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 Posted: Sat Oct 09, 2010 3:53 pm
L'heure Verte
Where
Fellowship Headquarters, Shyregoad
Who
Beatrix Amaranthe, and Cassandra (in a matchbox) & Sloane
(played by fairie lore & ex o ex Snoof)
When
The late afternoon, a dreary day.
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Posted: Sat Oct 09, 2010 5:28 pm
The rain would cleanse us of all our sins.
The rain would wash away the death and despair from the streets.
The rain would confirm we are still alive.
The stunted plagues had been shaken off the moment she'd stepped through the headquarter's door, and she'd bolted to her room.
Since her return to the Fellowship headquarters, Beatrix Amaranthe had holed herself up in her room for the next two days, never leaving or even opening the door in that duration of time. The only indication that there was anyone alive in the room at all was a strange but alluring smell that seemed to emanate from the room, and a wispy smoke that managed to escape from the cracks at the bottom.
She had seen horror and she had seen blood. She had smelt death and watched it unfold in front of her eyes. And there was many things she could withstand in the world, but the trip to circus and nearly sent her straight to the mad house. Beatrix was a woman who had put up a strong front to the world, but there were times when one could see cracks in that demeanor. And now, when all was too much for her she holed herself up in her room, grasping at some familiarity. To be locked up a prison was the only means of calming herself down, and to forget.
The most important thing was to forget and she knew how to do just that.
Never forgive, but instead forget - it seemed easier that way.
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Posted: Tue Oct 12, 2010 9:31 am
Two long days of much business and interaction the knight had not been prepared for. Aching and agonizing hours of emotional upheaval, changing constantly like the tide from despair to rage to apathy. For most of the moments he had to himself with only the bells that stayed with him for company, he would shift between all three extremes; a sobbing mess, a raving lunatic and an emotionless cancer before cycling through them all over again.
It was exhausting but there was little he could do to soothe himself. Very much, he wanted to head out and back, back to the site of death and destruction. Had it been cleaned? Were the bodies disposed of, carelessly tossed into a pile and burned until their bones blackened and turned to dust?
Though life had left them, anything done to their bodies seemed too cruel to the sword Plague, and just the thought of the poor woman, the golden Locos, burning away in the flames with her eyes still wide in surprise caused his stomach to churn and he stopped in his walk down the hall, hand on the stone wall to keep his balance and the other over his mouth to keep the sick at bay. His breathing labored, he lingered there to regain his bearings. Slowly, his eyes opened and trailed to the bottom of a nearby door where thin plumes of smoke rolled out and dissipated.
Having been working on instinct, he hadn't realized the hall he was going down, merely wandering aimlessly in his thoughts, but it seemed something had drawn him here specifically and he sighed, a pained look crossing his face, as he realized whose room this was. Such hectic turmoil had gone on, and truly this was to be Miss Beatrix Amaranthe's room when her duties were finished, if she so decided to stay at the North Base, but this was certainly not Lady Estratus' room and that was the part she needed to play.
Peeling himself from the wall, Sloane slowly approached, stopping in front of the door to watch the smoke curl around his feet. Eyes narrowing critically, he wondered what she was doing in there, thoughts twisting imaginatively as a light milky scent mingled with the smoke. Being from the Council, perhaps conducting experiments of some kind, but curiosity quickly gave way to worry and he lifted a hand to rap against the door. "Beatrix?" he kept his voice low when speaking her true name, taking care not to say it in front of anyone who was not aware of the situation and should not be. The hall was openly deserted, no one wandering as he was and either everyone was elsewhere or they were locked in their rooms just as she was and no doubt had been for all this time.
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Posted: Fri Oct 15, 2010 4:14 pm
There seemed to be silence in the room as Sloane called for its mistress, and even the smoke seemed to linger still in the air. Then, a few moments later there was footsteps creaking against the wooden floor and the door was opened, revealing Beatrix Amaranthe.
