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 Posted: Thu Sep 23, 2010 6:58 pm
Souvenir?
Ha, you could call it that.
Jin-Ho didn't bother to turn his attention away from the stage, though the sound of the bells was welcoming. He would have to get one for Blaithe after the finale. "It belongs to a friend, he's... lending it to Blaithe." His gaze quickly switched from the woman strapped to the wheel to Sloane, who had moved closer to the hat to look at the little Excito curled up inside.
Blaithe looked up at Sloane, her mouth still pulling unto a frown at the edges. She toyed with her hat, which was no longer on her head but in her hands. After being denied, which was something she wasn't used to, she felt rather hollow and pitiful.
Looking back up at the Anhelo, Jin-Ho pulled his mouth at the edge as well. He, himself, didn't know what to do about this, as much as it hurt him. Hopefully the next time they saw Adal he would be in better spirits... Having only met him once, Jin-Ho couldn't speak for the Plague's actions or thoughts, but he wished that the interraction had gone better, at least for Blaithe.
Back on the stage, the wheel was still going... Jin-Ho could only imagine how sick that woman must have been feeling at this point. Adding together the aching cold, bare limbs and spinning, he was surprised that they were still putting her through it. He had a strong tolerance, but who could honestly be able to take this much torture? What happened to the show being, you know, a show? This seemed more like public humiliation! Then again, most people enjoyed watching the pain of others; public prosecution and what have you. It got to the point where he couldn't take it, anymore.
"Blaithe, would you like a bell?" He asked, his head turning downward until his eyes met Blaithe's bright figure. With only a nod in response, Jin-Ho turned to Sloane. "I can't watch this."
Flagging down the boy carrying the bells, he offered a coin, pointing to the smallest bell attached. The child's face lit up, quickly taking the money and handing the bell over.
...why were they selling bells, of all things?
Blaithe took the bell wordlessly, holding it in an embrace. Despite how small the bell was, it was still a bit larger than her torso. It was really a cute sight; the small Excito curled up inside the hat, pouting and holding a much-too-large bell. Jin-Ho would have laughed, but his attention turned to the stage again.
Still, the spinning continued, even as Jin-Ho took his place once more next to Sloane and Beatrix, to whom he nodded in response as she greeted him. Seemed that she was just as excited about being Sage and he was of her.
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Posted: Thu Sep 23, 2010 7:15 pm
"Very enjoyable, thank you." It was Ophelia who answered for Theo, whose mouth had opened to reply but had apparently not been fast enough. The ring returned Sloane's bow as he prepared to make his exit with a nod of her head. Her Grimm gave him an approving nod as well. "I look forward to meeting again." As he exited, she turned her attention back to the meek keeper and her flowery Caedos.
Now this one, on the other hand.. Ophelia was not quite sure of the flower. Here she was, acting as sweetly as ever, as though hoping to make up for the first impression she had fumbled. It did not matter to the ring. She would not trust any fully, other than her keeper and herself. And her instincts told her that this flower was not one to confide in, but she would keep her regal calm.
"Yours is lovely as well." She must be wary of this one, but wariness came naturally to those who do not trust. But the pleasantries game? She could play with the best of them. "Elegance that matches your own." While the performance marched on, she felt Theo's head turn towards the other's Grimm when the woman had stammered something. The man had been caught off guard when she had spoken, his gaze having lingered towards the stage when Sloane had taken his leave, but now he returned his attention to her. At the same time, he noted her uneasiness, and the fear she seemed to feel towards the Infitialis. He deviated to glance towards the figure's back.
"Not that intimately, but he is of a decent sort." Teeth flashed into his head, but Theo filed away the feelings that came with that frightening smile. He knew better than to allow himself to say more than that, given the present condition of things at the castle, even if this young woman seemed innocent enough. Life had taught him several times over that trust should not be so easily dealt. When Felicity deviated the conversation back towards the stage, he felt relief that she wasn't being more persistent about the other Plague.
"A fair question." The former priest watched the contortionists with an uneasy look in his eyes, which climbed onto the woman strapped to the wheel. "Perhaps it was not the best idea.. the frost is already apparent, notice her feet." He, too, wondered how they could perform in this cold without shoes or a proper coat. He was frozen in the coat he was wearing!
He couldn't help but find the whole performance rather.. odd. it spoke of his own inexperience with festivals, and something about the faceless masks and the woman on the wheel made him feel terribly uncomfortable. Ophelia shifted on his shoulder and the bell jingled softly in her tiny arms. Perhaps he was feeling leftover anxiety from being in the city that had turned its back on him, or residual uneasiness from the sight of Sloane's toothy demon smile. The end of the show had to be soon.
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Friendly Conversationalist
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Posted: Thu Sep 23, 2010 10:00 pm
- Act II, 30 minutes in. -
The bell boy pushed himself through the crowd in a pathetic attempt to reach his customers, as he grasped the lid of his hat and bowed in courtesy to any who came toward him and bought a bell. His bony fingers clung tightly around the backpack of bells, which were now tied securely around his torso; he'd learned well of the mischief caused by street boys and girls like him, and going through the performance crowd was a gamble high enough in itself. The amount of Shillings he'd earned for the day was more than he could have asked for, and he returned the courtesy of his buyers with an increasingly more eager saying.
"Thank you very much for buyin', it means a lot, oh, wit' all this money, sir, m'sister will be thankin' you for her present 'stead of me!"
In their magnificence, a curl of bodies leaning inward toward the stage, a cage of black and red that awed the crowd, the acrobats stood completely still, their bodies forms of seamless curls. An arch of spines led to the ever-spinning wheel, their masked gazes upon the rotating girl, their hands positioned and reaching toward the man in the top hat. The two assistants strutted, with their high heels and scanty outfits, to the back of the wheel.
