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IC || Grey&Spectral

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Re: IC || Grey&Spectral

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Averagebear on Sun Jul 24, 2011 4:48 pm

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Ama listened quietly as each one of her party introduced themselves, patient as always. Some of her teammates brought forth little giggles, others worried frowns. For the most part, though, she just smiled. She didn't speak through the entire duration of the spoken introductions, interrupting being one of the many things she never did. Though if anyone were watching her closely enough they'd see a disappointed twinkle in her eye as many people harmed or otherwise meddled in the affairs of the large cockroaches skittering about the room. "Such brutality," she thought with sadness. This was their home- it probably had been their home for longer than many of the young men and women had been alive. They had most certainly dwelled here in peace much before they had arrived. Weren't you supposed to treat your hosts with respect and gratefulness? The hasty Redeemers intruded upon their living place and were so abrasive as to either kill them without being provoked or toss them out and into the city where the poor thing would most likely be preyed upon by a Legionnaire. How was that just? She mentally gave a prayer for the two dead ones, and hoped the best for the one now trapped in Vincere's heat. She was glad to hear that the other roaches were safely burrowed in the cabinets across the massive room and would be safe from the Redeemer's impulsive attacks. One would be surprised by how smart the Litasian roach was- they had 3 brains, after all. They could speak to one another in their odd, hissing language and, once the predator had left, the family unit would surround a fallen member and mourn for its death. Ama had heard it happen before. But she knew that her colleagues weren't aware of such things, so she held no resentment against them, letting it pass.

Finally, everyone had finished talking, ending with Mr. Mathis' ridiculously curt grunts. Knowing it was now her time to explain just why they were here, she found herself looking towards the ceiling, eyes resting on a cherub's blank face. "First, I'd like to request that you keep any comments or questions to yourselves until the end of my speech. There's a lot of be said and surely a lot to be asked, but bear with me. I'm sure you're all aware of how Sapentia fell nearly 20 years ago. Since Dominatio has slain her, he's been plotting and increasing the number of Demoni in the world. We thought he'd been laying dormant for the past ten years, but of recent times, he has acted swiftly. Have you noticed a surge of missions for you to complete? Almost as if the number of Demoni has doubled?" she looked back down to gaze at the whole of her group.

"It's because they have. Tripled or quadrupled is probably more accurate, actually. While Litas seems to have been spared the brunt of the terror, Dominatio has sent out The Plague. So far, Vesuvi (the mountainous kingdom just east of Litas), Sospes (the marshy kingdom across the Procello Bay from Litas), and Decessus (the icy kingdom across the Acrim Sea from Litas) have all been infected. Hordes of Demoni unfathomably large trampled through the kingdoms, aiming to slay the patron demigods living there. The troupes of Redeemers in those areas have fallen, as have most of the innocent civilians living there. Those kingdoms are running rampant with Demoni. It has been confirmed that Vesuvius of the mountains and Sospesa of the marshes are both dead, Decess having gone missing though suspected to have fallen a similar fate." her soft voice rang clear through the shining ballroom, how upset she was by the aforementioned fact plain as day. "It is clear that Dominatio must be stopped. The organization has decided to take on an offensive strategy as opposed to defensive, choosing to attack first instead of waiting to be preyed upon."

She sighed deeply here, suddenly looking as old as she was as the gravity of the situation caked onto her features. "The big issue at hand is that no immortal, not even a Redeemer, can kill Dominatio. Only Sapentia, a fellow god, had the power to do so. Not even her children can do the deed, as they only each contain a tenth of the essence of Sapentia- or so the story goes. Even if they could, we're afraid that the demigods are too apathetic on the matter, and most likely wouldn't raise together to fight anyway. The organization has come up with an alternative option. We obviously are not gods- just having the Demoni blood in our system destroys us in..." she paused for just a second here, eyes flashing with an undecipherable emotion "15 years. They think that should we digest the blood of Sapentia's children, much like we have digested Dominatio's children, we will be the perfect weapon against his mighty darkness. We'll be half demon, half saint- essentially having the components of the Original himself in our human body and thereby having the ability to exterminate Dominatio. We have to drink the blood of half of Sapentia's children in order for it to be potent enough to be effective. That's five different demigods- five different kingdoms we have to visit. By the end of this trip, it's a possibility we will entirely lose our humanity, the half of us we cling to as our ego being replaced by Sapentia's force. It's worth it to save the world, I'd imagine. The demigods of the kingdoms may not cooperate, though. Litatio, for example, has hidden himself from his people for all these years now." She was turning greyer and greyer, her light slowly dwindling as she continued to speak of such troubling topics. She almost looked like a deflating doll of sorts.

"I'm sorry you have to hear all of this from a woman who hardly knows herself. I may be the commander, but I too have no idea the details the organization has planned for us. All the Redeemers all over the world are on this same mission. Unfortunately, you do not have a choice. Should you decide not to pursue this mission, you will be considered a rogue warrior and the organization will strike you down. If you do not wish to continue on this mission, I would be glad to give you a swift and honorable death now by my own two hands. I'm sure it'd be much more pleasant than what the organization has planned for you." you could tell she was not pleased by this note in particular. Ama was appalled when she'd heard this news.The board was ruthless in a way Ama could never be. She disagreed with this policy most of all- killing anyone who wasn't willing to bend to their every wish.

"As for our troupe in particular, I've been told to take all of us to a little girl named Nica. She is described as being about 10 years old, having one blue eye and one green eye, and being pale as death itself. She is supposed to be our guide on this journey, but I'm... I'm not sure why. She is somewhere in Litas. It is our first task at hand to find her." she cooed hesitantly. The word why continued to repeat in her head. She had so many questions and the organization refused to answer any of them. What could a small girl possibly offer to them? Realizing that she was becoming a wreck, Ama took a moment to close her eyes and breathe. She titled her head so that her fiery tangles spilled in front of her face, concealing her as she dispelled all the negativity that had begun to fester in her heart. A couple of exhales later and she seemed to be cured of her afflictions, a bright smile tightly wound back onto that round face of hers. They could do this. Even if they couldn't, they had to try. For the good of the world. She titled her head back and looked at each and everyone of them, eyes burrowing into them as her newly refurnished determination burned from within. This was the very same gaze that had reassured countless men and women in the darkest of times.

"Furthermore, it appears some of you haven't been properly using the organization's resources. Your weapons are practically crumbling." she laughed lightly, giving Solvej and Lucas extra special glances as she said this. "I'll send in a request for suitable replacements. Your new weapons should be delivered to us within the next couple of days." This said, she slunk to her feet again and patted her thighs to rid them of the nonexistent dust coating them. "Any questions? Concerns? Rebellions? Anybody want me to take their life after all? Let's not waste time- we can't afford to in the middle of a Plague." she sung playfully, as she dreaded the heat that would soon hug her tightly in an unwanted embrace- like having your guts squeezed out of you by that distant aunt at a family reunion you didn't even want to go to.


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Last edited by Averagebear on Sun Jul 24, 2011 10:22 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Re: IC || Grey&Spectral

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Kurokiku on Sun Jul 24, 2011 9:22 pm

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ā€œFirst, I'd like to request that you keep any comments or questions to yourselves until the end of my speech.ā€ Now there was a sign they were in for something they werenā€™t going to like. You only said something like that if you were expecting to be interrupted in the first place. Granted, with this lot, it could just be a precautionary measure, as quite a few did seem to enjoy the sound of their own voices, but Snow didnā€™t think it likely that this was the only reason. Too facile. Nothing was ever obvious with the Redeemers, no matter how it may at first seem.

The part about the demigods being slain should probably come as more of a surprise, but logically, if one were a god-slayingā€¦ godā€¦ it was rather predictable, actually. Snow was constantly trying to convince herself that her understanding of such logic was merely due to an ability to objectively study the Demoni and predict their actions, and not because sheā€™d been so close to becoming an abomination that she understood more of their mentality than she should. "It is clear that Dominatio must be stopped. The organization has decided to take on an offensive strategy as opposed to defensive, choosing to attack first instead of waiting to be preyed upon."

Were she more expressive, Snow would probably have punctuated this statement with an eyeroll and a huff. Funny how they decide these things after two, possibly three demigods are dead. Funny also that none of them have shown up to participate. She wondered if they even expected whatever this magnificent plan of theirs was to work, or if they merely felt obligated to throw a few of their least-consequential (or most troublesome, as the case may be) people at it and say they tried even the crazy ideas.

Of course, she had no idea just how crazy the whole thing was for a few more sentences. ā€œThey think that should we digest the blood of Sapentia's children, much like we have digested Dominatio's children, we will be the perfect weapon against his mighty darkness. We'll be have demon, half saint- essentially having the components of the Original himself in our human body and thereby having the ability to exterminate Dominatio.ā€ And be dead in half the time, no doubt. This and other nonsense mathematics- a Redeemer standard. How do they figure relative blood potencies, anyway? Whatā€™s to say the effect is not exponential? What if they act as acid-base components and neutralize or kill us upon ingestion? Ah, but of course. It is simply a lack of concern.

On one level, she could understand this. Regardless of what degree of relative self-importance they held, it was doubtful that most of them were of great consequence to the Redeemers as an organization. Making more little meat-puppets to dance on strings for you was not so difficult, if one were willing to dirty oneā€™s hands with the blood of countless abominations when they failed to form quite right. She couldnā€™t even say she begrudged them this- not really. But Ama must have seriously upset somebody. One of the Ten, being sent to what was quite possibly suicide along with the rest of them? My, my, what did you do?

She was most startled to hear, though, that all the Redeemers would actually be attempting the same. Was that true? Were they really staking the entire organization on such a ghost of a chance as this? That level of desperation might be expected, but she had not thought the other nine would put themselves at that kind of risk. Two possibilities: one, they really were that desperate and stupidly convinced of the solidity of their own logic. Two: someone had lied to Ama. The combination of the elegant simplicity of the second and the fact that nothing was ever as it seemed with the Redeemers made the lie a more likely option, actually, but as she did not know, it would be pointless to assume anything.

In the end, she supposed it really didnā€™t matter. Disobedience was not an option, and she wouldnā€™t have been particularly inclined to it even if it was. She was not servile by nature, but this life was not really her own. She had forsaken living for herself when sheā€™d nearly starved herself to death out of a misplaced, heartsick sense of duty. This life was borrowed, lent, and the debt was yet to be paid. The note on the peculiar nature of their guide was something Snow stored away for later perusal, but for now she left it.