But she did not seem like herself. She was not in her usual dark and noble frocks, but rather in a scarlet colored peasant dress that was much more appropriate as summer wear then for the cold winter of Shyregoad. It was simple and long, and the soft dye on the fabric complimenting her oh so pale skin, no doubt cold - but her expression seemed to give no indication of that.
Rather then stern and stony looks she often gave, there was a serene expression as she stood at the doorway. Her eyes gleamed, holding no fire - but there was a certain daze in her eyes, though that could very well have been the smoky haze that surrounded her.
"Hello. Please come in." She welcomed him with a casual smile, stepping back from the door and walking into her room, striding across to her bed and sitting down, now becoming plainly obvious she was bare footed. But that wasn't the only curiosity of the situation - on her bedside table stood the tin matchbox she always carried lying on its side, but on top of it sat a Plague. A smiling, silent Plague, dangling its legs.
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Posted: Fri Nov 05, 2010 5:58 am
As the door creaked open and the thin wispy smoke billowed out, Sloane's eyes widened at the curious sight before him. Miss Amaranthe, in all of her glory, must have been covered in goosebumps with the chill of the air but she neither shivered nor complained despite her thin choice of dress. The cold did not bother her in the least, it seemed, but her greeting chilled Sloane to the bone.
Was this really Beatrix Amaranthe?
She resembled her, though she also resembled Lady Estratus, but at this moment she resembled neither to the Plague.
Retreating back into the room, she left the door open for him and he followed her dutifully inside, almost possessed by his confusion. Gently, he rested a hand on the door and closed it behind him, not taking his eyes off of the woman until he took note of something even more odd. The scent of match sticks was mingling with the air, but more importantly so was the scent of candy.
"Beatrix..." was all he could offer to the conversation as he made eye contact, for the first time, with the lovely pink Servos whose name he was not even privy to. "What's going on?"
It was beyond strange, this situation, and everything about it contradicted what little he knew concretely to be Miss Amaranthe. This was all wrong, but the most eerie part about it was that it was a good wrong; her Plague was out, no longer caged like a prisoner, and Beatrix herself seemed to be of a more pleasant demeanor. Still, it was worrying and bothersome to Sloane. He didn't like not understanding what was happening.
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Posted: Fri Nov 05, 2010 3:23 pm
Her attention seemed to wander as the Plague came in, settling on him as he entered, but he also lost it when there was a pause. In the mean time her eyes scoured the room, her feet still firmly planted on the cold wooden floor, her position still lady like and proper, but there was not the usual stiffness that it was usually accompanied by.
Once Sloane began to speak again her attention slowly wandered back to him, her expression still smiling but altogether complacent. For a moment it looked like she was nearly going to giggle at the question, but instead her smile merely widened. "Nothing is going on. What do you mean?" She said easily, with no edge of defense in her voice. No, it was merely casual chatter.
The Plague on the matchbox continued to dangle its legs and stayed silent, bearing a quaint little smile of its own. It had not been watching Sloane before but it was now, simply staring at him but saying nothing.
There was altogether something a little off on the scene and yet at the same time not. Should a woman not be cheery and calm in demeanor, and should a Plague not be confined? But Beatrix Amaranthe was normally a formidable force in nature, but here she was but a most pleasant woman.
"Come, sit." She implored him, patting the spot on the bed beside her.
Was all well in the world?
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Posted: Wed Dec 01, 2010 5:30 am
Something was definitely off about it all; it was eerie, seeing her smile like she was, and the Plague was torn between it being pleasant, frightening or just... sad. Their similarities were uncanny, but now she more resembled Lady Estratus of old when she was younger, would smile and laugh or would cry. Those days were long gone for the woman and yet the one before him was as a ghost of those memories.
It was slowly gutting him.
For now, though, he was determined to think of the situation as pleasant. To be sad or look troubled in front of this woman was not something he would abide, certainly not now, and so he forced a slight smirk and shook his head at her retaliatory question. His gaze wandered back to the small pink thing sitting atop her matchbox prison, free as a bird. Briefly, their eyes locked, but all she did was smile silently.
