|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Wed Apr 12, 2006 12:42 pm
Metaplot Update - Part 10 - Memories & Madness
It had been a rough few days for Matilda, it seemed. The voices in her head, the finding of yet another wand. And this wasn't just any wand. It was Seirket. The gryphon had returned to the realm of the living. Or, in this case, semi living, since he was still in the wand.
But he had come back.
Shifting in her bed, Matilda stared at the blank white wall to her left, eyes glossing over slightly as she remembered that war. She hadn't been more than seventeen. It was a few years before she died, she remembered. She, one of the most promising witches in the fight against the People of Thought, and Dorian, her hero and her Demi-god sent to protect her. They fought side by side and somehow managed to stay alive through three years of torture.
And she had loved him, so very much.
Tears filled the Ancient woman's eyes as she remembered the battles, the dead. The one instant in the war when Dorian had almost been struck down forever, however, hurt more than all of that. She had tied her soul to his to save his life.
He was HERS. And he betrayed her.
Unable to lay there anymore, Matilda sat herself up and reached for her journal and pen, opening the book to a blank page. She wrote.
Dear Journal,
How long has it been since I've poured my feelings, confessions, and thoughts into your confining, silent, and oddly consoling pages? Too long, I fear, for madness seems to be taking over me. I keep hearing voices. Dorian. A woman named Jora. I see them, sometimes. But Dorian's a baby. There's no way he could be BACK! I didn't bring him back and...Oh I'm just so confused.
If he isn't back and I'm simply imagining things, then I really am going mad. If he IS back and I'm not imagining things�
I'm dead. One thing Dorian always did was hold grudges. And in his mind I'm sure he'll blame me for his death. His failure.
The finding of Seirket has caused the memory rift to rip open again. Things that I had tried to forget have suddenly sprung to life inside of my mind. The binding, the deaths, the screams...And god, the stench and the look in other's eyes.
The desertion and betrayal that took place on both sides. Friends fighting friends, Enemies making alliances to bring down a former aqauintences� It's enough to make my stomach roll all over again.
I fear if things go the way I think they will, the children will have a harder time in this life then in their previous. I fear that I may have to shatter their innocence with the facts of war before they are old enough to be able to handle it.
I only pray that things settle down. And that I keep my sanity and humanity longer than I think I will. Wands are coming up left and right, and unless I do something to fix it my soul will be nothing left and I will not be able to help in the final battle.
Coailiann, Levis, Malum, Seirket and Yashima may be my only hopes. If I feel as if I need to fade before then...Well, we'll see what I must do to prepare them for the battle.
Because there will be a battle. This time...I'm not sure who will survive.
Matilda let the ink dry and closed the journal, carefully tucking it in her nightstand before laying down again, eyes closing.
"I'd rather be going mad," she whispered before she forced herself into a healing sleep. Seirket returning had drained her.
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Sep 12, 2006 11:24 am
Metaplot Update - Part 11 – A Long Time Coming
The faint whisper of something indefinable had woken Matilda from the healing sleep she had slipped into the day that Seirket had been awakened. The whispers of voices she had thought long dead and gone would not go away. Stranger's voices that she had never heard before plagued her day and night.
Dorian. Jora. Dorian….How could he be back? She hadn't known, but she had to. The dreams and the pain from the memories she held and had locked away until currently had begun to spin out of control and the woman could not sit in the dark any longer. The Ancient had slipped into unconsciousness yet again – to travel through time in the realm of in between. To be unseen, safe, in her learning. Matilda had left Ianna and Coailiann to deal with everything themselves. Kay was getting older, wasn't she? Uncertainty had touched the woman's mind, but she had made it up. She had to leave. And she did.
She had to know – and now that she knew, she wished she had never gone…
~
She Watched.
"I'm doing the best I can," Jora toned patiently to the unseen entity apparently present in her living room. The pale woman's startling blue eyes were hard, cold and distant as she stared at the blank spot on the wall where some form of light had taken over.
You are not doing well enough! He does not have the hate we would have thought, by now. He is uncertain! We cannot afford uncertainty!
"The child is anything but innocent. He knows. He knows and the anger's gnawing at him, I see it."
You are blinded by your own goal, Jora. It's time…
"I have not had enough time to…" she was abruptly cut off.
He will return to limbo, Jora. He was come out a man, with all his memories...Intact.
"His memories intact?! Are you ******** KIDDING me?" Jora protested, her blue eyes flashing with annoyance, "You know as well as I his memories alone are not enough to pull off something of this magna—"
Silence!
The young woman's mouth clamped shut; face going a few shades whiter than she had been previous and twisting into a sort of grimace of pain. Still, she refused to make a noise. It would only be worse if she showed the pain that she felt. It wasn't as if the God didn't know she was in pain – she knew that he sensed it. But sensing it and seeing it were two very, very different things.
The gods were not merciful when they were angry – and they were, by evidence of the unseen hand around her throat – very angry.
We are displeased, Jora. My brothers and Sisters and I. The People of Thought have caught wind of the People of Dreams returning. They are angry at us, turning away, and we will soon lose our power. Mark my words, Jora, if this shall come to pass, we will use our last ounce to send you to a place far worse than Limbo.
