Post by Joliette Thorne on Aug 13, 2008 12:53:20 GMT -5
There is no Heaven, there is no Hell;
These are the dreams of baby minds;
Tools of the wily Fetisheer,
To fright the fools his cunning blinds.
These are the dreams of baby minds;
Tools of the wily Fetisheer,
To fright the fools his cunning blinds.
-- Richard Burton
Tenebrae was a shadow on the stairs, hardly there, a pair of peridot eyes glimmering from a shadow in the well. She'd watch the "trick" enter with his entourage of urchins and set up his incongruous puppetshow, her breath catching just for a second. The necromancer forced herself to stop reacting to the barbs of fear that clung like burrs to her mind. She’d erupt from the dark to perch herself on the banister rail and slide down smoothly. Until that bit at the end, with the knob, where she came to an abrupt halt. And when she went to meet the man with her eyes again, he wasn't there.
Spawne slipped into the tavern, still wearing the frayed bath-towel around his waist.
Tenebrae unperched herself from the rail, glancing about. The other occupants were given a terse nod in greeting.
Seehd lifts his gaze as Tenebrae makes her entrance, a small smirk adorning his features before he returns her quick nod.
Dezerae 's scarlet gaze falls upon the slightly familiar woman, the feline pushing her mask to the top of her head. A frown is on her pale face as she bites her bottom lip.
Wile said, "And now, as promised and in satisfaction of all the eager patrons to whom this little performance is so humbly, humbly dedicated... I bring to you a story of a rebirth, the humble beginnings to which a great legend has been born. A pillar of some communities, a bane onto others." His voice was laced with sudden dramatic emphasis, calling like a street performer's true hail. It was meant to thrill the children before him, their small forms gathered up close, ratty attire and scraggled hair a testimony to peasant beginnings. And yet, even as the small curtain was withdrawn (for the tiny stage to his contraption was but a mere arm's length across), a lone puppet is visible, hung by thin black strings that seemed to almost disappear against a black backdrop. The puppet is of a tiny girl, raven-haired, sitting alone. "She is a girl like any other, filled with the wonders and dreams of the world before her. The great freedom of it has eluded her, but her eyes have seen it. And she reaches for it when she dares, if only a moment." The movements of the puppet are a haunting imitation of life, astoundingly well-formed within the limitations of string, wood, and cloth. The girl's hand stretches, hanging briefly. It's a poignant scene, shattered by the Vagrant's suddenly childish narrative. "But more content to be a scourge to the men nearby, batting big lashes at the town's native sons and driving them to distraction." A pair of young men are depicted as marionettes, and they waddle across the scene. As the girl strides by their heads turn, watching her pass, only for them to collide heavily together and fall from sight in a tangle. The children giggle helplessly.
Tenebrae was rivetted on the scene, her greetings necessarily short as she strode to join the throng of street-born children that clamoured around the "puppeteer". His performance had begun. Tene had been about to shout some cranky demand that he pack up his little circus and leave, when the small figures dangled across their wooden world and the man's voice began a tale. Just as when she was an urchin, not unlike those gathered, she loved a story beyond anything except a very few things, and so the performer's expulsion was delayed; she'd see his performance out, before having him ejected. Eyes narrowed in suspicion, though, as the tale began, and she sank to a nearby stool, its height affording her view over the heads of the children.
Seehd 's eyes go from Tene, to the pouch in his hand, to the stand over yonder. He frowns, then stands and pockets what could be the most dangerous object in the room, and only for the children's sake. He looks to Tene again, then moves to sit beside her normal chair by the fire. There he waits, like a statue wrought of white marble and coal.
Spawne gripped the towel at his waist, lest he lose his modesty to the juvenile pull of gravity. He passed the puppet show with a grimace, and found himself a place to stand nearby to Tenebrae, "What is this, a daycare? Where the crap are my dancing girls?"
Tenebrae said, aside to Spawne, "They were run out of town by the last Mayor..." Her eye were still fixated on the show, her body leant forward to catch the "trick’s next words. Seehd did not go unnoticed, the male's presence acknowledged with another shift of peridot eyes his way, and a flicker of a frown. But her attention soon shifted back to the show, and she waited for the tale to spin on.
