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 Posted: Thu Apr 07, 2011 11:26 am
 BALL AND CHAIN
Credence - Plague Challenge - April 3rd, 1411
Let us descend into the blind world. Sanguine cameo with Roo's assistance. Sloane shifted on the makeshift bed uncomfortably. It was a thin mattress, much like the ones in the dungeon cells of the North Base, filled with straw and little else. The single pillow was much the same but the blanket, at least, was thicker and able to keep him quite warm despite how far below these cells were.
There was little to do now that he was here, this being his fourth day, and the idle time was rather frustrating. He was human now, so the temperature affected him far more than usual, as did the need to eat. They brought him three square meals and he didn't eat any worse than the help in the castle but he wasn't even sure if his Lady was aware they were feeding him at all.
Gauntlets set aside, the once-Plague flexed his human fingers. They were no different then before in appearance but they felt much weaker, less capable. He watched them carefully, seeing each of the subtle tendons move beneath his flesh, and sighed. If he weren't stuck in this human form he could practice more with his new found dominion over his own blood so he could be of more use to her but it seemed fate had other plans.
Instead, all he was able to do was mild exercise; jogging around the small cell, doing sit ups and push ups. With nothing else to do to pass the time or keep sane, his regiment increased nearly twice the normal amount and even in the frozen basement dungeon he would build up a sweat.
Those overseeing him knew their leader was not in a proper state of mind and so gave him a few amenities that were not normally available to captives, such as a small personal bath. It wasn't the same or as good, more like a cloth bath since they had to wheel it in and out of the cell, but it was much better than nothing and he greatly appreciated the gesture.
Upon request, belted straps were given as well. During the first few days, average work outs were only so invigorating and Sloane soon desired new ways to keep himself fit and further from losing his head amidst the near constant silence and solitude. If there were anyone else locked up with him it might have been more interesting but the knight doubted he would enjoy associating with anyone that deserved to get put here.
Taking the long belts, Sloane wound them around the mattress which was suspended just barely a foot from the floor by a featureless metal frame. It had no back or head rest, allowing him to dangle off one end, and after pulling the bed away from the wall and having it longways in the middle of the room, he tucked himself near the edge and belted his legs. Cautiously, he shifted in place to test its holding and there he was, suspended from the waist up above the floor.
Sloane tucked his hands behind his head, fingers locking, and pulled himself upright with only the muscles of his abdomen. The first few times it felt the same but after ten or so the familiar burn kicked in, much earlier than normal, and he couldn't help but grin. At least this confinement would be good for something.
Regulated breathing, he pulled himself forward, to the right, to the left, then forward again over and over. Guards would pass occasionally as the minutes ticked by and, before long, nearly an hour had passed. His breathing was kept controlled through out, loud exhales as he bends forward, inhaling quickly when pulling back. In a momentary silence between breaths, his ears picked up a faint and muffled sound like a voice, causing him to pause in his exercise. Curiosity getting the better of him, Sloane lowered his body back against the mattress so it dangled some toward the floor, craning his neck to peer through the bars as best he could but saw no one at his current angle.
After taking a moment to listen closely, no other sound carried to his ears and Sloane decided it was an aimless comment between the guards. Nothing that should concern him. Another quick intake of breath starts the cycle again as he pulled himself forward with a gentle groan.
”You are sure, sire?”
The gentle voice was but a whisper, hurried and uncertain, but close enough that he could make out every syllable. It broke through the relative silence of the dungeon and was hastily responded to by a male, ”Aye, milady. Just in front of you, in fact.”
Sloane held himself upright, mid tuck, not looking over his shoulder yet for surely he would be met with more empty grey stone. It seemed fate was kinder then that this day. ”Sir Sloane, a visitor beckons!”
At this, he dropped himself back against the mattress and found the hall upside down. Where once was bleak and featureless now stood a pale woman with short black hair of subtle waves tied over one shoulder in a braid. If it were not for the abundance of red, surely, he would not have recognized the now plainly human Plague of virgin blood.
His face lit up like a beacon in the night. ”Milady Sanguine, hello!”
Her posture was humble, as always, and her curtsy rushed, but he smiled to the woman and she offered a meek one in return. ”S-sir Sloane, t'is a pleasure and-- a surprise. Why are you below the castle's floors, sir, in the dungeons?”
The Lady's voice was a welcoming sound to his ears, though her words spoke of dubious miscommunication or a thorough lack thereof. Unable to keep his smile sturdy at the mention of their current location, Sloane rose up once more and began fiddling with the bindings on his legs to free himself. With a quiet sigh, he succeeded and rose to his feet, grabbing the blanket to wipe the moisture from his brow and neck as he approached the bars she stood so close to. ”Unfortunately, Milady... is not well and reacted poorly to my current form,” the guilt of his stretched truth hit him immediately but it was easy to hold it back without any eye contact.
It was a mistake to do such a thing to his Lady – his Grimm – even with the most noble of intentions but that was a private matter entirely, one only to be spoken of between the two of them. At least, if she was to recover.
Lady Sanguine stepped slightly closer to the bars, her hands gingerly grasping them. When he dared look up at her he could only detect disappointment in her, though it surprised him when she explained what it was directed towards. ”Lady Estratus did this to you, Sir Sloane...? T'is not characteristic of her, not in the least...” her head bowed, a despairing look across her face as she lowered her voice to but a whisper, ”She should know that the dungeons are most treacherous.”
Of course the Blood Lady knew what it was like to be locked away in this dreadful and gloomy place but Sloane felt it was easier knowing that it was not from any ill will or hatred that he was here, rather than a deterioration of the mind. How it pained him to see his Lady as such, falling apart before his very eyes, yet he still felt the need to defend her. To Lady Sanguine, however, there was no intense feeling of animosity from her comment, no need for him to probe deeper.
She was disappointed because she wanted so badly for his Grimm to be different from hers.
”She is... ill, currently,” he explained, attempting to give the woman a reassuring smile though it appeared more halfhearted, even pained, ”It is affecting her mind.” For a moment he paused, glancing down at himself before gesturing a finger between the both of them. He had already begun speaking by the time he noticed the flush of pink to her cheeks, eyes darting from his chest and honing in on something to her side.
”I can only hope if this is not permanent then neither is her affliction.” It was difficult to be optimistic when it seemed she was at wits end, slowly deteriorating from the inside out, and he was locked away with no means to help, ”...But I am fearing the worst.”
At the mention of illness, Lady Sanguine appeared confused; her head tilted slightly and her human, light brown eyes met with his, ”Ill, sire? With what?”
