GoldenCat/AngelsMorningFistfight
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Angelic Awakening
The beautiful, golden morning sunlight pours into the window... or would if it was a better time, in a better place. The light is diffuse, the clouds are tall and gray, and something seems *dirty* in the light, even. At least the room was nice enough. Bland, like that of a luxurious inn, but still an inn, but nice enough. If only it was still orderly... but of course, last night did not allow for it... not the way they were, not the way the Dark Angel had left them.
The frame so much smaller than her own holds to her, feathers all around the bed, his white wings outside of the sheets... he did not wish to retract the wings last night. Even with his artifact, it just seemed unnatural, yet.
To a bland light, to a light snowing, the Pale Angel opens her eyes...
Vorpal: As she slowly drifts into wakefulness, the first thing she realizes is the warmth of the slim, strong body against hers. His light breath against her skin. His arms wrapped around her torso, holding her close.
He is so beautiful as he sleeps there, so calm and still and peaceful. It is quite a contrast to their last night's tussle, actually. Vorpal had known the prince could be strong and hard when it was necessary, but the true extent of his strength had surprised even her... let alone his hardness. With a grimace, she discovers that she's still aching between her legs.
She disentangles one of her arms, careful in her moves so as not to wake Alex. After that is done, she pauses, fully intending to free her other arm next. Instead, however, she extends her hand to brush at the sleeping prince's hair, running her fingers lightly through his soft white locks. Beautiful, beautiful, finer than any silk in the land...
I should be happy now, she realizes with a strange, hollow feeling. But I'm not.
Alexander: He wakes up with her touch... and his first sound may as well be a mewling, soft as it sounds, amethyst eyes opening up to regard Vorpal... with admiration, with the sort of happyness that can only come after a delightful night's sleep and the knowledge you are in a loved one's arms.
He felt aches of his own, his wings flickering a bit, the marks of nails close to their roots. For a moment he wonders if there should not be more wings in the bed, and is glad when he realises there are not. The sordid part of his dreams was not true, only the sweet part... He holds her closer to himself, speaking his first words before his vision clears...
"Hmmm... good morning, milady!" He says as he stretches his body, all but the arms encircling her... the wings rising from the sheets and fluttering.
Vorpal: "Good morning, Alex", she responds and disengages herself from the prince... perhaps with some reluctance. She is, however, prone to lounging in bed only on very bright mornings, and looking out of the window, today does not seem to be one of those days. It takes some additional effort to free herself from their tangled bed sheets, but soon she is able to first sit up and then, finally, to stand.
Aware, although not caring, of the fact that the last night has left her in a completely clothless state, she walks further into the room and begins the series of stretches that are a part of her morning ritual.
Alexander: He does not make any motion to stop her, seeming slightly disappointed, however.
As she leaves, he feels the air in the room. The day is cold... so cold.
His body snaps softly as he kneels in the bed to get up, yawning and making everything a little clearer, warmer, as the symbol of the sun appears in his forehead... a white light keeping the space between the walls a little more comfortable. "Hmmm, did you have any nice dr...." He begins to ask, then stops, staring at Vorpal's body... "... milady...?"
Vorpal: "Mmmm?" comes the absent reply. Currently tilting her head towards her right shoulder, her right hand bent behind her back to hold her left arm and pull it downwards in order to stretch the left-side muscles of her neck, Vorpal does not appear to be overly concerned with the sudden change in Alex's tone of voice.
Alexander: "Y... your skin! There is something... there is something written..." He watches her, the writs almost black against the light... watching her, trying to make sense out of the patterns on her skin.... "All over you..."
- And there it is, in the same patterns as the Lover had writ in her skin.... with the Deathlord's own blood, inscribed her with the blood that dripped from her right chest... even where her hands had no way to reach....
Vorpal: Vorpal's eyes snap open.
She didn't. She wouldn't.
Spreading her hands, she looks down at her body, her eyes tracing the markings on her skin, red lines hot and angry against the cold white.
...that little bitch.
