere she went... since the Dark Angel was more used to luxury, she was the one to keep the small mansion give to both of them outside of Amber Post, while the Pale Angel had to dwell on the Slaver's Citatel proper... or, well, anywhere but in that mansion.
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| − | And outside, the weather roared, it rained... like an omen of dark times to come.
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| − | '''Vorpal: ''' A clap of thunder tore through the night, a flash of lightning briefly illuminating Vorpal's white face from the depths of her dark hood. Water slides in cascades down the black velvet of her cloak. Her mud-stained boots squish with every step as she navigates down the storm-raped street towards the inn she had chosen as her temporary base of operations.
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| − | "Tch."
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| − | Not exactly the best of nights to go looking for that blindfolded drunk, but what can you do? Wren had not been exactly specific about where he could be found and with the little show she and Selina had put up for all to see, Vorpal doubted that she could ask any of the locals for directions for a while. Finding Wren would be up her alone, and so far, there had been no luck with the task. Time to call it a night.
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| − | Sighing, the Pale Angel pushes the inn's door open and sweeps in, bringing what must have been half of the water in the storm with her. It flew from the cloak in a rain of droplets splashing onto the floor. "Innkeeper", she announces, "Mulled wine to my room."
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| − | She does not stop to wait for an answer but heads for the stairs right away.
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| − | '''Narrator: ''' She goes up the stairs, opening the door to her room...
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| − | And as she steps within, she hears something like a cry of lost souls.
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| − | And a voice sweet like a lover's sigh speaks to her.
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| − | "Welcome, Pale Angel. We wondered when you would show." He speaks... a figure in the shadows to her right. A figure apparently made of Onyx, with a hair like the night sky, and eyes like lonely stars. She can feel the smile. Accepting. Soft. "Allow me to introduce ourselves. I am the King in Onyx." He says with a bow, pointing to a man sat on the table in her room then... a man pale as milk, with hair the color of ash, and the face of a wicked angel. "And that is the Prophet of the Ashen Book."
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| − | "I hope we are not interrupting anything."
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| − | '''Vorpal: ''' Vorpal halts.
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| − | Her eyes widen slightly at the unexpected voice, but she hopes the sight will be hidden by the hood. She firmly quells the impulse that would send her hand blurring for the handle of her sword.
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| − | ''News travel quickly. ''
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| − | "Other than a session of very dark brooding, not much", she responds sourly and steps inside. "Start the fire", she says and gestures at the fireplace at the opposite end of the room. The Pale Angel herself moves over to the shuttered window and pushes it open, to admit cool air and the drumming of waterdrops inside. Then she picks up a little kettle by the window and thrusts it out into the rain.
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| − | '''Prophet of the Ashen Book: ''' "Thank you, my good kind." The Prophet says, as snapping his fingers, making a young boy - not much different from Alex, really - move from the shadows at his side, and go pick the wood.... as the Prophet himself watches the Pale Angel. "It is a pleasure to meet you, as well. And glad you have not made things violent. Me and the King, we come in peace."
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| − | '''Vorpal: ''' "Is that so?" Vorpal raises an imperious eyebrow. Drumming of rain against the kettle's metal bottom soon turns into splash of water against water as the container begins to fill. "Mind, I do not have any reason to trust whatever you have to say. But I am willing to listen... for a time", she amends.
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| − | '''Prophet of the Ashen Book: ''' "Why should you mistrust me?" He asks, while the blonde boy places the wood on the fireplace, and looks for something to light it with.... "I have heard of your problems, true. And I have come here with offers. But those are offers out of good will. You tend to demonize us much, I realise... odd, considering some of the people you walk with."
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| − | "To tell the truth, it has always puzzled me why someone such as you serve the Lover, on the first place."
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| − | "You are clearly an honorable woman. One that sees the importance of having values, of love, of the people."
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| − | '''Vorpal: ''' "And the Bishop understands these matters better, I take it?" the Pale Angel responds, her eyes glimmering under her soaked hood. Briefly her gaze flickers over to the boy. "The tinderbox is on the mantlepiece."
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| − | Turning her attention back to the Propher, Vorpal leans her backside against the windowsill. "Go on."
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| − | '''Prophet of the Ashen Book: ''' The boy moves to the mantlepiece, picking out the tinderbox, preparing to light the fire... as the Prophet smiles, admiring the Pale Angel for a moment. "Indeed he does. We fight for values, Pale Angel. We fight only to spread our faith. To show others the light. We fight with honor. We have not made the sort of traps you have, have we? Or the sort of games your mistress plays. We struck with our armies, with military traps, indeed, but in a field of honor. We wish to bring values, to overthrow the tiranny of heaven."