Frowning, Sloane rolled the blanket beneath one arm and brought his free hand to the bars, grasping one and leaning his side against the metal. It was cold and he hissed quietly at the sudden chill, lifting his body away, but soon settled against them and relaxed at the soothing change of temperature. His gaze returned to the Lady before him once he was comfortable enough, ”It would seem that she is stricken with the plague... and so I have failed to protect her in a way I thought assured.”
Lady Sanguine removed her hands from the bars, clasping them together as she shook her head. At first, he thought he might have offended or hurt her some how, unsure of how fragile her psyche was with the loss of her Grimm, but the words she spoke soothed him. ”But the fault is not yours, Sir Sloane... That is something not even the Plague's know, if they can keep the pestilence from their Grimms. T'is a fear my Grand Magus was haunted with...”
His gaze drifted at the mention of that woman, jaw somewhat rigid, and it seemed the Lady noticed. She fumbled for a moment, tripping over her own words before continuing, ”I-in some ways, this curse benefit's the Fellowship's Plagues, sire... The guards have eased around me...” Her pale fingers returned to the bars, holding them tighter than before as she leaned ever so slightly closer, ”Is it wrong to like it?”
What he could discern from her question was mild embarrassment, perhaps if he indeed thought she was in the wrong, but genuine curiosity overpowered that emotion ten fold. A light breath left him and Sloane managed a proper smile, ”Surely not, for it has improved the both of us to the humans. As they no longer fear you, I am no longer a monster.”
Surprisingly, a grin crossed the woman's features and she daintily tucked the fringe covering one of her eyes behind an ear, ”T'is a blessing to feel such a way, Sir Sloane. I feel I've nary prayed enough to deserve it...”
And here he hadn't prayed for such a blessing at all.
Seeing her at ease in such a way, so different from their previous moments together, was truly warming in the dank cold of the dungeons and he could not have held back his smile even if he wanted to. ”Perhaps we will continue to be blessed as such,” a quiet chuckle left his throat as he turned to look back at his cell, a little dose of reality before he floated away into the clouds.
Silence was the Lady's response and the knight promptly turned his attentions back to her, hoping he had not spoken out of turn. Her expression was thoughtful and, after another moment or two, she peered back up at him to give an approving nod, ”T'is a thing I'd beg for most...”
Briefly, she looked to her hands; as a Plague, they were long and delicate, fragile claws of crystalline blood, but now they were as human as his own – as any others. She smiled, but her eyes spoke the opposite with an upturned brow and Sloane might have asked if she had not spoken soon, ”Do you think, Sir Sloane, that... Pray, if we find a Locos, do you think she'd find use for me now that I am this, a human apprentice like any other?”
What a curious notion. He relaxed, leaning further against the bars so that his face was close and a smile of assurance bloomed across it, ”I should think so. If you were to assist her she would be indebted.” Shifting for a moment, he carefully added, ”I do not know her current opinion, Milady, but it can only improve if you stay by her side.”
Relief washed over him as he saw her expression soften and as she stepped nearer, moving one hand to a closer bar, he almost thought he could feel the warmth radiating from her pale form. Respectful as always, Sanguine bowed her head in thanks, ”Your assurance is the kindest I've been given, Sir Sloane...”
His head bowed in turn, grin lingering, ”I only offer kindness where I know it is deserved, Milady.”
The smile that looked so comfortable on her face was momentarily altered to a frown, as though she were struggling with something, but soon she righted herself and it returned, albeit weaker. ”I am indebted... but I've no power to release you from these barriers any earlier and it pains me. I expected Lady Estratus to be happy but her illness cannot be helped--”
Sloane's posture slumped against the bars, a sigh leaving him along with the smile, ”I had hoped she would be...” It was such a quiet statement, it was easily overlooked and he figured it was for the best.
”--and I've no word with kindred Plagues; rare is a Locos in Shyregoed.”
It was comforting, having her so near, and each time she crept even the tiniest bit closer he became more at ease. Perhaps he had been more lonely these past few days than he wanted to believe, in which case her presence was a blessing in and of itself.
However, the poor woman seemed so intent on shouldering his current predicament as her own responsibility and that was something Sloane could not abide. Releasing the bar, his hand reached out before the Lady and stopped near her face, palm out to impress importance upon his words. ”Please, do not put that burden on yourself. You hold no responsibility for my release and your company alone is of assistance,” in truth it was more of a treat but the once-Plague was not sure if that was over stepping his boundaries.
A faint blush crossed her cheeks at his words, the humble Lady's eyes drifting to the floor as her calming smile returned. ”Too kind, Sir Sloane... and already the noblest human I've met in these short years...”
Clutching the blanket, he aimed for the mattress and returned it to its rightful place. Hand free, he placed it upon his bare chest, over his heart, and bowed forward with the assistance of an iron bar, ”Now you are the one who is being too kind.”
”I know what terrors the mind brings down in the dungeon, sire; even patient men lose faith down here. T'is urgent that you are released as soon as possible... This is a detestable and familiar place; it ills me to think you tortured any longer though you're stronger than I. You've things to tend to.” Both hands wrapped around closer bars, the distance between them both growing ever more marginal, ”Knight-born, you're not warranted many breaks.”
Her words were grave and carried only truth for the knight; he had to get out of here, had to be of some help to his Lady and the Fellowship, to make up for what he was – what he had been – but as he was now there was little use and she was drifting away. Something in him, some morbid curiosity, wanted to continue waiting in this place of loneliness and silence until there was some change. Would she die after all and he would be in the same situation as Lady Sanguine, or would something even stranger occur? Was there ever a chance he could return to normal and be of use once more, leaving both he and the Blood Lady to wallow in their miserable existences?
And then, something clicked. Some vague sort of irony at her final statement that was the utter truth; since the beginning, life had not slowed for him. It gave no pause to him or his Lady and this was surely the most time he had spent, outside of recuperating within the North Base's infirmary, doing absolutely nothing. ”Then perhaps I should consider this a vacation,” he retorted with a smirk.
The comment clearly took Sanguine by surprise as she stared at him, blinking once or twice before laughing – actually laughing! She bowed her head quickly, still chuckling softly, ”I apologize, Sir Sloane... I should not have found this place to be anything like a break. You were occupied with things before I entered, without your permission, though I know not what...”
”It is no trouble,” he consoled, giving her the widest smile he could muster as both a human and one so haggard, ”I'm grateful. It has been four days since I've had any extended company, much less as pleasant as yours. I only hope the enjoyment of your current form is not wasted on me.”
Admittedly, Sloane felt a bit silly for her to have thought she was interrupting anything but a killer of time, and so he gestured toward the bed to explain, ”I was doing nothing of importance, besides; it is all I can do to keep myself busy and not wallow in the cold.”
Ah yes, cold; that was what humans felt when they were standing shirtless in the basement of a frozen fortress located in the mountains. It was only then that he realized all this time he had been so impolite and forward as to engage in conversation with a Lady when not descent, and he abruptly retreated further into the cell to collect his shirt.
