The first thing I noticed was the lack of argon light, and as I searched the cemented ceiling with little result to be satisfied by, I gently fingered out towards the nearest wall and clung to it, letting my weight spill onto the protuberance of stone and wet earth. The tarp had long fallen away but the darkness hid my reason for shame, and a deeper sense of panic had taken root where the bashfulness had previously nested. As a Tier I'd been able to find the industrial light switches without difficulty, but as a Human I was rendered helpless. Delicately I reached out across the wall, pecking blindly with my fingers in hopes of recovering the elusive grate which housed the power and the salvation of light we so required. My hands caught only air or stone, and after retracting them with a feeling of regret, I turned to try to find Dierdre in the dark to speak with her.
"Dris?" I spoke oddly quietly yet my voice echoed a strange and mortal tone across the distant halls. Hollowly I swallowed and tried again. "Dirdry?" Within the confines of black I turned and slunk against the wall, following its spine until my head stung something broad and extremely loud. While one hand flew to the infected spot upon my brow the other reached out to gingerly fondle the attacker. It was the electrical box.
Quickly I shuffled in front of it and pressed my pliable nails into the rusted crease clogged with snags of wolf hair and crusts of dried loam. The door peeled away like leather does from damp skin, and as its calling it groaned loudly so that the tunnel was filled with an alien screech which echoed threefold. In a manner of pardon I blindly turned to where I assumed Dierdre stood, but found no outline to guarantee. Slowly turning back, I worked delicately within the waves of black, fingering the edges of each switch until I found the third from the top and pulled it.
A flood of artificial light burst with assorted clicks and breaks, and I flung my eyes into the flesh of my arm in defense of the sudden bout. I felt my ribs working vibrantly against such irregular brightness, and defensively I pulled closer to the wall, hoping its mass would shield out a portion of the glare. With my face still pressed against my skin I called out to Dierdre, hoping she'd been as nullified by the shock as I had.
"Don't look over here just yet. I lost the tarp..."
With the stick that comes form condensed skin pressing against itself, I peeled my brow away and swiftly ran my fingers through the strangling bangs to better see. The gray and white tunnel was juggled between spots of random color, and I had to blink strongly to clear my vision before I was able to comprehend just where we'd come up. The old mercury fueled luminous lights gave insight almost immediately: the underground city.
With a sense of fulfillment I arched my thoughts from one abandoned shop to the next, taking it the hurriedly collected inventory to the gates which had been brought done when the infestation had begun, and soon after been hacked and destroyed by the assortment of Werewolves. A small general store was located near the concourse which led to the subway system, and save for the food inventory - which had been completely looted - the shelves were lined with old cameras, lighters and cigarettes, and most brilliantly of all: clothes. Without hesitation nor excuse to Deirdre I stumbled towards the shop and waddled up to the nearest stand of souvenir shirts and pulled the closest one at me, roughly tugging it over my head so that the mess of brown hair stood disjointed shortly thereafter. With a small feeling of triumph I glanced down at the big 'I (heart) London' printed stately upon a white background already dashed brown by the mud off my hands and chest. For a moment I sighed in my own relief before scanning the shelves for a sign of pants; again I was lucky. A set of khakis was only an arm's length off, and after bobbing upon the balls of my feet I'd managed to knock four down, two of which would fit me. To my dismay, they seemed to be girl's pants and across the ass had printed on them 'Shagged by London.' Were the situation not desperate I wouldn't have handled the things, but I slipped them on and juggled my jewels so that they'd fit somewhat comfortable within the confines of a ball-hating environment. With another tight click of my tongue I turned to the rest of the shelves, trying to find other items of use, but nothing stood out. Gratified, I hopped towards the entrance of the store - and Dierdre - and smiled shyly from behind the mess of hair.
"Kay, sorry about that."
And then something of extreme celebration caught my eye: gentleman's canes. They were naught but a fashion statement London was rather famous for, and indeed as walking sticks proved rather useless, yet as a crutch I knew they'd serve. With another look of tempered triumph I hobbled over to the stand and whacked it askew with my wrist, stooping only to select one of the thicker poles and extending it its full length. As a final measure I tugged darkly at the attached white gloves and tossed them aside. Then again, I turned to Dierdre.
"It's going to be extremely difficult to keep time down here. We wont be able to see the sun unless we climb out the manhole again." I paused and tested the cane to see if it would support my weight. To a great satisfaction it did. "Haven't got a watch, have you?" The ones on display nearby would have long run out of battery, like everything else in the abandoned underworld not wired to the power houses above. At a much more comfortable rate than before I hovered out to Dris and bathed in her radiance, even doused by the sharp pine of each argon fixture thirty feet above. Involuntarily I reached out, almost running my fingers along the length of her fiery hair but stopped short about a foot away, noting Blaine, her unfortunate lover trapped in a foreign body not too far away. For a moment I tried to make eye contact, to reassure him that I knew what it was like to be something you weren't but his gaze was too powerful for me, and before I'd even met it I retreated, afraid of the temperament I'd find. Lightly I pulled at the back of the pants trying to buy myself more room and looked sheepishly at the white floors, noting the dirt that had collected in recent years.
"One thing, Dris: don't go near the subways. We should be fine as long as we steer clear of the tracks."
I felt little confidence in my own prediction though. The secrets of London's intestines were writhing against their own confines, and though I trusted my kind to be as I was, I knew feeding from intelligent flesh was a favorite. Shaking my head I looked away from Dierdre down the long and cavernous tunnel. "When you're ready then."
Re: Trill of the Disassembled [Dierdre] « Reply #1 on Jun 4, 2008, 4:19pm »
she hadn't, quite frankly, wanted to go down into the underground. her gaze had sharpened on Est as he shifted his weight and tried to rise of his own accord - her fingers had tightened in Blaine's fur, trying to still the wincing around her eyes. Dierdre's compassion for a perpetual stranger confused her; she had never gotten on well with anyone who hadn't been part of her clan. even her current employer found her tasteless and brittle - it did nothing to help that particularly situation that she resented his abuse of her hours.
almost idly, Drey massaged the giant cat's ear, trying to calm herself from the impending claustrophobic attack that inched its way into her mind. she would not panic. shuddering, the young girl turned her gaze away from Est and his awkward fall and rise. instead, pressed her face against the purring Jaguar's cheek, the short stout muzzle rumbling against her ear as her hair fell about them. "I'm frightened, Blaine," she murmured softly so as not to alert Est of her fear. being enclosed ... it was a wild thing's largest fear. and no matter that she lived in the city of London, she was wild. she may not froth at the mouth, but to be enclosed, holed up underground, it held all the appeal of being skinned and used as a rug. she trembled, slightly as she tried to keep her mind on other things.
Blaine, for his part, knew well her fear and did not find the next step any more appealing. that their fear was combined only agitated the cat, had anger rising in its stead. he would protect her - from the fear, from the danger, even from the human. emotion filled him to the brim - protectiveness enfolding around her in a hot blanket, stronger as he stepped back, rough sand-paper tongue rasping along the small digits of her fingers. with a heavy sigh, she had risen, uncurling from her crouch and looking at Est uncertainly as she walked toward him, reluctance holding her back, even with the steady cat at her side: he walked as one in the midst of a stalk, slow deliberate movements as if he had walked this path countless times and knew how it would play out. perhaps, in some ways he did.
swallowing thickly around the pounding of her heart, Dierdre slid her fingers over the edge of the hole and peered down into the darkness. to be surrounded by that awful thickness ... a roof made of earth. it was a catacomb to her, a tomb created of metal and death. she cringed back from that horrid shadow, finding nothing of comfort in the waxy smell of oily fur and smeared feces. the Familiar looked up, looked to Blaine with a worried frown. even had she been able to, the ladder was more than ten feet... how were they to..?
"this is going to hurt," she murmured, and the cat could only offer silent agreement as she climbed in feet first and caressed the last the of light playing along Blaine's features with her eyes. she reached up and slid her fingers along his chin one last time before closing her eyes tight and sliding down the long ladder.
darkness surrounded her, buffered her as the world inverted in its color and pain wrenched her gut sideways. she clenched her teeth from the whimper that ached to escape from her throat. far away, too far ... and she leaned heavily against the wall, feeling needles piercing her skin, jagged corners inverting her soul and climbing up to encompass her head, puncturing deep into her skull. don't scream, she nearly bit her tongue bloody from her restraint --
then relief. horrid, absolute relief as the cat jumped down from the manhole, looking unsteady and unhappy. breath returned, filling her lungs and easing the last of her pain, of the pain doubled by his own - her fingers sought out his fur, a living shadow surrounded by darkness. felt her nerves steadying with the comfort of touch, of the reality that he was not too far away, that they had survived. mere seconds had stretched out into wicked eternity.
when she looked up, she saw Est stumbling around with the air of one lost to darkness - his quiet call for her merely deepening the confusion until she saw his fingers touch upon one of the boxes nailed to the wall. the blanket of shadow had wrapped them in its cloak, but as Familiar, she had the senses of her familiar - sight that pierced even the darkest of shadows, a nose that caught, too easily the redolent scent of dog and wolf. perhaps never as keen as the one that Blaine possessed, but her own senses were far superior to that of a human - so when the light turned on, she hissed. an angry sound of sudden pain and - "you could've warned me!" a growl, barely disguised rumbled through her throat as she descended into sightlessness.
she saw nothing - felt Blaine's sudden helplessness at the blinding. irritation soon followed as she rubbed at her eyes, struggled to see in a place that warranted no sight. she blinked repeatedly, trying to look through the fog of the inverted. fingers searched and found Blaine's bristling pelt and knotted her fingers in its warmth as sight slowly returned.
returned to find Est fully clothed (if slightly disproportioned). she blinked, eyeing the clothes with a little disbelief written across her expression, then decided not to comment and glanced up to him. she found she was glad she hadn't commented: his demeanor remained distant, almost hesitant. instead of answering him, she lifted her wrists in response, showing no watch, or much of anything encircling her arms. unadorned and simplistic, though there was a small ring on her left pinky that went unnoticed as it was merely a silver band.
"what is this place?" she finally asked, her voice bouncing oddly in the underground ... city? with a critical eye she cast her gaze over the crumbling curves and ripped wires, of the dust that had gathered in corners and the cracks that zig-zagged their way along the floor. to sweep this place with the lens of her camera! her smile was slight at best. "do people live here?" to think: she might discover a haven for men underground. those in the poor district did not have to remain under the heavy foot of the rich if such a place existed! and yet, looking around, she doubted that this hosted a better circumstance than the one found above. at least above there is a sky, she thought, a prickling of unease sliding through her.
the stench of dog pervaded the area, biting into her skin with warning. once again, she had been warned away from here by scent alone: this time she had not heeded its warning. she wanted to ask Blaine to remain close, but it was an absurd request and kept her mouth shut, though the need to speak it danced across her face.