Sloane's attention drew back to Beatrix as she beckoned him closer, gently patting the bed for emphasis. Her voice was different, or perhaps it was her tone, but again those feelings began to bubble. Why was it both of these women were so troubled, so alike, and yet worlds apart?
Taking a gentle seat, he was careful not to let his claws scratch at the fabric of her thick comforter and he looked between the two girls, human and Plague, in silence. He supposed if he had to describe the scene in a single word, it would have been 'awkward'.
"I do not mean to offend, Miss Amaranthe," he began slowly, unsure of just how to word this without doing just that, "I must say, I am pleasantly surprised and grateful your Plague is out in the open." A hand was gestured toward Cassandra and he met her eyes once more, offering her a slight bow of his head, "But I am confused. Why, now, is she free when she was always confined before?" Perhaps Cassandra's presence brought out some good in the woman, or maybe it was the Bells, those poor Bells from the carnival--even the carnival itself might have been a catalyst for this sort of behavior from Beatrix, but in truth Sloane was at a complete loss.
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Posted: Sat Dec 04, 2010 5:36 pm
Beatrix simply smiled gently, even when her attention faltered away from the knight. Even if she could hold her attention on Sloane it was doubtful that she would be able to guess of his conflicted feelings, even if he wasn't doing his best to hide them. For the moment her thoughts were not quite so complex and concerned with finding answers rather than forgetting them. She couldn't understand she was instead forcing horrible memories for Sloane to resurface.
Instead of the world of the real she danced in the plane of the fancy. It was something that she had done many times before when life had gotten hard, nay unbearable. This was the only coping mechanism she had, especially now when she was so unstable. There was nothing else for her.
Beatrix seemed even happier then she already was when the man moved closer to her, an action that she would normally reprimand - and certainly never welcome. The peculiar air certainly didn't faze her, nor did Sloane's discomfort. Even if she noticed it would probably endear the Plague towards her even more.
The smile didn't falter or change once Sloane began anew, and the only sign she gave that she was intently listening was cocking her head a little. As the conversation continued it seemed like the air became stuffier - the pink Plague stopped dangling its legs upon it's mention, and Beatrix seemed to shiver at the mention of confinement, placing her hands around herself as she looked at Sloane.
"I was never confined." The Plague spoke up, a sweet but self-assured voice. It rose from its sitting position and stood atop of the tin box, as if it had conquered it. "She is protecting me." There was something in the voice, something that showed that it didn't like what this man, this Plague was doing to Beatrix, talking to her in this way.
"Yes." Beatrix said softly, her upbeat demeanor having shrunk down to something a little more tame, but she still did not seem to be unruly person that Sloane knew her to be.
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Posted: Tue Dec 07, 2010 2:14 pm
Bizarre might have been the most accurate word to describe this setting if anyone had any prior knowledge of the dark haired woman. It was the most perplexing thing to the Plague, how the woman had changed on a dime; he had grown accustomed to her poor attitude, never seeming to be pleased with anything he did simply because of what he was. Sloane's mind tracked back to their first meeting and how she nearly became ill over the discovery--tipped off by the tainted blood that leaked from his head.
Each time he attempted to make sense of the scenario, it seemed as though he had misplaced a puzzle piece. When the sweet, pink Servos spoke, however, it were as if she shattered all he had put together. Protecting? And Beatrix was confirming this?
"...I don't understand," he muttered pathetically, staring at the stone floor. Catching himself as he realized that might have come off as distressed instead of merely confused, Sloane raised his gaze between the two and held a hand up apologetically. "What I mean is; I am very glad to see you out," he locked eyes with Cassandra, "Just as I am glad to see you in higher spirits," then turned to Beatrix, "But it is all very... surprising... from what I was seeing before."