The Lady frowned, muttering ”Four days and Lady Estratus has not let you out, Milord?”
Staying further from the bars for the moment, he pulled the shirt over his head and offered only a short reply -- ”Afraid not.” – before tucking the hem into the belt at his waist. Upon his return, he took note of the once more humble and flustered look the Lady had and he wondered if, perhaps, he enjoyed causing such a reaction in her.
It was strangely becoming.
”Apologies, Milady, that was not proper form,” he shuddered slightly, the fabric feeling as cold as the air against his skin but soon it would warm and offer comfort. It was best he left his gauntlets off for now, as the metal was no doubt close to freezing temperature and was much more difficult to make and keep warm than cloth.
Again she chuckled, despite her embarrassment, and it reassured him that she was not so uncomfortable as to be put off from it. It was difficult, however, for him to pin point why that was of any immediate relevance.
”T'is not a problem, Sir Sloane, you are forgiven... though, speaking of the human form, it would be unbecoming to catch a cold in the dungeons,” brightness washed over her and the sound of her laughter was as enticing as music.
The dungeons were taking their toll after all, but luckily his sense of humor was still intact. He laughed in turn, thinking how ludicrous it would be for a Plague to be caught with a cold. But he was a Plague no longer. After a few moments, their chuckles subsided and his hands found the bars once more, strategically placed near her own so he could feel the subtle heat from her skin even without touching her.
”Are you not cold, Milady? I would hate for that to befall you...”
”The cold here is bearable, Sir Sloane, but the guards say visitors in the dungeons can only stay for so long...”
”I do not wish for this place to burden your thoughts anymore than it already does.” Not wanting her to think he was turning her away, Sloane leaned his head against the bars and gave her a gentle smile. His voice was lowered to a more personal level, not quite a whisper but words solely for the two of them, ”I am truly grateful for your time, Lady Sanguine. It has helped me greatly.”
Her brow furrowed as she stepped closer, hands holding firmly to the bars but her eyes did not meet his. As they stood, only the cell door was separating them from touching and Sloane felt a shudder run through him that he wasn't entirely sure was from the cold.
Her braided head shook softly but a smile formed once more, easing his mind, ”No thoughts burden me enough to make me forget how happy I am now, sire. I could not thank you any less.”
Sloane let out a quiet hum of approval as he closed his eyes, resting his head against the bars with his chin propped up by one arm. It was wonderful to hear that from her, even as the memory of her a sobbing wreck upon the floor of Colwe before the body of her Grimm was fresh. These were memories he intended to keep close, to replace the ones of sorrow and despair.
Suddenly, a soft and damp tickle pressed against his forehead, warmth veining across his skin from the spot as he felt breath. Opening his eyes, he saw Lady Sanguine lower herself from tiptoes and took her skirt in each hand to curtsy. Her lips had touched his skin and it felt more invigorating than he could ever hope to describe.
”And I am grateful to yours, dear knight. I will pray for your release to be soon.” Surely she was brighter, both in demeanor and appearance, then she had ever seemed.
Sloane hung against the bars silently for a few seconds more, unable to pull himself out of his stunned and thoroughly pleased stupor until she began turning to step away. At this, he pressed himself as far against the bars as he could, arms tucked through and holding their outer rims. His smile refused to leave. 'Thank you, Milady Sanguine. I hope we speak again under better circumstances.”
Her head bowed in agreement, the Lady's own smile choosing to remain visible, and she turned back toward the guard stationed at the far end of the hall. ”Farewell, then, Sir Sloane.”
As she passed, the guard bowed in his direction and called down ”Hang on there, sire. May the Fellowship be with you,” before beginning to lead Lady Sanguine up the stairs.
One final pause was given as she glanced his way, hand gently waving as if to regain his attention. It hadn't left her at all. Though difficult to tell from the distance, he saw her lips move and his eyes closed again in comfort when he realized what she said with that light flush to her cheeks.
”Be strong.”
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Posted: Thu Apr 07, 2011 11:29 am
ASYMPTOMATIC
Credence - Panymium Challenge - April 5th, 1411
Not without cause is this going to the abyss; it is willed on high.Credence "Leaking Sun," during daylight, for those who lack sleep There's been a mark of hallucinations across Panymium, and many have sent certain people into a certain daze. The earth is being marked by copious amounts of sand, a kind of thing that Panymium rarely sees outside of the scattered beach shores, and the people and objects around them seem to be melting and molting feathers. Not only this, but you see a bird's visage at the corner of your eye, a bird-headed man covered in feathers with a bare and tanned body standing aimlessly amidst the crowds, when you are alone, at any time-- but he does not speak to you. At some point in time this bird-headed man will tempt you to do something, a question that has lurked at the back of your mind, and that question will be the only thing he will say to you before he disappears, molting away until he's nothing but a scattered collection of dust. What does he say, and what do you do in response?
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Posted: Thu Apr 07, 2011 11:53 am
RELEASE
Credence - Panymium Challenge - April 5th, 1411 (night)
And why doth our sin so waste us?Credence "Leaking Sun," during daylight, for those who lack sleep There's been a mark of hallucinations across Panymium, and many have sent certain people into a certain daze. The earth is being marked by copious amounts of sand, a kind of thing that Panymium rarely sees outside of the scattered beach shores, and the people and objects around them seem to be melting and molting feathers. Not only this, but you see a bird's visage at the corner of your eye, a bird-headed man covered in feathers with a bare and tanned body standing aimlessly amidst the crowds, when you are alone, at any time-- but he does not speak to you. At some point in time this bird-headed man will tempt you to do something, a question that has lurked at the back of your mind, and that question will be the only thing he will say to you before he disappears, molting away until he's nothing but a scattered collection of dust. What does he say, and what do you do in response?
He was the only one in a cell. The only one locked in the dungeons now. It was lonely and pitiable. Nearly a week of this with but a single beacon of hope in the brief presence of Lady Sanguine.
All he could do was try and stay warm, keep working his new human body, and attempt to distract himself at every waking moment.
In a place like this, there was very little to do but think.
Familiar foot steps sounded against the stone floor. A subtle jingle of keys accompanied them tauntingly. The guard's palm knocked against one of the frigid iron bars, which Sloane responded to with a mere groan of acknowledgment. This usually happened when food was brought.
”Sir, you've a visitor.” The fact they still called him “sir” in this situation only mocked him further.
Another short grunt was given, though this time the large mass under a thick blanket shifted upon its meager bedding. ”Thank--” he started, sitting up and making eye contact with the guard, but the rest caught in his throat as the click of heels came from around a corner and his Grimm stepped up to the door, ”--you...”
