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| After the Tourists Depart.... | |
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| Topic Started: Wednesday, 11. March 2009, 01:25 (274 Views) | |
| Ryan | Wednesday, 11. March 2009, 01:25 Post #1 |
Ghoul
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Ryan leaned back against the monument and sigh, his left hand absent-mindedly drawing a cigarette from his top pocket and placing the half-crumpled thing in his mouth, before fumbling for matches. As the head dragged across the box the rough tearing sound awoke the image of raking claws and a scream to end nightmares. The spluttering of life drew his eyes as his mind replayed the dance of painful orange, curtains dancing in yellow hurricanes. Mistress... Flesh burned and Ryan dropped the match, swearing; spitting the cigarette after it. All those years his mistress never let him smoke, and now the memories kept his self-punishment. Ryan sighed and returned his mind to the events of an hour ago. He had seen things that were not mortal. Hah, he had tasted the crimson again. He knew they were not mortal. His mistress's stock, her breed. Running blindly towards them, drawn from a scream. A cry. Why was it ever so? There is no yellow in a voice, so why does it sound so? Immortal screams still draw mortal ears. They had descended like so many soldiers ready to make a point of their lives. Subconsciously they knew Ryan wasn't the cause of the scream. They had seen a different figure, though one that was gone. They found him with blood on his hand and a fallen maiden. Scuffles lead to confusion. No one could quite tell who had begun it, or who was involved. Running feet and whistles, voices calling over the hubub, and all was dispersed. But he had lost her. The crowd had swallowed her, had swallowed all of them, even the one whose crimson he had savoured... its enhancing effects already worn off. Ryan felt the weight of his years. He had tasted his saviour - immortality and servitude; once again eluded. This time, however, it was not to billowing orange. She is here, as are others. He must find them. Edited by Ryan, Wednesday, 11. March 2009, 01:25.
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Friendly Faces Black and white are too submissive to lie often. | |
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| Kerri Phillips | Wednesday, 11. March 2009, 22:57 Post #2 |
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Childe
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She had smelt the kindred blood before she had seen the situation arising around the grande city monument. The beast within her screamed for the scent, to submit to the taste of it but she quelled it with a shake of her head and a steady calm pace towards the now disipating crowds. What did catch her eye however was the mortal who had pounced at the spilt blood, lapping at it as if a dog resulting in desgusted exclamations and cries for police. With the 'victim' extricating herself and the mortal hungry for kindred vitae getting lost in the crowd to all but her it would appear. With the situation calming, the police scrabbling ineffectively to locate someone who could offer more than a hysterical account Kerri stepped in with her perfectly accented French. "I saw some of the events officer, enough to know that the woman involved appeared to run towards the park and the man who looked as if he attacked he left amidst the scuffle towards the alleyway over there." She pointed in the opposite direction to the mortal, she knew where he was and she wanted to speak to him before she threw him to whatever wolves he deserved if he deserved it. A wild goose chase set the police readily accepted what appeared to be the firstr calm and reasoned description of the individuals, no hint of hysteria at witnessing such a violent attack as they had received from most of the others. "My name? But of course officer. You may reach me at the university campus, my name is Andrea Foucault." A name plucked from a roster somewhere but she did not care, they would never locate her again she was certain of that even if they ever felt the need to follow up a reported incident where both the purportraitor and the victim were nowhere to be seen. Minutes later, the excitement over, the small crowds that had gathered departed and she milled around until she finally began to approach the figure hidden in the shadows. She could smell the cigarette smoke which in itself was an unpleasant scent to her as well as the adrenaline fused sweat that eminated from his body. Mortal, but mortal with benefits, he was a ghoul or perhaps had been at one time. She approached him with a scowl on her face as she stepped into his line of sight she indicated to an almost deserted cafe just across the road. "You and I need to have words...you need to wash the blood from yourself and then we need to talk....now." the final word was clearly a command as she readied herself for his refusal or attempts to flee. She had no involvement with the Camarilla now, no desire for involvement either but she understood very well that attention that this guy could bring would increase watchfulness above the pitiful excuse of organisation that she currently faced. She would manage their problem before they even became aware of it if she had anything to do with it. |