"Any questions? Concerns? Rebellions? Anybody want me to take their life after all? Let's not waste time- we can't afford to in the middle of a Plague." The playful tone this was offered in indicated that Amaryillis did not actually expect much in the way of the last, though sheā€™d probably be a fool to not expect at least some of the first two. Not that Snow was planning on offering, of course. Instead, she merely stood, setting her hood back in place and already dreading the trip back outside. Stoicism may have been an understatement for her particular mode of existence, but then if that was how it appeared, she would not be unsatisfied with it.

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Re: IC || Grey&Spectral

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby onetrickpony on Sun Jul 24, 2011 10:48 pm

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Lilith listened and observed in perfect silence, perfectly attentive, wrapping her arms around her knees. All the while, her squinted eyes would alternate between dull and passive to glimmering with the excitement of it all. Smoke drifted lazily upward in a steady stream, cigarette held loosely between her lips.

To Lilith, the news of Sepentia's slaying was terribly old, older than any of her memories, as was the increase in Demoni. This fluctuation was all too noticeable, especially within the passed five years. But to hear that Dominatio had moved against the demigods in additionā€¦somebody must have really pissed the God right off. How had nobody seen or sensed this coming? Everyone twiddling their thumbs, thinking, 'Oh, now that he's killed Sapentia, his blood lust must certainly be satiated.' It baffled the tiny girl how complacent and blind everyone had been for 20 years, including herself. To hear that so many Redeemers had fallenā€¦ the entirety of three kingdoms? That would be a third of the entire organization! Some of them must have deserted, and she was sure that having heard the rumors, countless more must be on the run in other kingdoms. Who was to be assigned the job of tracking each of them down to destroy them? Surely there wasn't enough time or man-power.

But these were not even the most interesting parts of the tale. Lilith had long wondered what drinking the blood of a demigod might do for her, the curse in her blood weighing more heavily on her mind as the years went by. The idea of losing their humanity completely to this power, a power that would allow them to slay Gods, did not faze Lilith. She wasn't actually sure she had ever had much humanity within her tiny form to begin with. None of the information really shook her. Some spurred thoughts to ponder and mule over later, things to consider, but she did not balk at any of the new information. And so it goes. And so on and so on and so on and so onā€¦.

Her eyes shifted, scanning the others in the room for emotion. Were they scared? Would any run? Did Ama have a mutiny simmering at her fingertips now? She considered grabbing hold of one of the Lovers sheathed at her hip, just in case someone panicked, but she realized she didn't need to be on edge to handle herself around this group. The feeling quickly subsided.

Lilith stood to follow her, not saying a word out loud. She had no questions, she needed no answers. Instead, her playful countenance grew very somber as she decided this was the appropriate mood to display. This was a huge mission they had in front of them. It hardly even seemed possible, but there was only one way to find out, and only one option. Even if they didn't succeed, the lure of getting rid of the Redeemer's curse, drinking the blood of a demigod to lengthen her lifeā€¦it all was so alluring. Yet they could only move one step at a time. She was sure that answers would pop up as they went. Especially after they met little Nica. Her curiosity bubbled, and her solemnity dissipated.

"Only a God can kill a God, so we must become Gods ourselves." she grinned, "Simple enough." She rather liked the idea of this.
Carpe diem bitches.

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Re: IC || Grey&Spectral

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Wudgeous on Sun Jul 24, 2011 11:24 pm

Lucas Truesdale


And ah, in came a fifth: A female tank. See what he meant by the ladies making his game far too easy? The girl who introduced herself as Solvej made it child's play--unborn infant's play even. She had sweet features underneath the helmet, perhaps an even sweeter personality from the way she could hold that roach... While he wasn't sure how he felt about this, it was cute. Then Lilith (he whistled at her number later, despite her raised hand) had a go with an insect, and it took him all the effort in his bones not to laugh at her. They hated being laughed at. Thus, Lucas sat with quivering shoulders and ducking his head; the smile curled on his face was no different from a cat's flicking tail. It didn't last.

When Ama requested they be silent and pay attention, he did his best to quell his smile just a little. It turned out he didn't have to, for as she went on, his spirits gradually sunk, seeming to even phase through the floor and whatever was below that. It was all so serious. Demoni, the death of the Goddess and her children, the need to kill the God and his children. Talk about family drama. It hadn't even felt real. Lucas had jokingly told everyone that the Demoni numbers were probably rising because it was mating season, and it would soon pass. Turns out he lied to them, he supposed. Looking down at his hands, which were clasped tightly together, he realized he was scowling. Killing a God...? Him? With these guys? Jeez, killing Demoni was bad enough, and now they expect him to run around, bleed out the demigods (who apparently do exist after all, what a world), drink the shit, become a hero... Or an expendable pawn. A test subject. Lucas sighed audibly, his lips widely curling upwards. On the bright side, he wouldn't be able to taste it.

"Don't got a choice," he mumbled.

It was no time to say something stupidly pessimistic like "Welp! We'd die either way! May as well!!" It was the time to be thankful he hadn't died in all the time before now. The grin turned wry when he recalled the meaningful look she'd given him and the spear, however. A replacement, huh? For this old thing? He guessed it was about that time anyway. Placing the worn, blackened, wooden end of the spear flat against the ground, he helped himself onto his feet, gripping it firmly. This all reminded him of when he first became a Redeemer--he hadn't taken it nearly as well as now, of course. He bitched about it, for one, but he soon learned he'd just have to get over himself. Gotta lose something before he... hm. He hadn't won a whole lot exactly, but hey, that shouldn't get him down. There would be sightseeing and exotic babes. It would be fun.

The spear came to rest against his forehead, neatly dividing his face into two halves. "I dunno about becoming a God, but I'm in."
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Re: IC || Grey&Spectral

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby ZenMon on Mon Jul 25, 2011 1:59 am

Lan listened quietly as Ama bared the facts. No sugar-coating. No skirting the story. Everything had been laid before them, and now they were to make sense of it. It was quite simple really: join or die. It would be ridiculous to consider leaving the group now, not when all of the Redeemers had crawled from hell itself to continue on. Lan certainly had no quarrels with it, and it beat consigning himself to the abyss for eternity. However, he was not entirely at peace with drinking the blood of Sapentia's children. He would get over it. Eventually.

A few questions did arise in his mind, and Lan decided to voice them. "You mentioned hunting demigods. Are we only taking out the ones who have abandoned their people to the mercy of Dominatio's "children"? Or just the first five we come across? And the Plague, are you saying Demoni are in cities? Or just the outlying towns?" Lan thought for a moment. "Regardless of answers, I am dedicated until the end. On my honor as the last of my clan."

A child? The idea tumbled through his mind. We're having a child start us off? Are the higher ranks losing their minds? Or were they never gone in the first place? Lan was dedicated, but he detested the thought of bringing a child into the war against Dominatio. The very idea seemed absurd. But orders were orders. And he was not high enough to do anything about it. And he was happy with that. He had an objective, and nothing would get in his way.

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Re: IC || Grey&Spectral

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Toadsworth on Mon Jul 25, 2011 11:00 pm

Vivian


Vivian ignored most of the others as they gave their speeches, continuing knitting her scarf. She was humming slightly to herself, a soft song that didnā€™t really seem to ever end, and only cycled back on itself. If one looked closely, they could see that she was rocking herself back and forth as she did this, her knitting needles clicking furiously together and the scarf began to form. It was a nice, rich purple colored scarf made from good yarn. This would not be a blood scarf. This would be a nice gift scarf. She smiled to herself, lost in her yarn.

The elf spoke. ā€˜Perhaps fortyā€™ she said. Oh, poor girl. She couldnā€™t even remember her number. And she- wait, what? Forty? How was this elf chick getting close to her rank? Vivianā€™s humming stopped and she shot a glance at Snow, a glance that did not leave much to the imagination. It simply said, ā€˜I hate you, and I would like to remove your face using a large, spikey ball on a string.ā€™ Well...Regardless, the elf probably got her rank out of dumb luck. Any dumb animal can kill if given the opportunity. Or maybe other Redeemers weakened creatures for her and simply let her kill them out of pity. Poor thing. Vivianā€™s malice toward Snow did not change, but a slow creep of maternal instincts did emerge. She would want to look after the dumb elf during battle; after all sheā€™ll only get herself killed.

And then someone wanted a sock. Vivian looked up at Lilith as she stretched out her foot. Missing out on the sarcasm, a wide grin spread across her face. ā€Oh, most certainly! I will get it to you as soon as I can, most likely in about one week, max! I could normally do an order sooner, but as you see, I am currently working on another project. They will be lovely socks, I guarantee it!ā€ She began to hum to herself and continue knitting, thinking of colors for Lillianā€™s socks. Smoking, the poor girl. Vivian shook her head, remembering a time when she could afford tobacco and when the calming affect actually worked. Her time in prison shook that addiction from her and they never tasted the same after. Still she inhaled deeply when the scent reached her nose, savoring the wonderful smell, feeling the slight, familiar burn.

A man was talking. Vivian blocked out what he said and added in her own dialogue. She thought to herself, ā€˜Blahblahblah my names Ezekiel. Blahblahblah I like to lift rocks and throw things. Blahblahblah blur blur blur blahblah I fight good with my blahblah and I blahblah with my bluhbluh.ā€™ She chuckled to herself, the laughter brewing inside of her until she spat it out into a full-fledgeā€HA!!!!ā€, which was quickly stifled. She shut her mouth and continued knitting, her eyes not leaving the cloth in front of her.

Ama began discussing their mission. Vivian listened intently, although she did not change her stance, the weaves of yarn still spilling out from her knitting needles into the beautiful scarf. Several things panged deep in her as slightly crazy ideas, and as Vivian was rather insane herself, this worried her. A child leading them? A child that they would have to FIND? Vivian did not take this lightly. Playing hide and seek with some little child was wasting serious time, time that could be spent melting a certain whoreā€™s face.