The guard bowed, both to Sloane then the Grand Magus. Lady Estratus returned it with a nod, face weary. ”You may leave us,” she spoke quietly, it almost sounding more like a request than an order.
He responded with yet another bow, ”Of course,” and tucked himself away, returning to his post at the entrance.
From there, Sloane was at a loss. He adjusted himself so that he was seated at the edge of the bed, blanket wrapped around his back, but he could not bear to look at the woman on the other side of the bars. Similarly, she did not look to him. Silence. Only silence. Each agonizing second of it served to jab at the knight and his grip upon the blanket around him tightened. His lips quivered, eyes glossy, breathing uneven and ragged.
”I ruined everything for you...” Sloane choked out, not bothering to hide how much her mere presence was hurting him.
Only from his peripheral did he allow himself to see her, watch as she continued standing still.
Motionless.
”A confession several years late,” she finally spoke, voice sturdy and cold. Sloane felt his stomach drop. He leaned forward, hand covering his mouth. ”...but, no. Not this time.”
The once-plague swallowed back his increasing despair and the bile that accompanied it. Lady Estratus took hold of an iron bar, black glove wrapped around the metal while the other was slipped between two and held out. Both paused where they were until Sloane became curious by the returning quiet and chanced a glance to his grimm. His own hand still cupped over his mouth, the expression he offered her only looked more confused.
”Remove the glove,” she commanded calmly.
He did not move, save for taking his hand away. ”I--”
”Remove it.”
Only another moment's hesitation passed him before Sloane let the blanket drop from his shoulders. He approached cautiously, avoiding eye contact and instead concentrating on the glove as ordered but the look of apprehension on his face was undeniable. Both of his hands, still large, stopped on either side of her wrist. He was trembling but she was as still as a statue. One second-long glance was given to her eyes, which were fixed upon their hands as well. Gingerly he pull the hem of her sleeve up just enough to expose the edge of her glove before his fingers worked at coaxing hers from their leather binding. After half a minute of silent torment, he managed to free them and slowly pull the leather glove from her hand.
Her exposed flesh was pale, unmarked by blackened touch. As if to exemplify, Lady Estratus turned her hand over, moved her fingers, then reached out to take the glove from Sloane. He flinched but she retrieved it with no difficulty.
”...I don't understand,” Sloane's voice shook like the rest of him.
”Neither do I.” Her arm retreated from the bars, fingers easing back into the glove. ”One moment I feel death's grip upon me, the very next--” leather groaned softly as it stretched to accommodate her hand, ”--I can breathe easy. Every symptom of the plague I showed, how I thought things would end... ceased.”
Sloane reeled, catching himself on the metal bars and resting his head against his forearm.
”I spent most of the day in the infirmary. No one could find reason or cause. My strength is returning... and with it, my clarity.” Lady Estratus' voice trailed off. She turned away, putting her back against the bars. Her face was kept hidden from her knight who only chanced a momentary glance.
Slowly, clumsily, Sloane felt himself deflate. His grip upon the bars loosened, his knees grew weak and unable to hold his weight. The large knight found himself sitting on the cold floor of his cell, heart threatening to beat right out of his chest and eyes so coated in tears he could barely distinguish shapes beyond dull grey blobs. It was such a strange mixture of relief and distress, fear and comfort, that he felt now. He wanted to dig his claws into something, pull his armor around for comfort, but he had neither now. He was completely vulnerable, inside and out, laid bare before his Lady Estratus – and that terrified him.
Even worse, she kept falling silent. Sloane could not even hope to find words appropriate to the situation, let alone at all, and every second of silence he prayed she would continue speaking. This was what he begged for, until she finally did. Then all he wanted was to take it back.
”...Why did you kiss me?”
Her question was whispered with uncharacteristic concern but to Sloane it only sounded like disgust. He couldn't look at her knowing she was refusing to offer him the same courtesy, but even worse would be if she did look, if they locked eyes right then.
Sloane's grip on the bars tightened, wishing instead the cold iron was a soft, warm wrist he had the opportunity to touch moments ago but squandered.
”I...” The truth would only disgust her further, though he was certain the very sight of him made her sick already. ”I wanted...” he drew in a single ragged breath, ”to see you smile...”
Lady Estratus' arms fell to her sides. Sloane flinched again but attempted to prepare himself for any scathing remarks. None came. Her fingers curled back to hold the bars behind her and Lady Estratus carefully lowered herself to a crouch. Once she came to a halt, her hands moved to rest in her lap. She was on the same level as him, his head resting just a bit higher than hers due to their size difference but it didn't matter – she was so close.
”Why?” she asked again and Sloane felt his throat knot up.
He waited for her to continue, the full question he was sure she meant flashing repeatedly in his brain; ”Why would you ever make me smile?”
She did not.
”Sage...” One of his hands reached toward her. ”You... are the most important person to me... It was true from the moment I was born. I have to protect you. Be near you. But it – it wasn't enough. I wanted to be so close we could touch again. So close – we were almost one...” He stopped, just barely brushing a few strands of dark hair. She didn't react. ”Even closer, if I could help it...”
Sloane's breath hitched and he pulled away, palm resting on the stone floor instead of her warm back. ”When I was small, you always held me. Now you... you barely look at me.” His Grimm shifted subtly against the bars, ever silent, but it registered to him as discomfort. ”I have no one but myself to blame for it. For how I changed in your eyes. How you locked yourself away... I sapped your last vestige of hope, any happiness that managed to survive.” Sloane released the bar, turning himself away as well. Seated with his back against the bars, arms resting on his knees, his fingers tucked into his hair and over his tear streaked face. ”I took comfort in nothing else but the thought I could protect you from the disease I carried in me and then I failed you in that as well.” His voice shook, cracking slightly as his volume increased. ”You were dying and it was my fault, like everything for us. I've only ever caused you grief... so I -- I just wanted you to smile...”
It was selfish, it was stupid, and so was he.
The sound of his shuddering breath as despair overtook him was the only thing between them, then. Sloane crumpled forward, burying his face in his hands as he tried to fold in on himself. Beside him, Lady Estratus continued her silence and refused to budge, save for lowering her head to rest against her knees. For all it was, for the pain it caused Sloane, it was strangely companionable to have her listen to him cry. Despite the weight of her presence and everything else, it was comforting having her so near.
By the time Sloane calmed enough for his breathing to be shallow, he had moved from a sitting position to laying upon the floor. His face ached from the force of its contortions, eyes sore and irritated, and his shivering returned to being only from the cold.
Fabric shifting made Sloane hold his breath, listening intently as Lady Estratus returned to a stand. He didn't dare look at her.
”My feelings do not remotely mirror yours,” she spoke steadily. Sloane released his breath, expression tensing as if he felt a knife twist in his back. ”You may be wearing human skin now but first and foremost you are a knight. Plague or not, your duty is the same – it has nothing to do with smiles.”
