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 Posted: Wed Dec 08, 2010 7:31 pm
The tide was turning, just as it should be.
Beatrix had been chased and cornered by that wretched Plague and had been forced to endure his callous words and his demands. Now, it was time to show that she wouldn't stand for it. There wasn't anyone on this earth who could force her to do something she didn't want to do, and she especially wouldn't let a Plague bully her. Perhaps her means to get her point across weren't exactly gentle or lady-like, but Beatrix understood that sometimes one needed to show exactly what they were capable of.
With one hand holding the other knife dangerous close to him she took the opportunity to grasp at the boy's shoulder once he drew closer, as if to further make her point once it's pitiful pleas came out. He was but a boy, but if he insisted on keeping company like the Plague he should be aware of what repercussions there might be...
It wasn't along until the gratingly familiar voice of the Plague was heard once more. Her eyes stood on the boy she grasped for a few more seconds before she looked back at the Plague with a stony look. No harm meant to his words?
"You say I know nothing of misery, that I am spoiled and arrogant. You say I am unfit to take care of this thing. You wish to take it from me. Either you have little conception of the words you speak or you are a liar." She hissed. "You expect me to care for a Plague, do you? And what of you, do you care for humans?" Beatrix asked, calming down a little, but still ever hell bent. She would rather be pointing this knife at him, for there wouldn't be much debate in her mind over the next course of actions.
She glanced at Georgie, holding him tightly in place before she looked back at Adal. "If you are not a hypocrite as well then you should wish me to not harm him. If that is the case, leave now and I will let him go. But I never want to see either of your faces again or I will make good on my intentions."
Her eyes confirmed every word to be true.
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Posted: Wed Jan 05, 2011 8:46 pm
As the woman spewed insipid words at his bothered Locos, Georgie gripped the end of Miss Amaranthe's wrists and pulled at them with every trembling finger to his control. Sweat dripped down his forehead as all thought of breathing stopped, like a forceful clock that oversaw his body, with his head and neck cast in marble as to not move. Yet that did not stop his heart from being rapidly, as if it were ready to jump out of his chest, and as a tiny sliver of red dripped down from the pale lady's knife, his eyes squeezed in unison. Wordless and clearly breathless, every whim of his life seemed to now be placed at the stool of a stranger Grimm's potential for forgiveness and his arrogant brother's slippery tongue.
Unfortunately, neither person refused to stand down, and Adal's scathing demeanor seethed through Georgie's tunneling vision like a piece of burning coal, and he forced his eyes to close in order to protect himself from the Locos. Adal placed a single hand over where his heart was and arched his neck forward, knitted brows raising in astonishment as his wide eyes glowed a stark yellow With a clench of his teeth he resumed his angered self and, in the surrounding noise, he laughed, and continued his spiel between fits of chuckles.
"Miss Amaranthe, Miss Amaranthe, my apologies! How could I have forgotten? Oh, no, Miss Amaranthe, you are quite clearly spoiled and quite clearly arrogant, but I've forgotten the most important part. You are an idiot." Adal took a step forward, back straightening as he widened his arms out in front of him and gave a menacing grin. "A hypocrite, am I?"
Georgie chocked through quivering lips simple whispers, single-worded drawls that pleaded Adal from going any further, "Adal, please--"
"You'd undermine the Doctor's work, would you? Do you understand the circumstances you're placed under? Do you understand what a Plague is, or is your head stuffed with too much angst to comprehend what I've told you? Will you treat this matter like a joke and must I repeat myself, Miss Amaranthe?" He drew his arms close again and pointed at his chest, again and again, brows furrowing as he continued in sorrow, "Plagues are subservient to humans, don't you understand? We must exist to help you. You. Miss Beatrix Amaranthe. You. You. I live to help humans, I live to help the Plagues. I live to help you, yet you won't even help me relieve you of something you despise."
Pausing, the sides of his cheeks bending backward as he stared at her with an anguished frown, he hissed, "Why?"