Once Ama had finished, Vivian put her needles down and politely raised her hand. Without waiting to be acknowledged, she spoke. ā€I do have a few questions and concerns, maā€™am. While I am fully agreed that we must do something to stop this, I have a few issues with the plan at hand. First of all, as we know, if we overextend ourselves we become abominations. What would happen if we were to become this as our newā€¦god-like selves? After all, it is difficult for us to extinguish abominations in their normal state, and in a state like this it would be nigh impossible. Will we also gain additional abilities when we drink the other blood, just as this blood has given us abilities?ā€

Vivian would not go through this again. She would not have her internal organs burned, have her skin melt off of her, have weeks of nothing but pain in a hospital. She would not end her life here at the hands of Ama, no. She would run and find Pearl, and then let the organization do what it will. It was her life to live. She has killed her fellow man before and, damnit, she was willing to do it again.

ā€Secondly, do we need to give up our weapons as a whole? I have grown fond of mine. It has served me well for years and I do not believe I really need an upgrade, as she still works just as well as the day I first purchased her. If I must relinquish my weapon, I will, but if I had a choice I would rather not. That is all, maā€™am.ā€ She lowered her hand and glanced around the room before looking back at Ama.

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Re: IC || Grey&Spectral

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Yonbibuns on Tue Jul 26, 2011 1:49 pm

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ImageFallon harrumphed. He'd snorted sceptically but said nothing. He had argued, cajoled, and grumbled his protests all the way from the depths of Litas, only to be met with Ama's even-tempered refusal to listen to his meagre protests. But he was here. He swallowed a lifetime's worth of sharp, shrewish retorts and forced himself to remain civil. Civil and seated far, far from the other Redeemer's. The sweltering heat slithered against the walls o the building; but, thankfully, they were sheltered from it's barren, asphyxiating torridness. For some of the Redeemer's, Vincere's feverish environment was unbearable. To those who've lived in it's harsh conditions grew used to it's pernicious climate, ruddy people and oft times, repulsive bigotry. The golden sunshine always hung high in cloudless skies, penetrating through the gritty sands and bronzing bare-backed flesh. It wasn't often that you'd glimpse porcelain skin, untouched by the sun's luminescent, merciless rays. Such creatures as Snow were rare, as well. Finally, he raised his widely-round golden-myrtle eyes to regard the other Redeemers massing around each other, offering muted introductions. He watched their lips move, stringing words and sentences together with what he presumed to be witty banter, and then solemn, simple admittances. He seemed in a fit of melancholy, with his eyebrows curved with mild inquisitiveness . His lengthy back and torso stood upright as he sat on the nearby windowsill, with one knee propped against his thin chest plate while the other leg fell freely. Carmine drapes were drawn across the windows, sheltering them from the basting heat outside.

He was out of place there, as an elf. Elves belonged in the segregated sections of Litas. They weren't even allowed to enter Vincere without admittance from the Redeemer's. Somehow, that rule didn't seem to apply to Fallon any more, as he had taken up residence with the Redeemer's and no one had ever complained. There'd always been other Elves within the organization, though they'd been scarce in comparison to the steady supply of humans. He sighed and laid his head back against the cool, shaded wall. He'd found out more than he ever thought possible about his father's killers, and he had always thought that alone would make him feel at least slightly better about himself. He had his revenge. He was free now, wasn't he? The tendrils of nonsensical guilt still weighed heavy on his heart, tightening whenever he felt as if he was somehow slighting their memories. Ama always reprimanded him for such negativity ā€“ she'd been the most kindred spirit in his life, alongside Ezekiel. But still, they both seemed more broody and cantankerous as each year passed them. It wasn't necessarily Ama's fault; she was two parts mother hen, and five parts kindness, generosity and benevolence. Her cordiality had made him feel uncomfortable as a stripling, but nowadays it filled him with a sense of belonging. Indeed, Fallon had changed.

He'd been alone for the entire afternoon, isolated with his contemplations in the corner. Fallon's attempts at conversation had withered down to mere half-glances, idle waves and stony expressions. Perhaps, a muted look of respect and amiable veneration might've passed between him and the imposing, surmounting giant. In his youth, Fallon had always heard tales of monumental giants taming equally grandiose creatures to ride as mounts; such beings would need mountainous creatures capable of holding their rippling girth. He didn't outright deny their race authenticity, nor did he seem capable of admitting that they were real. Either way, Deus' concrete, physical prowess was readily admired and respected, even though his disposition was something left to be desired. Most of the Redeemer's scoffed at his boastful arrogance and constantly heckled him about his low ranking, specifically the swaggering Lucas Truesdale. Yes, Fallon was well acquainted with each of them; whether it be from names, rumours, chance meetings, or connected assignments. He enjoyed knowing about others, without joining in petty conversations. Even if racial bigotry was left at the Redeemer's metaphorical door, it wasn't something he could escape and it wasn't something he felt inclined to suffer.

He grasped the wine bottle's slender neck, took a sip and settled it between his legs. Vincere's Icewine was a sweet, luscious and intensely flavoured dessert wine made from golden grapes that had frozen on the vine. Within each frozen grape were the flavours of the tropics: pineapple, guava, passion fruit and mango; imported fruits that were more succulent and delicious than the next. Fallon's knowledge on such things were vast; he could confidently claim that he'd tasted most of the local wines that might've graced the taverns, pubs, or dinner tables. It was the only thing that truly warmed his belly right now. He would've rather been wasting his time in the yard; practising. Swordplay was much like therapy for the elf; it was satisfying to swing and thrust his hidden blades; felling the faceless bodies around him whilst turning in slow, methodical circles. Every movement of his limbs, every shift of his muscles; it was all purely instinctual. Social niceties and compelling conversations were much more awkward. Fallon always felt as if he was missing something, else he might've been as beguiling as Lucas. Instead, the man's contesting gaze always shied away, and he'd suddenly disappear. Perhaps, those mannerisms were wasted on him.

Keen, hawk-like eyes detected skittering roaches pattering across the alabaster floors. Reddish russet with yellowish margin strewn across the body region behind it's head; long antenna's dipping towards the smooth surface it tread; testing and touching and it's territory marking. It's brown carapace twitched every time it moved forward; halting, and surveying the area. It's large compound eyes reflected the giant's it contended with. And then, without any time to caper away, a large, meaty foot slammed down on it's entire body and it seemed to explode into a myriad of gooey mess, crunchy limbs and splattered insect innards. Fallon's mouth grew taut and he looked away. Deus' didn't seem at all perturbed that the remnants of roach remained slick across his foot; kicking whatever loose remains across the once immaculate floor. How... how appalling. If Fallon was at all disgusted, it wasn't expressed across his dispassionate features. He would not join the circle of bodies as if they were playing duck, duck, goose. Instead, he would merely watch from his vantage point and add any fruitless points when asked; personal opinions were best saved for pleasant conversations. He was sure none would be had.

Fallon couldn't hear them, anyway. One of his fives senses had been robbed from him during the induction ritual, and so he was left learning how to understand hand-speak and reading lips. Fortunately, speech reading came easily. Utilizing his vision abilities, he could visually interpret the movements of the lips, face and tongue with information provided by the context, language, and any residual hearing. Ama was adamant that if he pressed his ear close to an individual's lips that he could hear their rumbling bass tones quite fine ā€“ however, it wasn't something he wished to try. He might've caught a woman's lips regarding Snow as a lowly Elven maid. His nose immediately crinkled in disgust, sharp eyebrows knitting together with rekindled animosity. Humans were ignorant cretins; flaunting their instilled barbarism and depraving others of their Maker-given rights. How dare they! Her abhorrence was scrawled across her down-turned face; clear as day. Fallon's fingers tightened around the bottle's neck, loosened, then dropped back across his knee.

Another frightened roach tasted the woman's merciless distaste. The large hammer slammed into the ground, and was then lifted, revealing that the witless creature was screaming, twitching it's little broken limbs in one last effort to escape it's fate. Fallon might've said something, but knew his breath would be wasted on that fiendish hellion. He pretended to admire the carmine drapes, pinching them between his clawed gauntlets. To all that might've glimpsed the nonchalant addition, sitting across the room against the window-sill, it might've seemed like he wasn't paying any heed to their introductory conversation. From his golden peripherals, Fallon was watching; as he always did. And within a soundless world, he was listening.

His surrogate mother began her long-winded speech, recounting the current events in great detail. It hadn't been anything that Fallon hadn't heard before, or rather, hadn't seen through speech-reading. Fallon's fingers stretched out, flexing and then hanging lax. Whenever he witnessed Ama in this sort of deflated, exhausted stateā€”he wanted nothing more than to reach out to her, and comfort her. His tense shoulders were hardly crying-on material, and his comforting words were always frigidly awkward, so he couldn't offer much besides his presence. At least, she could contend with the fact that he'd always be there when he was needed. Her fierceness was intangible and her energy always bubbled a few layers beneath her skin. Like he'd already guessed, Ama's afflictions suddenly eased away and was replaced by a cheery, bright smile that seemingly transformed the serious matter into something you might've discussed during tea time. It was her determination and relentless hope for a better world that always kept Fallon on his heels, ready to combat any evil that might face them.

ā€œAny questions? Concerns? Rebellions? Anybody want me to take their life after all? Let's not waste time- we can't afford to in the middle of a Plague."

Fallon took another gulp of wine, and remained silent.

It wasn't as if he had much choice, anyway.
Last edited by Yonbibuns on Wed Jul 27, 2011 7:50 am, edited 1 time in total.
Ambar: Snow & Ash
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"For these words, he won't come around here,
and his eyes won't see."

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Re: IC || Grey&Spectral

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Smith on Tue Jul 26, 2011 3:11 pm

Grey


Grey would have never said that he was an avid listener, but something in this Ama woman's voice gave him pause. Sitting down on the floor, Grey pushed up his blinder just enough to see the speaker with one eye. That eye subsequently widened, dilated and contracted as the myriad of emotional responses from Ama's words were evoked. The first thing to strike Grey as odd was how casually she spoke of the 'Gods'. Having been raised in a predominantly aetheist household, Grey had only learned of deific beings after some personal study in his time in the army. According to the many books(most of which written by zealotus priests) and tomes on the gods and their children, some might strike you down simply for speaking of them...good or ill.

Hm. Maybe they aren't really that fickle? as Amaryliss elaborated on the many deaths of the demigods Grey could not help but scowl. They can die? Just like that? They must not be that much stronger than a high-ranked Redeemer then...unless there was a few ten thousand demoni and abominations wearing away at them. that thought in mind, the manipulator thought back on the sudden surge of missions within recent times and the frequency with which he had been requested to work with members of the human army or local town militia. The rest of the plan, however, brought a smile to Grey's face.

