There hadn’t been much time. A couple of phone calls, only reaching voice mail, before the threshold of no return had approached. There hadn’t been anyone else, either. Just her, an island of deadly beauty amongst an ocean of men who wanted her dead.
It was a challenge of the most suicidal proportions, but something had to be done. It was now or never – so now it was.
She stood amongst bodies, the bloodlust a blatant fire in her eyes, hands balled in fists of rage and sorrow. Senseless. It was the only word that sprung to mind as she stood there looking something close to carnage incarnate. Senseless waste of life, a river of blood that should have served something else, something better. A sigh, then nothing. The armies were ranged before her in a vast collection of what they thought was righteous anger and indignation, the fist missing its delicate velvet glove. Generals, beasts, men, all stood before her, to serve their masters, their ambition, their blind greed – all would fall. Not because she was the righteous protector, come to smite them for some heavenly wrong…She was simply better. Their axes, swords, spears, anger…all of it fell away from her as water from a duck’s back. Words whispered, death screams, tears of loss – all too rolled away, for today nothing could touch the woman.
More beast than woman, more mystic energy and training than human…
A song filled the air, impossibly dark and beautiful, following in the bloodied footprints of her wake.
Twist snap thrust throw, repeat. Scream. Repeat. Always repeat. Always, for without repeat she would end up being the one screaming, begging, crying. Without repeat the world wouldn’t fall away, but consume her, mind, body, and soul. Repeat. Always repeat.
Distantly the phone rang. She didn’t hear it, couldn’t hear it above the din of gory delight and reveling groans in her head. On the other end was help, hope, and salvation…
The phone stopped ringing soon. But the clamor in her head just kept getting louder.
Men turned to metal in a maniacal and rather surreal twist of scenery, and it seemed all her senses bled together, a beautiful symphony of destruction. The song soared; man and mech screamed in harmony, lifting their voices to give power to the ultimate dance they were all playing at – the Dance of Death. Even the stars themselves turned aside their eyes to look elsewhere, for the destruction, in all its haunting beauty, was too much for their venerable minds to comprehend.
The moon rose over the ruins to reveal one man and one woman, staring at each other in promise of the deadliest conclusion. It ended here for one of them. His shadowy master crept back behind the closed doors of the civilized, and the impassioned defender screamed his power to the world, the gift of darkness his master had bestowed…
“ I…am…NICTUS!”
She closed her eyes.
It was time.
---
Mreep! Mreep! Mreep! The alarm clock was screaming in equally cadenced and shrilling notes, just like a well practiced whore. Smack!, and the beast was silenced, letting out an almost contented sigh. Her feet hit the floor, body following in a jerking, illogical motion as the blonde stumbled towards the bathroom. Toothpaste, mouthwash, a splash of water, and all the necessary morning rituals that society forced upon us at the early age of several centuries before…But there was comfort in the ritual, just as there was in any well practiced set of activities. Once of the dead, she didn’t let herself take for granted the small things, the small comforts.
Her phone was flashing and beeping. Odd. Voice mail was nothing better than a black hole of voices; she wondered why she cared enough to listen to it now. She wandered about, phone in one hand, other pulling out the equipment for the day. She was already stripping off her sleep wear by the time she got to the message that had been left the night before.
Ten seconds later, she dropped the phone, incinerated her clothes, and pulled on whatever she could find that would make her decent. She didn’t even bother to close the door on her mad dash out and away.
She might blame the woman for a lot of things, but she still loved her.
And that message was four hours old.
---
She was a wonderfully nasty creature, and she knew it – the fact that most everyone chose to ignore it made her giggle. A healthy slathering of eye batting, sensual smiling, and unabashed blushing had made her popular amongst the boys and girls alike. But the club scene was not for her, not tonight…There were things afoot that must be witnessed, a transformation or decimation that must be seen and felt, not for progeny’s sake, but for her own.
Vileness had to have its start somewhere.
Cimerora was a blood soaked frontier tonight, a mass grave of the dead or shortly dieing. Screams, sobs, terror, agony – all of it split the night air in song, woven by the very nymphs of hell to the great delight and adulation of the one who walked the paths up the hill. This was something of great beauty to the twisted creature.
A man reached out and grabbed her ankle in supplication; she rewarded him by planting a spiked high-heel in his eye socket. His gurgled moan brought a hot flush to her cheeks, lips curving in a sinister, gleeful smirk; his rattling death cries put a new bounce in her step as she walked upwards. She crouched at the edge of the hill, eyes searching eagerly for the reason she’d come here tonight.
The scene below her made her breath catch in her throat.
The entire platform before the temple was covered in body parts, Roman armor, and blood. Two stood near the center, one man, one woman, exchanging blows, while dark nicti hovered around, attempting to aid their equally dark master. The man was enormous, dressed in the armor of the times, but that was not the most noticeable feature – shadows and pain hung around him in folds and waves, and it crooned to the White Queen in an exquisite way. He must be a nictus himself, or at least imbued with the power, she silently mused as she watched him and his partner dance along trading blows. The woman was in his shadow, but she stumbled a few paces back into the moonlight. Her hair, silken silver, lit up like a halo around her beautiful face…For a moment, even the Queen had to admit that she looked like an exquisite creature freshly minted from the halls of Valhalla.
The man fell…one of the nictus replenished him. The snowy haired woman swore loudly, raising her sword again to do battle.
“Mmm, wish I’d brought popcorn.” The Queen giggled to herself and settled in for a long fight.
---
Everything hurt, shrieking for time to heal and rest, but he kept coming like a hell spawned demon of the most irking variety – an incubus. She had neither the time nor energy to smile at her own small joke before having to parry a blow meant to split her scalp in two.
He forced her to one knee just as the first ray of dawn crested the temple, and a savage grin crossed his features as he basked in his glory just a bit too soon…She fell back and summoned up every ounce of strength she still had, pulling a slight blade from her wrist and plunging it into his chest in a lightning quick motion. Normally it would have been a survivable wound had she not dropped her sword amidst his confusion and plunged her free hand into his chest, pulling and tearing at the delicate tissues around his heart.
His lips formed a surprised little ‘O’ as he fell back into the waiting arms of death.
She rose slowly, his heart still beating in her clenched hand…rose just in time to see the nictus essence racing towards her in a desperate attempt to reach its master…
---
She was too late. Somewhere, deep down, she knew it, but it didn’t stop her from her desperate plunge through time and space in order to reach her friend. The reddened landscape was a blur as she flew, faster, faster, always faster, towards the temple she’d been instructed that the Nictus were. In her blind dash, she didn’t notice the snowy haired figure walking down the bloodied hill; her eyes were only for the woman lying listlessly in a pool of a dozen men’s blood.
She didn’t stir as the fiery vixen landed. Bad sign.
A touch to the woman’s skin felt the fever brewing beneath the surface, but nothing more for the moment. Aestas stretched her senses further…And what she found scared her.
Darkness abounding and everlasting permeated the unconscious woman’s body – she was scared that when Satine woke up, there’d be purple smoke in her eyes.
Aestas picked up the unconscious body of her dearest friend with a soft sigh, spiriting her off to the City.
---
She groaned. She moaned. Sometimes she even screamed. Ariel paced back and forth in the sterilized hospital room, sighing as each pace brought no new insight into how to ease her friend’s pain. Satine writhed on the bed as the nictus within sought to tear her body apart in a desperate attempt to flee its captive host.
Back and forth, forth and back, squeak at the turn… Doctors shaking their heads, nurses watching in sympathy, Kheldians sighing in utter frustration…
Forth and back, back and forth. Scream, scream, cry, cry. Hours, days, still nothing. No new news.
Khlashtar had come to sit and comfort Ariel through this trying time and to offer her knowledge and insight to Satine’s plight the day before. Khlash, who had so many answers, had none for this. She tried to explain the whys, that this nictus wasn’t a true singular nictus, but rather a compound melding of multiple nicti for the express purpose of making their master’s pet an unstoppable force. No one had really gotten a chance to see one up close like this before, and now, no one wanted to. The best thing the doctors could offer was increasing amounts of pain killers, restraints, and to simply make her comfortable in the wait for her inevitable death.
Ariel had thrown the young doctor and his Kheldian accomplice through a wall at that last suggestion.
Herod would not leave Satine’s side; he was the only one that she had wanted informed when her condition had taken such an appalling turn for the worse. Ariel had never respected the man as much as she did right now – he soothed poor Satine with a tenderness that Ariel could no longer muster, not after three days of the frightful cries for death, release from the pain.
Ariel had called James, but had not told him the nature of her friend’s illness, nor the severity. Best not to worry him.
A young red head walked down the hallway towards the room. She had a calm, confident air, burning silver eyes and pointed ears that gave her an air of mystery and guile rather than detract from her pretty features. She looked inside the door, then back to Ariel who was sitting in the waiting area. Ariel just rolled her eyes – probably just another reveler come to see the infamous screaming lady – instead, the creature, for human she was not, tucked a business card in the door frame and walked off calmly. Ariel stared for a few moments, then went and retrieved the card with a curious quirk of her eyebrow. Perhaps it was some funeral home or the like, she mused as she walked over, preparing herself to head back into the room of horrors.
“She can help” was all that was scribbled on the back of the white card – a number adorned the front, but no name. She pulled her phone out and dialed, watching through the door’s small window as Satine writhed and moaned, Herod doing his best to hold the tortured woman down so she wouldn’t injure herself.
