( Author's Note: This is a cleaned-up log of the assassination attempt. I tried my very best to portray what made sense. If you feel you would like to add/edit anything, please PM me!! xo. )
The back door gave way with a sigh that the seer wore with familiarity. In crept the night, lukewarm. It clung to her clothes like perfume, earth musk. Someone had given care to her appearance, tended to her wild curls, rinsed her face and mended her clothes. Patchwork still called for strange eyes, yet did not reveal what should remain sheltered. Skinny fingers clutched a stone, ruby red, token from a dreamgirl. Was she here" The seer chased her memory.
The violin case was clutched tightly, as another young girl moved onto into the Red Dragon Inn. The blue eyes turned left and right, as a soft little smile came across her lips. She seemed innocent enough, even as she wasn't quite sure where to go. It seemed a booth was taken up, and the curtain drawn closed.
Disappointment stole the shape of her mouth. She was not here. But ahh. Off-blue beheld the Hunter, devoid of cat. Other faces were plucked from the crowd, caressed, and given names. Erin and the like. She knew the one called Rachael, but not by name. Distant dream conversation made of broken moons and sad, sad stories. The seer remembered indeed.
Emerging quietly, with fists in pockets and petulant scowl in place, Mesteno parked himself back at the table, occasionally dabbing at his split lip with the back of his hand. A sip of Marnier pained it like a wasp sting. That was not a happy sound he made, however, he did dip his head to her, when he saw her.
The seer seen, as a look of surprise took form. It had felt a lifetime since Brian Ravenlock had seen her last. A respectful nod offered indeed, coupled with a warm smile for the gifted one.
A gentle E-chord came from the booth, as the girl inside tuned her instrument. She played with the tuning pegs, adjusting the neck-rest and tweaking the strings; replacing the old with the new to attain that higher sound quality she so sought to achieve.
Where, oh where, was the dreamgirl" Viki would craft her a present, should she choose to return. And thus continue their strange courtship, full of stares that spoke volumes, and bright warnings for the ones they partnered with. But then the bar-back demanded her attention. Every day, a glass parade. She half waved at Brian. Look'it, said the upturned chin. I have returned. Brian smiled.
The sound from the booth, albeit a simple chord, drew Victor's attention easily. His flesh eye drifted that way as he ripped the cork from the bottle with his teeth and spat it toward the waste bin. He could tell rather quickly it was going to miss, however, and vaporized it instead with a beam from the synthetic.
Viki was all legs and arms at the point of a barstool, pretty thing encased with far too much color. Was there a tender" She whipped a whisper to the countertop, then, as if satisfied, sat proper.
Next came quite the pentatonic chord progression, plucked more like a guitar than a violin. It seems the girl inside was testing the new set of newly acquired strings, to its ultimate. From behind the curtain, a soft little giggle came.
A spin around on the stool left the seraph facing the room, leaning back against the bar with a couple inches of each silver wing poking out from his back to prop him up. The dark green bottle raised to his lips, and his eyes closed with that first sip. The taste always brought back a memory, one that must have been powerful indeed. This time, however, the reverie was broken by the music behind the curtain. Victor's gaze, human and machine, locked in on what had caught his ears, staring straight toward Henrietta. He did not, however, attempt to pierce the curtain with his mana eye's modulation.
Off-blue clipped Victor, just his shoulder, just a second. Something could be stolen there, something small, and hidden, and prized. A secret of a song. A rumor of a rhyme. The girl pressed her grin into her mouth as the other molested a strange red stone.
Victor settles into a pattern of looking around the Inn, sipping from the glass of scotch in his hand. Occasionally he focuses on one conversation, only to move on to the sound of violin notes, then another conversation, an easy smile on his lips.
Whatever came out of the booth next, behind its concealing curtain, was nothing but a symphonic melody of Ave Maria. Of course, there was the moment where the music was not quite right, but you have to forgive the young hands guiding the instrument. She was not entirely sure on the next page of script.
The synthetic eye swiveled in its socket toward that shoulder, too far to make sense, and independently of its flesh counterpart that did not move at all. The bottle in his hand slung low.
"...good evening to you too."
Meanwhile, a flickering red light pulsed with the music from behind the curtain. Recording, maybe?
"Footed eye." That whisper swam between the spaces of skinny fingers, claiming sound, coursing into the open air. She couldn't have held it if she tried. Momentarily enthralled, she stretched closer, feet pining for the legs of the barstool, losing their shoes.
"We will See." (Of good evenings.)
The odd words were enough for that eye to start scanning, although only as a precaution. Victor's wrist panel gave no alerts, and he sipped from the bottle once more before speaking.