A mirthless one. Not really an expression, so much as peeling back muscle fibers and skin to reveal teeth. This chick cannot be serious. it was not the whole 'fighting throguh hordes of blood-hungry demoni', nor was it the prospect of having to tear apart a demigod to ingest blood that could be potentially fatal. Actually, Grey was fairly confident that they stood a reasonable chance against these glorified objects of worship. No...it was the assumption that a group of quasi-mortal freaks of nature could succeed where a pantheon of demigods could not.

Another excellent topping to go on the crap cake was the mention of a child guiding their actions. 'What on earth are the higher-ups smoking, because I want in on some of that.' was a statement Grey narrowly avoided saying aloud. A child was to lead them into war? Fun. Grey already felt obligated to look out for the sensers of the group given their delicate nature, but now he had to watch out for some runt too? It just was not fair. Finally, one bright spot to this rambling speech was the mention of new weapons. As long as they were of the same type and make, he would be happy. The time for discussion had finally arrived and Grey had more than his fair share to say.

"I agree with...uh...Vivian? The threat of shifting is an ever-present one, and that goes doubly for us manipulators. Even if the deific blood does not kill us outright, any kind of stress-inducing reaction it has with our demoni blood could cause us to become an abomination...it's not an experience that I'd like to experience a..." Grey took a moment to count off his awakenings on one hand, "Third time. Also...if this Dominatio's children are enough to wipe out a group of demigods, what makes you think a bunch of pumped up freaks have a snowball's chance in Vincere?

"Eh...ya know what? Nevermind. I'll just fuck-up whatever demoni I can and pray for the best. Is good plan, no?"

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Re: IC || Grey&Spectral

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Birchskins on Tue Jul 26, 2011 4:56 pm

Solvej Roanoke



As the hefty traveller wandered further and further into blatant danger, the reasoning of leaving it be and letting fate decide itā€™s destiny was being challenged every second it spent on the battle-field. She couldnā€™t think of any excuse of such uneasiness, except for the fact that she presumed, after the earlier actions, that most present were roach killers, or the sort. Actually, she should have been lumped in with that group, rather then being someone on the sidelines, cheering on itā€™s freedom- itā€™s form, and itā€™s mannerism, did not please her in the slightest. Her lack of cause to kill the bugger was what kept it alive from her hands, yet she doubted anyone else would be so hesitate. Reflecting, no longer on their intentions in the ballroom, but on the warrior roach itself, it wasnā€™t long before some action was taken up on it.
From not quiet so far away, the aurete female manipulator, who announced herself earlier to be Lilith, took it upon herself to assist the almost monstrous bug. Solvej watched in a mix of catechize and awe, as the contortionist danced across the floor, pick it up in her bare hands, and expose it to the world outside the opulence within, even when the sight of the Redeemers seemed as alien as the roaches themselves in grand structure.
An unpractised smile managed to pull itself up along her darkened cheek, as the foreign feeling of wanting to call, across the room, some sort of gesture of thanks, even if the good will was not done for her part.


ā€Youā€™re getting soft. Like mouldy bread...- Chin up, something is occurring.ā€
Solvejā€™s eyes did not linger for long on Lilith, though the woman interested her more so currently then most sitting there in present before her. Yet there was always another time and moment for admiration, as it looked, in her absence of consciousness amid the circle, that the introductions had drawn into a close, shorter then Solvej feared.
Was she so absorbed in her own preoccupations that she did not even notice the time slide by her? Such idle thoughts were bundled away with haste, as Ama, once again, started to talk again, the sweetness that her persona, even voice, had to bear tasted almost sour in Solvej mouth, though the middle-aged woman evidently had an altruistic glow. If only Solvejā€™s heart was more gnarled then it was, she would find the lady peevish, irrational and would find herself jealous of the evidently utopian. However, Solvej liked to think she was so pungent to think of her as such. Rather, she held her in some esteem, even though she only met such a person not too long ago. It was that motherly energy that Ama seem to reek of so effortlessly that Solvej just simply supposed was the reason why she felt nothing harsh against the veteran Redeemer. Though, Solvej would be lying if she said at first she agreed with the ā€œintroductionā€ idea, or this new talk of gods and demi-gods.
Was this what it was all about? Was Solvej the odd-one-out to feel nothing whatsoever, both when Ama stated the well known fact that a supposed god by the name Saphentia was killed by another god, by the name of Dominatio...
ā€No matter how many times I hear this story, I still donā€™t understand it...ā€ Solvej thought to herself, as Ama carried on with her lecture on the situation.
The concept of these two deities, Saphentia and Domination- she felt almost childish in the fact that her own logic could not accept the two, even though their presence could be easily confirmed by the Demoni that plagued the World. It was difficult to fight for a cause one believed in, yet disbelieving in the relevant origins- what a pull-and-tug position she was tossed in.

Not to mention the idea of drinking claimed demi-god blood, in the hope to rekindle some sort of new unit. Even if Solvej believed that such blood was authentic and would actually do anything to them, there was that chance that they would die whilst drinking it.
Such a notion did not go unnoticed, neither by Ama, who promptly admitted such risk, and those in the circle, their voices silent whilst the lecture continued, yet only time would show whether they actually hold any concerns.
To finish her proposal off with finesse, they were to not only be lead by a young girl, but also they were to be endeavoured to also find this girl before actually getting anywhere to begin with. This did not throw Solvej off as much as the rest of Amarlyissā€™ words, as the idea of being shown around by a child surprising did not disapprove with her.
To delay her dealing any questions of the proposed journey, Ama finished by pointing out the need update some equipment. Solvej said nothing in her defense, though a pout was evident on her lips- she was like an old man, stubborn to change elderly things that probably do need changing. Such problem could be dealt with later, however, as others, one by one, expressed some opinion, whether it be passive or questionable, upon the quest.

In truth, Solvej wanted to know much more about these gods- they are, or were, immortal, yet can be killed by those equal to them? Or did Solvej get that part wrong? This was the problem with immortal gods- they could go on a rampage much like the existing epidemic of Demoni, and it was near impossible to stop them, unless the story was to be told in fluffy fairy-tales. Moral gods- now that was a system that worked.
The whole Darkseed problem was proof that the whole problem stemmed from the fact that those who ā€œcreatedā€ the World, even though they were the creator, could not understand how their disciplines live. If they did, if they lived among them, they would not be as cruel as this ā€œDominatioā€ guy was now, with the Demoni upon the population.
This reason alone would have drove Solvej to stand up among them, and question the geniality of these ā€œgodsā€ and origins of the Demoni. It wouldā€™ve, if only Solvej knew, at the back of her head, that mortal gods were not any less corrupted as the immortal gods, no matter how much they tried. Besides, it was not her place to ask, and thought the former Solvej argued and steamed within the fading memories of the past at what Ama was after saying, the current Solvej cared little of the story behind what she had to do. Rather, drinking some blood, at the risk of her life? She could do that. She didnā€™t need to loiter any longer at the ā€œwhysā€ and ā€œwhatsā€.


By now, Vi had finished her long-winded complaint on what could go wrong, along with Grey who both agreed with her, but eventually led off to consent his help with the voyage.
Already determined by that point to help against the threat, even if such an extreme method was to be her path, the problem of new armour was not so easily dismissed.
ā€œIf it can get rid of the Demoni, it doesnā€™t matter what has to be done... But I think my armour will suffice.ā€

The whole armour issue wouldnā€™t be such a problem with her- no sentiments, except for ā€œAbsolonā€, was in her collection, yet Solvej found no fault in her armourā€™s defenses (Though one would have to be doubly blind to think it of grandeur texture). Maybe it was the ā€œcheap-stakeā€ side of Solvej was coming out, but she knew, in the end, she would get rid of it, especially when itā€™s presence was pointed out so bluntly.
She liked her helmet, out of all her collection, however. Her rare childish side could not help but feel ā€œcoolā€ by wearing it... even if such a notion was a horrible delusion.

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Re: IC || Grey&Spectral

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Wudgeous on Tue Jul 26, 2011 7:01 pm

Ezekiel Aldain Mathis


A child. Were they need going to need a virgin sacrifice? Ezekiel could imagine no other reason for having a little monster toddling alongside their ranks, yipping at their feet. Or perhaps the Redeemers were turning their eyes toward more charitable causes as they held hands and faced the apocalypse? Perhaps they would have their lessers run an orphanage, and a hospital while they were at it. He could not resist hanging his head, just a little, which betrayed more emotion than he had due to the fact that his eyes were shut and eyebrows were in knots. It wasn't just that he was irritated. No, let us rephrase--it was precisely because he was irritated, in both the physical and emotional realms. Twists and turns under his skin aside, he felt as if his heartbeat were beating like a wartime drum, yet banging like cymbals against the sides of his head. Whether he was having trouble paying attention or truly heard less due to it, he was unsure. It was likely a migraine-inducing combination of the two.

"...if we were to become this as our newā€¦god-like selves? After all, it is difficult for us to extinguish abominations in their normal state, and in a state like this it would be nigh impossible Will we also gain additional abilities when we drink the other blood, just as this blood has given us abilities?ā€

One of his gnarled old hands rose to massage his temples, and because it happened to be of his "good" arm, the extended blade would come close to shaving off a couple of hairs. Seeming to realize this, he had strained the muscle in his forearm and knuckles, coaxing it to slide back neatly with a gentle, sickening noise of crystal running against a softer, fleshier crystal. He no longer winced at this, though he still felt it in his grinding teeth. Currently, he could care less that his words were rudely running into her further utterings. The woman spoke far too much anyway, as if each and every syllable would prolong her time away from an early grave. "You talk as if you expect Amarylliss to know all the secrets of our little world; every minute outcome to every wild notion," came the low grumble, like the voice of a once slumbering creature, emanating from the depths of a cave. Between calloused fingers, the inimical stare was directed at Vivian. "Perhaps a better question would be this: Has one of our own consumed their blood yet?"

An experienced ear would note that the portion directed toward Ama was a just fraction more hushed in tone, a better attempt at retaining his reeking animosity. He sighed through his nose as he lowered his arm, turning his head away before she could respond. In his sightline was a corner--What was he doing there, that sneaky scoundrel of an elf. Leisurely sipping his wine, and skimping out on introducing himself no less. How hadn't Ezekiel noticed him before? The extent of his greeting consisted of the mild baring of his upper row of teeth and the gums above that, then seeking a better view in a different region of the ballroom. Perchance it was disgust, or equally likely, perchance it was a rusty attempt to smile; no one could ever assert either wild claim to be truth. He waited patiently for the others to finish spouting their qualms, then finally, he allowed himself to back up a few steps, indicating that he would like to get going please, and if they could damn well hurry up and move, that would make his day simply peachy.

