GoldenCat/Tails08
- - Back to Eighth Movement
- - Back to A Dance of Angels
Smoke and Mirrors
Amber Post...
The wind was damp. Cold.
Singing its maddening song.
Howling with the voices of a thousand frozen children.
Howling with the voices of a thousand tortured slaves.
Howling with the voices of a thousand sorrowful mothers.
Howling, as it always did...
Snowflakes floating as the wind battered the Citatel's walls again and again and again....
Vorpal was used to the Howling. Oh, she had seen it drive men mad. But not those born and bred in the cold. The coming of Winter was harsh in Iranor, but it was harshness they knew. They knew the wind. They sung with it, their chants becoming part of what was the maddening scourge to those not of the North.
The place was perfect, and so was the moment. Late afternoon. All were coming back to the Citatel. A square between little claustrophobic marketplaces, a simple pass that become a city square of sorts within the mammoth citatel, three floors upwards able to see what goes there. It was used for performances before... and this would be quite a performance today.
Many of their own Mercenaries, Vorpal can see around, going about their bussiness...
And, close to her, an assassin is still sullen. The Bronze Scythe rests over her shoulder, and her walk is calculated, grand, not unlike the Dark Angel's, and yet, so much more... glamourous. The world was Bronze Butterfly's catwalk. "... I still liked the old plan better."
Vorpal: The Grim Queen Howling, they called it in Iranor, so named in honor of the Scythe of Winter, the goddess of First Blizzard. Colder than a heart made of stone, more biting than razor-sharp steel, deadly and maddening, that is the sound of her voice, the ever-lasting song she has sung for thousands of years.
Strangely, the Pale Angel muses as she glances up at the dour sky, Iranorians have a paradoxal relation with the Howling. Although the Scythe of Winter could slay more men than any army in Creation, even if her ears were deaf to the pleas for mercy, Grim Queen Howling was, in a way, a sign of peace and safety in Iranor. The song of the Scythe could fuse metal armor with living flesh. It sapped strength and life from the sword arm and left guards to their posts standing in frozen vigilance for the rest of the winter. Only a desperate lord or a madman would field an army when winter was coming.
For Iranorians, this meant a few months of respite from war and border skirmishes. Winter was time to rest, to relax and eat and drink and scout and watch and prepare for spring, for the time when the armies would be fielded once again.
It is a shame the walking dead do not care whether or not their feet are too frozen to march on. In fact, it only means they won't rot quite as quickly as in springtime.
A sobering thought, that. Grim Queen Howling was death to the living, but a blessing for the dead. Sooner or later, even sons and daughters of Iranor would learn to woe this fact.
"Think of it this way", Vorpal responds in lows tones, pulling the voluminous hood of her cloak a bit lower against the biting wind. "If we did not go along with her plans every now and then, we would never hear the end of it."
Bronze Butterfly: The assassin languishes, the only one in all of the courtyard to ignore the Wind. It was her blessing, after all. The blessing of the Children of Mela and of few Wyld Barbarians and Lunars, to brave the Grim Queen Howling and the Frozen Fog. She is still dressed in her own signature clothing - every bit as revealing as her teacher's - and part of her does smile at how much the Pale Angel - and everyone else in the courtyard - has to worry about it. "I guess. Still... I will see about getting to the one of you the Prophet does not. It will be grand! ... which means I need my part!"
Selina de Windia: The wind is nothing to her. She has outflown it. The cold is nothing to her. She can bathe in it. The people about can feel her coming before they behold any visual form. Death walking. The Lover's hand, Valencia's successor, Moranine's inheritor - the Dark Angel.
Wrapped in her greatcoat today, the front open, Selina enters the area without any fanfare. Someone like her needs none to herald her presence. Her manner is dour this morning, almost as if she has a bad mood. "Hmph."
Bronze Butterfly: "Oh, she is here. Time to bail out and watch the show..." She whispers, in words that cross the air to be heard only by the Pale Angel. And then, inconspicuously, she moves away from the wall, and begins to walk away...
Vorpal: Vorpal's lips tighten, as if finding whatever Butterfly tells her irritating. Nodding absently as the Dark Angel draws closer, the Pale one falls in step with her counterpart.
They walk across the clearing in silence for some time.