The pressure on Jora's throat lessened and she gulped for air, sucking it in and raising a hand to her throat to rub the soreness away. It was a moment before she was able to speak again, "Continue," she rasped, eyes closed.
He will return to Limbo with most or his memories intact. Of course, the anger, the hatred and the betrayal will be magnified to suit our whims. You have groomed him to the best of your ability. But he does not hate. He does not believe. It is unknown if the capacity of his infant brain is great enough to hold hate. He will return to Limbo as a man…And come out a hate filled monster. He will find us again, and we will use him. He will come to you. He will remember.
Jora nodded quietly, "Very well."
Bring the boy out.
The woman rose from her perch and exited the living room, making her way to the nursery to bring the brown haired child into the room with the unseen presence.
Dorian's brown eyes, confused and half dazed with sleep, peered around the living room with questions inside of them.
Why had Jora woken him up? Was it time for another one of those damned lessons in his past that he really didn't understand? It seemed that the longer he was on Gaia in this tiny body, the more he lost the capacity to remember what had been. The only things he knew were the things that Jora told him.
And he didn't understand what half of them meant. At times the child had spurts of knowing, being aware. Remembering.
But they had been coming far and few in between. The Gods were right. He did not have the capacity to understand the concept of hate.
Too bad. He's such a handsome babe, too…Innocence pleases me. But not with him.
The room filled with a bright, burning light. The kind that felt as if it would sear the flesh straight from his bones and Dorian began to wail. He was melting and the pain was unbearable. Bones twisting, skin dripping as if made of wax. His hearing was the first to go, his drums bursting inside his head…And then it started in on his eyes. Dorian's closed them to block out the rays from his sensitive child eyes – but it was too late. He was blinded and the burning had spread to the back of his head.
And finally, his vocal cords snapped to immediately cut off his screaming, leaving him a deaf, blind mute…And then, with a wave of fear, there was nothing left of the infant that Jora had been taking care of for the last months.
And the cold hearted woman didn't seem to care.
~
She Cried.
When Matilda's eyes opened, returning her from the not so peaceful sleep she had submitted to, they were filled with the salty tears she had been shedding. How could they do that to a child? An innocent, small, helpless child?
But he's not innocent.
The voice in the back of her head reminded her, a passing hiss that seemed to make the most sense she had ever heard. He wasn't a child – he was Dorian reincarnated. Pulled from limbo in a smaller form.
He was NOT a child.
…But he was. The Ancient fought the little voice tooth and nail to not succumb to that line of thinking. Her children – they were children. Coailiann, Yashima, Taylor (Why did she name the greatest…) were given second chances. Why couldn't Dorian have his?
They want him to kill you!
"Shut up!" she hissed, pained. Matty didn't want to think of her past lover killing her once again. Dorian wasn't allowed to do it twice, damnit!
Now she was rambling. Her mind was in so many places that she couldn't keep a single thought straight. She couldn't think anything that made sense, either. And when did that damn little voice creep up on her?
Something was not right. Perhaps the battle was closer than she had thought.
What did that mean for the children? So many were still trapped in their little prisons. The prisons that would, in time, bring them to life for a second chance. But it was taking too long! She had made the transition as smooth as possible for them.
A wisp, a baby ghost…To get them used to the surroundings that they would be brought into. The world was such a different place now.
But it wasn't going fast enough if the battle was as close as she thought. Matilda had no idea when Dorian would emerge – but she did know that if the Gods succeeded with their plan, he would be determined to get his revenge upon her. He had always been that way. Spiteful.
But that spite had never been placed on her until now. Sighing, Matilda slipped slowly from the bed and moved to her cauldron, staring into the deep and endless silver. It was time for the spell she cast to be modified.
They would be ready when the time came.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Feb 20, 2007 10:25 am
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Feb 20, 2007 10:27 am
=====METAPLOT RP IN PLACE ========
((Cere and I only please))
Matilda was exhausted. The headquarters was almost completely rebuilt and was at least inhabitable. Currently, she was 'plugged in' to her realm, leaching as much energy from it as she possibly could. It was working, at least. Energy was running through her and she no longer felt as though she could be pushed over with a feather.
The destruction of the headquarters followed by several wands awakening and pulling at her was definitely not helpful toward her recovery. She was actually beginning to wonder if her plan was a good idea or not. Whether or not it was, however, was a moot point. It was unable to be undone and the Ancient would just have to deal with it.
Besides, the children were growing up healthy enough, even with the severed guardian bonds of the Lesidhe and the Drow child. It was quiet, though, since the breakdown of the headquarters. This was unusual.
It did not sit well with her. Matilda, however, could do nothing about it and sat quietly before her mirror.And somewhere within the overwhelming veil of silence came a very small sound, like the slow dripping of water from a leaky faucet. It was not content to stay somewhere far away in the midst of obscurity, however, but instead began to approach; the dripping turned to a steady, shallow flow of water over rocks which turned to the impenetrable roar of a fast-moving river in a very small space. Only a little distance away, visible in the mirror, was the rippling and unsure outline of a humanoid figure. Wet footsteps preceded it; it held its skirts in its hands, dripping steadily on the floor, and the more it dripped the more it lost its shape. Hello, said the River, who could not decide whether it was unbearably young or far, far too old (but was feminine all the same), in a soft language that was not English and not quite spoken either, Lady Matilda? She shifted her skirts (folds of water?), gathering them up more tightly, and for a moment fingers could be seen, and very definitely arms, and just a little upwards, the shadow of a face, ancient and haunted. Matilda snapped to attention, eyes narrowing at the vision in the mirror, "...It depends on who is inquiring."