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Re: IC || Grey&Spectral

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Averagebear on Thu Jul 28, 2011 10:52 pm

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Ama silently listened to the array of inquisitions tossed about after her long winded rant. She couldn't have expected anything different. While they were on a tight schedule, it would have been insane to assume everyone would just quietly follow her. She didn't even know if she wanted to follow herself, but that was a different matter entirely. She soaked in their words before answering any on in particular, slipping each of them a passive glance here or there, eying even the ones who stayed quiet.

"Thank you, Ezekiel." she cooed, sincerely touched by his hasty protecting of her. It was strange to have the roles reversed like this. "But everyone's concerns are warranted. This mission we're being sent on isn't clean cut like many might be used to. It's not as simple as slaying Demoni or keeping citizens from harm's way. Naturally, there are complications. The demigods are not warriors. They're blessed creatures, rulers, diplomats- but not ready to charge out into war. If the demigods had the intention of stepping in to fight him, they would have already. Some have grown soft over the years, others indifferent. I'm afraid it's up to a larger organization- and we're the only ones capable- to pull this off. We're not hunting the demigods at all, though- fear not about that much. When a demigod is slain, their kingdom crumbles and the gift they brought to the world with their birth is snatched away. Killing a demigod would mean eternal damnation, ultimate blasphemy. I'm not sure which of them we'll be seeing as we're very clearly missing our guide, but we'll approach any one of them as ambassadors of sorts- asking rather than demanding for their blood. We'll more than likely be told we have to pay for such a thing, and will probably be assigned missions with each one. The demigods would lot let us take from them without giving in return, for the most part."

She paused to, again, assess how everyone was reacting to her claims, her cautiousness and needing to appease others even in this simple social situation giving light onto her mentality as a person. A smile twitched onto her face as she caught sight of the ever brooding Fallon who'd taken to sulking with wine. He really was just too stubborn. She cleared her throat and began to speak again. "As for the Plague... This is new information entirely. It's been dubbed the Plague by the Redeemers, but it has many names. Some see it as the apocalypse, even. Any kingdom infected by Dominatio's hold- cities and towns and wilderness and all- writhes under the hordes of Demoni there. I've heard stories from some of the higher ranks who were allowed to visit Vesuvi, for example, and they recalled never having seen so many Demoni in one place. They are starving for humans by the time they're finished, and begin to devour one another. You can't go much of anywhere without stumbling upon masses of them. "

She put on her voice that signaled the end of a speech and concluded with, "Aside from this, I can't tell you much. I've no clue of how the blood of Sapentia's children will affect us or whether this has been tested before. We might very well be the experiment itself. And now I've told you all I know on this mission. As for your weapons, I won't force anything upon you, but I would advise that if anyone's equipment is wearing thin that it's changed now as opposed to later. Throughout this journey we'll likely not be able to replace it. I wouldn't want them to falter during a battle. I'll order new ones for everyone. If you choose to swap out your weapons, so be it. If not, that's also fine." She racked her brain for anything else to say before nodding her head with the thought that she was quite done.

"Excellent. Come along now," she purred, gracefully making her way to the door. The heat poured into her, but she realized that she was strangely comforted by it. She'd regarded the temperature earlier with apprehension, but as her skin was caressed by the sun's waves, she reckoned it was much better than the clammy coldness that had been her companion for the last day. It was like it was warming her soul. She tilted her face to beam up at the sun, running a hand through her hair and repositioning herself so that the shield attached to her back didn't pinch at her hip. That said, she approached a Legionnaire as if she wasn't aware of the fact that he must've hated her guts, a friendly smile painted her lovely face- the same one she offered her comrades, her superiors, her children, and every passing stranger.

"Excuse me, you don't happen to know where we can find a little girl named Nica, do you? One blue eye, one green. Very pale. Adorable as can be." she said, despite having never seen the girl before.

He shifted his gaze, as if it literally pained him to cooperate with a Redeemer. His lips were stitched shut, "Don't know what you're talking about, Lady. Exuse me." he had growled. She would imitate her actions several times, asking Legionnaires about the strange girl and the response would always be equally as elusive as the first man. Confusion washed over her, but the frustration she should have been feeling didn't seem to rise in her. Instead, she felt almost as if she were in the beginning process of solving a very difficult puzzle, trying to find the corner pieces with fresh curiosity. It appeared neither the weather nor the Legionnaire's fire could reach her.





The heroes of our journey were at a loss of what to do. The organization had assured Ama that their guide could be found very near to Vincere, but the more they asked about her whereabouts, the less likely it seemed that she even existed. After a bit of time testing out the waters with the occupants of Vincere and being treated as frosty as the nonexistent snow, they made the executive decision to leave Vincere's mighty gates and ask a merchant outside the walls- any good Redeemer knew very well that it was merchants and tavern masters who knew mostly everything. Traveling merchants were beacons of hope in a Redeemer's traveling, and they very often went out of their way to help the warriors. It was a healthy relationship, one beneficial to both sides. They stumbled upon an old man carrying wares. At first, he grumbled out a grumpy "Whaaat?" when someone called out to him, but when he turned around to see the armor clad group, you could see his eyebrows cease from furrowing downward and a small smile crawl onto his wrinkled face. He called himself Andre, and when the troupe asked him if he knew anything- anything at all- about Nica, he nodded knowingly.

"Ahhh, not the first one askin' 'bout the tyke," he slurred, waving a wrinkled hand in the air as he spoke, "I met her myself a couple months ago, I did, I did. She's in the slums- I reckon the damned Legionnaires didn't tell ya 'bout that much, yeah? They like to keep the slums a neat little secret under their metal boot, they do." he sighed, lip curled with distaste. "You plannin' on buyin' anything, by the way? I can offer you one helluva sale." The air made up for its lack of humidity with its abundance of discovery. While it was in no way as hot outside the walls of Vincere as it was in, it was still uncomfortably warm. The scenery, at least, seemed less dreary. Why, there was even a single tree not too far away from the team. The late afternoon happily met them, the sun beginning to ease up on its hungry stare.





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Re: IC || Grey&Spectral

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Kurokiku on Sat Jul 30, 2011 3:02 am

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Snow stood after the manner of sentinels everywhere, back to those she was guarding (though in truth this may be a rather loose term for the informal watch she was keeping, and it was probably neither necessary nor wanted), and eyes never resting in one place for too long. The heat was oppressive, cloaking her in a veil of misery that only just avoided showing in her face. She had been told, once, that showing nothing in the face of pain was the best way to handle it, and for the moment at least it was advice that she clung to.

A thin sheen of sweat was forming beneath her black hood, and when she shifted her weight slightly from one foot to the other, a trickle of liquid snaked its way down her back. Little use as a cooling mechanism when exposed to no breeze, and entirely irritating to one who preferred to be clean and dry whenever possible. The rasp of the merchantā€™s voice sounded an odd harmony with the lyrical lilt belonging to Amaryllis, and she wondered if this information was going to get them anywhere. The more cynical side of her personality reminded her that theyā€™d be lucky if this mysterious girl even existed, and the thought produced a troubled exhale that from anyone else might be a sigh. Snow did not sigh; that was for people who felt wistful or perhaps exasperated, and did not trouble against expressing these things. The second, as it turned out, was a sticking point more often than not.

The Legionnaires had been unhelpful, but then she would have been able to guess as much before even asking in the first place. Still, not everyone had the same outlook, and mayhap it was worth something of a half-hazarded try coming from the lips of a human rather than herself. Not so much, as it turned out, for no matter from whom the words were wrought, they echoed off unfeeling stone chasm made possible only when people were separated not only by thick layers of steel, but by an inbred, engendered notion of superiority.

This too, she knew, and this too, she would not bother to say. What good would it do without an alternative suggestion to offer in its place? No, it would most likely be a complaint, then, and she had no desire to impose that upon the people who were in the same straits. It was not as though words could fix the problem at hand, was it?

The one who had never bothered to introduce himself seemed vaguely familiar. Normally, she wouldnā€™t waste time trying to puzzle it out, but what else had she to do at the moment? At first, she thought maybe it was the alcohol; sheā€™d been into many a tavern, especially in the first year after her recruitment into the Redeemers, and her memories of those events were just hazy enough that she could believe that might be it. But this seemed wrong somehow- the recollection was a different kind of clouded, by time rather than inebriation, perchance. Still, she had nowhere to go with that information, and so this, too, she let be as it was for the moment.

So the girl had been sighted in the slums? That would explain why the armored men would not speak of it. Though- something else the man said caught her attention. Turning at the torso so she was half-facing the merchant, Snow finally bothered to summon the effort to say something.

ā€œWho else was asking?ā€ Who could possibly have reason to seek their guide? A little girl with heterochromia wasnā€™t exactly an ordinary sort of person, either, so it was unlikely that the man was simply mistaken and the person in question was in fact two people. Something about another inquiry did not sit quite right with her. One so young should not be the focus of this many interested parties- it bespoke of both a possible problem for the Redeemers and also something even more unusual than she had expected in the girlā€™s nature, perhaps.

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Re: IC || Grey&Spectral

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Smith on Mon Aug 01, 2011 10:05 pm

Grey


"Aw yeah, adventure time." Grey flashed a shark-tooth smile as the group made to leave. He was anxious to get out of the city and be smashing some hell-spawn face in. Well, if they had any faces to speak of, of course. All thoughts regarding the possibly grisly fate awaiting them were now miles from the manipulator's mind. Honestly, the man would have been content with a hock of ham or a turkey leg. It had been ages since he had decent street food. As the torrid environ of this hell hole of a city renewed it's assault on Grey though, he realized that it was highly unlikely that anyone would be selling anything outside.

With a sigh and a wave of twitching that quickly subsided, Grey walked outside alongside his new comrades and resumed filtering out the city's heat through his exhalations once more. It was not all bad though. Grey found that he rather liked this Amaryliss and that smirk he could hear in her voice. It was more than likely that she would be his main source of entertainment during this venture, if not conversation. Well, her and the odd little wench that had been playing seamstress the entire meeting. She seemed fun.