Tirla was still curled up in the corner where bar met wall, softly snoring but not in any bothersome way. Several bottles of rum, some empty, some full, and a bowl stood by her on the bar, she'd fallen asleep serving the vampiress and her lycan.
Dezerae stands from seat and saunters toward the area where Tenebrae stood. She waits until she's a foot away from the woman before halting her movements. "Can I ask you a question...if you are Ms. Tenebrae." Her arms fold behind her back, head canted in wonder.
Spawne said, "Asshole..." His own muscular frame leaned against that of the Sin-Eater to watch the show, but nary a word had passed before the strings pulling about those puppets had yanked a yawn from the giant, "I've seen this one before... Doesn't the whole town get smashed by a big red guy?""
Wile whirled the female character about on stage, her dress actually lifting against the movement and flickering. It was palpably easy for her to breeze through her tiny world, drawn by the narrator's fingers as he swept her about. All the while his voice keeps the tale, moving it along with an unhurried, easy pace. "But with any heroine, some things cannot stay as they are. Beautiful girls attract many eyes, and while her parents forced her to wear pretty dresses and taught her talents that picked up the eyes of those about... jealousy, envy, were invoked. Jealousy is a terrible thing, a mad and hurtful thing. And when it reaches a climax, when it clouds the mind..." All at once a cleverly constructed puppet appears from the stage's left, a solitary mass made to represent a small mob. Their faces are painted with a wide smiles, wide eyes. The children laugh as the mob chases the girl from the stage, but there's something horrible here. Some terrible way the artist has sculpted those faces, and perhaps those grins are leering... and those eyes mad. The little girl rushes off the right side of the stage with the crowd in pursuit, her small hands waving in the air. "She fled them, tears burning her eyes. Alone in the world!"
Tenebrae said to Dezerae, "Hm?" The woman looked around sharply though kept her vision trained mainly on the sideshow. "Of course I am. What d'you want?"
Dezerae wrinkles her nose, a thought crossing her mind. She shrugs it off, a scarlet brow quirked. "I wanted to know. Was I fired from this tavern?"
Tenebrae was suddenly very still, indeed, and if Red was closeby enough he might feel white fingers digging to his arm, an instinctive clutch for comfort. The vampiress’ face grew very pale indeed. "No..." Her head shook slowly. "Stop it." The words were not by any means a reply to Dezerae, but merely whispers from a throat tightened with horror elicited by the vagrant’s act, which was not all a fiction. She shuddered, when the story became more obviously a mockery of her own, those fingers tightening on whoever it was she gripped-- she was hardly looking. What foul thing would unravel her secret mind so, and place it on show for all to see? She had every intention of finding out, as soon as this little farce was over.
Seehd frowns slightly as he watches the show put on from a distance. His eyes train on the girl as she moves off-stage, then trail slowly to Tenebrae, some internal compass pointing his mind in the direction of the heartbroken and scorned. He quirks a brow at her reactions to this childsplay.
Eilyo gracefully saunters into the tavern, pausing just inside the door to peer around. A polite smile graces her full, ruby red lips as her light moss eyes fall upon those present. Her silent, graceful steps carry her slender form over to the bar, the woman speaking loud enough to be heard. "Can I get anyone anything?"
Spawne looked down at where his companion gripped her arm, pointed nails doing their best to take hold through his tough hide. A disgruntled snort and disapproving leer were cast at the puppeteer and his performance, though he waited for the moment. Stop what? The show? Stop talking? Tenebrae’s own seeded interest in the story had left him with a rather vague command. He took a short step forward, toward the tiny stage, to gauge her response.
Wile said, "And where is a little girl to run, how is she to live?" The voice is mockingly sympathetic now, but all is lost on the children. Enrapt, they look on as a sulking girl crosses the stage. The dress, once pretty, now tattered remnant. Her eyes are painted with big tears, wide and round. And then comes a dark figure, tall and straight-backed. His hand falls to the girl's shoulder, she looks to him. "Everybody needs a friend, and all girls need to be looked after. He found her there, sad and alone, and decided that he would take her as a student." The voice changed, as if humored. "Of sorts. And she would learn all kinds of new and wonderful things. Wasn't she lucky?" The puppets move off stage, only to be replaced by a nearly identical pair. They are dressed in black together, walking hand in hand. Bright smiles are on their faces. The girl's, however, is marred by eyes that do not match. They are bleak and haunting. The children laugh again as the two puppets cut a dance, spinning nimbly together. "He showed her many dances, bought her many dresses."