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| Ryan | Friday, 13. March 2009, 01:05 Post #3 |
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Ghoul
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Ryan heard the words fall over him. He raised his head and took in the face that owned the voice. What struck him most, as she stepped into view, were her eyes... strong green...Green! Green rotating and swelling into unnatural orbs, tinged lightly with hazel... brown - the colour of deceit. Deceit with claws and fire. The colour....or was that simply his imagination.. a trick of the light, or a shadow. Even shadows fear colour.No! She did not harness talons. But she was not ordinary. Ryan sensed authority. Was this a messenger from the Council of Crimson? Did they know of his plight? Or is this one of the savage wild nights? Those who call the worrying eye? Ryan viewed his surroundings. The streets were not a safe place tonight. No close dark allyways, not that they were safe of the unnatural. How many others were hidden watching? A sigh and a nod. Ryan wiped the last of the trickled blood stains off his hand onto the dew-dressed grass and headed to the café. He chose a table on the verandah, in the corner, near where the building gave way to its neighbour. He ordered a pot of tea (Earl Gray) and waited for the calipygious figure to take her seat.... Fool! Don't be swayed by her looks. Keep calm, legs tensed. There's spring in these limbs still and the alleyways are not far off.... Edited by Ryan, Tuesday, 17. March 2009, 21:48.
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Friendly Faces Black and white are too submissive to lie often. | |
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| Kerri Phillips | Saturday, 14. March 2009, 04:29 Post #4 |
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Childe
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(OOC no brown in her eyes...pure emerald green  )She ordered a expresso and waited for the waitress to leave them. The outside area was pretty much deserted but for them, the cool evening air keeping the rest of the patrons inside but this suited her fine. No-one to overhear what was probably going to be a sensitive conversation. She continued speaking in French unsure of where he came from. "Well I am fairly certain that you don't have an iron deficiency that caused you to take to that girls blood like it was ambrosia...at the same time I know that you know she was no normal girl so talk....where do you come from and what are you doing in Paris?" Her steady gaze was fixed on him, the cool air on her skin leaving her pale, making the scar on her face unusually promenant though her hair did a fair job of covering it from the brief glances she received. The dye left her hair the same dull brown colour, hiding the vibrant red hues it usually displayed, the riotous curls were however fortunately untamable hiding her feline ears. Her clothing staid and dull, simple black trousers with a dark blue, shapeless jacket that combined with her hair and thick framed glasses made her a very unremarkable sight. "I think you know...you know instinctively that I am no ordinary woman either. I know more than your realise about yourself just by looking at you. the desperate gleam in your eyes so don't lie to me. I am probably the most sympathetic individual you are likely to meet on this subject right now and you answer me truthfully I may even be able to help you....." |
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| Andryusha | Saturday, 14. March 2009, 06:34 Post #5 |
The one and only
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The sleek black vehicle pulled up a few yards away from the crime scene, with a man and woman stepping out of the vehicle, leaving two others in the back. Response had been prompt; the word had been picked up on the police scanners and fallen down to the rats to clean up. Well the chief rat anyway. Andrei had, of course, put up a guise not to exhaserbate things further, taking the form of a clean cut and handsome individual and dressed more fashionably. The woman was a little more genuine, and while he felt that his own people were the best to use, branching out sometimes made things run smoother. Especially one easy on the eyes. “Officer.” Both men had made their way over to one of the police monitoring the area, specifically the ones taking statements. Without even waiting for an answer the two pulled out their identification as if they had rehearsed it. “Inspector Claude Girard, my colleague Inspector Simone Chevalier.” Their hands lingered for a moment before snatching the identities back into their coats and each surveyed the area. His good eye caught the glimpse of a woman leaving the scene after talking to another officer. He had lived long enough to distinguish the grace and posture that could only be granted in death. “Would you be so kind as to tell me what happened?” Andrei smiled and walked away, knowing his partner was in control. “Excuse me officer. Who was that woman?” he enquired, again pulling the perfectly forged ID. He directed him to his associate again, knowing her talents would wipe the incident clean of anyone who knew too much. He clicked open his cell phone and dialled a familiar number, the raspy voice of Wart on the other end awaiting his enquiry. “Run the name Andrea Foucault.” he allowed his French accent to slip, speaking to his comrade in Russian. He took off in the direction he spotted the woman in question leaving to. There could be no loose ends. |
