GoldenCat/SecondQuotes
- - Back to A Dance of Angels
- - Back to Quoteness!
Meanwhile, on the Second Movement...
Vorpal: "Aye", the Ghost-Blooded puts in, resting her cheek against her palm as she regards Anne with a thin smile, her eyes narrowed and twinkling quietly. "There's no hobby for pretty young men like dressing pretty girls into pretty dresses."
- On Anne's soon-to-come shopping spree!
Kanti stops her dance at the Vestal's request, trembling softly with the effort and emotion of at all as she walks towards the Vestal, careful footsteps, a trail of iris blossoms behind her...
And then her mistress' distress...a cold look at the Crusader for annoying her so, quickly averted in fear...then they went...the cold one and the abombination....
Leaving her with the mistress ... she kneeled slowly, a tremble filling her body...so close now...to the one that did this too her. Took her beauty and remade it to her own liking, inflicted such hurts on her just to hear her screams...and yet...
She rested her head on the Vestals lap ...and yet..for one brief instant, she was here and nothing else mattered, just that she with the Vestal and the Vestal loved her...
"I....your servants have been ...good to m mistress....thank you .... but...." Kanti trailed off...
"But?" The Vestal asked, one hand trailing down Kanti's cheek as she trembled slightly..
"...I missed you, mistress" spoken as the merest whisper...why she missed her, she did not know...had hated every instant with her....but....how could she not love her?
Her soft hand caressing Kanti, she lowered her face, whispering, "I missed you too."
"I will be sure to make up for all that time... specially with how you look now... so beautiful. The robes fit you, Kanti... did you like my gift? How they fit who you are now?"
No No No! NO! She hated them, her weakness, her pain, woven into ....such a shape...for her mistress' pleasure...
And so she smiled up at the vestal and her soft carresses "I did yes...thank you Mistress ... for such a wonderful gift."
How could she say such things...how could such things fall from her lips... She shivered again, and hated herself for it.
She held Kanti's face on both hands, smiling, "I am glad. Very glad, my pretty."
"Promise me. Promise me you will always keep them, never let them be taken away or thrown away... and that you will remember me in their whispers. Promise me..."
"I will mistress ...I will" she whispers softly, looking up at the Vestal, gazing into her eyes, loosing herself in them...
Keep them with fond memories.
Keep them until the day I kill you.
Keep them forever.
Keep them and remember you.
- Too cool. Just too cool!
The Vestal touches Kanti, closing her eyes at the healing... "Like that... like that..." She smiles, kissing Kanti. "It hurt real bad. They cowardly pinned your mistress down, while a big, unwashed brute punched my back. He wanted to break me... wanted to break me, Kanti. They got close to it, too..."
She purrs, "And they are around here now. They broke into one of our garrisons, and have been quite... noisy."
Kanti shudders halfway between revulsion and exstacy as she is kissed.
She...
She...can be ...hurt....
She can be killed...
...why does that thought fill me with terror?
"What is it you wish me to do to them, mistress?"
- Ditto
He trembles.
He knew this would be coming, no death before, certain death now... he lifts his face tentatively, lifts his eyes tentatively... he had been born to rule, but before Vorpal, was just as a puppy, yet... not tested battle prowess, no royal station, nothing mattered under that gaze... and now, he was too scared to even move away... "A-are... are you... mad, m-milady?"
He trembles.
He knew this would be coming, no death before, certain death now... he lifts his face tentatively, lifts his eyes tentatively... he had been born to rule, but before Vorpal, was just as a puppy, yet... not tested battle prowess, no royal station, nothing mattered under that gaze... and now, he was too scared to even move away... "A-are... are you... mad, m-milady?"
- Alexander, after his Klutzyness had him fall between Vorpal's legs, on a chemise and nothing else...
Letting go of Alex's hair, Vorpal slides her hand downwards, the very tips of her fingers stroking the prince's chin, tracing the smooth, beautiful arch of his face down to his jaw. There her hand lingers, and she lifts his head gently upwards, past the flat stomach and the ample bosom, past the milky white throat, all the way up to her face and the eyes that glow there with all the blazing, scorching heat of hellfire.
"No", she replies, and her kind, quiet words echo with the thundering boom of war drums. Flowers placed onto gravestones wilt away, leaves fall from the trees, wives give birth to stillborn babies. "Not at all."