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| − | "To show all they have to pray for themselves, for the ghosts, who understand them best."
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| − | "You will be ready to see us as monsters. Some of us, you may not understand. I admit the Hierophant was insane... but so is the Dark Angel or the Demon-tainted woman in your ranks. You fought the General. Was he that different from you? Was Brael that different from Aghar?"
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| − | '''Vorpal: ''' "The General was a soldier", Vorpal nods. "I will give you that. He knew what had to be done and he did what was necessary to achieve victory. As a soldier should. The Hierophant was insane - I will give you this too. War is war. I hold no ill will towards you about it. But tell me: What is honorable about the collared girls the Vestal gathers to herself? What is honorable about the Disciple who torments the Hourglass inn? What was honorable about the assassins you hired to have our heads?"
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| − | Tilting her head slightly, she silently calls upon the powers of her Ghost-Blooded nature and adjusts her eyesight to read the auras of her visitors. "Give me proof of your good will, Prophet."
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| − | '''Prophet of the Ashen Book: ''' "The Vestal... is a complicated case. But she is the exception between us. Whereas, the others that follow the Lover are all like that. And despite being so... eccentric....she is very good at what she does. And that, makes us look the other way. She does keep her pretties happy, however. You should ask Kanti and Fiona how much they still love the Vestal."
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| − | "And as for the Disciple... it is revenge. He has his reasons. And his past with Rika Sanjuro. You should know all about revenge, Pale Angel. That is what you will do, when the time is right, is it not?" He smiles at her... and then, looks straight at her face, at her soul. "My proof of goodwill, is that I am the only chance of retaining the only love you have left."
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| − | '''Vorpal: ''' Vorpal's eyes narrow at that. Deliberately, very deliberately she pulls the half-full kettle back from the rain and sets it onto the windowsill next to her. "I am listening" is the only thing she says. Every word is formed with an ominous tone, every syllable carefully shaped.
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| − | '''King in Onyx: ''' "He likes them, you see. They are his friends."
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| − | The King walks about the room as the boy lights the fireplace, something around his arm writhing... it is the soul of six women, their faces blank and beautiful like drama masks, all draped around his right arm. He walks not too far from her and lies against a wall, feeling the heat of the fireplace come to him... one of the benefits of being black, how much more easily one absorbs the heat. "Like he said, you demonize them too much. But they love, they like, they wish to save the souls of those in this world, just as much."
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| − | "And as for the boy... you know it, do you not? As long as he believes in what he does... as he keeps close to his own values... he will eventually find out who you are. And no nobleman would keep a woman such as you close."
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| − | '''Prophet of the Ashen Book: ''' "A man and a woman create life. A woman exists to hold it, nurture it, care for it." The Prophet nods.
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| − | "What my king said with fancier words, Pale Angel, is that to a Whiteshieldian noble, you are little more than a warrior with fun holes." The Prophet says, opening his book of ashen pages. "He will find out, and he will leave you. Especially if you are not the one to tell him you are half a woman."
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| − | "The other alternative is the Lover... but will you still love him if the Lover changes what he believes in?"
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| − | '''Vorpal: ''' The power of Vorpal's gaze seems to dim as they speak on, their words hurtling home with deadly accuracy. She pushes against the floor with her feet, leaning a little further out onto the windowsill, away from these two who speak with such painful words. Her head swaying, her hood falling to cover her face for a moment, she squeezes her eyes shut.
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| − | ''Why? Why? Why does it always have to be about my love? ''
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| − | ''Simple'', answers the honest, merciless part about her. ''It is your weakest point. ''
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| − | "I was born dead."
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| − | ''There. I said it aloud for you. ''
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| − | Her hand strays over to her stomach. Gently, reverently, the way one would brush leaves from the tombstone of a loved one, she presses the gloved palm against her abdomen. "No life can be born of the dead. The Prince needs heirs and I cannot give him any. So what use is a dead queen for him?" She lets out a low, joyless laugh and allows her hand to drop away. "Such silly daydreams I've had. Love is for the living. For the dead, it brings nothing but pain."
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| − | ''Our lot is the grey gloom of nothingness, food that tastes like ash in our mouths, wine that is blander than water. ''
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| − | She takes a shuddering breath. Her eyes reopen and their gaze burn red, with the violent heat of a roaring fire. Her voice is cold and hard as she asks: "What is the alternative?"
