GoldenCat/ThroughTheLookingGlass6
- - Back to Fifth Movement
- - Back to A Dance of Angels
Angel Whispers
Selina de Windia: They want a mask?
Selina had moved off after she'd warned the faux Alexander away from her. She wasn't in the mood for that right now.
How dare they treat me like another one of the crowd.
I am their dark goddess!
I hold annihilation within my grasp!
I stop mortal hearts with my visage...
And so she wasn't out there, precisely, to see Moon grope Vorpal, though she intended to be back out very quickly. She is only gone in a closed room for a short time, then back out again...but she's not the same as before.
The Selina that comes out of that room, cloaked by shadows, is the beast that tore out Avian's essence and devoured it a few days ago -- that ravaged the captors sent to bring her to the Parishioner. It is that stark-white haired, lined with age, powerful and savage beast...but sleeker and smoother, its the ancient fury now tempered with mature beauty almost too painful to regard. A form Iria knows, coupled with one Vorpal and Moon know. Turquoise irises surrounding slit pupils gaze out at the party goers, those perfect arms end with fingernails only fashionably longer than before that could rend steel -- though the magic keeps her gloves from ripping.
She is Predator. And the aura of desire cloaks her, as much as those mysterious shadows.
"Here is my mask, darlings." Selina purrs, and that deep-undertoned voice is as full of snap-tempered death as entrapping lust. Then the beautiful monster spots a certain dance -- her dance! -- and takes a step toward them. Then another. And soon she is walking, slowly. Taking in everything. Watching to see if it's worth her time.
I can have any of you tonight.
‘Alexander’: He pauses mid-scan upon spotting Selina. And for a moment, he does not whether to completely forget paying her a visit or to follow his loins to that most tempting darkness.
.. my. This just got difficult.
- And they stare. They gasp. The entire front row of dancers freezes in place with jaws agape. Skin flushes and beads of sweat break out upon their brows. Knees weaken and spines stiffen. Those beyond them do not see her so clearly, but in patches where the whirl of conversation and motion comes to a halt. At once, they all seem to back away. Or flow towards her. At once they seem to shiver in fear and shudder in lust.
Death, beautiful and ancient Death on her black wings, has come before them. And like animals they flee at her scent or stand transfixed in awe of her coming.
‘Alexander’: For the longest time, the mirror-man's mind wars with itself. Should he shouldn't he should he shouldn't he---
... and all the while, his body practically gravitates towards the hellish Angel, the Eater of Men, the Lover's Terror. His body moves while his mind struggles, and by the time he close enough to possible gather her notice... he is on one knee. His mind catches up with him, and he quietly slips back into 'character'.
"Milady... you are... glorious."
Selina de Windia: Selina's steps halt. She looks back toward the Alexander -- probably the faux one? -- and smiles. A terrible razored smile it is, promising ecstasy and agony in equal measure. "I am. But you cannot bear it. Do not come too close, for this glory will consume you utterly. The party does not need that kind of demonstration."
Then she turns that baleful gaze back on the two dancers, and continues walking.
‘Alexander’: "... what makes you think that I do not want to touch the fire?" He looks up, and the expression on his face is a mixture of honest awe, fright, hunger and despair. "... just a little? We are all curious to see what the fire feels like, when we first see it..." As she passes, he looks both relieved and dismayed, fighting back the urge to grasp at the hem of her attire, just for one more frightening moment.
Selina de Windia: “I said, you cannot bear it.” She says on a commanding tone, disappearing from his sight.
Seventh Moon: As the fake angel vanishes into the swirl of figures behind Vorpal, hands reach out again towards the pale woman. Whatever look on her face can hardly dissuade them anymore from stealing a forbidden touch. If anything, the stern expression only ignites their interest further. The thrill of the danger that comes with the Exalted, even the potential Exalted, too much to pass.
But then one pair of hands in particular slips out of the crowd. Broad palms close over her hips and hold on tight, tugging her backwards without warning and pulling her hard into the solid trunk of a chest. The hands on her hips become arms, looping around her waist and locking together as the man behind her leans in close. The scent of worn leather and male heat drifts across her, mingled with the sharp scent of whiskey.
"Hey darlin" The mask the peers over Vorpals shoulder is a featureless plane of iron with nothing more than empty, shadowed eyeholes to break it. But the voice echoing out behind it, a voice filled with a husky menace that tremors the line between lust and violence, is undeniable.
Hed been drifting in the crowd, waiting for her to step away from Alex and Selina long enough. To drift off on her own. Nice of her to finally obliged him. Seventh Moon embraced Vorpal a little tighter, pinning her against him as he slid a foot between against her own and braced to keep her trapped. "Lets dance."
Vorpal: The Pale Angel might have changed and tempered considerably since her younger days, but bits of the old woman still remain.
Who dares? is the first thought flashing through her mind as the rough hands grab her by the hips. She had decided to humor those wanting to feel her tonight, but this one goes too far! Her eyes widening dangerously, she draws in a sharp breath - and at the sudden taste of the twin smells of leather and foul whiskey on her tongue, recognizes her assaulter instantly.