Tenebrae only clutched the big man harder, by way of halting his progress. "No. Let him play it out." Her grip drew him back, if he let it, so she could lean against his side. "I must see it, all of it." The words ended with her lips drawing back in a soft snarl, while the figures danced their blasphemy across the little stage. It was almost an agony that the children loved it so.
Seehd moves his crimson gaze to Eilyo, whom he also had unfinished business with. If he recalled correctly, he owed a swim to the lass. He calls across before the next string of the tale can weave itself into the minds of the young and old alike, "You could do me the favor of a bloodwine love." He retains his position beside the fire, near Tene's usual chair, where he was waiting quietly.
Spawne would reinstate his stance back at Tenebrae’s side, furiously chewing on the sides of his tongue. Left hand wrapped around his towel, his thumb stroked anxiously at a swatch of dark cloth tucked into his waistline.
Eilyo smiles to Seehd, nodding. "Alright." She grabs a glass, setting it on the bar as she turns to grab a bottle of the blood wine. She pours the crimson liquid into the glass, putting the bottle away before carrying the glass over to Seehd. "Here ya go." She gently rests a hand on his arm. "How are ya?"
Seehd takes the glass appreciatively, then smiles up at the girls question, thought the quirk of lips doesn't touch his eyes, "I'm being patient... It's not one of my stronger suits." He frowns before asking, "You up for a swim in a bit?"
Eilyo smiles to the man, nodding, winking slightly. "Aye, let's hope it goes better this time, eh?"
Seehd ruffles his wings slightly before saying, "Yeah, Same spot, and I've got a way to get this cloth off my back now." He lets his gaze move slowly back to the puppet show, some odd thing pulling his attention. He was truly becoming rapt in child's play.
Wile swept the pair from the stage in the midst of their dance, a wish of black skirts and overcoat. It was filled with a half-dozen figures, bow-backed and looming. They were exaggerated villains, with great fangs and claws on their hands. To the part of the villains they played flawlessly, clustered about in waiting. "One day, our girl was returning from the shops with groceries. She skipped along until she heard a strange sound It went -clap-clap-clap. Can you make that sound little ones, each time I say she heard a terrible sound?" The children immediately responded in the affirmative, clapping their hands together three times. The little paws met with sharp emphasis in a quieting room. And the monsters were drawn to hide further as the young girl's puppet made its way, slowly, toward them. "She didn't see anything, and kept moving. Each step taking her closer to the shadows. Again she heard a terrible sound..." -CLAP CLAP CLAP- went the kids, their bright smiles bursting as the story drew on.
He’d called himself the "trick", that first time he'd hunted Tenebrae down on that distant beach, his ruse of a wrecked sailor or mad hermit lending him little cause to be remembered, or if only perhaps for his strange rhymes and echoing speech. Since then the stranger had unnerved her in various ways, but never more than the manner in which he seemed to -know- things that he should not, things kept hidden in the deepest recesses of her mind and shared only by those long dead or vanished. His elaborate, almost ritualistic mockeries and tin-pot sideshow antics had her now in the firm belief that this "trick" did not mean her well at all and, after allowing this last performance, intended to ensure he would not get the chance again. The children's delight rankled her, each small, sharp sound of palm against palm was like a nail being driven home in her brain.
Wile allowed his fingers to work the small doll closer still, his voice booming out. "Still closer she moved to the hidden fiends, and again she heard a terrible sound!" -CLAP CLAP CLAP- The children answered with increasing enthusiasm, their anticipation palpable as they peered up at the marionettes. The monsters would hulk over as if eager, their claws bared. Great fangs glinting, made of some reflective material that caught the dim light. "The poor child, she'd no idea. And as she turned the corner they fell on her!" The monsters seemed to pounce, landing upon the girl as she crumples in fright. She is bowed, vulnerable and alone against them, and they seem to be raining blows upon her. Their horrible faces laughing sinisterly. It's a marvel strings do not tangle, but the narrator's hands are true, and for once fear blooms in the children's eyes. It's a vivid display to them, a cruel one for most. Street urchins are seldom, if ever, spared the rod. "But he came, the great teacher, and he was awash with grief to see her so! He drew his sword and rushed toward them!" But the doll that appeared was not horrified, not terrified. Infact, it had a massive grin. A terrible, sick, happy grin on its face. The children cheered for him as he swept toward the monsters, engaging them, a cardboard sword flashing.