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| − | '''Prophet of the Ashen Book: ''' "Exactly." Says the prophet, touching his fingertips, hands together, between his eyes...
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| − | "You know this. But we know who the boy is. He is a very religious boy, you realise. He is a Zenith. He has been the one holding your group together, as well. But he is a religious boy... and his faith could simply shift. He would still be himself. Still be a beautiful paladin. But for a faith that preaches eternity. That does not care about breeding. That teaches eternal love, eternal passions. If you come to our side, he will. And you will be together, forever."
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| − | "In fact, I imagine he has much in common with our lord."
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| − | '''Vorpal: ''' "Could you change someone's heart so easily?" Vorpal breathes. The storm seems to darken outside, leaving her as a dark silouhette by the window, on the line between the leaping light of the fireplace and the night behind her back. "He believes in chivalry with all of his soul. Will that part of him stay pure, too?"
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| − | '''Prophet of the Ashen Book: ''' "It will. Come with us, and you will meet the Crusader Wielding his Regret. He loathes the Vestal, believes piously in our church, and is, if I must say so, the greatest knight and gentleman I have ever known." He nods, more pages passing under his fingers... "And his Crusaders, and his Knights. He will remain pure in all ways - all that would change is his faith, and minutiae of his customs."
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| − | '''King in Onyx: ''' "But he will remain yours'. Forever after, he will remain yours', and not mind you being barren, you being dead." The king speaks, his voice always deep, powerful. "In fact. He would praise you for it."
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| − | '''Vorpal: ''' Vorpal sighs. It is a sorrowful sound, one filled with aching longing, of things that can never be true. But then something seems to harden in her, a cold and razor-sharp resolve that makes her lean forward, her face as pale as death in the leaping glow of the flames. "What is the price?"
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| − | '''King in Onyx: ''' The King laughs, as the fire crackles, sparks flying between them...
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| − | "Thereis no price. We wish to show you, how much better it would be for you to join us." He says with his sweet voice. "Whiteshield was destroyed because it had to be. That is not the fate of the rest of the North. It will not be Iranor or Windia." All the souls in his arms, the six women smile. "There is no price. We are just showing you, is the Lover a better way? Is Windia and its corruption a better way? Maybe Alex and Cael might be one... but are they not a better way for you, if they are on our side?"
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| − | '''Vorpal: ''' Vorpal's gaze flickers from left to right, from King to Prophet and back again. She hesitates only for a second, then comes to her decision. "Wait here. I will bring something for you."
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| − | And with that, she tilts sharply backwards and out of the window. Her mud-stained boots leave the floor and follow her into the rainy night.
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| − | She falls through the rain and her cloak flutters above her as she goes. She presses her legs together and bends her body, twisting herself in mid-air to turn herself right way up. She lands on the street in a lithe crouch, one hand going for the sword at her back. Her eyes never leaving the window above her, she calls upon her powers both as an Abyssal and as one of the Ghost-Blooded and channels her Essence to the sword in preparation for one of her unique techniques.
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| − | '''King in Onyx: ''' And as she channels her essence... it does not come. Nothing comes. She does not feel it.
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| − | In her. In her soul. The Malfean whispers are nowhere to be found.
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| − | The souls come out of the king's arm, breaking the wall of the Inn, as they look at her. The King speaks. "The Prophet could see you wished to kill us, Pale Angel. You had a great stratagem... but you need to learn to conceal your emotions better. But we wished... to make you understand. We still hope you did."
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| − | "And I am sorry, but we revoked your Exaltation. You see, the Malfeans are on the Bishop's side."
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| − | "And for the Prophet, they can make it so you are unable to touch us."
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| − | '''Prophet of the Ashen Book: ''' "I might leave you like this, dear... but, it might be too dangerous. You see, you changed the North even as a mere ghost-blooded." He sighs, getting up, picking the book under his arm. "We will have to take you in now."
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| − | '''The King in Onyx: ''' The king jumps down, his feet touching the roof where the Pale Angel had fallen... the souls on his left arm unfurling to form a strange thing, like a pyre of dancing spirits. "I am sorry for this, you see. But this was our insurance."
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| − | '''Vorpal: ''' Vorpal staggers a step backwards as the King leaps onto the street with her. Her mind is unable to comprehend just what happened a moment ago.
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| − | Exaltation... revoked.
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| − | Like standing atop the parapet with your best friend, watching the enemy army laying siege around your castle, talking idly about good days long gone. All of a sudden, a stray arrow arches up from the ground. It is an impossibly long shot, one that by any rights should not hit anything at all, yet now it just happens to pierce your friend's eye and end his life forever. An old companion you have known for years, gone in a heartbeat.