"Oh, please", she grimaces and aims the Lunar an exasperated glance over her shoulder. "Not you, too." Interestingly enough, however, she does not even attempt to free herself from his grip. Her hands hang by her sides - perhaps it is to show that he is not worth the trouble. Perhaps she knows it's no use.
"This is not a proper way to ask a lady for a dance, Moon", she further informs him and, apparently, she hasn't forgotten the promise she had given him many weeks ago, about calling him by his given name. "Offer me your hand if you want the honor."
Her words and manners betray no fear, of course - her tone is not insulting, but she makes a point of not showing Moon that she acknowledges the lust-mixed threat in his voice.
After Alexander and the Dark Angel, Seventh Moon is on a fairly manageable level.
Seventh Moon: A low chuckle echoed behind the mask. Without letting go or moving back, Moon began to guide Vorpal into a sway, rocking in time to the music. "I ain't one for bein' proper hun. Sides, Prince probably spoils ya enough with that shit anyway."
The hands came off her hips, one falling away as the other stretched across to grab her limp arm. Hey, if she wasnt going to do anything with them
Holding tight, he rolled under her arm, body never loosing contact as he spun himself up in front of her. Both arms engulfed her waist again and he used the position to draw her arm across her back. His eyes glowed fiercely through his mask, taunting and challenging. "Sides, what makes ya think its such an honor? Hell, could just go and grab another you tonight. Ya heard the man, right? Can't even know if I'm me 'n shit. Least wise if ya don't test..."
Vorpal: Only one pair does not acknowledge the presence of the indescribable magnificence that is the Dark Angel. Only one pair - perhaps the one she wishes to notice her the most - keeps on swaying to the rhythm of the music without a pause, without missing a beat, oblivious to her approach.
"But that would be too easy, wouldn't it?" Vorpal responds to Moon, arching one eyebrow and raising one side of her lips at his bold moves. She follows his steps with idle air, flowing along, allowing him to decide where they go. "The fake me wouldn't even put up a fight. How did it go with you Lunars again? There is Face to be gained only from worthy prey?"
And abruptly she moves, grabbing one of his hands and thrusting it along her skin, towards her back, to its proper place. At the same time, her other hand entwines its fingers around his larger palm and extends it triumphantly up into the air.
"I, on the other hand..."
A moment ago, it was Moon who had been leading Vorpal in their dance. Now, after a nimble switch of steps from her part, it is the Pale Angel who is leading him, pulling him along into the swaying and spinning stream of their dance, around and around across the dance floor, black velvet skirt rustling and whipping at their legs.
"I am not the one to give up without a little struggle."
Selina de Windia: She walks over to them, not too far away. And observes them.
My beautiful, desirable dancers.
Yes.
She giggles, that odd tone affected by her transformation -- both of them. Modulated deeper undertone rumbling beneath the higher, more sultry sound.
Mine.
Mine.
Mine.
Mine.
Mine.
Mine.
Mine.
Mine.
MINE.
By the end she's struggling not to burst into full-force laughter.
Seventh Moon: The Lunar stumbled with the sudden change in the flow, his eyes wide for a moment as he nearly lost his footing. It was sheer luck that saw his booted foot on coming down on top of Vorpals. He was floundering already, clearly struggling to keep in step. When would he have ever learned to dance like this?
But behind his mask, he was grinning and his eyes were alight, raging cheerful and intense.
Yes challenge!
"Glad ta hear that darlin." He told her and meant it, laughter behind his words as she made him embarrass himself trying to keep pace with her. "Hate if this went too easy"
Now it was his turn, a twist of wrist springing his upraised hand free of hers and spiraling it down her arm. He took a sudden step back and clamped his arm down upon her hand until he could hook it as he had the first. Moon thrust his hands upwards bellow her elbows, he locked her arms straight and spun. Fast. Fast enough to make that daring skirt spiral up around her hips. Spun laughing while the crowd around them blurred away
Until one figure imposed itself upon him. Moon slowed nearly to a stop, head twisting with each revelation they made to keep the figure in green within sight. Only the black winged woman. And he expressed the thoughts pouring through his mind in one sighed word.
" fuck."
Selina de Windia: The chuckling subsides into giggling once more, and then nearly into silence. "You called?" She asks, then steps forward. Watching is nice, but she wants the Pale Angel in her grasp, now. "Naughty boy. Stealing my dance." Her throaty tone sounds older, like a proper matron. One to die for...and from. Those eyes narrow in amusement, and dirty thoughts. "What do you have to say for yourself?"
Vorpal: Vorpal bites back a snarl as she feels her feet leaving ground. He's turning her, spinning her around... A sudden cold draft against her legs makes her realize his intention. He is going for the skirt! He is making it flutter, making her flash her assets like a lowly bar whore!
She is considering her strategic next move in this battle of theirs - kicking him tactically between the legs, perhaps - when Moon suddenly halts and stares past her, holding her aloft in his arms, forgotten.
Vorpal needs a moment to recover from the sudden lull, but then she cranes her neck to see what has captured the Lunar's attention so.
