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Sanctum Aeternam::The Prince of Atlanta::VIII. Enter Madness.
Siegfried Von Hauten
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Her eyes open.
Three blinks...
Nothing has changed.
She smiles slightly, and looks at Wisdom, and then Magnus, and then Kat.
But they DON'T see her....
And then, another blink, And she's no longer there.
She's in a field- a barren, lifeless place... And she looks up.
The hotel is crumbled around her. It has ceased existance in that brief moment.
And her 'associates' are no longer there.
She looks over, and Yallin is curled up in a ball.. Covered with some sort of ecto-plasmic goo. He rocks like a baby in his mother's arms...
Her scope widens.
She sees the world for what it is. Decaying, and lifeless.
And then, she stands up.
A scattered person walks around, and most eye her suspiciously.. Some stop and gawk at her appearance, but they all appear translucent, somehow incorporial.
While she... she is intact.
And she realizes that the rift DID indeed pass her into somewhere else...
The world, but not the world. A decay-world. Everything is crumbling, falling apart.. corruption is ever-so-much more apparent...
But one thing is clear. The residents don't like her already.
Edited by: NeuroMortis at: 8/14/01 4:54:17 pm
Theda
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It takes some time for the mind to adjust to a paradigm of existence.
Even if the existence has bent before.
The world swims.
Observing the demon/child, fetal and helpless, the taste of his blood still electrifying inward, she gives pause to the course of events til this moment.
And as recollection gains ground on the present, she forms words:
"I... hate...Atlanta."
Almost confused, she finds no connection to the words save they are hers, and they exist as does the Kali's Fang within her grasp, covered in near-tacky vitae. This moor grants her tenacious grip on perspective, allaying fears of utter madness.
"...ok..."
A deep breath.
"...deja vu."
Another pause.
"Damn, I'm funny."
Siegfried Von Hauten
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A young looking man approaches.
He looks at Theda, then to the caul, and smiles perplexedly.
"Is he yours?"
---
Siegfried Von Hauten
10th Generation Ancillae
Tzimisce Metamorphosist
Priest of the Sabbat
Theda
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Eyeing the newcomer closely, as a new type of bug.
"...mine. Hmm."
Inventory: fannypack, check. Kali's Fang, check. (Back in sleeve might be good ok check.) Discman...DISCM--check. Snack...check. McClintock, check.
She looks to the newcomer.
"He's not mine. If he were, I'd have to punish him."
Nodding over his shoulder.
"So...what's this place?"
Siegfried Von Hauten
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The newcomer pauses, smiling devilishly.
"Oh goodie. A fresh one.. Off to the soulforges for him!" He eyes Theda suspiciously.
"Why... this is the shadowlands, of course. Your reaper should have told you that- And lucky that you were not reaped by me..." A soft chuckle, and he touches upon Yallin's ectoplasmic caul... it slowly attatches to his wrist, and he wraps it about his shoulder. A quick flick of the wrist, and two coins land in front of Theda.
"A finder's fee for ya. Hey, you going to be alright out here? You look alittle... pale."
---
Siegfried Von Hauten
10th Generation Ancillae
Tzimisce Metamorphosist
Priest of the Sabbat
Theda
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Looking to the coins, laughing while he laughs, wedging them between the tips of her Converse All-Stars (blue), she hops nimbly into the air, kicking her feet up in front of her--she catches the coins as they fly.
"Yeah, hahaha, good thing it was ME and not YOU--"
She notes the coins quickly, then intothefannypack. Smiling.
"I'll be fine here. It's Mediterranean Anemia. Iron deficiency. I always look like this."
The blue-haired, blood-caked pale woman in latex grins disarmingly.
"But, I could use a little help insofar as...
I seem to have lost some friends of mine--" she ponders a moment, turning in circles. Shrugs.
"...where might I go to find them?"
Eyebrows raised, she almost personifies innocence incarnate.
Almost.
Siegfried Von Hauten
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The man watches Theda for a brief moment.. and then, the ectoplasmic barrier snaps, Yallin collapsing to the ground.. reborn.
He exchanges glances with Theda, and then watches Yallin slowly... He looks like an infant, unsure on how to walk.. His breathing is labored.
"Hm. This IS the part of the job I hate most."
He lunges his hand forward, catching the en-infantisized Christopher Yallin off-guard, tossing him around his shoulders. His body seems to bend unnaturally.
He turns back to Theda.
"Friends, eh? Where did you last see them? And have they been reaped...? I would pay you for THEM as well..."
A fiendish grin spreads across his face, his teeth missing in a few places, and the others.. well, would be just as good to be gone, considering their condition.
---
Siegfried Von Hauten
10th Generation Ancillae
Tzimisce Metamorphosist
Priest of the Sabbat
Theda
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Indifferent, she adjusts the rumpled areas of her clothing, smoothing out uncomfortable wrinkles.
"So you taking him right to the," cracks neck. "'Soulforge', or what?" Cracks other side of neck. brushes hair behind ears. Exhales. As an afterthought:
"No, that's alright. I'm sure they're somewhere around here--wherever we are. I kinda got lost back there at the last intersection."
Siegfried Von Hauten
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He yawns, and starts to walk off.
"Yes, the soulforges... I think this one would make a lovely brick, don't you?"
He cackles with glee, and his back bursts open, underneath of his new charge into giant wings. Lifting up off the ground, he takes off rather rapidly through a strange incorporiel rift, closing quickly after him, leaving Theda alone again.
---
Siegfried Von Hauten
10th Generation Ancillae
Tzimisce Metamorphosist
Priest of the Sabbat
Theda
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She stares at the lack of a seam in 'reality,' then peruses the landscape--then remembers the coins, fishing them from the pack--
Siegfried Von Hauten
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Theda removes both coins from her pack, scrutinizing them. Whe she does not concentrate on them enough, or perhaps too hard, they seem to shift; It is almost as if they are living parts of the scenery themselves.
---
Siegfried Von Hauten
10th Generation Ancillae
Tzimisce Metamorphosist
Priest of the Sabbat
Theda
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Uh huh."
Coins return to her pack. Nod of the head. Feet beginning to move.
"Welp, the votes are in. Johnny, tell us what she's won. Sure Bob. She's won an all expenses paid trip to, drumroll please: the land of myth and fairytale, the anti-Narnia closet doorway to the boogeyman's house, the one, the only..."
Grinning exaggeratedly at a see-throughite, then back to the Theda-norm 'Have a Day' expression of indifference:
"The Shadowlands."
Snapping fingers on both hands, swinging them back and forth. Aloud:
"Tariq, next time you see the Du'at, give them a piece of my mind, couldja? Tell them: Atlanta sucks, Wish You Were Here..."
Edited by Theda at: 8/7/00 1:37:04 am
Siegfried Von Hauten
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Out of the corner of Theda's eye. She notices it, and casually keeps it in a tally in the back of her mind. It seems to move with inhuman speed, and it is right before her.
Three inches from her face, a giant eye (only one) stares at her, unblinking. The eye is attatched to various clumps of flesh, but is mostly just a big floating eye. A small lump of flesh opens, which Theda assumes is the mouth.
"A quick! A quick in the shadowlands! Gooooo---------ooooooood day! Quick quick quick quick quick! Be you dreamspeaker hop hop hoooopping into here? Or be you happy fun garou leeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaping cross to talk with dead-deads! Talk with Nash! Nash loves quick!"
And, in that moment, Theda met the eccentric side of the shroud.
---
Siegfried Von Hauten
10th Generation Ancillae
Tzimisce Metamorphosist
Priest of the Sabbat
Theda
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Continuing to walk forward, reagrding the eye with the matter-of-fact tones of one who believes they are dreaming--though Theda is quite aware she is not--at least, this is what she will maintain.