- Vorpy... someone you should never anger of embarass.
Tee-hee-hee!
The chamber is silent, save for an occasional rustle of a new page being turned over and the laborous, halting breathing of Vorpal deFay as she struggles... Not against her burning wounds, not against the feverish visions that had accompanied them, but against a foe so devious that even the infamous Pale Angel has trouble at holding it at bay.
She twists and she writhes atop the sheets of her bed, heedless of the stabs pain coming from her wounds with each move. Her hair is in disarray, her legs are entwined around each other, her hands are clasped convulsively around the covers of the book which the prince had given her. Her eyes, usually so red and frightening, now gobble up a line after line of the romantic prose written onto those pages. A hot and healthy blush glowing on her white cheeks, she struggles and she fights, but she cannot hold an occasional laugh and a gleeful giggle from bubbling up to the surface from the deepest recesses of her soul.
Tee-hee-hee!
Ooh, it had been so long since she had had a chance for such luxury! After weeks of nothing but swords and battles and blood and death and scantily-clad harlots strutting their wares at her, she had missed an opportunity to lower her guard even for a moment...
- ... Except, you know, when she is being like this! Then she is cute!
Vorpal instinctively props a hand against the wall for support as the ship begins its ascend. She is a little at loss with Calisara's intentions at first, but then the smug smile returns to her lips. "Be my guest, then."
Sobering, she turns back towards the corridor, her Essence-sharpened senses probing for the reactions and the location of the intruders. The gleam in her eyes, however, remains as she states: "All right... from this point on, Zephyr Falcon will be a ghost ship."
She pauses, inhales deeply, and then begins to speak, her voice suddenly inhumane and otherworldy. It is like an invisible stream of darkness pouring gently forth from her mouth, her words tiny islands of coldest ice floating atop black waves.
"Ahhhh",
she intones in an achingly sultry tone, sending her voice drifting down the corridor like cold fog, where the intruders are sure to hear it.
"Sweet, fresh blood, and so many warm bodies... My little slave outdid himself this time. The trap never fails."
Every sentence that leaves her mouth is repeated by a chorus of fading echoes, like a thousand damned souls speaking in unison. Her hand quickly signaling for Calisara to begin the other task, she chuckles, her voice conjuring up images that are a macabre combination of the coldest nightmares and the darkest, wildest fantasies that have ever tickled the loins of a man.
"Come, come, little sweetlings. I thirst..."
The lights dim. The doors begin to rattle. And then, they run to Vorpal, seeing nothing but her dark sillhouette... and hearing. And hearing her words, almost stopping their hearts, whispering ice in their souls.
And then, in the dark corridor, they scream.
And then, from the dark corridor, they run. They run like the Ebon Dragon himself was after them.
They run, because any price for failure would not be worse than dealing with that demon!
- Vorpal being... scary. They ended up falling into a Lake the Zephyr was parked above of.
"We could see if there were any mercenary companies that haven't yet found a suitable employer around", Vorpal suggests even as her eyes skim over the beginnings of the story written to the book. "I have some friends among them, and most of them believe I am but a Ghost-Blooded."
She brushes absently a few strands of her hair over her shoulder. "How about you, skypirate? Do you have any colleagues who would be interested in a bit of military booty?"
Cael steps forward a little, closer to the Pince, subtly offering support and reassurance. His eyes run over her body once more at that, a faint twinkle in his eye. Military Booty...
- Vorpal with a little bit of Cael at the end. I wonder if Arcy ever noticed how dirty that sounded... Vorpy the prostitute and Cael the pimp!
Vorpal: "You know, wordsmith", she begins after a long stretch of silence. "There is something I want to ask."
Cael: Cael turns to the pale angel, looks into the pale flames about her. "Yes?"
Vorpal: "How do you keep all that white clean?"
Cael: "Magic."
- After the fight with the Celebrant, Vorpal covered in blood and dirt, Alex covered in his wounds, and Cael... pristine.
Father of Crows: "Something with a mask. Something dead? We only see dead things around..."
"Dead things are like lobsters. Remember the restaurant? Always think of lobsters. Always think of food. We are predators, we have to think of food! You break the hsell. Within, tender, tender meat... tender like the flesh of a god, tender like the soul of a man... you break it, and eat. Bite and gnaw until it is gone. Just like a lobster. Just think of lobsters. We need to do it. We are hunters. Hunters need lobsters. NEED it!"