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| Ryan | Tuesday, 17. March 2009, 22:33 Post #6 |
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Ghoul
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There was no retreat, no escape. But why should there have been? Wasn't this what he wanted: to make contact with the kindred? Then why was there a sudden fear gripping him, like so many scuttling daemons crawling closer and closer in the sunlight? Gazing at his tea, Ryan sighed. His elbow remained balancing on the table, but he slowly withdrew his fingers from the bridge of his miss-shaped nose where they left a pinch mark. He took a long drink, licked his lips and raised his eyes back to those startling greens. If Ryan was to find a new mistress, or master, then he needed the crimson-tasters, and this one knew something... may even be one. Time to be brave and actually face a choice. He licked his lips again... hoping she wouldnt' read too much into it. "I am not from the French," began Ryan in English. "I was ... injured.... it took mistress's... blood -" he spat the word, "to save me.small dribbles trickling my throat into time and flavour. It gave me the questing and sense of missing..... I needed it!" Ryan suddenly stopped, his eyes wide searching the invisible crowd that couldn't be. No one looked back, but they did so intently. He felt the call of that twisted blood and the madness. He revelled in that madness, but it cost him - oh it cost him. He could taste that fear and pain three weeks before the house burned. Poor mistress and her grande French curtains..... French! He had been speaking English. His eyes shot up towards those green (but not clawed green, laughing fire) eyes. Was there comprehension? Edited by Ryan, Friday, 20. March 2009, 19:01.
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Friendly Faces Black and white are too submissive to lie often. | |
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| Kerri Phillips | Thursday, 26. March 2009, 23:15 Post #7 |
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Childe
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As her quick and astute alertness warned her, his voice raising was beginning to gain them attention and any attention was unwanted. In a seeming sign of affection she grabbed his hand that rested on the table in a cold iron grip. His English was music to her ears, no pretence of French accent required when dealing with a mortal, blood seeking or not as she hissed at him, gripping his hand tighter as she did. “Will you keep your voice down before I rip your hand off and really give you something to bloody shout about!!!!” Her clipped tone frosted with anger as she glared at him. “Your mistress was a god damned fool if she did not explain to you some very simple and very clear facts….you shoot your fucking mouth off you are going to die.” Her neck prickled with the tingling fear of her stepping into a situation that stood the risk of her getting exposed. “What other languages do you speak other than French…and I hope you know something obscure otherwise we are getting out of here to have this discussion…you are not worth my neck I tell you that now.” She thought of the police that had intently run off, wondered now if her milling around was enough to guarantee that she would not be sought after. She had been a bloody fool and an incautious one at that. Feeling very exposed she shifted her seat to take the one next to the mortal, her eyes now able to flit across the wandering public that moved in front of the café’s cordoned off area. |
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| Ryan | Friday, 27. March 2009, 00:20 Post #8 |
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Ghoul
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Ryan's eyes twinkled as this strange woman shifted to his side. For a second he almost thought he should risk laying out his hand on the arm rest, palm-up, just incase she felt like taking it - making the first move in a darkened teenage theatre. A mental slap and his mind refocused. "I, uh, speak English... and French...... er, I studied German in school..... but wasn't very good.... though I can order tea....."His words dying under that face which spoke of amusement having long disembarked. He tried to sip his tea again, but his hand was shaking and he spilt ot over his sleeve. He replaced the cup with a clatter and mopped with a napkin. He began reaching for the cup, noticed Kerris' look, and changed his mind. This was not how he imagined his re-introduction with the kindred world. Stop making a fool of yourself, Ryan.The words slipping back into his mind - all those hours of pointlessness - standing on a table dressed as a flamingo.Act properly, damn it! Ryan raised his head and looked the woman in the eyes. The green didn't scare him. Not now. He tried a yellow approach...... mental slap - he tried a willing approach.I know a place. I'm staying in a sort of run-down house about three blocks from here. It's not much, but it's private. There will be no one to hear us. Ryan's mind jumped ahead of him to the house, picturing the grubby lounge that made up most of the house, along with the small bed.... I wonder if it could hold two comfortably...... slap. To let one's mind run loose is a dangerous thing. |