"Heya Nash. How's the dark side of the moon?"
Siegfried Von Hauten
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He floats with Theda, backwards as she walks forwards, never straying more than a couple of inches from her face.
"Oh, is good here. Love you here too? I want know why you here. You not dead, but you are spirit walker, no?"
---
Siegfried Von Hauten
10th Generation Ancillae
Tzimisce Metamorphosist
Priest of the Sabbat
Theda
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"Spirit walker? Nah. I'm just a tourist who stepped into the wrong closet in Atlanta and wound up here. I haven't been dead for years, Nash, and you know, would you mind backing up just a couple of feet because I can't see where the hell I'm going with you hanging out IN my eye, y'know? Eyelid can only hold ONE at a time. Thanks."
Plodding forward, holding up the coins.
"Your turn. Could you explain these?"
Siegfried Von Hauten
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The eye backs off three feet or so.
"Hee hee! Sure, those are coinses! Call Obolus. Stygian base of currency. No good out in shadowland, but in Stygia.. pay for stuff. Each made from a soul like meee by awful soulforge. But me never reaped, lucky me! Was made into cute little eye. Some say punishment for being too noooosey in life. But I say BLESSING. I can float and go WHEEE!" As par emphasis, the eye does a few flips in the air, then comes to level again with Theda, still remaining three feet in front of her.
---
Siegfried Von Hauten
10th Generation Ancillae
Tzimisce Metamorphosist
Priest of the Sabbat
Theda
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“ Souls?”
She eyes the coins, prepares to toss them.
Pauses.
Thinking better of it, she tucks them away, unconsciously wiping her fingers on the pack's flap.
“You’ve been here a while? Seen others like me? ‘Quicks?’”
Siegfried Von Hauten
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"Oh yes.. Rare, but yes. I have been here for while now. And can tell by choice of clothing skin-lands change, no? Some non-nice garou come by, good garou stick to happy happier places. And some Cainites who obsess with death and stuff drop by toos. But never like you! You come through whole, they come through partially, leaving link to skinland. You must be very very very brave to not leave link to skinland. Or smart!"
---
Siegfried Von Hauten
10th Generation Ancillae
Tzimisce Metamorphosist
Priest of the Sabbat
Theda
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Theda laughs out loud.
"HA!!!!!"
Such is the extent of her mirth.
"Yes, I'm amazed. You hit the nail on the head. Wow."
Shaking her head incredulously.
"Some people take forEVer to figure that out--but you, it only took a couple of minutes. I'm impressed!"
Eyeing the eye.
"Alright. I'm talking to a big floating eye named Nash. Tell me, Nash--what do you do here? I mean, what does one do here--one like me, for instance. Oh, and tell me--those crazy necromaniac Cainites--what kind of a link do those timid little weaklings leave to 'skinland?'"
Siegfried Von Hauten
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Nash pauses for a moment, taking Theda's word into account.
"Well, me know not what quicks do here. Me mostly protects me fetters so that me can stay around here in shadowlands. See that over there?"
The eye twirls, its gaze falling upon one of the few buildings in Atlanta that actually remains intact.
"Nash used to work there as quick. Nash left journal there that hold secret to many many thing. Nash has to kill quick that try to take it though, 'cause if not, Nash would disappear! Other fetters already gone. That problem for those that last so long in Shadowlands; eventually we dry up. But quick, me know not why quick still pop in here. I guess to learn about cute-floating-eye-Nash! Hee hee!"
The eye twirls back, and blinks twice at Theda.
"Other Cainites leave little spirit-anchors... They look like long strings. Some mean wraiths (called spectres) cut those strings to ruin weird-Cainites. But most are prepared in some way. I am wondering, how will pretty quick get back to skinlands when she done here?"
---
Siegfried Von Hauten
10th Generation Ancillae
Tzimisce Metamorphosist
Priest of the Sabbat
Theda
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" Spirit-anchors."
(Astral projection. GOO-rand. Happy- Happy- Joy- Joy. First Atlanta. Now this. )
"Well Nash, you seem like a happy-go-lucky kid. Why would you want to kill quicks who just want to read your journal? I mean, why the hell would you keep a journal in the first place if you didn't want someone to read it someday? Hm? Seems like a waste of time to me."
She finally stops, eyes to eye, staring blankly into the distended orb--then looks off to the building.
"Well, since we're doing the quid-pro-quo bit, I'll give you a little: I'm here to find someone. Then, someone else is going to bring me back out when I'm done. See, when people like me are sent to find someone, they don't use little bungee cords that snap them back at the first sign of a problem. They keep going, because getting back isn't the point. Finding what they were sent to find is."
She looks back to Nash.
"So, you say you know a lot? Super. I don’t need to read your journal then. I’ll just ASK:
How do I find the reaper responsible for bringing a specific someone, say, a Christopher Yallin across?”
A petulant smile below the ice cold sheets of her eyes.
“We need to talk about a little… mistake he made back where I come from.”
Siegfried Von Hauten
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Nash watches Theda carefully, and then begins to speak again, his childish glee coming at full force.
"Not want quick to stop READING journal.. not want quick to DESTROY journal. Me journal meant for eyes of me puppy-love, but she all grown up now and not want to read it. Make Nash sad.."
A burst of enthusiasm.
"Not you want to find reaper of this Yallin, but the demon who brought him over. Reaper of Yallin in bad spot when demon found out Yallin reaped. Reaper of Yallin go through worstest fate than Yallin does. No no no, bad. That why I Never reap nobody. Veerrry dangerous. You lucky I nosey, cause me hear about Yallin... But me not allowed to go back there... Uh... They found me listenin' in. I say goto Concordia. A very very very very very secret conference is happening there... Well, not SO secret, cause Nash knows! Hee hee! Concordia is a smaaaaaaaaaaaall island in middle of Tempest- To get to tempest, you must find someone who can take ya. Like Harbinger or Ferryman. Hard to find! But if you find one anywhere, you want to look in cemetary outside Atlanta. Many many wraiths chew fat there! Hee hee! Anyways, on Concordia, you find good 'mounts of shadowlordbadmeanpeoples, and they know EEEEEVERYTHING. Even talking about Yallin fellow. They might help you. Or hurt you. But best chance for you to find demon, I say. Nash give you lots of info, can Nash get a little kiss?" The eye blinks a few times and seems to perceptively smile.
Theda
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“Nash, let me level with you. I’m not a kind woman. I like to think I am an honorable woman. For helping me, I would make sure nobody stabbed you in the, ah, “back,” if I could help it. I’ll even answer questions you might have about where I’m from. But I use physical contact to hurt people, not to make them feel good. You, not being a ‘person,’ per se, get to see the real me, face value, no-nonsense ‘quick’. Take that how you will, as an insult or a compliment, it doesn’t really make a difference to me.”
Beginning to walk again.
“I don’t ask questions expecting to pay a price. And I don’t give answers conditionally. If you do, that’s your game, one that I don’t play. Talk to me when someone’s trying to ram something sharp through that eye of yours, and I’ll see what I can do. Otherwise, you and me are just sharing a conversation. Nothing more.”
With that last, she looks directly at him again.
“Now can you help me get to the old graveyard?”
Siegfried Von Hauten
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He cocks his head (and, therefore his eye) to the side, and watches Theda in brief silence. Then, timidly..
"What made you that way? Me think at one time you were innocent child. Sad be it that you now that way. You say me can ask about you being here, but me wonder more about you... INSIDE. Me will show you to graveyard whether or not you tell me, but me just curious, is all." A brief timid smile in the folds below his eye-line, and a few giant blinks.