She sees her.
She senses her.
She lusts for her.
"Ah", Vorpal says, calmly, her face a mask of cold white ice. "Set me down, will you?" she continues to Seventh Moon, yet her eyes does not leave the apparition.
Seventh Moon: The Lunar does as Vorpal asks, though even placing her feet on the ground, he doesn't yet release her arms. The air around him simmered, whole body tensed beyond the point of shaking. He stepped closer to the Pale Angel, pressing against her deliberately, freeing one of her arms only to loop his own around her waist again.
"Last in line, last ta dine?" He answered the matron Selina had become, head cocked at a flippant angle. His voice was shit-eating, even if there was no face on his mask to make the grin. Beckoning Selina to come and try to take Vorpal. Or maybe just to join in.
Vorpal: The sensation of Moon squeezing her bust tightly against his chest brings Vorpal's head around, back to regard him with that cold gaze. She places her freed hand to her hip and takes a deep breath, making her chest expand and press with ever increasing force against Moon. "You need to catch me first, dear", she instructs him, evenly, with a low tone.
Selina de Windia: "First to reserve, first to be served. Do you not recall that conversation?" Selina counters with a low growling rumble, walking up to them. Her voice is low burning lust now...and something else. "Don't worry about fun, dear. But don't try to bait the beast either."
"My time for waiting and sharing is done." She says, and the predator in her grows to full flame, fire banked to roaring. A wave of possessiveness and desire washes off of her, almost physical in its intensity. She reaches out, pulls Vorpal away from Moon with a sure power which belies her frame, and then pulls her close, eye to eye. "Like this I may not have the princess in you, Pale Angel. But I shall have the rest. As no one else can."
Vorpal: Vorpal's eyes widen slightly at Selina's sudden yank. The abrupt proximity of the Dark Angel sends a shiver deep down along her spine. Her body reacts instantly to the heat exuding from the other, her lips parting, her chest rising, almost touching --
Seventh Moon: Moons eyes narrowed sharply through the mask as Selina yanked Vorpal away from him. His lips curled upwards in sneer, a soft growl rumbling in his throat. For a moment, it didnt really matter that hed never been planning on doing more than teasing the Pale Angel or try to make her take a swing at him. For a moment, it didnt even matter than Selina herself was the focus of his desire, not Vorpal. You just dont get between a dog and its bone.
but he did remember that conversation.
Slowly, Seventh Moons features smoothed into a slanted grin as he watched the two women and listened to Selinas less than modest declaration. Course, from what hed experienced with her, it just might be true.
"If ya aint supposed ta bait a beast darlin, then dont start rubbin her up in fronta me. They got rooms n shit ya know?" Moon answered amicably, but a tremor ran through his voice the belayed the pleasant tone. A gnawing hunger he had to bury and rebury every second he watched Selina.
And his voice softened to match, a dangerous husky rasp that evoked the image of a hungry tongue being passed over a mouthful of fangs. "Lady said I had ta catch her first. Dont start makin that chase look like the only thing worth botherin with round here."
Selina de Windia: "You danced. So must I, not go into the room immediately." For a moment she fights down the urge to respond to Vorpal in kind, and it is a savage fight indeed, especially with her having called Hyrokkin and shaped it further with her other power. She fights it back -- barely. "Can't do that if you have her." Selina's voice purrs, then considers. "What do you wish, anyway?"
Selina's body vibrates with suppressed...excitement, as she considers Moon being in on that anyway. But the overriding purpose remains, and the considerations for that purpose.
Seventh Moon: "Tch," he snicked in derisive amusement, folding his arms across his chest. His eyes smoldered like silver ash. Watching her. Watching both of them. It made the answer to the question as obvious as it really should have been. "If ya really ask that, then you ain't tryin' near as hard as ya pretendin' to."
Vorpal: It was quite a blow, but she is recovering from it quickly - the stunned mien on her face melts from the way of the sharp, dangerous smile and a sparkle in her red eyes.
So you think you are a dangerous monster, eh?
She meets the Dark Angel's gaze evenly now, lowering her chin slightly, defiantly. The sensation in her bones is something similar to what she sometimes feels on battlefield, when threat to her life is imminent, when she is about to match her strength and prowess against someone she knows is almost her match. It is a giddy feeling, burning and chilling at the same time. Opposite to the debilitating fear, it strengthens her instead. It gives crystal clarity to her mind, tones her reflexes, makes her aware of even the tiniest signs of life and movement all around her.. and knowledge of how to end that life.
It's been a while since the last time. Was it during the battle with the Hierophant that she last enjoyed this sensation?
Vorpal forgets. Not that it matters on the moment.
"Tell me", she asks, the conversational tones of her voice at odd with the feverish gleam in her eyes, "Who exactly cares about what he wishes right now?"
As she speaks, she moves her hands - slowly, indulgently, as if wanting to savor every moment they spend in the close proximity of this other woman. One of her hands snake upwards onto the Dark Angel's shoulder, the other entwines its pale fingers with Selina's.