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| − | Just like that.
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| − | That's impossible. Exaltation crackles and bangs and shines like a dark sun. Shouldn't she have noticed its absence somehow, the way a seeing woman suddenly realizes she has gone blind?
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| − | Something catches in her throat and she is forced to draw in a wheezing breath. She looks up at the King, her eyes seeming not to entirely register his presence. She does not raise her sword in defense, nor does she attempt to step back from his way.
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| − | ''...Just like that... ''
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| − | '''The King in Onyx: ''' "I know what you are feeling. It is... hollow, is it not? A feeling that everything is muted? The world is... pale?" He asks, coming closer and closer to the Pale Angel. "Trust me, I feel it every moment I stand in this place where dreams are locked in cages of flesh. It infuriates me."
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| − | '''Vorpal: ''' ''Betrayer'' falls from Vorpal's limp fingers. It slams against the ground with a ringing clang, stones splintering under its weight.
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| − | "That's..." The Pale Angel's gaze falls to her gloved hand. She sees it is trembling, as if by chill. "...too cruel."
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| − | '''Prophet of the Ashen Book: ''' The Prophet steps into the hole on the wall, looking down at the Pale Angel...
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| − | "Sometimes, cruelty makes things more beautiful. And you know how to get it back."
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| − | "All you have to do, is make the Malfeans happy."
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| − | '''The King in Onyx: ''' The king, on the other hand, touches his feet against Betrayer, feeling the soulsteel under his boots...
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| − | "Like I said, it was only insurance. You did try to kill us in our sleep, as it were."
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| − | '''Vorpal: ''' ''Oh, thats right. ''
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| − | The thought flashes through her mind, and in an instant she acts. Ramming a boot toe under the ''Betrayers'' hilt, she kicks the weapon - and the King - into the air. One hand streaks out to snatch a hold of the swords handle. Her body twists, the weapon with it, and she brings a whooshing cut up to intercept the Kings path as he comes falling down from his unexpected leap.
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| − | '''The King in Onyx: ''' .... that was unexpected.
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| − | The King was thrown into the air, nearly cut in half, pieces of black dreams filling the air around Vorpal as he is thrown like a ball hit by a bat, crashing into the inn, breaking the wall in an explosion of dust and bricks...
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| − | '''Selina de Windia: ''' She had let the Dragon meld with her form on the way there. Cold, searing rage, and a secret little humiliation to go with it.
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| − | ''You got what you wanted. ''
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| − | ''Now it's time to give them what they deserve. ''
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| − | Selina flies faster, finding the place she must go with almost uncanny accuracy. She angles toward one of the walls, steels herself for what she may have to see, and braces.
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| − | The Dark Angel bursts through the wall behind Prophet, a beautiful monster now, one sharp-clawed hand reaching out for him like the very arm of judgement, steaming her anima banner behind it. To catch and hold, weak and helpless in the monster's grip. Even as she comes at him, her speed slows drastically as she brakes herself. No expression on her face, save of cold inevitability.
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| − | '''Vorpal: ''' "Foolish me..." Vorpal breathes.
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| − | The sword chafes across the ground with an unpleasant hiss as the Pale Angel slowly pulls her weapon back from the blow. It seems heavier to her now, clumsy and slow and no longer as willing to drink blood at her command. But still, she is still the ''Betrayer's'' mistress and whatever remains of her Essence still courses through its soulsteel length. It is still hers.
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| − | "There are other powers in Underworld besides that of the Malfeans", she comments with a bitter smile. It turns into a grimace as she swallows. "You Exalts just keep on forgetting that."
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| − | She looks up, meaningfully, her eyes focusing on the Prophet.
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| − | '''The King in Onyx: ''' Slowly, the King comes out of the debris. The souls explode around him like an anima. And his face is twisted with the indignation that only the royalty can possess. ".. this was... uncalled for. So I believe it is... gutting first, and asking questions later."
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| − | "Very well, then...."
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| − | '''Prophet of the Ashen Book: ''' The Prophet looks down, equally angry. "You.... yes, I forgot. I thought you would be defenseless now."
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| − | "I had forgotten you are still a powerful Ghost-Blooded, bu..."
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| − | And then the Dark Angel came, holding him... "Oh, indeed. You, too, can still transform. You must have realised, though..." He looks at her sideways, almost unconcerned by her grip... "... that you lack the anima you should be displaying?" And she did. There was no anima. The call of the Malfeans was not in her.