In a single yelp of trumpets, the acrobats spread their arms toward the crowd and continued to move in perfect unison, their backs and limbs stretching and recoiling like pieces of string. Solemn-faced, the man at the center walked in front of the girl, touching ever so slightly the edge of the wheel with his cane.
At that wink of a touch, the wheel started to slow.
"Ladies," the man started, as his gaze frolicked through the thinning lake of eyes upon him, "Gentlemen. It is the highest honor to perform in front of you all in this lovely arctic city of Shyregoed, truly. We, the Troupe de Panymium, have been gifting the children of this marvelous continent for centuries. Smiles have thrived and hearts have been alighted in our presence, and it is of the utmost honor to our camaraderie to entertain you-- these performances are our thanks for the gratitude you have given us."
Queen Valhalla's back straightened, as her thin lips curved into the slightest smile. The man in the top hat tipped his head, bowing and returning her silent greeting with a toothy, yellow grin of his own.
"This has been the Troupe's first performance in five years, m'folks. The last time we have seen such true smiles was in 1405. But even then, these smiles, these smiles of 1410, in Shyregoed; are they the same smiles as the ones we have seen five years ago? No. These smiles are weary, tired, filled with hidden sorrows that even our lovely performers cannot soothe. Our families are ill! Our friends are ill! The people we have cherished, they have passed away, and we are left with such little solutions..." Brows furrowed, the man's dewy eyes looked upon Colwe, as he clung desperately to his cane and pointed his free hand toward his audience. "And what solutions do we have?"
The man let go of his cane, which dropped onto the wooden floors with a loud clang-- the duck-shaped handle broke open as it collided with the stage, leaving behind brittle bits of clay in its stead, as a gooey black substance seeped out from it, viscous and gleaming. With little thought, he reached into the depths of his jeweled pocket, procuring a set of five thin knives.
The thin figure of the girl on the wheel was visible, now, as the wheel was near a complete halt...
"The common man has given to the wealthy, to the Kings and Queens of these noble and loyal lands. We have worked hard for so long, we have given away the leashes of our souls to the greedy hands of these Mages for centuries. They promise us hearth, they promise us well-being with their Magic! Panymium has given them the gift of life itself and yet, yet here we stand, plague-ridden and sorrowful on even the happiest occasion! And why?"
As the wheel came to a slow turn, the man readied thumbed a single knife from his hand, his thick fingers gripping tightly onto the hilt. His round cheeks and beaked nose were thinning with pink, as he ripped through the rippling music of the stage with a curdling shout.
He stabbed the girl through one hand, as a muffled scream seeped through her faceless mask.
"Why?"
He prepared another knife, then stabbed through her foot. Another scream.
"Why?"
Then, her other hand.
"WHY?"
Then, her other foot. The man's face seemed to glow with a seething, livid red, as he took off the mask atop of the girl's face, his other hand pressed against the wheel to force it into a complete stop.
A swirling mass of gold hovered around her two eyes, which glowed a soft white. The girl's scraggly blond hair obscured the rest of her beaten face, which swelled and bulged with uneven hues of yellow and purple.
"Our trust has been misguided-- no, manipulated! Our dead, the smiles that we once saw, all dead... because our nobility has failed us! These Plagues, these monstrous things-- our blood, our life's work, gone to those who promised us better health-- look what they rely on!"
A surge of clanks surrounded the back of the audience as the Queen's personal guards armed themselves with spears, as Valhalla herself stood from her rocky throne. As the Northern royalty took a single step away from her pedestal, her face turned a papery white, her eyes rolling over as she doubled over and fell from her throne. Her handful of guards rushed to her aid, their voices quite nearly muted by the thickness of their helmets. The audience spread itself out as a flurry of screams obscured the sound of ongoing music, which echoed through the center stage with an eerie calm.
"LOOK UNTO THIS, TO US! The Black Death has taken our smiles away from us, our good spirits! The Mages promised us a cure, yet they rely on the Death, they cling to these piteous creatures as a source of power!
"Listen, you fools of the Fellowship, you nomadic idiots of the North! You hold no truth to the cure, you have driven the young and the dying into believing those soothing words of yours... but heed this-- the Plagues will die, as you will. You will never heal the millions that die with the weak populace of those disgusting Locos, those disgusting Quietus!"
The soft ringing of bells fell onto the floor, as the bell boy pulled through the push and pull of the chaotic crowd; the backpack that he clung onto so carefully now dropped onto the slushy, snowy dirt. Then, as the boy wormed through to the front of the crowd, the man prepared his fifth and final knife. A swirl of black seemed to surround the smooth surfaces of the gold and silver bells as they were dirtied by the Colwe dirt below them.
There was a soft crackling noise and a lurking squish when the knife protruded the girl's pale forehead, and an airy, squeaky gasp that followed.
Screams from the audience echoed through Colwe as the sun finally settled into the cold beds of the mountains.
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Posted: Thu Sep 23, 2010 11:35 pm
Fear is a funny thing.
It has different ways of effecting people, different ways of taking hold. For some, it washes up and drowns them, for others it bursts, and for little urchin boys like Chauhn Clemmings, it froze him in his place. Even as the jostle of the unsettled people around him grew into a panicked flee, pushing and shoving him, tossing him about like a piece of driftwood in the incoming tide, he still felt like he were standing completely and utterly still, planted in place with his face ghostly pale and drained of blood, his gaze dead set on the travesty before him. Without his knowledge, as the space around him began to clear of people as they rushed and scrambled into one another and away from the front of the stage, Chauhn began to wail in honest, joining the cacophony of screams of Cowle. His hands curled into one another, clutching at the hems of his own thick winter jacket and digging tight as fear forced his body to compress upon itself. Beside him, still planted in place was Georgie, whom he had dragged along and let go as soon as the first dagger found its sheath in flesh.
