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 Posted: Mon Dec 10, 2007 7:41 am
Many things, it seemed, had become routine as of late. Some semblance of balance amidst the chaos of everyday life had settled. Perhaps it was a pretense, an attempt at normalcy when in fact all things normal and regular had long evaporated into the surreal. Nalira knew that the answers to her questions were not here, not did the questions indeed bristle anywhere near this vulgar little room she resided in. She stood, consciously and deliberately, on a small balcony to which a pair of long windows gave access to, her face pale with concentration.
Pausing momentarily at a tarnished mirror, Nalira readjusted the poise of her tightly-wound ribbon and retouched the thick fall of her hair. She was dressed altogether in black, giving an even tone, by contrast, to her clear face; here, at the mirror, her eyes too showed almost as black. Moving once more to the balcony, Nalira leapt from the window, and now stood face to face with a memory of her past. He looked exactly as she remembered - all straightness and starch as to figure and dress, all white and grey as to skin and hair; the one man in the world who would seem least connected with anything unpleasant, yet represented it entirely. A smile of exceeding faintness played about her lips as she watched him breath tragic realization.
"Goodbye doctor," She whispered and, with a sound much like a swooping dove, drove a dagger into his chest.
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Posted: Mon Dec 10, 2007 3:45 pm
Sylvester had been off of the bus for a while now, but with no clear destination in mind he had spent the last couple of hours aimlessly wandering. As the sun set, he found himself somewhere he had never been before. And wherever 'here' was, it was very, very boring.
He turned on a heel, preparing to head back the way he had been walking for the past couple of blocks, when he smelled it. Blood. His lip curled a bit and he turned back, like a hungry cartoon character toward an apple pie abandoned on a window ledge. Great. As if the past couple of months hadn't been reason enough to never even think about blood again. Still, he couldn't help himself. He shrugged, rationality slipping away with every sniff of human gore. What was another ten minutes wasted and the slight chance he might be killed?
Feeling a giddy sense of false bravery, one of two emotions he commonly experienced whenever blood was involved, Sylvester followed the scent, appearing at the end of the street some time after the stabbing had occurred. Unlike Nalira, he was dressed in several obnoxious colors and had a silk scarf around his head, conveniently holding the hair out of his eyes.
His footfalls were nearly silent as he started toward the pair, but eventually his clothes would demand attention.
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Posted: Wed Dec 12, 2007 7:30 am
Nalira hovered above the body in a disengaged way, as if looking for a pretext to forgive him - on which she immediately discounted the thought and laughed, bitterness and contempt deepening with every breath. There was a style, an eloquence in the way she moved; always, it seemed, for a purpose, and anything without would be a waste of time.
At the swift approach of someone behind her, Nalira straightened, poised and upright, and waited; her stance was static and still, yet seemed to be inclined forward, as if she were trying to raise herself upon her toes. She ran a finger delicately over the edge of the knife, and after a moment of pointed waiting, she wondered if she should be the one to address them, and what would be the consequences of her saying nothing; indeed, the consequences of saying nothing were very agreeable. Nevertheless, she turned and smiled at the stranger delightfully - a boy -, and leant backwards obliquely, her body turned towards him and her arms against the wall behind.
"And to whom do I owe this honor?"
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Posted: Mon Dec 17, 2007 2:19 pm
Sylvester was nearly close enough to see exactly how much and what kind of blood had drawn him here when the young woman spoke, breaking him out of whatever strange trance he had been under. Her voice sounded familiar, but not familiar enough to get Sylvester to stop looking at the body. He quickly stopped moving forward and backed up, stumbling a bit, but not falling. The body. Suddenly, he really didn't want to be here.
"Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to... bother you. I'm nobody." He looked at her, finally. Had she killed this man? "I'm just going to go?" He would have liked to have simply left, to never have spoken of this incident again, but who knew what sorts of weapons she was hiding? If there was one thing Sylvester wanted less than to stand around and bargain with this person, it was to be shot in the back. Or worse.
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Posted: Wed Dec 19, 2007 8:44 am
She moved towards him, her hands hidden by her heavy cloak; there was a strange determination in her manner and an air of artless deliberation.
"I can assure you that I mean you no harm," She said; then, slipping her hands into her pockets, ridded herself of the dagger that hung precariously from her fingertips. She watched him carefully - it was obvious, though perhaps only to herself, that he was concealing a level of natural uncertainty. Her cloak moved slightly with the mild winter air, and the shabby moonlight, fearfully unbecoming to the alley, illuminated her darkened features; she had mature, chiselled features; but the degree of it was not sustained by items or aids. Dark rings fell beneath her eyes, which formed favourably with her simplicity of dress. With a small homely hum, she readjusted the poise of her leather gloves and continued to smile at the boy.