She had seen many things in her life and unlife but she had never seen something quite like Mnemosyne in either of them. Of course she had heard of ladies in the mirror but said stories were never...pleasant.
Matty was not afraid, just overly cautious. After the events that had taken place, why should she not be?One who means no harm but has a great favor to ask, said the River out of politeness, having guessed -- no, relied on the knowledge that Matilda would already know what she was. She was not invited in any farther so she lingered in her spot, shallow puddles slowly collecting around her feet. Word of your power and work reaches those even in the farthest depths of the underworld. I have come that you might...It was there the spirit seemed to hesitate, apparently searching for the right words (or reason, or motivation...) ...Do the same for me.Matilda blinked. She knew that her reputation had been widespread, but the underworld? A sigh. The woman knew that it would only be a matter of time before people came to her and began asking to be reborn.
It was not something she could grant. Not that she didn't know how but the process was so exhausting, especially when one wasn't technically dead.
"I do not believe I can help you."Can not or will not? The River insisted patiently, devoid still of emotion. I would not have you do this without giving you anything in return, of course, if this is what concerns you.It was a little late, and it came a short period after she had finished speaking, but it was there just the same; she had gathered up her skirts again, raising a few of the puddles from her feet, and when she straightened there was a slight desperation to her lined face. Her lower lip jutted out some and her eyes were slightly narrowed, and all this along with the blue color of her face lended her a very girlish impunity that bore great resemblance to another River girl. The look was fleeting. She was like stone again a few seconds later. I will not leave, she added tonelessly. The last thing Matty needed was a girl haunting her mirror. "It comes at a high price to myself, you understand. There is not much you could offer me that would make me change my mind."
Silver eyes locked in on the female in the mirror, "What is it that you have to offer? I will hear you out but if I say I cannot, you must leave. Those are my conditions. Are they accepted?"
She would not make promises she could not keep.Yes, they are accepted, Mnemosyne told her gladly, and in the next lack of breath, proceeded to explain as if she had thought about this for a while yet: Mortals, those who knew of me, used to come to drink from my waters for omniscience, eternal life -- and remembrance. All memories of all previous life cycles were unlocked, as were any seals placed upon powers or abilities, and released from the wheel of reincarnation forevermore, they thus gained immortality. This power will be lost forever should I not find a way to She had neglected herself for too long, apparently, and the water around her feet quickly threatened to spill and shallowly flood the room. She halted long enough to gather up her water-skirts again, regaining her proper form and voice, and continued on: This power I will place in your hands to do as you wish should you grant me rebirth. Too much of my realm is gone and I lack the way now to do it as the mortals had, and the power to escape as my siblings did.Omniscience sounded...Well, that sounded like a fair trade. Matilda listened quietly and crossed her arms over her chest, trying to feign disinterest. Once the explanation faded off she gave a small nod.
"I can do that. I will have to create a wand for you and trap your soul inside of it. That day I will extract your power and hold it for myself to allow you to be reborn. It is a fair trade you offer in exchange for this. You will know when it is complete. Come to me when you feel a pull at your soul."
Matilda turned away from the mirror and moved off to do her work. It wouldn't be until three days later that Mnemosyne would feel that tug letting her know that Matilda's work had been completed.And so the River spirit returned three days later, with much less presence than before (probably much to the gratitude of the poor floors and rugs she had to sully with her footsteps.) If she were any more human, she would be nervous. As it was, she knew very little of what the future would hold -- so very little that it was unnerving, in truth, she who was supposed to know everything! --But it would be worth it, that much she had to simply trust. Matilda stood before the mirror, a finely crafted waned runed and light - almost transparent in it's material. The tip was empty, for now. While wands were usually nothing more than a vessel for a soul, this one had been granted extra room to hold her power as well.
"I will keep this wand once you manifest as an infant. To give me your power, you must take this and extract it into the tip." She indicated to the small vial-like piece on the end of the wand, "It should only come out as a small amount of liquid, should you do it right. Read these words."
She passed a piece of parchment with latin written across it.
Meus ops vos
Ego dedi is libere
In verto parumper novus vita
Sic exsisto is
Once the power transfer was over, she would begin the process to grant her rebirth. With any luck it would be completed within the hour.Mnemosyne nodded and slowly took the wand between two formless strands of water that might have been her hands at one point. She turned it slowly in the dim light, inspecting it carefully, and at last seemed satisfied with the workmanship. She turned her attention next to the manuscript. It took her a moment to reconcile the strange language with her own native Greek, but after a moment she obligingly began to recite them (albeit with a rather thick accent) in a tiny, barely-there voice. Halfway through she ceased to see and instead began to will her power into the wand, trusting the words to make the process possible. The effect seemed almost instantaneous to her -- suddenly she felt very light (indeed, her feet were hovering several inches off the floor and were no longer damp to the touch, could no longer be touched), very... very purposeless. Very unRiverlike. She opened her eyes, was surprised that she could sense she had them. She was still able to hold onto the wand, though it was rapidly sinking through her definitely but unsolidly formed fingers. Her power was there, in the tip like Matilda had said, barely filling it at all (her sister had taken so much): her divinity, her essense -- that meant she was no longer a River spirit like she had guessed a few moments earlier, was merely a ghost now -- and oh, would she really be safe? But she no longer had the means to say 'yes' or 'no' and be comforted in the knowledge. Hesitantly she offered the wand back to Matilda. Satisfied, Matilda took the wand and set it on her table, a smile touching her lips. Greed was a driving force with her, at some points, and this was definitely one of them. Giving a small nod to indicate that it was done correctly, Matilda turned away and began to chant.