Re: Trill of the Disassembled [Dierdre] « Reply #2 on Jun 4, 2008, 11:03pm »
The blinding effect of the economic bulbs overhead had left Dierdre in either a state of shop or pain, and with a sentiment of repentance I muttered mutely about not knowing the effect or both sunlight and artificial light had such an impact on her body. Shiftily I looked her over and found with another pang of suspicious angst that her face was reared in pain and discontent, and that her brazen yet delicate fingers were wound within Blaine’s fur as his face too reflected her emotions. I was rendered speechless by the effect such sad pleas of unhappiness wrought, and I made to leave them to their peace when thought better of it, and instead tried to provide them with what I knew--(the very little that it was).
“The underground city,” I husked before turning sidelong to the couple and moving away from my wall to the middle of the large expanse. “When the trains were running it was a way to get from France to London without need of a boat or plane. This place stretches on for miles.”
The sudden admittance of the expanse of the underworld made me feel small and humble next to how my kind should normally regard the self; compared further to Dris and Blaine I regarded myself as more alone than I’d been in a while (since the last time I saw the two, I suppose). The union between the two seemed unearthly: like they’d been forged of something greater than man and would live and die by the same standards. I yearned to know what that kind of adoration and respect was like, yet all the same feared it for the look of suffering upon their faces. Watching Dris’s fingers bound into the skin of her jaguar was a matter of innovation; I felt more alive than them, and less so, in conjunction.
But the rambling thoughts of an idle head were not what we needed at the present. Shifting away from the beautiful presence of cat and girl I turned to the explosive burped opening of the flaring tunnels, drawing in breath through my nose as I did so.
The smell of dried and wet feces was a culmination of disgust and a territorial periphery, and as I hobbled closer to Dris and Blaine I surveyed the ground and tried fruitlessly to distinguish the scents of one Werewolf from the other with my obsolete senses. The broken floor was scattered with them--seemingly a senseless pile which shifted and sprayed in mass direction for a sensory explosion of information I could no long read. Clutching the plastic cane tightly within one hand I hobbled closer to the nearest shop - an old jewelry outlet - and placed my free palm upon the scathed glass case which adorned the viewing window. Feces--even in there. Subconsciously I bit my lip and revolved, obfuscated by the clandestine of which I used to know. Gently I reached out and let my fingertips hover over the pieces of broken shit, breathing in its warm rays and recoiling shortly thereafter. The Weres had ostensibly grown in numbers, and the pressure to survive in a place without sunlight proved too difficult for the tracked tunnels alone. With a trounced expression I turned back to the misshapen couple and leaned heavily on the walking stick.
“We need to go deeper underground.” I didn’t entirely know how to explain the situation, though our scent (and even more so the lights being turned on) would have given us away in a matter of fifteen minutes. We’d already wasted five. With another sightly glance at the frothing ground I paused and reflected on the best course of action. Without a sense of smell as acutely as was needed, the trail of the most fresh matter was lost to me. Inwardly I felt melted in defeat. Then--
--“Dris?” I twisted around and looked at Dierdre before locking more promptly onto Blaine’s wrinkled and despondent face. “This is going to sound completely ridiculous, but bear with me.” Gentle I hopped a few steps closer and stared at her with the most serious face I knew how to manage. “Can you communicate--in any way, with your cat? I mean,” I paused and withdrew slightly from me previously encouraging stance. “Can he read your body language or something?” I sounded desperate, and of course I was, but the invasive force the new generation of Weres had implemented meant I no longer held the keys to our safety. I looked pleadingly at Blaine and resumed the soft biting at my lip for comfort. “We just need to follow the trail of the oldest dung. If we encounter them--any of them, we’re in a bit of a predicament.” When I felt I’d made my contact with the black animal sufficient, I turned shallowly back to Dierdre. “Humans--animals, doesn’t matter what you call them. They’re fucked up.”
Within the back reaches of the intestinal track which wound and twisted over each other like snakes mating, an echo surged out, and the growl which it boasted was deep and monotonous. My throat tightened at the vibratory base which made the hair upon one’s skin bask against each other in agitation. It was a territorial warning, and I wasn’t sure if we were the encroachers.
Re: Trill of the Disassembled [Dierdre] « Reply #3 on Jun 5, 2008, 4:49am »
he seemed to speak to her out of regard for her presence - that she would understand anything that was said was a lost cause; she had not tread foot or pad along the the underground pathways, had not even fancied a peek beneath the earth for fear of what lay beneath the crumbled stones. that dried shit seemed to be smeared across every surface, disturbed her - it was a sign, something that appeared to warn off others. she cringed against the very savagery of this sight, her eyes wider, almost a frightened glow to the varicolored ringlets that circled her pupil. she shook only when she could not hide it no longer, the fine trembling breaking out into outright panic as she stood, helpless within the dome of tempered stone. this place had been built by Man, a race intent on closing themselves in, breathing in their own essence and living in their own filth.
she needed air - eyes almost too wide, took on the illusion of trembling, a glistening layer of moisture that thickened. Dierdre didn't want to be here, no - she shivered, a line of cold running up her spine, fingers suddenly letting go of Blaine - she did not want to be locked in. she tried to keep calm, really she did - all of the techniques she had learned as a child filtered through, harsh lessons learned by harsh teachers. Dear Brighid, she prayed, her eyes fluttering closed as she tried to withdraw and separate herself from the panic that threatened to swallow her. no matter how strong, phobias were irrational, overcame even the most logical of minds - that Dierdre was run by instinct and emotion and more importantly by the honor of a warrior, did nothing to quell the unquenchable fear that possessed her.
the stench of dog continued to bite at her, eating away at her control. she was not some measly house cat to run from the slightest stench of a feral beast, but her instincts were running chaotic; they screamed at her to go - something was coming. something bad was going to happen. she wasn't supposed to be here. she needed the sky, dear Brighid where was the sky? as if in supplication, Dierdre lifted her head, tilted the taut curves of her jaw and let her gaze rest on the network of cris-crossed iron that laced the ceiling. she shuddered at the very unnatural work. the young woman found herself searching desperately for Est, sharp eyes locking on his slim body, held erect by the cane he held in one hand.
moving quickly, her steps remained nearly silent, even in the vaulted archways: this place stank of haunting, of bad things festering too long in the dark. goosebumps breaking out along her skin Dierdre retreated closer to the adolescent, Blaine close at her heels. his irritation had washed away, unease flickering through his tri-colored eyes. one thing to be strong, quite another to be reckless. we might have been better with the gypsies, Dris thought, trying to cease her trembling - focused instead on Est's voice as he spoke her name; she glanced up and felt all of her worries drain away into astonishment, and something like protectiveness. Blaine was not some pet to be simply ordered around, the very thought of it incited the fury that had been buried beneath the phobia. her mouth opened, a sharp reply rising to the edge of her tongue when the most eerie sound reverberated within her ears.
she froze, even as the hackles along Blaine's back rose, flesh wrinkling over tight shoulders as his tail ticked, stout muzzle lowering down in threat. breathing stopped as Dierdre shifted her weight to keep both Est and ... whatever-it-was in sight. nothing yet, but shadows and possibly a curve that hid the creature from sight. unconsciously her gaze ripped through the open tunnel and toward the manhole they had come in through.
too late now, she thought, gritting her teeth as eyes narrowed, upper lip curling back slightly in a human imitation of the Jaguar's silent snarl. indignation was soon swallowed, and all fears of being enclosed suddenly had its own merit, which in her mind danced almost gleefully as she sweat out her fear. "Blaine," she murmured, backing up a step, "if you can somehow manage to find the path that doesn't lead into that tunnel, I'd rather appreciate it," despite all, there was humor in her tone, albeit dry and sarcastic.
two noses would be better than one, she thought, even as the black Jaguar gave her a piercing stare. her gaze shifted abruptly to Est ... and she found she couldn't. not yet. she didn't so much shake her head before the Jaguar's black leather nose flared, nostrils drawing in scents, resenting the need to inhale the foulness of this place, but knowing death would lay just about the corner if he did not try. ignoring Dierdre as she shifted closer to Est, the giant cat started to file through the scents.
the problem, as always was that the older scents were more oft than not, overpowered by the newer, fresher ones, eliminating its trail brazenly. unused to this style of tracking the Jaguar stumbled quite a bit even as Dierdre's trembling grew worse. her worry and her fear merely choked him down, made it nearly impossible for him to see through the smog that she had created with her emotions. almost whispering, her voice was breathy as she asked, "...what is that?" she had her thoughts, but diluted dog, wolf and human did not mix well in her nose, though the scent of shit had already dulled whatever sharpness she might have had.
lifting her gaze toward Est, she stared at him, wanting an answer; he had brought her down here, the least he could do was offer explanation for her untimely death. she knew, unfortunately that such thoughts were childish at best - and that the darkest thought that swam in her mind still rang true. two cats could outrun a human and a few mutts easily. as if in acquiescence, Blaine lifted his gaze, caught hers for that brief, earth-moving moment, ears perked up. Dris, for her part, kept her daggers hidden, and most importantly, her secret.
Re: Trill of the Disassembled [Dierdre] « Reply #4 on Jun 5, 2008, 6:05am »
The sounds which oozed through years of decay sped up into a few months of fertile rot were strange and musty--similar to the smell. The pipes overhead creaked and burned with the flush of liquids from the city above, and craning up to them I wondered if the underground had been so pleasant when people had shuffled through here. I needed not put much thought into the answer: of course not. The idea of Humans - thousands of Humans - pressing against each other and brushing sidelong apologies at the stranger in the corner was breathtaking, despite the current state of the place. I imagined children smashing their faces against the glass view cases so that their breath made strange patterns and they could wipe the shape of a dinosaur into the impression before dashing away from Mum’s grasp. The men in the corner, holding their tickets to Whales and the woman behind them, planning a weekend in Paris; I smiled lightly at the thought of how many memories had been played out in the bleeding bowels of London, and how few would continue to evolve here.
A sideways glance at Dierdre proved she had different emotions concerning the place.
Her face was dissolved in a fit of both worry and fright, and while searching the curves of her jaw and cheeks for an explanation I felt the bottom of my stomach twist in guilt. I’d brought her down here; whatever it was she feared I’d planted it in front of her. With a soft glance at Blaine I saw the same agitation shown in him: his tail bristling, his hackles raised in defense. With a shallow gaze at the pair of them I softly moved closer, reaching out delicately with one hand.