"A machine....like much of me. But fear not, there is a man within as well." With that, he smiled darkly, chuckling at what seemed to be a memory. "...and this night, as any, is what you make it."
A practical portrayal of perfection, a play put on by practiced performers, perpetually prepared. It's the typical portal, the place preferred for entrance. For once, it's the wrong white hand: silk and black silk the start of this act, leading along the co-star, the one he'll eventually hang somewhere safe. Tonight, Fafnir is the white of full moons, the bolt of silk about lean hips, flesh like alabaster. His color is carvings created in crypts for kings, pharaohs: the wide collar draped over clavicles the shades of red, of gold, of turquoise. Bare feet beat wooden boards once inside, smile riding high on aristocratic glory.
Gideon followed in the shadow's wake, drawn hand by hand along, more than pleased to follow his shadow's wake as if light shone from behind, and he chased. Nothing could compare, not to that exquisite creature, and the way the shallow pool of cold eyes trailed the perfect back of the being spoke it in volumes that could fill a hundred libraries. If it was possible to be outshone by one's dark reflection, it happened then.
A game played, follow the leader: the hearth and its heat, what little there was left. Fafnir skirted and edged, hemmed and hawed, finally stopped himself at the couch. It's considered with eyes that eat, gobble down goodies, child greedy. A finger points, rude and demanding. His instance is perhaps part of his charm, the shoving of bullies on playgrounds.
Obliging smile Gideon capitulated, sank onto the couch demanded with a quiet chuckle, claiming the cushion as if it had always been his, long arms resting outward over the back of the couch and stiffly over the armrest, knees bent at angles as he regarded Fafnir. Were there others present' Hard to say in the eclipsing presence of that perfect monster.
Viki's heart rattled its chambers, banged on the bars of its cage. Her hands fell there, center stage, as if to coax it still. Confusion painted small lines to her softness, curtailed youth. She frowned, then blinked, lashes seeding small kisses to the tops of her unpowdered cheeks. Gypsy thing, they said, but she looked well kept tonight. Eyes followed the spark of sound, but knew he was not the catalyst for this temporary heartache. Something was near..
"Metal beasts, I know the names of some Machines. Did naut know one might wear one over-face, like a'mask."
A smile thrown, as careful as carefree could allow. "It is pretty. " The night. The eye. Who knew"
The music continued, growing louder with the confidence of the player. Even the curtains seemed to sway with the unseen influence behind. Then, it suddenly died away. But only returned it seemed, from the very top. It appears the poor little player doesn't know how to play beyond the mid-point.
Shaking his head, Victor laughed softly and tapped his own cheek, then scratched an itchy bit of stubble on his chin.
"No beast here....at least, I'd hope not. Just a product of the war machine's greatest investments....with a few improvements." The last came with a wink. "I'd curse it had it not saved my life so many times....and were it not so beloved by my Nischa."
" Neesh-ah?" New word, new taste. She would have it, between teeth, under tongue, chewed up by her red little mouth.
"Lover?" A guess. Clearly pretty things were for lovers, or dreamgirls, wherever Aoife was hiding. Did this one know" Did his assets" She would ask the eye her well kept questions, but a wineglass reminded her of manners. She peered at him a while, with the unrivaled innocence of a tourist, or child. She could be both. "It is a good thing, then?"
The blinking light on Victor's wrist panel came to a stop with the music from the back of the room. The seraph's head tilted slightly, but when it began again, he smiled knowingly. The rest of the song was already loaded into his databank, but it was beyond him to intrude. Instead he kept listening and kept drinking.
Indeed," he spoke quietly to the seemingly nervous lady who clutched the wine glass. "My Siren, my Queen. And anything that brings light to her eyes is very much a good thing." With a soft laugh, he shrugged after a moment. "Without it, perhaps we'd have never come all this way."
Viki's heart rebelled, all broken with need, rattling, clamoring for her attention. The aqua stare leapt from the eye and the one who wielded it to circle her fallen shoes, and then scattered, crawling across the commons as if they had feet of their own. Abrupt stop. The Shadow in all of his merry glory, kissed by rich fabric, ornamented and beautiful. She felt her pulse quicken to boil.
Ahh, but the eye-wielder was speaking of siren-queens. She forced a smile, and a slow hum of a lovesong. "'Tis."
That ever-vigilant eye was back upon her quickly, however. The heat signatures from a pounding heart were among the first anomalies it was programmed to see. It was, after all, often used to triage trauma patients on a battlefield. "...are you unwell?"