Tenebrae stilled the whimper that rose in her throat and clutched Red's arm harder, her face pressing into a thick bicep, though one eye would glint from beyond a fall of ebon hair that hung about her face, still watching the manipulated dance of those ghastly marionettes.
Wile had the children at arms as the great figure and his sword fell mobbed to the creatures. They parted after a moment, and he was gone. The girl was beset upon again, fallen upon by the monsters. Carefully made clothes fell apart as they tore at her, leaving her ratted and crumpled amidst them. "They were too many, and he was gone. All hope was lost, and it seems our heroine was soon to fall." A great evil smile was suddenly visible on the background, the very same that dominated the face of the fallen hero. It hangs above the action, looking on, some terrible approving demon. The children are furious, desperate for a happy ending.
Tenebrae whispered to Spawne, "I'm going to kill him, myself." She did not lift her eyes from the scene, while she spoke low words of promise, to her clansmate.
Wile said, "But at last, a miracle!" The stage detonated in a sudden flicker of light, reflective pieces of glass revealed by a multitude of slides in the backdrop. It's a dazzling display for a child, and they are cheering at once. The monsters step back, confused, and the girl rises to her feet. All at once the creatures collapse, and what rises in their absence are a series of cut-out cloth shadows. They creep like souls into the air, flitting about in the light. They rush toward the small girl, knocking her down out of sight... and abruptly a sharp puff of smoke rises there amidst an explosive "crack" of a firecracker. The children squeal in terror and delight, and are at once cheering at an empty stage. Only the horrible grin remains. "The end, a hero is born!" The girl returns, her face is smeared in red and her dress in taters. Her face is a mess of tears, a broken face of sorrow. The children are clapping and cheering before the doll begins to stagger. They laugh, giggling at the display. But the marionette's movements are not silly, but hitched and staggered. It sways back and forth, only to shudder once and collapse in a heap. Nothing. The show's over, the children are laughing happily. The great face leers out at the crowd, sick and twisted in its sadistic smile..."
Spawne would take Tenebrae with her, should she not relinquish her grip, "We're done here..." A few short steps provide all the momentum he needed to approach Wiles stage with sizeable force, his free hand hoisting it skyward with a modest amount of effort. Space now made between the 'trick' and himself, he towered over the vagrant, his posture remained imposing regardless of his current attire.
Tirla woke slowly to the odd happenings going on in the bar. She looked about, knowing full well what had happened, she'd fallen asleep while Leo and Tene talked. After a few moments while her eyes adjusted, those wildfire hues landed on Tene and the state she was in. Without thought she slipped around the counter and was about to pour a glass of whiskey when she thought better of it and gripped one of the full bottles of rum from where she'd been sleeping. Carefully and without a word she stepped up to Tene, standing on her other side and curling a wing about the vampiress while holding out the rum for her.
Seehd stood, a small smile appearing on his face as he moves across the tavern and passes in front of Tene, right hand pulling from his pocket a small brown pouch with a note attached that says, "Payment is not required this time. Consider it my favor." The pouch is tossed to her before he makes it to the door and looks over at Eilyo.
Tenebrae was abruptly dragged through a wailing mob of children, who were heartily dismayed at the disruption of such rare entertainment. "He's mine, Red..." Her voice was sere and sharp, eyes darting for a glimpse of the beguiler. She doesn't notice the pouch, which hits the floor and spills bright coins that provide a fortunate distraction for the children. Perhaps she'd find the note, later.
Wile is naught to be found, and with his vanishing goes the puppets. All save one. The girl doll remains, abandoned in a hideous heap on the floor as the children scatter for coins uncountable to them. The stage nearly crumbles, built of cheap wood, cloth, and pegged together hastily. There's nothing within or without, nothing standing in place. Quite simply, the Vagrant has vanished.