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Friendly Faces Black and white are too submissive to lie often. | |
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| Kerri Phillips | Wednesday, 1. April 2009, 22:35 Post #9 |
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Childe
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Her grip on his hand loosened as his words began to calm, still stuttering and trying to formulate sentences he at least was no longer beginning to gain curious glances from passers by. His appearance though somewhat extravagant was offset and calmed by her dowdy look, plain hair and though her eyes sparkled with colour they were mostly hidden by the mess of dyed curls so unless she directly stared at anyone they would not be easily remembered. It was perfect, if people were to describe them it would be him that gained the more detailed attention. She nodded as he suggested his own home just a few blocks away. "Sounds ideal...just so you know though," She smiled sweetly as she let go of his hand, patting it lightly where it rested on the table. "You screw with me, I will drain you drier than the Sahara...savvie?" To anyone passing by it was the look of love, her face obscured from the street having turned to look directly at him momentarily letting her fangs elongate slightly, pearly white against her lightly coloured lips. Her mouth closed after the briefest of views and she stood leaving her drink untouched. Since her time in the Sabbat, spying on their ranks, an unfortunate side effect of the requirements of cover left her with less of an inclination to fit in so completely with the mortals around her. Just as much as it left her with less patience for the weaker around her where once, what seemed like decades before, she had often been somewhat of a protector of their interests. Her mind flitted to Preston as she waited for Ryan to stand and lead the way to seclusion, what would he think of her were he to see her now. He had never replied to her message so it made her wonder with his obvious continued attachment to the Camarilla was he now her enemy? Her reason for staying in Paris was a twisted one, to be close to him even when she could not see him or be seen, could not speak to him or contact him directly was an exquisite torture. He was safe and that offered comfort even though remaining put her at a continued risk, but then what was the risk. She had done nothing wrong, not this time it was merely her choice to leave the ranks of the Camarilla in such a sudden and unannounced way when she knew there were still questions about the events in London that led to her hunted state. She had enemies and they would dearly love to see her suffer so she remained hidden, the temptation to leave niggled but then that would be leaving the one link to her adventures, her old life and never returning to it. Should she stay and hand herself in for the inevitable questioning, hoping that they would not be aligned with those that would rather see her loose end cut off or just stay quiet, stay hidden and hope that her opportunity with Preston would appear sooner rather than later. The thought had her look to her seemingly crazed temporary companion. The blood he had received had obviously been tainted with madness, Malkavian blood no doubt, she wondered if his insanity was genuine beyond that or if in time he would gain some sembelence of normality. If that was the case then it lead to the further question of trust, of a watchman and if she would be able to relinquish a piece of herself to gain an ally in all of this god damned mess. She would have to see, have to question and have to watch until she was sure because right now his desperation for blood....any blood made him a risk and until she could be sure that his loyalty would not be tinged with an insanity that would put her at even more risk she just had to wait and see. |
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| Ryan | Friday, 3. April 2009, 01:59 Post #10 |
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Ghoul
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Ryan rose, with a final sip of tea, and replacing the cup a little too firmly upon the saucer; and strode ahead of Kerri, shoulders hunched absentmindedly. Four streets were crossed and two rather dirty lanes. Ryan turned up his nose at the little scattered in the streets: broken bottles were the majority followed by plastic packets and condom wrappers. Ryan mentally shook his head, and with his face not visible to Kerri, subtly grinned. A few minutes later they were in an area which the clean side of town would be embarrassed to know they live adjacent to. By an old railway track they stopped for Ryan to glance about, seemingly to remind himself something. He appeared confused, his body tilting to the side, overbalancing; when he rightened himself and continued between a few grubby warehouses, stopping