Neither moved from their spot but Sloane curled once more, chest aching. He gripped at his shirt, fingers clutching and scraping desperately in the hopes they might miraculously carve out his heart. What did a knight need it for when it was pierced so easily by words?
”Even so... I cannot think of you differently. You are plague to me, regardless.” He would always be a plague. He would always be filthy, disgusting to her. ”I take my role as a Grimm very seriously.”
”It is a heavy burden for you...” he huffed, trembling voice soaked with guilt.
She stayed quiet for a few moments, the silence of which he immediately took as agreement. Certainly this was why she had come here, to pull his self inflicted wounds apart and leave them to be infected so he would have the slowest and most painful death possible while he rotted away.
Lady Estratus turned, watching as Sloane refused to acknowledge the movement, and she lifted her chin as she gazed down at him. ”A burden I carry proudly.”
With great reluctance, the caged knight lifted his head and turned to look at the woman staring down at him in one of his greatest moments of weakness. Her gaze held no pleasure in seeing him so low, it held no pleasure for anything, but there was something in her amber stare that made him feel even weaker. It was pity. Once it registered, Lady Estratus lowered her eyes, hesitated, and walked away without another word. Sloane couldn't will himself to stand for some time, instead just staring stupidly at where she had been.
Silence was his companion once more, an oppressive cold returning. With great effort, he peeled himself from the floor but his head was swimming. He came to rest both hands upon the bed, leaning over it.
A hushed whisper, like a small breath of wind, drew his attention. His brown, human eyes met a corner of the cell that was usually empty. What stood was a dark presence, tall and menacing, with its face enshrouded by shadow save for two faintly gleaming eyes. Sloane stepped back from the mattress, instinctively readying his hands but there were no claws to bear nor blades to call. It stood a head taller than him at least, difficult to say precisely in the dim light, but it merely stared unmoving.
Behind him, metal clanged loudly, distracting him for the briefest of moments. The guard from before was fumbling with his door. When Sloane looked back, there was nothing – just an empty room as had been the case for his entire stay.
The door groaned loudly in protest as it was opened. ”Sir,” the guard gave a short bow, but Sloane was distracted, still staring into the cell. ”Sir Sloane,” he tried again, this time getting a response as Sloane looked back with wild eyes. ”S-sir, are you alright?”
”Did you see anyone here? Just now.”
”Only the Grand Magus, sir. She took her leave just a minute ago.”
”No one else?” Sloane glanced to the corner once more.
The guard shook his head slowly. ”Not a soul. Is everything alright?”
Sloane took his time in responding, refusing to take his eyes off the empty corner in case the shadows moved at all. Nothing. ”...Yes. Forgive me. I've not had much sleep lately.” He turned back toward the guard, a hand resting on his head. Only then did the door being opened click in his mind and he stared at it, raising a brow.
His companion caught on quickly and offered a bow again. ”The Grand Magus ordered for your release. You're free to go now, sir.”
That hand quickly dropped to Sloane's side. The guard grinned a little, his blue eyes gleaming with sympathy. ”Sorry about all of this, sir. I'm sure you'll warm up right quick with some soup next to a fire.”
”Yes,” Sloane breathed in disbelief, ”Yes, I suppose I would.” The shock on his face shifted, a smile pulling at his lips for the first time in days. ”Thank you...”
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Posted: Thu Apr 07, 2011 12:00 pm
QUESTIONS
Credence - Panymium Challenge - April 6th, 1411
I come from a place whither I desire to return.the trusted place by her side"Do you trust him?"
"Can your passions be unrequited?"Credence "Leaking Sun," during daylight, for those who lack sleep There's been a mark of hallucinations across Panymium, and many have sent certain people into a certain daze. The earth is being marked by copious amounts of sand, a kind of thing that Panymium rarely sees outside of the scattered beach shores, and the people and objects around them seem to be melting and molting feathers. Not only this, but you see a bird's visage at the corner of your eye, a bird-headed man covered in feathers with a bare and tanned body standing aimlessly amidst the crowds, when you are alone, at any time-- but he does not speak to you. At some point in time this bird-headed man will tempt you to do something, a question that has lurked at the back of your mind, and that question will be the only thing he will say to you before he disappears, molting away until he's nothing but a scattered collection of dust. What does he say, and what do you do in response?
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Posted: Thu Apr 07, 2011 12:05 pm
CHOICE
Credence - Panymium Challenge - April 8th, 1411
O conscience, upright and stainless, how bitter sting to thee is a little fault!Credence "Your Thin Frame," Grimms The Black Death has been healed from you completely, and your body feels as if the entire experience has never happened, though the threat is seemingly lingering on-- the unmovable crows are still laying dead on the streets, now as hardened as rock and smelling of an even viler decay. Every Grimm has also been sent a letter, parallel to the one given to you at the start of all of this, wrapped now in red ribbon and delivered by a dove, glowing with white. The crinkled piece of parchment whispers to you, "You have a choice."The dove flutters its wings and is seemingly choking, then in front of you is something reasonably strange, bundles of extremely heavy feathers tied around with crude string. It whispers onward, "To make a Plague human or to taunt the Grimms further of the Black Death, grind these feathers to dust and feed it to the object of your attention."You've been given a choice-- not your Plague, nor your benefactor, no, simply you-- you can either use this strange gift to malevolently harm a Grimm and further their Black Death infestation or, on the other hand, you can use it to keep your Plague as a human for longer. Just before the dove flutters away from your sight, it whispers, "Now you know how wretched it feels, to be human and feel human sickness. Pray, will you play God with me?"
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Posted: Thu Apr 07, 2011 12:25 pm
CLEANSE
Credence - Faction Challenge - April 10th, 1411
Pure and disposed to mount unto the stars.Credence "A Finer Ash," Fellowship of Mages There are some remnants left of the cultists' presence in several of the Shyregoedian firms, but for now the cultists have left you be, and for some strange reason the crows manifested around major Mage areas have dissipated nearly entirely. That said, however, many of the Mages are now left Plagued or dead, dropping like flies, and what few of you are left healthy and standing have the job of disposing of the cultist remains-- the leftover crows, the Furvus Elixirs, the Plagued mages, the dead cultists, everything, despite your rank in the Fellowship or in the commonwealth. It's a lot of errands to go through to dispose of such things but, when you do have to, how do you fare and what do you make of it all?
The cistern was wholly contaminated with a taint far worse than the plague, stained with the blood of innocents that would never completely wash away no matter how hard they may try.