"You know", Vorpal begins, innocently enough, "I don't mind that you drag that little nitwit around. I suppose you need someone for your bed games, but try to keep her in line. Her pestering annoys me."
Selina de Windia: "When you develop a way to make people keep their mouths shut short of killing or mutilating them, feel free to tell me." Selina says with the same grumpy tone. "Because some people don't listen when you tell them to be quiet."
Vorpal: "I've noticed", Vorpal nods. She says it nonchalantly, but something in her tone of voice hints that her experiences are based on someone else than Bronze Butterfly. "Still, she is your apprentice. Your toy, your responsibility."
Selina de Windia: "Yes, and I told her to stop it." Selina says with a shrug. Still not looking at her counterpart.
Vorpal: "Then you fail as a teacher", Vorpal shrugs.
Selina de Windia: "Oh, do I really?" Selina asks without any apparant concern. Without too much apparant concern - it's obvious now that that bugged her. "It's not as if you've been more successful."
Vorpal: "I was a successful teacher", Vorpal replies, turning her head away to glance up at a window that apparently caught her attention for a moment. "Despite your best efforts to ruin my work."
Selina de Windia: "My best efforts to save it, you mean." Selina responds with a scoffing noise. "You found an undisciplined, temper-prone brat who yelled at people in arguments and could not keep his cool...and pretty much kept him that way. Lots of sweet words about being a good prince and nothing about how terrible the darkness is. Milksop. He wasn't your student, he was your little romantic attachment."
Vorpal: "That boy already knew quite well how terrible darkness is", Vorpal shakes her head and turns back to Selina. "He needed courage to fight against it instead of someone embellishing the picture so much for him that he would lose all hope to oppose it."
"Besides", she adds flatly, "At least my teaching style does not center around propping up the teacher's sense of self-worth. You couldn't be any more egoistic about it, could you? 'I am the darkness supreme. Bow to me, my student'."
Selina de Windia: "He didn't know well enough." Selina replies acidly. "I won't tell you how bad it was. You obviously were too busy romping in your little fluffy field of romance to realize it."
Chibi Selina (Hyrokkin): (we're not getting angry quick enough!)
Chibi Selina (Hyrokkin): (*pulls down vorpal's pants in public* *runs*)
Chibi-Vorpy: (Ye're holding back.)
Vorpal: "Says the one whose idea of proper teaching is to groan and smash her crotch against his", Vorpal says, and the edge in her voice is slowly bared, slid out from the velvet of nonchalance where it often hides. "Admit it already, darling. You just wanted a taste of his dick."
Selina de Windia: "No, you already messed that taste up. I'm sad to say, but putting two virgins together is not a way to get good at the game." Selina says with some amusement now. "Besides, I had a Zenith once before."
"You messed both of your tastes up, in fact." She says regretfully. "What a waste of my time, pining for yours for so long. Should've known better." Then she grins and shrugs. "But hey, we all make mistakes!"
Vorpal: Vorpal halts abruptly at that and, hands on her hips, whirls to face Selina. "I didn't hear any complaints about virginity after I drove you to the bed, dear", she replies, venomously. "In fact, you looked quite out of breath."
"Or..." It seems as if a realization suddenly dawns to her, and she raises her eyebrows in mock-surprise. "Are you hiding something? Perhaps you couldn't keep up with the boy, either? Was his spear too hard for you?"
Selina de Windia: "Cause I didn't wanna break your heart." She replies with a flat look. "That first time? You had no style at all. Couldn't submit to me, couldn't dominate me. No backbone! I was so very disappointed."
Vorpal: Vorpal lets out a sharp, mocking laugh. "And I should believe a word of that? With the memory of your sweaty and flushed face and gasps for breath? Oh, please."
"I wouldn't be surprised", she tilts her head, her eyes glimmering with smouldering anger. "You always cower high up in the clouds in every battle and leave those better than you to take care of the fighting. You just don't have the courage nor the strength. The same in the bed."
Selina de Windia: Selina gives her a razored grin, own eyes aflame now. "And that's why I beat you that one time?"
Vorpal: Vorpal stares at Selina blankly for a moment, apparently waiting for the Dark Angel to solve the riddle by herself. But blonde heads do not work very quickly, so the Pale Angel sighs and points at the long handle of the Betrayer that juts high over her shoulder.