Red and white. Colors of the Pale Angel. The only colors fitting to tell the tale of Sati, the Daughter of Destruction, Crimson Blood of Virgin Snow. The loneliness of her soul, the weakness of her heart, the four great loves of her life - one for duty, one for loyalty, one for mutual respect and one for forbidden lust. The height of her passions, the depths of her grief at all those who had betrayed her, the Pale Angel relives it all in that single instant it takes for her to clench one hand into a fist.
That filthy little pussylicking bitch.
She had been chained in that dream. She had been rendered unable to move, unable to find a way to let out the boiling fire of her anger. In the end, it had burnt her through, turned her insides to ashes and snuffed out her life. But here... Here, in reality, in the waking world, she is free and walking and breathing Air, an element that she once almost conquered all those ages ago.
That filthy little whoring --
She does not even have the time to finish the thought when her body is already moving on its own accord. Her arm turns into a blur, her fist a white streak as it flies against the wall behind her --
Alexander: Her hand goes through the top of a dresser, breaking two vases, a small sculpture, sending pieces flying through the room... the fist strikes the wall, and the Manse shakes. Pehaps only because it is a Manse, that the wall does not break open. Pieces of it fly away however, a large crack appearing on it, the mark of her fist in a small crater on the wall... and on the scratches on Vorpal's hand.
"Milady! " The boy cries, rising out of the bed, startled, looking at her... "What is going on?"
Vorpal: At first, his question is answered only by silence and the clatter of debris as it rains to the floor.
Vorpal is panting heavily, deliberately, her chest rising and falling in a slow, even rhythm. She leans against the mangled wall, her eyes wide, her gaze downcast, her teeth bared in a terrible grimace.
After a moment, she finally speaks, softly: "...I was just insulted."
Then she is moving again, striding across the room, bending to scoop up handfuls of their discarded clothes, only to hurl them away again. "Where is my cloak?"
Alexander: The prince looks around the room for a moment... trying to remember where he had thrown it away. He remembers ripping it off, before pressing her... against the wall... throwing it back, from the wall.... there! He sees it, hurrying, getting her Cloak... then rushing to handle it to her. "H... he... here! Here it is!"
He looks down her body, trying to make sense of the painting on her milky pale skin... "This is red... is it blood?" He says, his hand stopping a his hand before touching her... "How did this even happen? Tell me!"
Vorpal: She snatches it from his hands none too gently and wraps the black velvet about her skin... in the exact same manner a pale woman in a screaming blizzard once wrapped about herself a mantle of the softest white fur.
The realization makes her a pause, but does not abate the anger boiling in the pit of her stomach. After tossing her cloak's last hem over her shoulder and making sure none of the markings remain visible, she strides towards the door and does not wait to see if the prince is following. "I was contacted by the leaf-brained, skunk-hearted, sawtooth-whoring..."
At this point, it is prudent to point out that one of the abilities that Iranorians are famous for is their uncanny knack for abusing either of their two languages. Iranorian swearing is loud and colorful, combining verbs and nouns in a very imaginative - and sometimes gruesome - fashion. Particularly impressive is their technique of combining base Skytongue insults with complicated Old Realm contexts, for it results in bilingual oaths that have been said to make even Second-Circle Demons cringe.
The Pale Angel scorches the air for full fifteen minutes.
Alexander: The prince stands there, looking at her curse.
It was... certainly... an interesting experience.
He was curious about what a good few of those names meant... and half of those imageries were... unpleasant. A few of them, which he understood, were... well, interesting in a dirty way. As she finishes, the prince is still there, looking at her with wide eyes...
"She is certainly... colorful."
Vorpal: "....little wench", she finishes, and amazingly enough, she doesn't even seem to be out of breath after this profanity-slinging feat. In fact, she seems to be fully intent of picking up the best parts of her foul litany and recite them anew, but decides to have some small mercy on the fabric of Creation after all. "I may explain to you later", she announces and thrusts the door open. "Right now, I will go wash this off. And I do not care if it will poison all the wells of Boil, I will have it off now!"
Alexander: The image of Vorpal with iron sponges, scrubbing her own skin off, comes to mind.
It gives the prince shivers
"I can help, I can help! Just... don't hurt yourself, right? Please?"