Pain lanced through her as she forced a sliver of her soul to be ripped from her, a glowing silvery-blue ball sliding from her before resting just above her head. The Ancient fought to stay upright but it was difficult and she had to stop her movements to gasp for breath.
Doing it herself was definitely a lot harder. After a brief rest, the Ancient directed the ball hurtling towards Mnemosyne until it sunk into her watery form and a bright light exploded.
Words were whispered frantically beneath Matilda's breath - but something was not right. She was not strong enough, the wand was not a strong enough vessel, and light exploded.
Where Mnemosyne once was, an infant dark as night with hair a watery blue rested, creating a blanket over her naked form. Melanie had been reborn.
Matilda, however, was crumpled on the floor, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. Too much at once.
The Ancient was once more dead, life given to propel the River into existance.
All the children would feel a bond snap and a brief slice of pain as the source of their soul sliver was killed. The feeling of emptiness would last for a while, unfortunately, and they would all instinctively know that even if they had never met her, Matilda was dead and gone.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Feb 20, 2007 10:29 am
=====Metaplot Role Play (Cerena & Kyribird Only)=====
As the new babe came into existence, Matilda’s body had become too weak to handle the backlash of power as the wand failed to trap the spirit. Already weak from the previous repairs and births, the body simply gave out and Matilda’s spirit silently exited, hovering above the child.
So this is what brought me down.
She didn’t have much time to ponder much more before a tingling feeling began to pull at her, sucking her out and away. Matilda only had a moment to send an alert to Ianna before she disappeared to the in between.~*~ Ianna was lounging peacefully on the couch, eyes closed, when a sudden pain lanced through her body. It was as if someone had taken a live wire and ran it across her skin and the woman cried out, loudly.
Something was definitely not right. Suddenly, she could not feel the presence of her eldest daughter. Matilda had just…disappeared. Something had to have happened. The silver haired woman sat up slowly, breathing heavily from the pressure that was now on her chest.
…Matilda?
No answer.
Matty, this isn’t funny, please… Panic began to take Ianna’s hand and she closed her eyes in an attempt to calm herself. There had to be a logical explanation.
It was the quick, frantic voice in her head that had her leaping to her feet and heading toward the portal that she had been warned never to enter. The wall was thrown open and Ianna dove, consequences be damned. She would get to the bottom of it if it was the last thing she did.
Something was wrong and Ianna knew it.
The portal ripped at her, painfully, before it finally spit her out in Matilda’s private quarters. Her head was spinning and she had momentarily lost her sight. Everything was black. A moment later, however, the colors began leaking back and the sight of Matilda’s room came to her.
The first thing Ianna noticed was the babe laying on the floor, naked, and likely very cold. Carefully, the woman crawled to her and picked her up, holding her to her chest. Matilda wouldn’t just leave a new born infant – who was clearly a Ghostling – laying on the floor with no protection if something dire hadn’t happened. It was then that her eyes traveled over the room and the body of her daughter, crumpled, was seen.
“…Matilda?”
No movement.
“Matty…?”
Again, she was answered by silence. Panicked, but not wanting to worry the babe in her arms, Ianna made her way to the body of her daughter. Ice cold. “Oh. Oh god. Matilda…” Panic flooded her again.
Her daughter was gone and a discarded wand was laying beside her. It dawned on her what happened and silver eyes moved down to the small infant in her arms. It had been one too many.
Tears spilled down her cheeks as a finger moved to stroke the black skin, “Well, little one…We’ll see what…what we can do, huh?” At least Matilda had died fulfilling her mission.
Somehow, it was not a relief. Ianna stood up shakily and set the child down on the bed so she could move her daughter to the other side of it, pulling the blanket up around her. She would not be able to bring them both back with her and logically it had to be the child. After all, the black skinned child was innocent, and alive.
Melanie was picked up again and Ianna closed her eyes. “Well. Welcome to the world, little one.”