Hand hitting one another, fingers on his lips as he thinks of flavor... then he stops, and the eyesless silhouette looks down. "Make it. As long as they aren't lobsters. The lobsters are mine. You go kill some dead things and gnaw on what comes out. But not on my lobsters."
Seventh Moon: Sima Sweet Thighs
The hound rolled it's pale eyes until the blue vanished and only pure white remained. Above him, the seven moons rolled as well, until seven eyes stared disgustedly at the Father.
How the fuck do ya pick people like this, goddess? Do ya just throw a rock and see who ya nail?
This was getting ridiculous. This was always ridiculous, but this time it was even worse.
"Yeah, yeah, great. You can have all the fuckin' lobsters you want. Help me out and I'll even get ya some dipping sauce."
- The insanity of Moon's mentor. Seafood!
Frostwallow: It does not take long before seeing the sigil of Mars, the spear and shield, shining on crimson paint under the morning sun. Soon enough in the morning... and the stores mostly empty, with only those who wake up so early, so different of the base part, where bussiness need to be conducted as soon as sun rises. The smell of iron fills the air, coming from the constant hammering on the inside...
And the smell of mold comes from behind, from the bookstore just accross the street, the carefully-transcribed books with leathery covers there, calling, alluringly... and Vorpal stands there, between two sides of her life.
Vorpal: Oh, damn.
She halts, the dark folds of her cloak coming to a rest around her. Shifting her weight to one foot, she places one hand to her hip and lifts the other to tuck her hair better in place under her hood. Idly she glances between her choices, first left, then right, then back to the left again...
I hate it when this happens.
Eventually, she makes her decision.
Her cloak once again whisking around her legs, the black hilt of her heavy claymore jutting over her shoulder, the Ghost-Blooded turns and marches without hesitation... into the bookstore.
- The Pale Angel's hard choices.
Vorpal: It begins as a whisper in her mind, gentle and teasing.
...light glittering along the surface of ice so fine that it is almost transcluent...</b>
Vorpal blinks. She quickly sits forward in the pool, the thoughts of relaxation gone from her mind. W-what...?
<b>...ice so fine that it is almost transcluent, hundreds, thousands, millions of different layers seeming to overlap each other within, light reflecting from every plane and facet a little differently... gleaming in all the colors of a rainbow, as if viewed through a prism... </b>
It begins as a whisper and grows to a roar. It gushes forth from the deepest recesses of her mind, pours out from the hidden sections of her tainted soul, and it knows no mercy to its mortal host.
<b>...as if viewed through a prism, icy mists trailing after a blade so cold, oh so cold, cold like the perfect features of its bearer... </b>
"A-a-ah...!" She is powerless to hold it back. Whimpering aloud like a little child, she clamps her hands over her ears and squeezes her eyes tightly shut, instinctively attempting to block the vision out. If anything, the move makes it all the worse as the sights and sounds she knows she has never witnessed reverbrate within her skull, pounding against her brain, its incorporeal fists giving her no rest, no respite.
<b>...like the perfect features of its bearer, a hilt fashioned of blue and black jade, streaks of orichalcum spiralling upwards along the handle, graceful, organic, thickening and hollowing out to form the sockets where Hearthstones glitter... </b>
She writhes and thrashes in the pool, steaming water flying in glimmering arches, soaking all that is within the chamber. Her white skin is bearing several darkening spots already, results of slamming against the marble edges of the bathing pool. She does not even notice the bruises, for the pain within her head drowns such mundane aches like a sea does to a drop of salty water.