"Oi", she calls out languidly over her shoulder, in the general direction where the music comes from, "gives us something... fiery."
Selina de Windia: "You speak of pretense -- you who have seen me in this state before? There can be none." Selina's deadly seductive voice purrs, somewhat disbelievingly. "Do not confuse consideration with that, my partner in sin."
And then Vorpal catches her gaze once again. Rather admireably, even -- holding onto Selina's like a snakecharmer would enthrall a cobra. Or maybe another cobra. "Something suitable for charming dragons." Selina says after Vorpal asks for music.
And then she looks back down into those red eyes, drinking them in, wanting more. The Dragon coils back, rumbling inside her head in delight. Two of them. Near two of them.
She can feel the energy washing off both. But more the red-eyed one.
- The music from the band, till that moment trilling woodwinds and subtle strings suitable for the sort of formal dancers circles that had been formed upon the floor, faded away at the request of the Exalts. Other guests glanced at both Exalts and the band expectantly as the musicians huddled a moment to discus the change of arrangement.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" a voice called up over the dim, a lanky violists standing above the others in the band. "Upon request of the heroes of this fair city; Sati and the Ice Wyrm! "
Polite applause rose and fell quickly to the name of ancient composition, offering the musicians a hushed dim to enter their song. And they entered it with passion!
Opening in a glorious rise of strings that sang in unison, they cascaded downwards one by one into the frantic throws of a ten-fold harmony. Like the racing northern wind, the music ripped through the assemblage, telling tales of warrior-maidens and mad god-beasts without words. Only sound to make hearts race and skin flush.
And as the faint of heart cleared the dance floor, those who were left whooped as skirts were raises to free kicking legs and bodies spiraled around one another in a whirl of rhythmic chaos.
Chibi-Vorpy: Her eyes widen to the size of small saucers at the tune's title. "Shi --" she can manage, but then her foot stomps onto the hem of her swishing skirt, and -- *CRASH*
Seventh Moon: The Lunar only grunted softly in answer to Selina and took a broad, deliberate step back off the dance floor as the music began. It was almost his sort of music, but he didnt feel much like dancing at the moment. He'd only half-heard any of what Selina had said. Vorpal, who had been barely more than an accessory on Selina's dress for the past few moments, had pulled his attention back to her again.
Who cares what he thought, huh? So it was going to be like that then. Almost a shame. Things could have been a lot more amiable and a lot more interesting. It was all fucked to hell now though.
Hed make sure she knew that, in no uncertain terms.
The faceless iron mask peered out impassively from the edge of the dance floor, moving only to track the motions of two women. Then step by step, Moon melted back into the crowd.
Vorpal: Her heart - a moment ago so full of fire - freezes at the mention of the song's title. For a split-second, her smile cracks, her body stands still, her limbs paralyzed, her mind filled with --
...it rose from the endless ice white and azure and cold, a gargantuan beast that filled the skies from one horizon to another...
...fangs the size of icebergs, claws great enough to tear raging storms apart...
She misses the first few beats of the song, the terror -- no, the anger, the sheer, bottomless anger at the unfairness of the world keeping her frozen in place, trembling with barely-held tears.
...it was then that she raised her voice, screaming out her fury, giving the Dragon of North an outrageous demand...
...to make the cold stop.
And suddenly, her smile returns, twice as terrifying, twice as hot. She had fought this dragon to a standstill once, she would do so again - bah, this time, she would triumph! Her fingers close around the Dark Angel's skin firmly, the full length of her body tensing, trembling... "I will tame you", she snarls, eager, delighted, ecstatic.
And abruptly, the Pale Angel explodes in motion, bursting forward along the currents of music, bending the Dark Angel in a sweeping spin, driving the dragon ahead of her in an epic dance of life and death, of victory and defeat, of fury and sheer, excruciatingjoy!
The dragon responds, of course - it is a wild elemental storm of snow and ice and wind, an unstoppable force that wipes everything from its path. It roars and claws and bites at her, a sweep of its tail cuts the snowy caps from the mountains, a buffet from its wings drives the clouds spiralling down from the heavens.
They tear up the sky, they cry their throats raw in defiance. Eternal ice shatters under them into a million riven shards, a blizzard more cutting than a torrent of razor-sharp steel. It tinkles around them in a perfect cacophony, a horrible chaos, a terrifying typhoon of might and magic and sheer, primal need to let the fury out before it burns the insides apart!
Their skirts roil and churn around their feet, battered helplessly around in the storm of their dance. They sway and leap and skitter, first in one direction, then in the other, all across the battlefield. Their hands are entwined, their bodies brushing and undulating, locked in an ever-shifting embrace, simultaneously fighting and supporting each other, even the slightest twist of a wrist or an ankle in a perfect harmony of the whole. Theirs is a battle where one knows every detail of her enemy and knows a way to counter every attack, every riposte, every feint and trick.
It is an endless battle, one that might last for the rest of an eternity, for the fighters are evenly matched. Neither of them gives in an inch, neither of them have the strength to push the other any further back
The battle might last for an eternity --
but even the music has to end, eventually.