--
No shirt, no shoes, no admittance. Such silly signs did not bother the woman walking down the hallway of Atlas Park Hospital. People stopped and turned to watch her as she walked down the hallway with a purposeful step, awed by the simple power of her presence.
Midnight black hair tumbled down her shoulders in soft waves, framing a pretty, milky-smooth face with full pink lips and deep-set, calming green eyes. She was tall and wiry, but with litheness to her, creating the illusion that she was flowing instead of walking along. Her clothing was a loose, sleeveless white cotton dress, belted at the waist to accentuate her figure. Her feet were bare – an odd occurrence especially at a hospital.
The terminal cancer patient in room three twenty one took heart as he watched her walk by. Unbeknownst to him, in a week’s time he would learn that his inoperable tumors were in recession. The nurse attending him, who had been deemed infertile by every expert in the field, would conceive the daughter she’d always wanted that night and have a healthy, picture-perfect pregnancy.
Small miracles.
She approached Ariel in a fast yet unhurried fashion, coming to a halt in a soft swish of fabric. The two women locked eyes for a moment, before Ariel nodded, moving away from the door. The dark haired woman walked inside, acknowledging the red mechanical man with a small inclination of her head; he too moved aside to let her by. Her only thoughts were for the woman tied down to the bed, sobbing from pain into the pillow.
As she spoke, her voice was smooth and soft, like a lilting harp gently plucking words and chords from delicate strings. “Hello Satine. How are you feeling?” A grimace and groan were the only verbal response, but she felt the weight of a tortured mind crashing against hers, but did not flinch as the woman spoke the only way she could manage at the moment.
<…How the hell do you think.>
“I do not know. That is why I asked, my dear.” She smoothed the hair back from Satine’s sweat-soaked brow. The touch seemed to ease the pain for a moment, and unconsciously, the smaller woman pressed her cheek against the hand.
<…What are you?>
“I am here to help, if you will let me.”
<…But how?>
“Too many questions for now. We do not have much time, Miss Satine, so I am going to do what I can.” She turned to the man in the corner. “Please, a bit of privacy for her. Everything will be alright, I promise.” Satine nodded at Herod, and he left without much a fight, but those burning red eyes suggested he was less than happy with the situation.
The door clicked softly behind him, and the two women were left alone for some time.
---
Satine sat up, a small smile on her face. “You are truly an angel.” The raven haired one shook her head.
“I am but a vessel, Satine, nothing more. I do what I can to help, and am glad that I can.”
“And you don’t even have a name. Shame.”
“I left it behind with reason, though. Call me what you will.”
Satine reached up, brushing the hair back from the other woman’s face, revealing the starred eye, tattooed in a heavy black ink. “I think I shall call you….Midnight’s Star.”
Midnight quirked a brow, “But why?”
“I have my reasons.” Satine laughed, putting a hand upon her stomach, where only hours before a nictus had been doing its best imitation of a wood chipper with her essence as its logs. Now she looked happily content, sitting there.
“Don’t waste that.”
“I won’t.”
“Good.” Midnight slipped from the room quietly, motioning for the apprehensive best friend and fiancé in the waiting room to go in and see their beloved Satine.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Monday, June 23, 2008
To My Father, With Love
High above the wave-soaked shores of Mercy, the dead communed with the living.
"The task is easy – I have found mention of a ritual that will bring me back to life, but I can't find the writing that clearly outlines the ceremony. I do not wish to go to Scirocco and his mystics, and that is why I have asked you two here. There is a book that I find mentioned time and time again in relation to this ritual, and it is said to contain the exact details I have been unable to procure as of yet. I need that book, and I need you to find it, Satine."
Ghost Widow paced back and forth soundlessly, the other three women in the room watched her movements with bated breath. The Prime Fortunata looked uneasy at her mistress's agitation and had begun to shift back and forth from foot to foot as she stood at attention. Ariel, once the hero Aestas, hovered in her own ghostly manner a few feet above the floor, her grin concealed by the mask she had worn into death. Slumped in a chair was Satine, her face carefully set to a neutral mask, though her own amusement was as abounding as Ariel's. Her blue eyes were pointedly searching out the Fortunata's beneath the full helm that marked the rank and seeming ineptitude of the person beneath it. The woman was supposed to be a psychic, the very best of the best, but Satine could read her mind as easily as a book – a thought both heartening and disconcerting to the dhampir. This is what Mistress Widow wanted her to be, Prime Fortunata, the very best of the best…Finally, she could take it no longer.
"Mademoiselle Fortunata," Satine began, "Eef 'ou are questioning 'hy your mistress 'ould entrust moi with zhese task and not yourself, 'hy do 'ou not ask 'er? Surely someone of your talents 'ould be mush better suited, non, to 'hatever she 'as in mind, for your abilities are so mush – how did 'ou put eet? – superior to my own." Satine sunk back into her chair, grateful for the shadows that were concealing the mocking grin spreading across her lips. Ghost Widow stopped mid stride, glancing first at the Fortunate with a flicker of death in her eyes, and then at Satine, half in awe, half in mirth. Again and again, Satine proved both her power and value as an ally.
Ghost Widow glanced at the red-head again, one ghostly eyebrow arched in amusement as the moonlight spilled into the room, revealing the smirk Satine was having such a hard time hiding. "And for this, and your silence regarding the matter, I'm willing to do something for you in return, something much greater than my teachings and personal favor."
Ariel looked between the two and nodded a bit, for Mistress Widow had already told her the plan – it was strange that Recluse's hand maiden entrusted the former hero with so much of her private confidences, but Ariel supposed that came from the rampant similarities the two possessed, including the extreme fondness they both shared for Satine. Their ties had bound them together a great deal these past weeks, and Ariel would be sorry to have to leave Ghost Widow's side. But promises needed to be kept.
Ghost Widow stopped pacing and appeared to look as nonchalant as a ghost was able. "I will have the guard removed from Ariel's hospital for a few hours – and have the security cams recording on no tape, as it were."
Satine twitched a bit, resisting the urge to spring up and fall at Ghost Widow's feet, proclaiming she'd do whatever it took if her mistress would do that for her. Groveling was something Recluse enjoyed greatly, but not his hand maiden, and so she sat motionless, appearing to be pondering the terms over. Just as she was about to answer, she caught a thought floating in the air, and began to search the minds of everyone within ten miles for the same sentiment. The Fortunata shifted uneasily again under the mental strain of Satine's badgering, but her training had never prepared her for someone as powerful as this. She managed not to scream as the dhampir tore her mind open easily, extracting rather damning information. Satine simply smiled again and leaned forward, the feral nature of that smile not lost on anyone in the room.
"Madame, 'here can I find zheese book?"
"The Circle of Thorns have long prided themselves on having the complete collection – which is a rather blatant and ballsy lie. I'd start there, if I were you." Ghost Widow smiled graciously even though she had felt the ferocity of Satine's probing – though it had never directed itself at her, Ghost Widow still felt mildly uncomfortable. And if it had been, she mused, I doubt even I could have resisted her for long.
Satine nodded and rose to leave, the Fortunata making to leave before her, partly in effort to run for Recluse and confess before she was murdered by this terrible woman. He had to know Ghost Widow's ambitions, and the price she was willing to pay for these ambitions…
She was half way down the stairs, knowing Satine was still at the top, conversing quietly about the Thorns with Ghost Widow. She resisted the urge to flat out run – to do so would be shameful indeed, and betray her even more than she had already betrayed herself. She glanced over her shoulder to seek out her perceived executioner, still plowing down the stairs…Satine turned and gave her a striking, alluring smile…
The Fortunata began to fall to her knees, clutching at her head as her mind was cleaved apart sadistically…Before she hit the ground, she was dead. Satine tsked under her breath, turning back to Ghost Widow with a grin. "Madame, 'ou really should find more…loyal…attendants." More of Ghost Widow's lesser fortunatas appeared at the foot of the stairs, wordlessly removing the body of their leader and bowing their heads in respect to the three at the top of the stairs.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Circle of Thorns were a rather arrogant group and had never hid themselves very well from prying eyes. Satine had spent most of the day moving from altar site to encampment, slaughtering them without hesitation if they were of no value to her. Her only thought was for that book, and only those who had some dim recollection of it lived past her first culling.
She stood deep beneath the Thorny Isle, in the very presence of the Thorn Tree she had once come to for power. Its vines danced their deadly samba all around her, but none wished to penetrate past her psychic shields – to do so would mean instant death for them. The tree and vines, unlike the mages and such that worshipped there, were not dumb enough to piss off this woman unduly.
In her grasp she held a man in black robes, green bolts of power shooting from his eyes. Her hand was wrapped around his throat, and even for as short as she was, she had him held several inches above the ground. His hands clawed at her grip as he sputtered and choked for air, desperation and fear tumbling off him as plain as the stench of death he and his comrades carried with them.
Satine smiled at him so sweetly that it would have melted him into gentlemanly compliance if not for her rather violent death grip on him. She pushed up her sunglasses with her free hand, gazing deep into him, her stunning blue eyes, usually the bright shade of a clear summer's day, haphazardly streaked with twinges of the deepest midnight blue. Her beauty is only enhanced by her savagery, he vaguely ruminated as his mind threatened to collide with the unconscious bliss her hand around his throat was bringing so close.