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Posted: Thu Jan 13, 2011 4:12 pm
Her grip was firm, for there was nothing that held her attention more then the matter at hand. It would not be the first time she had held a knife nor the first time she had made a mark, though her confidence level was much higher it had ever been. Those days before had been long ago when she had been a frightened and frail creature. Now, at least she had a strong willed woman at her disposal, bred and thriving off of scorn. Every word that Adal threw at her only served to fuel her more.
It was an unwise choice to toy with a woman that nothing left to lose in life and fractured conception of reality. A stubborn, unyielding woman, at that. Beatrix looked like she was on the edge of growling at him as he laughed at her, but she managed to restrain herself from anything so vulgar. "Don't you dare call me untrue names, you wretched thing!" She said with a voice that bordered on yelling. It was every bit as harsh as one would be, but she kept her volume at an acceptable level. She was a lady, after all. That didn't, however, stop her from pushing the knife even closer to the boy's flesh, with little regard for the fact that there was already a few droplets tasted on its metal point.
The boy began anew, though it really should have been in his best interests to stop talking. His words seemed to come across either as insults or as contradictions to her, for nothing good could come of the tone that he was using nor the severe strikes against his record already. The knife edged near the flesh, ready to plunge at any moment as she held a steely gaze.
Finally, the mood of the conversation seemed to change to something somber and he parted some quite hard to swallow knowledge, at least for her. Plagues were set out to help humans? It couldn't be! He was lying to her, that was the only explanation to it. He was playing some wicked game with her emotions and she was outraged by it. "You've been set on this earth to help us? To help me? How dare you speak such things! To me, of all people. You should be ashamed of yourself!" She raised her voice, unable to keep herself entirely in check any more.
"Where were you when my father was dying, wasting away beyond recognition? Where were you when he was days away from death and no one would talk to us because of this dreadful thing that overcame him? Where were you I had to watch my father die?" Her entire body was trembling with fury and the knife ground closer and closer to flesh until her instincts overcame her will and she pressed it forward without much thought at all. Her eyes were verging on tears and she had the demeanor of someone very much out of touch with the world right now.
"You weren't there when I had to marry, oh god, when I had to live through hell, locked away because my father was dead and it was either that or the streets. I lived through hell and he wouldn't die, the b*****d, why couldn't you do anything? You have never helped me, in harm or in health. You have done nothing for me." The knife twisted deeper and deeper and there was blood on her hand and tears in her eyes.
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Posted: Sat Feb 26, 2011 6:01 pm
Georgie was frozen in place as Miss Amaranthe continued her disheartened spiel, his dirty and matted hair obscuring his eyes, which were squeezed shut in absolute horror. He squirmed beneath the woman's grip, which only served to heighten the terrible pinch of the silver blade upon him, and he forced himself to remain quiet and shiver in place. This was no time to shout, not now-- and, yet, Georgie reflected his fright in the warm beads of tears that dribbled down his cheek in increasingly more frequent times.
To Beatrix's question, however, Adal couldn't think of an answer. No answer that he could think up was brief enough, so concise that it could offer the solace of understanding and silence from the lady in front of him-- he knew now that he was treading deep and murky waters. Something tugged at his lip as if to say something, but what was there to say, now? What was there to say to a disheartened woman whose life was also ruined by the Black Death, like the millions of those who lived in Panymium?
The woman's anger aside, Adal quieted and questioned himself for a moment.
How could it be his place to speak for all of the Plagues in this world?
"Miss Amaranthe, I cannot speak for all Plagues, nor am I the epitome of one," he started, his voice low, "And nor can I speak for the Black Death. The illness is a greedy one, Death does not discern between one man to another... but please, see past your father and realize that the Locos do the best that they can--"
Georgie gasped.