Eilyo watches the strange show, frowning deeply. She spies Seehd leaving, quickly, silently following behind him.
Tenebrae stared at the mess, the empty and shattered booth, the space where... the man was not. She'd glance up to the glowering Spawne, her face a mask of dismay. "He's from Hell. Or worse." She bent to take up the little doll, that so eerily resembled herself. "Probably worse."
Spawne kicked haphazardly at the crude stage as it descended, cleaving it in two with an enraged roar. A few of the more rigid shards lodge themself in his shin, while the remainder scatter amongst the spilled riches, "That jackass... Where is he!?"
Spawne stared at Tenebrae as she exposed a minor truth regarding the vagrant, seemingly impacting on himself in someway. He would not, for the moment, reveal what he feared with Wile still possibly lurking nearby.
Tenebrae said to Spawne, "I must prepare." Her eyes might hold the deadly intent that would speak of what she was readying herself for. "I'll be back…" She slipped toward the stairs, then, the look-alike doll clutched in her fingers, and her voice trailing off as she ascended. "…with a bit of luck."
--- Den of Thieves--
Tenebrae shoved hard through the door, turned the key in the lock behind her and threw the marionette, all a jumble of wood and string, to the cot. An array of weapons hung to the western wall was her next stop, and from the rack she lifted a set of throwing-knives and a jointed mace, the ball of it small but nastily spiked. She muttered through this task, with no need in this private den to still the tremble in her voice, "I will not go back." This was her singular mantra, while armourrs were strapped in place over red leather and pale flesh. "I. Will not. Go back."
Wile stands alone in the very middle of the room's floor, his sinuously-muscled frame unadorned in any recent changes of attire. Long-fingered hands twist between them the controls of a solitary marionette, the hulking vanquished hero dress in black. He stalks at his feet, pacing, gloved hands poised on angular hips. As Tenebrae enters the manner of it changes, suddenly mimicking her flawlessly. The puppeteer himself stands undaunted, unsmiling. The pale stare of his lantern eyes keen upon her own. "You know." His voice was eerily calm, tranquil even as he watched her. "The most interesting part of a hero's story is the ending. It never -really- is the ending. The truth is that very seldom do heroes go on happily ever after."
Tenebrae's ire was such that she had not heard nor glimpsed the quiet figure pacing, until he spoke. The man had the most peculiar way of being seen only when it suited him. Her chant thus interrupted, she was suddenly very still, the knives clutched in two fists. Paused to hear his speech, she turned with an almost painful lack of speed toward the vagrant. For a second, the necromancer's lips were parted as though a weight of words lay frozen upon them, and then the air between the two was a blur of ivory and darkness, the necromancer diving for the rear side of desk, maps and charts flying and the mace dug cruelly into her hip before she had the chance to unhook it.
Wile laughed sharply at Tenebrae's movements, and had the puppet make to follow. His joy was an awful thing, wholly on her expense. His movements were focused on the marionette, drawing it in that sharp mockery that animated comically her very movements. Here, he remained, standing in the room's center. Those eyes were blade-sharp upon the desk, watching, looking on as the Sin-Eater claimed her cover. "Come now, Darkness. Do I strike you as the brawling sort?"
Tenebrae took stock: she had the mace, her two knives and one dagger tucked to her waistband. She wasn't really thinking, the instinct for survival taking control of her motions now. Quite aware of the fact that there was no room to swing the spiked weapon for a decent throw, she knew it remained to the small knife to remove this vagrant thorn who'd planted himself in her side. The mace hit the floor with a 'thud' at the very moment she popped out from cover, the blade already on its way to the trick's torso, followed by two bright flashes of metal, either side, in case he should move one way or the other to evade the first. All the bitter words she had for the man could be as easily spoken over his corpse.
Wile drew a hand up before the blade as it struck toward him, and so it was with steel and flesh. It pierced entirely through whilst the others struck the wall some feet behind him. For a moment he afforded no reaction, only to abruptly crumple to his knees. The howl was low and mournful, sharp and agonized, a torturous thing that ripped from him as he threw his head back. That free hand was cradling his wounded one by the wrist. "My hand! You slut, my hand!"