Selina de Windia: Tame her? As the music washes over her body and the lead of the other woman dominates her actions regardless of how much she strives to gain it, the Dragon coils deep within, in readiness. Not like the Dragon of Ice so long ago -- this one has been in the shard too long, and already tamed. It is a crafty beast, by dint of its mistress.
But she -- and it -- fight regardless. Quieter than the ancient wyrm, but they contest the red-eyed war demon's will nonetheless. There is fury, yes, and it is savage, but also calculated design borne from a mind used to quick decisions and shifts of tactic made on the moment. Every step flows into place in an effort to advance the Dark Queen into her preeminent position, and every step is met and checked, the most she gains is a draw.
It infuriates them. Dragon and Angel both. Those red eyes scream defiance to her implacable will in a way few others do -- like the silver eyes she had just seen before this blur of motion began.
And then the music ends and they stand on the dance floor, eyes locked. Suddenly cold without the motion, as if the wind had blown their comforting animas away for the moment and left them bare to the elements.
Selina growls, throaty and hungrily, waves of emotions running off of her like a waterfall. "My opponent is worthy of my attention, Pale Angel."
Vorpal: After dancing so furiously for so long, standing still feels somehow an unnatural thing to do. Evening air is very cold on her heated skin, but she refuses to shiver - not in the presence of this woman, this -- dragon, this Dark Angel.
Her chest is heaving from the exertion, velvet straining with each powerful breath. Her gaze is still locked with that of the other woman, refusing to sway away, refusing to admit defeat. Their fingers are still clenched together, their limbs still tense as if prepared to set off for another round any moment now. "I, of all people, should know that, Dark Angel."
Selina de Windia: "Mmmm." The Dark Angel rumbles passionately, drawing a bit closer with something of a mania showing in those slit-pupil eyes... Her voice is terribly hungry now, killingly sultry even though it is so soft the reverberations from it muffle the words to any farther away from her than her dance partner. "All the more riveting to seduce such an opponent."
As she says that, her turquoise eyes close a bit, not quite half-closed though, and their gaze becomes desire. Cultured, promising ecstasy in a such a controlledly savage fashion that it has entranced even other Chosen in the past. The gaze she gave Moon nights ago.
Touch
Shiver
Passion
Let me
Let me
Let me
Angel of war
Let me
Let me
Let me
MINE
Vorpal: It is a single thread of spider silk that holds her self-control together now, glimmering in the dark as it strains against a nigh-irresistible force. That force pushes against Vorpal like a living thing, wrapping itself around her like the velvet gown she wears, penetrating her every pore, sending a heat-edged chill running under her skin. She almost gives in without reserve then, fully prepared to offer herself unconditionally to this woman, to allow herself be swept into the endless green depths of those reptilian eyes.
"Perhaps perhaps", she murmurs in return, inching closer as well, ignoring utterly whatever eyes must be regarding them from all over the clearing by now. "But what if she refuses to be seduced?"
Almost, that is.
"What if " She pauses, smiles again... That very same hungry, fearless and terrifying mien that had driven countless of foes in full flight on battlefield, "What if your opponent seduces you instead?"
Selina de Windia: "Then I will be seduced, and that is a terrible thing to bear." Selina says in a rippling purr, fascinated by that defiance. That challenge. The Dragon wants this. "Stoke my flames higher, and they burn all the hotter."
"But not around everyone else." She growls, casting her gaze about. "Moon said there are rooms for that. He is correct."
Vorpal: "You reflect my thoughts", the Pale Angel responds formally, and although it rakes her spirit to do so, she steps back far enough to offer her arm to the Dark Angel, elegantly, the way it is done among the nobility.
Selina de Windia: Selina takes the arm, and forces the desire down...for the moment. Let them stare! They know what will be happening now -- and she does not care a whit. They just wish they were in on it.
As are all of my seductions.
But this one especially. It makes her feel almost drunk with anticipation, but she steadies herself well.
"That one, will do." Selina says, and they move up to it, open the door, and are inside. Once the portal is closed... "If someone interrupts, perhaps I shall eat them."
????: "Says the person interruping someone!" The voice comes from the bed, hoarse, breathy, and guided by it, Selina can now see the figures on the dark corner of the room. The figure lights a candle with a snap of his fingers, and the scene becomes clear.
Laid back on the bed, the noble from before, the son of Whiteshieldian Godlings, resplendent as before, the chirpy lady with her face buried between his legs, his seed here and there on her. They had not just begun... he looks at the angels, however, and it is enough for him to yank the girl's head back roughly, pushing her aside, and slowly get up, covering himself with a sheet, and walking up to the angels..
Selina's allure drawing him, certainly. His gaze runs over her, and he was already getting ready for that... lusty, the sheets dirty as he admires her... "Shouldn't you look first, dear angel? This is most... impolite!"
???: The girl twists amongst the bed sheets, small and lithe and utterly clothless, imperial scarlet discarded to reveal the budding beauty within. A little red tongue runs over her white-stained lips as she looks up at their intruders. She smiles, showing no shame or surprise at this sudden turn of events, but rather sweet, serene delight. Her eyes sparkle through the short, oily locks of raven-black hair she has revealed from underneath the red wig.