Georgie trembled on his knees as his throat choked and contrived for even a bite of comfortable air, but to no use; his arms squirmed and he tried to budge out of the woman's grip. He clenched his jaw and gasped, gasped again and again, each twist rendering it harder for the boy to stay awake. Adal, frozen momentarily in place, grew red in an eddy of surprise and anger, his mind slowly picking apart Georgie's discomfort and Beatrix's nearly obscured wrist twisting slowly in place.
Miss Amaranthe had taken it too far.
"--STOP!" Adal blurted, his defenses dropped into abyssal nothingness. It was easy to forgot what they were talking about, in that split moment, and all the Locos knew was that his brother was in danger. He felt adrenaline hiccuping through his body as he, without thought, pulled Georgie toward him by his arms in full force, forcibly prying his brother away from the grips of the tear-ridden Beatrix. Georgie complied with the dull weight of a puppet, and as he drew away from Beatrix, he gasped again when the dagger remained stagnant in Miss Amaranthe's arms and away from the warm flesh of his torso.
His eyes rolled over and he rested against Adal's hold, unconscious, and the Locos stared at Beatrix, his wide eyes and mouth slowly pressed together as his surprise drew away like a fog, only to reveal a flurry of anger and resentment.
"Why..."
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Posted: Sun Feb 27, 2011 8:58 am
The boy in her hands had quickly became an afterthought in this conversation, not when she had been concentrating on the wretched Plague's words. He had no right to call her any of things he did and they were all lies to begin with. He had no right to tell her that he was there to help her when that disease had already taken so much from her. When it had truly taken everything from her.
Her actions were entirely unconscious as the Plague continued on, trying to somehow rationalize his thoughts. But she would have none of that.
Not one bit.
So the gasp went relatively unnoticed, as were most of the other things that the poor boy did. He was merely a prop in this situation, a means to get out of all her anger and frustration. A victim of this terrible clash of personalities and ideologies.
Her eyes went wide at the sudden exclamation because she almost couldn't understand why. She just stood there tense as the Plague rushed over and took the poor boy out of her grasp. Her breathing stopped for a moment as she looked down at her hands and she saw blood. Her hands shook as she looked back up, at the unconscious boy and the contempt filled Plague.
Beatrix hadn't meant to hurt him, not the poor boy who had done nothing wrong. But the feelings had been there, how could the Plague ask her why she had done this? She would not hold a knife and have it be but an idle threat! The Plague had threatened her and she had retaliated. "It is always the innocent that have to suffer." She said softly, her tears increasing.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." Beatrix said and put the knife into her pocket, looking at the bleeding figure. She couldn't run from this situation, not know that she had done harm and that made her sick to her stomach. And her father had told her to never flee from an injured person. She couldn't run, oh god, what was she going to do? "Please, I need to help, please..."
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Posted: Sat Mar 05, 2011 2:23 pm
Adal gripped his arms around Georgie's bleeding form and stumbled backwards, but the difference between the Malt boy's weight and, Georgie's slump combined with Adal's inability to do anything in his shock, forced both of the boys to sway and slowly plop to the ground where they stood. His hand placed over Georgie's wound, arms coated with red, he ignored Miss Amaranthe's pleading plight.
Quickly, privately, the Plague begged, "Georgie, please, please, please hang in there--" Wrapping his hand around behind Georgie's back again, the Locos slowly staggered and lifted the both of them up from their place, carefully manipulating Georgie's gasping form to try and lift him onto his back. Neither of the boys retreated from Miss Amaranthe's gaze, the Plague too occupied and the boy too immobilized, and in doubtless moments the woman and the brothers were surrounded in a thin glaze of pedestrian attention, eyes intent on the fresh red of Georgie's wound more than anything else, others carefully studying Beatrix's guilty look with a discerning point of the finger.
Yet, weak as he was, Georgie saw this as his chance.
Hobble-kneed, Georgie weakly slid on hand away from Adal and allowed his drooping body's vertigo to pull himself away from Adal. With a sharp thud, Georgie fell back onto the floor, hands rested against the ground as arching support while he gasped and choked at the feet of looming strangers. Unable to do much, carriages and boxes in their hands, the alley marketeers gasped and backed away, Adal gleaming with even more surprise as he tried to maneuver toward Georgie again.