Abruptly she dropped him, resisting the urge to laugh as he fell in a crumpled, undignified heap before the Thorn Tree.
"Monsieur, I tire of zheese game! I know 'ou know where eet ees, and zhat ees all I want to know…Please, monsieur, be reasonable…" Satine gave him a sad, almost pouting look, and he scowled…but even her womanly charms were not lost on the Death Mage.
"It…it…" He still struggled for breath as he spoke. "The book…stolen…Dedrick…in Paris…"
Satine did not let her face slide into emotion as she absorbed this, though it deeply troubled her. Instead she smiled beneficently at him, crouching down and laying a kiss on his forehead. "Merci monsieur!" She said exuberantly before spinning on heel and brushing past the vines towards the cave entrance. She soothed both tree and vines with quiet, psychically driven affection, and began to whisper softly to their collective consciousness.
Look at the man before you my sweets, how he cowers before you…Remember how he and others like him have exploited you for centuries, taking your power without permission and without recompense…He is yours now…To do with whatever you wish…
The mage's screams were like a delicate symphony to Satine as she walked out, climaxing abruptly as the tree tore him apart with a wet, snapping twist. For a moment she let the experience wash over her, and it pushed the foreboding of Dedrick and Paris to the back of her mind. She simply reveled in the violence with as much audacity and intensity as her father's blood would permit.
As soon as she reached the surface, a plan had formed in her mind. A few quick phone calls and she was on the next flight to France. She had a couple of hours to burn before her flight, and so she flew off to tie up the few lose ends of her life.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Even being what could only be termed a native, the nighttime Parisian skyline never failed to completely snatch Satine's breath away. She stood on the rooftop overlooking the building where she had spent most of her early life in desolation and anguish; St. Marguerite's Home for Orphans was not a agreeable place to spend the time of day, much less your first eighteen years.
The crisp wind whipped the crimson locks from her face and let them dance along the night air, mingling them with the tears that had swiftly begun to run down her cheeks. The fair moon peeked from behind her cloudy perch, and for a single instant Satine was brilliantly lit up like a pallid moon nymph. The man who had been watching her from the shadowy recesses across the way felt his breath catch and pants become uncomfortably tight at the sight of her standing there, as if she had been formed from the very breath and splendor of the night.
She bowed her head after a moment but never quite managed to release the cry of sorrow that was secreted away in both her throat and heart. He took the opportunity to push himself away from the wall he had been leaning against and slip behind her.
Satine raised her head once again to the night, the flow of tears having ceased, as she felt large, strong hands on her shoulders. She did not stiffen, for she could read his aura as easily as she could see the moon – he meant her no harm. Soft lips brushed her cheek as the hands pulled her back against a firm, muscled chest – and for the first time in a long time, she let herself slip into the arms of comfort.
For a long time, neither spoke – she watched the moon and night sky, and he watched her.
Again his lips grazed her cheek, and she turned slightly in his arms, enough to gaze up at him. Oh, how he changed since she had left him behind and been taken into her first dancing house at eighteen – wrinkles worked upon his forehead, mouth, and the corners of his eyes, and his hair, once so elegantly black and thick, had begun to recede and fade to a weathered grey. But still the spark lit his liquid black eyes, as bright as when she had been a girl. He spoke first, his French as fluid and sensuous as his eyes.
"I always knew you were different, Satine. Twenty years later, you haven't aged a day past your seventeenth birthday."
Her eyes broke from his face and gazed out once again on the skyline, pointedly ignoring the orphanage below. Her French was not as smooth as his and had the slightest trace of foreign accent as she spoke. "Pierre…I'm…"
He cut her off, squeezing her gently as he spoke, "I've known of your kind for a long time, Satine, and I know what you are. Do not let it trouble you overmuch, my love."
She nodded and turned her head aside as his fingers gently stroked her neck, tracing the scar Valen had given her seemingly ages ago. "I should have come back a long time ago, Pierre… I never meant to…"
"Shh. We each live in different worlds, you and I, and though you've always had my heart and soul, I knew I could never join you in yours – only to aid in your journey. I hope I did enough to make it a happier time for you." Pierre buried his nose in her hair, inhaling her sweet scent like a cocaine addict inhales his powder – and he knew from that moment on that he would never be able to have another woman without thinking of Satine, remembering her perfume as it permeated the chill Parisian air all around him…
Satine felt his hips brush against her back side, and felt the surge of desire that was running rampant through his system. She broke the silence between them as she pulled away to stand at the edge of the building. "I'm looking for a man, a man of the underworld. His name is Dedrick."
Pierre did not step forward after her, as much as he wanted to, needed to. "He basically owns the Parisian underworld, Satine – I hope you are looking for him on friendly terms, for you're a fool if you aren't. He is powerful beyond knowing, it's told, and the only other creature to threaten his empire has been dead this past half year."
"Where can I find him, Pierre?"
"Satine…"
"Where can I find Dedrick?"
"Southeastern part of the city. He has a home there – if you are what you are, you won't be able to miss it…But Satine, please, don't do something foolish…"
"I'll be fine, Pierre. I've taken care of myself this past twenty-odd years – I'm sure I can handle Dedrick." She spun on heel, brushing past the man that had been so important to her for so many years, the very rock she had leaned on while they had both been imprisoned within St. Marguerite's walls. She stopped a few feet behind him, and turned to look at him one last time. She owed him that.
"She's a lucky woman, Pierre, whoever that holds you in her arms at night."
He chuckled softly to himself before responding. "So is he…so is he."
Satine nodded and continued to the opposite edge of the roof, whispering to the wind as she leapt gracefully to the street below. Goodbye, my friend.
Pierre watched as Satine once again left with his heart – and in the many hours left before dawn, he would weep over the loss of the only woman to ever touch his soul.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Impressively audacious was one way to describe how Dedrick surrounded himself – hookers strolled the street, meaty men stared menacingly at everyone who passed by. Here the black market thrived, and everything was for sale – blood, relics, flesh. Dedrick was a vampire who prided himself on his dark empire run on the night streets of Paris – and empire that the waking world refused to acknowledge and continued to find completely unfathomable. Death danced on the air here, as much an aphrodisiac as the Chinese herbs men and women took to heighten the experience.
But what was sex but a small death?
Here, in the brightly colored lace and leather world, Satine could find herself at ease. She had gone from her rooftop to her hotel room and dressed carefully for the occasion. She had bound back in a traditional Chinese bun, fastening it securely with iron chopsticks – weapons in a pinch, she mused. She left her face unpainted, letting natural beauty sing forth as opposed to the prostitutes overzealous use of color, and had left her body as equally unadorned. Her clothing was smooth and dark, hugging her curves while allowing her freedom of movement. Her finishing touches included the long, dark leather coat she had taken from Dream when Nazael had died and the pair of sunglasses that had been with her since she had joined the Web. She had smiled at her reflection as she had pulled on her leather gloves, a smile as wild and ostentatious as she felt. Tonight, she was the child of the night, given breath and life by the moon and the dark spirits of hell. Tonight, she was a vampire.
Her gait was purposeful as she walked down the lane towards the grandiose house at the top of the hill, and none had dared get in her way; many of the inhabitants of Dedrick's underworld were not human, and could sense her aura as plain as day. It also didn't hurt that for the first time in her life, Satine felt no need to hide what she was, instead letting it sing out from her in bright waves that had sent many a strong vampire scurrying for shelter.
Dhampir were vampire killers – and this red head walking calmly up one of the most vampiric infested streets in Europe was one of the most powerful that had ever walked the Earth.
Satine positively beamed as the two door guards fled at the very sight of her. The heavy oak door pushed open easily, and she slipped inside to one of the most opulent entrance halls she had ever been in – not even her former Master's could compare. Music floated on the air, a soft waltz – it seemed Dedrick and his vampire clan were having themselves a party.
"I've never been one much for parties – more for party crashing." Satine softly mused to the walls before moving forward towards the grand ballroom.
The doors fell open at her slightest touch, and a flurry of color and sensation penetrated her consciousness. It seemed every woman there was in a different color of splendor, bedecked as only the very old and dead could afford – jewels encrusted on jewels. The men were polished to a tee in the tuxes, and for a moment, one could almost believe that this was an ordinary ball, with ordinary rich snobs – except for the collective consciousness spinning around in psychic echoes about the room.
The crowd parted easily. The music died down.
Dedrick von Nacht was one of the oldest of his line, and by far the most respected. And here he sat at the front of the hall on his raised dais like a king, overseeing the little people as they danced and wined and dined at his expense. His strange blue eyes watched Satine closely as she moved forward amongst her vampiric brethren without so much as a glance for them until she stood impassively before him, no menacing signs in her posture or face. Dedrick laughed softly at her, standing there, dark amongst the brilliance of the ball, the stain among the light. How odd that the human in the room commanded the place that the vampire was supposed to hold.
She did not speak as he jumped down off his throne and came to examine her. For some time he circled her before deftly reaching out and pulling the pins from her hair and tossing them aside, letting it cascade down her back and shoulders like a bloodied waterfall. He grinned again, and spoke to her in soft, almost loving tones.
"Why have you come here, half-breed?"
"To recover a book that is said to be in your possession."
"Ah."
"If you give it to me, I'll be on my way quietly."
"That I very much doubt, Satine."
"I was hoping you'd say that, father."