"This sword is big", she says, as if explaining something to a child. "It's heavy. It hurts. Had I really even attempted to hit you with it, they would have needed to scoop you up from the floor with a shovel."
Selina de Windia: "It's easy to make empty boasts like that." The Windian replies, still smiling faintly. "But you're still the one who lost."
Vorpal: "You would have only felt bad if I hadn't given in", Vorpal replies with a dismissive whisk of her hand. "I know your fragile little ego too well. I also knew allowing you to have the match would just swell your pride and delusions of greatness - " she jabs her finger at the Dark Angel "- but it was smaller of the two evils."
She raises her shoulders, spreads her arms and lets out a deep, long-suffering sigh. "Really, I should have learned the lesson by now. Blonds are just tall brats."
Selina de Windia: Selina glares at Vorpal. This was making her angry.
So I'm going to have to be the one to get angry, huh?
Fine then!
"You delusional, tubby little brat." Selina snarls suddenly. "Stop saying stupid things. You could never hit me with that joke of a sword, and I could land one without trying."
Narrator: As expected, many walked away from the women. As expected, the higher catwalks filled with people in the upper floors to watch. As expected, although everyone close by walked away, many more also gathered at 'safe distance' - that being, too far to feel involved, and just far enough to hear every precious little word.
Tonight, they are the show.
Vorpal: Vorpal's eyes narrow. Her mouth twisting, she leans forward, her hands on her hips. "Tubby, you say? Fine, I may weigh more than you do, but that's only because I have a brain and you have a bubble instead... A fitting content under the blonde covering", she adds with a sneer.
Selina de Windia: Selina's lips thin, and she sticks a finger at Vorpal, sending a little, thin shaft of black light at the other woman. Intended to graze the side of her cheek, leaving a neat little cut. Just like she did to Tahira.
Only this one wouldn't heal it instantly.
Vorpal: Black Queen's Vestments react instantly, the way they have done so often before. Rolling uphill along the Pale Angel's throat like a black ink stain, the liquid soulsteel covers the side of Vorpal's cheek in an eyeblink. Selina's tiny shaft of Void sputters off the glistening armor without danger.
Vorpal only snickers, though her eyes glow with a dangerous spark.
Her hand becomes a blurring backhanded slap, arching around towards the Dark Angel's cheek.
Selina de Windia: Selina doesn't even bother to dodge that. Although, unlike the Pale Angel, the Dark Angel does not have armor that blocks for her. The slap makes her stagger back a pace, but she doesn't fall to the ground. Or her knees. She doesn't say anything either.
Only stares at Vorpal now, silent. Too silent.
Vorpal: Vorpal lowers her hand, slowly, and returns the glare with one of equal intensity. Anyone, anyone with even the rudimentary understanding of the rituals and practices of the female gender could read the signs of apocalypse and - preferrably - attempt to relocate himself to the other side of the White Sea. For here it is at last, the true contest, the coiling of the spring, the bending of the bow, the gathering of thunder above for that single, booming flash of violence.
Vorpal does not blink her eyes. Her stare is solid and unwavering, fearless and daring, mocking her opponent to try her very pitiful best. She won't be the one to break this silence, oh no...
Tension is wavering from a hair-thin thread. One mistake, one misplaced cough or a slight movement in the corner of the eye could trigger the unstoppable avalanche. And that would be the end of Amber Post and everything that surrounds it.
This is almost too fun.
It's a catfight.
Selina de Windia: Selina's eyes slowly lose their pupils and whites, becoming seas of featureless turquoise. Still, she continues to glare at the other woman.
A tiny bolt of electricity dances up one leg, to the tip of a wing. Followed by another. And another. Selina doesn't move a muscle, and soon she is surrounded by a white anima of air. Just like when she lost it in the arena and stepped into Vorpal's fight.
Vorpal: Her cloak flutters in the gusting breeze created by Selina's anima.
While the other Abyssal begins to loose Essence, Vorpal keeps a tight rein of her own. She seems quiet, bland, almost plain when compared to her darker counterpart, but somehow, through some subtle stance or merely the tang of her presence, she turns the fact to her advantage. She stands solidly like a stone against the ever-moving crashing of the sea. She does not need flashy anima tricks to seem intimidating, she does not need to ready her powers to hold this uppity thing in check.
Only the swaggering young idiots rested their hands on the pommels of their swords, after all.