"It sad that you soul go bad like that. Me wish me could fix."
Theda
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"I appreciate the noble sentiment, Nash. And I'll honor the exchange. Lead the way."
He cannot tell if this is sarcastic, but as they continue to move:
"Unfortunately, most men, yourself included, would like to 'fix' girls that 'go bad.' I am what I am because, if I were not, I would cease to exist. My inside is the same as my outside. I have my reasons, whether I like them or not, whether I wanted them or not."
Silence. She notes a few of the wandering wayfarers.
"So what's up with these people? How come they're not coins, combs, or condoms?"
Siegfried Von Hauten
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The eye moves up in down in a perceptible nod. He now floats along side of Theda, leading her through the twists and turns of the (much more apparently) decayed city of Atlanta.
"SOME of them are quick that you see. Some quick show up more cause they stronger willed, but most quick you can see. Those be the ones not look at you straight on. Look right through you. Got to watch out not to walk through them, or it breaks up corpus. (That be wraith body, but I donno what it do to you if you walk through them.) OTHERS are good wraiths and bad wraiths not reaped by soulforgers. Soulforgers send wraiths to bad place, and make them into things for more wraiths. Me hear that the land of Stygia has millions of wraiths made into bricks and stuff to make the city. Sad, cause me also hear that each wraith still feel and think, but stuck in body of brick. Bad thing! But once wraith reaped and caul removed, they can stick 'round and take care of selves. We get too powerful for soulforgers to want to deal with. Or maybe just too much pain in butt. Hee hee. But shadowlands not walk in park. If we not careful, we fall victim to mean soulforgers, spectres, or other problems. See THAT over there?"
Nash eyes a hole in the ground. It seems to dig through and reappear out the other side, but what lies beyond is open to debate.
"We avoid for good reason. That nihil. Nihils where tempest brews. and nihils where spectres jump out and snag wraiths. Those three wraiths standing there on guard are spectre-hunters. They keep us safe, but they mostly do it for thrill. Passion important thing here: Without passion, wraiths do not exist. We do not have body in which emotions live: We ARE just emotions."
Nash droops alittle, and floats farther ahead of Theda, as if to determine whether he is, in fact, going the right way. A small sigh of relief, and then the eager Nash returns.
"There. Up there. Cemetary a mile up. Nash knows that lady believe that all inside is bad and all outside is bad, but even Cainites can be saved. Me not press on matter, but me think me be dead long enough to know these things. Oh, and one last thing. Be nice to wraith, and they be nice in return. But... fail that, and watch out. Wraith can hurt you but you can't hurt them. Nash will watch 'n make sure you okies, okay? Me know you hard-heart, but Nash already fond of you. Hee hee."
Theda
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"They can hurt me, I can't hurt them..."
Considers.
"I can't hurt them, or I just don't know how?"
Siegfried Von Hauten
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He pauses, a couple of blinks.
"Me guess that you could. Sometimes quick use power to hurt wraiths, make do bidding. Magick-man-quick do stuff like that. And dead-playing-kindred can too. Me think if you learn, you can compel them. That beyond MY scope. Me never do quick to wraith fight; me just do wraith to wraith or wraith to quick fight. If see another quick, might ask him how. Me imagine take LOOOONG time to learn, since most quick-mage and quick-cainites are OLD and farty. Hee hee."
Theda
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"What about weaponry? Fire? Any learned magics, such as contained in scrolls, or apothecarical mixtures?
Sighs.
(Like I'm gonna find that HERE. Hey, I could just go ask THAT guy if he's got some spare LaSombra cookbooks around...)
"I suppose a blade'll work about as well as a Tampax, right?"
At his assent:
"Welp, then I guess I'll just have to be really, REALLY FRIENDly!"
Her face lights up in a frightening rendition of a Valley Girl's vacuous but bubbly nature.
"I mean, hel-LO, CLUE-phooone, it's for YOU! And ohey, like, it's CORDLESS? You know? Soyoucanlike, TAKE it WITH you when you LEAVE? Thinks!"
Her head flips from side to side with each step, one hand on hip, the other stabbing a fresh slab of gum into her working jaws.
"Like, ok, wantsome Extra? I have extra--omigod, TOO FUN- NEE! EX tra EXTRA!? No WAY yyyy! Ohmigod, like, AtLANta is just, like, the BOMB!"
Her purposefully, utterly artificial draws not a few contemplative stares from the locals, who go about their business when she meets their gaze.
"Welllll ok." The facade ends abruptly. "Need to BUILD to that. It's like a fine wine--it needs to breathe."
The insouciant wanderer chews, mouth closed, scanning the horizon for signs of the graveyard.
Edited by Theda at: 8/9/00 11:31:00 am
Siegfried Von Hauten
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He watches Theda's facade worriedly, that his last words destroyed what was left of her sanity. Finally, as if an epiphamy, he understands, and lets out a slight giggle of relief.
The two walk along for quite awhile, until they come upon a darkened part of the street. It branches out, leading down into an area where not a building stands anymore; even the decayed remenants which grace most of the buildings in Atlanta are nowhere to be seen. And, still, amongst this barren wasteland stands a structure..
the graveyard.
And there is DEFINATELY something going on there. Sparks of light and power emit from various orifaces of open graves, and, from the far-away-vantage, it appears that there is a battle amongst man; what type is uncertain.
But, most certainly, something involving supernatural occurances (which Theda is already somewhat used to, having a floating eye for a companion) is taking place.
Theda
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Theda stands in darkness recollecting that not more than a few short (lifetimes) hours ago she stood before this same cemetery, hefting a suffering obese man on her shoulder.
(Stiffs change, place stays the same…awww Hitler on Sunday--)
“My bag, dammit, my BAG.”
The graveyard forgotten for a time, she walks to one of the last remnants of structure before the open space begins, and promptly bashes her head against the stone, hard enough to crumble several inches away in radius from the point of impact, leaving it there as she leans against the wall.
She stands in silence, unmoving, eyes closed.
Hard exhalation.
She straightens up, minute pieces of the ruined mortar stuck to and in her forehead, her blue hair pressed and matted into the dark abrasions. She brushes her hair away, her blank expression highlighted by the sheer ire in her eyes.
“How perceptive are these folks?”
The cloak of shadows descends and she’s gone.
“Will this help at all or is EVERYTHING I do somehow going to screw me over?!?”
Edited by Theda at: 8/9/00 6:19:11 pm
Siegfried Von Hauten
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He shakes his eye back and forth, and then lets out a sigh.
"Err.. Well, they.. uh.. be still mortal spirits. They may be HEIGHTEN sense, but they not notice if you stay like that."
A small smile, and then a quick addition:
"Heck, only reason me notice you is you talk to me! You invistable!"
Theda
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"Well LIFE is BEAUTIFUL. Go on down. I'll be there."
Silence.
Siegfried Von Hauten
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The giant eyeball slowly makes its way to the graveyard, Theda following behind, cloaked in darkness and silence.
As they approach, it is easily determined that, indeed, there is a fight happening at the graveyard.
It is obvious who is losing.
Six men (or at least it looks like men) descend upon a single, and he fights them back with furiousity unmatched in mortal terms. But, like most men in a 1 on 6 battle, he is losing ground ever so slowly. The 6 fight with cool, calculated percision, cutting down his defenses one by one.
The single man screams in rage, extending his hand towards one of the six cloaked figures. A sudden scream and a bolt of entropic energy, and the figure is no more. The five regroup, jumping off of the ground and surrounding him. A jet of fire from one, another approaches as the single man is distracted.
His knife cuts into the back of the man, leaking out an ectoplasmic goo. The single man shreaks in agony, and turns around, his gaze connecting directly with Nash.