Still just barely human, Sloane resolved to do what he could in the calmer moments of that day, a day more quiet and uneventful than any other in what seemed like ages, and assist in the disposal of bodies from Anica's grounds before they piled so high and numerous that there would be difficulty walking outside. While most others were tasked with clearing cloaked cadavers and corpses of birds, even some of their own poor flock, it seemed he was the only one to outright volunteer in the removal of the young girls' bodies still lingering in the lower castle.
Untouched, they were tucked sloppily into one corner of the large room in the center of which stood a large wooden basin still containing the blood bath of the traitorous Waldgrave. Pity seeped through every pore and Sloane found it difficult to keep a straight face as he approached the corpses.
So cold was the region and this section of the castle that they still had not begun to decompose, slowed even more with the absence of blood, and each of their pale faces carried a tinge of blue. Uneven breath came out in small visible plumes, the chill of the air belying the sweat forming across his brow at the sight.
Hesitantly he approached the pile, unable to control the shivers or twitches coursing through his body, particularly his fingers which would jolt and shudder at his sides. Perhaps it was for the best he was the only one here to deal with these poor souls, for surely most others would be unable to stand so close.
If Sloane were a religious man he would have taken the time to pray for each and every one of them.
A few soldiers had assisted him in the preparation earlier, before quickly departing. It appeared even they did not have the stomach for such a task. He had asked them to help him raise the bath in order to tuck the base of a wooden cart and its wheels beneath it. With that settled, he would be able to remove a few of the bodies at a time, as well as the blood, and eventually dispose of the entire tub all together.
It was good in theory but now he would have to see if he could make good of it in practice and that was the truly difficult part.
Several minutes had passed and still he stood there, unsure of where to start and how to be respectful.
Air catching in his throat, he was brought back to the present and forced himself to get close enough to bend down and pick one of them up. At first, he wasn't sure where to put his hands, not wanting to pull one's hair or cut her dress, but when he managed to tuck his arms beneath a very petite blonde girl he realized another problem; with each body that was displaced, the way they laid was as well and a few of the bodies jostled.
Sloane nearly cried out, thinking one might tumble and crack her head on the stone, but she stopped just another body away. Clutching the young girl to his chest, he let out a quiet whimper before approaching the tub and looking the girl over.
She couldn't have been more than eight years old, this one, and wearing such an elegant dress it was clear she was some sort of noble child. Her hair was cropped short, bangs forming a fringe across her brow and the sides framing her cheeks. If it weren't for the very obvious stain upon her dress and the long slices at her throat and wrists she might have appeared as though she were merely sleeping.
His brown eyes traveled to the dark pool of blood, innocent blood, and he froze. He couldn't just leave her here, nor any of the others, but something felt very off about putting this girl into a vat of her own blood, dead or not.
Regardless, it was something that had to be done, for the good of Anica and his own conscience. Hardly breathing, he lowered the small girl into the tub and didn't release until he felt her tiny feet touch the floor. Unlike a recently dead body, hers sunk like a stone to the bottom and a few bubbles of air from her gashes accompanied the descent.
Sloane nearly broke then and there, quickly stepping away from the tub and the bodies and almost tripping in the process. No matter what he told himself, he would not feel any better until this job was complete and it would take a large toll on him until then – perhaps even after.
Taking a minute to calm himself and regulate his breathing, Sloane set about to collecting another body, this one an early teen with curly red hair. Her wounds were in the same places, large and numerous veins to sever and bleed out from until there was nothing left. The process likely took some time, a good amount of it while the girls were still conscious. The Infitialis felt his lip quiver in sorrow at the thought.
Plucking her gently from the others, he waited a moment to be sure he had not disturbed any too greatly before moving to the tub once more. Just the same, it took him a moment or two to submerge the second girl just beside the first but the process was the same. She sank, dead weight with nothing left to float as the liquid that once gave her life filled the open crevices in her body.
It was the same for many of the others, but it became marginally easier with each girl. Blondes, brunettes, red heads, all ages between six and eighteen at the most, all from different regions of Panymium and the Northern Sanct and every one of them likely having ties to royals in some way. The House really outdid themselves in finding sacrifices for Waldgrave, it was a wonder there was not more word of missing girls across the continent. Then again, a handful of missing girls was not 'news' when there was an epidemic.
His pace slowed as the tub was nearing too full for him to bear and the wagon beneath the tub likely would not stand for much more weight. Sloane returned to the now small pile, it seemed only seven or so girls remained of the fifteen some and it was a relief that he was over half finished. One more would be the end of this round and then they could get to work on disposing of the girls with the other bodies.
As unfortunate as it was, there was no room for proper burials, especially in the mountains, and pyres were the only option as in most plagued areas. With the sheer number of bodies stacking up, however, it was both the only option available and the only option desired by most mages.
Eyes averted as he turned a young black haired girl over, tucking her close, Sloane made his way back to the bath. It was easier not to look at them, to look anywhere but their faces, but as he adjusted the body to be lowered his gaze accidentally found it.
It was just for a split second but that had been enough.
Her eyes were just barely open, gaze directed toward nothing in particular but in his vicinity. Long black hair framed her pale young face and, for the briefest of moments, his mind retreated to a few days ago when his Grimm had called on him to comb her hair while addled by the plague. Ever so gently he had pulled her back so he could hold her, just for a moment, and her expression was so listless it made his heart ache. Hers was the same.
Sloane's legs became weak and he found himself on his knees, clutching the girl's body tightly to his chest. She looked so much like his Grimm when he was small, when she still smiled, but the girl wasn't smiling. She was empty, just as his Grimm was now, and he could no longer keep his grip.
He leaned forward, letting her slip from his arms to the floor, and pressed his armored hands hard against his face. His throat felt tight, heart beating so fast he thought it might pop, and a muffled yell ripped through him against his palms. Sloane's entire body shook, shivering uncontrollably as his eyes became wet and fogged. In a flash, his claws moved from his face to the stone floor and so did his head, brow hitting roughly and scrapping from the impact. Eyes clenched tight, his face and body contorted as a terrible wail passed through him and his claws dug into the stone, scratching it noisily.
Attempting to choke back any more, his teeth clamped down on his lower lip but he quickly released it at the sudden stabbing sensation. Without a moment to spare, he scrambled to his feet and ran to the tub, peering at his reflection. Dark red hair, pointed teeth, mismatched swirled eyes.
He was a Plague once more and the effects of whatever caused it had worn off entirely. However, it did nothing to change his current torment and he soon slipped to the floor, back against the bath.
Though shaking, he was able to restrain anymore cries and kept quiet as his breathing shuddered just shy of hyperventilation. Occasionally his sight began to drift back towards the girl's body still lying motionless on the floor but he always caught himself before he spotted her fully, deviating his attention to the ceiling or another section of floor.
No one was around to hear him scream and it was for the better.