Selina de Windia: Selina's white anima fills out, growing larger around her. Black begins to corrupt it, intermingling, shadowing her form till even the silouette is not visible. The display grows and grows, until it is in the shape of a dragon. A gigantic one, scales flat black, filling the open space they stand in. The Dragon. Lightning crackles over its form.
It lowers its head down to Vorpal and peers at her, reptilian eyes slit, and sniffs at her. Still entirely quiet except for that.
Chibi-Vorpy: (( Darrn, your breath stinks. =_= ))
Chibi Selina (Hyrokkin): (*breathes on vorpal some more*)
Chibi-Vorpy: (( {Draws her Grand Toothbrush fearlessly} ))
Vorpal: She is a tiny shape, a black-clad gnat, a brave little bug dwarfed by the mighty beast that uncoils before her.
Still Vorpal stands, unmoving, fearless, tufts of her hair snapping forth from around her head at the powerful inhale of the Dragons nostrils.
To tell you the truth, the Pale Angel is beginning to get a little worried. To her knowledge, the Dark Angel does not manifest the dragon to such extent consciously. Perhaps Selina is taking this farce a little too seriously. Knowing her and her unpredictable temperament, it would not be unthinkable. Even the Pale Angel herself is feeling the ignited flames of anger boiling at the pit of her stomach - how hot must they burn in the Dark Angel's unstable mind?
But this all is irrelevant. The battle is here and now. She raises one eyebrow, expectantly.
Bellow, you beast.
Give me your worst. I shall not bend.
Selina de Windia: The dragon sniffs at her some more, the sounds growing more pronounced until finally it exhales full in the other deathknight's face. And lifts its head up and away from Vorpal...not at all interested in bothering with her. The beast, or the image of the beast anyway, uncoils from about the vast arena, and it begins to fade. Selina stands there once more, turning, moving away.
Vorpal: ...roar?
Vorpal blinks hopefully. But sour and warm air is the only thing that washes against her face from the beast's mighty lungs. She can almost imagine the little globs of saliva pattering over her at the dragon's exhale.
No?
She raises one hand and waves it, absently, over her face.
Well, didn't quite expect that.
For some reason, as she finds herself left alone on the clearing, Selina's back retreating ever further away and other folk giving her a wide berth, Vorpal feels a little disappointed.
Pulling herself together, she wheels around as well and marches in the opposite direction, purposefully yet without a hurry.
Selina de Windia: ...taking it all so easily... Selina seethes as she walks off. Perhaps whoever is watching would take that as just a parting of disgust instead of anger.
Then again, it had started with Vorpal baiting her, not the reverse.
But why does she have to be so insufferably smug.
Not a single word more to her for this little scene, though. Not a single one! It already made Selina look bad enough -- someone had to get obviously angry, so she'd done it.
Vorpal: As Vorpal draws nearer to the alley in the other end of the clearing, she gets an abysmal feeling that there is something missing from this battle. She still has a chance to do it, if she acts now.
Don't do it. It will ruin your reputation.
Soundlessly, Vorpal sighs.
...I suppose she has earned this one.
Abruptly, she wheels around and bellows:
"Slut! "
Selina de Windia: Selina stops. Then looks over her shoulder with a squinting, baleful gaze. Inwardly she is horrified.
My god.
Really, how is she supposed to deal with this woman short of publically beating her up? That is the only thing that will shut her big mouth.
...fuck this, I'm going to.
Selina growls, turning to face Vorpal, and takes out her scythe. The blade catches the light.
Oh man, you're going to be sorry.
Narrator: As they became silent, it must be said, most of the crowd did not pick up on the subleties.
On Vorpal's face or Selina's own.
For them, the silent was... like the feel of a razor's edge. About to cut. They waited, with baited breath...
... and then the Dark Angel left.
To say it was an anticlimax would be an understatement. They let out their collective breaths in a sigh that made a breeze in all of Amber's Post, some disappointed, some happy... but all of them, relaxed, ready to leav...
... and Vorpal spoke.
And a hundred hearts jumped.
Selina de Windia: Selina walks toward Vorpal. Angeldust catches some light, but its flat black surface doesn't reflect it so much as absorb it.
Sorry, Chimes-of-Nothing, no blood for you this hour.