"No. NO! NOOOO!"
Fear had entirely whittled its self within his body control. It was probably that sudden possession that caused Chauhn to do something incredibly stupid.
"Don't...Don't...Oh no, don't!"
Transfixed on the show, that was, until the name of the Mages were mentioned, fantastic and spell-binding, Clurie was the next one to usher forth a scream of terrible sound, his worried ramblings turning instead into one single burst of noise. The reveal of the other, a fellow Plague, one like he, was entirely unforeseen, and, while Clurie didn't understand the implications of the prolonged and unsettling speech, its finer details flying over his head completely, he quite clearly understood the act performed on the Locos girl on stage. It was a direct threat, a direct message to him. It was a firm and deep attack, and while he didn't understand much from words, he understood the hatred that drove the force of those actors and maskers to weave their dangerous pledge against the Plague kind. He felt it, deep within his own chest a dull and burning ache that raged up in flames to spark a blinding light in his cheeks, while, at the same time, his mouth was stretched into a child's terrified and grief-stricken wail. He felt hurt, stabbed himself with sympathy pain. He also felt hunted, like he had seen the brutal slaughter of a helpless animal before him and it made him sick to his little stomach. He didn't get much chance to shift, move or hide though, after his initial scramble into Chauhn's collar, for, moments after he moved, and seconds after Chauhn finished his initial shriek of terror and rage, his brother's hand wrapped about him and shoved him deep into the protective cleft of his clothes. Clurie dug himself into safety, clutching against his brother's scarred chest, while his little body convulsed with heat and horror, burned images of the butchered Plague searing itself into his memory.
With another movement, yet again driven by dismay and disbelief, Chauhn felt his body move forward without his thinking, like he were attached to a clumsy set of strings. He forgot the mute and stricken Malt boy next to him, his quiet duty to aiding him while he suffered the after effects of his argument, and he pushed past him into the crowd backing away from the stage like a fish attempting to flounder upriver. His mindless ambling soon focused itself into a run, and, blinking moisture from his eyes, his cheeks as hot and red as Clurie's, Chauhn flung himself onto the stage, lifting himself up with the strain of arms that were used to clambering up the sides of buildings. His urchin mind was begging him, demanding his self to flee, but his new role as Grimm told him otherwise and he dared not refuse it's orders.
Chauhn had a duty. He owed it, to someone, to whomever, but he owed it all the same to the name he earned when he first discovered Clurie's bag of ashes. Clemmings name was one title, but Grimm was another, and no one...NO ONE, should dare do a thing against a Grimm and their Plague around him. It was his duty, like the duty to his family, to protect their name, and Chauhn intended to do it, just like his eldest brother did for their family, just like he did now to protect Clurie. That Locos girl on stage...She was someone's Plague. She belonged to some poor Grimm, and while Chauhn knew not who, it didn't matter. All that mattered was doing something, anything, no matter how stupid, no matter how frantic, to try and help the suddenly devolving dramatics before him.
Despite the deepening, sickening, twisting, retching pain in his gut, threatening to buckle his legs beneath him, his entire body shaking with fear, Chauhn Clemmings yanked and forced his terror into submission, turning into strength enough to pull off a stupid stunt of bravery. Chauhn rolled up on stage, and without care, he scrambled and slid in a mad dash to reach the girl Plague pinned onto the devastating wheel of ill fortune.
A clumsy fall into the side of the wood, a slip around some of the actor's bodies, and a dive between open legs, Chauhn dashed and crawled onto the stage. It was a mad rush, but little body was well adapted for this kind of frantic scuttling. His foot slipped on the black ooze upon the wood, from the broken scepter, causing him to fall on his back, before he rolled and wobbled onto his knees. He was just able to get his feet underneath him when he slipped further still, his already wet and mucky boots stepping into a mess of blood, Chauhn rushed to the wheel. He slammed his hands onto the hilt of one of the daggers, and tried to get his shaking hands to function. He had every intention to free the girl from her sacrificial table. It was his duty as a Grimm now. Besides, perhaps there was something to do for her, perhaps Plagues couldn't be killed like normal human beings! Chauhn's mind screamed with these meanderings, these desperate thoughts and hopes. Perhaps they were different. They couldn't just die. They WERE death, itself, weren't they? Could incarnations of death really and truly die as easily as a mortal?
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Posted: Fri Sep 24, 2010 8:24 am
Elsie could not scream, she could not even breathe.
From the sadness that had overwhelmed her when Noel had driven the two young men away, to the flurry of color and activity that danced on the stage, her whole world had enveloped into silence just to allow the viewing of the spectacle that had once seemed so merry, so cheerful. She'd clapped with others when they'd clapped, she made the appropriate sounds of wonder at the spinning and everything else that had come her way. . .but when the knives came out, and the gasps in the crowd turned to gasps of surprise - fear, she found her voice had escaped her. She could only stand with eyes wide at the spectacle and the bell falling from his hand as her grip loosened itself, metal clanging to the ground with a harsh tone.
This....this could not be happening. Was she standing by to witness the murder of someone else again? Had somehow God not forgiven her for the sights from that night long ago, was he trying to show her that she was foolish and sinful to think he would dismiss everything away? Tears that threatened to form themselves at the corners of her eye never appeared, her body slowly shaking where she stood. Both of her hands had managed to snake their way to her face, delicate and quivering fingertips touching her top and bottom lips, as though to try and hold back a potential flood of screaming that threatened to release itself. But still! Elsie stood silent, shaking, even after another, and another, knife was planted inside the poor young woman on the stage. She couldn't move, she couldn't scream.