Once his eyes were dry and breathing regulated to a mostly normal level, Sloane staggered upright and returned to the body. He kept his eyes forward, looking up instead of down when he lowered her, and gave a great sigh once she was in with the others.
Bending down, his claws wrapped around the lead for the mostly disassembled wagon and, after a moment of struggle, was able to pull the bath into a steady momentum.
They would be taken care of and, in the process, so would he. He told himself all the while that the resemblance was superficial at best, much like with Miss Amaranthe, and that all similarities stopped there but it was still difficult for his heart to accept even though his mind knew. She would be put to rest, hopefully able to move on, but his Grimm would not have that opportunity for some time to come.
Whether she would ever find peace was questionable at best but he would stand by her through the worst of it, if only she would allow.
He was not a man to her, nor a Plague, but a companion and defender – a weight he would carry more proudly in the future.
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Posted: Sun Apr 17, 2011 1:53 pm
???
Credence - April 17th, 1411
A light in the darkness or a shadow among illumination.Sloane, Ophelia, and Oren go to rescue Theo from MEDIEVAL PRISON
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Posted: Sun Apr 17, 2011 1:53 pm
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Posted: Sun Apr 17, 2011 2:05 pm
TILL DEATH part one
Credence - Panymium Challenge - April 23rd, 1411
A crow's work is never done.Credence ...Or it will do a great many things to your health. If Obscuvos was chasing you at any point in time the previous week, and has faded in and out of his appearance as of late, this is the time he'll become the most sentient. The black goop that's been appearing in masses across the streets have recollected and are seemingly immediately attracting to this god image that is following you around, real in mass or not. He is becoming a bulky and unavoidable thing, and what was once a stalker has now become murderous. He snares open his crow's beak and elongates his feathered neck, arched in an eerie fashion. Obscuvos can devour you. This thing will murder you at any cost, and perhaps it will, but this instance of killing seems to be nothing but a delusion. Once he gets his final and imminent grip on you, you'll recognize your mode of death and you'll feel pain in the process, but after a strange dream you wake. When you wake, you're covered in a seeping black and you have complete memory of what just happened to you. How do you get killed? Did you really get killed at all?
His form ducked behind a pillar once more, armored back pressed against the tall stone as he took a moment to catch his breath. This all started the evening before, just some odd hours ago truthfully, when all of those wretched birds began animating themselves. They had been dead, masses of them dead for days or even weeks, but as he stepped in to assist in clearing them away they all reared back and took flight.
Then they changed.
Everyone fled, blocking many by barring doors and windows, but he had taken time to get others in before himself. All that was left was that scent, that taint, and he could only thank the Aether that he were not human and no others had been touched for surely it would lead to their immediate plaguing and death. At least, he was thankful then but now this seemed to be some sort of after effect. As if the increased scent was baiting this damned creature.
Sloane knew all too well what it was, having caught a glance prior to the chase. It was that same damn inquisitor, the one who had relentlessly pestered him whenever he was alone with a voice as quiet as night but rough as daggers.
Obscuvos.
His entire body tensed at that thought, the sound of flapping wings meeting his ears as if his mind cued the bird man's entrance. He wasted no time, immediately peeling himself from his momentary reprieve and the chase began anew.
Behind him, the Glutton God shrieked; large black wings carried him swiftly as if he weighed nothing, long feathered neck arched and extended and giant beak open, poised for attack. His pale fingers groped at the air before him, aching to latch onto any part of the Infitialis.
At a corner, Sloane buckled and spun, claws digging into a smaller pillar and propelling himself around it so he was behind his enemy. Obscuvos let out a shriek of surprise as the Plague extended a long blade from his arm and took a few good swipes but only managing to hit air or feathers. With each failed hit, the Plague's frustration rose and at the last one a roar escaped him as the House's Lord fluttered back for safety, increasing their distance enough that the blade was rendered useless.
The dark of the room seemed to swallow his form and as Sloane rushed forward, there were naught but a few fluttering black feathers in his place. No beat of wings, no crow calls, and the sudden silence and absence of anyone but himself in the hall caused the hair on the back of his neck to stand on end. Swiftly, he spun around with blade pointed but it met nothing but air – the terrible deity was not behind him, and as far as the Plague could tell he had ceased to even be in the area at all. For a moment, he was relieved and let the breath he had been holding out, only to choke it back in at the thought of the b*****d teleporting to some other section of the castle.
”No,” he whispered in defiance, breaking out into a run for the opposite end of the hall where he had originally come. The only other place he would go, if not to burden and torture the innocent mages within these walls, was to none other than his Lady.
Or, perhaps... Lady Sanguine?
Before the thought was given a chance to sink in, that momentary faltering had been just the chance it needed. As if flying out of the darkness itself, Obscuvos' hand clutched a clump of Sloane's hair tightly, pulling his head back. The Infitialis' yell was cut short with a squish and it took a few stiff seconds before the Plague had even registered what occurred.
Vision blurred, his swirled eyes cast down to his chest and a wet cough shook through him at the sight. Protruding through his armor as if it had been cut through like butter was an angled and ornate blade, curved and beautiful, covered in both the thick red of blood and the sludgy black of taint. The same contents spilled down from his mouth, more escaping with each choke and even a bit trickling from one nostril.
Drawing in a ragged breath, a clawed gauntlet wrapped around the blade while the other reached behind to feel the hilt. It was so familiar, so well crafted and sturdy. His body shook, eyes wide from the pain but not truly seeing as all of his senses were concentrating on what had been embedded through him. It wasn't until his claws felt along the base of the blade and met with threaded fabric that he realized just why this blade was so familiar.
It was him.
Obscuvos twisted the blade, plunging it further. Tainted blood spurt from the wound and spilled up through Sloane's throat, making it almost impossible to breathe. His hands held tightly to the blade, wrapping around it, and with all his might he tried to push it in the opposite direction. Another twist sent him buckling to his knees, unable to control his convulsions as blood began pooling around him.
Still he held fast, a look entirely unfitting across his face. With each twist and shove of the blade, he would cough and spit up more blood, but there was a grim satisfaction held upon the Plague.
The blade was him and he couldn't stop smirking about it, even as everything turned black.
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Posted: Sun Apr 17, 2011 2:06 pm
TILL DEATH part two
Credence - Panymium Challenge - April 24th, 1411
A dreamer's sleep never ends.Credence ...Or it will do a great many things to your health. If Obscuvos was chasing you at any point in time the previous week, and has faded in and out of his appearance as of late, this is the time he'll become the most sentient. The black goop that's been appearing in masses across the streets have recollected and are seemingly immediately attracting to this god image that is following you around, real in mass or not. He is becoming a bulky and unavoidable thing, and what was once a stalker has now become murderous. He snares open his crow's beak and elongates his feathered neck, arched in an eerie fashion. Obscuvos can devour you. This thing will murder you at any cost, and perhaps it will, but this instance of killing seems to be nothing but a delusion. Once he gets his final and imminent grip on you, you'll recognize your mode of death and you'll feel pain in the process, but after a strange dream you wake. When you wake, you're covered in a seeping black and you have complete memory of what just happened to you. How do you get killed? Did you really get killed at all?