This time, the trip through the portal went easier – physically.Melanie did not have anything to say for herself. The infant was bewildered first and foremost by the sensation of cold tile beneath -- beneath what, what was this all over her now, constraining her? Skin? -- and then by being picked up. She could feel Ianna breathing, it was very odd. She made noises that she was perhaps supposed to know but could not comprehend. Matty wasn't sitting up to tell her what to do next. It was all very tiring. Perhaps she would sleep for a while. ~*~ Styx considered his pack of cigarettes very carefully. There were only two left, but he painstakingly counted and recounted these to make sure that they were, indeed, incapable of spontaneous reproduction. "I don't have any money to get more," he said bitterly to no one at all, and glowered at the young woman waiting for the light on the corner. She very hurriedly jaywalked. "Then stop smoking," came Acheron's airy response as he flicked boredly through a week-old newspaper. He sat at a prissy outdoor cafe table, ankles crossed and chin propped with an elbow. Someone else's breakfast dishes remained on the table, staked and claimed by the young man before they could be cleared away; he had long since mastered the art of casually blending into places that would otherwise shoo him away if anyone bothered to look at him twice. Styx, leaning up against the wall of the shop, antsy and nervous, made the patrolling waitress look very uncomfortable. "I can't. She drives me to smoke and drink." He raked his nails cat-like against the wall behind him, imagining someone else's face there. Abruptly he turned to Acheron and hissed, "There is no money left for your books, either." Acheron at least had the decency to look scandalized, for his brother's sake. He let the newspaper sweep shut and firmly folded it in ways it was not meant to be. "We are not in Gaia with its funny moon language and weird-haired people for cigarettes or books. Well," he amended quickly, "One book, but we have it. She has no hold on us. We can run away screaming our heads off now." "I do not wish to scream," countered Styx crankily, kicking at a stray cat across the street and predictably missing, "I wish to smoke. You felt it too, she did something. That stupid, stupid idiotic girl--" "--Clever, if she's managed to delve into the Deep and survive, do you think she's any truer to herself now?--" "--Stupid freaky fae-ry pixie girl with the wrong color skin." He spat venemously, and then noticed the waitress from the corner of his eye, now accompanied by a rather burly and pissed-off-looking man. "I am going to rob her of her inheritance, and I am going to sell it to the highest bidder for cigarettes," he announced loudly, firmly took Acheron by the collar of his shirt, and left. "How about a job?" Acheron suggested once Styx had grown tired of dragging him along. The shorter young man idly ran his hands down his tattered shirt, attempting to rid it of wrinkles -- it was his only good one. Styx immediately turned to eye him warily, missing the window of opportunity he had staked out to trip a rather self-important-looking blonde that had just passed by. "What makes you say that?" "Well..." Acheron stopped in front of a seemingly innocent storefront, staring up at the sign and trying to puzzle out the letters. "Well, we're on the Smells Like Horses street, the... the street. And the numbers," he pointed to the address, "Match up." The taller man grunted and mentally set his urge to light up to beat up his urge to conserve his treasures. "Your point being?" "I saw an ad in the paper, it said 'HELP.'" Acheron looked very proud of this accomplishment, his ability to read a simple four-letter word. "And there were a lot more numbers and a money symbol and things, so I think they're looking to hire someone here. This looks like the picture that accompanied it, so." The real reason, of course -- for both Styx' nervousness and Acheron's sudden interest in employment -- was that they both suspected Lethe was inside for possibly nefarious reasons. River spirits sensed each other's presences through certain kinds of movements that spilled out in ripples, and spiritually this store seemed to oscillate faster than a demon-possessed girl on crack. "Okay," said Styx with an exaggerated shrug, giving in, "Let us get some boxes, and hide in them -- these boxes -- and sneak our way in. We will require theme music." But Acheron had already pushed the door open, calling out in heavily accented English, "Hello!" Ianna was sitting in the shop, predictably, with the sleeping Melanie in her arms. As much as the woman wanted to mourn she knew that her first responsibility was to the well being of the child. After all, hadn't Matilda given her life for the small infant?
Oh, god, she still had to send out the news to all the children. Even if they had never MET her, they knew her. They had to have known her, at some point, for them to be reborn. She was, after all, the one who brought them into being and through limbo.
She hadn't cried yet and that was hard. Perhaps she didn't quite believe that her eldest daughter was gone despite the bond being severed or perhaps she just didn't want to. Either way, she had a job to do.
When the door swung open, Ianna shifted the child in her arms and eyed the men. "Shh, she's sleeping."
It wasn't Lethe, but they were right in the respect that a river spirit did indeed dwell in that place. The book held no record of her - Ianna had checked thoroughly - but she was there nonetheless and Ianna knew her for what she was.
A reborn spirit. And one of those two had to be her guardian."Scuzi," said Acheron, who had no idea what he was being lectured about. The only reason it had even crossed his mind to be polite and apologize was that the woman looked very, very sad. This, in turn, made the young man brighten. Styx peeked around him at the child, as if she might be some vicious man-eating pirahna that would, at any moment, leap up and devour their flesh. " What is it?" He demanded shrilly of Acheron in an ancient dialect of Greek, still partially crouched behind him, pointing to Melanie with one long, bony finger extended. " Has she gone mad and baby'd herself again?!" For a moment it appeared he was about to fly in a fit of rage and explode on the spot, but presently he straightened and glowered at the infant. " She had so much to live for," he said sulkily. " Shut up," Acheron told him kindly and returned his attention to Ianna, sadly delegated to the task of playing out their pretense for arriving. At least the child seemed asleep -- and hopefully had not overheard Styx' tirade -- with any luck, perhaps she would believe that they did not recognize her. It suddenly occured to him that it would have probably been helpful to bring the newspaper along with him, to show her. It was a shame, he had not practiced his sharades in a long time. "We see..." What was 'ad' in English -- and, furthermore, how did one go about miming that? "Paper," Acheron decided on finally, "Say 'HELP'." " What are you telling her? I refuse to die first. I will not be sacrificed in the name of freaky perpetual youth." Styx jabbed him in the back, eliciting a surprised yelp from his brother. This caught Melanie's attention at last, and the infant kicked a little -- a reflex she did not understand -- and opened her eyes to determine the source of the noise. Styx and Acheron both froze in place upon being looked at. " She has no ribbons," Styx realized suddenly with a very obvious air of bewilderment, while Acheron said simultaneously, " Her eyes are all wrong." But Melanie did not recognize them, or their words, and satisfied that there was no threat, sunk back into uneasy slumber. So -- so. She was not Lethe. What, then, was she? Acheron hesitantly gestured to the baby and said, after a moment's thought, "Wadder, yes? wadder?" Was that right? "How..." He gestured uselessly. "How you get?" The limited English grated on Ianna's nerves slightly and she tried very hard to be patient. At the mention of the paper, she nodded a little bit and gently sat Melanie down in a nearby cushy chair she had brought in for the infant to lay in when she had other things to do.