The room hissed in a collective gasp. Dedrick had a human child? But why?
Dedrick simply shook his head in amusement as he regarded her. "Father by raping your mother only, Satine."
"It is your blood that makes me what I am, Dedrick. I guess I should thank you for that? But I find myself oddly wanting to rip your throat out instead."
"Tsk, tsk. You could try, my dearest daughter."
"You could try and stop me, you mean."
"Ah!" Dedrick clapped his hands together, and several large, bulky men came forth from the shadowy parts of the room, encircling Satine. She grinned.
"Go right ahead; but I warn you, I was always stronger than that fool Mathieu."
"So much stronger that you had to breed me to kill him for you?"
And at this, she attacked. The men were armed with centuries of experience, not to mention swords and bats, but these did not matter to Satine. The hive mind was weak against a single target attack, and the dhampir had no problem using this advantage over her brethren. One by one, the men fell under her fists and mind, till they were nothing more than bloody pulps of tissue on the floor. The other guests had long since fled the room, and now only Satine and Dedrick stood conscious in the large room.
"You are truly powerful my child. I applaud you."
"The book, Dedrick. Or do you want matching bruises?"
The old vampire pulled the sword from beside his chair and pointed it directly at Satine. Again, she smiled with abandon as she reached down gracefully and picked up one of the fallen bodyguards own blades. That smile chilled something in Dedrick's confidence, chilled it right to the bone – the smile was as wild as a tiger, and had nothing left to lose. His jovial countenance faded and he fell back into a stance of readiness.
"The sword of your line isn't going to save you the same fate your henchmen met, Dedrick. Only that book will."
"We'll just see about that, Satine…" And with that he lunged at her, but was surprised at the force with which she held him back.
For hours it seemed they dueled, neither willing to give the other ground. Metal upon metal rang out like the sweet peal of church bells, and body upon body heaved against each other with supernatural strength. Each bled a little bit, but only one was tiring.
Another frenzied entanglement of blade and body, and Dedrick fell to the floor, blade spinning uselessly across the pristine marble. He inhaled deeply, preparing himself for the killing strike…instead he was roughly hauled to his feet, Satine holding him close, almost intimate in her embrace of him.
"Did you know what I suffered at Mathieu's hands, father? Did you know what I did to him?"
"No. I only knew he was dead."
Satine dipped her head down to Dedrick's neck and her lips grazed across the thin and fragile skin of his neck. "Now you will, father of mine…He offered me everything to save his skin, but will you?"
And she sunk her fangs, already heavy and waiting in her mouth, into his neck. She began to suckle very slowly at him, rolling the hot blood across her tongue before swallowing deeply. He screamed and wailed, but nothing he could do could dissuade her from his neck. Once scarlet hair faded to a perfect midnight black as she drank…Once a human woman…Once a vampire fledgling…Now something infinitely more than both…
She let Dedrick drop at her feet – though she had spent many minutes at his throat, she had actually absorbed very little of his blood into her system; instead she had drawn on his essence, on his power to open and feed her previously dormant power. He gasped and moaned in the pain of his loss, but she barely heard him, so rapt up she was in the sensations that flowed through her body. She floated more than walked over to the forgotten sword, picking it up delicately before sheathing it and buckling it across her abdomen so that it lay against her back.
Dedrick raised himself up enough to watch a large book come flying through the mansion and into his daughter's waiting hand. Unconsciousness hit his mind like a ton of bricks, and his last vision was of Satine standing there, black hair tossed wildly in the wind as she looked over her shoulder at him…and winked.
"The task is easy – I have found mention of a ritual that will bring me back to life, but I can't find the writing that clearly outlines the ceremony. I do not wish to go to Scirocco and his mystics, and that is why I have asked you two here. There is a book that I find mentioned time and time again in relation to this ritual, and it is said to contain the exact details I have been unable to procure as of yet. I need that book, and I need you to find it, Satine."
Ghost Widow paced back and forth soundlessly, the other three women in the room watched her movements with bated breath. The Prime Fortunata looked uneasy at her mistress's agitation and had begun to shift back and forth from foot to foot as she stood at attention. Ariel, once the hero Aestas, hovered in her own ghostly manner a few feet above the floor, her grin concealed by the mask she had worn into death. Slumped in a chair was Satine, her face carefully set to a neutral mask, though her own amusement was as abounding as Ariel's. Her blue eyes were pointedly searching out the Fortunata's beneath the full helm that marked the rank and seeming ineptitude of the person beneath it. The woman was supposed to be a psychic, the very best of the best, but Satine could read her mind as easily as a book – a thought both heartening and disconcerting to the dhampir. This is what Mistress Widow wanted her to be, Prime Fortunata, the very best of the best…Finally, she could take it no longer.
"Mademoiselle Fortunata," Satine began, "Eef 'ou are questioning 'hy your mistress 'ould entrust moi with zhese task and not yourself, 'hy do 'ou not ask 'er? Surely someone of your talents 'ould be mush better suited, non, to 'hatever she 'as in mind, for your abilities are so mush – how did 'ou put eet? – superior to my own." Satine sunk back into her chair, grateful for the shadows that were concealing the mocking grin spreading across her lips. Ghost Widow stopped mid stride, glancing first at the Fortunate with a flicker of death in her eyes, and then at Satine, half in awe, half in mirth. Again and again, Satine proved both her power and value as an ally.
Ghost Widow glanced at the red-head again, one ghostly eyebrow arched in amusement as the moonlight spilled into the room, revealing the smirk Satine was having such a hard time hiding. "And for this, and your silence regarding the matter, I'm willing to do something for you in return, something much greater than my teachings and personal favor."
Ariel looked between the two and nodded a bit, for Mistress Widow had already told her the plan – it was strange that Recluse's hand maiden entrusted the former hero with so much of her private confidences, but Ariel supposed that came from the rampant similarities the two possessed, including the extreme fondness they both shared for Satine. Their ties had bound them together a great deal these past weeks, and Ariel would be sorry to have to leave Ghost Widow's side. But promises needed to be kept.
Ghost Widow stopped pacing and appeared to look as nonchalant as a ghost was able. "I will have the guard removed from Ariel's hospital for a few hours – and have the security cams recording on no tape, as it were."
Satine twitched a bit, resisting the urge to spring up and fall at Ghost Widow's feet, proclaiming she'd do whatever it took if her mistress would do that for her. Groveling was something Recluse enjoyed greatly, but not his hand maiden, and so she sat motionless, appearing to be pondering the terms over. Just as she was about to answer, she caught a thought floating in the air, and began to search the minds of everyone within ten miles for the same sentiment. The Fortunata shifted uneasily again under the mental strain of Satine's badgering, but her training had never prepared her for someone as powerful as this. She managed not to scream as the dhampir tore her mind open easily, extracting rather damning information. Satine simply smiled again and leaned forward, the feral nature of that smile not lost on anyone in the room.
"Madame, 'here can I find zheese book?"
"The Circle of Thorns have long prided themselves on having the complete collection – which is a rather blatant and ballsy lie. I'd start there, if I were you." Ghost Widow smiled graciously even though she had felt the ferocity of Satine's probing – though it had never directed itself at her, Ghost Widow still felt mildly uncomfortable. And if it had been, she mused, I doubt even I could have resisted her for long.
Satine nodded and rose to leave, the Fortunata making to leave before her, partly in effort to run for Recluse and confess before she was murdered by this terrible woman. He had to know Ghost Widow's ambitions, and the price she was willing to pay for these ambitions…
She was half way down the stairs, knowing Satine was still at the top, conversing quietly about the Thorns with Ghost Widow. She resisted the urge to flat out run – to do so would be shameful indeed, and betray her even more than she had already betrayed herself. She glanced over her shoulder to seek out her perceived executioner, still plowing down the stairs…Satine turned and gave her a striking, alluring smile…
The Fortunata began to fall to her knees, clutching at her head as her mind was cleaved apart sadistically…Before she hit the ground, she was dead. Satine tsked under her breath, turning back to Ghost Widow with a grin. "Madame, 'ou really should find more…loyal…attendants." More of Ghost Widow's lesser fortunatas appeared at the foot of the stairs, wordlessly removing the body of their leader and bowing their heads in respect to the three at the top of the stairs.
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The Circle of Thorns were a rather arrogant group and had never hid themselves very well from prying eyes. Satine had spent most of the day moving from altar site to encampment, slaughtering them without hesitation if they were of no value to her. Her only thought was for that book, and only those who had some dim recollection of it lived past her first culling.
She stood deep beneath the Thorny Isle, in the very presence of the Thorn Tree she had once come to for power. Its vines danced their deadly samba all around her, but none wished to penetrate past her psychic shields – to do so would mean instant death for them. The tree and vines, unlike the mages and such that worshipped there, were not dumb enough to piss off this woman unduly.
In her grasp she held a man in black robes, green bolts of power shooting from his eyes. Her hand was wrapped around his throat, and even for as short as she was, she had him held several inches above the ground. His hands clawed at her grip as he sputtered and choked for air, desperation and fear tumbling off him as plain as the stench of death he and his comrades carried with them.
Satine smiled at him so sweetly that it would have melted him into gentlemanly compliance if not for her rather violent death grip on him. She pushed up her sunglasses with her free hand, gazing deep into him, her stunning blue eyes, usually the bright shade of a clear summer's day, haphazardly streaked with twinges of the deepest midnight blue. Her beauty is only enhanced by her savagery, he vaguely ruminated as his mind threatened to collide with the unconscious bliss her hand around his throat was bringing so close.