From the Candy Plague's tone it seemed as though she were attempting to protect Beatrix as much as her Grimm had supposedly been protecting her. On the surface, in any normal situation with her, there would be no traces of this to the casual observer and there had been none even to the ever vigilant knight.
With such a blunt answer as "yes" from the woman, Sloane doubted he would get a straight or detailed explanation as to what exactly was happening here. Especially with the Servos defending anything the woman might have done in her other frame of mind, no matter how unjustifiable it may have been to the Sword, at least now she was out and free. Hopefully this would be a constant.
Frowning slightly, he groped for anything to say that wouldn't be beating a dead horse and finally came upon something they had discussed tersely at the carnival. "Might I say," he began carefully, "That it is an honor to have a Servos amongst us here, though I know you will have to depart in the future and return to the Council. Your kind are a rarity that should be cherished, so please accept my apology if I have upset either of you," he leaned forward to bow, a hand gently on his chest. Perhaps this would lead to more pleasant conversation, it was all Sloane could pray for in the absurdity of the moment.
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Posted: Tue Dec 07, 2010 3:38 pm
Sloane was caught in a world of in between - between the forms of Beatrix Amaranthe and the truths that flowed between her and her Plague. Sloane did not comprehend because he did not know, could not know how she had possibly treated her Plague in times similar to these, but when she was all alone - just the two of them.
The knight's predispositions were not unfounded, but those opinions lay in regards to a different Beatrix Amaranthe then the one he was seeing. It was why in turn why the current Beatrix couldn't comprehend his distress or confusion - if she could even distinguish between the two a the moment. Instead, it seemed to be her Plague who had a greater handle of things at the moment. It was as such that the pink Plague regarded the knight with a cool gaze as he looked at her, Beatrix ever smiling despite the knight's initial stumbling.
"I'm not sure what you mean." She said, having little context of this 'before' that the Plague beside her spoke of. Of course, her Servos was there to pick up the pieces. "Perhaps your memory has played a trick on you." The Servos said with a giggle, a seemingly light and playful air. But of course, there was more behind it and the fact that the little Plague kept her eye on Sloane meant that she did not entirely like wherever he was going with it.
At least he had the sense to get away from it.
The pink Plague cocked its head at the mention at the mention of Servos, as it clearly had little conception of what that was, nor did she know much of what fanciful compliments the knight spoke. Beatrix, of course, would have most of such talk fly right by her head and instead concentrate on more concrete emotions. "Oh, you have done neither of us wrong!" She said and comfortingly placed her hand on his knee, as if feeling very bad that he somehow have gotten the impression that either of them were angry with him. A light frown placed itself on her lips as she went back through the Plague's words, seemingly mumbling them quietly. "Depart..." The words seem to make her sad. "I must go?" Beatrix asked, furrowing her eyebrow and looking down at the ground.
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Posted: Tue Dec 07, 2010 4:30 pm
Beyond the confusion, each time Cassandra spoke and seemed to explain away the inconsistencies Sloane brought to light, he got the feeling that she was displeased with him already. His lids lowered, body giving a very discreet and subtle wilt but he offered no response to her suggestion that his mind was the one playing tricks instead of Beatrix's.
A gentle hand on his armored knee gave the sword Plague a start and he turned to face Beatrix as she attempted to console him. Beyond bizarre, this was ludicrous but there was such a deep sense of detachment from reality that it didn't matter what logic he brought to the table--it would all be lost on this strange new Beatrix and quickly dismissed by her Plague. All he could do was play along and, though he felt uncomfortable with the situation, he could not exactly say it was inherently bad.
Until he said the wrong thing, anyway.
Immediately Sloane threw his hands up, attempting to wave away the incorrect connotation. "No, no, no," he fumbled, attempting to explain, "I did not mean to insinuate your departure would be imminent. I believe it is far in the future." Was she so diluted that she thought she would play out this role for the rest of her days or was she intending to depart from the Council? Neither seemed accurate but one can never know. "Whenever the day comes that you decide to return to the Council or your objective is complete," Sloane managed to redeem himself at least a little.