"I'm afraid there is no job. Filled."
What WERE they saying to each other? It was slightly unnerving not to know what two strange men were saying. So much had happened that afternoon that Ianna was simply...drained.
This was not helping the woman's mood. "...Water? There was a pool of water when I found her." She remembered that much. And the wand, it had had water in it. Or, at least, what appeared to be a water like substance. The wand itself was pulled out and shown to them. There was some writing going vertically down that was done in what appeared to be another language. Perhaps that could help them figure it out.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Apr 27, 2007 10:40 pm
Metaplot Update - Part 15 - Matilda's Rebirth Floating. The entire grey and black and white was swirling, dancing, writhing…She knew no darkness, no pain, simply…black, white, and grey. There was no confusion, no curiousity, no panic…Just the sweet, soothing motions of rolling monotone. And then, without warning, a pain that felt as though she were being ripped apart. And her world lost its greys and whites and went completely black.Silver eyes snapped open, light flooding in immediately and dialating the girl's pupils without warning. She screamed as pain blossomed through her head and she quickly shut her eyes again. Her limbs felt heavy and different…Something was not right. Slowly, cautiously, her eyes slipped open again, this time allowing the light to come gradually. Blink once, blink twice…Where was she? The girl sat herself up, hands splaying against what felt to be clinical sheets – there was no softness to them, like her sheets at home. These felt like…Well, they did not feel like her own. She shifted her body so her legs were hanging off the bed but something unusual happened. She couldn't feel the ground. Her first thought was that her legs had gone numb and the naggling little panic that had yet to make itself apparent began to spread. Eyes moved downward and shock hit. Her legs had shrunk. She was now looking at what appeared to be a child's foot. Now, what she remembered was far from being a child and as another wave of panic hit her she slid off the bed and ran across the room to a nearby mirror. Messy, shoulder length blue hair around a childs face stared back at her and her mouth made a small 'o' of surprise. This couldn't be happening. The last thing she remembered was bringing Mneomosyne… Matilda closed her eyes slowly, cursing. She'd been tricked! Mnemosyne had been working against her, had she? Once again, Matilda's greed had hit her and hit her good. Slowly she sunk to her knees, fists clenching at her sides. This…was not good. She was not at full power when a child! How would anything ever be finished? Her life's work? How…Wait. The feeling of the sheets came back to her and she turned her head, taking in the sight of the room. White walls with no decoration, white sheets, white bed, white mirror and furniture. Lost in a sea of white! This was not her room! The girl, no longer a woman, jumped to her feet and ran for the door. It was locked. Frantically she jiggled the knob only to find her efforts futile. Where was she? The jiggling of the knob caught Jora's attention and the black haired woman turned her head. Why did the gods constantly put her on babysitting duty? Hadn't she proven to be absolutely horrible with children when she'd been charged with Dorian? She scowled, looking over to Jorianth who had been taking up residence on the couch. Not only did she have to babysit Matilda - the brat that she was as a child - she had to babysit a full grown shadowmancer who had nothing better to do than brood over losing a fight. "Jorianth," she hissed, "I suggest you go see what our little charge is doing. I refuse to do all the work around here. I am the one that managed to pick her up from the in between and get her here and make sure she had her body...Now it's YOUR turn to shut her up." Wrapped up in his thoughts as he was, there were some things that Jorianth was unwilling to ignore; and that snarky tone in Jora's voice was more than enough to draw his attention, instantly and savagely. He did not like being talked down to, especially by a miserable female, and his disdain was plain to read on his face. "... Let us get something clear, you and I," Jorianth drawled back, sitting up from a comfortable lounge on the aforementioned couch. "You are not above me in any manner. So far as I have seen, you are not the stronger, nor the quicker, nor the more cunning of the two of us. In fact, I have very little understanding for what your purpose is at all, besides doing such small errands as you so loudly complain about. Now, it happens that I owe a debt of gratitude-" and he stood now, taking leisurely and purposeful steps toward the door- "and, besides that, I have my own curiosities to satisfy, so I am willing to do as you say on this occasion. But you are not one who I care to answer to, woman, and you would do well to keep that in mind." With a brief study of Jora's face, he smiled smugly in her direction and laid his hand on the doorknob at last, pulling the door open and stepping through. Jora stared at him, shock clearly written on her face. Had...Had that pathetic little slime who had previously been dead just insult her and...and...Steamed, the female stood up and was about to say something when the door was opened and he stepped inside. Still fuming, Jora turned on her heels and stalked into the kitchen where a flurry of curses, bangs, and loud slamming could be heard. The normally calm, cool and collected woman had been at her wits end with the shadowmancer and she was going to end up killing him one of these days. As the door knob twisted and the door opened, however, Matilda took a step back. She didn't recognize this face...Why would someone take her if they didn't know her? Her mind went quickly through the catalogue of faces from her past and when none matched up her brows furrowed and she looked at him with confusion, "Who the hell are you?" Such vile words coming from a sweet, child like voice and figure didn't exactly fit into place - but it wasn't as if the girl