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Posted: Thu Dec 27, 2007 8:43 am
Taking her at her word, Sylvester pulled his soft striped scarf further up his neck and nodded, but otherwise didn't move. His eyes drifted to the body and he asked, "So, you need any help with that?" even though he didn't want to help at all. He was certainly curious, but it was the knowledge that he shouldn't be curious anymore that kept him still, his long lashes and slightly bowed head hiding his eyes and any outward sign of his internal struggle.
Sylvester smiled carefully, not at all like he was smiling at a crazy person, inched forward and bent over just enough to appear interested and nonchalant instead of twitchy and uncomfortable.
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Posted: Thu Dec 27, 2007 8:36 pm
She met him with inimitable amenity.
"Oh, heavens no," she smiled, looking around her, "but this is not the time for such offers. On this most auspicious of nights, permit me then, in lieu of the more commonplace sobriquet, to make haste -- forgive me," she moved forward quickly and put her arm around his waist; with one swift movement she had placed a cloth gently to his nose. She turned her face upon him and considered him quietly, thinking upon the consequences of leaving him there. After a moment of convincing arguments, there was no other suitable action -- she pulled him against her chest; cradeling him like a mother would a child, and moved quickly from the alley.
~
It was unknown where exactly Nalira had taken Sylvester; the rooms were extremely numerous, and were painted all over exactly alike in an off white that had grown sallow with time. It was a peculiar structure that seemed to date from the late colonial times, composed of stone that had been painted yellow. There was a lack of constant coming and going; as if the home hadn't been visited in years. On the second floor, there was a sort of arched passage, connecting to a sealed door.
Nalira was still neatly dressed in well-brushed black; but her leather gloves were folded upon her knees, and her feet were encased in thick socks. Changing her place, Nalira moved from the sofa to the armchair upholstered in a patterned cloth that gave at once the sense that it was crafted by loving hands. She looked to the prints on the walls and at the lonely magazine, three years old, that combined, with a small, quiet lamp in coloured glass and a knitted white centre-piece, to enhance the effect of the room. Indeed, if ones observational skills were to serve them well, they would notice that all the lights were switched to on, and that it was the middle of the afternoon.
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Posted: Mon Jan 07, 2008 12:44 pm
"Sobriwhat?" Sylvester said, turning his head to meet Nalira's foul-smelling cloth. He didn't make a sound, he just slumped in her arms, his body dead weight.
~
When the Tale awoke, it was to a dull ache in his head and a very dry mouth. For a moment he didn't remember where he was, but then he recalled the alley and the body and the strangely familiar girl and quickly raised his head, only to lower it again a second later. Ow. He picked his glasses up from where they rested nearby on the floor and slid them on, all the while squinting with his bleary eyes. His first thought wasn't Oh s**t, I've been kidnapped by some crazy person, but more like Hey, this room's kind of nice. The girl hadn't seemed all that eager to kill him in the street and he had been distracted enough to have stupidly given her every opportunity, so he continued to take the situation in stride. He didn't have it in him to fight right now anyway, even if she lunged at him with her knife. There was more than enough time for action later, when he didn't feel taking another nap.
He lifted himself to a sitting position and pushed his hair fully out of his eyes, briefly mourning the absence of his head scarf, which seemed to have been lost along the way. "Who are you?" he asked, as opposed to Where am I? which he assumed she wouldn't answer anyway.
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Posted: Sat Jan 12, 2008 8:29 am
There was a moment during which, though her eyes were fixed, Nalira had quite visibly lost herself in her thoughts; she readjusted her tightly-wound hair tie subconciously; inside it, her hair fell flat against her back. Her cloak shifted quickly as she turned to face him, for she had succeeded, as some fail to do when lost in vigorous thought, in hearing his inquiry. She rested her eyes upon him, and in this moment, with her face brought into a warm smile, she seemed as if she were contemplating greatly between several things she might say
"Who? Who is but the form following the function of what and what I am, well, I imagine all manner of names shall be heaped upon my humble visage. But, for now, let us simply say that I am the villain," Slowly, Nalira moved around to the kitchen, delicately running her finger over the edge of a saucepan; inside, two eggs sizzled undisturbed.
"To whom, might I ask, am I speaking?"
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Posted: Wed Jan 16, 2008 8:46 am
Yes, she was the villain. He had gathered as much from the fact that she had killed a man and had chloroform on her person like it was something normal people carried. He stiffly folded his legs under him, careful to move his tail so he wouldn't sit on it, and rubbed at his eyes again. What she had asked was clear enough, but Sylvester hesitated to answer. Still, with the exception of knocking him out, she didn't seem particularly inclined to hurt him. And... eggs.