again outside a small building. He paused and regarded it: the crumbling walls, the blackened patches, the scrape marks from heavy machinery long fallen into disuse. Broken cement bring broken images of memories; bricks falling, walls of glass and fire. Ryan twinged, but kept focus. He saw again the hands... they were not claws. They were talons drawn of blood. Touches of ... A movement from Kerri brought him back to the present. Offguard he lunged at the door, turning his walk into an absurd skip. As he arrived at the door he turned to Kerri and gave a sheepish smile."I-It, er... has lights that work..."He put his hand through a small hole between the door and the wall and pulled at something. With a click the door shuddered free. He pushed it gently till it stuck, one foot in, and then gave it a hard push and it swung with a clatter, taking some paint of the wall. Inside lay the rusted base of a bed, a small table, two broken chairs and one working chair. There was a kitchenette on the side and an archway leading into a smaller room taking up a quarter of the building. Ryan ran over to the table, pulling it next to the bed and placing the chair next to the table, flanking it between the chauir and the bed. He then sad upon the bed. Two seconds delay before he sprang up again, rounded the table and pulled the chair out for Kerri. He turned his hand palm up and open, and motioned towards the table. |
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| Kerri Phillips | Thursday, 9. April 2009, 07:21 Post #11 |
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Childe
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Kerri followed him quietly and quickly, she kept to the shadows as much as possible trying to avoid the mere fact of doing such a thing ending up making her more conspicuous. Her face partially hidden in the gloom and always watchful not only of movement behind them but above them, before them and even below them as they walked over sewer grates. She smiled to herself softly thinking ‘just because you’re a paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t after you’. Ryan came to halt in front of an almost rotten door, held together more by the peeling gloss paint on it than the timber, all integrity lost due to age and poor maintenance. Still it was nigh on a step up from the single room she had chosen for her hideout she thought with a grimace, still uncertain how people could voluntarily live like this. The place was almost as Spartan as hers was, the damaged and ruined furniture seemingly propping up the crumbling and decrepit walls. He took a seat after a flurry of activity that could not fail to amuse her before he stood and with a flourish offered her the chair so that they could continue their talk in the privacy of this rat hole. She bowed her head slightly, her eyes never leaving his as she took the seat her arm resting casually on the back of it as she contemplated him quite openly. “So it looks like you are in a bit of a pickle then doesn’t it mate...let us start with introductions. You can call me Jemima Le Roi, you know exactly what I am and because of that you know how I can possibly help you get exactly what you want.” She carefully cleaned her nails as she spoke running a nail to the bed to remove the imagined dirt before she looked carefully at him again. “How long were you with your mistress? What did you know of her life and by all means tell me every little detail.” She smiled slowly and with a gleam glinting in her eye as she did, her hand now hanging over the back of the chair the other resting casually on her knee. “I want to know all there is to know about you and then I will decide how if at all I can help you.....” The unspoken offer hung in the air as she looked at him waiting for the words to start flowing. |
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| Ryan | Monday, 13. April 2009, 11:24 Post #12 |
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Ghoul
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Again the images of that night returned, vibrant and fierce as a magazine cover. Shredding, flakes, dew and flames. Claws...that weren't.... Kerri's brushing of his bed drew him back."Oh, don't worry. That's not where I sleep.. not really..." Ryan turned and sat down, shoulders failing to remain upright and deciding to give in. After all, if he didn't speak to this one, he may die of age before finding more. He turned his eyes to her, peering from their dark ravines; but the images refused to leave. Those were not claws of the Wolf. Sabbat? Or perhaps hunters of the Cama... "I think my mistress may have been bad." The words fell out of his mouth. "There was final death. I do not know by who, but I knew not my mistress to interact with other crimson-tasters. Perhaps her happy land tainted my dreaming. Pictures are not accurate. I travelled south here, Paris. It seemed a likely choice." He shook his head before meeting her eyes again. Did she care? Was she a hunter for the Camarilla? "I'm Rye. It's affix of my name. Minimalistic... hehe." The distant look faded with the giggles and he seemed to shiver slightly. "Er, Ryan is probably more... er, businessical. I suppose..... So, Jemima, can you re-unage me?....... Edited by Ryan, Monday, 13. April 2009, 11:25.