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| − | "Let me go, Monster, and I might speak with the Malfeans about returning your gifts."
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| − | '''Selina de Windia: ''' "Oh? Why did they not revoke their favor when the mother superior spoke? The Malfeans only take my power away when I'm close to you? ''Liar''." Dreamshard, in her other hand, pulls back for a lethal stroke, and her anima banner, once dark, goes to white now. Pure white, surrounded by lightning. The gifts of the dragons, even as watered down as she has, still exist. "You '''dare''' tell me your pathetic world of ghosts can equal the annihilation I represent! I'm ten times the deathknight you will ever be, ''Deceiver''!"
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| − | Dreamshard thrusts, shimmers in more colors than should exist as it does.
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| − | "'''''SERVE YOUR SECOND RATE CAUSE AND LORD IN HELL! '''''"
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| − | The dreams in her sword awaken, cleaving at the Moonshadow.
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| − | '''Prophet of the Ashen Book: ''' ... and she called his bluff. Strong, powerful....
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| − | He did not count on it. Their artifacts, their elemental and ghostly natures... and the element of surprise.
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| − | Oh, he could beat both of them easily, in that state. He could have beaten both... but he was not strong enough to get out of the monster's grip. Not for sure. He would have to be prepared for such subterfuges next time, he realised, while sweat ran down his face... and the Dark Angel spoke her speeches. Next time... "Then, remain as a mere creature as you are, without the majesty of the void! For I have seen all this Fated in Dark Stars... and I was never here to begin with!"
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| − | Dreamshard comes... and touches something like cotton candy...
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| − | | |
| − | ... as the Prophet's body vanishes in a flock of multihued stars...
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| − | '''The King in Onyx: ''' "Very well, then. Enough talk..." The King lunges foward, droplets of black dream-crystal coming out of his body as blood, his eyes burning with anger at the Ghost-Blood that nearly cleaved him in half... his arm, pointed at the Ghost-Blooded, exploding in an stampede of souls, sending them all in Vorpal's direction an explosion of voices and giggles... "'''''Have at you! '''''"
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| − | '''Vorpal: ''' Taking a grip of her wits, Vorpal bolts to meet the attack. She has just enough room for a few running steps and then she dives onto the ground before the tidal wave of roaring souls. With a hiss of Essence she turns into a ghost and plunges right through the earth, first down and them back up again on the other side of the wall of souls, breaking the surface like a swimmer at the sea once the storm has passed.
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| − | '''The King in Onyx: ''' ... and it does strike her, the women's souls picking Vorpal, pressing her down, their smiling drama-mask type faces and empty eyes giggling at the Pale Angel while their dead, necrotic essence goes within the Abyssal....
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| − | '''Vorpal: ''' She emerges before the King cackling wildly, blood floating like crimson wisps from her immaterial wounds. She briefly hovers above the ground, her hair flowing in the soundless wind, but when her will forces the Arcana to its end and she flops back to her feet, material once more.
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| − | "You know", she wheezes between laughs and her free hand flies to accompany the other at her swords handle, "Where Im from, a noble is born to his title, but he also has to earn it through his actions if he wishes to be worthy of some respect. You may be titled the King, but your actions are those of a ''pawn! ''" Her voice rises to a pitched shriek as she brings the sword down in a vicious overhead chop.
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| − | '''The King in Onyx: ''' The ladies all move, stopping the blade, caressing it, trying to not allow it to go no further...
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| − | "I am simply a king who has no qualms to get his hands dirty, Pale Angel."<br>
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| − | "I assure you, the Prophet does not command me in any way. I command him."
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| − | '''Vorpal: ''' "That is not what I was talking about", Vorpal replies, grunting as the shock of the blade striking home runs up her arms and into her wounded body. "The pawn is the worst warrior on the board."
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| − | '''The King in Onyx: ''' ... but it goes through, slashing over his wounded body, almost forming an 'x' over his chest...
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| − | "You are supposed to just a mortal now! ''How can you fight so well?!? ''" He asks in anger, the eyes on each of the spirits shining.... rays of pure light going towards the Pale Angel, shining with power! "You should just '''die'''!"
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| − | '''Vorpal: ''' "Because I was a legend before ''Abyssals even existed! ''" Vorpal exclaims and raises the sword again high above her head. This time, however, she rams it tip first into the ground at the King's feet. "To me, this is like returning to good old days!"