Abruptly she dropped him, resisting the urge to laugh as he fell in a crumpled, undignified heap before the Thorn Tree.
"Monsieur, I tire of zheese game! I know 'ou know where eet ees, and zhat ees all I want to know…Please, monsieur, be reasonable…" Satine gave him a sad, almost pouting look, and he scowled…but even her womanly charms were not lost on the Death Mage.
"It…it…" He still struggled for breath as he spoke. "The book…stolen…Dedrick…in Paris…"
Satine did not let her face slide into emotion as she absorbed this, though it deeply troubled her. Instead she smiled beneficently at him, crouching down and laying a kiss on his forehead. "Merci monsieur!" She said exuberantly before spinning on heel and brushing past the vines towards the cave entrance. She soothed both tree and vines with quiet, psychically driven affection, and began to whisper softly to their collective consciousness.
Look at the man before you my sweets, how he cowers before you…Remember how he and others like him have exploited you for centuries, taking your power without permission and without recompense…He is yours now…To do with whatever you wish…
The mage's screams were like a delicate symphony to Satine as she walked out, climaxing abruptly as the tree tore him apart with a wet, snapping twist. For a moment she let the experience wash over her, and it pushed the foreboding of Dedrick and Paris to the back of her mind. She simply reveled in the violence with as much audacity and intensity as her father's blood would permit.
As soon as she reached the surface, a plan had formed in her mind. A few quick phone calls and she was on the next flight to France. She had a couple of hours to burn before her flight, and so she flew off to tie up the few lose ends of her life.
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Even being what could only be termed a native, the nighttime Parisian skyline never failed to completely snatch Satine's breath away. She stood on the rooftop overlooking the building where she had spent most of her early life in desolation and anguish; St. Marguerite's Home for Orphans was not a agreeable place to spend the time of day, much less your first eighteen years.
The crisp wind whipped the crimson locks from her face and let them dance along the night air, mingling them with the tears that had swiftly begun to run down her cheeks. The fair moon peeked from behind her cloudy perch, and for a single instant Satine was brilliantly lit up like a pallid moon nymph. The man who had been watching her from the shadowy recesses across the way felt his breath catch and pants become uncomfortably tight at the sight of her standing there, as if she had been formed from the very breath and splendor of the night.
She bowed her head after a moment but never quite managed to release the cry of sorrow that was secreted away in both her throat and heart. He took the opportunity to push himself away from the wall he had been leaning against and slip behind her.
Satine raised her head once again to the night, the flow of tears having ceased, as she felt large, strong hands on her shoulders. She did not stiffen, for she could read his aura as easily as she could see the moon – he meant her no harm. Soft lips brushed her cheek as the hands pulled her back against a firm, muscled chest – and for the first time in a long time, she let herself slip into the arms of comfort.
For a long time, neither spoke – she watched the moon and night sky, and he watched her.
Again his lips grazed her cheek, and she turned slightly in his arms, enough to gaze up at him. Oh, how he changed since she had left him behind and been taken into her first dancing house at eighteen – wrinkles worked upon his forehead, mouth, and the corners of his eyes, and his hair, once so elegantly black and thick, had begun to recede and fade to a weathered grey. But still the spark lit his liquid black eyes, as bright as when she had been a girl. He spoke first, his French as fluid and sensuous as his eyes.
"I always knew you were different, Satine. Twenty years later, you haven't aged a day past your seventeenth birthday."
Her eyes broke from his face and gazed out once again on the skyline, pointedly ignoring the orphanage below. Her French was not as smooth as his and had the slightest trace of foreign accent as she spoke. "Pierre…I'm…"
He cut her off, squeezing her gently as he spoke, "I've known of your kind for a long time, Satine, and I know what you are. Do not let it trouble you overmuch, my love."
She nodded and turned her head aside as his fingers gently stroked her neck, tracing the scar Valen had given her seemingly ages ago. "I should have come back a long time ago, Pierre… I never meant to…"
"Shh. We each live in different worlds, you and I, and though you've always had my heart and soul, I knew I could never join you in yours – only to aid in your journey. I hope I did enough to make it a happier time for you." Pierre buried his nose in her hair, inhaling her sweet scent like a cocaine addict inhales his powder – and he knew from that moment on that he would never be able to have another woman without thinking of Satine, remembering her perfume as it permeated the chill Parisian air all around him…
Satine felt his hips brush against her back side, and felt the surge of desire that was running rampant through his system. She broke the silence between them as she pulled away to stand at the edge of the building. "I'm looking for a man, a man of the underworld. His name is Dedrick."
Pierre did not step forward after her, as much as he wanted to, needed to. "He basically owns the Parisian underworld, Satine – I hope you are looking for him on friendly terms, for you're a fool if you aren't. He is powerful beyond knowing, it's told, and the only other creature to threaten his empire has been dead this past half year."
"Where can I find him, Pierre?"
"Satine…"
"Where can I find Dedrick?"
"Southeastern part of the city. He has a home there – if you are what you are, you won't be able to miss it…But Satine, please, don't do something foolish…"
"I'll be fine, Pierre. I've taken care of myself this past twenty-odd years – I'm sure I can handle Dedrick." She spun on heel, brushing past the man that had been so important to her for so many years, the very rock she had leaned on while they had both been imprisoned within St. Marguerite's walls. She stopped a few feet behind him, and turned to look at him one last time. She owed him that.
"She's a lucky woman, Pierre, whoever that holds you in her arms at night."
He chuckled softly to himself before responding. "So is he…so is he."
Satine nodded and continued to the opposite edge of the roof, whispering to the wind as she leapt gracefully to the street below. Goodbye, my friend.
Pierre watched as Satine once again left with his heart – and in the many hours left before dawn, he would weep over the loss of the only woman to ever touch his soul.
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Impressively audacious was one way to describe how Dedrick surrounded himself – hookers strolled the street, meaty men stared menacingly at everyone who passed by. Here the black market thrived, and everything was for sale – blood, relics, flesh. Dedrick was a vampire who prided himself on his dark empire run on the night streets of Paris – and empire that the waking world refused to acknowledge and continued to find completely unfathomable. Death danced on the air here, as much an aphrodisiac as the Chinese herbs men and women took to heighten the experience.
But what was sex but a small death?
Here, in the brightly colored lace and leather world, Satine could find herself at ease. She had gone from her rooftop to her hotel room and dressed carefully for the occasion. She had bound back in a traditional Chinese bun, fastening it securely with iron chopsticks – weapons in a pinch, she mused. She left her face unpainted, letting natural beauty sing forth as opposed to the prostitutes overzealous use of color, and had left her body as equally unadorned. Her clothing was smooth and dark, hugging her curves while allowing her freedom of movement. Her finishing touches included the long, dark leather coat she had taken from Dream when Nazael had died and the pair of sunglasses that had been with her since she had joined the Web. She had smiled at her reflection as she had pulled on her leather gloves, a smile as wild and ostentatious as she felt. Tonight, she was the child of the night, given breath and life by the moon and the dark spirits of hell. Tonight, she was a vampire.
Her gait was purposeful as she walked down the lane towards the grandiose house at the top of the hill, and none had dared get in her way; many of the inhabitants of Dedrick's underworld were not human, and could sense her aura as plain as day. It also didn't hurt that for the first time in her life, Satine felt no need to hide what she was, instead letting it sing out from her in bright waves that had sent many a strong vampire scurrying for shelter.
Dhampir were vampire killers – and this red head walking calmly up one of the most vampiric infested streets in Europe was one of the most powerful that had ever walked the Earth.
Satine positively beamed as the two door guards fled at the very sight of her. The heavy oak door pushed open easily, and she slipped inside to one of the most opulent entrance halls she had ever been in – not even her former Master's could compare. Music floated on the air, a soft waltz – it seemed Dedrick and his vampire clan were having themselves a party.
"I've never been one much for parties – more for party crashing." Satine softly mused to the walls before moving forward towards the grand ballroom.
The doors fell open at her slightest touch, and a flurry of color and sensation penetrated her consciousness. It seemed every woman there was in a different color of splendor, bedecked as only the very old and dead could afford – jewels encrusted on jewels. The men were polished to a tee in the tuxes, and for a moment, one could almost believe that this was an ordinary ball, with ordinary rich snobs – except for the collective consciousness spinning around in psychic echoes about the room.
The crowd parted easily. The music died down.
Dedrick von Nacht was one of the oldest of his line, and by far the most respected. And here he sat at the front of the hall on his raised dais like a king, overseeing the little people as they danced and wined and dined at his expense. His strange blue eyes watched Satine closely as she moved forward amongst her vampiric brethren without so much as a glance for them until she stood impassively before him, no menacing signs in her posture or face. Dedrick laughed softly at her, standing there, dark amongst the brilliance of the ball, the stain among the light. How odd that the human in the room commanded the place that the vampire was supposed to hold.
She did not speak as he jumped down off his throne and came to examine her. For some time he circled her before deftly reaching out and pulling the pins from her hair and tossing them aside, letting it cascade down her back and shoulders like a bloodied waterfall. He grinned again, and spoke to her in soft, almost loving tones.
"Why have you come here, half-breed?"