“Dris?…” Slowly I moved the tips of my fingers to her exposed shoulder (OOC: I’m assuming she’s wearing a tank top here. I’ll edit if need be) and after a slight hesitation in which I waited to be told otherwise, dragged them gently down the length of her arm the way a curious child brushes his fingers against a glass case enclosing pinned butterflies. My lips tightened and an odd sensation of want came over me--not lust, just want. With another small step I moved closer and combed her face with my stare, moving shortly after to Blaine. He wasn’t touching her. My fingertips were still braced lightly against her pale skin and before I moved them again I contemplated the repercussions of coddling another man’s lover - especially when that man was only a few feet away - but Blaine had neglected his duty and I felt no need to defy Dierdre comfort where comfort was due. Turning back to Dris so that my eyes pried to lift hers, I traced the hand back to its origins and this time, instead of running them down her arm, moved my palm over her shoulder and grasped it lightly enough to be comforting but firmly enough to show support. “It’s okay…” The words sounded hollow despite my soft tone. As my brow furrowed solemnly I tried to calculate how to comfort more precisely, but my lack of social education led to a stooper of action. With an unsure gaze, I simply moved the hand up so that it was half resting on her neck, half planted at her shoulder and knelt a few inches so that our swallowing heights were lessoned. Once her ravishing eyes were enclosed on mine, I nodded gently and pressed my hand against her with the softest of pressure. “I know where we can go.”
But the sounds of shifting pipelines drew my attention away from the saintly face, and as I stood again and craned my neck to the rear, I hear the faint sounds of coughing in an extremely subterranean tone. A Werewolf, at least one, had caught on to us.
“We have to go,” I whispered and moved in front of Dierdre like a blockade. My spine was alight with a bristling sense of strength and though I was a gangly boy, I felt the fire of the Were turning spit to acid and blood to bile. Baring my teeth like a savage animal, I slowly advanced, using the cane less than before.
A series of whooping grunts followed by deep, vibrating hums echoed out, traced by tight clicks which I recognized as claws banking against the acrylic floors. The sound of teeth bashing once--claws again, the deep cough. It was a territorial dispute, and the Werewolf sounded big.
With disregards to Dierdre’s reaction, I felt my spine curl in an instinct to prowl and replicating the animal’s quiet display, returned one of my own. High cough, teeth slapping loudly, the cane brashed onto the floor. Though the tone wasn’t nearly deep enough, the acknowledgement that I understood their language was enough to make the beast pause--
--though this was short lived.
The sound of claws scraping vicariously against the walls was sharp and brusque, and as I nearly jumped for startlement, a large brown head appeared behind the wall. The Were wasn’t even in Ungeliche which was the normal form used for settling confrontations, but had gone straight to Tier. With my teeth plastered together I glared at him, clicking my tongue sharply so he’d note my disapproval. In reply the beast husked sharply, the equivalent of Werewolf laughter. Hesitantly I turned to Dris and tried to catch her eye beneath the mess of hair which refused to move.
“Follow Blaine,” I whispered, trying to keep my body completely facing the Were. “Keep going until you hit a place not marked--they wont follow you.” I wanted to say ‘I’ll meet up with you there,' but the notion of escaping a Tier while in Human form and if surviving, tracking the pair with Human senses seemed futile. Still, I held her face for as long as I dared and gave her a childish grin.
Re: Trill of the Disassembled [Dierdre] « Reply #5 on Jun 5, 2008, 4:51pm »
((OoC: i didn't even give a thought to what she was wearing ... o_O i guess ... tank and thread-bare jeans. seems the type.))
even now, when fear darkened her blood, the pang of longing still clenched her gut at the slightest feather touch of warmth - Brighid, help me, she nearly choked. its loss had cost her more than she would ever have imagined, closeting her away from a large portion of who she was, what she was. again, her name: she lifted her gaze to him, though confusion diluted the stark circles of color. names were important, ill-luck names, even more so. cursed with the legacy of the broken-hearted, of a child who rages - she shivered, anger so terrible in her, feral - no:rabid. her name clothed in shadows, the darkness of the Dubh, gaelic for the blackness that consumes the night, and given at last, a clan's surname who's lineages surpass even the ancient Celts. Dana - the goddess who ruled over the Tuatha, that evil court of the highlands with their mischievous laughter and cruel humor. given such a heavy name, was it any wonder Drey crumpled beneath its weight? any wonder that given time, fate would recognize her handiwork and lend a hand in the thrice ill-named child. killed her clan, gave her a gift she did not want, and left her bereft of touch, and human kindness.
any wonder that Dierdre was truly of the sorrows, even if her unfettered laughter touched the air, or her smile transformed the subdued curves of cheekbones and brow into soft mischief. and yet, she knew how to cry - or how to send the pain so far below it grew nonexistent. she knew hardship and purposelessness. her eyes gleamed over with the mist of tears, glassy-eyed and in her own sort of pain. his touch was like flames sliding down her skin, a molten heat that tracked down her arms, leaving scorching grooves in their wake. and she wanted that heat, she wanted to burrow beneath the heavy weight of body warmth and surround herself with the comfort of acceptance and the knowledge that she was not alone. loneliness, it quailed before the onslaught of Est's fingers and the weight of his hand on her shoulder.
her heart grew heavier in her chest as she had watched his hand, turned her gaze toward the phosphorescence of his eyes, had watched his doubts play between the dancing shadows there and trembled. be strong, she intoned, imagining the voice of the Goddess invading her senses. away from her weakness, from her starvation of human touch, human hands. rough tongues and silken fur would always lull her to sleep, but the velvet touch of fingertips, and warmth of skin to skin had long been denied. she was a predator gone rabid for thirst, the pool lost without a trace. confusion prevalent as Blaine sent his disapproval - anger riding hard the crashing wave.
It’s okay…
no, no it was not okay, regardless of his reassurances and the confidence that wove into the subtle vibrations in his tone. Blaine bristled, anger caught between the approaching beast and the human encroaching on Dierdre. it flared up her spine - a white-hot rage that entangled about her neck and skull, had her eyelashes fluttering in surprise. her head whipped around, the natural wave of half-curls bouncing slightly against her shoulder as she met the accusatory glare of her familiar, his eyes seeming to shimmer with the anger, as if it were its own beast swimming inside of him. in some ways, it was - it was her anger that fueled him, that took the wild animal and bound her to him with emotion, each keenly pronounced, magnified by her own want. he was her creation, her kindling spirit that suffered her ultimate torment.
she was angry. so angry, it was what gave her strength, what covered up old wounds, what gave her the conviction to kill. an old grudge that lingered and festered in her soul, birthed the moment Blaine had burst forth from her body, had ripped free of its cage. and with a wretched gaze, Dierdre watched her abnormality. he was broken because of her. he could not love, he could not go into the wild and live freely - he was born to suffer as she had suffered, born to the anger which had birthed him. "Blaine," her voice, husky with guilt-ridden misery, caressed his name with acknowledgment of their tangled web.
haunted by thought of hands, of skin and not fur, Blaine bristled, lifted his gaze to Est with the strength of that awful conflict. and the cat knew, no one would ever know Dierdre as well as he - not even this human who wanted to befriend her. emotion choked her, literally - suffocating her in a hot blanket of grief. "we must go," she whispered, so softly it was nearly inaudible; the giant cat's ears perked up, the rounded curves seeming to catch and cradle her voice as auds slowly twisted, flattened against furry skull; dismissed, the rejection hurt more than Blaine would have thought - more than Dierdre would have thought. with an baleful stare toward Est, the Jaguar continued his search, almost discreet in the subtle flaring of nostrils and slow deliberate steps. especially as the creaking of weight on cracked roads drew his attention.
despite, or perhaps because of her churning emotions, Dierdre was hyper-aware of her surroundings, thought she could almost feel the air moving, parting for the sluggish creature, snorting and gnashing its teeth - the stench that came before its arrival nearly gagged her, with her keen nose. her hand rose, covered her mouth, to keep the bile down, shoulders rounding around the edges as if she could force herself to withdraw and utterly disappear. only Est's sudden face off, attuned her to that awful feeling of foreboding.
she reached out, nearly grabbed his arm to pull him back, as his voice, as garbled as the creature's rumbled through his chest. like a lash, her hand snapped back, surprise widening the dark pupils in her eyes, and her nose flaring slightly. Blaine's surprise was less strong, having decided long ago that the human was warped in the head, and should have been left with the gypsies if nothing else.
heavy silence met his conviction and he rolled his shoulders, keeping his attention on the more important of matters, even as Dierdre watched a narrow snout pierced the artificial light, dark amber eyes staring first at Blaine before its gaze moved toward Est, a curious tilt to its head before anger seemed to override any other emotion. Hurry up, Drey thought just as recognition shocked her to absolute stillness. "Blaine," she hissed, and as he looked up, his nostrils flared, fur bunching up over his shoulders, thick wrinkles of agitation.
the same creature as the one who had attacked them a week or so ago - fur bristled in the same manner though it lacked the hesitation and confusion. "what is it?" she asked, suddenly, harshly as she brandished her dagger, a small thing in comparison to the beast the hunkered down a ways away, watchful in the way of predators before attacking.
success, short lived rippled up her spine as Blaine caught an old scent that did not die out twelve inches later, looking toward one of the adjacent tunnels that spun out into darkness. the urge to shift was surprising in its strength, gripping her tightly around her ribs as muscles tried to change, to warp and bones to snap and move seamlessly into place. clenching her teeth tightly in a grimace, Drey kept herself from moving, looking almost askance at Est who bid her leave.
frowned, murmuring, "you dishonor me in telling me to run." and her wrist flicked the blade that had settled in her palm twisted, slid into a different grip, "besides, I'm not a fast runner," and she smiled, the slightest twitches of her lips. "we either leave together, or we'll die; either way, Blaine and I have nothing to lose."
and for the first time since they had met the human, Blaine agreed with the sentiment. he held the scent in his mind, holding it to find it easily once again, when, if needed.
Re: Trill of the Disassembled [Dierdre] « Reply #6 on Jun 5, 2008, 9:32pm »
If I’d ever known what an emotional explosion of adoration was like, I didn’t recall, for the sensation of painful heat and nullifying cold which shot down my back and made my mouth carve open in ecstasy was unfathomable in my nature. I felt myself grow relaxed and weak at the knees and hips, wanting to sit with Dris’s face curled against my shoulder as Blaine pressed himself against her in turn; I wanted to smell her hair and run my fingers across her cheeks while her toes curled and here eyes squeezed shut with satisfaction. The feeling came at an overwhelming rush, and just as swiftly, it broke into fragments of iron and clattered to the floor so that I was bare and abashed at the thought of taking Blaine’s girl for my own. I refused to look at either, and instead hid my want by frowning slightly and staring at the eyes of my kin while his teeth emanated a yellow glow from beneath black and folding gums. The smell was still disgusting.
With the same tense distinction between click and scrape he fixed his wrought expression on me and coughed out the language only another Classic would understand:
Have you told the Human about us? His tone was horribly reprehensible, and I knew entirely what he meant by it. The underlying code of a Werewolf was to keep our existence hidden from our prey; Dierdre was Human, Dierdre was prey. With a slow and hollow gaze that fought electricity against his own, I raised my finger and pointed it nonchalantly at the Werewolf’s face.