His eyes darted to the Servos for a split second, then back to Beatrix. "Apologies, I seem to have misplaced my clarity..." or rather, it was dropped as soon as he stumbled upon this scene. Looking back, Cassandra still appeared confused by what he had called her--a Servos--and he drew his attention back to her. "My manners, as well. I did not get your name? I am Sloane," a hand went to his chest and he bowed once more, this time not out of admission but acknowledgment. Perhaps now he could clearly explain the differences between Plagues to Beatrix and even in her normal state, should it ever return, the knowledge and understanding would be retained: a Servos and Locos, while Plagues, were a blessing.
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Posted: Tue Dec 07, 2010 4:59 pm
How lost Sloane was.
But certainly not more lost then Beatrix was. Her own reality was but a blur while Sloane's was simply all disorganized and confused.
Rather then knowledge and sense to rely on all she had were her feelings, and such was why she was quick to pick up on those kinds of cues and make the appropriate associations. It was this that made her so quick to comfort the Plague, an action that she would never have normally done - she wouldn't have even dared to touch him, let alone have much sympathy for him. But these were different times.
Her hand stayed on the Plague's knee even as he frantically tried to refute the conclusion she had come to. His first phrase only seemed to cause her face to scrunch up even more in sadness, for the words did not seem to compute well in her mind, especially one that wasn't up to deciphering anything other then plain speech. The Plague did manage to do marginally better at his second go at it, but not by much.
Her lack of understanding made her hand tighten on his knee, her eyes wandering around the Plague's face as she stayed silent and seemingly lost, like a child. Sloane made a wise choice in changing the focus of his conversation on someone else, who had a better grasp of things.
The pink Servos regarded Sloane with a suspicion as he introduced himself, as if it was a hasty attempt to reconcile things. "I am Cassandra." The Plague replied, getting up momentarily and curtsying before sitting back down, looking over at Beatrix. Whatever the man had to say he would apparently say regardless, so instead it was her duty to tend to Beatrix.
Poor Beatrix, so broken - and when she was not she was instead lost. She was subconsciously huddling closer to the Plague, not for warmth for the metal would not help that cause, but instead because she had so little to hang on to now. It seemed with every day, something more was shattered.
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Posted: Mon Feb 21, 2011 1:24 pm
Perhaps it was the man in him that didn't understand, or else it was him being a Plague that made it so confusing for what was happening with Beatrix at that moment, but it was all going over Sloane's head in one of the most confusing displays he had ever been privy to.
He wanted to understand, wanted to help, but doubted he could and the feelings Cassandra was sending through her eyes seemed to make the sword Plague think she didn't want him his assistance. He felt the woman draw closer and he stiffened, taking his eyes away from the pink candy Servos and back to her. Why did she look so much like Sage? Ill fortune, it had to have been. Every time he looked at her he had to double take.
She was not Sage, that was just a role, Ms. Beatrix Amaranthe was an entirely autonomous being with her own name, her own ideals, and they greatly differed from his Grimm. "It's alright..." he whispered gently, trying to console her or at least keep her calm. It was hard to tell if it was a trick of the light or her current state of mind but the poor woman looked as though she might be on the brink of tears at any moment.
"Cassandra," he repeated softly, turning back to her. He had to keep this conversation going to ease not only Beatrix's mind but also his own. Just what had he accidentally stumbled upon this day? "I am regretful to say I've not seen you before but it is good to see you now... Have you been, err... enjoying your stay?" that came out strangely, as Sloane's limited knowledge asserted the Excito had been locked up in that matchbox the entire time because Beatrix was thoroughly disgusted and ashamed by it.
But then, why would she not get rid of it? Sloane was glad she wouldn't, of course, but it made very little sense to the Infitialis and there was no way to question the logic of her actions when she was like this. Would she be like this forever or was she having some sort of break down? She looked so elated at his presence when he opened the door...