"To recover a book that is said to be in your possession."
"Ah."
"If you give it to me, I'll be on my way quietly."
"That I very much doubt, Satine."
"I was hoping you'd say that, father."
The room hissed in a collective gasp. Dedrick had a human child? But why?
Dedrick simply shook his head in amusement as he regarded her. "Father by raping your mother only, Satine."
"It is your blood that makes me what I am, Dedrick. I guess I should thank you for that? But I find myself oddly wanting to rip your throat out instead."
"Tsk, tsk. You could try, my dearest daughter."
"You could try and stop me, you mean."
"Ah!" Dedrick clapped his hands together, and several large, bulky men came forth from the shadowy parts of the room, encircling Satine. She grinned.
"Go right ahead; but I warn you, I was always stronger than that fool Mathieu."
"So much stronger that you had to breed me to kill him for you?"
And at this, she attacked. The men were armed with centuries of experience, not to mention swords and bats, but these did not matter to Satine. The hive mind was weak against a single target attack, and the dhampir had no problem using this advantage over her brethren. One by one, the men fell under her fists and mind, till they were nothing more than bloody pulps of tissue on the floor. The other guests had long since fled the room, and now only Satine and Dedrick stood conscious in the large room.
"You are truly powerful my child. I applaud you."
"The book, Dedrick. Or do you want matching bruises?"
The old vampire pulled the sword from beside his chair and pointed it directly at Satine. Again, she smiled with abandon as she reached down gracefully and picked up one of the fallen bodyguards own blades. That smile chilled something in Dedrick's confidence, chilled it right to the bone – the smile was as wild as a tiger, and had nothing left to lose. His jovial countenance faded and he fell back into a stance of readiness.
"The sword of your line isn't going to save you the same fate your henchmen met, Dedrick. Only that book will."
"We'll just see about that, Satine…" And with that he lunged at her, but was surprised at the force with which she held him back.
For hours it seemed they dueled, neither willing to give the other ground. Metal upon metal rang out like the sweet peal of church bells, and body upon body heaved against each other with supernatural strength. Each bled a little bit, but only one was tiring.
Another frenzied entanglement of blade and body, and Dedrick fell to the floor, blade spinning uselessly across the pristine marble. He inhaled deeply, preparing himself for the killing strike…instead he was roughly hauled to his feet, Satine holding him close, almost intimate in her embrace of him.
"Did you know what I suffered at Mathieu's hands, father? Did you know what I did to him?"
"No. I only knew he was dead."
Satine dipped her head down to Dedrick's neck and her lips grazed across the thin and fragile skin of his neck. "Now you will, father of mine…He offered me everything to save his skin, but will you?"
And she sunk her fangs, already heavy and waiting in her mouth, into his neck. She began to suckle very slowly at him, rolling the hot blood across her tongue before swallowing deeply. He screamed and wailed, but nothing he could do could dissuade her from his neck. Once scarlet hair faded to a perfect midnight black as she drank…Once a human woman…Once a vampire fledgling…Now something infinitely more than both…
She let Dedrick drop at her feet – though she had spent many minutes at his throat, she had actually absorbed very little of his blood into her system; instead she had drawn on his essence, on his power to open and feed her previously dormant power. He gasped and moaned in the pain of his loss, but she barely heard him, so rapt up she was in the sensations that flowed through her body. She floated more than walked over to the forgotten sword, picking it up delicately before sheathing it and buckling it across her abdomen so that it lay against her back.
Dedrick raised himself up enough to watch a large book come flying through the mansion and into his daughter's waiting hand. Unconsciousness hit his mind like a ton of bricks, and his last vision was of Satine standing there, black hair tossed wildly in the wind as she looked over her shoulder at him…and winked.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Deo Vindice
The day seemed to rain down with sunshine. And it only made her smile.
Shopping bags littered her arms, iced cappuccino in one hand as she walked down the streets of St. Martial, idiotic grin on her face. She had even abandoned her usual leather for shorts and a t-shirt – and neither was black. She felt (and looked) like she was nineteen again, so carefree, and the world was hers once again.
It seemed that tremendous love has the power to roll back time.
She glanced down in the bags, at the silken sheets for their bed, the fluffy hotel style bathrobes, the naughty lingerie she had bought that afternoon and smiled – such simple actions that even a week ago seemed so foreign were so…normal now. Satine paid it no mind, glad to leave the world of darkness and death behind. Arachnos passed her by on the streets, and she even had the heart to smile at them – and with her bright hair bouncing, sculpted body, milky skin, more than a few turned their heads to watch her pass by.
I have what you seek.
She paused, glancing over at the shop to her right. The windows were dark and gloomy, cluttered with dusty furniture and odd trinkets. The sign outside the window read “William’s Antiques”.
Come, come and find me Satine.
The door opened at her touch, dust swirling up, provoking forgotten memories…
The mansion door, opening at her touch, forgotten dust swirling up and filling her nostrils with shadows and half-hearted dreams…
She shook her head just as the little man with white hair came from the back, obviously summoned by the bell above the door. He took one look at her and arched an eyebrow, obviously surprised someone looking like her would be in a shop like his. He did manage to stammer out, after some gawking, a proper greeting.
“Well Miss…Can I help you find something?”
“…a watch. A pocket watch.” Satine bit at her lower lip, wracking her brain for any plausible reason she would have said that. Again and again she came up empty handed.
“Well, Miss, I do have a good collection of them behind the counter if you’ll just come this way,” the elderly man pointed towards the counter with a smile. Satine approached slowly, brushing her fiery locks back from her face as she set down her bags on the floor, sapphire eyes glittering brightly with anticipation. He pulled out a couple of trays of antique looking watches, placing them before her. His voice began to drone on and on about specific pieces, picking them up one at a time in his own attempt to show them to her. She pretended interest even as she let her eyes wander amongst them boredly…
…a faint gleam of gold caught her eye, the whispering increasing in her head…
He seemed to notice her attention, and gently picked up the watch, so covered in grime you could barely sense the golden sheen underneath. He smiled that merchant smile, half goodwill, half cheap car salesman, and brushed off the top layer of grime with his thumb, revealing a pair of flags back to back. Above them the words “Deo Vindice” could be faintly read above them.
“It dates from the back from the Civil War, Miss, as clearly seen from the Confederate flag here and the seal above them – means God will vindicate, Miss. But it’s what inside that’s real special, Miss, if you’ll open it…”
Delicately, she opened the clasp and inhaled sharply as the clasp sprung open with a youthful vigor. The words were delicately inscribed, and they brought tears to her eyes:
“If it will satisfy you that I should know you, love you, why then indeed, you should have my soul to stand on if it could make you stand higher.”
The man took note, and explained in soft tones, “It’s a passage from a letter Elizabeth Barrett wrote to Robert Browning in about 1846. From all indications it was most likely a wedding gift to a soldier from
Satine never heard anything past “higher”. Her mind was racing, but she managed to mumble, “I’ll take it, whatever price…”
“Ah, if I may ask, Miss, who it’s for? You don’t seem the collector type.”
“For the man I love more than anything in the world.”
“Then take it, Miss, with my sincerest hope that you will be as happy with him as I was with my Elvira.” And with that, he pressed the watch on her with the name of the best watch fixer in town, and would hear nothing of money. The smile on his face was so genuine that it tore at Satine’s heart even more, but she vowed to herself that he wouldn’t go empty handed for his generosity. It was a rare commodity for her these days.
She walked in a haze down the streets of St. Martial, following the directions she had been given until she found it – buried in a dusty corner, but “Cutter and Sons Jewelry” could still be read on the fading sign. The store was clean and well lit, and unlike the last shop, no dust stirred as she entered timidly. Ever since she had been offered a ring of engagement, she had been overly skittish of jewelry stores.
She gathered her wits and walked confidently forward towards the glass counter still clutching the small white box her watch was secreted in to her chest. The man that approached her was much younger than the previous shop keeper, and did not seem so startled by her mode of dress. All in all, he looked of an age with her, perhaps a few years older, but knowledgeable none the less.
She handed the box to him, causing him to quirk an eyebrow, but he said nothing. Gingerly he produced the watch, closely examining it with a critical eye before speaking. “I’m assuming you want it repaired and restored, ma’am. For a piece as old as it is, it seems to be in rather good condition – two, maybe three hours, plus overnight to let it soak the grime off. Two hundred fifty.”
Satine just stared at him, her eyes resolved as she opened her bill fold and produced large bills and layed them on the counter.
“Ma’am? That’s *considerably* more than two fifty.” He seemed rather stunned.
“It is. In fact, it’s four times as much. And in return, my good man, you are going to show me how to and help me to fix the watch.” Satine fixed him with a resolute stare, as if daring him to disagree.
He shook his head. “Why? Tell me that and I’ll consider it.”
“This watch is a gift to a very special man – and I very much think it would mean more if the labor came from my own hands and heart than if I just threw some cash around on a pretty trinket. Perhaps it’s already thoughtful enough that I did put thought into the gift, but I really want it to mean something…it will be the first thing I’ve ever given him that’s material.”
The jeweler looked at the counter, biting at his lip before speaking. “How old are you? You don’t look old enough to put that much thought into something.”
“I turned forty this year, sir, though it’s none of your business. I just age well.”