Though, she mused, perhaps broken pride would work. Because she was going to lay the Pale Angel cold and unconscious before her feet.
Baring her teeth like an enraged predator, Selina finally lunges, up into the air, down on Vorpal, Scythe extended to do to her what the Windian had used it to do to Bronze Butterfly once before.
Though, at least this time, she was using both hands.
Vorpal: Although Vorpal is visibly more than prepared to take on that gleaming soulsteel edge, in the inside she recoils at the sight.
Damn.
Her chest heaving, her teeth clenching as her hand rises to draw the Grand Daiklave from her back, Vorpal takes a nimble side-step and interposes the sword between herself and the incoming scythe.
She really does not know me all that well either, does she?
Idiot.
Selina de Windia: She parries the Windian's stroke nicely. Well, at least she might as well use the scythe, it's not like the rapier would be getting through that regularly.
"Big mouth." She says with a sour tone to her voice, gem flickering on at her throat.
Vorpal: The sparks are bright and startling against the blackness of their clashing weapons.
Idiot.
Vorpal scowls at Selina over the crossed soulsteel, but says nothing. It's not like words would have any kind of effect anymore. She had given the Dark Angel a concession, but it had only infuriated the other Abyssal. The little twit had to take it to the next level.
She's planning to humiliate me to the public.
A cold fire begins to burn in the pit of her stomach as their blades part and each Abyssal leaps back to put some distance to her enemy.
She's planning to humiliate me.
Shifting the sword in her hands, Vorpal assumes a battle stance slowly and deliberately. Her eyes narrow, a spark rising to their blood-red depths. Her hands clench around the Betrayer's handle, creak of her leather gloves audible and hateful.
Of all the moronic, thoughtless, bubble-brained, prideful little sluts...
Spite rises like a tangible aura all over her, pure, seething hatred and a call for retribution.
No. Never. Not after all I gave to you.
There is a moment of absolute silence, as if air and all sound with it was drawn towards the Pale Angel. Then her anima ignites with a deep, reverbrating whoosh, washing over her in a pale bonfire that is chilling to body and soul alike.
With it, comes the terror. It freezes the blood. It saps the breath. It grabs the heart and begins to squeeze.
Her eyes little more than two orange coals amidst the dirty white flames, her every move filled with terrible purpose, the Pale Angel begins to stalk after her dark counterpart.
Selina de Windia: This, the Prophet would believe. No matter how shaky the beginning and what had just happened before, he would not be able to deny friction with this.
A pity I had to go this far to get you to show that reaction.
"I thought you were already serious." Selina says with a slight smirk, tone patronizing, noting the anima. She gets to see that so rarely, afterall. And it does have a tinge of fear in its very presence. "But if you're not, go ahead. Don't worry about me."
Vorpal: "Gladly", the Pale Angel responds, and the word seems to freeze in mid-air and crash to the ground, there to shatter into a thousand glimmering splinters.
There is a gut-wrenching thoom and a wave of visible fear erupts from Vorpal's anima, spreading across the clearing in a perfect circle. It leaves a trail of frost and mind-numbing chill in its wake, tossing dirt and autumn leaves, clinging to building walls and dimming the windows with a layer of grayness.
Without another word, Vorpal steps forward. Betrayer wheels around in wide arch, deceptively quick for all its hulking mass.
Selina de Windia: Her dodge wasn't fast enough. Despite the entropy weighing down that massive sword, despite Selina's quickness, despite the deft and agile movements she showed, Selina didn't get out of the way of that weapon entirely. At least Vorpal isn't using the edge. Quite yet.
The flat of the weapon hits Selina, knocking her back and to one side, sending her through a small wall partitioning one horse stall from another...empty, thankfully. The Windian climbs out of the mess, avoiding the ceiling of the stable as part of it collapses.
Going to have to pay for that too.
Her side hurts -- alot. Despite not being the edge, that's taken a good deal out of her. Most of her fight. But not most of her cunning. Selina coughs and moves back into the square. "Feel better? I didn't expect that... Now, you should have done this when we sparred."
Vorpal: Oops. Damn.
Vorpal suppresses the sudden impulse to grimace as the sword smacks its glancing blow against the Dark Angel and sends the other Abyssal flying. This is the problem with such large weapons: either you hit them with the full force or do not hit them at all. There is no middle ground for these toys.