could really change that seeing as she was stuck in this form for however long...She didn't even want to think about it. Jorianth didn't even have to think about the words before he said them- "A friend, dear child, a friend." Closing the door carefully behind him, he let his eyes wander around the room, careful not to show too clearly his keen interest in the young girl in front of him. "... Well, isn't this a little drab," he commented with a note of disgust. All that white made his darkness seem starkly out of place, let alone made the shadows of the room awkward... ugly, loathsome place. Then again, it wasn't as though he'd expected Jora to have any talent in interior design, anyway. Affixing his gaze instead to Matilda, he bent over into a slow bow, exaggerating the gesture with those long, spindly fingers of his. "Certainly no place for such a pearl as yourself! I will have to see what can be done about improving the taste for you." "Mmm, somehow I don't believe that," Matilda answered, following his eyes around the room. Though, she had to agree that the decor of the room was absolutely horrible and she accounted that not for bad fashion taste but because it wasn't exactly a hidden fact that the witch hated things that had no color. One thing she'd learned was when strange things happened it wasn't a good idea to trust anyone, at all. Of course she'd never ended up in a child's body again either. "Save your compliments. They won't do any good here - suppose you just get to the point of why I'm being kept here, why I'm a child again, and why I don't recognize you and save us both a little time and frustration?" "Possessing a jaded heart already, are we?" Jorianth commented, letting one elegant gesture signify his sadness. "Alas, the passions of youth seem to cool quicker with every passing year. But as you wish, then." With the long-suffering sigh of a poet spurned from his art, the man straightened up and, in a deadpan voice, rattled off; "You are a child again because that was how you were brought here as, you are being kept here because- well, I'm not precisely clear on that, actually- and you probably don't recognize me simply because we've never been formally introduced. There!" A smug grin. "Now wasn't that worth the time to demand answers for?" She simply rolled her eyes and leaned against the wall, arms crossing. "You didn't answer who you were," she pointed out, not bothering to dignify the question with a response, "And I'm certain you have more information than 'just because' running around your head. After all, you wouldn't be here if you didn't know why I was here, or at least know something about it." That much the witch was certain of. Idly, she wondered if she still had her powers... "Unless you're just not important enough to be told things." "Or too important to care," Jorianth replied, with whatever dignity he could muster. "Regardless of that, though, I would point out that this exchange has been most unfair so far. You expect me to tell you all these things, but what if I have things I want to know as well? Like, shall we say.... what now for the witch who chained Sariban, finding herself chained away herself in the body of a child?" Sariban. Her eyes narrowed slowly, "How do you know Sariban?" she asked, straightening up and looking up at him. Crap, if Sariban was free again...Things weren't going to be pretty. Matilda had been at full strength when the woman had been chained. Now...Now she couldn't do anything even if she had the chance to do it. Still, she did her best to hold back her fear. "Now, see!" Frowning, the man crossed his arms in front of him with a gentle scowl. "For all the questions you have asked me, you couldn't even find the manners to answer the single one with which I presented you? You have a strange way of showing your gratitude to the only person who's shown interest in your well-being." "Interest in my well-being?" She asked, raising a brow slowly, "If you were interested in my well-being you wouldn't be sitting here and openly mocking me. If you were interested in my well-being, you wouldn't be holding me captive. So I suppose I'm not entirely concerned if your questions don't get answered. Especially since I'm the one at a disadvantage here. You know more about me than I know about YOU, after all!" Her voice hitched toward the end and the childish temper that she'd had when she was younger was starting to show. All throughout the girl's outburst, the man seemed calm enough- or perhaps too much so, in reflection. His face lacked sympathy, but also lacked anger or indignance; it was a plain state of bemusement, as if he were somehow mystified at her short temper, or perhaps simply slow on the uptake. Once Matilda's words had run her course, though, the expression fell into flat indifference. "Yes, I see. Too true, I suppose, that you simply have no intention of cooperating with my curiosity while yours is not fully satisfied. This being the case, let's attempt an... alternate means of discussion, shall we? But first." A smile touched his lips as he raised his hands, flexing his fingers. "An introduction is overdue, isn't it?" The strike was swift and sudden; shadows raced along the floor from his outstretched fingers, defying all rules of light and darkness before they rose and twisted up around the girl, almost as though petals of some black flower coming to close around her body and hold her fast. "I am Jorianth, and at this moment, I have absolute power over your fate. This considered, I would consider how you want to identify yourself with me; because I promise you, if you give me nothing else I want, the easiest option for me would be to simply call you 'toy'." Matilda hadn't been expecting the attack on her and her eyes widened. This would have NEVER happened if she wasn't in this damn child's body! That burning in the back of her nose that always signified tears started up and she took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. Damn it. That was why she hated being a child - so much simply...made her snap. Her temper, she cried easier, and hell if she didn't bruise a lot easier too. "You can't do much to me," she