Ama suddenly took a sudden hit to her popularity in the 'Grey' poll when she requested the assistance(if it could be called even that) from a legionnaire. Those weak little pricks were most likely killing themselves in their attempt not to spit upon abominations such as the Redeemers, or wretch in their presence. What in the hell possesed Ama to ask them for help was lost on Grey. He was not surprised in the slightest when the little bastard dodged the question.

Minutes passed as they wandered around, repeating the same querie until Grey had it down by heart. At this point he felt that if told to ask a legionnaire himself, his voice would come out as a gruff mockery of Ama's courteous voice. Actually, that might be kind of funny. Mutilated and purportedly blind guy mimicking a lady...eh. Nah.

After a long while of dead ends and no leads, they finally found one bright spot in the day: The merchants. Lovely things, those peddlers, with their insatiable love of adventure, money and inquisition that overrode their natural repulsion towards those infused with demoni blood. It was at about this time that Grey began to zone out. He was more interested in his fellow Redeemers than hunting down their elusive guide. In any case, he had never been the most subtle man. Hunting things and solving problems had never been Grey's forte. He was a soldier, through and through, in the sense that soldiers were little more than fighting machines.

The smell of violets, very out of place in the cesspool that surrounded them, met Grey's nostrils. The scarred Redeemer pinched his nose and inhaled a few times trying to pinpoint the origin of the smell. Oddly enough, it was coming from one of the other Redeemers! Having nothing better to do, Grey lifted the blinder over his left eye and stared at one very uncomfortable elf. "Snow, right? Magnifier, perhaps forty if I remember correctly." without waiting for a response, Grey went ahead and said it; "Did you know that your sweat smells kind of like flowers? It's strange. Do all elves smell that way? I don't usually go around sniffin' em...oh, wait, that was sort'a rude. I said what you smell like but you don't know how I smell! Most people tell me my sweat smells like fresh coffee. Wierd, huh?"

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Re: IC || Grey&Spectral

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Wudgeous on Mon Aug 01, 2011 10:46 pm

Lucas Truesdale


Question after question, so many qualms. Lucas had to admit he was surprised. This was going to be a more independent group than he was used to, he could already tell. Good thing though, he wasn't too fond of the sticklers. He himself did little outside rubbing his eyes, coughing and other minimal signs that indicated he was still alive. When they filed out, he waited till the majority of them were out before strolling along after them. He didn't miss the heat nor the sweat that dripped down the side of his face; but soon Lucas was, naturally, being very helpful (in his mind).

"'Scuuuuse me," he would croon to most that he passed by, mostly toward of the opposite gender, "heya. Lookin' for a kid, about yay high? Yes, no? All righty--Mornin', seen a girl with blue-green eyes, yay high...?" Most ignored him, be it accompanied by upturned noses and stiffened shoulders, or meek giggles and turning toward a friend to whisper furiously about him. Lucas preferred the latter only by a small margin, because he most liked the ones that crooned back. He liked to think he was well liked for a Redeemer. Sure, he was strangled and had breakable objects thrown at him sometimes, but the fact that he's still alive meant something to him: He was the absolute slickest of the slick. Whether or not this was true depended on who was determining the truth of it. More and more he began to lag behind the group to hold brief and/or fruitless conversations, until he near lost sight of them after he was flirting with a young freckled girl and her harelipped friend.

He jogged over to the back of the group, grin only barely slipping off his face. He decided to keep quiet by the time Ama discovered a merchant who seemed to have a lead, because by then, it had hit him that he wasn't sure he wanted a little girl involved with the Redeemers. Hell, he wasn't sure he wanted any kid to believe his lot to be anything other than the frauds they tend to think they are, due to their parents' and uncles' and grandparents' coaxings. Lucas kicked at the ground with the heel of his shoe, chewing the inside of his cheek as the merchant mentioned the slums. Momentarily he thought to snatch her up and run with her, but he doubted that was a good idea. Especially since he'd most likely be dead from the endeavor. Who knows, maybe it'll all turn out all right, and her life would be bettered by tagging along with them. Just as likely, maybe she'll be used as Demoni bait. He would have to make sure nothing bad happened, hold her hand the whole time or something. Jeez, he hated being concerned. It wasn't like he knew how to take care of other people.

Right then, the manipulator named Grey began talking about smells, and Lucas decided he both hated and liked the man. He sure knew he didn't smell like coffee, last he checked. It had been far too long since he was able to distinguish the difference between the scent of shit and poppies, and he found himself getting mildly envious of the subject of the conversation. Still, he found Grey's idea of smalltalk with the lady hilarious, and smiled despite looking straight ahead for the moment. Somebody sure needs lessons in the language of the flesh. "Hey, whaddya think'a this particlur fetch quest?" he mumbled to the person next to him. It was almost a loud whisper, as if he were not truly concerned with being stealthy with the question. Of course, every time "as if" is used when concerning Lucas...

"Yanno, the little girl thing and all."
Last edited by Wudgeous on Tue Aug 02, 2011 1:51 am, edited 2 times in total.

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Re: IC || Grey&Spectral

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Toadsworth on Tue Aug 02, 2011 12:07 am

Vivian


Vivian was bored. After Ama had asked what seemed like a bazillion people, she had decided to take matters into her own hands. She split off from the group and found a Legionnaire leaning up against a building, smoking a cigarette. He didnā€™t even look at her. Vivian pursed her lips, deciding to use an alias. If there was one thing she did not need, it was someone recognizing her name. Especially here. Whereā€¦she may be. No, the group in the ballroom was enough notoriety for now, and the name Vivan Cross, which was plastered across numerous headlines and heard in gossip throughout several wealthy families and their help (poor little elves, probably didnā€™t even know what they were sayingā€¦) would remain in hiding.

ā€Greetings, sir. My name is Violet and I would like to inquire with out about a-ā€œ

ā€œPISS OFF. Iā€™m taking a break and I donā€™t need you coming in here and harassing me.ā€


Vivan stared at the man, thinking about slitting open her wrist right here and now and dragging it across his neck, causing the caustic fluid to sever his head by liquidating the thing attaching it to his shoulders. She decided against that and simply put her hands on her hips, reared back, and spat directly on the front of his shirt before turning on her heel and skipping after the rest of her comrades. Spitting? What has she come to? If her mother were to find out, well, she would give her a straight talking to. But that was the old Vivian. This newer Vivian thought nothing of it. She only regretted not biting her tongue and throwing some blood at him as well.

All of these Legionnaires were so rude. All of them. Vivian had just about enough of them, and thankfully they were headed outside of this city, where it wasnā€™t as hot, although it still felt like she accidentally left her oven lit with her inside of it. And there was a man who seemed to know about the girl. Perfect! Vivian giggled to herself when he stated this, doing a small hop and jump while clapping her hands. The man offered them wares and other things, but he also knew some information about this little girl that they were hoping to find. Vivian listened intently, although it did not look like it. She had reached into her bag and taken out a scarf, which she used to wipe off the makeup that had melted down her face. She threw this back into the bag and shook out her hair before pulling it up into a ponytail. The heat was getting to her, and her feet were aching. She hoped they would stop at some point and allow her to buy some new shoes, something that she was certain the merchant didnā€™t have. Perhaps she could put an order in, rather than get Delilah replaced. Or get a new chain. Or a new chain and some new shoes. And yarn. You never know when yarn will come in handy.

She eyed the merchantā€™s wares, her mind wandering back to Lilith, wandering far away from the quest to a time that she used to know. ā€Fuck it.ā€ She reached inside of her dress, into her cleavage, and withdrew a handful of bills. She gave this to the merchant in exchange for a box of matches and a carton of cigarettes. She lit one up and brought it to her mouth, inhaling the scent, the burn, the flavor that dropped down into her lungs and sat, until she exhaled and threw it back out onto the plain.

The man next to him asked her some questions. Glancing at him, she shook her head, thinking over the question. When she spoke, it was in a voice that was almost an octave deeper than the high-pitched princess that she used to be. ā€I donā€™t really know. It bothers me that weā€™re supposed to be saving everybody and they have us play this game of hide and seek. I wonder what the angle is. Why not find the girl for us? Why not have her attend our meeting? Itā€™s all very strange. Of course Iā€™d never formally object.ā€ She took a drag on her cigarette. ā€Thatā€™s a good way to get yourself killed, if you ask me. Soā€¦when you introduced yourself, you said you feel things. What did that mean, exactly? Do you just have a lot of empathy, or do you physically touch things? I am hoping itā€™s empathy, becauseā€¦well, reaching out and touching something isnā€™t really all that difficult.ā€

She smiled a little, hoping Lucas didnā€™t take her joke the wrong way. She took a drag off of her cigarette, and a thought crossed her mind. This boy is a man. Heā€™s a man and you have relaxed around him. You are smoking around him. What is wrong with you, Vi? What is wrong with you? Vivian inhaled on her cigarette deeply, the smoke making the thought quieter and quieter until it went away. She took note of this. This was not a relaxed state that she wanted to be in all the time. After all, this Lucas ā€“was- a man, so he is inherently a pig. But for now, we can treat him like heā€™s a real person. Just like the elf. Treat them like theyā€™re real people of average intelligence and later, when we need them, theyā€™ll remember who was kind to them. Like training puppies.

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Re: IC || Grey&Spectral

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Yonbibuns on Tue Aug 02, 2011 11:46 am

Image


ImageNew bodies mingled amongst those he actually recognized, but Fallon still felt no urge to join them in their happy circle of insurmountably bad news, full of alarming enlightenmentā€™s depicting prescient tidings. An indeterminable amount of space distanced them, and yet he still felt uncomfortable. Tonight would still be an incoherent, unguided stumble into new areas blinded in darkness, led hand-in-hand by a little girl. In dulcet tones, each explanation held it's own honest implications and Fallon wasn't in the position to disagree or simply reject his role. It wasn't an option; it either meant an abrupt death at the hands of his Redeemer brethren, or a slower, more painful death down the road. Two gleaming sky marbles captured his golden-myrtle orbs; Ezekiel confounded his silent rebuttal, directed towards Vivian and perhaps all of the others nitpicking Ama's sound council. His teeth gleamed like pearly daggers in the dark of the room, baring back into a forlorn scowlā€”it might've been a greeting, but as far as greetings went with his... whatever you might call it, Ezekiel wasn't the most affable character. Fallon's mouth twisted sourly, confuting his own glowering assertion with unusually sharpened canines. He was as feral as feral could be, and still, he preferred Ezekiel's company to anyone elses. It was an easy companionship filled with tawdry conversation and heated arguments, and oft times, deferential silence.