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| Andryusha | Friday, 17. April 2009, 01:25 Post #13 |
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The one and only
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“That is not her.” He muttered down the phone, several yards away from the two more unique customers of the cafe though maintaining the perfect facade. His real eye hadn’t left her as he slowly made his way down the parallel pavement, growling at Wart down the phone. His frustration wasn’t at his colleague, but the lack of intervention but from the Camarilla. Having experienced genocide first hand, he was adamant on preventing it ever happening again. He sighed; at least Malloy had done something good with Paris. Least there weren’t Sabbat blowing the shit out of everything left right and centre. He almost shuddered to think if he ever showed up. He had stopped and was staring off into the distance, snapping too only when Warts voice hit a certain decibel. “Yes...The description doesn’t match, at least not from the university. I’ll keep an eye on her, though send agents.” He noticed them leaving already, so he carried on to not arouse suspicion before stalking them again. Not knowing the enemy was dangerous, and extra Nosferatu would mean easier apprehension. Though that would be a last resort, and he wasn’t going to drag anyone to the swift oppression of his ‘superiors’ as mistakes happened. As long as they were cleaned up. He had long since clicked the phone shut and hunted them further, stopping short of their location as they entered one of the more run down areas of the city. When the door shut behind them, he allowed himself to be fully submerged in a shadowy cloak, vanishing from the world around him as he drew close to the door and perked up his bat-like ears. The city was too noisy, too loud, not like his beloved warrens. There was only one way to make sense of the muffled noises from within. He manipulated their minds, covered his own sewer ridden stench and the noise of the door opening as he stepped into the relatively unknown. He only hoped that his support was ready. |
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| Kerri Phillips | Wednesday, 22. April 2009, 02:11 Post #14 |
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Childe
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She looked at him with a puzzled expression for a moment, after all he had answered nothing that she had just asked him barring to furnish her with his name. He wasn't feeble minded, he seemed quick in his thought and action though fragmented quite probably from whatever insanity befell him. She sighed dragging her fingers through her messy hair displaying the scar across her face and a glimpse of the ears that were nestled in the riotous curls. No she would have to re-word this, to change her tact to how he spoke and saw the world. Fractured thought was always a bitch to recreate though and so she paused to collect her own to speak to him and try again. "How many seasons did you and your mistress share, Ryan?" She spoke softly, calmly and slowly. "Where did she live before you came to Paris?" Something bothered her however, made the hairs on her neck prickle as she sat looking at the mortal...for he could no longer be classed as ghoul, they were alone in the room but she felt the almost expected creep of paranoia slip into her mind making her eyes flit around the room though they continued and persisted in seeing nothing. It did not feel right and she could not put her finger on it though the man before her seemed to sense nothing as he sat there. She closed her eyes to listen but after a moment of hearing nothing she opened them resolute to end this meeting soon but she could not figure out why she felt the need to not be there. Hunted for too long, and getting waaaay too long in the tooth she thought with a slow grin forming on her mouth. "I don't worry about the idea that your mistress may have done something bad....someone somewhere always judges what people have done and at the end of the day it is biased by their opinions so one mans hero is anothers diabolical traitor." Her own thoughts slipped out far more than they should as she clamped her mouth shut silently cursing herself for being so open and unguarded with him, even if she could slice him down in a second she was