cause i am, i am a little wicked
hands red, hands red just like he said
It had been a long time since she'd done a hit. Too long, really, but each one required a measure of caution and a level of research that she always adhered to. There was no room for mistakes and carelessness in a situation such as this.
She always made certain it was well deserved.
This man, Vendetta had believed, hadn't had a slave ever since his last escaped a few years ago. But, as she'd recently discovered, he'd just gotten better at hiding them. She assumed he was being far more careful, didn't want to risk losing another. Unfortunately for him, that also meant he was on her radar. Oh, soon he would not need to worry about his slaves getting the best of him. He wouldn't need to worry about anything at all. Tonight, she would get the best of him.
Vendetta moved through the quiet, night dark streets of Solterra like a wraith. If any who knew her would see her, they'd hardly recognize her without her finery on. She'd left all that behind in her home. She couldn't risk her skirt catching on something, or a stray pearl or rose petal falling on the ground. No, it was better to go in plain, and the only thing she carries with her was a dagger. Her newest dagger, actually, purchased from the shore of Vitreus Lake at Denocte's masquerade over the summer. In the night it shone like lightning and was smooth as glass.
She found the man's house with ease, having walked past it more than once during the day. In no more than a few seconds she was inside, walking carefully across the polished floors. Truthfully, Vendetta could not help but admire the decor. The nobles certainly liked to brag about their status through their homes. Marble, gold leaf, huge drapery and fine carvings. It both impressed and disgusted her, simply because of the kind of horror these walls no doubt saw.
She wondered what secrets, what sort of hells, they could describe. Then she decided she'd lived enough of it herself and moved on, passing through archways and by doors. One of these doors hid a monster. Another held his hostages.
Eeny, meeny, miny, moe.
Vendetta cracked open a door, and down, down, down it led, into a darkness her sight could scarcely penetrate. She descended, only her own breath whispering in her ears. At the bottom she almost expected to find cells, but what she saw instead only made her anger burn colder. If she could turn this place to ash she would. It, like he, deserved to rot in hell.
It was the second door she opened, back on the main floor of the house, that held the girls, for they could not be that much older. 3 years, perhaps 4. They startled when they saw her, and she saw in their eyes everything they'd been through and it all looked like fear. With her knife she cut their chains and looked them in the eye. “You are free now, you can go. I promise he will never hurt you or anyone else again.” They nodded, shoulders shaking eyes wide. That was when Vendetta noticed the empty place next to them, clearly meant for a third. Empty, or missing?
“Is there another one of you?” They nodded, eyes tearful. One of them, blue like the ocean with hair like a starless night, whispered ‘He… he took her to b-bed.’ Vendetta's eyes hardened, and she straightened out, dropping a bag on the floor before them. It made a metallic jingling sound when it landed. “I will send her to find you, then all of you need to get out of here. Use that,” she indicated toward the bag, “to do whatever you need to get on your feet.” As she turned to go, the other girl, pale as a spring sun with hair as warm as the desert sands, scrambled to her feet. ‘Wait! What is your name? How can we ever repay you?’
Vendetta paused at the threshold of the door, and when she spoke there was a quiet power to her voice that only rang louder in the silence between them. “Do not ever let anyone make you into their possession again, be your own master.” Then, she smirked, and her ruby eyes sparkled in the dimness. “I am the Pearl Mistress.”
Then, she was gone.
There were only a handful of doors left, and only one of them held her prize. She trailed the hallway like a ghost, nearly silent, only there would just be one ghost made tonight and it was not her. Vendetta turned the handle on the next door to the right and was met with exactly what she had been looking for. Her gaze narrowed as she looked on, and as she did every time she pushed away the similarities to her own past. She pushed them away and drowned them in her ire, letting it fill her veins.
The girl woke as Vendetta moved toward the bed, and her breathing was sharp and ragged and in the light filtering through the sheer curtained windows Vendetta saw a world of abuse on her skin. She tried not to grind her teeth as she pressed ever closer, and then she began to speak, her tone hushed but firm. “The others are waiting for you. Go, find them, and get out of here.”
Slowly, oh so slowly, she moved out from beneath his monstrous embrace, and she, of the three perhaps, had the hardest glint to her eyes. His favorite, or did she just take the brunt of it upon herself to protect her friends? When the girl finally stood and looked Vendetta in the eye she had a feeling she would be just fine out there in the world. This girl wore shadows as a skin and had hair like moonlight and eyes like a still summer lake, “Go,” Vendetta said again, and the girl only nodded and she, too, was gone.
Vendetta only waited a few minutes, as long as she could afford to give them time to get away from here without risking him waking up. She watched him sleep and thought if she didn't care about getting dirty she might gut him then and there. The unicorn bared her teeth like a wolf and then moved our the bed to his side. One of his wings hung lazily down onto the ground, darkly colored. With some satisfaction, Vendetta decided she'd like to wake him up, and she raised a leg into the air, poising it over the tender fragile wing bones before slamming it down. The crunch sent a shiver down her spine, but the man's answering scream, muffled by the was of bedcloth she held over his face, made it that much more satisfying.