<b>...where the Hearthstones glitter, a blade as icy and deadly as its bearer... </b>
<b>...she raises that blade and raises it with anger... she brings it down, allowing the fury boiling within to guide her hand... red hot anger swinging a white cold blade... </b>
<b>...it tears through them like a sickle through wheat... it cuts through their shields, it wrenches open their armor, it cleaves their heads and torsos apart... those that the blade cannot reach are sent flying from the pressure of the blow alone, the impossible power behind the swing hurling grown men like dolls of rags and straw... </b>
<b>...a twist of a powerful arm, a delicate shift in the way the hands grip the handle, and again the blade flies... a great hawk lets out a deafening shriek as the deadly ice cuts through its body... the sheer power of the death scream shatters solid rock and blows the snowy caps from the surrounding mountains, a cascade of avalanches streaking over blue sky... </b>
<b>...crimson blood splatters against the virgin snow... some of it rains down in tinkling red crystals, frozen solid by the icy blade... </b>
<b>...crimson blood splatters against the virgin snow... </b>
The vision stirs another, fresher memory in her mind. Someone had called her with such words, someone she had slain not too long ago.
...that... ...that...
<b>...crimson blood splatters against the virgin snow... </b>
...that... is...
<b>...crimsonbloodsplattersagainstthevirginsnow... </b>
...is...
<b>...crimsonbloodvirginsnow... </b>
...me.
- On Sati
<b>Vorpal: She relaxes slightly as he goes. Her shoulders shuddering, she lets out an immense sigh.
She turns away and suddenly staggers, her goo-covered boot almost slipping on the smooth floor.
Urgh.
Recovering her balance, she glares at her stained footwear for a moment before slouching next to the hole the Hungry Ghost had torn into the hangar. There she eases herself down onto the floor, leaning her back against the cold wall. Staring absently at the corpse of the Abyssal, she settles down for a long watch.
It may be her imagination, but the Celebrant's lifeless form looks somehow resentful, laying there in a silent and cold indination for how Fate has been treating her.
"You too, huh?" Vorpal says aloud, leaning her sword against her shoulder. "Well, join the sisterhood."
- Some Vorpy.
Vorpal: She had stepped a little too far.
Vorpal knows it the moment the boy winds up for his swing. She had leant a little too much into her thrust, her legs were in the wrong position, her sword is just a few inches too far away from her flank to return there in time.
It is time to cheat. Again.
She pulls the Daiklave back, pale motes of Essence trailing after the blade as it slides smoothly, oh-so-smoothly from the offense to the defense. Yet even cheating is not enough this time, for Mournful Kiss barely even brushes Ainerach as Alex's swing flies home, hitting her flank with full force.
Although the liquid Soulsteel of the Black Queen's Vestments absorb most of the blow, air still empties from her lungs. One of her hands slips free from Mournful Kiss' handle, reaching out and grabbing Alex by the wrist. Staggering backwards from his attack, she pulls the boy with her, the violent move sending both of them off balance.
With a primordial snarl Vorpal yanks the boy close as they fall together to the floor, a strong twist of her body sending him tumbling down first and herself ending up onto the top. Her iron grip of his wrist never falters, and she slams it down against the floor hard.
And there they suddenly halt, her sheer strength pinning him down, her chest heaving against his. Her breath is warm against his face, her messy white hair mingles with his frosty mane, the fire in her eyes is hot and scorching.
Several seconds pass before she speaks.
"Not bad", she gasps, and flashes him a slanted smile. "Shall we try that again?"
- Flirt!
Iselsis: She does the only thing she can think of. Faina is the closest thing she has to a friend, so running would be preferable, but she has no indication she'll be able to outrun them this time, apparantly she didn't do such a great job of it last time.
So, she interposes herself between them and Faina. Taking out her guns and reloading them, while activating her principle of motion.
"Faina, don't look now, but we got company. I'm all out of juice, I don't know how long I can hold them off, but you have to get that spell off."
She reloads her guns as she waits for what was coming.
This is gonna hurt...
Nemessary: The Nemessaries snarl, readying the bows... sculpted mahogany in the shape of screaming faces. In fact, the string... is a moliated ghost in itself! The undead templars ready their bows... and let them cross the night, arrows going straight to Iselsis' heart... to make her fall, and stop the sorcery!
Iselsis: Like a dream...
That was the only thing it felt like, a dream. She refused to let the arrows hit her, and by the force of her will, it would be so!
Balancing in that space between supreme consciousness and awareness and seeing yourself from a distance. That feeling everyone gets when their willpower is all that stands between them and certain death. She sees the arrows, ripples of displaced air behind them. She hears them scream vividly, even though in her mind's eye they move slowly...