sharing and sharing was not good. Damn she had been without company for far too long. "I can't unage you as you call it Ryan, and right now I am not of the opinion to do anything because I want to know more....your mistress must have told you what an honour it was to be in her service." She smiled again, unarmingly and gentle as she tried to coax the information out of him. "Every group, every city has it's factions and I wanted to get an idea of where your mistress was from so I could understand who she helped....you see there are some that are cruel and evil to mortals all around them and you may, without realising it, know something about them. To create a bond with you and stop you aging, to become my servant and someone that I have to trust with many things when I am at my weakest I need to know that I can give you that trust." She reached over and touched his hand briefly with her own cool one, stroking the skin in a single motion before leaning back. "I need to know everything for that reason because if I can trust you then I will be happy for you to remain in my company, as my companion and eyes during the light of day." She wasn't sure why she asked those questions...why she thought of looking into this deeper. Perhaps it was the idea that if this man had once had a bond then it's weakening would be proven by what he told her. If he did not then it would suggest that he was still in his mistresses thrall and perhaps was a spy. She looked at his appearance and his desperation to halt the aging process and realised that it was a minor chance but still even in that fractured mind of his he could hold useful information and if she had in some way been involved with the Sabbat then it was information she could use. Perhaps the offer to strike back against the enemies that struck her down depending on their sect, it may not be an empty promise but it was the carrot she was sure would get him singing like a canary. |
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| Ryan | Friday, 24. April 2009, 10:04 Post #15 |
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Ghoul
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[OOC: a comma before Ryan in your first spoken sentence, otherwise it looks like I shared myself with my mistress :)] Words crashed gently into Ryan. Words with a face. A curved face dangling a dot. The question. A symbol. he knew of place and travelling. A time past... where."Laon" He said, remembering the city. "We lived on the blade of the city, away from eyes... quiet it was... and branded. Not many of my kind there... we were ... unnecessary save for cleaning. ..... I had an orange room with red decoration." His eyes unfocused at the memory, his head curving to the left and his thoughts lining up one after another to be counted. "There were visiters occassionally. Not always nice. Some were the Havok-Splitters. I don't like them. They brought the fire.... not wolves. Wolves aren't that bloodied." He spat the word. "I prefered the other visiters in their cloths, scarves and long skirts. Flashy 'A's they were. The Free Ones. No one holds them down. Not even the ones who.... who destroyed Laon and my room. No more red.... only melted wax and crumbled walls.... is it three weeks now? Mistress didn't like the Capes. Said they were in brass towers that fell on people. .....opaque towers? but they don't talk to us. We were safe bcause of Lady Weave and her alchemy.... I think. Gypsy lady. Old for the thirty years she holds." He abruptly sad upon the floor, then cocked an ear towards the door. Paused a second then shook his head. "No one. Rent was payed Tuesday. No visiters" Had the bluff worked? "Mistress was there to talk. Always talking with them. Crimson-tasters usually, or ones like me from them. After the fire I came here." His words ending matter-of-factly, the way a small child states something he knows and is proud and stubborn in his belief in it. His head nodded slightly as his left hand made an outline of a perfect circle, but changed half way into a triangle. Ryan paused, confused by the shape, and finished it into a picture of a duck in the dust. Edited by Ryan, Friday, 24. April 2009, 10:13.
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Friendly Faces Black and white are too submissive to lie often. | |
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6:32 PM Nov 29