"My name is Sylvester. I think I already know what your answer will be, but it would be really awesome if you'd let me leave now and, you know, without trying to do anything to me. I won't tell anyone what I saw, actually, I'm sure I didn't see anything." He could keep a secret; he had thousands. He yawned hugely, catching the action and covering his mouth about halfway through.
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Posted: Wed Jan 16, 2008 9:39 am
Nalira greeted these words with a curious glance.
"Of course," She took the saucepan and moved it to the table where a candlestick in a crystal glass sat unlit in the middle. She listened to him attentively with an appreciative smile, and after moving the crystal glass slightly off center, she gestured Sylvester to the table and rested her hand on the oaken chair.
"I hope you like eggs," She said; it was a generous and considerate offer, though she knew that she could not avoid his question. Though she was reassured by her sense of his friendly manner, he had already touched the furthest limit of her willingness to answer certain questions, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep both parties adequately satisfied. As she spoke, an audible strain of sincerity appeared in her voice -- a sincerity so abrupt and inconsequent that she herself was mildly surprised.
"I am sorry," she said, watching him carefully. "But I cannot take that risk. You have to understand, Sylvester, that I did not want this for either of us. You had stumbled into an unfortunate situation -- if I had left you there, caught on the security cameras surrounding the both of us, you would almost certainly be in an interrogation cell. They would imprison you, hurt you, torture you, and in all probability kill you in the pursuit of finding myself. I could not let that happen, so I took you to the only place I knew you'd be safe; here, to my home."
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Posted: Sun Feb 24, 2008 5:11 pm
Sylvester narrowed his eyes and considered her words. What she said might have been true if he had actually been caught assisting her on these security cameras (that he wasn't even sure existed), but as it happened, she had knocked him out and presumably dragged both him and the corpse away. How could he be considered an accomplice now? Still, she seemed concerned for his welfare, with not wanting him interrogated and all, so he kept quiet on that subject at least.
He stood, even more slowly than he had previously sat up, and approached Nalira and her eggs. He didn't sit. "So, what now?" This young woman was most certainly in charge as far as Sylvester was concerned. He didn't know her name, despite the flicker of familiarity that surrounded the young woman, and he was effectively her prisoner, since he really had no idea what she was capable of. Well, he did, but he had done nothing to incite her anger, at least not yet.
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Posted: Sat Mar 01, 2008 8:02 am
She looked at him a little harder than the situation seemed to require. Nalira had a moment of mute detachment; Sylvester's hesitation, though warrented, did not equally match his acceptance of the matter at hand. Nalira looked at him as if he were almost venerably idiosyncratic, but also as if this were what one loved him for. It was, oddly enough, an idea Nalira seemed to accept.
"Now you eat," She prompted, dispelling, on the spot, any ghost of a need to explain. It was in particular -- during the minutes of her gracious production of fried eggs -- that Nalira most had in view Sylvester's judgements and reasonings, or at least a clear calculation of his demeanor.
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Posted: Thu Mar 27, 2008 1:49 pm
He sat again, this time on a chair instead of the floor, appearing considerably more agreeable than he felt. Picking up a nearby fork, Sylvester slowly ate his eggs. They seemed particularly delicious, but that was likely because he hadn't eaten in a while.
"Thank you," he said between bites. He might have been thanking her for the food or the fact that she hadn't poisoned him with it, it wasn't clear. "What happens when I'm finished?" He wasn't trying to bait her or make her angry, not really, but he was still curious. He couldn't help himself. Was he never to go home now that he had witnessed Nalira's crime?
"What's outside?" Maybe he could simply leave.
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Posted: Mon Jun 30, 2008 9:52 am
"Darkness, I expect," she answered earnestly, a small smile and a slight hum following shortly after. Then, after a moment of silent, calculated thought, she quaintly continued.
"I'm afraid that I won't be gracing you with my company tonight. You're free to go wherever you wish inside my home -- I believe you will find that I have a vast collection of literature and art spanning from the renaissance to Shakespeare -- but be warned: if you, by chance, attempt to leave, the result will be less than genial." She paused, and for a moment considered elaborating on the sophisticated, delicately crafted traps and labryrinths of interconnecting underground tunnels. Taking her cloak thoughtfully with one hand, she silently thought against this admission.
Standing quite still for a moment, visibly lost in her thoughts, Nalira smiled pleasantly at the boy before her and dropped her gaze to his plate.
"Finished?"
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