“It’s a Werewolf.”
The beasts rage was expressed by a resounding roar that made the ground shift in painful extensions of one’s spine and the glass fall about itself drunkenly from each display case. I had to catch my balance for the weight of the Were’s bellow and after I’d rocked my head back so that the hair fell away from my eyes, I saw his demeanor change radically. His head fell downwards and he placed both arms upon the split floors similar to how I walked when in Tier, and the fur upon his back exploded in agitation so that he appeared extremely unbalanced. Drool slid from his mouth in sticky strands to gather in glops near his hands - each of which had begun to ball into fists so the his nails tore effortlessly at the ground below. His face had become highly condensed as the folds of wolf skin collided and retracted, making him viciously wrinkled and the glints of his eyes almost hidden beneath the waves of flesh.
You’re shit!
And fuck you too!
I braced myself and lifted the cane like a stick, hoisting it above my neck so that when his body came in range I could attempt at damaging him. With a sidelong glance at Dierdre I felt the same rush of affection arc through my shoulders and flush my face with heat. Blaine too had the resilient stare his lover occupied, and despite the idea of never holding her, dying in the same room sounded about as satisfactory.
“Thanks,” I muttered at her, refusing to look into the Egyptian eyes and the small paw print tattoo. No one had ever stuck by me before, it was a desperately odd feeling; and even more so, pleasing like nothing else.
OOC: Sorry it's so short! I need to be at the gym in 30 minutes, so I had to rush it. T.T Just to explain something, the "You're shit" was spoken by the other Werewolf and the "And fuck you too" was spoken by Est...Obviously in the clicky language. ^_^'
Re: Trill of the Disassembled [Dierdre] « Reply #7 on Jun 5, 2008, 10:09pm »
(well...now she's going to know even if he hides the fact like a pro -.-;;)
Sam was just walking down the street, minding her own business. Spirit followed beside her, her white tail gently swaying in a gentle wag as they walked. sam kept her hand firmly planted on the handle of the seeing eye dog uniform, though she occasionally rubbed her arm against her side, feeling the satisfaction of just touching the new hidden weapon. It was a beauty, she already had plenty of hand guns, but only today had she been able to get her hands on a silencer.
She brought one of her handguns just to try it on, she had yet to test it, something she was quite looking forward to. A day at the range, then taking care of the zoo, then settling down for a nice salad...egg salad. She had the whole thing planned out..until a whole new pain came into her body. It hit her like a wave and was almost too much for her, any more and it would have made her double over. But instead it burned, hanging just below the limits of her tolerance, and pulled her off of her path, and from her perfectly planned day. It painfully reminded her why she was still alive today, and with a silent tear she obeyed it's call...having been beckoned to the enterance of the under ground, the smell came up to her nose even before she entered.
WHY would any one be down here?
she wondered, the smell was awful and she couldn't decide wheather to block of breathing through her nose or to risk tasting the stench instea dof just smelling it. Again the pain burned at her, seemingly eating away at her soul. she was reminded of the first time she died..and with a a new air of determination to help whoever needed it, she entered.
Spirit whined and tucked her tail under her. Sam looked back at her. There must be a pretty nasty message in these feces. Holding back a gagthat threatened to over take her as soon as she tookanother breath she called out to her companion, a sence of command taking form in her voice. "Come on girl..get over here"
With another whine, Spirit entered and came over to Sam's side, where upon sam would grab the handle on her back. She looked around..."looks like someone was stupid...come on..see if you can find anyone.." She then let go and allowed Spirit to sniff around. Walking around, Spirit timidly sniffed about. Sam watched her from behind her shades. No, she wasn't blind. It was all an act, a nessessity to live peacefully these days. Suddenly spirit stopped, wagged her tail and looked back at Sam, who gave her a satisfied smile. "good girl, now track them, quickly"
So Spirit led the way down under, being led by the scent of the others..though at some points sam could find their trail just by the foot prints in some areas that had no spot bare of the rotten feces.
Then they came to a corner, Spirit was about to turn but then came back to sam. Sam could tell something was up, so she took lead and leaned against the wall, making her steps silent. She peeked beyond the corner to see..the strangestsight she'd seen in some time. A boy, a girl, a panther, and a werewolf. She smirked inwardly, so these are our ferocious animals... she thought, looking down at her feet, and the feces that lay around looks like they been breeding a bit much..
But then she had to return her attention to the situation before hand... It was then that she noticed something, the boy was talking to the werewolf and they were DEFINATELY communicating. so the boy is one too...alright..
She slipped out her gun and motioned for Spirit to stay, and not surprisingly, she obeyed as sam kept her steps silent, even more so, perhaps then the tiger, she had had plenty of practice after all. Staying to the shadows, she snuck up on the big hairy beast.
She saw him brace for attack, the group bracing to be attacked, and the boy looking over to the girl and thanking her. For a second she let peace wash over her, relishing in the moment. Then she aimed and squeezed the trigger. Immidiately there was a dull sound, and the bullet whizzed to it's target...the back of the creature's neck, where it would break through the back bone and kill him. It was a difficult shot, but sam was proud in the fact that her aim wasn't rusty.
By habit, Sam brought the gun up to her lips and blew on the end. Then she stepped out of the shadows, "damn...even with the silencer, it's loud." She commented as she walked up to the side of her dead prey. "Sorry, but it's better one life then 3....or 4" she muttered to the corpse, properly apologizing for her sin of taking it's life, as she put the gun away. immidiately she felt the worst of the pain leave her, but there was stillsome left. There was always pain.
With her business done she looked up to the group, the slightest of smiles overtaking her lips, "Hey.." she said to none of them in particular, but at the same time, all of them. It was sincere, but also part of the act.
Satisfied that the action was over, Spirit padded over to sam's side. She wagged her tail and looked all of them over. She noticed the big cat and gave a gentle wag of her tail in greeting. She had no ill feelings towards Blaine just because he was a feline. Sam's hand nonchalontly drifted over to the handle on Spirit's uniformas she awaited the reactionof the group.
« Last Edit: Jun 7, 2008, 2:22am by Sam Crawford »
Re: Trill of the Disassembled [Dierdre] « Reply #8 on Jun 6, 2008, 12:13am »
if sickening horror had a scent, it would be of charred remains: a burnt flaky stench of cooked flesh. a disgusting thing to represent a disgusting emotion. the creature - no werewolf breathed as if there was not enough air to gather into its lungs, chest heaving with each pound of its thick, unruptured heart. Dierdre did not fall back a step, but rolled her weight forward, shifting to the balls of her feet as she drew the dagger out from her personal space, angled in oddly. shock did not register, nor betrayal for she did not know Est was the same werewolf which had attacked her earlier in the week - merely duty, a pride so deep-rooted in her soul she could do nothing but slid her right foot out, heel lifted off of the ground. right hand held close, elbow angled in as her fingers twitched, the the push dagger she held dangled disguised about her neck a hairbreadth away.
charge, you filthy beast, she nearly growled, feeling a sudden ease slide down her spine at the prospect. she would either die, or she would survive. adrenaline was pulsing, pounding so hard in her ears she did not even hear Estafilade's voice, his half-garbled murmur of thanks. eyes trained, the most sickening smile curling about her lips. the anger in her, that dark churning sea that swirled about beneath the surface consumed her, fueled the fouled strength of a hard night of hunting.
just another hunt - and the smile widened, her eyes unthinking sought out Blaine's where he prowled, his tail lashing, paws heavy on the ground. it was a weight walk in which he moved, moving with the pulsing rhythm of his heart, and the heavy breathing of the animal - so close to the one who had attacked him. so close, his jaw unhinged, whiskers trembling with the anticipation that reverberated through their connections. the bond tightened, bound them both, a half-felt consciousness of the others moves, as if Dierdre knew where Blaine's paw would fall before he moved, before he decided.
and the werewolf roared - a deafening sound that rang in her ears. Dierdre smiled, there was no thought mere reaction as her right hand darted in and threw, fingers tightening around the push dagger and flicking open the blade even as her hand jerked back. it was no pathetic toss, but hard, sleek with an uncanny precision as the blade skewered through the air, deadly even for its size. perfect, for its intent. Blaine was moving even as the blade left her hand, his claws unfolding from their sheathes, his fangs bared threateningly as he loped forward, darted -
stopped.
everything stilled as the explosive sound unhinged their spines. the dagger had continued its path and buried itself deep into the werewolf's throat, its blade honed to the sharpest edge sliced through tongue with its powerful trajectory and buried deep into the tissue of throat and neck even as the bullet shot through the creature's head. and it crumpled, instantly dead by the bullet that had come from nowhere, and yet, everywhere. Dierdre blinked, left hand tightening around the hilt of her remaining Kris dagger, 9 inches of snaked curves.
more dogs, Dierdre thought, looking past the wolf which waved its tail like a tamed beast and instead put her burning gaze to the intruder, her unwanted savior. "who are you?" her voice, presented with potential threat had darkened, hard mettle colored her words, sharpened by the threatening cast to her tri-colored eyes.
Blaine, for his part, merely snorted disdainfully at the wolf, finding her antics less than dignified and turned his back on her. with his tail lashing in agitation, his burning gaze landed on the broken corpse of the werewolf and narrowed his eyes. it was not the same one; he had never thought it would be the same. this one had proved to be potentially dangerous - ears perked up as he thought it, looking instead to his Familiar, gazing at her unharmed skin and knew relief as deep as any. he felt that this breath was the first he had taken in hours, it calmed him in some ways, agitated him in others. that he knew Dierdre's doubts merely raised the fur about his shoulders, fur wrinkling at the very submissive display made by wolf and counterpart. not a Familiar, for certain. he sniffed indiscreetly even as Drey walked forward, ignoring for the most part the wolf and wrenched the were's neck to the side, the cords in her arms creating shadows dancing along her skin.
with ease, it seemed, she opened up the creature's mouth and shoved her hand down its throat - anger rode her even as the danger passed. fingers feeling around the torn and bleeding tongue and tissues, she tilted her head at the woman, "and what are you doing here -" her arm jerked out, bloodied up to her elbow, dagger drenched in bile, held in her hand - "anyway?" her nose twitched, looking the woman over critically, lastly landing on the wolf with a quirked eyebrow.
Re: Trill of the Disassembled [Dierdre] « Reply #9 on Jun 6, 2008, 9:59pm »
I’d prepared myself for what death would feel like, and the sound of my teeth grinding against each other was horribly audible within my own ears and resounded faintly within the fumigating underground. There was a tenseness in my shoulders which had drawn them up and open, fingering out like the pages of the book so that my back was splayed and stretched and my body hunkering over cannibal-like. The pole half hung to the ground, balanced delicately by two fingers as the others folded in towards my palm and pulsed slightly with each heartbeat. Sounds were brilliantly amplified yet felt further than normal--a strange effect which left the room hanging in a surreal and almost blurred sort of streaming vision. Dierdre beside me, Blaine beside her, and nearly 800 kilos of furious Werewolf right in front.
