| Carnivale Nocte; Chapter One: Adagio | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Nov 19 2013, 08:20 PM (38 Views) | |
| mandy | Nov 19 2013, 08:20 PM Post #1 |
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It was exactly what had been promised. The creme de la creme that the echelon of New Orleans had to offer. An appropriate mental metaphor as well, given the glitter of gold and cream that surrounded him from floor to ceiling from one room to the next. Multiple rooms in total. Five bedrooms, three and a half bath, grand dining room, rooftop access with a heated pool and Jacuzzi tub as well as a large screen movie projector and stereo system. Access to a twenty-four hour trolley system behind the penthouse suites, a myriad of views of the French Quarter that was, and perhaps always had been, one of her favorite sights. The only thing that could make it better would be the madness, chaos, the smell of sweat and blood and alcohol that filled the streets -- more than usual -- at the festival of Mardi Gras. Those were what had drawn her to the city in the first place, all those years before. It was her talent: one of many, the ability to find things that were like her -- extraordinary in any way, in every way. In all their time together he had heard her called many things foul and otherwise and none, even in their most vengeful or desperate moments had dared to call her ordinary. "Well?" His voice broke the silence, though to them it was anything but. The inquiry was far from unexpected. It was, in it's own way, unnecessary, but not unexpected. He had always been possessed of the uncanny, and at times, irksom ability to read her better than she could know herself... in most things. He would already know that as splendorous and beautiful as the rooms were in their elegant and delicate displays of opulence, they were nothing like what she preferred. Despite her obvious beauty and apparent femininity, there was nothing about her that was fragile or delicate. A sigh escaped, falling from perfectly painted blood red lips and matching fingertips trailed lightly along the wall, barely resisting the urge to rake across the gilded wallpaper and pull it down in shreds. "Magnificent, Nicolae," she replied, letting her hand drop free to hang loose and idle at her side as she turned, graceful on one heel, to face him. "As always." There was no limit to how far he would go to please her, to play to her every whim when it suited his mood, when they were on the fine side of the line that was love, and only that. Obsession. Passion. Fire that could destroy, and create, in simultaneous fury. "And yet, it's all wrong," he spoke, completing the thoughts that she either hadn't had the heart or the proper motivation to expel. Or, perhaps, it was merely that she was so utterly distracted. His hand settled on her shoulder, fingertips curling in to rest lightly against the upper curve of her collarbone. "Shall we gut it, then, голубкa," he questioned, tilting his head down to allow his lips to brush feather soft against the bare angle of her jaw just above the curve of his wrist. It was only the sideways tilt of her head and the accompanying half veil of mahogany curls that prevented him from observing in perfect clarity the cutting glance that she cast in his direction, but he did not miss the feel of it. The mild rebuke sent a lance of heat through his skin, as did the faint breath of exasperation that escaped, so quiet and subtle that it would have been missed by anyone else. By anything else. "Yes, but of course." She expressed, her head angling inwards to allow her cheek to rest against the back of his fingers. It was followed by another slight tilt, the warmth of her mouth pressing to those same knuckles before she slipped away. He didn't stop her. Not this time. He had no intention of pushing, or beginning an argument that he had no need to. There was nothing to gain from it. She would not be distracted, not by taut words or the tugging of breaking points. It was, not surprisingly, the cityscape beyond that had captured her attention, revealing to him yet some further clue as to the disquiet that lurked behind her mask of coy pleasure that had been cast to placate him... no. Not him. The others, since their arrival into this city. The city that she loved, the city that reminded her in the strangest ways of the place they had once called home. Perhaps it was the sometimes seemingly garish colors, or the way that no matter which way one looked in the distance there seemed always that one familiar, forever out of reach landmark. It was the city of the damned, the city of the lost, the city of those that had nowhere else to be and those that could imagine nowhere else they would ever want to be. It was home to all those things that went bump in the night and that lit the soul of hope in the darkest corners of humanity. Warlocks and witches, demons and angels, dark magic and light, voodoo and hoodoo, vampires and werewolves, hunters and prey, the undead and the unliving, humans of faith and those bereft of it and everything in between. The magic of the city was that there was no magic, and there was every magic. The bones of the ancestors that sat resting in lilting mausoleums and sarcophagi littered the city more populous than the living, though that was something that most often the living tried to forget, pulsed in the night air. The energy that they expelled was a muted pulse, so much more sluggish than racing hearts and bloodstreams that had fueled them with life and energy when they had walked the streets of the city as more than hollow, wistful wraiths. Yet the feel of it, the sound of it, was intoxicating to those that could -- or would -- listen. She could feel it. Not because of what she could do; her powers lay elsewhere, as did his, but because of what she was. Of what they were. Trapped, as others might say, cursed, blessed with divine intervention, damned to an eternity of unending darkness, between the world of the living and the dead. "Tear it to the bones, брат," Autumn spoke, after what had felt like only seconds but had stretched well into minutes. "And we shall build it anew and in our image," she murmured, turning back into his hold then, to allow her pale brown eyes to drift up, capturing the icy blue of his as a faint, tilted smile touched the edges of her lips. "But for this night," she conceded as she stepped free from him but for their fingertips that touched for a moment longer than the rest of them. "On this night, the city awaits, and I would see it in its puritan glory before the others' stench has had time to warn the hens of our arrival." The others. One of those few points of contention upon which they would never fully agree, nor never fully agree to disagree. She grew bored of them, their frivolity minuscule in comparison to her own diversions, and their rigidity hardly compatible to her desire to push, and test, and break free of all of the boundaries that society -- living or otherwise -- might attempt to fetter her with. In some ways, it was exactly why he chose to keep company with them. While it may serve for cold nights and biting words from time to time, it also gave him some small latitude when the opportunities to rebel presented themselves in such frequent and small measures. It was when she remained truly unchallenged and truly unfettered that she was her most dangerous... and her most beautiful. This time, however, with all that might ride in the balance of their actions, it would prove a challenge that even he was uncertain that he could rise to. "As you wish, осень," he conceded. "Then for you, the city," he spoke, his words lightly touched with a wry humor, accompanied with the upward tilt of the outer edge of a single brow. "As for me, I shall confine myself to the privacy of my office, to see to it that the lady's castle is, in fact, her home." Her lips were soft against his when they met, briefly and lightly; her eyes brightened with humor and hunger alike. She knew as well as he that despite his words he would not find himself confined for long. He was as much a free spirit as she, even if he had long since learned to wear civility that much easier, than she. "Good hunting," she cast towards him on the slight wind cast by her departure. Good hunting. And if she believed in such a thing, godspeed. But she had learned, long ago, that there was no such thing as god. Edited by mandy, Nov 19 2013, 09:07 PM.
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3:38 PM Jul 11