From within her clothing Noel could feel the rapid change in his mother's heartbeat, the clammy nature of skin that goes into shock without even daring to break a sweat. Her breaths - she was still breathing despite how her head felt - were ragged and short, leaving the Plague in an uncomfortable position that he dared not move from. Something was wrong and he knew it, the air around him seemed to fill with death and a sensation that unnerved him from his state of unhappiness at Elsie. When the woman above and around him did not even speak after the screams started he kept still, waiting, but there was not much else he could do when he heard Elsie finally make an exclamation over something. Quickly climbing out as his mother screamed the name of one of the boys that he'd chased off, he was surprised (and a bit horrified) to see the female Locos in the state that she was in. He wasn't as surprised to see Chuahn up there, but Elsie's odd movements that came afterward shocked him. He knew his mother was calm, he knew she preferred not to get herself in trouble, but the moment her hands move to push the people around her away as she started towards the stage she was like a different person.
"Chauhn! CHAUHN!"
For all that she was, growing older and trying to become a woman, Elsie was still just as much a child of the streets as the urchin boy was. She could barely remember her days of ruff-housing amongst the boys and girls, but she knew they were there. Elsie was not always prim and proper, Elsie was not always afraid. With an elbow into the side of the person next to her, and with a hand to rip whatever she could of her skirt to let her move better, the Seamstress was moving on nothing but fear to save the living boy who'd rushed onto the stage. The Locos, it seemed, did not register in her mind but perhaps she would aid as well? If it was the right thing to do, Elsie would no longer stand by in a state of inaction.
God, help me.
Her hands reached the planks of the stage and she pulled herself up, ignoring the further ripping that occurred against her nice clothing that had taken months to obtain and prepare. Once she was on stage, she would either distract or aide. The rest was up to Chuahn and anyone else who dared step forth and save this creature - and, from the collar of her clothing and most visible now to others, Noel was in full agreement.
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Posted: Fri Sep 24, 2010 10:59 am
Uttering a quiet sigh, Sloane leaned back from the hat, not able to do much for Blaithe at the current time. When they got back to the castle, perhaps he could play with her but until then it would have to wait. They needed to appear just as simple and normal as possible, and while they were not exactly in the front row of the stage, they were close enough that anyone looking for a particular face could spot them given the right behavior.
Perking his brows and looking back to Beatrix, he held his hand out as hers did absentmindedly, fingers clutching the golden bell as it fell into his palm with a hearty jingle. "Thank you, my Lady. I feel gold may match you more because of your eyes, but many thanks all the same," he couldn't know the goings on in Beatrix's mind, the relation to gold as the winner and silver, how she saw herself, as second best. The metaphor was lost on Sloane, but what could really be said had he known? In truth, he did not know this woman well. He knew that she was with the Council, and so they were allies with a common goal; he knew that she was a Grimm that habored such a strong fear and hatred of that which she bore; he knew that she was dedicated to her work, whatever it may be and he knew that she was a woman, but frailty was not something he often saw in those who made a difference.
Not once had she shown it in front of him and his Lady, Sage Estratus, was not one to succumb to it either. They were more alike than just appearance, more alike than either of them would know.
Looking over at Jin-ho as he spoke to him, Sloane nearly missed what he said and opted not to respond outside of a nod. Thinking on it, the Plague was sure he meant he could not watch his charge be so forlorn and he could not blame him. The performance on stage was becoming odd as it was, and his attention was barely on it until the man in the top hat strode forward once more, commanding such a presence as Sloane assumed was typical of a ringmaster. Trumpets blared and gestures were made by the acrobats, and Sloane clutched the bell tightly in his left hand.
Something didn't feel right about this, not in the least, and only now was he beginning to put two and two together.
"Ladies. Gentlemen. It is the highest honor to perform in front of you all in this lovely arctic city of Shyregoed, truly." Swirls of black and red fabric and cloth adorned the acrobats as they contorted themselves as easily and fluidly as worms, spineless. The masks covering their faces, every performer's face, that of a bird's; owls, a canary, hawks, song birds. Fabrics twirling in the icy wind sound like hundreds of flapping wings, covering up any of the music that sounded like twittering songs of peaceful and happy avians. "And what solutions do we have?" To end on such a foul note, bringing merriment and joy to an abrupt end with talks such as this.
Sloane's swirled eyes scanned the crowd, first scanning Beatrix, then Jin-ho and Blaithe. He turned to look behind himself and spotted the hats of Chauhn, no doubt with Clurie, and another boy he did not recognize. The head of dear Elsie he saw, and could spot Felicity, Claudia, Theo and Ophelia from his current stand point with ease. It took him some time but he spotted Lord Yizhaq and Hayat some ways off. Many of their faces looked as confused as his own, and so did most of the crowd whom he was not acquainted. Even Queen Valhalla was appearing uncomfortable with this display, her body stiffening.
"Panymium has given them the gift of life itself and yet, yet here we stand, plague-ridden and sorrowful on even the happiest occasion! And why?" The wheel slowed and the girl with the eyeless mask did nothing as the man pulled out a dagger and stabbed through one of her hands. Bright red flashed as it sputtered out of the wound, traces of black overtaking it. Sloane's body went rigid as he froze, expression caught in a silent cry of disgust and despair.
This poor woman was a Plague.
The ringmaster cried out, getting more knives and stabbing her elsewhere. Each time she let out a muffled cry of pain but did little else. How could she? Trapped, she was trapped and strapped to the wheel of 'fortune'.
Sloane's bell fell to the ground with a muted tinkle.
Everything slowed to the sword Plague except for the man and woman on stage, even his own body as he tore away from his place between Beatrix and Jin-ho, letting out a wordless cry that was overtaken by the screams and shouts of other on lookers. He was speaking, speaking of the Mages, how they had betrayed everyone and wronged the country, but in his current madness this was not what Sloane heard nor cared about. Everything was mute to him; he could see the man's lips moving but not the words, only hearing the girl's pained cries as more knives were pushed through her flesh.