And then his screaming started.
The sound sent my nerves on fire, twisting the inner workings of my spine so that I shot upwards and gnashed instinctively at his roaring figure. Spit bubbled and popped from his mouth as his furious eyes were jammed shut and a strange pop echoed from his nose. With a gooey burst the mucus lining from one nostril fell out like the birthing of an alien child and wavered slightly like a lopsided balloon with the choking Were’s last breaths. Two things had occurred: a gunshot, and Dierdre’s tripwire movement. I blinked several times, trying to overcome the gurgling from the Werewolf’s throat as blood squeezed out his eye between rhythmic and a still-living rolling. Dierdre had straightened and her eyes snapped to the far corner where the gun had resonated, yet I, still in the shock of seeing another Were dead, didn’t follow suit. Slowly I stood up, breathing through my mouth despite the culmination of yet another vulgar scent and with a shaky hand I swept the brown bangs away from my face.
He was another fucking Were. I shouldn’t have brought her here--damn it, I’ve cause this somehow.
My mind was bursting with a sense of regret and shame and once the man of my kin had fallen still and a gray mucus had filled the whites of his eyes I tore my gaze away and stared intently at the floor, trying to steady myself.
They wouldn’t have done something like this to me--we were kin.
The floor bristled and spiked beneath my feet, and feeling dizzy I clumsily collapsed to one thigh, holding the top of my face with one hand while the other reached blindly for the cane. Perhaps I hadn’t been thinking clearly, perhaps the comfort of Dierdre’s touch had driven me to act in a foolish way, but another Were was dead and even if not by my hand, I was at least partially to blame. I let my hand slide away from the hairline to the pointed Greek nose, holding myself as a lover would have, trying to gain some self comfort from the situation.
Est, that was really horrible…
A faint cracking made my head swim up from the floor, and with a lurch that almost resulted in nausea I saw Dris slugging the Werewolf’s head at dismembering angles so that the sack protruding from his nose slapped floppily against his jowls and his tongue spread a sea of saliva across his face and the floor, mixing with the feces to form a zone of creamy brown. Several large pops burst from the depths of the man’s throat and with each lift Dierdre preformed from the teeth to the shoulders, a small encampment of blood pooled over the wet feces soap. I felt my stomach twist dangerously and looked away before adding the recently digested sheep to the ground. Dris’s high voice echoed not far away, tangled effortlessly with the sounds of ripping skin.
“What are you doing here anyway?”
At the mention of another person, I chanced a glance up, eyeing an extremely young girl with a pet similar to Dierdre’s It was another exotic animal (a wolf; the damn irony) and stayed as placidly as Blaine did when next to Dierdre. Placidly I wondered if the newest trend was to adopt wild animals as companions but shook my head and returned it to the cracking tunnel floor in which I sat. Still trying to hold my stomach in place I suspended myself to listen to the newcomer and Dierdre chat until an idea struck my head. Slowly I looked up and triedd to hold back the grimace at Dierdre’s blood infected arm.
“Hey Dris?…Do you think I could borrow one of your knives real fast?”
I could eat the Werewolf, despite how aberrant such an act would be. Flesh that was over a few hours old was poisonous to a Werewolf, and no matter what precautions had been taken, I wouldn’t be able to accept food from either Dris or the new girl until I’d be able to kill something of my own. As a Human, this was nearly impossible and leaving such a carcass to lay to waist seemed fruitless. The only catch was getting them to accept the idea that I could eat it but they couldn’t. Wereflesh would turn them into DLs, and the last thing any of us needed was a Were with less control over the physical self than even I.
OOC: Sorry the last paragraph was really sticky and poorly done. >.<
Re: Trill of the Disassembled [Dierdre] « Reply #10 on Jun 6, 2008, 10:51pm »
There was nothing worst then helping someone that did not need it. And yet, Sam had wished that all humans were like the girl she had come to know as a fighter, even if she knew nothing else about her. This is the thought and the fight that ran through her emotions as she saw the knife fly through the air opposite to her bullet. It made Sam inwardly smile..even if she hadn't been there, there was no way the werewolf could have lived. Oh well, what was done was done. she took a deep breath, trying to ignore the strong scent of dung and urine, old and new.
"who are you?"
Ah, the first words from the other party. However, they were laiden with venom. Luckily for Sam, it was venom she's pretty much grown out of reacting to, though shedid concider not giving her name to such a demanding person...but then..who's to say she wasn't someone hired to kill the girl or something? It could be the reason they were down here...or perhaps it was the panther?
"Well...the name's Sam, pleasure" She said calmly, and nodding sightly in greeting, seeming to ignore the venom..and in all actuallity, her hint of a smile remained...though it faded once she looked back to the other person. That must have been some heavy stress on him...She wondered what he was thinking...maybe something about kinship? Perhaps the creature wouldn't have killed him at least..
However, her attention was brought back to the girl as she walked forward and reterieved her knife from the throat of the werewolf, something about it made Samantha's stomache churn. Oh, and now that she thought of the girl with her knife back, Sam took a small, single step back..though her face showed no concern.
"and what are you doing here...anyway?"
This time curuiosity was predominant in the question. She knew this question was among the top to be asked, given the situation..but it still kept her silent with thoughts. Remembering why she was still alive, remembering th pain that drug her down here, treatening to drive her mad if she didn't. Then she had to come back to the question..how best to answer it? Could she take the time to explain how she was really undead (many times over), would the girl even care? She looked her over again, just in time to see her doing the same thing. her smile grew just a tad. She knew...this girl wasn't stupid...she probably had doubts that Sam was blind, as her get up would suggest. That was good, for her, but Sam didn't know how well it'd turn out for her.
"I had a feeling.." she said simply, shrugging it off.
So much for explaining it all, but perhaps this was one of those moments where simplicity was the best answer, besides that, she didn't want to completely blow her cover yet. It was working out too well for her, her blind routine, and she wasn't sure she could come up with another disguise yet.
Once again her attention was brought to the young man, the young werewolf..well actually..she couldn't say that...she didn't know how old he really was...
But now, he seemed to come out of his shock and ...asked for one of the girl's knives? Alright, she'd admit, she had no idea what he had in mind..but she didn't ask. It was none of her business, unless of course he'd do smething drastic...like charge her because she killed another werewolf infront of him..hey, it was entirely plausible and besides that she's been attacked for far stupider reasons than that.
« Last Edit: Jun 7, 2008, 2:21am by Sam Crawford »
Re: Trill of the Disassembled [Dierdre] « Reply #11 on Jun 7, 2008, 1:38am »
((OoC: sorry for not proof-reading this one >.> my goodness *shamed*))
he didn't appear to approve of her methods, she noted, sorrowfully. a glimpse of regret pinched the corners of her eyes where she glanced down at the creature at her feet, observed for the first time what she had willfully trudged into; the stench of fetid mucus soured by thick drool which even now dripped down from its wrangled muzzle. Dris blinked, realizing how inhuman it might've appeared to simply tread on another life form's remains, without much respect or care - or horror, she admitted. frowning slightly she stepped out of its milky, bubbled reach.
and yet, a quick glance at Est's expression told her more than she would ever know - his eyes, the twist of his mouth an ugly mirror that she had never encountered. had she grown so feral that the thought - no the deed - of a murdered animal no longer twinged her conscience into guilt? even now, eyes lowering away from Est's and trailing thoughtfully over the tamed wolf, she felt no regret, no hesitation. besides, she needed the dagger. her fingers clenched around the three inched push dagger, the small rounded hilt overwhelmed by her palm as the greasy blood-slicked sides of metal bit into her fingers. fist clenching around the blade, the slender cords of muscle in her forearm bunched and rose up as if in defiance. tri-colored eyes lingered over the shadows that seemed to writhe along the edges of her arm, moving as if in beat with her heart as she shivered, the slightest tremble as remembered fear slid through her spine.
don't give in to it, not yet, she thought, gritting her teeth as her jaw set and looked up into Sam's eyes, almost challenging in their heat before her gaze skewered down into the wolf, a dog in hiding that held itself silently at her side. a pet, if anything. and it was there that Dierdre looked, sensing, looking for the vibrant connection which would bind them together - so tightly there was no room for another. searched and was found wanting - her lip quirked, a sudden uplift of the corner of her mouth. no anger now - it had settled, bogged down by the self-consciousness of her situation, of the way in which Est had reacted to her. he had merely stood there, waiting for death to claim him. or perhaps he had been anticipating - glancing over at him, she wasn't sure what to think - only that Blaine was displeased.
his agitation she had grown well-used to, a familiar burn in the small of her back. he was an angry creature, unable to be truly at peace until all but she were gone from his eye. Dierdre did not have to look at Blaine to know what his expression would hold as the black Jaguar held himself still as if folding away into a motionless stalk. he let his senses move, roving around the oddity of the wolf, of the woman that smelled alive, but also of the grave. she was not a vampire - those wretched creatures had their own stench, a metallic reek of rotting flesh and upturned earth; sharp and impossible to miss. her's was softer, no hint of rotting flesh, but ... something. oddness: his fur bunched along his shoulders as he stalked her with his nose, listening for the telltale pound of her heart within her chest - ears perked at her sudden step back before stillness claimed him once again.
the human ... no the werewolf's voice drew his attention back to his Familiar. he watched her pause, her eyes askance as they would never have to be while directed toward himself. pleasure wrapped itself around his heart at the vindictively gleeful thought, a sly tint that gleamed over the edges of his predator's eyes. the only thing that had let him believe that Estafilade was human, was his own ignorance of a Were's scent. now that he had come across one, the musky thick stench of genetic sewage proved to be a natural one, and not due to his sudden appearance merely an hour or two ago, stark naked and filthy.
Blaine stared at Dierdre and spitefully forced her to see what she refused to see, and though the shock that should have lightened her eyes never came, he felt an answering sorrow bury deep into his bones and cool the fires of anger that festered at the edges of his soul. perhaps only he saw how her hand trembled when she retrieved the Kris and handed it over to Est hilt-first. it stopped soon after, though the confusion that settled deep in her heart enfolded around him, an emotion that rippled the fur along his flanks.