Selina de Windia: "Another room. Bye!" Selina says hurriedly, opening the door so quickly a displaced bit of cold air rushes into the room and then marching out, pulling the Pale Angel with her if the other woman doesn't want to move quickly enough. She shuts the door behind her about as fast.
"What rotten luck." She growls under her breath, the sultry passion still there. "They had better not all be occupied."
Vorpal: Vorpal stands there, staring at the closed door for a second. Her mien is dark - it is difficult to say what is moving in her mind then. Perhaps a shock at barging into such a scene, perhaps disappointment, perhaps utter, wordless rage at infidels who dared to stain an otherwise smooth evening so. "With our luck, they will --"
Her words are cut off at a sound erupting from the room they had just left. A deep, resonating whump instantly followed by a great splosh, as if great quanities of something wet had just been hurled against the closed door, droplets of it drumming against polished wood...
Selina de Windia: "Have their night ruined, yes. I don't particularly wish that on the girl." Selina replies dryly, then looks about. "They should really lock the doors if they're busy."
She looks about for another one, and moves up to one further away from the party, testing the door. Unlocked. And opens it and peers in. No one inside. "Finally..."
Vorpal: Vorpal - so high at her passion mere moments ago - does not follow the Dark Angel. She stares at the door, her mien now grim, her body tensed as if to respond to an attack that could come any moment. Slowly, she moves. A single step to the side, her skirts swishing, out from the direct line with the door.
"Aine", she says quietly, her voice cold, "I believe he was just killed."
Selina de Windia: Selina looks back, glaring.
"Killed by what? That little girl? Fine, you want us to look back in there?"
Vorpal: The Pale Angel gives an exasperated sigh. She does not bother to answer. A little girl who - somehow - had apparenly blown a great deal off that man's body? Vorpal had witnessed mutilations often enough - hell, her own great sword had done it to more men that she cared to count. Nothing else quite matches the splashing sound blood and entrails do as they fly away from a dying corpse.
Instead, she just steps forward without another word and heaves the door open again, with enough force to make it bang against the wall.
????: As soon as Vorpal steps into the room, she steps on blood. The blood of a man who lacks a head. Blown apart, as if by a mighty blow, irrecognizable... pieces of his skull and the organs of his head spread on the ground before the angels, his body pathetically limp on the floor.... dead before he even understood what happened to him.
Vorpal: "Tch..." She halts, narrows her eyes, throws a quick glance out of the door and at the sound of celebration. Then she turns back towards the room, straightens her back and sets her hands to her hips.
"I am going to hear a very good explanation", she announces, "And I am going to hear it now."
Selina de Windia: The angel's righteous fury rises within her, as does the dragon's elemental rage. Selina stalks toward the former room, the beast within her already quickening with her temper. "Slay and rend." She growls under her breath.
SLAY. AND. REND.
???: The girl smiles, just as serenely as before, as she sits on the bed, still clothless, still stained by the man' seed. Cradled in her lap is a wicked bow of black soulsteel, its surface so uneven and organic that it almost seems like a bent branch of ebon wood than an artifact made of magical materials.
No fear registers on her face as she watches the terrible monster approach. "Hello, Pale Angel, Dark Angel", she says, sweetly. "You have very beautiful body, Selina. Lots of people must like you."
Selina de Windia: "Little deathknight, tell me why you ruin my evening." The Windian growls, low and menacing. "And this will ruin my evening, no doubt!"
???: "Nope", she replies, gently. "I saved it. This was a nasty man. He worked for the Bishop, see?"
Vorpal: "Sweet Raiton", Vorpal says, quietly, her eyes never leaving the serene little shape sitting atop the bed. "The Prince of Darkness' pet killer."
The girl nods, the smile on her face exploding to previously unseen radiance.
Selina de Windia: Selina looks down at the shattered remnents of the man, looking for signs that he worked for the Bishop. As if people carry secret cultist icons on their persons everywhere!
Then she looks back to the girl. "He would have slept with me, perhaps. And then I would have ended him like our mistress does to her's."
Sweet Raiton: "Maybe", Sweet Raiton responds. "But at least I made him happy before he died. It's good to be happy. It's not good to die when you are not happy."
She lets out a little giggle at her own reasoning, then opens her kind eyes again. "The Prince sent a message for you, Dark Angel. He says he is looking eagerly forward to seeing you again. Very eagerly. He told me to emp... emphat... give weight to that."
Selina de Windia: "How delightful." Selina demures, frowning and casting a glance at Vorpal. "The Prince can keep on looking forward. Especially since I don't recall him apologizing for some of his conduct last time."
Sweet Raiton: "Oh? Do you want me to tell him that?" The girl's mien is apparently unshakable - she receives the Dark Angel's brooding words with the same, sunny disposition as before. "He can be very gentle, too, when he feels like it."