Options laid before Fafnir, worshippers to be admired. Black eyes stared and smiled, followed by the tombstone white of teeth. He moves: oil over water, slithering slow like sharks cruising over coral reefs. Everything bites. Hands curled in upholstery, muscles drawing him forward and down. Silk pooled and poured, gathered between thighs straddled; face to face, where attention could arrow where it belonged. Right here. Right now.
Breath was a needless, useless thing, it created fences, built walls were none were needed. Gideon's head tilted back to watch Fafnir, that slow spill of ink and snow that could never be imitated poured over himself. Hands rose of their own accord -was this not why people lifted arms toward the heavens to worship"- and framed that face in fingers and thumbs that stroked high cheekbones. Nothing if not bold he lent forward, bit a kiss to that chin as he smiled upward endlessly, drew Fafnir down to whisper against his ear.
Viki was a smattering of anomalies, stretched through her skin and singing in that slender frame, carting youth. She held tight to the grinning face of Fafnir, the smooth lines of Gideon's back. She had a secret for him. A plethora. Would he accept if she were to hand them over" Rings" Bended knees" Her nose twitched, and she was suddenly more cat than girl. Cool slink back to her conversing companion.
"I am naut. It is, as you say, 'good evening.'"
"Hmm..." A pause, a slow sip of the absinthe, then a slick smile that a serpent lord would envy. "I see....something you're after" Maybe it's arrived, and you're anxious?" Another sip, and that mechanical eye began to move from person to person. "Waiting for the right moment, maybe?"
"What is your name?" Viki beheld the stranger and his eye again, moreso the eye. Fingers traced its shape into the countertop, eventually into the red stone that sat in the other hand. She must not look at the Shadow, for he says she pulls, and whines, or was it pines" The words were jumbled, caught up in her hair. No brambles there, not tonight. Curls needed company.
"I am naut After. It is more like Before." The arrival is not mentioned. This one could not have her secrets.
From within the booth, the young girl adjusted her uniform. Even as the music kept playing - looping over and over again. She adjusted the golden wrist-bracelets so that they were affixed correctly. Pressing the two purple gems located within the metal so that they both simply 'blinked' in a silent unison with the other. Next, she slammed in the clips into the two twin silver fully automatic machine-gun G18 pistols, and, with a silent resolve, pushed out of the curtains of the booth. One arm drew a perfect line of sight to one Edward Batten, while another aimed for someone completely different. Viki. The young girl pulled the triggers, letting loose a hail of fully automatic fire.
The back door gave way with a sigh that the seer wore with familiarity. In crept the night, lukewarm. It clung to her clothes like perfume, earth musk. Someone had given care to her appearance, tended to her wild curls, rinsed her face and mended her clothes. Patchwork still called for strange eyes, yet did not reveal what should remain sheltered. Skinny fingers clutched a stone, ruby red, token from a dreamgirl. Was she here" The seer chased her memory.
The violin case was clutched tightly, as another young girl moved onto into the Red Dragon Inn. The blue eyes turned left and right, as a soft little smile came across her lips. She seemed innocent enough, even as she wasn't quite sure where to go. It seemed a booth was taken up, and the curtain drawn closed.
Disappointment stole the shape of her mouth. She was not here. But ahh. Off-blue beheld the Hunter, devoid of cat. Other faces were plucked from the crowd, caressed, and given names. Erin and the like. She knew the one called Rachael, but not by name. Distant dream conversation made of broken moons and sad, sad stories. The seer remembered indeed.
Emerging quietly, with fists in pockets and petulant scowl in place, Mesteno parked himself back at the table, occasionally dabbing at his split lip with the back of his hand. A sip of Marnier pained it like a wasp sting. That was not a happy sound he made, however, he did dip his head to her, when he saw her.
The seer seen, as a look of surprise took form. It had felt a lifetime since Brian Ravenlock had seen her last. A respectful nod offered indeed, coupled with a warm smile for the gifted one.
A gentle E-chord came from the booth, as the girl inside tuned her instrument. She played with the tuning pegs, adjusting the neck-rest and tweaking the strings; replacing the old with the new to attain that higher sound quality she so sought to achieve.
Where, oh where, was the dreamgirl" Viki would craft her a present, should she choose to return. And thus continue their strange courtship, full of stares that spoke volumes, and bright warnings for the ones they partnered with. But then the bar-back demanded her attention. Every day, a glass parade. She half waved at Brian. Look'it, said the upturned chin. I have returned. Brian smiled.
The sound from the booth, albeit a simple chord, drew Victor's attention easily. His flesh eye drifted that way as he ripped the cork from the bottle with his teeth and spat it toward the waste bin. He could tell rather quickly it was going to miss, however, and vaporized it instead with a beam from the synthetic.