"I told you", Vorpal goes on with their act, her anima resonating with her voice in a chilling chord, "There is a reason why I was easy on you when we sparred. Would you like me to start holding back now?"
Without really waiting for a reply, she dashes forth with an abrupt burst of motion, the black blade trailing fading streamers of shadow as it flies.
Selina de Windia: Selina leaps up into the air in a burst of movement, ready to dodge if the Pale Angel somehow leaps up to strike at her directly. Her flight is just a bit more wobbly than usual, but she steadies herself. "Perhaps you are better with the sword." She concedes, wiping a thin trail of blood away from her mouth. That had hurt pretty good.
Not letting another get in.
"But it looks like you've forgotten how frightening I am elsewhere." The Abyssal says, seeming to still herself for...something. "You'll remember soon enough!"
Then, Selina's anima flares. As Vorpal's had it goes beyond the mere displays most at Amber Post had seen from the. She reaches beneath the surface, and draws up all of her power. The essence of lust wraps around her body, the ground shakes faintly about them and the air itself seems to tremble as her anima banner grows far past the confines of her form. Drapes of blackness and still air surround them both like a shield, insulating from much of the sound, much of the light, that they both create. Only muffled sounds and flashes will the onlookers see, until it has cleared. No pale fire, that is not her's. Only darkness lit with lightning, shadow wafted on winds. No spark of golden, not in this display.
And it keeps up. She makes no move to pounce with the scythe, though. Instead, she opens the lips of a hell that would tempt many to damnation, and speaks. And her sultry voice is honey, it is desire.
Vorpal heard this once before, at least. From Vestal. But although Vestal is greater than Selina in some things, this is not one of them. Only the Lover, only Venus, rivals Selina in aching, echoing, throaty whispers now. It is why the Vestal wants her for a slave.
"My dear valkryie. Fill yourself with my wrath. " She looks down at Vorpal, eyes aflame, shadow warring with turquoise, all of it desire. She begins to descend, held up by nothing more than her essence, wings spread now behind her, like an apparition from a dream, or a nightmare. "To the brim. Overflowing. My errant love. "
Vorpal: Beautiful...
Vorpal bites back a gasp. The Betrayer almost slips from its place on her shoulder as she staggers as if being crushed down by a invisible force. It is Dark Angels oldest trick. The Pale Angels rational mind knows this well. Her eyes have seen it many times before, but never with such intensity, never with such abyss-scraping depth, never with such immense power.
So beautiful...
It washes from Selina like a tidal wave. Darker than blackest ink, hotter than molten soulsteel, purer than primal sin. It engulfs the Pale Angel and her white flame, melting away the deadly chill and leaving only the suffocating heat in place.
"I..." she croaks, the word barely distinguishable as her throat is squeezing in on itself, attempting to force the words she wants to scream with all her heart: I love you, you are mine, I am yours for now and all eternity!
So very beautiful, lovely beyond words, terrible beyond imagination
"I... am your Valkyrie", she responds, every word ripped from her lips, the mind-shattering arousal of her body battling with the force of her will. "I..."
I... I...
The thread of temperance snaps. She takes a wild grasp for the threads loose end that whips around in the storm of her emotions.
It is a Herculean effort. Her palms aching, her knuckles even whiter than usual, she tears the Betrayer forth. The great black blade cleaves the air in an overhead chop, dirt and stones exploding left and right as soulsteel cuts deep into the earth.
"I am your Valkyrie, my love, and you shall hold me in greater esteem!" the Pale Angel bellows over the roar of Essence, her voice powered by the anger of a lonely woman from another age. Half of her blade sunken into ground, she grips the weapons handle with both hands, leaning against it as if bracing herself against a harsh and cold wind. "I am no dog who runs yapping to you when you pucker your lips!"
It is more bravado than real strength, of course. The Dark Angels pull is more than the Pale Angel has ever experienced before, probably more than she ever will. The only thing that holds her back and keeps her from hurtling head-first forth into the deadly arms of this Oblivion-made-female is her pride. That pure, undiluted obstinacy that has dictates such a great part of her past, of her life and of her future both in good and bad now comes once again to her aid. That, and the childish sense of hurt born from the knowledge that her feelings are being toyed with.
Battlefield is my love! My blade is my mate, blood is his seed!
Sati was never afraid of your beauty, either!