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Posted: Fri Feb 25, 2011 6:22 pm
The Plague couldn't understand what was going on, these layers piled upon each other that had created these dynamics. From the complex to the simple things, Sloane was oblivious to them all. If he could understand the trauma she'd been through and the emotional break that the most recent development had cause, then maybe he could understand how fragile she was. And then there was the matter of her condition, of the herbal remedies she could concoct that were also entirely not quite so known in the world.
There was no information within his grasp to be able to rationalize what was going on.
Here Beatrix was, staying close to Sloane like he was her only lifeline in the world, the only person that cared about her. But was that entirely untrue? Back home - wherever that was - there was nothing and no one for her. She was bound to causes, not people.
While she was here she was Sage. At least, she'd tried to be. This strong, inspiring woman, that was who she pretended to be. But the things she saw while masquerading as her reeled her back in time, into relapse.
She was not Sage.
But now, was she even Beatrix?
Cassandra was watching him with big black eyes, which occasionally migrated to look at Beatrix. She was her first concern and this other thing, Plague - was second. In response to the question she looked up and around the room, as if the state of the accommodations would lead to the appropriate answer. "It's fine, yes." The little Plague nodded, looking over to Beatrix to see if that answer was acceptable.
Beatrix merely cocked her head a little, and when she did she became increasingly closer to Sloane.
"Do you have a reason for disturbing us?" She continued, this us of course referring more to Beatrix then herself, because his presence here was evidently affecting her.
"Did you come to see me?" Beatrix asked softly, looking up at the Plague expectantly, a fragility clear in her eyes. A wrong answer might send her right over that verge that she was teeter tottering on.
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Posted: Mon Feb 28, 2011 9:27 am
At the small Servos' response, however simple and listless it may have been, Sloane's shoulders eased somewhat. His jaw stiffened subtly as he felt Beatrix draw closer still, her body practically pressing against his own. It must have been terribly uncomfortable considering his armor, cold and rigid, while she merely had a simple dress. How was she not cold, he found himself wondering, when most humans bundled up not only all through the Shyregoed wilderness but in cities, in buildings.
The low temperature barely bothered him, though when traveling outside he still dressed accordingly. Even his Grimm's outfit, though it appeared frail, was actually made of warmer fabric than one would initially assume. They were not so unalike, he recalled vaguely, as when dear Elsie Crane came to their door, Lady Estratus hurried to greet her in merely a thin night gown as the state of affairs was far too pressing to allow time to dress accordingly.
This, however, was not a pressing state of affairs.
Cassandra's voice was cold but still sweet as she bluntly asked Sloane his business yet Beatrix's gentle voice backed it up with a more personal question. In all of this confusion, the Infitialis had nearly forgotten what he was doing in the first place and it took him a few moments to gather his thoughts. Had he come to see her? Well, it wasn't why he had been walking before but he wouldn't have knocked on her door if he hadn't wanted to check up on the poor woman.
Nodding, he turned to Beatrix and attempted to offer a reassuring - though intimidatingly toothy - smile. "Yes, actually," Sloane had to wonder how this would affect her currently dazed state of mind and braced himself, "I wanted to check on you, see how you were fairing." The truth, though slightly skewed; it was the smoke and milky scent that truly gained his interest and stirred worry within the Plague's gut.
Reaching up and ruffling some of his hair, his eyes glancing just once from Beatrix's gaze to the hand on his knee and back, he offered a bit more to the conversation that would hopefully distract not only Beatrix from these more awkward questions but also himself from the physical contact that was making him uneasy. "Before I knocked, I saw smoke. Were you working on something for the Council?" he would have easily believed that until he saw her current state of mind but Sloane's knowledge of herbal remedies and the like was severely limited.
Alcohol was the only thing he knew of that could alter one's perception but he couldn't detect the scent of ale or beer with their distinct smell of hops and yeast. What else could it have been?
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