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| − | And with those words she yanks the sword backwards like a shovel, gouging an enormous chunk of dirt and stones to fly up from earth... and tilting the King and his souls off balance while at it.
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| − | Unfortunately, her efforts are not enough. The beams of light sear her armored body and burn her red eyes. She shrieks - half in pain and half in anger - as the sheer power behind that blow sends her hurtling across the street. She comes to a thudding halt against the wall of the opposing building. From there she slides down to the ground, her back drawing a bright streak of blood in her wake.
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| − | '''Selina de Windia: ''' Selina snarls in bestial fury as the coward runs away. "'''''Second rate! THIRD RATE! FAILURE! JOKE! INFERIOR. '''''"
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| − | | |
| − | Panting, hot breath coming out in clouds as the terrestrial anima banner rages around her, she looks down at the battle that is transpiring. "''So dance with the Kinslayer as she was that fateful day''." The Windian hisses, and her arm crackles with energy of wind and lightning. She points it at the faerie. And clenches the hand.
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| − | | |
| − | Multiple blasts of elemental energy appear about the faerie, showing him with the power she had at birth in rapid flashes of corascanting fury. As the explosions blossom about him, safely away from her partner, Selina drifts down out of the window.
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| − | | |
| − | '''The King in Onyx: ''' He saw it coming, trying his best to defend.... with supernatural speed, supernatural prowess. But already, too slow. His lifeblood flowing out with the Pale Angel's blows... and all of the lighting went through him. He would have survived, had he been not so wounded. He would have, and he knew... he knew... he knew he could take her on. Without her Void-enhanced defenses, without the armor that made the General so strong... he knew...
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| − | | |
| − | ... but now, he knew nothing, as he was nothing.
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| − | | |
| − | Wounded as he is, the lighting goes through his shell, breaking it, spreading shadows out...
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| − | | |
| − | And as the six ladies fly out, smiling, the King dies.
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| − | | |
| − | '''Vorpal: ''' "Oh, damn it", Vorpal grunts as the Fair One lets out his last gasp of pain. She props herself up with some effort. For a few moments there is a strange glow in her red eyes, as if some hateful light had lit them from within. The look she gives Selina is not grateful at all. "Why do you have to keep on robbing me of my fun? I never get into the way of your eating."
| |
| − | | |
| − | She pauses, then shrugs. The glow in her eyes begins to dim away. "Other than that blindfolded fellow."
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| − | | |
| − | '''Selina de Windia: ''' Selina looks balefully at Vorpal as she floats to the ground, then coughs, not willing to shift out of her form yet. "You want to go into bitch-form? I ate the last ghost-blooded who did it around me."
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| − | | |
| − | "Besides, you're all beat up...again." She looks around again, then shifts out of her form. "We need to fix that." Selina begins walking over to Vorpal.
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| − | | |
| − | '''Vorpal: ''' "Unfortunately", Vorpal replies with some biting humor, "I spent all of my bandages on you."
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| − | | |
| − | Grunting, she pushes herself up along the wall with her legs alone. Red blood trickles down the multitude of wounds torn all over her bodies, yet she forces herself to ignore the pain, to stand up, to move on. "I tend to get beaten up, girl", she says, her voice a little strained with effort. "I have a ''knack'' for it. The funny thing is, no matter how badly I get beaten, I never die. I'll just bear it for now. We are wide open here. We need to get to a better shelter."
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Selina de Windia: ''' "Back to where you were?" Selina comes up to her, offers an arm. "We just chased them away, afterall."
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| − | | |
| − | "Anywhere where there is something clean to rip that we could use for bandages."
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| − | | |
| − | '''Vorpal: ''' Vorpal points up at the gaping hole in the inn wall above them. The fire is still burning in the fireplace within the destroyed room. Flames cast an orange halo across the storm-whipped street. "That's where I was", she replies, somewhat dryly. "I'd like to go somewhere slightly less windy, if you don't mind. Just go and pick up my things from up there. I'll wait here."
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Selina de Windia: ''' Selina sighs, then shakes her head and ascends once more, going into the room. On the cusp of place, she looks back down...
| |
| − | | |
| − | "...What things exactly?"
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| − | | |
| − | '''Vorpal: ''' "The saddlebags", Vorpal responds from the street. "You've seen me lugging them around. Try and see if you can find the kettle, too. It was on the window sill before those morons blew the wall off."