Selina de Windia: The Windian, wrapped in her tight sheath of wind and shadow, lightning and void, raises her eyebrows at that as she reaches the ground. She takes a step toward the Pale Angel, wrapped in the grip of her lust as she is, and then another. Infinitely soft. Infinitely loud. The approach of destruction. The approach of ecstasy. She makes it up to the Pale Angel, and then stops. Scythe in one hand, voice a velvet purr of desire and command. She looks at her counterpart.
Her voice is not loud or clear enough to be heard beyond the veil her anima has created. "That is why you are my Valkyrie." It wouldn't be hard to take advantage of her now, though it would be easier if she had just fell to the influence entirely. But, that is not the point. "You win." She says with a smirk, line of blood leaking from one corner of her mouth. "But... "
Vorpal: "No", Vorpal interrupts, so softly that her words can only barely be heard. There is a hint of sadness in manner as she cranes her neck and leans past her sword's hilt, towards Selina. Her icy-cold aura of fear pushes against the black and hot aura of lust, tongues of pale flame breaking and arching away. "I don't win."
Selina de Windia: "Why not?" Selina asks hesitantly, not going for what she thinks may be a kiss. "I do this to you now..."
"You do this to me all the time."
Vorpal: Vorpal croaks out a bitter laugh. "Feeling better now?"
Her face is gleaming with sweat. Even the double layer of freezing terror is unable to chill her blood.
Selina de Windia: "Feel 'better'? " The echo returns as Selina asks softly, and she sniffs, the sniff echoing as well. As if her voice, the sounds coming from her, are suddenly out of phase with the living world they travel through. Not quite obeying the laws of Creation well enough to sound normal. "Why should I be, when this is the only time I can set you on fire? You do it to me without trying. Such power you have over me. You don't even realize it, do you? You spit on the idea. " At the last word she chuckles, the sound as soft as any.
"Is it...because I don't have a hard thing for you? " Selina asks smoothly, turning her scythe's blade toward herself, running the handle between Vorpal's thighs, till it pokes out under the fall of her cloak at the back. "Ain't all of it...but I'm sure it helps. You want a Prince, and I'm just another Princess. You need a sword, don't you? One of those kinds of girls. "
Vorpal: Vorpal responds with a mock laugh. It ends with a sudden need to swallow with her dry throat. "I... I can't believe what kind of imagination you have", she says, perhaps a little unclearly, grinning because it allows her to keep her back teeth clenched. "Do you think sex is all love is about? You think I like Alex because of his sword? Can't your blonde little head imagine anything else? "
She twists the sword handguard, ramming the soulsteel blade against the scythe's handle and locking it against ground. "Don't you dare to roll the blame on me, you oh-so-beautiful hypocrite! I tried to treat you the way I treat Alex! I tried to talk with you the way I talk with him! I tried to love you the way I love him, and you. Did. Not. Even. Notice! "
"I am oh-so-hateful. I am oh-so-tragic. I know oh-so-better than every other Exalt in the world! I am the grim reaperess in the end, the one that collects the harvest when everyone falls to Oblivion because of their own foolishness!"
"You!" Though her hand burns as she does so, she jabs a finger at Selina's throat, against the beautiful Hearthstone gleaming there. "The only thing you are really interested in talking about is you. You. YOU!"
Selina de Windia: Get good and angry, like that.
Selina smiles at that, a full wide grin. And she chuckles again, the sound as vaporous, soft, echoing as before. "Do I? I ever say it was all, my valkyrie? Think I don't love Moon, don't love you? Think I don't even love the little prince, in another way? Or even my hellspawned sister? You think I could plumb the depths of all I have with such ignorance? "
"Maybe it's that you don't want to give enough weight to it. Maybe you're the same little coward some of the rumors said you were, so long ago. " She leans close to the other woman's face, turquoise eyes almost like rays, piercing the other abyssal. Selina straddles the sword Vorpal is holding, as she did to the deathknight with her own weapon. "Your lies are delicious. I don't have to tell myself anything to feel good, when you do such a good job of making yourself look bad, without my help... " Her voice is a hot whisper now. "Say some more -- I want some more. They make me hot. "
Vorpal: Vorpal leans back a little. For a reason or another, she seems to calm down, fury and anger replaced with cold, deliberate malevolence.