"We HAVE to help him. That be Gamillion. Gamillion the Ferryman. And those 5..... they be...
spectres."
Nash pauses for a moment, then his eye creases in anger.
"Raaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh!"
The eyeball rams at full speed into the back of another of the remaining 5, dropping it to the ground. Both Nash and the man exclaim in pain from the brutal body-to-eye slam, Nash's eye-front noticibly flattened and the body of the 5th mangled beyond recognition, save the face. The man twitches slightly, sighing, and then giving up. Nash does a eye-flip, and looks back to search the area for Theda.
"Need distraction to help ferryman! You can help!"
And, with that, Nash throws himself into the fray, along side of the wounded ferryman.
Theda
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But Theda has already begun the dance.
The knife wielding man has retreated with the presence of the shrieking, belligerent eyeball, reassessing the situation as the orb circles about the stricken Ferryman.
He finds his opening as Nash swoops to avoid a stream of flame, singeing a fleshy knob with no serious damage--
--and the figure darts in, blade swooping back and back and up, gaining momentum in purpose as it seeks the heart of the weakened Gamillon, who stands in a daze at the monstrous angel hovering above--
--and at the apex of the swing, just before momentum takes over to guide the ebon soulforged edge into the heart of the suddenly comprehending man,
It redirects.
* * *
She moves with the supple precision of Salome before Herod, seductive and efficient in her quest for blood.
Her discipline begets a quickening of motion matched only by the supernatural as she steps calmly into the fray, closer, intent upon the otherworldly blade which the man will assuredly present to her, an unwitting gift--
--closer, she examines the ripple of muscle expanding, contracting, synapse and spark and action and back and the arm seeks it's maxim of deadly effect--
--closer, she observes with slow discernment, all time seeming to slog burdened before her. It will move, and it will continue, and it will peak before it lends itself to gravity and relaxes.... here.
Viperquick, bearing the Fang of Kali, her own arm breaches the path of physical perfection, crossing over and robbing the limb utterly of momentum as the fulcrum of her shoulder rises and she turns--
--and his arm, gently caressed and tugged, guided unseen and governed by his own momentum, betrays him, hung up and jointlocked under the force of her twisting, rising shoulder and
* * *
painintensetearingrendingasunder
--his body compensates for the excruciation by throwing itself backwards in effort to alleviate the point of possession, his muscles now spasm frantic--
* * *
--and she accepts the gift of the weapon with her free hand, a surgeon removing an unwanted blight. And still she turns--
(Now,)
--and now throws her own strength into the motion, thrusting up and away with her legs--
(Sweet Release)
--while retracting the guiding arm, and as he breaks to flight, the Fang of Kali delivers a gentle caress across the major arteries nestled beneath the pelvis and nether regions, a deep and probing kiss to part the tissues there--
(Go Your Way)
--and as he spins away the second kiss from netherworldly blade just reaches him before he's gone, a wanton peck gives new breath to the hollow of his throat--
(...Goodbye)
--as he spins ferociously into the hapless form of a compatriate with such a force as to rock his head with the sound of dead twigs crushed beneath a stone...
* * *
The count reduced to two, Salome retrieves her veils; the blades nestle carefully under sinewy forearms, pressed closed and listening...
Gamillon the Ferryman views the few scant seconds as his life is spared by his assailant's sudden violent, self-destructive contortion--and then he understands.
Fear comes in many forms.
...and death looks on unseen, already stepping out upon the floor as the music begins again...
Edited by Theda at: 8/10/00 1:25:18 am
Siegfried Von Hauten
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All eyes descend upon the newcomer, cloaked in shadows, her quickened manuvering distorting two of the spectres into jumbled heaps of ectoplasm. The fire-launching spectre lifts a hand to deal with the new menance...
Gamillion catches him ofguard. A ray of pure spiritual energy thrusts from his hand, disintegrating the 2nd to last able-spectre.
And Nash sets his eye on the last, but he has already had enough. Now outnumbered three to one, his mission a failure, the spectre dives back into the open nihil in the center of the graveyard, its passage sealing shortly after.
And both facades turn to Theda.
And both grin.
Theda
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The shadow in stillness, cheated of another prize, gazes past the smiles to a burning bush engulfed in the now-slain assailant’s errant flame, the light from a star long since dead.
(pulse)
The blood flows hot of it’s own accord, no vessel empowering—but now,
(pulse)
residual throes of death
(pulse)
at her hand
(pul-)
***
“Again.”
The short man with the dark complexion housing kind eyes speaks whispersoft, the distant ebb and flow of tide across clean, white sand carried in the timbre of his voice. He stands unmoving, regarding his intimate charge without emotion.
Dull throb of pain, the liquid confirmation of her weakness trickling smooth across her bare scalp; she struggles to feet raw from exertion, trembling against her will.
But she stands.
Unspoken, she heeds his command, and her eyes flutter closed.
In the seventh year of training, her sire reaches deep into the pit to find the torch therein, drawing it forth and out, illumning the hewn out rock beneath the Taj. Shadows (pulse) along the rough-run stone as the flame passes through the damp air of the cavern.
The angry vessel ruffles aloud, the chamber alive by it’s voice and presence—
--and behind her eyes the horror claws madly at her resolve. The flutteruffling flame speaking to her fear, coaxing it, seducing it to grow and multiply within the confines of her body—
--it is all she can do not to scream, to leash the welling terror in her throat. The flame draws nigh, its heat suffocating in embrace. Bright red-orange hue soaks through the safety of her lids, each separate vein a roadmap to the edge of sight. She feels her lashes burning acrid smell of hair consumed, the moisture fleeing from her face, lips cracking split to bleed, her jaw clamped viselike strain to crush her teeth into powder—
And still she stands.
The benevolent eyes of the wielder take in the naked (girl) woman as he speaks just above the hungry flame:
“Mastery.”
Another supreme effort to show no sign of the abject shock of his voice which shatters her concentration for no longer than what would once have been a heartbeat—
(didheseedidheseepleasedidhesee)
He did.
His expression does not change. And this time he does not wield the mirror-bright Ghurka blade that arcs from his opposite hand; a blade spotted lightly from the impact it bore moments ago against the flat end of the blade against a smooth-shorn head...
Instead, his eyes remark upon her unwillingness to grant him the satisfaction of admission.
This is good. For now, this is good. And as the burning cypress wafts lovingly near her death-determined lack of expression, he is proud enough to push her over the edge.
“Open them.”
* * *
(pulse)
Approaching the bush, blades tucked sidelong into the sheath behind her pack, still absently mauling the peppermint gum, the fingers of flame reach for her own as she runs them across their berth and they tickle, lightly, radiant-hot and she shows no fear—only a sense of wonder, residual euphoria and bewilderment combined.
And as the shadows about her dissipate, so too this sense is gone.
Taking the gum from her mouth, she flicks it into the flame. Turning, she eyes the Eye, and the Ferryman, shaking her head.
“He ran away. People are DEAD and they STILL run away. Like, what the hell are they afraid of?”
Reaching Gamillon, she looks him over once.
“So? Where’s the boat?”
Edited by Theda at: 8/10/00 7:47:35 pm
Siegfried Von Hauten
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A quick motion, and once again darkness shrouds his eyes as his long hood folds over the top of his war-weary head. A small sigh tunnels forth, and then a chuckle, bearing the sounds of an eternal existence. All but sapped of all his energy, Gamillion follows Theda carefully with his cloaked eyes residing as shallow pits in his poorly embroidered, hooded, gray robe. His voice is like sandpaper rubbing up against flint, and he does not move at all as the words come forth; He could just as easily be a talking statue, had he not been seen in active combat earlier.