His wild eyes found hers, leaning over him in the dark as a demon might. And oh, if she wasn't to be his reckoning. Jeweled purple eyes met ruby red and his fear was reflected back at himself. “If I were you, I would start praying to Solis to save your soul. But I think even then it would be too late for you.” He had no time to try and scream before Vendetta wielded her dagger, dragging it defy across his neck in one smooth motion. She stood back, and knew that the last thing he would see was her silhouette in the moonlight. Vendetta hoped her image would haunt him wherever he was going.
She didn't even wait to hear his last breath before she was leaving, pushing her way out a side door. No doubt once intended for staff, as it opened directly into an alleyway. As silently as she'd arrived, Vendetta disappeared into the shadows again, making her way back to her own home. There was nothing else she needed to do here.
Morning dawns. The sun breaks over the horizon and Michael, dew clinging to his whiskery chin, breathes a visible sigh into the chilly autumn air. He's been walking all night and he's not really sure why. He hasn't slept in days and he's not really sure why. The exhaustion seeps into his marrow like the early morning chill, a taste on the back of his tongue like radio static.
Michael is barely there, hunched against the cold, a dusky yellow in the sleepy light. Though the dark is not much there, anymore, it hangs on him, soaks his hair and his face and his back. Michael feels so old sometimes--and he is. Now Michael ages every second. He can feel his cells groaning.
It didn't used to be like this. If Michael knew Pan he would think he was a mirror, the perfect reflection of everything that Michael has been and abandoned. All the people that Michael has loved--ferociously, sometimes jealously--and also abandoned, given enough time. He would think of Isra and her city on the hill and he would tremble, breathing in the way you do to be silent--small breaths that don't fill his lungs. She worries him and he's not sure why. Denocte worries him and he's not sure why.
You may have noticed that Michael is very rarely sure of anything.
He knows this: he cannot stop what will happen, for better or for worse, and far be it from him to try in the first place. He is happier, at home (wherever home is - wherever Michael is) and bedded down. He is happiest paging through his own imagination, searching the cavernous halls that echo when he walks, looking for... something.
He know this, also: Pan does draw his attention, when Michael finds him through the thick mess of his forelock. He looks like every ocean Michael has ever known and it makes him ache. He rushes to Pan, honestly; a graceless and frantic lope. When Michael lurches to a halt he is breathless.
"Hey!" he says, between breaths. There is the echo of laughter in his throat. "Who are you?"
Michael holds his breath.
Pan wound his way through Delumine, a new adventure on his mind. His steps are light and sprightly, and characteristically, he hummed as he walked. Up ahead, the sun shone brightly through a hazy group of autumn clouds. Its rays reached toward the earth like outstretched fingers, brushing against the ground with subtle warmth and a golden hue. As he danced beneath the canopy of trees, sunlight bounced from silver and green scales, sending a prismatic flurry of light dancing ahead of him like fairy dust. He dodged and tried to catch the light flickers, fully knowing that they were just reflections, but pretending like they were small fires that he needed to extinguish.
The sound of a snapping twig had him turning with curiosity, and as he peered into the emerald shadows of the forest, he began to make out the form of a strange female. At first, he has to wonder if she’s really a horse at all, intrigued by the sight of her pale purple skin, the horn upon her head, and a thin brush-like tail. He watches her for a few moments, wondering if he should ask what kind of horse she was… but then he decides she must be a fairy. Giddy at the thought, he cannot help himself. Pan creeps closer to her, his green eyes wide with intrigue as he aches to know more about her story.
Hello? His voice is meek and gentle as he steps even closer to the mare, reaching to touch his small muzzle against her neck in a curious (albeit unasked-for) gesture. Where are your wings? The scaly colt stands awkwardly beside her, head cocked like a dog who just witnessed a slight of hand. For surely, a fairy would have wings… but perhaps she had lost them in some tragic accident.
The sun is only just peeking its flickering halo over the high sandstone walls of the capitol when a young mare brushes up against Roshan on the streets. She doesn’t much acknowledge him, – barely makes eye contact, in fact – but, in her haste, still manages to thrust a letter in his face with her telekinesis. It is up to him to snatch the piece of sand-worn paper from mid-air before it tumbles to the ground, for the mare is gone as quickly as she arrived, ducking into the nearest winding alleyway and disappearing from sight.
If he chooses to pick up the letter, Roshan will find it blank…but there is something strange about it, a slight bumpiness to the texture that cannot be explained by the sand and grit that it had collected in its passage across the desert. If he holds it up to the light, faint, faint letters will become visible, as brief as they are meticulously neat…
HAWK,
I have need of your services. If you are interested in striking a deal, meet me at the edge of the Elatus Canyon that borders Denocte when the sun sets.
Burn this message.
-A Friend
Should Roshan decide to follow this ambiguous message out into the canyon at Dusk, he won’t immediately catch sight of his mysterious contact. Rather, nothing will seem to be out of order, and he might wonder to himself if he’s arrived before his contact. A scan of the rocks on the edge of the canyon’s entrance, however, will reveal something strange slashed into one. An arrow points him along the left side of the canyon.