Viki was all legs and arms at the point of a barstool, pretty thing encased with far too much color. Was there a tender" She whipped a whisper to the countertop, then, as if satisfied, sat proper.
Next came quite the pentatonic chord progression, plucked more like a guitar than a violin. It seems the girl inside was testing the new set of newly acquired strings, to its ultimate. From behind the curtain, a soft little giggle came.
A spin around on the stool left the seraph facing the room, leaning back against the bar with a couple inches of each silver wing poking out from his back to prop him up. The dark green bottle raised to his lips, and his eyes closed with that first sip. The taste always brought back a memory, one that must have been powerful indeed. This time, however, the reverie was broken by the music behind the curtain. Victor's gaze, human and machine, locked in on what had caught his ears, staring straight toward Henrietta. He did not, however, attempt to pierce the curtain with his mana eye's modulation.
Off-blue clipped Victor, just his shoulder, just a second. Something could be stolen there, something small, and hidden, and prized. A secret of a song. A rumor of a rhyme. The girl pressed her grin into her mouth as the other molested a strange red stone.
Victor settles into a pattern of looking around the Inn, sipping from the glass of scotch in his hand. Occasionally he focuses on one conversation, only to move on to the sound of violin notes, then another conversation, an easy smile on his lips.
Whatever came out of the booth next, behind its concealing curtain, was nothing but a symphonic melody of Ave Maria. Of course, there was the moment where the music was not quite right, but you have to forgive the young hands guiding the instrument. She was not entirely sure on the next page of script.
The synthetic eye swiveled in its socket toward that shoulder, too far to make sense, and independently of its flesh counterpart that did not move at all. The bottle in his hand slung low.
"...good evening to you too."
Meanwhile, a flickering red light pulsed with the music from behind the curtain. Recording, maybe?
"Footed eye." That whisper swam between the spaces of skinny fingers, claiming sound, coursing into the open air. She couldn't have held it if she tried. Momentarily enthralled, she stretched closer, feet pining for the legs of the barstool, losing their shoes.
"We will See." (Of good evenings.)
The odd words were enough for that eye to start scanning, although only as a precaution. Victor's wrist panel gave no alerts, and he sipped from the bottle once more before speaking.
"A machine....like much of me. But fear not, there is a man within as well." With that, he smiled darkly, chuckling at what seemed to be a memory. "...and this night, as any, is what you make it."
A practical portrayal of perfection, a play put on by practiced performers, perpetually prepared. It's the typical portal, the place preferred for entrance. For once, it's the wrong white hand: silk and black silk the start of this act, leading along the co-star, the one he'll eventually hang somewhere safe. Tonight, Fafnir is the white of full moons, the bolt of silk about lean hips, flesh like alabaster. His color is carvings created in crypts for kings, pharaohs: the wide collar draped over clavicles the shades of red, of gold, of turquoise. Bare feet beat wooden boards once inside, smile riding high on aristocratic glory.
Gideon followed in the shadow's wake, drawn hand by hand along, more than pleased to follow his shadow's wake as if light shone from behind, and he chased. Nothing could compare, not to that exquisite creature, and the way the shallow pool of cold eyes trailed the perfect back of the being spoke it in volumes that could fill a hundred libraries. If it was possible to be outshone by one's dark reflection, it happened then.
A game played, follow the leader: the hearth and its heat, what little there was left. Fafnir skirted and edged, hemmed and hawed, finally stopped himself at the couch. It's considered with eyes that eat, gobble down goodies, child greedy. A finger points, rude and demanding. His instance is perhaps part of his charm, the shoving of bullies on playgrounds.
Obliging smile Gideon capitulated, sank onto the couch demanded with a quiet chuckle, claiming the cushion as if it had always been his, long arms resting outward over the back of the couch and stiffly over the armrest, knees bent at angles as he regarded Fafnir. Were there others present' Hard to say in the eclipsing presence of that perfect monster.
Viki's heart rattled its chambers, banged on the bars of its cage. Her hands fell there, center stage, as if to coax it still. Confusion painted small lines to her softness, curtailed youth. She frowned, then blinked, lashes seeding small kisses to the tops of her unpowdered cheeks. Gypsy thing, they said, but she looked well kept tonight. Eyes followed the spark of sound, but knew he was not the catalyst for this temporary heartache. Something was near..
"Metal beasts, I know the names of some Machines. Did naut know one might wear one over-face, like a'mask."