"My thanks. My charge was assaulted by these rogue spectres, and, under ferryman code of honor, I did protect him as he made his haphazard escape back into the Tempest. I would seek him out, but first, I will thank you by offering you my services, noble one. 'Upon me thy wish, and t'will be done.'"
Infinate kindness and infinate generousity sweeps through Theda's mind as she watches the demi-God of the Underworld speak, whether to her own liking or not. Though she masks it successfully, she almost feels helpless now; an involentary sinking in her stomach. She can tell Nash feels this as well, as his emotions are not as easily masked....
Nobody said meeting a ferryman would be easy.[/i]
Theda
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Concordia. You know how to get there?"
Edited by Theda at: 8/11/00 11:51:48 am
Siegfried Von Hauten
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The eyeball slowly moves until half of his floating form is covered by Theda. He watches the dialog with intense interest.
"Yes. I do know how to get there. Is it your wish to travel to Concordia? Be advised, more Spectres may come to finish the job, and they are far more powerful in the Tempest than in the Shadowlands, as it is their home."
The statue-man waits patiently for a reply.
Theda
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Oh…”
A deep sigh, a shrug.
“Well, I guess we’d better stay then.”
Turning to Nash.
“We tried our best.”
Another moment. Trademark Theda non-expression.
“Hey, you wanted levity, that was it. Laugh.”
Turning back to Gamillion.
“Lead the way.”
Siegfried Von Hauten
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
By now, he is starting to get somewhat used to Theda's sense of humor; It only takes a couple seconds for him to understand her. Gamillion's robe tilts in a perceptable nod, and he waves his hand...
The rift opens up into the sky, and a small, shabby looking wooden boat floats out, slowly.. stopping feet before Theda.
Nash plops himself down in the end, Theda taking the front. Gamillion takes the center, and in his hand materializes a decayed oar.
And they push off, slowly, back into the whirling winds of the Tempest.
---
They are in a river. It flows calm, with walls of darkness around them. Staring deep enough into the walls, one can see the shades of the dead screaming in torment without making a sound; A miasma of terror bottled up, and kept at bay by inpercievable walls bordering either side of the still waters. The boat flows gracefully, forking to the right as given the opertunity, and eventually they end up near an island in the middle of the widened black waters.
Gamillion steps out.
"This is not our destination, but we ARE being followed. It will be safer to confront the enemy on solid ground, as if a quick steps foot in the river of death, they turn to stone."
Nash swallows hard. "MORE spectres?"
Gamillion shakes his head.
"The Hierarchy patrol. Legionaires; A good twenty, if my senses are up to par."
Nash's gaze grows rather questioning;
"Hierarchy should leave Ferryman alone. Why follow us? And why be hostile? Maybe they help."
"No. They will not help. And they are no more than 100 yards away. Ready your arms."
And with that, the enigmatic ferryman pulls his hood back. Until then, Theda had no the chance to see him up close. His head, scorched with bulbous deformities was pale-white, not a speck of hair on it. Like a skeleton, his eyes were sunken in leading to almond shaped pits of the darkess black that can be comprehended by man. He stands, statuesque, again, and the boats in the distance fade in from the fog.
One.. Two.. Three of them. All with a crew rowing them, 4 on each side. 24 trained Legionaires, their motives a mystery, approaching at an extrodinarily fast pace.
Nash looks at Theda, a slight whimper coming forth. "Me thinks we should have STAYED in shadowlands...."
---
Siegfried Von Hauten
10th Generation Ancillae
Tzimisce Metamorphosist
Priest of the Sabbat
Theda
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“These Legionaires—are they ‘quicks,’ or what?”
She readies the newfound blade, examining it briefly as she hefts it. Kali’s fang, for now, stays put—and the new weapon tucks against her forearm, palmed, hidden from view of the oncoming troop.
Siegfried Von Hauten
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Gamillion shakes his head to Theda's question.
"No. Fortunately, your new-blade will strike true. The Legionaires believe you have done something..."
Gamillion does not direct the comment at Theda.
He directs it at Nash.
"Me...?"
Nash trembles slightly, and slinks to the ground. He whimpers softly.
"What they gonna do?"
Gamillion pauses for a moment.
"They will do NOTHING. You are now my charge."
Theda
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"...and if they hit the water?"
Siegfried Von Hauten
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
And her comment hits Gamillion like a storm of inspiration, but he stands still.
"You are wise. They would not be as tortured as a quick, but they would be hardpressed to survive in the spectre infested waters."
With that, one of the legionaires stands up, a gun toting in his hand, and he fires it awkwardly at the shore. It glances off of the canopy, and lodges itself into the dirt. Gamillion nods, and points a hand at the one boat.
Now that Theda is close enough, she can hear his chanting. It is most disturbing.
"Ire Vehementi."
The yellow-fire beam lunges forth, it's heat radiating outward and around, striking the first of the boats with a powerful shattering of wood splinters. The legionaires let out a collective wail of anger, and it the boat rapidly capsizes, sending the group into the bottomless depths of the river of death. The two other groups of legionaires watch in distraught, and their oars increase in speed. Lunging forward, they approach, a mere 30 feet away.
"My Rage can only be expulsed every 45 seconds. I am afraid that I will not be able to destroy them all." Gamillion's voice pengs regret, but he does not turn to look at his charges.
"I take care of lady," Nash's voice comes forth, far braver than before with 8 legionaires down. Sarcastically, it seems, he adds "Not that it seem she NEED take care of."
Theda
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
To Nash
"You wanna be useful, get to the closest boat before they reach the shore. You don't have to hit them all--just get them off balance enough that they slow down. Long enough for Mr. Man here to charge his betteries."
To Gamillion, assuming Nash is gone already.
"Will it 'hurt' less just to take away the oars instead of the whole boat? Or am I too stupid to understand how you work?"
Edited by Theda at: 8/14/00 4:25:30 pm
Siegfried Von Hauten
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The little eye zooms away, flying with incredible velocity at the 2nd boat. He dodges a swift punch directed at him, then lunges at another legionaire. The man growls, grabbing at him, but he narrowly avoids their grasp again. Nash dances playfully around them, and their rowing slows slightly to combat the new menance.
"My powers are all-or-nothing. The Ire Vehementi is a dischage of rage, an emotion of destruction in this realm. Unfortunately, I have only so much rage at a time. It tames concentration to rebuild it, and as we speak I feel it burning inside of me once more."
A bump, and the non-pestered-by-Nash boat hits the shore. Theda grips her sword, and the Legionaires tumble out. Gamillion eyes them, and then eyes Theda.
...
And the dance begins anew.
Theda
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"You've gotta be kidding me."
She rushes the boat, closing the range for firearms in favor of hand to hand.
"Go to Atlanta. You'll never need to worry a limit to your rage..."
And with that, she's upon them.
Siegfried Von Hauten
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The legionaires are piling out, eyeing Theda suspiciously as she tumbles towards them. They seem to shimmer slightly, and as Theda makes contact, she thrusts right through them, nearly breaking hazardously out the other side and into the water. She skids to a stop before falling, inches away from death.
Her blade, however, does not.
The soulforged weapon cuts deep into the legionaire in front, its agony apparent by a wail of inhuman proportions. Twisting around, the sword catches another legionaire in the throat. Both collapse in syncronized agony.
Theda thrusts her weight backwards, a quick flick of her blade and the incoming fingers of another legionaire sever neatly. Falling back, she assesses the situation.
2 incapacitated. 1 wounded. 5 very pissed off.
Theda jumps quickly...
But not quickly enough.
The soulforged blade of a legionaire strikes her ankle, glancing off bone. It falters her speed and she tumbles to the ground... the legionaires closing in for the kill.