Fallon's lips found the bottles cool kiss, and he nursed an appreciative gulp. It's warmth spread it's fermented fingers through his belly, throat and fingers, tingling ardently and offering it's temporary amnesty. He could tell that they both looked like they might've been misplaced amongst the other Redeemers: mayhaps absolutely disgruntled and wild and maybe a little sad, but they were still candidly present. That's what mattered, didn't it? The fire, though it could scarce be called such, sputtered and crackled as a chill breeze seeped through the cracks in the nearby fireplace. Ironically enough, the clambering heat licking across the buildings exterior couldn't penetrate into the cool chambers; though, Fallon assumed the fire's miniscule, crackling light only aided to brighten the chambers. Opening the velvety curtains would only allow the feverish heat inside, leaving them in puddles of sweat and uncomfortably sticky clothes. His eyes scanned the darkened corners of the building and large, wooden doorways. Apparently, Ezekiel had already had enough of this debauched meeting and divulged his impatience by distancing himself from the circle, plodding a few steps backwards: without baring his teeth and simply announcing his departure.

Finally, they were on their merry ways. Fallon followed a few paces behind the troupe, hands restlessly finding themselves feathering across the hilts of his gilded blades, and then retreating back to his sides, as if somehow guilty that he'd been so paranoid in the first place. His eyes darted across plump peddlers and dusky alleyways, often landing for a moment, like golden butterflies on the edge of the warm, breezeless day. All in all, he tried his best to ignore the troupes actions. He rested his eyes on everything, but them. Legionnaires were wholly uncooperative and unhelpful, often turning them away with spiteful glowers and offhanded replies. Fallon's responses were curtly dry, and oft times, bitter. He'd snapped a few times like a tethered guard hound when they were met with disrespect, biting back stronger ripostes whence Ama placed a hand on his tense, cording shoulders.

A thousand souls on spindly legs traversed their paths; each being questioned in turn if they might've seen a fragile, heterochromiatic little girl. A few even seemed promising, until they curled their lips and shook their ruddy heads. The relentless swelter beat down on their backs as they trudged through the marketplace. Fallon could feel beads of sweat gathering across his brow and slithering down the back of his neck: in Vincere, there was always stagnant air and no comforting winds. Plum blossoms sweetened the sweltering atmosphere, tender and soft. Casks of sweet and bitter wines from foreign regions were heaped alongside long wooden carts, drawn by russet horses snickering and snorting their muzzles through the dry dirt. Robust, barely concealed breasts were displayed in the market place, belonging to gaudy women bedazzled in fine silks and glistening jewels; catering their wares, catering their bodies. A few cat-called to the men within the troupe, and a few others cat-called the women. Long-lashed women fine and olive-skinned, delicate as satin with vulgar tongues, belonging to nearby brothels who, oft times, lingered in the market place to lure wealthy purses back into the comfortable confines of their pillowed rooms.

Amidst a sea of stalls and hawking peddlers, Fallon weaved his way around them and stood idly as Amaryllis approached yet another bedraggled merchant. The tired old man's crooked teeth glimmered against his weather face, wizened eyes peering out from beneath two bushy eyebrows. And then, his hoarse voice raked out his own displeasure regarding the guardsman and their iron boots. Fallon might've agreed with him, but instead he simply crossed his gauntleted fingers across his chest. Alleys were thriving with turmeric and curry leaves; cultural assimilation staining the corners spotted brick walls. Resting his withering gaze back across the small, stooped merchant swaddling his gnarled fingers mere inches from Amaryllis' face: Fallon growled his displeasure. Before Fallon had the chance to tell the harmless old man to take a few steps back, Snow posed an intelligent question. They might've been the only ones who hadn't said a word throughout the entire meetingā€”well, if she did, he might not of noticed. Reading her lips, Fallon arched a shapely brow as if to agree with her enquiry. Who'd been asking before them, and why? He suddenly wanted to point fingers at the Legionnaires, thinking up countless scenarios, but understood that his own personal accounts might've been the only reason for being suspicious.

From the corner of his peripherals, Fallon caught sight of the scarred Redeemer pinching his nose, inhaling deeply and approaching Snow. His mouth curled back lightly at the next few sentences spurting from the malformed mouth, inkling his ignorance about Elves and making her feel wholly uncomfortable. His mutual animosity towards humans raised his metaphorical hackles, causing him to tap his fingers lightly on his arms before he dropped them completely. He didn't know what he wanted to do more: lop this man's head off for his insolence, or laugh because they were supposed to be getting along with each other. Surely, if Snow announced her discomfortā€”everything would be fine. He needn't worry about anyone else. Surely. A small scoff escaped his lips, and Fallon turned back towards Amaryllis and Ezekiel. But, he still watched. Lucas had suddenly appeared from the depths of the market place, jogging towards them with that wolfish grin cocked across his features. Undoubtedly exercising flattery with the buxom woman teetering nearby. They'd known each other, remotely. Upon questioning their present mission, Fallon's mouth twitched into another reprieved frown.

Vivian added her irrepressible input, without any subtlety or modesty that he could have taken note of, and proceeded to suckle on her cigarette beside Lucas. ā€œI was under the impression it didn't really matter, as long as it's done,ā€ He finally said, breaking the tawdry silence he'd been accustomed to. His voice was abysmal, dwindling with deeply rooted octaves. It wasn't completely unpleasant to the ears, either. And when Vivian continued to heckle Lucas about his abilities, Fallon's silence began anew as he quietly sidled up beside Snow and Grey, sparing a short, hopefully unnoticed, glance towards her, henceforth returning his steely gaze on the old merchant.

Dirty, cutthroat humans. They knew nothing.

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Re: IC || Grey&Spectral

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Wudgeous on Tue Aug 02, 2011 12:42 pm

Lucas Truesdale


He smirked, resting his hand on top of his head like he had on a snazzy hat to press down onto his ears. Unfortunately, such a hat did not exist, and he would have to remember to find himself one. He couldn't argue that it was "all very strange," though it bothered him that this "Vi" lassie wasn't as concerned as he was for the kid's well-being. What was he, a mom? He hissed out some air between his teeth, producing a bizarre noise that was nonetheless mirthful, albeit a tad on the strained side. She changed the subject quickly enough, and seeing as he likely would not get her to grab the kid and run in his place, he was willing to humor her. Kind of.

"Hm...? Oh, you'll be finding out soon enough."

And there was a lecherous wink to accompany his words, precisely because he knew she wouldn't like it (and with luck, will haunt her dreams for the next few nights). Ha! Yeah, he was about able to guess her type. Probably divorced. Seems to be willing to talk to whoever would listen, which may come across as desperate, but Lucas knew better than to fall for something like that. All it meant was that she easily held the guise of comfort. Whether her head was empty or composed of viciously turning clockwork was not something he could know until he got to see her in action. Or in bed. Whichever came first, he'd normally smugly think, but he wasn't sure she was someone he wished to toy with. He saw the little spiked friend she'd introduced to that roach, as well as the acid she seemed to have in her pockets (or was it her cleavage?). He was not about to meet a similar fate. At least, not yet. He needed some sort of Heroic Sacrifice moment on his resume before he gets murdered by a scorned female.

What had distracted him momentarily, however, was Fallon's interjection. Lucas had been taken aback, surprised the elf would even acknowledge him. He seemed so boorish... or just austere and boring. Lucas suspected he himself was moreso the boorish one, on second thought. Peevish might be the better term to describe Fallon, and boy-o was the elven man demonstrating it. Lucas was, for a while, silent, with a crinkled forehead and a hammy smile still glued under his nose. When he slyly parroted Fallon's body language (as best he could with a spear pressed diagonally on his shoulder), he had only this to say: "... And here I was, under the impression you would only get so stiff around me when it's behind closed doors, darling."

Again, he was innocuously looking straight ahead, but the mean dimples and bared front teeth were apparent. He knew little of the customs of the long-eared race, but most he met were quite prideful. He delighted in allowing his fingers to dance over their metaphorical buttons (and all right, a couple of literal buttons, or maybe a few, or several. How could he resist those dainty, wispy females? as elegant and gentle as an autumn breeze; yet fiercer than a wyvern when cornered, with long tapering nails tailored to cling and claw that fit the comparison to a T. Persuading them into his games were always a challenge, but terrible fun)... What was he thinking about? Other than what those elf girls had in common--ah yes, buttons and pressing them.

Of note, he was standing well out of arms length from everyone else. Come to think of it, his small share of the Redeemer power pie was a bit of both Vivian's suppositions, wasn't it? Empathy and literal touch. The former wasn't always a guaranteed success, but it tended to be there when he truly needed it, or else backfire and break open hell's doors. Fortunately, the latter scenario was less prone to happen as of late, due to the experience his younger and much less subtle self lacked. Smoke bathed the side of his face, and suddenly, he was after all glad he could not detect his inhalations of the foul matter. "Think about it missus Vi," he said finally, tilting his head at the group ahead of them, "when ya sense something real damned good, it's either real specific or real far away, right? It's like that new-fangled mathematician thing--diameters, was it...? Eh, never mind." Lucas chuckled, giving up on explaining before he even truly started.

"You'll see."

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Re: IC || Grey&Spectral

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Kurokiku on Thu Aug 04, 2011 1:05 am

Image
She had, perhaps, been thinking that the next person to speak would be the merchant, and that he would perhaps provide an answer to her inquiry. Such a simple expectation, the most basic of exchanges, but also apparently one that would elude her for the moment, to be replaced by silences, other peopleā€™s conversations, and odd interjections that she didnā€™t quite know what to do with. Simplicity had died with simple dreams, buried on the crest of a hill in a lonely pauperā€™s grave. Troubling, perhaps, or at least it had been. Now, it simply exists alongside all other realities, and though they are held closer than fantasy and idle thought, they still do not quite touch her.

She is being spoken to, she thinks, but the man makes little sense. He is scarred heavily and wearing a blindfold, and this is enough to trigger recall of the dialogue that accompanied the image earlier. His name is Greyais, and she had not thought him so strange as he now appears to be. What she thinks of this, she is not quite certain; sometimes, the fact that she thinks is all there is, and the individual thoughts are subsumed unconsciously. Rationality does not need opinion, and Snow is the epitome of rationality.