A smile thrown, as careful as carefree could allow. "It is pretty. " The night. The eye. Who knew"
The music continued, growing louder with the confidence of the player. Even the curtains seemed to sway with the unseen influence behind. Then, it suddenly died away. But only returned it seemed, from the very top. It appears the poor little player doesn't know how to play beyond the mid-point.
Shaking his head, Victor laughed softly and tapped his own cheek, then scratched an itchy bit of stubble on his chin.
"No beast here....at least, I'd hope not. Just a product of the war machine's greatest investments....with a few improvements." The last came with a wink. "I'd curse it had it not saved my life so many times....and were it not so beloved by my Nischa."
" Neesh-ah?" New word, new taste. She would have it, between teeth, under tongue, chewed up by her red little mouth.
"Lover?" A guess. Clearly pretty things were for lovers, or dreamgirls, wherever Aoife was hiding. Did this one know" Did his assets" She would ask the eye her well kept questions, but a wineglass reminded her of manners. She peered at him a while, with the unrivaled innocence of a tourist, or child. She could be both. "It is a good thing, then?"
The blinking light on Victor's wrist panel came to a stop with the music from the back of the room. The seraph's head tilted slightly, but when it began again, he smiled knowingly. The rest of the song was already loaded into his databank, but it was beyond him to intrude. Instead he kept listening and kept drinking.
Indeed," he spoke quietly to the seemingly nervous lady who clutched the wine glass. "My Siren, my Queen. And anything that brings light to her eyes is very much a good thing." With a soft laugh, he shrugged after a moment. "Without it, perhaps we'd have never come all this way."
Viki's heart rebelled, all broken with need, rattling, clamoring for her attention. The aqua stare leapt from the eye and the one who wielded it to circle her fallen shoes, and then scattered, crawling across the commons as if they had feet of their own. Abrupt stop. The Shadow in all of his merry glory, kissed by rich fabric, ornamented and beautiful. She felt her pulse quicken to boil.
Ahh, but the eye-wielder was speaking of siren-queens. She forced a smile, and a slow hum of a lovesong. "'Tis."
That ever-vigilant eye was back upon her quickly, however. The heat signatures from a pounding heart were among the first anomalies it was programmed to see. It was, after all, often used to triage trauma patients on a battlefield. "...are you unwell?"
Options laid before Fafnir, worshippers to be admired. Black eyes stared and smiled, followed by the tombstone white of teeth. He moves: oil over water, slithering slow like sharks cruising over coral reefs. Everything bites. Hands curled in upholstery, muscles drawing him forward and down. Silk pooled and poured, gathered between thighs straddled; face to face, where attention could arrow where it belonged. Right here. Right now.
Breath was a needless, useless thing, it created fences, built walls were none were needed. Gideon's head tilted back to watch Fafnir, that slow spill of ink and snow that could never be imitated poured over himself. Hands rose of their own accord -was this not why people lifted arms toward the heavens to worship"- and framed that face in fingers and thumbs that stroked high cheekbones. Nothing if not bold he lent forward, bit a kiss to that chin as he smiled upward endlessly, drew Fafnir down to whisper against his ear.
Viki was a smattering of anomalies, stretched through her skin and singing in that slender frame, carting youth. She held tight to the grinning face of Fafnir, the smooth lines of Gideon's back. She had a secret for him. A plethora. Would he accept if she were to hand them over" Rings" Bended knees" Her nose twitched, and she was suddenly more cat than girl. Cool slink back to her conversing companion.
"I am naut. It is, as you say, 'good evening.'"
"Hmm..." A pause, a slow sip of the absinthe, then a slick smile that a serpent lord would envy. "I see....something you're after" Maybe it's arrived, and you're anxious?" Another sip, and that mechanical eye began to move from person to person. "Waiting for the right moment, maybe?"
"What is your name?" Viki beheld the stranger and his eye again, moreso the eye. Fingers traced its shape into the countertop, eventually into the red stone that sat in the other hand. She must not look at the Shadow, for he says she pulls, and whines, or was it pines" The words were jumbled, caught up in her hair. No brambles there, not tonight. Curls needed company.
"I am naut After. It is more like Before." The arrival is not mentioned. This one could not have her secrets.
From within the booth, the young girl adjusted her uniform. Even as the music kept playing - looping over and over again. She adjusted the golden wrist-bracelets so that they were affixed correctly. Pressing the two purple gems located within the metal so that they both simply 'blinked' in a silent unison with the other. Next, she slammed in the clips into the two twin silver fully automatic machine-gun G18 pistols, and, with a silent resolve, pushed out of the curtains of the booth. One arm drew a perfect line of sight to one Edward Batten, while another aimed for someone completely different. Viki. The young girl pulled the triggers, letting loose a hail of fully automatic fire.