Around his wrists, the silver and red stoned bracelets transformed, taking the shape of his gauntlets. The one wrapped around his neck followed suit and his armor quickly covered his entire body. Lunging forward, Sloane's claws dug into the wood of the stage and he drew himself up--but he was too late. The last of the daggers was thrust through her skull.
Chaos followed.
Sloane's vision was faded, everything looking black and white except for that man. The contortionists lingered and as he came to a stand on the stage, he conjured a long blade from his wrist and thrust it through one of their bellies. No blood, no scream, only a cackle came from the body whom should have dropped limply but instead lost form and became nothing but black smoke. Unphased, Sloane rushed for the next one and tried again with the same result. He roared over the crowd, unable to form words to his unbridled fury.
All of the performers off and away, hidden, fled or using their disappearing acts, the only one left now was the ringmaster and Sloane's sights were set. He ran so fast, logic gone only replaced by anger and instincts. He would kill this man, as brutally as possible, and he would rejoice in the pain this man felt before his ultimate demise.
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Posted: Fri Sep 24, 2010 11:34 am
No...
No...!
Once the knives were out, Jin-Ho instinctively and protectively pulled the hat closer against his waist and turned it so that the stage was out of Blaithe's view. As much as he wanted to look away, as much as he wanted to leave and pretend this wasn't about to happen, he could not take his eyes away.
Heart racing madly, once the blood seeped from the woman's flesh, Jin-Ho immediately realized, just as Sloane had. He gaped in horror as each blade was thrust into different points on the Plague's body, each oozing with the unnaturally dark red blood.
Blaithe, now trapped in the hat, could smell the reek of death through the smell of Adal that surrounded her. She began thrashing wildly against the fabric and Jin-Ho's stomach, wanting to be free. She wanted to see what was happening, why the smell was so strong. Once again, it was a cleaner, more pure stench than most of the other Plagues she had run into here. "Oji! Oji, let me out! What's going on? What's that smell?"
And then Sloane charged.
Between Blaithe's begging and Sloane's plunge forward, Jin-Ho quickly grabbed Beatrix's hand, pulling her away from the stage and the insanity. "We've got to get out of here...!"
With Blaithe held securely against his torso and Beatrix's arm in hand, Jin-Ho pushed through the crowd, weaving the three of them between maddened onlookers and hysterical guests. Several shoved back, but many were still working their way as far from the stage like them. In a panic, against the complaints and pleads of his companions, he trekked forward. The ground was slick with mud and snow, 'causing him to trip up or slip at times, he did not fall or slow. They needed out, and now.
"Oji, let me OUT! Please!"
As much as it tugged at his heart, Jin-Ho continued to ignore the girl's pleas. At least, until they were far enough away. Once they were in a clearing, far away from the madness that was once enjoyable, he stopped, letting go of Beatrix's hand. He leaned his hands against his knees, propping himself up against a tree.
The hat had now unfolded and Blaithe was free. She madly glanced around, trying to pinpoint the thinned scent of tinct that she had smelled so strongly before. "Oji! What happened? Where's Slo?"
Jin-Ho shook his head, his eyes closed and misty and his face nearly drenched. "I'm... sorry..."
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Posted: Fri Sep 24, 2010 12:15 pm
Beatrix watched on intently, as her mind no longer wanted to focus on anyone else. Even as Sloane complimented her on her eyes it was all lost to her now, that the only thing he really saw in her was her likeness to Sage. But she could deal with that. Instead, there was merely a nod in his direction before looking back at the stage.
She'd been through enough for one day. But evidently, someone didn't think so. The conversation began innocently enough, but as it progressed it made her own sorrows more keenly felt. The plague! How it had taken away her father and her future! No, these times were not the same, things would never be the same...
But more startling images appeared on the stage - the man was brandishing knives and there was a girl there, and the man spoke angry words, of how the Mages had done them all disservice. She thought of her first meeting with Sloane, and the words she had said... the underhanded tactics of the Fellowship, yes...
But her mind reeled back at the next blur of events.
Stab.
Stab.
Stab.
Stab.
She was a Plague, not a human and he was killing her. He was killing her, one stab at a time.
Stab.
Beatrix felt sick to her stomach and like she had no air, choking in the scream and insanity. It couldn't be, she couldn't be seeing this... She'd seen death before but never like this, not murder, not like this... A public execution, that's what it was...
The silver bell dropped.
Sloane was off before she had managed to get a full grasp on reality, like what she watching wasn't real. Her body was tugged out of the crowd and no words came out, no screams, no hysteria. She was entirely too shaken by the experience to be able to make out any words until they were out of the crowd.
Beatrix glanced frantically at the two figures accompanying her before looking back at the crowd. "I...!" She choked out before running back into the crowd. The bell, she needed to get the bell back. Her mind could only comprehend that simple command, that simple need.
The bell, the crowd, the people - she would find it. Her eyes were welling up with tears as she thrust herself into the chaos, her eyes on the ground as she looked at her feet. The bell, silver, shining... It had to be here. She had to get it, that's all she needed to.
Inside her pocket, the matchbox rattled and finally the tears streamed down her face.
The bell, shining, silver... She bent down, people rushing past her, screaming. There, at her feet! She grabbed it before she lost sight of it, holding it like a lifeline.
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Friendly Conversationalist
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Posted: Fri Sep 24, 2010 12:58 pm
When Theo heard the first scream and saw the flash of the silver knife, he knew the unsettling affair took a drastically darker turn.
Was this what she had seen, the woman who had confessed to him? No, she had seen this in abundance.. but this exhibition.. this was horrid enough with just one. Bile rose in his throat and he clamped a shaking hand over it to keep it down.