All of a sudden, the girl turns her head so that her black hair sways about her face. She stays frozen still for a split-second, her chin lifted like that of a young doe sensing something just beyond the horizon. Then she raises a little blue hand and wiggles her fingers at the two elder Abyssals. "You should go now! Go, kiss and touch the tender places! Be happy!" She turns her gaze back at them, her face as pretty and calm and happy as if she'd be talking about baking warm bread for her beloved sisters. "I'll clean up the rest here."
Selina de Windia: Selina sighs and half-lids her eyes in faux irritation. Everyone is going to know about this all too easily. And watch.
I'll really get angry if they do.
"You do that." She replies with some irony and then pokes Vorpal in the side. "Now, we should *ahem* go to that other room now. "
Sweet Raiton: "Bai bai!" she waves merrily as they close the door, the great puddle of blood, scattered bits of brain and the lifeless corpse of a headless man between them...
Selina de Windia: They found a room with no one in it. No other Deathknights, no party-goers, no agents of the Bishop. And no windows.
Selina locks the door behind her, feeling somewhat as if the mood has been dampened, then looks back to Vorpal. "So...finally." The beautiful monster says hesitantly. "I guess the I...am, had better be dropped. For now."
Masks have no place here, I think.
"It doesn't seem appropriate for this moment."
Vorpal: "Yes", Vorpal agrees with surprising seriousness. "Let there be no lies tonight."
She crosses over to where the Dark Angel stands and - with little ceremony and absolutely no hesitation - proceeds to slide the dress down from the other Abyssal's shoulders.
Selina de Windia: Good.
Somewhat surprised that the other Abyssal is taking the initiative on her like that -- I was going to do that! -- Selina nonetheless slips out of her monstrous form, and a moment later the dark beauty fades as well...at least what extra bit is imparted from her simple magic. Selina stands, with no magic save that of her hearthstone in its amulet enhancing her appearance. A moment later, that winks out.
"You are...forward tonight." She says with a bit of surprised teasing in her tone, thinking of when she will get to do that. "I had not expected you to do that first."
Vorpal: The Pale Angel smiles a little at that, not even looking up as she crouches slightly to undo buttons and open knots, to help the dress slide further down along the Dark Angel's sweeping shapes. "First strike is important in any battle."
Her breath is warm against the bared skin of Selina's upper body.
Selina de Windia: Selina's breath catches as Vorpal's goes against her skin. It makes her shiver, just a bit. And somewhere inside her, the predator is protesting that it did not get first strike. Even the Vestal had not initiated it -- it was her! Always her...almost always.
I underestimated her, didn't I?
We will see if she underestimated me or not.
"Ah, and I am not dodging." She whispers hotly, standing still as Vorpal undoes her dress. "Usually I do."
Vorpal: Vorpal chuckles - a low, throaty sound, amusement mixed with the heady tang of her own rising arousal. It was good that the Dark Angel had already understood the rules of this game. Earlier that night, before they had tested their mettle on the dance floor, the Pale Angel had made a decision of staying on the defensive no longer. She would not dodge nor retreat, but charge right ahead instead, to attack the very heart of the challenge proposed by her darker counterpart.
Once the decision had been made, she no longer felt fear nor uncertainty about this matter. Tonight - tonight - she would resolve this for once and for all.
Vorpal finishes with the gown, allowing the whole of it to fall into a green heap on the floor - unnecessary, unimportant. She takes her time as she straightens herself up again. Arching her back, she rises in a sweeping motion, her forehead, her face, her lips, her chin and her chest all brushing up along the Dark Angel's length, up and down along the rising and falling curves, all the way to the other woman's neck.
Selina de Windia: She's serious. That moves into Selina's head without even being worded by her mind. She knows it. And she shivers again as Vorpal moves back up her body, clad now in nothing more than a panty the color of her dress. Iria is nothing if not comprehensive with her wardrobe.
But the predator stirs within her as well. "Oh, I see." She purrs, waiting for her own opening. But tensing in anticipation of what the Pale Angel has in store for her as well, the excitement almost making her tremble. Almost making her dizzy.
Almost.
Vorpal: As soon as she reaches Selina's neck, however, the Pale Angel... stops. She stands there, her palms resting against the other woman's skin just above her breasts, the irregularity of the hot waves of the Ghost-Blooded's breath betraying how much she is trembling with longing inside.
"Well?" Vorpal whispers after a moment, her eyes half-closed, her lips slightly parted, a red tongue just visible behind her white teeth.
Selina de Windia: Selina chuckles, the sound a bit deeper than it should be with her voice -- she cannot prevent the Dragon from showing that much, though she banished it from her features -- and slips off her green opera gloves as well, tossing them lightly to the floor. "You have given me an opening." She purrs sultrily.
Bare hands reach out, gently moving one of Vorpal's arms and hand out of the sleeves, then another, as the turquoise eyes seem to shine with...something. She exerts an iron self-control, not ripping off the gown as quickly as she'd want to. It deserves better than that, and so does this moment. This moment, long awaited.
Her eyes take on an almost terrible singularity for her movements, savoring the sight and action of peeling the gown down to Vorpal's waist. And then she giggles, wickedly, voice a low throaty, almost killing murmur. "And I took it."