"You fight well, quick, but you are no match for a Hierarchy Legionaire."
And the blade begins to strike down at an impossible velocity.
Theda swings her head to the side, avoiding death, and with her good leg, crushes whatever life flowed through the legionaire's right leg. Compensating with his right arm to the ground, Theda whips her blade around, hacking his head off in one, clean blow. She stands up (in excrutiating pain), and starts to fall back to Gamillion.
The ferryman watches with detatched interest, his eyes focused on a much greater endevour. Nash is fighting a losing battle, a few gashes on his sides and the bottom of his eye. He floats about angrily, whisping in and out at the legionaires in the boat.
"Go... LEAVE!"
Gamillion's voice is strong, and commanding.
"Into the forest. I will hold them. Do not dally, LEAVE!"
Theda
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
(Piss)
The annoyance of the sundered ankle not enough to sway the sheer ire of actually having been touched, already assessing the four remaining--
--and Nash.
"NASH! HERE! NOW!!!"
Siegfried Von Hauten
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Nash turns, his gaze falling upon Theda's. He nods in comfirmation, narrowly avoiding another fatal blow with a mere knick.
His wounds oozing with ectoplasm, he thrusts foward as quickly as possible, dropping mere feet into the island.
Nash hits the ground, his eye closing and abruptly openning again, jarring him into increased movement.
He thrusts forward, past Theda, then a quick eye-u-turn and he graces her right side.
Gamillion steps forward, a powerful arm cloaking the smaller and more lithe form of Theda. He turns.
"The explosion will kill us all if you do not move."
The legionaires watch with frightened expressions, the two remaining centurions hissing angrily and letting loose upon Gamillion with more spirit-forged bullets.
He winces slightly as they connect, but does not falter.
At first, the growth of the energy field seems non-existant; a mere glimpse of an illusion out of the corner of Theda's eye.
A burst, and the field grows outward. Theda instinctively hops backwards, and Nash is not far behind. A careless Legionaire who thought it intellegent to lunge forward and catch Gamillion offguard with his saber disintigrated save a mockery of a skeleton left from his unfortunate corpus. Falling to the ground, his skeletal knees skid against the dirt and grime of the near-island, the rest of his body joining shortly after.
Perhaps the Centurions and Legionaires screamed in terror, or they got back into their boats...
Or perhaps they continued their attack.
Nash would never know, as he was halfway into the jungle, hoping upon hope that Theda would join him in his 'tactical retre
Theda
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Her blood alredy coagulating to knit about the severed tendon, she backpedals into the treeline--
(Unbelievable)
--loathe to retreat from such a bunch of cliche-spouting Sinbad rejects.
Finding the bole of a particularly large tree as shelter, she pauses, placing both hands upon the wound to pinch the separated flesh, facilitating expediency in healing, and concentrates, watching as the wounded eye/thing careens away through the trees...
Siegfried Von Hauten
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Light shatters the trees, splintering spirit-wood everywhere. Theda instinctively covers her face, but a shard does not touch her or Nash.
The light fades from yellow, to red, to purple, to black... and then nothingness. And the trees resume their normal, unnaturally slow swaying in the non-existant breeze.
Nash watches Theda, trembling.
Silence.
The deepest silence conceivable.
No animals. No bugs. No sound of leaves swaying in the breeze. No hum of the electronics.
Not even a breath.
---
Siegfried Von Hauten
10th Generation Ancillae
Tzimisce Metamorphosist
Priest of the Sabbat
Theda
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Straightening, massaging the tender area of the heel, she glances in the direction from whence they came, then looks to the fluttering eyeball.
"You look like hell. You guys have Band-Aids down here? Made out of little kids, or something?"
Not expecting nor waiting for a response, she makes her way back to the shoreline--to God knows what.
Siegfried Von Hauten
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Never has a beach looked so full of despair in life or unlife.
The trees part in splintered destruction from the previous assault upon their bases. Life (or Spirit, whatever it may be) seems to have left the trees nearest to the beach- They sway, but they do not sing; barren and destroyed, swaying lightly in the breeze, animated by a higher power.
Puppets without strings.
A boat drifts for a moment in the undertow of the island's wake, as if to say a final adieu towards the approaching two.
And then, it joins the rest under the River of Death's reflective and murky black waters, sinking to a depth never to be explored by save the remenants of memories past.
Theda gives a quick look at Nash who floats still in the air, pressing himself against the deep winds of the near-island. He blinks twice in disbelief...
Then...
"Gamillion?" In a small voice. A hopeless voice. A voice that knows the truth but refuses to accept it with one last, dying plea that fate reverses itself...
and doesn't leave these two stranded on this island.
---
Siegfried Von Hauten
10th Generation Ancillae
Tzimisce Metamorphosist
Priest of the Sabbat
Theda
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Staring out into the water.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, the word of the day is reamed."
She steps out onto the beach, looking left, then right. She then spits a vertical mist lightly into the air, noting the direction it swings. She finds the approximation of Gamillion's last point of stance. Turns, notes the treeline, and the effects upon it. To no one and everyone:
"He's around somewhere."
She begins to walk off down the beach.
"Maybe not HERE, but he's around. Hell, NOBODY is here, but they're ALL AROUND, aren't they? Everywhere you GO, there they ARE, but they're not really THERE, but hey, there you go."
Shaking her head, readjusting her top, she exhales sharply, and continues down the beach.
Siegfried Von Hauten
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Not an animal. Not a sound. Not a movement save the woman and her floating eye companion. As they continue down the beach, Theda begins to realize how small this island really is. The plantlife regains its healthy tinge upon walking for a brief moment more, but in a mere matter of minutes they circle the entire island and return to the weathered and wreaked part of the outskirts of the jungle. Nash looks at Theda, a brief timid smile crossing his face...
"Gilligan's Island?" No Nash-giggle following, but a little glint of merriment goes through his gaze in the attempt to lighten the situation.
---
Siegfried Von Hauten
10th Generation Ancillae
Tzimisce Metamorphosist
Priest of the Sabbat
Theda
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
She doesn't even look at him.
Not yet.
Turning, she begins making her way through the foliage--
The diameter might be greater than the circumference.
Who knows?
Siegfried Von Hauten
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The jungle stretches for far more than the island would let on. Nash follows slowly, cautiously. As they walk farther in, the trees seem to get larger; As wide as Theda, then Nash, then both combined... They begin to grow comprable to the California Redwood in stature. With such large trees, the spaces between them seem to grow considerably... It is in one of these clearings that Theda spots a strange circle of stones, most unusually placed. Their size and position would indicate that someone PUT them there, but there seems to be no signs of life anywhere on the island. The stones are not formed in such a manner, but Theda cannot help but think of one thing to the exclusion of all other hypothesis:
Stonehenge.
---
Siegfried Von Hauten
10th Generation Ancillae
Tzimisce Metamorphosist
Priest of the Sabbat
Theda
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Shaking her head, she crosses to the stones, examining the texture, the solidity, even the very smell of the odd arrangement. She navigates the distances from one to another, and looks to the sky at the formation of the clearing. After a moment, still gazing at the stones in relation to one another:
“I wonder if this is the part where I look into the camera and tell everyone about how really, really sorry I am…”
She sits, cross legged in the center of the formation, and breathes deep, closing her eyes,
“I am sorry. Sorry I ever set foot in Atlanta, and sorry for the one responsible for me being here, stuck in a bad cross between Big Trouble in Little China and Blair Witch Project. I’m so, so sorry that I’m going to have to spend my precious time figuring out a way to make the bastard pay…”
She settles into meditation, clearing her mind and body of all things that might detract from her next course of action.