'No... no, no.' Slowly he lowered his hand and the screams rang in his ears. Just as earlier he felt himself beginning to be pushed with the crowds, this time as they thronged in panic at the display before them.
The shadows of the outside world were things Theo had tried to avoid for most of his life. He didn't want to see the faces of the tortured, the diseased, the dirt poor everywhere he went.. his church may have preached all the tolerance it wanted, but in the end only the merchant class and higher ups made their rounds there, but he felt all the better for it. Tired, saddened faces of the throngs of suffering people reminded him too much of how close he'd come to living that same life, to dying somewhere alone and forgotten.
The spreading darkness covered the bell in the Caedos' arms, and one of her tiny hands gripped Theo's shoulder. Her eyes, which were watching the stage with a strange sort of steeliness, now turned towards her Grimm's horrified gaze. "A bell, Theo." She held up the tarnished bell. Her voice near his ear remained steady, and he was surprised by her calmness in a situation like this. One of her kind was being possibly murdered before her eyes.. and still she remained steadfast. He felt a little admiration for her. "She must have been one."
"... Then her keeper ..." Theo let the thought hang for a moment before setting his own gaze. "Hang on as tightly as you can, Ophelia." The Caedos nodded and tossed the bell to the ground, where so many of its fellows were half trampled by the panicked crowds. She swung into a small pocket on the inside of Theo's coat and gripped his shirt tightly, and the man left Felicity and Claudia behind to begin fighting through the crowds himself.
He had to help the bell boy to the stage. A woman had clambered onto the stage to help another boy (with a glance of surprise, he recognized Chauhn from their previous encounter during his tenure with the church) free the poor Plague, while Sloane had taken off after the ringmaster. He couldn't provide anything more than his observations, and a little help. He cursed his own weakness, how selfish, high and mighty he had been. But now he would make up for it. If they got out of this, he was going to work harder than before, but for now, he had to fight the crowds.
For Ophelia, the Fellowship, Rosalie and her daughter, and himself. He would show all the world that the Fellowship was in the right, despite this man's claims. He would see to that!
Elbows and shoulders collided as he pushed through, finally finding the boy as he too struggled towards the stage. His arms ached as he pushed through, keeping them protectively pressed over where Ophelia was hidden. He could feel her small fingers clutching his shirt, not trembling, but trusting in his words. The little Plague trusted him to keep her safe. Knowing that if he ever failed her... he could imagine the sickness the bell Grimm was feeling now.
"Come on!" He reached for the struggling man's hand and grabbed at his wrists to pull him up. Fire crept up his muscles but he continued to pull; this was nothing, he could bear it a little longer. Leading him towards the platform, Theo glanced around. No stairs, nothing to help them both up. Both the woman and child had scrambled onto the stage without such, but with his arms.. it looked as though he could only stay behind.
"Hurry, she needs you!" Theo turned to the boy. "I'll help you up." He braced his arms, already sore and bruised from pushing his way through the panicked people. But he would do this, so help him.
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Posted: Fri Sep 24, 2010 2:58 pm
Claudia was certain that Ophelia had said something but it seemed as though a great magnet had be activated and everything was being directed towards the stage. Heads turned as if adjusted by this mysterious attraction, people started to press forward as the great wheel at the centre continued to spin and the show master’s words tumbled from his lips, even the noise of the crowd seemed to dim as if it had been snatched away – just like the attention of the priest and the other plague. At first the flower was prepared to give an indignant cry, even Felicity was gazing in that direction. But as she finally investigated the attraction a sick grin split across her face, just as her Grimm’s expression soured into a horrified look of mortification.
Though she had not heard his words, the caedos had looked in time to see his very deliberate and macabre actions. Her flaring white eyes caught the glint of metal as the first knife flicked through the chilled air and embedded itself into the woman’s flesh. Then, as the blood seeped into the wood of the wheel of fortune her glowing grin also blossomed. Thus by the time all of the poor girl’s hands and feet were pinned it seemed as though the flower was on the verge of laughter. So enthralled and captivated that she was craning forward, body quivering in anticipation for that final strike. She could tell it was coming – she had met death before, she had been born into death!
Now, perched in this crowd with snow swirling round she could remember with great clarity the evening in which blood had spilled from an urchin’s throat and had baptised her into the world of chaos – ripe for serving her glutton god. So as the ringmaster’s arm muscles twitched with one final stab and the knife split her head, crunching through the locos’ cranium and into the soft tissue of her brain she felt no disgust. There was admittedly the certain cringe of regret; seeing a plague die was unfortunate... But a locos was the most forgivable of murders: They were her antithesis after all – the curer rather than the spreader. However death was a spectacle to be relished wherever possible.
Things changed very rapidly after that, the humans within the crowd reacted as the rose had expected. Horrified by the show they had turned around and fled. Fools... The rose glared at the petrified faces as they rushed past her immobilised Grimm. Once or twice a person rammed into Felicity and Claudia clung on tight, a hand finding itself knotted into her lack mousey locks. For Claudia the show wasn’t over yet. At the very front of the stage a fight was beginning to take place. Familiar humans were charging onto the stage; most of them owners of excitos that she had met. What did they think they could do? Was the blood tricking down the girl’s face, matting her hair, not enough to prove that the life had been punched out of her?
Yet, as a powerful bellow of sheer rage and emotion denied the gravitational full of the spectacle her sceptical view of the people’s efforts was warped back into sick interest. The fine infitalis that she had met earlier – Sloane – was on stage. He had changed form as his hands were now shrouded in cutting gauntlets and a sword was in his hand. A tingle of excitement running down her short spine she watched with awe as he plunged the blade into performer after performer. Rather than meeting the satisfying soft sensation of metal piercing flesh the contortionists curled away into acrid black smoke. Mortified for the enraged plague Claudia could only watch from this distance in hope that soon he would catch one of them off guard and more blood would be spilled. This time it would be human blood – the blood that was always justifiable to be spilt freely over the earth!