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| − | | |
| − | '''Selina de Windia: ''' Selina goes and looks for them. Finding them, she finally sheaths her sword. Hoisting first one bag and then the other, she puts them over her shoulders. "Shit, these things are heavy." Some breath of her exalted strength remains to her, however. She finds the kettle as well, and then comes back out.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "This stuff is heavy!" She comes back down, not so much floating as breaking her fall. "Now where do we go? Back to my place?"
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| − | | |
| − | '''Vorpal: ''' "They are?" Vorpal regards Selina with a slightly puzzled mien. "I haven't noticed."
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| − | | |
| − | But then she shakes her head and wipes her matted hair from her face. "The best option. Where are the scythe girl and the others?"
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| − | | |
| − | '''Selina de Windia: ''' "I told her to get dressed and follow me. Let's walk in the middle of the street. She'll be able to find us easily, and it's not like anyone else couldn't if we snuck around." Selina says helpfully. She also uncoils some cloth she picked up, upstairs. "But first, we put these on you."
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| − | | |
| − | '''Vorpal: ''' Resting her heavy sword and her shoulder against a wall, Vorpal pauses. She frowns, and for a moment she looks like she would be ready to push Selina away and insist to do the bandaging by herself. Soon, however, her reasonable side wins. Looking absently down the street, she lifts her other arm with a sigh, to give Selina a free access to the wounds in her torso.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Suddenly, her gaze flickers over to Selina. "What do you mean, 'get dressed'?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Bronze Butterfly: ''' She comes like a rocket, ripping the air, cleaving it with her scythe as she rushes to Selina, eyes filled with lighting, form covered in elemental prowess.... "'''''Where is that bitch?!? '''''"
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Selina de Windia: ''' "Vestal came over. Molested her, probably whipped her, while waiting for me. Butterfly was suspended from chains on the ceiling when I got in." Selina says, stripping off some bits of cloth to apply to her counterpart. "Vestal wanted me to join them. She also said that that she would make you nice and pliable if I would. ''She'' would make you that way." Selina shakes her head disgustedly, beginning to bandage Vorpal.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Needless to say, I told her I won't be bought and refused. Really, for someone like her, she ought to know why I wouldn't want someone turning you into a drooling, pliable slave."
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| − | | |
| − | Then her apprentice arrives and Selina glances at her. "All bright eyed and bushy-tailed?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Bronze Butterfly: ''' She stops, looks at the Dark Angel... "Yeahbuwha? Where is she?"
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| − | | |
| − | '''Selina de Windia: ''' Still bandaging Vorpal, Selina narrows her eyes at Butterfly. "You think I have her in a suitcase, for whenever I need some hot death nun action, or something?"
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| − | | |
| − | '''Vorpal: ''' "Is that so."
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| − | | |
| − | For some reason, she finds herself relieved to hear that. It is a strange thing, considering that Selina had just told her about Butterfly's experience. "Simmer down, girl. She's not here. She's probably not in the whole Amber Post anymore, now that she knows we know she is here."
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| − | | |
| − | '''Bronze Butterfly: ''' "... drat."
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| − | | |
| − | "I want her '''''dead'''''!"
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| − | | |
| − | '''Selina de Windia: ''' Selina gives her apprentice a razored glare. "She's '''mine'''. I already have to compete with Seventh Moon AND his damned mentor for her, you had better not think of such things."
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| − | | |
| − | '''Vorpal: ''' Vorpal barks out a short, joyless laugh and leans her back against the wall. "Join the brotherhood", she says, closing her eyes. "It's first in, first served."
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| − | | |
| − | '''Selina de Windia: ''' Selina finishes the bandaging, making sure it's properly done to the best of her knowledge, then sighs. "We had better get going."
| |
| − | | |
| − | She looks to Vorpal. "And now, I wonder how they did that."
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| − | | |
| − | '''Bronze Butterfly: ''' "Did she molest you? Did she rape your mind? No? Then I damn right have the right to cut her open!"
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Selina de Windia: ''' "Not yet." Selina agrees. "But if she ever gets me, you may be assured I will be the centerpiece of her drooling toys."
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| − | | |
| − | '''Vorpal: ''' "Even better", Vorpal replies to Selina more seriously. "How did they do that so that neither of us noticed a thing?"
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| − | | |
| − | She pushes herself off the wall and moves her hands up and down experimentally, testing the bindings. "It just does not make sense for it to happen so quietly."
| |
| − | | |
| − | It seems like the bandages will hold for a while. Then again, push too hard and she'd be bleeding like a pig at midwinter's festival...
| |
| − | | |
| − | ''Huh. I haven't been an Exalt for ten minutes and I already miss the benefits. ''
| |
| − | | |
| − | ''Better get used to being a mortal again, she frowns to herself. ''
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| − | | |
| − | "Let's go."