"a feeling? a feeling of what, exactly?" she asked, though her voice had dripped down into its husky normalcy. unhindered by the hint of fear or anger, she had returned to herself, having the presence to straighten her shoulders and draw herself together. she was a hunter; her prey had deserved it's fate, no matter the cause. nose twitching, the bottled up emotions buried deep. movement, she needed to move, to direct the restlessness into something else, though exhaustion was slowly crashing into her.
in a fight against sleep, Dris wound the push dagger's cord about her neck, fingers moving with an easy motion of habit, and practice. there was a certain grace in the continual movement of string being wound and tied around her neck, of fingers slipping into the hidden switch that had the blade recoiling into its hollow hilt and sliding it into its sheathe - a heavy circle that hung discreetly about her neck. she lifted her shirt, feeling the pleasant weight slap softly against her chest, a reality that touched against her heart, which pounded almost painfully within its cage.
Brighid, I need more daggers she thought, thinking that another dagger hidden within the side of her ankle would be useful. twisting her ankle almost pensively, she disregarded the thought. she moved entirely too much for a sheath to remain unbothersome about the bone.
Re: Trill of the Disassembled [Dierdre] « Reply #12 on Jun 7, 2008, 6:55pm »
OOC: Pft, have you seen my posts? I never proof-read. 0_0
The pipes shifted densely above and the sounds of rolling water were interrupted by the soft clang of sewage which, in former years would have been masked by the roar of trains. It sounded almost lulling like the waves of a lake, but occasionally the sharp pang of a rock caught within some purifying system would echo out and make the skin along my arms crawl with culture. The echo of pipe was accompanied by the distant echo of Were, and though I’d doubted they’d smell the dead man for another hour or so, they might have heard his screaming (which had been louder than the distant confrontations currently vibrating through the pipe work). I shifted tensely about the ground, turning my head from the fecal-thrown floor to the ceiling layered in dust. Four pipes were visible above our heads. The largest was a waterline and it bore directly into the concrete at a south western direction. The tunnel to the west of it followed suit, and from memory I could recall that the biggest waterline underground led to Parliament. I raised my hand to the ceiling and followed the pipe with my finger to check my calculations, and saw a dull blue “D” written across the pipes spine, indicating it was a double back pipe. Satisfied, I let the arm drop and traced its direction one last time with my eyes. It was the Parliament line.
With that knowledge in the back of my head I stood shakily, sliding a bit upon the messed floor as I bared all the weight I could upon the plastic cane (it bent slightly, but held) and dragged the useless leg behind me. I refused to look at Dierdre or Sam while doing it, wanting to somehow outwardly prove that I wasn’t as fickle as I seemed to be, but such a demonstration was accompanied by a twisted face and eyes that were jammed shut in pain. When I finally did manage to stand, I brushed the yellow ‘Shagged by London’ letters of my pants off and teetered over to where Dierdre’s hand lay stable, offering me the winding dagger by it’s strong, yet warn hilt. I gingerly picked it from her palm, looking at the mess of blood which still rested there, and after a slight paused let the cane fall with a clattering slice and hopped closer to her so that I could feel her breath reflecting from her face to mine.
Despite the smell of the air, I could sense a taste of sweetness upon it.
I didn’t look at her as I reached gently for her bare and pale arm, but simply grabbed it by her calloused fingers and lifted it towards me, placing the dagger between my teeth so that I freed both hands to work with. I grabbed the edge of my shit, which enormous to begin with, and started to delicately rub portions of it against the length of her flesh, removing the poisonous blood in sweeping gestures. With the brawn of her arms clear I turned to her hand, folding the creases of the shirt so that her fingers would be clean as well. When I was satisfied that my work would prevent her from turning, at least until she was able to have a proper bath, I let the shirt fall and removed the dagger from my mouth. “Thanks, by the way.” I tried to find solace within her eyes but could not, and instead hunched over to retrieve the cane and began limping in the direction of the spilled Were. The new girl - Sam - began talking in a voice that held an edge of intelligence for someone so young, and as I turned to her I felt the presence of her small yet daunting figure pose no threat but more a line of safety. I smiled shyly at her.
"I had a feeling.."
I paused and turned halfway to her, giving her small frame another comb-over with my eyes. “Come with us, then?” I asked, continuing my advance upon the carcass shortly thereafter.
It’s heat was still somewhat overwhelming, and coupled with the stench of the underground as a whole I nearly pressed my nose shut and refused to breath through it. Idly I leaned the cane against its overwhelming height and twisted the dagger within my palm so that it was facedown. I swallowed once, more for apologies than nerves, and struck the gut of the Were with the twisted blade. A sharp grunt husk fell from the dead man’s exposed esophagus, and as the tubules opened like flower tips they dripped a small secretion of blood and a yellow discharge, vibrating at their heads slightly with the rush of new air. I looked away with a look of discomfort and began to saw instead at the ribs, cutting out a slab of meat the size of my fist and no bigger. Within the day, if I hadn’t eaten it, it would have spoiled beyond safety anyways. with the raw flesh now gripped tightly in my fist I slipped the dagger into my pant line grabbed the cane with my new slippery fingers. I turned back to the collective band of females and animals, and gave them a sharp look as if daring them to question. “Just in case,” I said, raising the meat a few inches. I left it at that, allowing them to make their own judgments and hoping they’d assume I was taking it for a distraction should we encounter any more Weres. With another look, profoundly softer than the first, I caught both of their faces and tried to assert the seriousness of our new predicament.
“That pipe leads to the Parliament building,” I said, pointing at the large steel snake above us. “By the time we reach it, it should be dark and we can clean up and go our separate ways.” The last bit made my face flush lightly and I looked at neither face in particular, half hoping Dierdre would protest and revise the proposition. With the meat still clutched tightly in my fist I began trudging towards the small band of ill-put-together people. Once closer I looked at Dierdre’s semi-clean arm and followed it up to engage within her tri-colored stare. “I know it seems obvious, but I still wouldn’t put that arm anywhere near your face.”
Re: Trill of the Disassembled [Dierdre] « Reply #13 on Jun 7, 2008, 10:40pm »
"a feeling? a feeling of what, exactly?"
Once asked the question Sam looked back at the girl. Then she paused..the girl was probing, letting curiousity guide her, though it was a simple question and a sensible one. However Sam looked down at Spirit and slowly moved her hand from the handle and down to spirit's head, then, when it had landed, she genlty played a little with the beatuiful fur that reflected the first snow of the winter...how white and pure it always looked.
At the friendly touch, Spirit looked up and licked Sam's hand. sam smiled lovingly back down at her but then reminding herself again of the girl's question her face turned to look like one in some sobering memories. She absently mindedly wiped her hand off of her shirt before going back to petting her companion. "I'm not sure I want to tell you" she said calmly yet there was that hint of sorrow, just a tad bit of it in her voice as she looked back at her. A light smile, though not in happiness, replaced her earlier one. "It's not something one tells a stranger, really."
She glanced over at the boy, just in time to se him smiling a shy smile. She did not return it. She was supposed to be blind, and has been playing tat role for long enough she can hide the fact that she indeed see on her own. She had been so focused on the girl that her attention had strayed from the boy and panther, which was also looking at her. This time she did dare to let a wisp of a smile grace her lips. how good is your smell,boy? How much can you tell through that nose of yours? she wondered silently.
“Come with us, then?”
The inviting voice brought her eyes back to him, for a moment she stood studying, wondering..but then it all seemed obvious as the sound of other werewolves rang into her ears through the otherwise silence of the area. She nodded, her mind made up for her. "I suppose leaving the group would mean suicide.."
Her voice was gentle about it but she couldn't help but smile..suicide, the only thing keeping her away from such a thing was because she beleived it was one of the worst possible sins a person could do.
Then the smile was erased followed by an obvious embarrassment and appology, "sorry..fleeting thought"
She pretended not to see what the boy was doing, and looked confused when he said "just in case", like she had no idea what he was talking about. Yet she shrugged and did not ask. Then he cntinued by pointing, in a direction that Sam did not look, and speaking.
"That pipe leads to the Parliament building. By the time we reach it, it should be dark and we can clean up and go our separate ways.”
Then there was a pause.
“I know it seems obvious, but I still wouldn’t put that arm anywhere near your face.”
Sam knew he was talking to the other girl. She could see it, and even if she couldn't, she could have figured it out. Yet again, she remained silent.
(right now i am fighting to keep writing in third person *sigh* such an effect that Rhoni has on me XD)
« Last Edit: Jun 7, 2008, 10:48pm by Sam Crawford »
Re: Trill of the Disassembled [Dierdre] « Reply #14 on Jun 8, 2008, 4:48am »
how long had she been awake? she had nearly forgotten - without food, or drink, energy was running low, the last of it expended in the last ditch effort with fate and her own skill against the Were. energy I needn't have used, Dierdre thought, irritably. twenty-three hours? no ... she paused momentarily, twenty hours. twenty solid hours of hard running. she shivered, her skin puckering in goosebumps as she silently calculated (hours spent leisurely losing the restlessness in a hard run through the woods before hunger had churned in her belly; several hours tracking her prey far out into the outskirts of the city, and into the long rolling hills of England - those few delicious moments of the hunt before the long trek back, her flight against the sun, and into the underground) - and came up with a daunting tally. how was she still running? reacting in time, even communicating coherently?
even thinking of traveling through the rest of the underground made her uneasy, her strength already wavering, sapped from simply imagining the trek. her eyes roved over the slimy walls, tracing the unseemly cracks that split apart cement and metal in an open wound, unhealed. thick mucus-like dribble stained the surface beneath the ruptured stone, triangles of urine and acid. as if the walls were crying. eyelashes fluttering, she felt the burn of tears strike deep into her nasal cavities and over the sinuses of her cheek bones and face - oh, how she wanted to break down and simply give in to the exhaustion. standing there, as she had been for quite some time, her knees felt locked into place, as broken and musty as the walls caked in feces. and for a moment, she felt as if she were part of this underground world, a woman turned statue with wounds that no one would ever heal, simply a part of the bitter pain of memory. Dierdre would be a silent reminder, leadened with weights of a past empire of mankind - crumbling stone so brazenly built! - torn down and left to dust. a lesson for the light-hearted that greatness was as fleeting as Fate's tender kiss: fickle and all too consuming.
with a sorry glance at the broken glass strewn over upturned sidewalk, Dris imagined her own heart splintered into a million pieces, a puzzle that would never be put together again. just so, this place would remain, further decaying into ruin, even as her own heart thundered on. the puzzle would fracture into more splintered pieces as years rolled onward, its mirror reflecting a crooked image inverted and cracked. though she wanted to reach out in empathy, Dris kept her hands to herself and instead gave her heart to this broken place. like her own life, its death would go unnoticed but for a few curious rats to scrounge around for food. she imagined little rat children nibbling on the bones of her fingers and sighed, a deep sound that filled her up and exhaled -
to find Est much closer than he had been before. Dierdre blinked, chartreuse circles seeming to contract in curiosity as he shuffled close, though he would not meet her gaze. like this vaulted city beneath the surface, she had her own mirror, placed before her in Est's too-honest gaze. inhuman, mangy beast, she shivered slightly, [/i] nothing but an animal[/i]. her eyes closed against the personal onslaught, trying to ignore in equal parts the rough caress of his shirt against her arm, and in-between the folds of her fingers. the tips of her digits twitched, the slightest movement as they were enfolded in old cotton. this can never be found out.
her mind stuttered to stillness; he was still a stranger, for all that she felt she knew him ages. tri-colored eyes sliding to the side, they combed the pipework that wove its way above them, a coiled mess of her own projected yearning for intimacy, of any kind. she was starved, and it made her weak. this can never be found out, the Goddess' words, calm and serene as they hummed in her veins, cooling the fire in her blood. almost too cold, a frost to destroy the fire in her soul.