She sniffs the air, and frowns slightly, fixing him with a heavy-lidded look. He cannot see anyway, so it probably makes no difference whatsoever. She is a creature of habit. Look people in the eyes, speak to them as equals- this is ingrained, a force of habit that many would believe presumptuous of her lowly, blade-eared self. The man who raised her thought differently, and thus, she does as well. The imprints he left on her consciousness are faded now, just as with everything else from her old life, but still faint traceries remain. ā€œI smell nothing but sweat and slow rot. Perhaps your nose is better than mine.ā€ The last clause, she does not for a moment believe. What his motivation is for saying such a thing, she is unable to discern. It may be something as simple as ordinary conversation, but to her this is more confusing than concepts a great deal more complex. She is not a conversationalist; she cannot spin her words into silken threads and weave tapestries with them. They are inelegant when they are direct and obscured when they are not. It would be easier to believe he sought something else entirely, but then what this might be, she could not name.

For now, her meaning may seem direct, and it will remain so if taken at face value. The air does stink of bodies living and bodies dead alike; she is surprised more people do not walk about with noses crinkled and looks of disdain upon their sun-darkened faces, but then even the worst odor is commonplace if youā€™ve known it long enough. But then, for all anyone else comprehends, she may be speaking of the world itself- people toil and waste in fields for precious little, and then their bodies give out and they are sunk beneath the earth if anyone remembers them. If someone loves them, their grave is marked. People live by the sweat from their backs, or they feed off the sweat of others and smell of sickly-sweet decay. It is all the same, all possibly implied. Nothing is confirmed; the only certainty in life is that there is none. Certainty for the wise is the province of death alone, and Snow chooses to believe that experience has given her enough wisdom to recognize this much.

But others are speaking, again, and the hitherto silent lush has moved to stand somewhere in the vicinity of her other side. This, she does not mind- she has never been one who demands a certain radius be kept or words of excuse be spoken. Letting things be as they are is much easier than trying to change them; the effort must be well worth it for her to even make the attempt. She does not note his glance, as she cannot even see it. Is it ironic, that she can see better under cover of darkness than in the harsh light of day? A poet might liken the literal truth to a metaphor, and wonder if her personality could truly be that insidious. But the world is not made of poetry and verse, metaphors do not always hold. They are meant to describe a world much more wholesome and beautiful and black-and-white than the one she occupies, the one they occupy.

She wonders what the delay is. It is much more comfortable to feel oneself in pursuit of a tangible end, something one can grasp with increasingly-desperate fingers in moments when the thought of empty air meeting blind reaching is impossible to bear. Emptiness, failure; perhaps it is she who weaves the world from figurative flourishes now? How ridiculous.

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Re: IC || Grey&Spectral

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Toadsworth on Sun Aug 07, 2011 11:55 pm

Vivan


The elf was speaking to her, that much she knew. He was under some ridiculous impression. She threw the remainder of her cigarette to the ground and smashed her heel into it, grinding the ash into the dirt. ā€Yes, as long as it gets done in a timely fashion. Oh well, I suppose it cannot be helped, and standing here bickering will not move things along.ā€ Damned elves. Think they actually know things about the world around them. She placed her hands behind her back and pushed, a loud ā€˜CRACKā€™ resounding from the grind of bone. This elf shouldnā€™t be here giving her lip. He should be making himself useful. Likeā€¦by getting her a drink. Or by singing her a song. Or by unbuttoning his-

Now, Vivian. Just because weā€™ve started smoking we cannot have that kind of thought. Vivian shut her eyes, taking in a few deep breaths, a familiar feeling creeping into her bones, filling her skin, as if her veins were being filled with electricity and ice. She swallowed hard and shook her head, the feeling fading away, being pushed back down into the cold, dark place where it had come from. The damned cigarettes, reigniting a spark that was snuffed out so long ago, opening doors that were shut, locked, and immured until light had never touched it. But the cigarettes would come out later, this she knew, and this presence would be reignited.

The other male had answered her. A vague answer. Of course, it was coming from a man, so it was either an answer that wouldnā€™t be straight forward, or else it would be a series of grunting noises followed by him soiling himself from the stress of answering her question. ā€Diameters?ā€ She shook her head before plopping down where she stood, not noticing the hot dirt beneath her. She took out her scarf-in-progress and began to knit.

ā€Missā€¦Lillith, was it? What color would you like for your socks to be? I have pink, blue, and black yarn in my bag here. Anything else, I can try to obtain, but it may delay your socks.ā€ She smiled while saying this, not eyeing the woman or even looking up from her scarf. Her hands worked fast, and if one looked closely, they could see that the pattern was not quite as tight and neat as it had been earlier. A small flaw, but a flaw none the less. She began humming to herself, a tune that did not repeat and seemed to have no actual end, her body swaying slightly to the nonexistent beat.

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Re: IC || Grey&Spectral

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby onetrickpony on Tue Aug 09, 2011 2:35 am

Image

The goofy expression never faltered from Lilith's lithe lips, her eyes narrowed amiably as she gave everyone the up-down on their way out. She took all of the incoming information in stride. Who should care whether their guide was a child? What made those years so holy that they might not ever be tainted with pain? Her mangled youth lies dead beneath a heap of decay, so she didn't have respect for the youth of others. She turned out alright, didn't she? A smile played at her features, a little darker than before. Well, she survived. She spied a fellow tippler nursing from a bottle of sweet wine. Not enough bite for her tastes, but at least he had the right idea. A feeling of comradery expanded rapidly within her small chest. She tipped back her whiskey, not bothering to flinch from the flame that swarmed her throat--she might as well have been drinking water.
As she licked the remnants from her lips, somewhere within the peripheral edges of her mind, she heard someone respond, though somewhat introspectively to her own musings.

"I dunno about becoming a God, but I'm in."

Lilith rolled her eyes heavily, dramatically pitching the remainder of her fag into the dust and crushing it quickly beneath her heel, simultaneously lighting another cigarette without ceasing motion. She knew no other word for a person who possessed the power to kill a god other than a god themselves. Attempted modesty was beneath her, "When I see a spade, I call it a spade," she grinned, crinkling her nose in an expression that sort of shrugged apologetically in itself.

Everyone thought too heavily about the effects of the demigod blood. Sure, it might react violently with the Demoni blood, each cell bursting within their bodies, their brain slowly eating itself giving rise to horrific feverish delusions and insurmountable pain. But the same fate was also a possibility when they took in the Demoni blood, and none of these warriors hesitated to take it. Had anyone here had reservations bubbling beneath the surface, the blood would have began attacking their bodies viciously, and they wouldn't be standing there now. A part of them wanted the power, craved the opportunity it gave. And the Demoni blood would one day destroy them, they lived on borrowed time. So who gives a shit? Lilith had no idea what would happen when they succeeded (the possibility of failure did not even cross her mind), but fear no longer rattled within her bones like a prisoner banging on the bars of their cell. She couldn't recall how fear felt anymore. She could recite that it once could be described as icy fingers groping at her spine and innards, wrapping thick fingers around her neck as her spirit would tremble, succumbing to timorous vibrations. She remembers how it should feel, yet the phrases are just words now. It was akin to comprehending love as one who has never loved before, the words seem strangely hyperbolic.

She stepped lively after the group, doing her share of asking about. She bounded after children she saw about the city, figuring the girl might be a playmate and valuing the candidness of their replies. Kids usually don't lie to strangers, only to the ones they fear. Their alien eyes would gawk at her strange appearance, their fingers darting excitedly toward her swords. She would easily move out of the way of their small invasions, smile and kind eyes seeming to laugh quietly at them while their fingers caressed and followed the patterns in the air in front of their faces. The responses she received varied, though there was one strangely brave child who initially just stood there breathing heavily. He had a cold sore on his lip that started bleeding, because he kept licking it. She couldn't tell if his silence was due to considering the question, or the result of intense concentration on the sore. When he finally stopped, he wiped his nose on his hand, sniffing heavily. When he finally decided to respond, she found his nose was so full of snot, it made it difficult to understand anything he was saying. He squinted his eyes knowingly, looking around him while making a sour face, no doubt mimicking the antics of an adult in his life, possibly his father, before he started, hitching up his pants, "Yeeaaaaaa, I know huh, buh you won' fin' huh. She don' blay wif no one any how, she so duuuuuummmbbah," he paused knowingly, surveying those that passed them, "She ain' eben 'llowed in ba ciby cuh she dumbah or sumfin."
At that moment, an angry bustling mother, something like an enraged hen, scurried over and grabbed the boy violently by his elbow. She stopped to glare intensely at Lilith, an awkward moment of seething silence, before she turned and dragged the boy off with her without a single word. He waved goodbye to Lilith woefully.

She wasn't sure what to make of the information. She had hardly been able to understand him beneath his inarticulate way of speaking and his constant sniffing. But if the child was correct, the girl would not be found in the city. She frowned deeply. He could be lying. Or mistaken. Rather than jumping wildly to conclusions, she jogged after the team, finding that they were exiting the city.

Thankful they finally found a merchant, no doubt forbidden from entering the pristine city, she knew they would find answers. She wasn't mistaken, and all tension melted immediately from her form, immediately giving rise to the more familiar Lilith. She observed Vi purchasing cigarettes, secretly hoping that she could take full credit in whatever lapse Vi was experiencing. If she smoked regularly, the tobacco would have already been on her, or at the very least, matches.

"Pleasure, with pain for leaven, hmm?" she shook her elbow at Vi as she huffed at her cigarettes, grasping her own between her lips, "It's alright, all the cool kids are doing it," her voice crooned.

"... And here I was, under the impression you would only get soĀ stiff around me when it's behind closed doors, darling."


"I can give you a stiff one, if that's what you're looking for," she called out, interjecting her hoarse voice spontaneously with a wry wink, eyes crinkling humorously. The reaction was instantaneous, nearly a knee-jerk reaction for the woman. "Definitely stiffer than anything you've ever dealt with, guaranteed." Before she could even marinate in the brilliance of her own tongue-tapestries, Vi was inquiring about her socks.

ā€Missā€¦Lillith, was it? What color would you like for your socks to be?..."

"Black," she agreed solemnly, words muffled by her cigarette, "but if you could put like blue little hearts or something around the rim, that'd be nice, don't you think?," her voice carried no tinges of sarcasm of venom, but ran thick and slow like honey. "Or would it be too much to ask?"

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