Stunned beyond comprehension Felicity stood stock still all the while... Her mind was forced back into the protective walls of unconscious thinking. It was just like that night when The House had slain that girl. Though this time... The suspense. The man’s words... The gradual, ever so painful, killing of the locos. It was all too much. All she could say as Claudia strained to see more was, “B-bells... There are bells everyw-where.” And she was right. As people noted the shadows creeping over their surfaces they fell to the floor with a tinkle... Like charming little laughs amongst the mixture of appalled screams and trampling feet.
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Posted: Fri Sep 24, 2010 9:16 pm
After the odd encounter with Sir Sloane and his Lady, Yizhaq had removed himself from the excitement, standing in a stone doorway as the crowd moved past. Pale, hazel-green eyes shifted over the people as they pressed closer to the stage, his own pretty gaze finding those he knew, and those that stood out.
The act began, however, his eyes were narrowed at the sight of Adal, witnessing the action between the group of boys he'd left only an hour prior. Did he rush through to his page? No. He had defended himself and his Plague grandly, and Yizhaq would arrive too late to do much.
Taking a moment to watch the Sword and Shield approach the stage, the young Lord still found his attention pulled away to the event. His brows creased at the sight of a young woman, on a wheel, and he shifted uncomfortably. Such humor was not his cup of tea. The sight of a blade made him press a concerned palm against the stone behind him, yanking it away as it brought the sight of a drunk losing his stomach in the same place, only the night before.
"I do not like this, mi'lord." Hayat's paper voice touched his ear as she tucked herself into his lowered hood.
The words, the condemnation. Yizhaq understood quite quickly, his hand moving up to where Hayat stood, solemn. As the crowd began to run, he moved the opposite direction, shifting through them as he watched Sloane abandon his Lady in favor of blood, leaving her with her assistant.
Putting his hood up, he cut a beeline through the crowd as Bietrix broke away from Jin-ho, her hands seeking something from the ground. Halting close to her side, he resisted the urge to reach out to her.
"Lady Estratus," His eyes moved constantly, keeping an eye on the stage, and any who came close, "I would be of no service to Sir Sloane as he is, but I am of service to you." A hand briefly touched the blade at his hip, however, the young lord was a skilled mage, of third rank within the Fellowship, by Sage's very hand.
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Posted: Sun Sep 26, 2010 1:00 pm
Beatrix just stood there crouched and holding the silver bell, not moving from her spot. People ran past her still in hysteria and screaming, but she did not make sudden dashes. She couldn't. All of this was just too much for her, seeing that murder right in front of her. That poor girl, bound and helpless like that and then slaughtered in front of a crowd...
The tears rolled down her face as a figure came close to her, speaking to her. She stopped crying as she look up at him, and it turned out to be the Lord she had been talking to earlier.
Lady. She was really getting tired of hearing that, of hearing another name escape people's lips. It was all a lie, a fabrication. Still, she stood up, her expression weary but still trying her best to be as emotionless as she could. A lady didn't show her emotions in public.
"Get me out of here." The words were strong, an order, befitting only of Lady Sage herself.
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Posted: Sun Sep 26, 2010 1:57 pm
Yizhaq's jaw tightened at the sight of her, clearly distressed from the events that had taken place, but doing a superior job of putting those emotions aside, of staying in control. It was admirable, and something that he, too, had many years of practice at. A quick, decisive nod, and he turned, leading her through the thinning crowds.
Many of the attendees lived within the crowded, poorer sections of the city, their footfalls heading that way as they clogged the streets in an effort to reach the relative safety of their homes. Yizhaq led her in the opposite section. He, of course, had a private carriage, with its guards, where Bietrix should be more than safe.
If they did not reconvene with Sloane after his confrontation, Yizhaq would send him a message via bird. Stopping as they approached the side of the carriage, the young lord offered Bietrix his arm to step up. "We can wait this out, here."
And then he could see to Hayat, whom he could feel, hidden against his neck.
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Posted: Sun Sep 26, 2010 10:26 pm
- Act III, The End. -
Twinkling-- twinkling surrounded the bells as the edges fo their smooth silver and gold was met with the uninviting and murky appearance of the Plague, as soft fumes of black surrounded each and every bell in unison. The sound of airy child's laughter was muted by the screams of the escaping festival-goers; the metal of the bells seemed to melt and dissolve into the air, leaving only a swirl of black as a ghost of what was once there.
Then, in a blink, the appearance of small Excito filled the festival with the aroma of strange sing-song, gold and silver Servos alike prancing about excitably-- their big doe eyes looked upon the world with curiosity, the first sight of their world within the grasp of their hands-- they were barely as big as the average thumb, and their skin glowed with a paper-thin white.
And it was their child's intuition and naivety that made them forget the place of their birth-- it was a battlefield.
Chaos.
Excito left and right were being mushed and torn beneath the feet of the ongoing traffic, as minute pipes of their breathy voices ended with a torn scream. Hundreds and hundreds of bells, suddenly replaced with Excito, were nearly all gone in the instant they were born-- those that weren't saved died an unsavory death, mangled and crushed and stomped on by people that they didn't know, all within the instant of their birth.
Absolute chaos.
---
The man in the top hat watched with bewildered astonishment as what was once his crowd roared through Colwe in a mad, mad rush to get away from him. It was by now that the masked red-and-black contortionists had completely halted their eloquent performance on their stage, as their lanky arms struggled to pull the sweat-encrusted edges off of their faces, clawing and sinking away from their masks with a monstrous vigor. It was then that the masked acrobats leaped off of the stage and crashed into the snow and ran after the citizens with a bloodied mirth.