She couldn't throw it, but she could crush a skull with it. The mace was snatched up by a wooden handle, the ball dangling dangerously free while her shoulder hit the desk and she rolled smoothly across it once more. On her feet, and the stranger’s pained cry brought a wild grin to her lips, no joy in it. "In your last moments, tell me a truth." The jointed weapon was swung loosely, it deadly sphere pendulum-like. "Just one: where have they hidden the rest? Think of it as.. redemption."
Spawne knocked once, fist wrapped around a single cold coin, the wooden door rattling upon impact, "Hey! Open up, huh?"
Tenebrae shouted, "It's locked."
Wile silently lifted the knife-lodged hand free, and tossed it to the floor before Tenebrae's feet. The arm was that which Spawne had left him a few days before, its flesh bearing signs of visible rot. Its impact would send a rush of that stench throughout the room, dank and unholy. But the Vagrant remained upon his knees, content there with his marionette crumpled before him. His words were patient and poised as he regarded her, lips ticking in a steady smile. "You've already forgotten the Chariot, Darkness. And it's -early-. You'll naught make the best of it if you don't manage better quickly."
Spawne ,fortunately, had brought his own key. Backing up to the door at his rear, he vaulted himself forward, the combined force of his tremendous mass and forceful movements tearing the hinges from the doors frame as he barged into the room.
Tenebrae frowned, then, though her body swung the mace back hard and planted a foot forward to bring it down with a crunch of splintered skull and brain.... that never came. The door burst in, with Red, and the sound snapped her from a killer's rage and reason fell upon her like a lion, clawing away her fury: if he was dead, there would be no more chance to discover the source of his knowledge. She mis-aimed in that last tick of the clock, the mace going wide of its mark. It might merely clip flesh, it if it hit him at all, and in a moment she had him by the shirtfront, pulling hard to bring him close. "What do you want from me?"
Spawne seemed somewhat docile, sadness clear in his murky irises. Though he was scarcely about at the best of times, this would be the first time Kaine had seen Tenebrae in a vulnerable state. For the moment, he remained present, albeit distant.
Wile seemed to allow the mace to claim his bicep, but the result was no illusion. Blood sprayed as the iron points made their impact, ripping open a grievous looking wound on his bared left arm. And then they were suddenly, intimately close. It was the heat of rage that had her panting as she was, that breath pushing at his skin. The answer was afforded calmly, even as his blood dripped onto the floor at his side. "Why do you assume I want -anything- from you?"
Tenebrae could not, with her hand thus occupied, sluice away the spray of sanguine that had laced her features and half-blinded her when his skin split on impact. The 'trick" spoke his simple words and, through the blood, he might see a blend of anger and confusion stamped on her features. "Then...why?"
"Perhaps, Darkness, you should begin preparing yourself for the trials ahead. It was true when I claimed you to be the most fun, but as of yet you are not living up to your reputation. I had thought you would be a harder nut to crack." The bloodied arm lifted then, an empty hand opening to allow a solitary walnut to fall onto the floor between them. His smile returned, but almost gentle now. The lantern green of his eyes flickered as they bore into her own, the pair only a breath apart. "The horrible one... Lavicus... spoke more highly of you."
Spawne took a few steps toward the pair. They were cautious paces, he almost seemed to be trying to dampen the sound from his broad feet. Like a dependable suit of crimson armour, his palms closed over Tenebrae’s shoulders to offer his assurance.
Things suddenly made sense. Knowledge, gleaned from pillow-talk or confessions overheard in hell, from dreams or nightmares’ whispers. Lavicus… though she'd known him by another name. Her face was a contortion of hatred, as she hissed, "Tell him this: I will kill him too, in time." Then she spat his own blood back in his face, leaving him to kneel or fall when her fists let go and the vampiress wheeled away toward the ruined door. "Red..." She stopped by him, for a scant second. "Don't yet kill the worm, I have use for him. But make him secure in here. I'll be back."
Spawne lowered his hulking form onto Wile's right leg, sitting firm to prevent his escape. Sitting atop his chest would have been preferable to the brutish human, however a degree or two more fatal for the trick, "Whatever... Fetch me some smokes, would you? And some scotch."
Tenebrae shook her head. "Tie him up, I'll send Diamanda to bring you your things." She gave the “trick” a hard look. "I have business to see to, just of now."