He looked up at her, shaking his head with a slight grin. “Keep your seven fifty – but be here at six o’clock tonight, and be prepared to work some long hours to get this into working order. If you’re willing to do it yourself, no reason I should charge you more – plus the company would be nice…especially such gorgeous company.”
Satine smiled sweetly at him and nodded exuberantly. “You won’t regret this, and I’ll wear something low cut and short just for that.”
“What’s your name? I’m Joseph Cutter.” He extended his hand to her.
She took it firmly, shaking it with a grin. “Satine Dubois, monsieur. Bonjour.”
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Hate Me
The radio blares out incessantly, invading her sleep…
I have to block out thoughts of you so I don't lose my head…
The heavy wooden door stood slightly ajar.
The dust that still helplessly clung to the desecrated ground below showed no sign of disturbance.
She frowns slightly, placing her palm flat against the door; it falls open easily at her touch. She coughs a bit as the dust swirls up in choking clouds, and the pressure of memories begins to gag her.
They crawl in like a cockroach leaving babies in my bed…
Though she promised herself she would never return, she steps into the foyer, heels clicking softly on the marble. Her eyes slide close as she stands there, soaking in the memories she had thought she had buried so deeply in these walls. The Manse was of the past, a past she didn’t want to remember. Still too close, still too painful.
Dropping little reels of tape to remind me that I'm alone…
A brilliant flash of light falls across her face, causing her to squint before carefully opening her eyes. She blinks rapidly several times to clear her vision, sweeping her eyes across the entryway before her.
She’s not alone.
An ounce of peace is all I want for you. Will you never call again?
Her eyes slide across the folds of the handsome white suit, the long dark hair. He stands there, his back to her, with a piece of parchment in his hands. He seems to be intently reading the spiky black writing that litters the page and has taken no notice of her. She simply stares at his back in shock and utter disbelief.
And will you never say that you love me just to put it in my face?
A soft, metallic clang shatters the silence between them. A metal collar lays on the floor, glinting softly in the sickened sunlight.
“You abandoned me,” she says finally, still staring at him.
And will you never try to reach me? It is I that wanted space…
He turns his face to look over his shoulder at her, but no emotion can be discerned past the dark sunglasses he always favored.
“How does it feel?” Valen answers softly.
Hate me today!
Hate me tomorrow!
Hate me so you can finally see what's good for you.
Monday, February 18, 2008
Eyes the Color of Death
A faint beam of moonlight flares across the sleeper’s face for the briefest of moments before being swallowed by darkness.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Acrid smoke chokes the air; Satine coughs and sputters as she attempts to breathe past it. She flails her hands, desperate to clear the space around her from the thick haze that is both suffocating and blinding her. She lashes out blindly, stumbling forward, dodging countless fires that litter the warehouse floor. A sudden gush of clean air blasts her, and she inhales gratefully, blinking several times to clear her vision. The nightmarish scene behind fades to an indistinguishable grey blob, but she pays that fact no mind.
A distant crack splits the silence asunder, and Satine jogs forward down the hallway in the direction of the commotion. Just as she reaches the T-intersection of the two hallways, a pale man with dark hair emerges to her right, sprinting impetuously forward with the desperation of one hunted. He grasps at his side tightly, but a dark stain spreads from between his fingers despite his best efforts to stem the flow. A moment later the two collide and collapse in a tangle; Satine reaches out to right both of them quickly. She struggles to pull both of them to their feet, but his race has run its course; she holds him tightly as they sink to the ground once more.
For several moments, she looks around, stretching her senses as far as she can to find whatever has been chasing him - but to no avail. She snaps her head back to look at him as he touches her cheek, moaning at the feel of the hot blood his fingertips leave behind. She stares at him critically, but try as she might, she cannot discern his features though an air of recognition hangs about him. He reaches up again, placing his palm over her mouth and nose, fingers spread across her forehead and temple as if in benediction, marking her with a bloodied handprint. A shudder of both elation and disgust run up her spine.
“Baptized in blood, both damned and saved…Does your misery really enjoy the company it keeps?” His eyes flash a startling emerald as he body takes its last shuddering breath. She caresses the hair back from his face as she feels his soul slip away in the waiting arms of death.
“Tsk, tsk, Satine, I told you not to drain them dry, you need to leave enough to let them walk…” She spins around, trying to find the source of the dry Italian voice, but no one is there…
“How can I ever trust you again?” This voice is cold, emotionless; she winces, closing her eyes tightly, but a single tear rolls down her face, cutting through the drying blood.
Several moments pass as she kneels there, clutching the man’s body tightly. She jumps as gentle finger tips brush back her bloodied locks; opening her eyes, she lets out a wail. A beautiful strawberry blonde is bent before her. “Ariel…” Satine murmurs, and the woman smiles beneficently.
“Poor Satine, has it really come to this? Hush child…There is no need to fear. The path before you is set, but still you must choose…” Ariel leans forward, brushing their lips together before giving her a soft, undemanding kiss. Satine sighs, sliding her eyes closed after a moment as she relishes the affection. “I forgive you, Satine. Forgive yourself, for redemption awaits…” And with that, Ariel fades to a ghostly, translucent white, walking through Satine without so much as a glance behind her.
The dhampir shivers softly, suppressing a heart-wrenching wail. “Oh, Ariel…what have I done?” Another tears cuts a path through the dried blood.
An eerie sense of familiarity settles over Satine again; she chances a look at the room, and stares in absolute horror. A golden man stands before her, staring in equal horror at her and the body still cradled in her arms. He takes a few steps back, muttering softly…and explodes into darkness. His eyes, having once comforted her so, become a glittering abyss of nightmare, boring through her, infecting her very soul. He laughs softly as she shrieks, casting a glance to the side as a bald man emerges from the right side of the hallway.
The man is wearing a suit of which the likes Satine has never seen before, but it is not that that catches her attention. His eyes…His eyes are as pale as death as he stares at her, a gratified smile on his face.
“Your only choice is death,” he tells her. “You are not fit for redemption.”
The golden nightmare man shrieks, and Satine responds in kind…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A scream catches in her throat as Twist sits up abruptly, heart pounding in her chest. The man beside her does not stir as she sits there for several moments, taking in long, shuddering breaths to ease the fear.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The moon light flares again, and the sleeper awakens, still caught in the terrible depths of her vision. She twists and turns, but the darkness holds her, silencing her screams. Her bright red hair fades to the darkest shade of midnight, clear blue eyes darkening to a frightful, stormy grey. A savage blood lust wracks her body as she struggles against her bonds, groaning at the feel of the many heartbeats around her. Several moments pass…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Twist rubs at her face in her hand, trying to get her racing thoughts under control. She holds out her hand, and reaches for the darkness within her, but her hand explodes in a magnificent bright light. Mase stutters mid snore, and Twist closes her palm quickly, frowning. She pauses, then tries again, smiling softly as her hand fills with a thick dark cloud. She sighs contentedly, looking over at her lover…and her hand explodes once again into a bright light.
Tears leak out slowly from her eyes as she watches him sleep, a single thought repeating itself over and over in her mind.
Is who I am worth sacrificing for a man who hurts me?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Oh,
A last beam of moon light shines across her face, and the memory of the nightmare fades away…except for those eyes, those eyes the color of death…
Monday, February 11, 2008
The Dead Smell of Roses
WARNING! Piece deals with adult content. Reader discretion is advised.
need need it want it have to have it give it to us hot river of life need need it
A chime. Then another.
Ariel looks up from her inventory, bleary-eyed, and squints at the clock. She groans, having lost several hours in there somewhere if it was already two a.m. Soon the ferries would stop running, and she didn’t relish having to try and find a place to stay for the night here in the Isles. She stifles a yawn as she marks her place in the ledger, laying it softly on the counter. She spins around once, smiling at her newest acquisition. A magic shop would be harder to run than just a bookstore, but, Ariel tells herself, a business is still a business. And she knows business. She hums softly to herself, smiling at the remembered lyrics.
“I feel you on my fingertips…my tongue dances behind my lips…for you…”
Drunk wasn’t even in the same ball park with how she felt at the moment. It didn’t help that insanely beautiful woman who smelled of summer roses kept buying her drink after drink, encouraging her libations. The woman smiles down at her, bright sapphire eyes gleaming with a twinge of dark lust as she looks at her.
“You are so beautiful…Too beautiful to be wasted on the likes of men…” The woman leans in, kissing her softly, undemanding. But she yields under the kiss, parting her lips and slipping her tongue in the sapphire-eyed woman’s mouth. The woman inhales sharply, then pulls away put wraps her arms around her, urging her to the other side of the bar. “Let’s get out of here, yeah?” She nods slowly, grinning like a maniac.
How could someone so beautiful be interested in her?
Ariel laughs softly, clasping her hands together in soft, child-like glee. Everything was working out so wonderfully, it was almost like a fairy tale. She had her store back, with this nice little addition, thanks to Idy. Mr. Summers had been so apologetic that afternoon, telling her he had had no idea the place meant so much to her…and why’d she sell it in the first place? She gave him back his money, and he had given her the deeds to both places. He silenced her protests quickly.
“Someone younger than me needs to look after it. ’Sides it will make a good nest egg for the two of you love birds when you do tie the knot. That young beau of yours was most…forceful this morning. You obviously mean the world to him, and I can‘t say no to young love.” He smiled genuinely at Ariel, and she had took the deeds with promises that he wouldn’t be sorry, no sir.
now we stalk now we hunt the night is ours to feed on live on who will die to sate our lust
“Now then, should I even ask your name, lovely, or would you prefer the anonymity?”