Vorpal: "Hurt myself?" That makes her linger a few moments longer. She turns around, slowly, to aim at Alex a glance that falls on his shoulders like leaden weights. "I am not planning to hurt myself. I will definitely hurt someone for this, but it will certainly not be me."
"Come, then", she snaps and marches down the corridor. "I will explain what they mean while we wash them off."
Are you planning to insult me further like this, eh? she thinks as she goes. Do you think my heart is as weak as Sati's was? Do you think my soul is as lonely as hers? Do you think I will be betrayed as many times as she was?
You do know what this means, don't you?
This means war.
Alexander: "H-hey.... wait a moment!" Quick as he is able, the prince, bare, looks for his own pants... lost in the middle of the room somewhere. Only to see that it... did not withstand the night. With all that had happened... a little bit of her hands, a little bit of his own... enthusiasm...
Oh, damn...
So, he needed new pants. And a new shirt. And both needed new underwear....
... the military uniform!
Oh yes, the Pale Angel would kill him. Dead. So very dead. For a moment, the prince was so grateful she was angry with someone else... ... and that her armor could cover her well. Unlike himself...
Next time the Dark Angel does that, I am billing her...
And so, the Prince of Whiteshield did the only thing he could.
He ran away after the Pale Angel in the corridor, dressed only in the bedsheets.
Selina de Windia: The Dragon is snarling in fury, the Angel is hissing in rage. She had been woken up before it was time.
Someone was going to suffer for this! Someone was going to be gutted and hung with their own entrails! While she slurped their guts down like those noodles half of her partners kept trying to get her to eat in Nexus when she went out. Moving down the corridors toward the source of the noise, and presumeably the shaking as well, Selina growls all manner of profanity to herself, just under her breath.
And she sees the other deathknight in the Boil as she rounds a corner -- the only other one who she hasn't killed, and knows who woke her up. "You." Selina's eyes widen as she rears up like a cobra, looming over her.
"....you...WOKE ME UP!" She roars at the top of her lungs, wrapped only in her greatcoat, having slept in nothing that night. Moon had been gone when she woke up, that only made her mood fouler.
Alexander: There is only one thing to be said.
"Eep."
That was all for the moment - not admiration for the curves that drove him mad last night, not the lust for that behind that made him rip a military uniform off, not the burning desire for those lips that he felt in his dreams after she clad herself in something so dirty and desirable. No. Now there was only... eep.
Vorpal: At any other time, the sight might have frightened even Vorpal.
As it happens, however...
"THEN GO BACK TO BED! " she roars in return, and for the second time that morning, the very foundations of the Manse shake. "Go stick your blonde little head under the chest-hairs of your wolfy-boy and suffocate there! Go! Go! GO! "
Selina de Windia: She remembers, a flashback to a few moments ago. The manse shaking, waking her up with a gasp of surprise, her stomach clenched, and no Moon to be seen. And hitting her head on the headboard, rather hard. She'd tossed and turned in the covers, snarling obscenities to herself as the louder sort had come from somewhere else in the manse. Finally, she had gotten up and stormed off to beat some sense into the offender.
Selina remembers it all in that split second, and it only makes her angrier. And the offender is right there. "He's. Not. THERE!" Selina howls, balling her (non-gloved) right hand up and hurling herself at the other Abyssal, intending to slam her fist right into the other woman's gut.
Vorpal: "Then find him and --"
Her voice is cut off by the hollow thud coming up from somewhere around her abdomen. Selina's fist buries itself there quite neatly, sinking into the soft black velvet of Vorpal's cloak.
The Pale Angel grunts and huddles forward over the Dark Angel's strong arm. She coughs, then shudders... And then her entire frame begins to shake. She chuckles soundlessly at first, then it breaks through her lips aloud. "What?" she wheezes amidst gusts of her laughter. "A little high and mighty queen of the world is a bit miffed now, is she?"
"Here", she says, looking up at the other Abyssal almost amiably. "This is how it's done."
She has hardly finished that sentence when her left hand clenches like iron pliers around Selina's extended arm. Her right hand, balled into the fist that ruined a wall of this Manse not too long ago, hurtles up in a massive uppercut aimed at the Dark Angel's chin.