Waiting.
Siegfried Von Hauten
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A quick pause while Theda sits, and then he starts to float around warily. A couple circles around the woman, and then he plops himself down next to her.
The leaves sway in harmony. Nothing seems different.
Then, a spirit-twig cracks underneath the weight of some foreign object.
Theda
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sitting in repose, she physically exhibits no change in her posture, nothing to indicate acknowledgement of the new stimuli—
* * *
The short man with the dark complexion housing kind eyes speaks whispersoft, the distant ebb and flow of tide across clean, white sand carried in the timbre of his voice. He stands unmoving, regarding his intimate charge without emotion.
“Seek.”
As motionless as he, the statue of the girl reaches out with her mind, out, out beyond the rustle of leaves, the gentle *tump* of a hanging branch against the bole of a gargantuan trunk…
…beyond the flutter of the nocturnal creatures on the wing, of the scurry of creatures dashing for cover…
…beyond the heartbeat and slow, regular breathing of the diurnal beasts…
Time slows to each second stretching out and out.
So many distractions to pick and mull over, the manifold stimuli of nature assaulting her senses and threatening to arrest her attention to one facet for too long. Every new form of data from every direction must be identified, analyzed, weighed of its value then stored for future reference.
And this without the burden of eyesight.
(“One eye, a tool. Two, a luxury,” he whispered. And, in his characteristic but sparing dry humor, had added: “Three or more, a curse.”
He had then removed her sight, piercing her eyes through with a speed vipers might learn from.
The pain had been secondary to her confusion, and it was only upon actively slowing down what she had just witnessed in the final nanoseconds before utter darkness that she discerned what had taken place.
She did not cry out. Nor did she complain.)
There.
Downwind. The scent and sound obfuscated, but by no means eliminated—and judging the course of the current across her body, accounting for the speed of travelling sound versus the damper of obstacles between, she judges them within feet…then inches…
The soft nestling of tread into the underfoliage, slowly, easily mistaken for a large mammal, measured, cautious tread—but there: a stutter, double step, almost ball-change—characteristic only of one beast: man, making an error.
From the south, two of them, walking in measured step. The leader of lighter tread than the follower, both still heavy upon the earth. Men.
The Sire will remove the foot of he who misjudged the lead.
She is no doubt meant to dismiss the groaning of the ancient branches, quite possibly why the Sire chose this particular location—instead of recognizing the inconsistency in location of the strain upon the timbers. Where a branch is weak, repetition is the norm, the ailing structure producing rhythmic, near-identical stress cries as the wind strums the strings of the forest.
Inconstant stress does not shift from tree to tree, much less in a steady, directive-oriented pattern.
From the northeast, one. A woman, light enough to traverse tree to tree without overburdening—at least, to the untrained ‘observer’.
A hand held up: three.
Awaiting acknowledgement, she receives it: silence.
The Sire is gone.
She feels her heart sink as the realization sets in, that her concentration stretched to the outer perimeter, failing to hold in regard the inner, the immediate…the deadly. How could she have missed his passing? He had stood no more than six feet from her, certainly she would have—
A feather touch upon her throat, the barest brush as her hand snaps out to grasp something faster than even she—but her foot has connected solidly with something that…
…that…
…that emits no sound upon impact.
And as her ankle is caught in the unmistakable and familiar grasp of the Sire even as her foot strikes home, and she awaits the inevitable breaking of the bone, she is instead simply released—
(?!?!)
Could she see his face, she would observe his wide grin.
“Today, young one, you will begin your studies of your first true discipline—that of the Art of Quietus.”
It is her 14th year with the Sire.
* * *
The crack of the ethereal twig is loud and anticipated to the extent her mind focuses immediately upon the precise location from whence it came, hungrily poring over any and all details of the passage of the newcomer…
Edited by Theda at: 8/29/00 12:59:20 pm
Siegfried Von Hauten
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Theda's senses are attuned to that of the physical manifestation of reality. A muffled sense of a certain body of some sort is to the back and to her right. Due to its incorperal nature, she cannot sense what the size and mass of the newcomer is. Ultimately, he freezes in horrified contemplation of his stealty blunder.
Theda
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Theda makes no motion, no outward sign that she heard, looking to all the...world...like a woman asleep.
And still, she waits.
Siegfried Von Hauten
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He makes no outward sign that he heard any noise.
Perhaps he did not.
The motion is nearly inpercievable. Whatever the form of the creature in question, it again seems confident that it's place is not known. It shuffles forth stealthily, and for a moment Theda loses track of it.
Then, again, she hears motion.. a brief touch of spirit-skin on spirit-breeze, and the creature is inches from her face. Though it would seem to be the time to react, Nash lets out a yelp before any stealthy manuver can be made. He twirls around thrice, and thrusts into Theda's left shoulder, toppling backwards and into the spirit-grass.
Theda
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Her eyes remain closed.
Seemingly unmindful of the skittish reaction the orboid Nash exhibits, she shoulders the distraction as he caromes off, then resumes her position of 'meditation.'
Silence.
Then,
"D'you mind backing up a skoche? I kinda have this thing about my personal space being violated against my will--I'm a lot more pleasant when I don't have to swallow what you've already used. Thanks."
Another moment, and her eyes open halfway to take in her newest stimuli...
Siegfried Von Hauten
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The creature stands, poised, in front of her.
A bird.
It's beak definately suggests a bird.
He/she/it watches Theda with intense concentration.
It backs up alittle, then turns slightly. He shimmers. His bird-form is quickly dropped....
and in a blink of an eye, whiskers touch where a beak would be. A tail swishes back and forth behind it, and he opens his mouth. His voice is soothing, quiet, and determined. A most unusual combination.
"What is it that you seek here young one? You have assumed the position of relaxation, perhaps seeking one with Brahman. May I assist you in spiritual enlightenment into your next incarnation, or is it something else you seek? Your mind is cluttered, I see... you are troubled. Let me assist your thoughts into a pure etheral nothingness; a purity of perception. May I assist you into nothingness?"
Nash eyes Theda suspiciously, then a shrug of his non-existent shoulders.. leaving the decision to her.
Theda
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"What a lovely offer."
The picture of cynicism.
"Y'know, I've had quite a few people wanting to assist me into the place of nothingness recently. And I'm sure many of them follow the line of wanting to help me into my 'next incarnation' as well. Forgive me if your offer doesn't hold much appeal. It's the whole 'Kevorkian' thing--I'm sure you understand."
She regards the cat-creature, still without much alarm. By now, her ruffledness at the absurd has developed a callous, courtesy of the Cacodemonesque Nash.
"I mean, you could maybe indulge me and explain what the hell you mean before you expect me to say, 'Sure! Boyhowdy, it's the chance of a LIFETIME!'...I try to be careful that way. Stay informed. The whole bit."
Siegfried Von Hauten
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The feline watches her, a look of infinite sadness crossing his/her/it's face. Its head cocks to its side, and it lets out a small sigh. Blinking again, its eyes change color- to a deep, dark shade of purple.
"To explain nothingness is to explain somethingness. The only way to achieve nothingness is to not know at all: In there, we will be truly enlightened. Though on the path to nothingness, I would condemn myself in order to enlighten you so that you may forget.
The world we live in is an illusion: Maya. Maya keeps us from truly realizing our goal- Reunion with Brahman. In order to reunite with Brahman, we must forget Maya; Pass Maya. In death, we leave Maya and travel to this world- Brahman. But we cannot truly unite with Brahman until we forget all our shortcomings as mortals. So, in order to be enlightened, we must forget all. Including what I just told you. But I digress. Why must you ask such questions if you have actively sought out the island of Krishna?"