She tilts her head, her eyes glimmering, and pulls the sword slightly upwards. The soulsteel edge is razor-sharp. It presses against the soft flesh between Selina's thighs, its chill spreading even through the leotard's fabric, the first wisps of the Dark Angel's roiling Essence draining into Oblivion.
"You have two seconds before I pull", Vorpal announces, matter-of-factly.
Selina de Windia: Selina's grin becomes even more bemused, and then she's off the sword...and behind Vorpal. Arms wrapping around her, somehow managing it all while holding onto the scythe. "Oh, so violent. Come on now. "
Vorpal: "I always thought you liked that", the Pale Angel responds with surprising sultriness in her own voice, leaning back into the Dark Angel's embrace. Her head bends further to display her white neck, one of her hands leaves the sword's hilt and wanders up to reach over her shoulder, to caress Selina's cheek.
Selina de Windia: Her voice is now a faint, faint whisper, going into Vorpal's ear. Same tone as before, however. "I think he may come for you -- you are good in battle, less secure in things like...this. Be very careful. "
Vorpal: "Huh. " The tone sounds dismissive enough, but there is a subtle difference, a slight change in the tremor that sounds like an acknowledgement to Selina's well-versed ears. But then her wanton mien melts into that of bemusement, then of reluctance.
"No..." She breathes aloud, attempting to weakly push herself away from Selina's achingly wonderful embrace. "No, get away from me."
Selina de Windia: "Hmph. " Selina says in a slightly louder whisper. The other, she had made sure would sound like a sweet nothing, to someone not right there with his ear next to her lips. "I don't do this for just anyone. " The words echo out as a disdainful tumble.
But she does move away, a bit, retracting her scythe, beautiful face in a sultry, disappointed pout. "It's like talking to someone in another language from me. "
Vorpal: As the Dark Angel's supporting arms leave her, Vorpal falls to her knees. The sword clenched in a death-grip in her hand, she squeezes her eyes shut, tightly, attempting to banish the image of the beautiful devil from her mind.
"Don't touch me again", she rasps, and begins to clamber back to her feet. Her gaze she keeps firmly averted from her darker counterpart. "Crawl back to whatever filthy place you came from. I don't need you."
Selina de Windia: Selina's expression quickly changes from disappointed to enraged, though it seems to take awhile longer for her conscious mind to recognize it. "Damn you! "
Her anima banner flares once more to the threatening height it was at before, and Selina leaps into the air, the force of her withdrawal from the ground so strong that little bits of the square directly beneath her fly into the air from the disturbance. She streaks almost to the limit of her visual and aural inhibiting field, and looks down, through the blazing misasma of her anima. "YOU BELONG TO ME! YOU AREN'T FOR THOSE LOWER LIFE FORMS!! "
With a furious wave of her hand, she sends a...burst...of concentrated brute force down at the Pale Angel. Not the kind of energy to kill, as her Oblivion bolts would be, but something to push her down. Crush her. On a wide area it impacts, on and around Vorpal. Not really air, not really Void, just pure essence driven by fury.
It is one of the things that shatters her field around them.
The other is Selina streaking off into the distance, not waiting to see whether Vorpal blocked her enraged rebuke or not. Going so fast for a moment that a thunderclap echos behind her as she recedes into the distance, to whatever else she needed to be doing.
Vorpal: Earth buckles for a split-second, a hundred cracks slicing across the clearing - and then it erupts, unable to go in any other direction. Dirt and splinters of stone explode in a widening radius, clouds of dust billowing in a perfect circle outside the spot where Selina's power struck Pasiap's hide.
Stones clatter to the ground and roll to a halt. Of the Pale Angel, there is no sign. There is no scream of pain, no laughter of defiance, nothing.
Dust calms.
Dust settles.
The lonely black-and-white shape stands amidst the wreckage, her stained cloak fluttering lazily. A red streak of blood wanders its shaky path down her albino forehead.
Vorpal turns around slowly, her glaring eyes scanning the square, seeing if there are any spectators foolish enough to stay to watch this final part of their battle.
She finds none.
The Pale Angel snarls, her lips twisting, her eyes narrowing. And then she whirls around and marches purposefully away from the clearing, in the exact opposite direction to which Selina disappeared.
The sword stays in her hand.
- - Back to Eighth Movement
- - Back to A Dance of Angels