Brighid forgive me! she thought, almost desperately, seeking out any gaze to anchor her to reality, and instead found herself looking into Samantha's and dropping down her arm into the hand that held the wolf at bay. there was no commanding presence, no intensity between the two, nothing but the steel chains of ownership. a cold relationship where the animal adores simply because it does not know better. Dierdre did not frown, in fact, she didn't do much of anything as her eyes rested on the wolf. however, Blaine's complacency in the face of the mutt made her lips tighten in disapproval. it spoke of an arrogance that, while typical in the feline breeds, was not attractive. or perhaps in her own way, she was trying to shut down the arrogance that rose up in her instinctively in the face of this animal.
never simple minded, but co-dependent creatures who's pride lay in the pack, and not the individual, contrasted so starkly to the independent (and many times arrogantly anti-social) counter-bred wild cats. wolves and dogs were known for their weakness in becoming lonely - a sickness that nearly destroyed them - yet didn't Dierdre suffer from that self-same disease?
come with us, then? - Dris held herself still, as if by mere immobility she would sink into the ground and disappear - Est trusted entirely too easily. especially when the invited was a proclaimed blind, who held a tamed wolf at her fingertips and was the source of the Werewolf's death - well the one that lay crumpled at Est's feet. she is not blind, Dierdre thought, conviction tightening her gut as she watched the play of false emotion dance across her face. while her instinct rebelled against Estafilade's query, Dris could not help but think that it was this same blind trust that banded them together. glance shifting over to Blaine and catching, Dris smiled slightly, and trust is two-sided.
it was quite another thing to be comfortable around the woman, slim and as inconspicuous as she was. aside from the wolf, many would forget her the moment their gazes had left her face. a heavy rock had settled in Dierdre's stomach, smoldering. the way the woman had phrased it - the lilt in her tone and suddenly Dris' eyes lightened with thought, speaking before she thought to close her mouth, "You don't know what I am," she said, almost too softly, looking intrigued "and yet a wolf walks at your side."
Blaine snorted as he wound his flank around his Familiar, possessively, fuzzy black head moving toward Est and curling his upper lip before he turned to nuzzle his face against Dierdre's side. for her part, she ignored it, too caught up in her own revelation.
her impetuousness would be the end of her, one day. especially with her muscles aching as they did.
Re: Trill of the Disassembled [Dierdre] « Reply #15 on Jun 8, 2008, 7:49am »
The stiffness in my leg was amounting like a boulder set against another and let to fester with growth and vines which strapped and braced rock face to rock face. I could move it less, but with the lightened mobility came a reprieve in pain. The bone was going into a state of restlessness, and if the dislocation was not corrected soon I knew I faced problems I wouldn’t be able to correct without professional medical help. That meant a hospital, which in turn meant blood tests. Snarling lightly at myself I limped closer to the two women and their animals, looking first at Dierdre then at Sam.
“We need to move. More of those things might be coming.”
A tightness bound my throat as I referred to the people who birthed me as ‘things,’ and a sense of dirtied treachery had embedded itself in my mind where it stung sharply when I’d given it less attention that the idea believed it deserved. The guilt was a small thorn wedged within the folds of my brain, and scratching at the surface of my skull would have no reward for the justification of said annoyance. I knew I’d need to sit by myself later and think on what it meant to be Were, and were I stood within my people’s rankings. With two Humans basking in prime hunting territory though, my instinct to move outweighed that to linger. I lightly brushed the hair from my face with the back of the hand holding the meat and turned to Dierdre, mouth open in preparation for departure--
--but her face stopped me before I’d spoken. A look of deep lethargy had crossed her cheeks, pushing them inward so that the bones beneath them looked shadowed and almost sickly. Her eyes were stiff with an emotional upset, and were I not half blinded by my own need I would have understood that she was more than worried or tired: she was inwardly distraught. I paused and turned to Sam for support, but noticed that she had seemingly become more visually impaired than before (she was staring blankly in the opposite direction and holding onto the wolf with a greater impression of need) and closed my hanging mouth in defeat. Blaine’s expression was no different than usual, and encompassed a snarl which I was tempted to return to establish some sort of hierarchy between us, but remembered the numerous lessons he’d taught me about his authority over mine and severed the contact between us before I felt stripped by his visual weight. Trying to ignore him as he braced himself at Dierdre’s feet, I approached her once more and plucked lightly at her shirt.
“Dris, you okay?” No answer was needed as with one sweep of her face I’d judged that she was possibly in more pain than I. With an unsure motion I gently reached out and shook the edge of her shoulder so that the flocks of red and brown bounced and twisted about her shoulders. “Come on Dris, it’s only a few miles. We can be there in an hour.” I ceased the subtle shaking and instead pulled gently with the edges of my fingers to try and turn her body towards the farther tunnels. With Blaine as close as he was though, I dared not take her by the arm or wrist, but tried to dissuade her from standing motionless longer than we had to. Sam on the other hand, was more lively and her intent tone bade me collect myself and let Dierdre’s weariness shake itself without assistance. I looked at her face for a lasting time, trying to discern if she was able to make the trek to shelter. She desperately needed to wash the blood from her arm.
“Sorry, fleeting thought.”
Sam’s sudden apology brought me out of my own, and I nodded to Dierdre in a sporting way before heading towards the tunnel myself, only looking back to catch a look at Sam and her guiding pet. With a last thought at her condition (though I wasn’t sure if it was as serious as she was making it out to be) I cleared my throat to catch her attention and tried not to feel awkward though the sense of guilt and incongruity was mounting. “Do you, err,” I rubbed the back of my head and bit my lip for stability. “Want one of us to carry the gun in case another one comes along?” I felt meek compared to the fact that she’d just saved our lives, but a growing feeling of urgency was befalling me, and I knew a few curious Weres would follow the first within minutes. “Or do you need any help?…” I shrugged lightly despite the fact that she couldn’t see it and turned back to the mouth of the semi-dark tunnel. My mind was set firmly on movement but a steely lick from Dierdre’s foreign words gave weakness to my legs that made me want to collapse without effort.
“You don't know what I am, and yet a wolf walks at your side."
You’ve got to be joking…
The air seemed to condense like vodka upon our skin and I could feel the acid in my stomach build with an odd gush of soft betrayal. I spun around, nearly toppling over as the cane lost traction against the muck and stared with evadingly wide eyes at the pair of woman, neither of which was acting Human. I blinked strangely to myself and felt a rise of passion latch up the ladder of my spine with precise needle fingers. Without choosing my words I spoke in a strained voice, giving not the girls but their pets a wily gaze.
“There’s something you’re not telling me; what do you mean ‘you don’t know what I am?’” I almost shouted but strangely my voice was extremely hollow and level, eyes trying to pry some sort of truth between Dris and Sam. I prayed they’d laugh and give me an expression of bewilderment or confess their behavior to be some Human game woman played with each other, though my gut tightened in a foreboding gesture of doubt. Tentatively I bit my lip and my eyes danced wildly from Diredre to Sam, trying to sap some comfort from their faces.
Re: Trill of the Disassembled [Dierdre] « Reply #16 on Jun 8, 2008, 3:04pm »
At the moment she slid her gaze from est back to the girl and the panther. The girl at the moment looked distraut, and lost within her own mind. Oh, how sam knew the feeling. between looking aftr her zoo and going into town every once in a while, she had too much freetime. Sometimes she'd sit on her front porch, just thinking, and often times found herself staring at nothing without blinking for several minutes at a time.
Come on girl, let's get back to the present she silently insisted, as if her mind could reach the girl's..though she knew it couldn't.
“We need to move. More of those things might be coming.”
Sam nodded to the comment, but noticed that the girl hadn't reacted much. She was going to say something to her but then there was this comment that came from her mouth...that threatened to break the ice between them.
“You don't know what I am, and yet a wolf walks at your side."
Immidiately Sam smiled, maybe even grinned. It held to essence of truth that they did not know about her, a certain mysterious quality, but most of all, it was friendly, accepting. "My dear..." she paused " it does not matter to me what you are. As long as you don't kill needlessly and don't think of suicide, all will be well"
Her hand began playing with the white fur below her. "And despite what it may look like..this wolf is my companion, my partner...and NOT my pet" By this time her smile had dimmed but it's friendly and accepting qualities never did. "I suppose it is the same, with your big cat" She said quietly, making her point, though she knew she faced blowing her cover completely, yet she had a pretty good feeling that the girl did not truely believe in her diguise.
“There’s something you’re not telling me; what do you mean ‘you don’t know what I am?’”
Sam looked over at est, looking him over with out moving her head to do so, her eyes hidden behind the glasses, the international sign of a blind girl. "Well, we all have secrets to hide don't we?" she said quietly to him. She shrugged, "it's just a natural thing, I suppose"
Then with a sigh she walked over near him. "you make such a noise falling down, that even a blind person can find you" she joked. She remembered to the earlier question, if she wanted soemone to carry the gun. she wondered, did he not se her shoot it perfectly on her own?
Who knows, he could have thought it a fluke. or he could try to kill her. Seeing as that's the worst thing he can do with it, she pulled the gun, with it's attached silencer, our of her pocket, simultaniously turning the safety on, twirled it once and held it out to him, handle first. "it's on safety..just so you know."
Once the gun was taken, sam would hold her hand out with a smile. And if her hand was taken, she'd pull him up saying. "as for help, I just need Spirit. It looks like you need more help then I do, really"
hearing her name, spirit walked over to Sam, she'd look up to her, and Sam would look down at her. Then she looked again to Est.