The feline's head, which throughout the explaination straightened itself, cocked again to the right. Another blink: It's eyes turn jade.
Theda
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A moment.
She looks to Nash. Back to the Cat-thing. Then, she delves into her fanny pack.
“Hmmm. Nope. Guess I left it in my other bag. I really need to buy TWO tambourines, for emergencies like this.”
She stands, stretching. Then regards the newcomer. Or oldstayer. Whatever.
“Alright. Fine. I get it. Somehow, I ended up in the sequel to the Yellow Submarine. Good by me. Here’s a newsflash, though: I’ve been dead a while, never been here until today. I’m not looking for Brahman, I’m on this island because I wiped out an asshead named Yallin who deserved it and got sucked into a big moaning SPHINCTER in the middle of a hotel living room, and the next thing I know I’m looking at a floating EYEBALL who tells me I’m basically screwed unless I figure out a way to get to some island in the middle of a storm and a river full of dead things that eat you, so I HELP a FERRYMAN who’s decided to BAIL after we got shanghai’d by a group of nether-Nazi’s, and then shipwrecked—because I’m on my way to a place called Con cordia, where I’m on my way to find the DEMON responsible for me BEING here to make him send me BACK. Yeah, to MAYA, go figure. There, there’s a lot of people walking around with their heads up their ass, yes, but at least they don’t have to worry about someone else getting bored one day and making a dildo out of their SOUL against their will. Got me? Enlightened on that score? Are we like this?”
With that, the gesture for seeing eye-to-eye.
“Because I’m not sure I can elaborate any more on the whole thing. Which means I actually know very little. Which means I must be pretty damned close to enlightenment. So, tell me, NOW WHAT?”
Tariq would have slapped her down a long, long time ago.
Yeah, well. Tariq didn’t mention THIS place, either...
Siegfried Von Hauten
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The cat blinks a few times, it's human form slacking completely into full-feline. A tiger, perhaps, but without stripes or color- A gray tiger- One eye jade, the other eye deep-red. Finally, the cat shrugs off its feline form entirely and...
A bovine.
The cow watches Theda carefully, chewing what is to be assumed "spirit-cud", and smiles bovinely. The moments stretch on for what seems to be faaar too long, and the floating eye finally comes to rest on the ground in sudden boredom. Finally, the cow speaks.
"I see that you believe you were mistaken in coming to this island. But you and I both know that this is not the truth. Fate has destined you here to become a child of Krishna. You seek to become one with Maya once again, which is understandable- But once you cut yourself free from that desire, you will be a much happier, much more enlightened being. I cannot force you to stay here. No, I will assist you in leaving, if it is that which you desire. I am no ferryman, only a soul seeking enlightenment myself. The area outside of this island is infinately dangerous. I cannot promise your safety if you leave, as I can here. Please spend some time rethinking your position, but if you come to the same conclusion... far be it from me to change your fate."
Theda
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"I'd like to buy a vowel here. 'Ohhhh.'"
She brushes hair out of her face, nodding, looking to Nash.
"You can guarantee my safety. Alright. Take note of exhibit A, the blood on my ankle. I already fixed the problem, but believe me, if I weren't what I am, I'd be kinda screwed right about now.
Exhibit B, my optorific acquaintance here. Pay close attention to the clotting occuring about the eye and, ah, eye. Doesn't look like it's getting any safer.
Exhibit C, the crater with the tatters of cloth that a certain Ferryman stood in the middle of less that half an hour ago.
So far, I'm not getting a cuddly feeling here. I know, you're a cow, and all, and I'm sure that you're quite capable of throwing a scare into folks who think they're getting a burger or a pint of milk when you pull the tiger thing and whatever other animal you do--and I'm positive there'll be some disgusting man-eating thing behind that smile of yours--but I'd rather know that if it's my time to go, it's because of a stupid mistake I made, and not from trusting someone or thing I just met.
After all, hey, I "die", I don't even haveta change my clothes. I'm already here.
Examining the cow-creature, then turning to Nash slowly.
"Y'know something? It just occurred to me...ever since I slugged down a few pints of that wannabe Vincent Price's blood, things have been a little, shall we say, abnormal in my quote environment end quote. Now, I'm as liberal as the next gal, but I'm starting to get the feeling like I fell asleep after eating really spicy food while watching Yellow Submarine...and that I'm just now realizing that someone..."
She turns, looking at the perimeter of the treeline.
"...is SERIOUSLY..."
Then to the 'Stonehenge' pieces.
"...messing with my HEAD."
Back to the Jim Henson Creature Shop fabrications. Then, yelling aloud:
"ALRIGHT!!! YALLIN, I'M DONE!!! GET OUT HERE AND LET'S DO THIS MANO-EE-WOMANO!!!"
Edited by: Theda at: 10/23/00 4:01:05 pm
Elijah Robert Marks
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The room is almost completely dark. The only light comes from a slight purple glow, softly drifting what seems to be utter emptiness.
Theda cannot see anything, nor can she move. She feels as though she is resting on a slab of stone, of some sort. She thinks she might be bound to it in some way, but she doesn't have enough feeling in her body to tell for certain.
"Ah. The exquisite child awakens."
You don't quite remember the voice, but you're certain you've heard it before, perhaps in passing. It is very soft, almost musical, and absolutely confident.
"I'm very disappointed in you my dear. You interrupted something I'd been looking forward to for a very, very long time. Well," the voice continued, "not disappointed in you, exactly, simply disappointed in the way things went afterwards. Being dragged into Limbo was not quite what I had planned."
The haze in Theda's head recedes, and she can tell that she is in fact bound quite securely to a stone slab... but she can't yet tell where she is.
"It wasn't what you expected, either, was it?"
A shilhouette looms over her, a silhouette that could in fact be Christoph Yallin.
The silhouette disappers, and the voice continues "when you're dragged into Limbo whole... well... especially when my 'partners' are involved... you don't quite see things the same way, after that. Don't worry, though, you won't have to deal with the new perspective for very long."
A sound of a door opens. "I almost forgot... this is the part where the supervillian tells the heroine his master plan before he kills her, no? Yes. Well, fair maiden, my plan is simple. In a few hours, I'm going to come back, and I'm going to kill you. Ta."
A sound of a door closing, and all is silent.
Theda
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The short man with the dark complexion housing kind eyes speaks whispersoft, the distant ebb and flow of tide across clean, white sand carried in the timbre of his voice. He stands unmoving, regarding his intimate charge without emotion.
Disorientation is unacceptable.
Do not focus upon the unknown, but the known. That which is understood is the wellspring of action. There is no leverage within the vaguery of "possibility"; it is only the known, the discerned reality that, no matter how trivial the fact, will provide a substantial base upon which to build.
Focusing upon possibilities will abandon your mind to falsehoods and treachery.
Focusing upon the observed will lead you correctly to your next course of action.
All desires are achieved by first recognizing this.
Possibility is advanced thought.
You are a child.
Fact:
I did drive a blade into the man identified as Yallin. I drank of him. I felt him end.
Fact:
I have been unconscious for an indeterminate period of time.
Fact:
I have awakened to a man who has threatened to destroy me within hours.
Fact:
He has left the room.
Fact:
I am in an enclosed space, at least twice the height of the man who spoke to me.
Fact:
The space bears at least one door, wooden, to my left.
Fact:
I am bound horizontally, perpendicular to a solid surface. I bear a covering over my eyes which diffuses the proper light, rendering my normal sight to shadows. The bindings are quite solid, but I have yet to test their strength.
Fact:
Atlanta bites my ass.
And with that, she begins.
To test the strength.
Where it gives.
Where it does not.
And whether or not she can free herself by dislocating or breaking her own bones to do so.
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