Vorpal: Vorpal lifts her chin and bends her head backwards, her hair falling in a snowy cascade from her shoulders and down her back. A shuddering sigh escapes her lips as Selina's skilled fingers work along her skin, further and further down her torso, towards her hips. She tenses instinctively, the steely strength of her every muscle obvious to the probing hands.
"Took it..." she purrs and slowly extends her own hands, her palms closing around each side of the Dark Angel's waist. She opens her eyes, narrow, dangerous slits of red against the whiteness of her face. "And fell for it."
It is then that the Dark Angel feels her feet rising up from the floor. The Pale Angel lifts Selina gently, like a precious porcelain statue of a goddess, and presses her against the Ghost-Blooded's own albino skin. Their lips touch –
Selina de Windia: "With full knowledge." Selina adds wickedly, right as she's lifted off of the floor, eyes burning now, blazing now. Not quite casting light yet, but close to it. The black spots from He Who Holds In Thrall are nowhere to be seen -- Selina has banished them from her eyes for this moment. This is their moment, and none may take it away!
She lets her lips brush against the other womans'...and then kisses her, unable to change her distance, move closer or away. It is the only control she has over the situation at the moment.
Which doesn't mean she is terribly disappointed.
Vorpal: The Pale Angel does not hesitate. Although it is light and teasing at first, she probes deeper and deeper with every passing second, her tongue pushing its way gently yet firmly past Selina's lips. She inhales air from the other woman's lungs, tastes it and savors it with blazing passion. Her hands are more than up to the task of holding the Dark Angel aloft during their entire exchange - her arms do not even strain at the effort.
Finally, she decides to break their kiss. A single thread of their mixed saliva glimmers in the air as their lips part. It stretches between them, bends, succumbs to the pull of the gravity... And falls unnoticed against Vorpal's chin as the Ghost-Blooded lifts the Dark Angel slightly higher, so that her mouth can have free access to Selina's throat and shoulders.
Selina de Windia: Selina matches her in intensity, her own return in the kiss as vampiric as Vorpal's, eyes half-closed dangerously. And then the kiss ends.
She doesn't want to lay me down?
Selina does not mind this, though. She spreads her wings, their vast black-feathered spans fully extended. A bit of light seems to flicker out of her eyes now, turquoise shaft of radiance quickly diffusing into the room.
Vorpal: Just getting to that part, dear...
It is as if the Ghost-Blooded had been reading the Dark Angel's thoughts. Her mouth never pausing in its work, she takes a few steps forward. Velvet skirts still rustle around her legs, but she does not seem to care. Depositing Selina on her back onto the soft satin sheets of the bed, Vorpal bends over the other Abyssal, lithe, strong and lethal, like a great, famished cat.
Selina de Windia: Selina giggles, the sound almost seeming to echo as she does so. Her wings fold a bit, though still they remain spread when she's laid down on the bed. "Hmmm." She hums, eyes on the other Abyssal admiringly. And waiting to stroke that sleek white hair. "Dinner, or dessert, I wonder?" She murmurs, almost to herself.
Vorpal: "The last supper", Vorpal snarls in return, twisting her hips, wriggling her legs free from the confines of the expensive skirt. She climbs atop Selina, white and agile and unstoppable, the icy she-devil, the snow-hued succubus. "For I condemn you to hell, to writhe for an eternity in the tower of the Neomah, except that -" She pauses, just long enough to plant a kiss onto the top of Selina's right breast, "- Neomah are for the sissies."
Her hands possess a stunning skill as they slide up and down Selina's form, caressing, exploring, discovering the correct places with terrifying precision, always knowing the exact amount of pressure to apply to each to create the best tides of pleasure. Mere weeks ago she had been a virgin, a stranger to the pleasures of flesh, never lying with a man or a woman other than the one she had conjured up from her own dreams. Now, however...
It is the memories of the Daughter of Destruction that guide her now, the instictive knowledge gathered from a millennium of love-making. Sati might have been a terror of the known world, but there were skills she had mastered almost as thoroughly as the arts of battle...
"Now, fight back, will you? This is beginning to get boring."
Selina de Windia: "Yes," Selina agrees, voice faint and breathy as she moistens her mouth. "And for the easily diverted."
She closes her eyes as the Pale Angel asks her to fight back, and when they open again, they radiate wickedness.
Selina chuckles throatily, humming as she presses her lips to Vorpal's neck, one arm wrapping around the pale form over her, crushing it to her, while the other moves down her body along the back, and then the front, squeezing between them. Pulling the last garment Vorpal has on out of place, pulling it down around her thighs, then moving in to where it was. "You cannot stop me"
And she is just beginning. Beginning! Moranine's memories whisper inside her head, but Selina herself has become as sinful as the woman ever was in the First Age -- more so. Moranine was not a temptress, or even a tease. She was solemn and lovely, but less intense. She was Sorceress.
Selina Miriana de Windia, the Dark Angel, the Grave Dragoness, the First Facet of Damnation, is Sin.
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