But, like two magnets, Georgie displaced himself from Adal and retracted his reaching hands away from him. The freckled boy turned his attention toward the wealthy woman, gasping and panting, and he slowly rose to an addled, labored kneel, sluggishly making his way toward Miss Amaranthe, a trembling and painted red hand offered toward the pallid raven-haired woman. Adal, unable to move any further, stared at the strange onslaught of Georgie's act.
"Please," Georgie whispered, a ghastly and pitiful, forced smile about him yet, "Miss Amarathe, the Plague, I need to see it..."
He would die first before failing their task.
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Posted: Mon Jun 20, 2011 7:11 pm
Beatrix was compelled to stay due to the act she had committed, otherwise she would have run fast and far, a sensation that steadily increased the more people began to circle them. And they looked at her and pointed, but she could not hear any voices. She saw some of their lips moving but there was no sound, either because they were whispering so quietly or because she was so far gone in this distressed state.
She was left helpless to watch the poor boy bleeding out and the best she could do was rub off the blood on her hands onto her black coat. She could not allow herself to to look away from them as they did the same, their gazes meeting so perfectly. Her eyes were glued to the wounded boy and his weak attempts at moving, stepping back from him as he fell. Beatrix almost couldn't stand to watch him in such a pitiful state. Perhaps it was altogether better if she left.
Her eyes widened as the injured boy came towards, nearly crawling, with a red outstretched hand. He looked like someone that might appear in a person's nightmare and she stood frozen as he came closer and closer. As he began to speak, so quiet and broken she was furiously shaking her head.
But her hand was unconsciously digging into her pocket and taking out the metal tin. She flipped open the top and two glistening eyes peered among the darkness, hidden away from the world. And then she snapped it shut and then turned and ran through the crowd, leaving the boy in his kneeling position.
Georgie's act had in the end done more harm than good, for she had only regressed in consciously accepting her Plague. It would not be for another year that she would acknowledge Cassandra on her own regard.
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Posted: Sun Jul 10, 2011 2:25 pm
The bleeding Malt boy's pain was ebbing between stirring anguish and a mindless ache, his attention begging to draw at the center of him, and he felt as if he were collapsing in on his own weight. Like an anchor at sea, his body bobbed back and forth while Beatrix seemed to move in the slowest of motions, time whirring by him as slowly as day passing to night. When a pair of black dots emerged in front of him from the tin box shakily held between the pallid woman's arms, which seemed to glow in dull light, Georgie looked up at the woman with a minute smile, hazel eyes narrowed into thin slits, and brows curled into an empathic furrow.
"Thank you--," Georgie barely managed to utter what he had to say before his pupils rolled over, and in a tired slurry the boy started to collapse toward the ground, head first. But Adal's line of sight had nary left Georgie's form viewing Beatrix and her Plague only by the corner of his vision, too afraid was he that his brother might slip into death-- with a hollow gasp, the Locos wrapped his arms around Georgie and pulled him back into his lap.
While both of the Malts sat on the Imisese ground, one unconscious and the other frozen with rising shock, his anger replaced only by his befuddlement, the rest of the crowd that stood so statue-still started to step away from the confusing scene with little regard to the two boys. It was treason to aid people at the scene of the crime, they all seemed to say with their dodging eyes, and what of the two dirty looking urchins paired up in the middle of the street? So many were killed in such a way in other passed days, the only difference was that this was in plain sight.
That was reason. What the brunette boy did moments ago was not reason.
"It was a Servos," Adal murmured, shaking his brother's form that was collapsed between his arms, "Are you happy now? You won this round."
When the blond noticed a thin curl around the edges of Georgie's mouth, a sleight smile, the Locos gave a tired frown and stood to his feet. "Of course you are."
END
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