It was then that the black flashes of eyes were revealed upon their unmarred faces, the eyes of the Quietus who could wield black magic. Their bodies twisted in strange ways as they went from a limp sprint into a rapid crawl, their long limbs edging against the frosted surface and sliding against the walls of the citizens' backs, forcefully clawing their way through. There was a single destination, a sloppily followed guideline for which all of the masked Plagues were after, the woman whose head was as good a price as the Fellowship's Head Mage itself-- Queen Valhalla of the North.
Lowering the top hat from his head, his mouth quivering with unwarranted fear and a tinge of guilt, that was quickly overcome by a strange surge of sorrow, the man blurted, "You'll-- You'll all see-- those of you, those of you whose smiles shone true, your faces will be remembered-- we'll see you again after Panymium's rebirth of wonder--!" Tears rolled down his eyes as the assistants from behind the wheel crawled to the sides of him, grabbing him by the arms and forcefully pulling him away from the limelight of the havoc-ridden stage.
As the Sword Plague made his foul swoop upon the stage, his sharp blade at the ready as he burst through the stage with a single, simple aim, the ringmaster glowered with frozen fear-- he watched skeptically as his legs hung limply against the ground, his assistants dragging him away from through the black curtains of the stage. The limber Quietus gathered around Sloane, their numbers seemingly multiplying by the dozens as the smell of pure Death surrounded the area. As their numbers diminished on top of the pedestal, there were no screams of pain from the Quietus-- merely the hollow emptiness of black shadow, a lurking smoke and putrid smell that hovered around where their corpses should have been.
"Siste-- SISTER! SISTER!" The bell boy's screams screeched through the air as his arms reached in front of him, struggling to get onto the stage as his legs scampered against the smooth surface of the stage's ends, his dirt-caked boots scraping and struggling to go higher. It was only when he had made it onto the stage that he stopped to rest, if only for a moment, until he got onto his hands and skittered toward his sister with unbridled anger, the wrinkles upon his face pulled upward like a thin cloth, as his nose dribbled with snot and his vision was barely comprehensible past the blurry momentum of movement and tears. His voice was broken into indecipherable murmurs and stutters of random syllables, as his shaken hands moved closer to the sight of his sister, the Locos, the poor girl he couldn't identify.
A priest and an urchin moved quicker toward his own sister than he, whose knees were knocking against the wood as his movements slowed into a series of pathetic, slurred crawls, his eyes squinting away water as he tried to utter something, anything at all-- but all for naught. Valhalla's soldiers had lined up into a daring line, their spears pointed and readied as they hacked and slashed away at any who they saw as an Enemy-- the black-eyed Quietus retreated in a crashing tide of black and red as they scampered toward the stage, their arms outreached and legs ready to kick at anyone and anything who was in their way.
Yet, out of the armies of Quietus, there was a single figure, a single Plague amongst the rest of them, whose trampling limbs differed from the rest. Before the bell boy could reach the strange Sword or the Urchin or the ones with Plagues flooding the scene and neigh too stubborn to leave alone, a blade struck through his gaped mouth and skewered him from behind.
A dagger was stuck through his throat as the bell boy collapsed on the stage, his body limp and spread to the side, his body molded into a strange shape as the Quietus ran through him, trampling him like a herd of sheep...
Then, all of the Quietus were gone. The stage was silent, but the curtains whirled with activity.
A group of masked men pounced onto the stage, their gloved hands grabbing at the man in the top-hat with little discrimination, as the assistants were pulled away from him in the unexpected rush; the masks of the ambiguous robed men were beaked, made of porcelain worn from the use over the past several years. Their hats brimmed the side of their faces and hid their human eyes beneath a layer of shadows, and a single black and red Quietus stood in front of them all, his black eyes looking upon the scene he had created with a splendid grin.
Soldiers were flowing in, their armor clanking together louder than a set of roaring drums.
"Oh--"
Spearheads were pointed in the cultists and the Quietus' direction, as soldiers squeezed themselves past the oncoming presence of people. They were slowing-- the citizens had helped.
The Quietus giggled, as a thin hand waved, swinging from side to side like a sluggish pendulum.
"Bye~"
Soldiers slowed to a clumsy halt, as some dropped their spears and others tripped against the soles of their armored feet. The cultists, the man in the top-hat, the Quietus-- they had all disappeared in an unimpressive wink of an eye, and no mark of their physical presence was left behind.
Ah, but they had little use for physical presences, did they?
The traces of their work was show enough.
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Posted: Sun Sep 26, 2010 10:34 pm
The End
Or is it? Please feel free to wrap up what you have to do to feel satisfactory with where you are with your characters in this ORP, both before and after this post-- in fact, I would encourage a combination of both. I know I'll be doing the same myself shortly after posting this! Get your posts in and we will officially close up this ORP on October 1st.
Thank you to all those who joined the very first ORP our shop has ever had, and boy, was it a blast. I hope you guys have had fun-- oh, and hey, I did mention something of a prize, didn't I?
Here are the little stunted bell Servos that the bell boy dropped left and right before his untimely death! (You didn't really have to buy a bell, really, but it'd make more sense if your character actually took the notion to save a bell if you want one.)
Now, since this is something of a special prize, if you guys want to name your bell Plagues, feel free to PM Zanaroo with the names of your gold and silver bells. You can have up to... well, I guess one or two of each. I will happily give you a custom cert of them with their name on it!
I've had a blast reading all of your posts, and I hope the level of traumas your characters have received has reached a good level.
We are certainly hoping for more ORPs of similar or of greater caliber in excitement in the future. We are plotting.
And so should you.
- The Plague Doctor
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