spat out in an attempt to distract herself from crying, "I'm still alive for a reason, and whatever that reason is it's not to die again." Logic was Matty's friend and gave her strength. And childish impulses were not, "This is not about you." "Ah, but see, there is something about this situation that you are very unaware of." There was a clear swagger in his step as he paced forward, the same smug walk as a cat investigating its kill. Setting one careful fingertip on the girl's cheekbone, he leaned his face a careful distance from her ear before whispering- "I don't actually care about whatever grand purpose you are being kept alive for." Drawing back far enough to force his eyes into her gaze, he smiled. "In fact, you could say that I don't give a rat's a** about if you live or die, or if your life or death serves whatever purpose it is that you've been brought back for. There is very little I do care for, in fact, but you can bet your last dime that I care very, very much about whether or not my purpose for you is served. Unfortunately, as things stand- well, I don't really have a purpose for you just now, do I?" Jorianth stepped back with a chuckle. Spreading one hand, he released the spell he had set on Matilda, freeing her once more. "I would look into fixing that matter if I were you, and quickly. Otherwise- well, you never can tell when my loyalties might be forgotten, and your reason for living with it." The child shuddered, feeling the man's breath against her skin and she was suddenly struck with the feeling of being incredibly unclean and needing a bath. His words did nothing to soothe the girl, at all, not that she expected it. All it seemed to do was further her discomfort and unease. Something was definitely brewing and if they had recruited this man for their purposes, for whatever reason, it was something big. Bigger than she would have originally thought. The shadows letting her go did nothing to relax her either and instead her arms went to wrap around herself. "Just tell me one thing," she murmured, unable to help that childish need to be reassured, "And I'll answer what I can. For now." For now had to be added or she'd forever be plagued with questions. She needed SOMETHING for leverage. To some extent, Jorianth almost had to admire the girl's audacity. He had told her, in no uncertain terms, that he was entirely too willing to kill her if she gave him even the slightest reason to; and then she tried to continue to make demands on him? There was something laughable about her huddled form trying to maintain even the smallest bits of power against the man, in spite of the situation; but even that desperate need, screaming to try and gain some purchase in a situation wildly out of the girl's control, could take her one step further toward a path where he would have true power over her, not simply that which the situation permitted. "... Well. I suppose I might be persuaded to answer one question; but I will not take your answering my questions as payment. You will do that all the same, for the sake of preserving your own life. If you want your answer, you will earn it by referring to me only as your lord and master. Or else... you can sit on your pride and stew in your ignorance, with nothing gained but the knowledge that I still hold the power of that information you seek over you." He watched her evenly, awaiting her response. Frustration clutched at her and she glared up at him, brows furrowing. She'd been willing to give him what he wanted if she got what she wanted - but the reality of the situation was slowly sinking in. Now, she couldn't think of herself. If she was going to die, she was going to die. Eventually, it would happen anyway - but while she was certain they were after SOMETHING, she wasn't sure what. She could guess, though, and guess Matty did. Her children. After the attack on the headquarters, it had to be something related to the children she had birthed. Resolving then to remain silent no matter what, she shook her head, "I will never refer to anyone as my lord and master. I will remain ignorant of your plan, but mark my words, I will learn somethi--" Matilda was cut off by Jora opening the door and stepping in, a calmer appearance on her face. "Jorianth, have you been torturing our guest?" She spoke, voice a soft hiss, "Can't you see she needs her rest? Out. Now." IT wouldn't do to get the child agitated just yet. Frustrate her, let her stew, and then let it all pour out. If there was one thing Jora was good at it was exploiting people's weaknesses - and she knew Matilda's far too well. The sight of Jora, however, jarred Matilda completely. THAT person she knew. She'd seen her. She'd SEEN her before - but she couldn't place her. Where...Where had she seen her before? Confusion hit Matilda's face immediately and Jora simply smiled. "I said now, Jorianth." She turned, and left the room. "Of course, dear, I'm on my way." As dearly as he would love to take the opportunity to work the magic of his trademarked condescending sneer after the woman- or better yet, see how upset he could make her before she went raging off out of the room again- it wouldn't suit to start a dispute in front of their guest. Oh, no; the more united they seemed in front of Matilda, regardless of the truth, the easier her defenses would be to whittle down. And with that little display of defiance, Jorianth had just become very, very interested in seeing how far he could wear the girl down before she might break. He couldn't say those sentiments aloud, just in case Jora might overhear and undermine his efforts, but he hardly had to. An artful pause at the door, a deep-searching and knowledgable look back at the girl, and he left, assured that he couldn't have stated his intentions more clearly if he'd related them through song. I will own you, child, and there is nothing that you can do to prevent it. Jorianth had all the time in the world to work his manipulations, and Matilda had just as long to fall prey to them. So long as he held all the cards and had the patience to play them wisely, he would have his way soon enough.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