She looks up at the sapphire-eyed woman, then speaks slowly. “My name is Satine.”
“Satine, huh? Pretty name for such an extraordinary girl, I’ll tell you. Mmhm, so beautiful…” The woman slips her hands under Satine’s shirt as she leans into to kiss Satine again, this time more forcibly, eliciting a soft moan from Satine. The perfume of roses seemingly intensifies around the two, and Satine can’t help but moan again, her own pale blue eyes starting to darken with lust and need.
“Do you want me?” The woman asks, nipping at Satine’s neck.
“Yes…”
“Then let me in…let all of me in, I promise you won’t regret it…” The woman croons in her ear, hand exploring the supple body beneath her.
“All...all right.” Satine relaxes completely, letting down the remaining remnants of her guard and loses herself in the woman‘s touch.
there there she’s a pretty morsel stalk her hunt her eat her make her yours
A nest egg, he had called it…a nest egg for their marriage…a marriage that would never happen. Ariel closes her eyes tightly against the impending tears, willing herself not to let them fall. Deep, deep down, she knew…even as much as he said he would, Duncan would never propose. All Ariel had ever wanted was to be his, and to show the world that they belonged together…
Despite her best attempts, tears roll down her cheeks in swift, silent waves.
The woman smiles again, her ruby lips teasingly running up and down Satine’s neck. “There, there, m’dear, doesn’t that feel better? All relaxed, all ready for me…”
Satine didn’t even have time to scream as a darkness blacker than midnight invaded her body, spreading outwards until it controlled her, wrapped securely around her mind. I’ll let you watch, the darkness whispered, But not interfere.
feel her heart beat feel it race soon her blood her life will be yours
Angrily she brushes the tears away, herself for letting her emotions get the better of her. Ariel brushes back her hair, sweeping it up out of her face and securing it behind her head. She grabs her coat and keys, flipping off the light switch as she heads out the back door.
Satine struggled against her invader, but it was to no avail; the woman had her consciousness bound back tightly, only allowing her to view the events unfolding. That did not stop her determination to shake the darkness. Idly, she noted that they were passing through the streets of Aeon City, but Satine had no idea why. What she did know, though, was that her dark, deep seated blood lust was running rampant in the night air, desperate to sate itself on the nearest beating heart.
may we have her eat her feed on her watch her die watch us kill her screams as sweet as the blood running across our tongue
The bolt slid home, but its soft click did not satisfy Ariel as she had thought it would. She sighs softly, breathing in the cool fragrant night air. A sudden chill runs up her spine, and Ariel instinctively pulls her coat closer, a small ball of flame resting in her hand. The alley, while perfectly innocent and pleasant in the day, was a bit too creepy for her this late at night. She sets off at a brisk pace down the alley towards the street, but a cold chill comes over her, accompanied by the smell of lilies…
The darkness seemed to chortle with laughter as they turned the corner into the alley, bloodlust screaming at the feel of a heart beat just down a little ways. A flash of strawberry blonde hair and a swish of a coat…Satine damn near groaned, the thirst torturing her body…
“Satine? What are you doing here?”
She flinched in horror, recognizing the voice. And you’re going to kill her, Satine… No, no! But it was no use, she was walking forward resolutely, and nothing she could do could stop herself.
Ariel watches as the dhampir approached her, smiling gently. “You sure did scare me, my friend. I’m glad that out of all the creeps that stalk alleys, it was you sneaking up on me, not someo-” Ariel grunts in surprise as she is scooped up in a hug, and she sighs gently, resting her head on the other woman’s shoulder. “Thank you,” she says softly.
feelthepulsefeeltheheattakehermakeheroursfeedandbefreed TAKE HER NOW
A shiver of elation and disgust runs through her as she feels her teeth slip soundlessly into Ariel’s neck, and the warm, rich flow of blood runs across her tongue.
Ariel whimpers softly as the pain rockets through her uncontrollably. Instinctively, she hits Satine with a hand full of flame in the abdomen, but it doesn’t seem to deter the woman from drinking deeply at her throat…Ariel sinks down, immobilized, wincing as a voice cuts through her mind.
“You were never worthy of the love he gave you; he sees that now, and will never marry you. You are worthless, disgusting…and not worth the scum on the bottom of his shoe.”
Ariel closes her eyes tightly, tears slipping out once again.
Satine winces, feeling Ariel’s spirit slipping away without a fight, going gently into the waiting arms of death…
Ariel can hardly breathe past the pain in her chest; her heart is racing at an extraordinary rate to circulate her barely there blood. She watches in horror as Satine pins a teleporter disk to her chest, then kisses her forehead just as she disappears in brilliant flash…
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Requiem Everlasting
Soft footsteps fall on the seemingly desecrated ground, disturbing the softly layer of dirt that had lay dormant along the floor. Each sharp click of heel on the marble was like another strike against her heart, painful and reverberating through the cold and empty spaces that had grown with seeming abandon lately.
The only whisper of sound was the inevitable sigh that fell from her lips as she surveyed her only home, lost amongst shadows and half hearted dreams.
There was no trace of him here, not as though she had expected there to be any. Three excruciating weeks had drug by since he had proclaimed her First. And as quickly as he had made her completely his, he had forsaken her and everyone who depended on his vision. Now the vision clung to the darkened corners of the Manse like a forlorn soul of the damned, covered in soot and dirt and broken promises.
It was as if the sun had conspired with Valen on this day, casting feeble yellow pools of light along the floor. She approaches the winding banister, once a glorious, glossy white trimmed with in a pale gold. Now in the light, the wood appeared a sickly brown, as if it were shriveling up in communion with the vision. She stops a moment, laying a single hand on it, as if remembering the countless times she had climbed it to her Lord’s room, or even her own. Her blue eyes shift to her hand lying there, and for a brief moment the grief and madness cross them, her one betrayal of the emotions threatening to wrench her in two. She refocuses, slowly ascending the stairs, hands hanging low at her sides.
She pauses at the top of the stairs and looks back at the foyer; a clear path of her footsteps can be seen from the ornate entrance doors all the way up the stairs. The realization sinks in direly at that moment; she stumbles and catches her breath, suppressing everything that would betray her. A moment passes, then another. Her pale face, framed so elegantly by her red tresses, falls once again to a stone wall, eyes as icy cold as an Antarctic ice flow.
The heavy doors of her Lordship’s bedroom fall open easily at her slightest touch. His study looms before her, more thickly covered in dirt than the rest of the home. Every footstep that falls causes the dust to burble and cloud around her, stifling her air, but not her determination. Another set of doors bar her way, but bolstered by her already satisfied courage, she pushes them open just as easily. She stops a moment, in the entryway, as the memories flood forth.
So many happy memories had been made here. All crushed into the fine dust of oblivion by a single action of a desperate vampire.
She steadies herself, breathing the sour air deeply. No one had touched this room since the last time he had been seen, and it certainly showed. Clothing lay strewn about, mildewed towels made little mountains of stiff material here and there; the opulent bed remained made in those satin blue sheets he had so largely prized. It was this that she approached warily, her last act before…She didn’t think about it.
Her palms began to bead with sweat, dampening the envelope in her hand. She hardly notices as she tries to breathe between the knots in her stomach and the lumps in her throat; she manages short, stuttering gasps hissing between her clenched teeth. Eons and seconds later she reaches the foot of the bed, and she sways on her feet, still unsure of what to do.
Again her eyes betray her for a fleeting moment. But it is only fleeting. She had to do this.
She leans over, placing the neat, white envelop on the center of the bed. She shifts it first left, then right, unsure of the placement. Sticky black calligraphy adorns the face of the envelope, the words “Lord Valen” can be made out after a moment. She straightens, remembering with a vivid ferocity the words set inside the pages within:
Dearest Lord Valen,
You have gone away for a long enough while that I must consider if you are ever coming back to my arms. I am myself most saddened at you sudden departure, and eagerly await your triumphant return. But I am a realist, and must therefore prepare myself for the fact that you may never be coming home.
What we shared was as brilliant a flickering candle burning strong and true. But for you, the wick’s run out while my wax still is melting.
I will cherish the love we shared forever more, and tuck it in to the secret places of mine heart. I will always be yours, Lord Valen, and all you must do is call for me, and I will come. But for now, I must venture on own, to find my small niche in life where I will be truly happy.
Do not worry for the material things, they are already being cared for. As long as breath fills my lungs, you shall never have to worry about the Manse. I keep it in the hopes that you will soon return to populate it again.
My final gift to you, Lord Valen, is that which I trapped myself with. It contains a piece of me that could never exist elsewhere; I wish you to have, if only to remember the vows and promises I made you.
I will always love you
Everlastingly Yours,
Satine
Only now does a tear trail down her cheek as her fingers work deftly at the clasp. A click, a slide, and it comes free, cold metal heavy in her hands. She places her collar to encircle the letter, gazing at the symbolic significance of this tiny action. For a moment, she reaches out along the connection he had forged between them, desperate for even the tiniest trace he is still alive. Her answer is a high pitched static, whether from a heavily shielded mind or a dead spirit, she can’t tell. She spins on heel, careful to close the doors behind her, and leaves yet another sad chapter of her life behind.
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