Selina de Windia: Selina, having been in quite a few dirty fights, realizes what she's left herself open for...a bit too late. Nor is there much she immediately do to stop the other woman's attack on her. Except take it. Her head snaps back, the shock of the impact reverberating throughout her body, jolting her in and out of clear vision.
The free left hand shoots out, grabbing the one entrapping her right, wrenching it off, as Selina backs away, vision returning to clarity, pupils slit to nearly invisible lines. She rumbles out a sharp hiss, like a great monitor, or perhaps a snake or dragon as she waits for Vorpal to do something again.
Child of Wyld Days: And this is how the dead-servants fight! How raw! How emotions!
Perfectly out of obvious sight, the raksha known as the Child of Wyld Days is watching the fight ensue from... above. Owl and Serpent has been extended, braced against both sides of the corridor wall well above the floor, and the Child hangs from that by her tail. In her hands are wrapped chunks of salted roast pork and fresh-baked bread; Snow Monkey really doesn't sleep much, so she made a point of going to visit this one quaint little bakery well before everyone else was up, in hopes that it hadn't been destroyed. It had not, and she has purchased breakfast... and flirted with the baker's son and daughter before returning. Just in time to hear the racket and home in on the first sounds of conflict. Not wanting to get in the way, she simply took her spot above, eating and watching in near-silence.
... hard to say who'll win...
Vorpal: First the insufferable insult from the Lover, then the uppity little ninny whining about her beauty sleep!
In a fist-fight, when one has the advantage, it should be pressed on. As angry as she is now, there is hardly room in Vorpal's mind for too many thoughts right now. The life-long training to become the invincible Pale Angel is set deep in her bones, however, and her body moves instinctively to make use of the opening her subconscious spots. As Selina backs away, Vorpal immediately follows, a terrible snarl rising up from the depths of her throat. Her bare foot snakes its way between the Dark Angel's legs, white palm rising up towards the other woman's face to push her off balance.
Selina de Windia: The Windian has no intention of letting Vorpal knock her to the ground...grappling will come when it is going to be in her favor. Even as the other woman lunges after her, Selina leaps back, quickly putting more distance in between them. Waiting for Vorpal to overextend herself so she can resume the fight more on her terms. She meets the Pale Angel's snarl with one of her own, a bit less venomous and more taunting. "You should stick with swords."
Alexander: Those punches hurt. They hurt only looking at. It took a moment for the prince to break out of his reverie. A moment swimming in Vorpal's majesty, in the lust for Selina, in the fear of both still biting on the corner of his mind.... knotting the white sheet around his waist as he could, the mostly-bare prince tried to get between the ladies just as Selina pulled away, holding both of their arms, strong hands holding both of the women, Alex turned at each in turn, face urgent, baffled... "Will you two stop this?!? What's got into you?"
Vorpal: The Pale and Dark Angels might harbor a deep love/hatred relationship with each other, they might be far too different - or perhaps far too similar - to ever truly agree about anything. There are some things, however, where they act in unison, and this is one of them.
The two Abyssals turn their gazes to Alex at the exact same time, two sets of blazing eyes pinning him down in a furious crossfire of malice and barely-held tempers.
"You stay out of this! " they bellow in a perfect synchrony, filling Alex's head with a beautiful stereo effect.
Alexander: There are things which one just cannot stop. Some things akin to the nature itself, able to go through anything, a hurricane, great tides... and the Lover's Angels. Their screams as the word of god itself to Alexander, he backs down immediatly, without thinking, his face in awkward sock... it takes a moment for his mind to even register what he did, to think... their authority is simply obeyed.
Selina de Windia: Having finished yelling at Alex, Selina backs away again, growling deep in her throat, more at the Prince now, though. If she wasn't fighting the Pale Angel already, she'd give him a good thrashing.
Child of Wyld Days: Above, out of sight, out of mind, the Monkey grins around a mouthful of breakfast. Not only are they angry, they're angry enough to shove aside the innocent little angel-boy himself! There's not telling what sort of havoc they'll unleash now!
I do so love Creation.
Notes
'Stay out of this' was originally said with a much bigger font than the rest, each word in one of the lady's colors. Was awesome.
The camera scrolls away now, into the awaking Boil... who won? Anybody's guess... ^^
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