She sees Faina, chanting her spell as quick as she can. And, she sees herself, weaving her plasma repeaters in intricate patterns, a feat even she would never have considered herself capable of. She sees them deflect, snap and generally miss their mark time and time again. And then this round of dancing is over, and she returns to the vivid reality of the now, staring down the nemessaries with more supreme confidence in her own abilities than she'd ever had before...
Sweat lined her brow, but she wasn't done yet... not done yet.
- Determination!
Iselsis: I am not too weak for this... This is what I trained for all my life. And. I. Am. Not. A. Kid!
Years of frustration, anxiety, frustration, fear of the unknown, the impending unknown that had ruled her entire life. Years of training, repressed emotions, anger, bitterness, hate, rage
They all coalesced in this very moment, in this slip of a girl, this... Windian black-ops. Part dragon, part windian, part demon, and yet none of all of these.
The winds start again, except not like ever before. She merges with them, with the flames of malfeas, with the aspect of the dragon of air, with the divine fury that her Master taught her so well. A hurricane forms around her, tearing open the thick layer of clouds above her, showing the clear moon's shape. The light hits her floating form, her consciousness no longer inside her body, it merely functioning as a focal point for the Caress of a Thousand Hells, the ultimate technique she had never used.
She channels this, her entire life worth of pent up emotions, all her essence, all into this single furious strike against the abyssal who was the current perceived cause of all her woes. The winds pick up, whipping around her, almost to the point of flaying skin off bone, but her sillhoutte floats serenely...
And then her eyes snap open, the fires of malfeas clear in them for the first time in her life, and not just for an instance, no... she claps her repeaters together, merging them into a single weapon with which to channel her divine and demonic fury.
And as she fires... no bullet appears. Merely the fire of the Caress of a Thousand Hells. From her body bursts a mockery of the dragon of air, horned and twisted into a demonic, shadowy shape of wind, and as both the dragon and the divine and demonic fire bear down upon the abyssal, perfectly balance between malfeas and yu-shan and drawing strength from both, time seems to stop...
"TELL ME WHAT I AM! TELL MEEEEEEEE!"
Acolyte of Violet Whispers: She turns, and sees the demoness clad by moonlight.
There is recognition.
There is surprise.
There is fear.
She vanishes... but she has nowhere else to go under the moonlight, as it comes, burning a trail towards the Abyssal... she closes her eyes then, knowing fate came to her. And her anima spoke, even as her self was desperate. It spoke in whispers that were not her own.
You are a monster.
Same as your sister.
You are fire. You are silence. You are doom.
Doom of Windia, that is what you are. And nothing you do can change what you are.
The fire hits the Day Caste, wreathing her in it, sending her through a windmill, setting it aflame as well as the burning body falls, away from Iselsis' sight and the battle....
- Iselsis' Truth.
Iselsis: And as suddenly as it came, the spectacle that may have stunned beings far more powerful than she could ever hope to become, it was gone again, the winds silent, the demonic dragon retreated to the inner core of her being, and the flame no longer dancing in her eyes. She swerves, catches herself, falters again, and finally slowly drifts to the ground, her body hanging limply from her wings as they carry her down.
And there she falls, down onto her hands and knees, hands pressed behind her head, tucked in against her chest.
She screams, she wails, the pain inside her heart finally overtaking her, leaving her only with the option of purging.
Tears mark paths down her soot covered cheeks as she sobs.
- There were hazards about her, but a cold, yet comfortable silver glow surrounded Iselsis, as the Silver Angel cut through any that would harm that Demon-Blood. Above, the stranger fought with an avatar of death. All around Iselsis, the earth trembled, the park shook... and with the death of the Abyssal, more and more the Windians pressed to victory.
And all around the crying Demoness, Windia was saved...
... and a long night drew to an end.
- He comes in slow steps.
Dressed as a priest, a corpse in a priest's robes with a mask of Jade.
He stands there, ghostly wind shivering both of them as Iselsis feels the Temple behind her give way... change... becoming a great cathedral, mottifs of death filling it.
The light of underworld jade coursed through the Priest's weapon, as he looked at Iselsis. "So, it is you. You are supposed to be dead."
Iselsis: Inhale, exhale... slow rings of smoke filling the air.
"If I'm not mistaken, so are you. Hasn't stopped either of us though."
- Iselsis cracking wise with the dead
- - Back to A Dance of Angels
- - Back to Quoteness!