There was nothing in sight, just an endless sea of black, and yet he could feel himself reeling head over heels in a constant loop.
He was wet, cold, his body ached and his head was clouded with dizziness.
Then, suddenly, he was falling.
Without a sound, his body plummeted miles through darkness and collided with something firm, hard, and entirely uncomfortable but he was substantially no worse for wear.
Mind hazy with a dull buzz, he thought for a moment there was a voice speaking to him but he could not hear the words. His fingers flexed, claws scraping against the stone floor, and he heard a gasp.
Giving a start, his entire body jolted awake and memories flooded his mind.
Sloane pulled himself up quickly, eyes darting around the now well lit hall, looking over his shoulder and at the ceiling. Finally they landed on a young woman but a few feet away with her hands covering her mouth. She appeared in shock and, only after he looked upon himself, did he realize why.
All down his front and spattered across the floor was dried blood, soiled with thick taint. The Infitialis held his palms up, examining them, and they too had minor remnants. His fingers began probing his armor, at the front and back, but there were no cracks, breaks or breaches and, willing his armor away from his abdomen, he discovered that there was no exit wound for the blade to have pierced. Willing it back for the sake of the woman's embarrassment, he glanced over to her and gave a confused pout to which she gasped and clutched at her heart.
”I'd thought you were dead, sir!” her voice was cracking, the poor woman having been scared to tears.
The Plague gave a pause, looking at the blood soaked stone once more before mumbling ”So did I...”
She gave a quiet sound of confusion but he waved any questions she may have had away as he stood. Once on his feet, she approached and looked him up and down, cheeks still wet and eyes red. Sympathy coated his face and Sloane attempted to offer her a smile of reassurance. It seemed to go over well, as she smiled weakly in return before peering at the dried pool.
”What time is it?” curiosity had peaked for the Plague Knight as he looked at one of the nearby windows and saw blue sky.
The woman faltered for a moment, also gazing out the window, ”It is nearly noon, sir. How long were you...?”
A frown crossed his lips, brows knitting, perplexed. "Around midnight, I believe.” It made sense he hadn't been found until then, as the hall that had served as their brief battle ground and game of cat and mouse was one that was rarely traversed.
It was sheer luck she had found him at all.
”Blimey,” she murmured, hands clasped in front of her apron.
Now that his senses were returning he noted that she was a light brunette, hair tucked up in a fairly messy bun with a few wavy pieces hanging out. Her build was average, but perhaps wider than most, and freckles dotted the gently sun kissed skin across her face. The attire she donned, as well, tipped him off to a fact that likely should have been obvious from the beginning.
The poor girl was but a maid.
It was obvious that she was intensely curious but kept herself from asking anything else now that she was sure he was fine, not wanting to offend such a strong knight that answered directly to the Grand Magus and was so duly ranked. As such, she opted to offer ”A-allow me,” and darted toward one of the pillars where a bucket of water lay. She was almost on her hands and knees in front of the bloody stone when Sloane held his gauntlets up and waved them in warning.
”N-no, no. Please, miss, do not touch it,” crouching down, he pressed a hand against it, gently patting the blood, and when he brought it up his palm had gained a few new wet dots of red and black, ”It's still wet...”
”Pardon, sir?” the maid pouted, sitting back on her shins with a floor brush in hand.
Sloane's mouth opened, then closed. How could he explain...? ”Well,” he started, clearly stumbling over his thoughts, ”It could be dangerous. You see?” A claw pointed towards his eyes, indicating his very nature, and she seemed to understand, ”Because of what I am.”
”A Plague, sir.”
”Precisely.”
The same clawed finger was directed back toward the pool of blood, ”My blood is plagued as well, so it would be best if I were to clean it.” His hand was held out, patiently waiting for the brush which she was clutching so tight her knuckles had paled.
Her bright green eyes seemed conflicted, staring down at the slightly damp stain, then his hand, his eyes, and back again. Stopping to meet his gaze, she held the brush closer to herself as she asked ”You're certain you're alright, milord?” to which a chuckle slipped from the Plague.
”Physically,” he mused, wriggling his fingers as if beckoning the brush.
That seemed to soften her up enough and, with a bemused smile of her own, she gently placed the brush in his palm while avoiding contact with any of his armor. She pulled the bucket of water close to him for easy access before getting to her feet and dusting the front of her apron off.
”Then I suppose I should be on m'way, sir, if'n you're well,” to this he nodded, smiling but careful not to let an intimidating tooth slip into visibility, ”I'll be working on the other rooms so just drop those off in the servants quarters when you've finished, sir. Thank you.”
”Of course.”
With that, she stepped away to courtesy and ducked out of the hall, the sound of her shoes carrying for some time before disappearing entirely. Only then did he allow his previously unabashed demeanor drop into a more rigid stature. His attentions fell to the floor, teeth gritted in both confusion and disgust as he willed his right gauntlet away up to the elbow to reveal human flesh and fingers with which he dipped the brush into the water and began scrubbing.
A bath would be necessary afterward, as well, but there were more important matters weighing on his mind. The most important question of all was: what the hell happened?
It didn't make any sense.
If his death had truly been an illusion, some sort of hallucination like before, then why was there physical evidence and a witness of it? He was alive and unharmed, but he recalled clearly what it felt like to have his lungs collapse, his throat filled with so much blood that he couldn't breathe, his body failing to respond to commands.
He knew what it felt like to die and it was one of the worst things he could have ever felt. A death that had been designed specifically to make him feel every agonizing nerve as they ripped, every vein as they popped.
The thought made him increasingly aware of the bile swirling in his stomach and he had to pause in his scrubbing to close his eyes and calm himself. Only one person he knew would be able to set his mind on the right track; surely his Lady must have some sort of idea as to all of this but how to broach the subject?
Oh, yes, my dear, I was killed very early this morning but I'm alive again! he chided himself, corner of his mouth raising in revulsion.
It did not take overly long to clean the stone of the offending tainted blood and Sloane was sure to pour out the contaminated water before returning the bucket and brush to the servants quarters as instructed. He could only hope that his Grimm would be able to shed some light on this most peculiar event or else he only had the House to blame for yet another attack on his sanity.
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Posted: Sun Apr 17, 2011 2:08 pm
PURE RECONCILIATION
Credence - Grimm & Plague Challenge - April 25th, 1411
We are on the same path and shall serve one another.
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