« Last Edit: Jun 8, 2008, 6:42pm by Sam Crawford »
Re: Trill of the Disassembled [Dierdre] « Reply #17 on Jun 8, 2008, 9:21pm »
no one knows. abnormality - the harsh voice of her clan, though they had spoken of quite another thing regarding her. nothing but a beast - the shrill cry of a man before his death, vindictive even as his piss darkened the fabric of his jeans. filth! betrayer - Dierdre tried not to flinch at the words seared into her skull; they defined her in their own way, a brand of anathema that kept her from seeking out well-known clans. it was why she was here, in filthy, dirty London. Dris had been sentenced to linger in grime, matching the soot on her own soul. with nothing but the impending guilt to consume her, it could not be helped that she grew feral and unwieldy about the seams. her true self - the one who stopped Blaine from eviscerating Est when he first stumbled out into sight; the one who smiled playfully and tilted her eyes mischievously, whose laughter came easy - that self still existed, though it had been long buried in the 12 (almost 13) months of exile.
the moment her own words slipped off her tongue she flinched - Est's reaction vibrated in the air, his scent growing pungent with musty vomit, what she associated with betrayal - shock was an undercurrent she could not latch onto. betrayer... - yes that's what she was. her gaze lifted, slowly as if she did not want to face his questioning, hesitation written in the very plains of her posture - shoulders rounded, hunched down as if she could make herself invisible. accusation hung unpleasantly in the air as her eyes lifted to meet Est's cornflower blue, a brightness in the very darkness. her own, contrasting, blurred as yellow and green rings brightened and seemed to smear together, a toxic light green, dulling with emotion. even the dark rings of black seemed to fade to grey, her pupils expanding in the sharpness of fear before she let go of that emotion, fed herself with sorrow, and pupil shrank.
though when it did finally meet his, no words came. silence, heavy filled her. what could she say? this can never be found out. eyelashes fluttered, the only trembling of nerves she allowed herself as she fell beneath his gaze. she could not speak, her fingers reaching down for Blaine, for support. comfort, strength, be my strength, she pleaded, her inner voice wrought with the passion she could not let loose. keeping her mouth shut, she sucked in her lower lip, teeth sinking into the pouty curve. she had to speak, otherwise she would lose yet another .... - dare she even say it?
her curls shook in the slightest of head-shakes, face closing down even as the need to speak felt like it would burst forth from her - speak, say something!
Dris glanced down into Blaine's identical stare, though anger and strength radiated off of him, wrapped her in a comforting blanket of protection - Blaine was here, he would always be there. and Est .... he deserved honesty. looking defeated, Dierdre opened her mouth to speak, the words at the tip of her tongue as --
Well, we all have secrets to hide don't we?.
and more strongly: this can never be found out. she shivered, breath exhaling as she tried to right her mind. it circled around, tearing down memories and parading them in front of her eyes - she had to get out of here. she could not look at Est, nor at Blaine who sought to extricate the cause of her troubles; the very air seemed a trap. until her stare landed on the wolf, that damnable white creature, light in the face of her own darkness. kind and gentle in the face of her own anger and hatred. and yet, didn't Dris know her own tenderness?
still, all the Familiar could think as she looked at the wolf coddling up to her owner was that they might be partners, companions, but it was not the same thing. Spirit had not clawed out of Samantha's chest, out of her heart to keep her safe, or to give what she had for her - it was not the same thing, and to even suggest such a thing would be to dampen the relationship that she and Blaine had. even in comparison, it was ridiculous. only a Familiar knew what it was to have their heart bound to the furry beast at their side - his pain was hers, his nearness her comfort and... more quietly in her mind she knew, his departure would be her death.
feeling this, knowing the dark thoughts that drifted through Dierdre's mind, the large Jaguar sighed, a rumbling sound that rippled the sides of his flanks as he pressed more firmly to her side. and though his massive head stood at her mid-thigh, he tilted it up ears flicking down in tenderness as he nuzzled her, reminding her gently of their time. "he is right, we must go." her voice did not tremble, or shake though her conviction wavered.
worst of all was her own shame, filling her to the brim as if she were not simply the cup, but also the water that trembled at the top waiting for that one more whispered breath to push her over onto the table. ripping her gaze with obvious struggle from Est's arresting blue eyes, she looked instead toward the tunnel he had formerly stood before - ignoring with obvious effort Samantha's help and Estafilade's struggle with the cane and the floor she swept her gaze toward the darkness, willing herself to be pulled into it. she was shit - she deserved it. "Blaine has the scent you asked for, earlier." she murmured, her voice soft though she would not look at him, keeping her eyes at the patterned walls, faded and chipped from years of struggle. in response, the black Jaguar sneered, his lip curling up over his teeth as his gaze lingered on the two, ignoring with obvious contempt the blind woman's partner. his tail twitched, the tip curling over itself before bending in the opposite direction, ticking with every other beat of his heart.
Werewolf and non-Familiar (also non-vampire). what was she? certainly not living - he snorted, expelling her scent from his nose, the soft leathery skin twitching. why was Dris so distraught? - Est had lied to them as well, omission holding his lips shut. why should she feel guilt when he did not? the stiff fur around his shoulders rose, knowing her too tired to do all she claimed with her actions. still, staying within the caged tomb would lighten her spirits - Blaine was certain of this. this underground city held a pall over her heart, made it heavier than even these events warranted. soon he feared it would burst from sheer emotion.
her steps were careful as she walked along the platform, the cement cold against her feet, seeping through the thin, thread-bare soles that covered her feet. Dierdre keeping her gaze averted, though intensity radiated off of her even if she remained silent, yielded to Est's directions and Samantha's offer. she would not fight, she would simply refrain. it was a mistake to even try she thought, grief rendering her further captured by her own inhibitions. she was filth, and where did filth reside but in the slums of London?
distancing herself, Dierdre kept the tears from welling up in her eyes. she was so damned tired of being alone. the whimper that parted her lips was so soft, it nearly went unheard even by Blaine who stood so close to her, "Estafilade." her eyes clouded, her voice soft, though how far it would carry did not register - even Blaine, reoccupied as he was, heard it, curved his rounded ears at the sound and resented it.
in this, she did not realize it was the first time his name rolled off her tongue.
Re: Trill of the Disassembled [Dierdre] « Reply #18 on Jun 9, 2008, 3:56am »
The awkward position shared by my own outburst made for stiff conversation, and a shameful regret which had buckled into a silent fear of both what Dierdre had not said and my own distinction of an unHuman-like nature. Sam’s inability to see saved me moments of desperate struggle in concealing my own complexity, though Dierdre’s distraction, which in all truth provided the same scapegoat, made me feel no better than before. Since the stench of shit and the artificial light had consumed us she’d become more outwardly defeated, and my concern fused with passion had given her no reprieve. When she refused to look at Sam or I but simply hung her head and shook it I took a hasty step toward her, fingers extending in a fashion to wave away my first comment but her golden-green eyes hadn’t seen it, and I let the arm fall with a defeated clap against my thigh. Instead of reaching out to her, I watch with a kind but unhappy expression at the complexity written across her face. I had to bite my fold of my lip and tongue to keep from confessing my own abnormalities in an attempt to reverse the damage my comment had made. I wasn’t ready however to loose the only companionship I had. I’d cling to them until the end of this mess, and longer if they’d allow it.
Especially Dierdre.
The rushing of water above our heads had doubled since Dris and I first appeared within the underworld, signally the height of Human activity above: nearing noon. I traced along the bowled walls with a calculating countenance to where the steal pipes bore into the dripping skin of the cement structure, churning the march over in my mind and trying to judge Dierdre’s and Sam’s ability to walk as well as my own. None of us were fit for the exertion ahead, but I wasn’t ready to die, and surely not see the other two fall prey to members of my own kind. I resolved myself as firmly as I could and walked gently towards Sam, dragging my bad leg slightly to allow her the awareness of the direction I approached from.
“Come on, Sam.” I gently reached out and cupped the edge of her fingers within my palm and led the bone of her arm towards the direction we needed to go. “It’s not too far.” The lie scorched my throat so that I had to swallow and press my tongue against the back reaches of my throat to keep from clearing it. With another delicate tug I pulled her on towards the unlit portion of the tunnel, glancing back at Dierdre to feel a stabbing rush of longing override my sense of urgency. Dierdre’s face was fallen and her eyes so filled with an unreadable sign of disassembly that I halted in leading Sam and rooted myself with my teeth clenched and eyes burned onto her unhappy face.
“Estafilade…”
A torrent of protection flooded me and I disengaged myself from the blind girl, walking hurriedly back to Dris; disregard came for Blaine for the first time as I simply rode up to her and placed one arm over her shoulder and around her back as the other folded about her lovely, swimming hair. I could nearly rest my chin atop her head, and bent instead so that my cheek lay there, cupping her soft face against my shoulder in a gesture of security and support. With meaningful strokes I intertwined my fingers in her hair, breathing desperately the scent of another being as her touch alighted a sense of worth I’d long come to forget. It took incredibly strength not to turn my face down and kiss the top of her brow but simply holding her against me and feeling the electricity of her skin and clothes lapsed all need to express further emotion.
“You’re okay Dris, I’m not leaving without you.”
At this, I did placed my chin atop her scalp, eyes closed and body breathing her scent, the feeling of her against me. A discard came for safety now, for the enormous cat which crept and oozed a well of hate, for everything I had held important and only Dierdre’s comfort existed. I clung to her until I felt I’d fall from the inability to stand properly, and only disbanded with a long stare into her explosive eyes, matching the jungle with water and begging her to be strong. “Not far now, Girl.” With one hand still gripping her shoulder I reached out and tucked a stray line of red behind her ear. Giving her another assuring look I glanced over at Sam, letting the hand that was on Dierdre’s shoulder slip instead to her forearm where I rested it against her with slight pressure.
“Sam, you ready?” I didn’t wait for a reply so much as stiffly wobbled forward, my fingertips retracting harrowingly from Dri’s skin.
The sound of six Human feet and eight animal feet played a rhythmic bounce across the halls of the gutting tunnel, rounding from the circular sides like marbles traveling from one track-peak to the next on a trench level with little progression. It made our movements echo and the sounds of clothing and fur catch like breath upon entering a cold environment: stiff at first but soon swirling and half-digested by air and another steaming breath. The smell was disintegrating as we walked shallowly along, and though the threat of attack faded the silence of such a cumbersome party did not; each of us was sunken within our own fumigation and lethargy, and I felt my skin crawl as slowly as our outward pace so that the hair upon my face and neck twitched and wriggled in an unnoticed anticipation. In what seemed like hours we bore into the darkness, feeling it cling like caramel does to teeth so that swiping and willing away such a sensation proved completely useless. At long last, the pipe we’d followed exploded into the side of a brick wall and a waterfall of green decay dripped down from it like intestinal hair. Settled beneath the mess of erosion was a dark steel door with ‘Private’ written across in red, peeling letters. I smiled shyly at the sight and stopped walking, the throb of weariness consuming my face and leg alike as the end of our struggle lay like a fete before us. Staggering heavily, I wandered to it and placed my hands against the picklock; in true Werewolf fashion I tugged testingly at it and the metal which wound across the latch bent and was prodded free. With my teeth grit against the pounding of blood across my dislocated bone I threw my shoulder against the iron and it cringed and buckled free, throwing myself into a pool of darkness, but a carpeted floor. I sighed heavily and turned upon my ass, scooting inside so that the others may enter as well.
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