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| − | | |
| − | '''Selina de Windia: ''' "And why didn't they do it earlier. Alot earlier."
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| − | | |
| − | Selina begins walking as well. She looks at the sky for a moment. Then back to Vorpal. "And why it only happened when we encountered''' that''' deathknight."
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| − | | |
| − | '''Vorpal: ''' "A good question. Better start thinking about the answers right away."
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| − | | |
| − | ''If we can find any. ''
| |
| − | | |
| − | A poorly placed foot sends a jolt of pain from her wounds. She grimaces at the sensation. Raising her gaze up to the sky and allowing the falling water to wash her face, she corrects herself:
| |
| − | | |
| − | ''We can. ''
| |
| − | | |
| − | After all, what else could they do?
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Bronze Butterfly: ''' She fumes, her face going red... "Then what right do you have to claim her, damnit?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Selina de Windia: ''' Selina walks in silence for a bit with them, then finally answers Butterfly, not breaking her stride and not looking at her. "Because I think I can redeem her. To a degree."
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Bronze Butterfly: ''' "... will this involve violent brainwashing?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Selina de Windia: ''' "Don't know. Maybe." Then she looks to them both. "I'd do the same for you if you became...like that. Even damned like this you don't live like that. That is hollowness incarnate."
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Bronze Butterfly: ''' The Dragon-Blooded grins. A very evil grin... "Then just let me return the favor."
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Selina de Windia: ''' "We'll see." Selina says with a shrug. Vestal would not like that. She'd prefer, if she ever got her hands on the woman, that everyone she slighted wasn't lined up to rape her in return. That wouldn't make things any easier.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Then she looks to Vorpal, specifically. "Maybe the Malfeans didn't do anything at all. He's a Deceiver dyed black, remember. He's all about lies. Maybe he did something. Which means it'd be easier to get rid of."
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Vorpal: ''' Vorpal, who had been listening to the argument with some sarcastic amusement, snaps back from her reverie. "He was not very good at deceiving, either. He claimed that what Vestal does was..." She pauses for the effect, her lips twisting mockingly, "''honorable''."
| |
| − | | |
| − | Her gaze straying away, she continues more softly this time: "He also said some other things that could not be believed. The whole thing was just a trap."
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Selina de Windia: ''' "So let's suck up to the Malfeans better then." Selina replies. "Let's ask 'Mistress', hmm?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Vorpal: ''' "Ugh", Vorpal grimaces. "Don't play around. Come up with a real plan."
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Selina de Windia: ''' "Oh come on." Selina says irritatedly. "What better plan is there?
| |
| − | There's a war going on and we don't have time to sit around mediating for enlightenment."
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Bronze Butterfly: ''' "Mistress? You mean, the great dark thing you... hm, didn't you forsake her? Everyone on Nexus says you did."
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Selina de Windia: ''' "Not well enough." Selina replies sourly. "Besides, ''she'' didn't forsake ''me''. And that is the important part."
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Vorpal: ''' "Didn't you learn anything from the last time?" Vorpal asks, and an edge creeps into her voice. "Contacting her isn't likely to improve things. We should check other clues first." In a softer tone she adds: "If we can find any, that is."
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Bronze Butterfly: ''' And then, the Butterfly flaps her wings, and she is behing Vorpal, whispering naggingly!
| |
| − | | |
| − | "What happened last time?!?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Selina de Windia: ''' "You saw what happened." Selina tells her chidingly, remembering that day. "Do try to remember."
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Anyways, we can discuss this further back at home." Selina finishes. "In better comfort than here."
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Bronze Butterfly: ''' "... Oh, wait. All that argument was because of... her?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Vorpal: ''' "Hmm-hm." Vorpal replies, darkly. "You just saw the results of her handiwork. And let me tell you, she wasn't even feeling particularly cruel then."
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Bronze Butterfly: ''' "Why would she want to make you two fight? Shouldn't she want you to bring her back to Pink Ice?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Selina de Windia: ''' "That was more my actions than hers, but she baited me to bring them out in a way that would damage my relationship with the Pale Angel." Selina replies finally. "You really are full of questions."
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| − | | |
| − | '''Vorpal: ''' "And you lack the ability to ''not'' to ask them", Vorpal adds.
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| − | | |
| − | | |
| − | | |
| − | ----
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| − | | |
| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/EighthMovement|Eighth Movement]]
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| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/DanceOfAngels|A Dance of Angels]]
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