If he follows the arrow, he will find more rocks of a similar design strewn across the maze-like walls of the canyon. As he walks, perhaps he hears the occasional shifting from the high ridges of the canyon above him, as though something - or someone - is following his movements, but, if he happens to look up, it becomes immediately evident that no one is there.
It will likely be dark before he reaches the cave that the arrows lead him to. The entrance is dark, and gaping, but, if he squints, he might be able to see the flicker of a fire from deeper inside, and, if he listens closely, he might hear the clink of metal and the shift of fabric. It could easily be a trap of some sort, but adventure beckons from within – what will Roshan choose to do?
All across the flowered field, Pan can be heard. He dances across the emerald grounds, blowing at dandelions and singing a pirate shanty at the top of his lungs. The tone is off pitch, but it makes it that much more endearing as he shakes his rump to the beat which only he seems to hear. All around him, flowers bloom and autumn breezes blow. Curious birds swoop low to see what creature causes such a cacophony, and it seems that even they shake their heads as if to say “boys will be boys”, before flying back to their nests.
The scaled boy doesn’t care what others think of him, and it’s a good thing, because he looks rather ridiculous as he hums and gathers flowers into his satchel like a five year old girl. Little does he know that Fiona watches him, but he wouldn’t have minded either way. After all, Pan is an affable type. Harmless and fun-loving, he seems to bring out smiles in others (though certainly, the boy could be obnoxious as well). And, on this day where sunshine flirts with his scales, turning the world around them into a prism of silvered light, she would find the child.
Even though his raucous singing, Pan can hear the quiet approach of Dusk Court’s Champion of Community. Turning toward the quiet snap of hooves against the grass, his green eyes scour the grass for movement… but Fiona is still, and he has a hard time making out her form. Hello? Curiosity tinges Pan’s voice, and the question is quiet (which is unusual, for the boy is usually quite brazen). It’s okay… come on out… I won’t hurt you. His tone suggests that he wonders if it’s a baby animal or maybe a deer which watches him so quietly in the tall brush. Fishing into his bag, Pan draws forth a piece of apple which he’d picked freshly just hours before, rolling it toward the source of the sound, hoping all the while that his offering would be met by kindness.
EVANGELINA'S HEART IS A BARREN WILDERNESS. A WEAPON CARVED BY THE FERAL SONG OF THE WOODS, AND THE DEEP THROES OF THEIR ICY PASSIONS. SHE IS PASSION. SHE IS POISON. SHE IS A FRIGID WINTER SQUALL. SHE IS A BLUE BULLET-STORM. A HURRICANE CONSUMED IN FEVER AND ICE AND WICKED Religion, AND HER BODY, IT'S FROZEN TUNDRA; WHERE LOVE DOESN'T RESIDE. SHE IS DECEMBER'S HARSH CARESS, THREAD SHARPLY OVER A COLD, UNYIELDING GRAVE. AND HER HEART, WERE ITS EMPTY FUNERAL PYRE; BURNING, WITH BLUEFIRE AT THEIR TOUCH. SHE IS COLD, CRUEL, RELENTLESS AND UNFEELING, AND BENEATH THE SLENDER EXPANSE OF HER RIBCAGE, BLOOMS A FERAL ROSE. ONE AS BLACK AS A BULLET, AS HOT AS SIN AND AS WILD AS AN ANIMAL'S HUNGER.
BENEATH THE DEEP THROES OF MOONLIGHT, AND THE HARSH FLICKER OF RAIN, EVANGELINA DANCES LIKE A WILDCAT UPON PREY. SO LONG HAD THE SUN ABANDONED THE SKY. FOLDING INTO A SPELL OF DARKNESS, AS MIDNIGHT RAVAGES THE HEAVENS IN A VIOLENT SATIN OF EBONY LACE. SO LONG HAD THE CLOUDS TORE THROUGH ITS THICK, AUTUMNAL FOG. STREAKING THE SKY IN BLADES OF RELENTLESS SILVER; MARRING HER FUR WITH ITS BRIGHT LIGHT OF FLASHING THUNDER, AND GLAMOUROUS ILLUMINATION. HER SVELTE MUSCLES, FLEXES BENEATH HER RUGGEDLY SLENDER FEMALE BODY; ELEGANT BODICE RUNNING BENEATH THEIR SILVER SHARDS OF LIGHT. SHE MOVES LIKE LIGHTENING. SOFT SUPPLE CURVES BLENDING INTO THE SAVAGE CARESS OF A COBRA. HUNGRY. EAGER. NEEDING. WANTING.
O HOW THE MOON ILLUMINATES HER IVORY SKIN IN A WAVERING TUMULT OF SOFT VELVET PLATINUM; SO KEEN AND BRIGHT AS A DAGGER. SHE DANCES WITH FERAL GLEE. HIPS COILING A DANCERS' GRACEFUL STRIDE. LIPS CURVING IN A HAUNTING CRESENT SMILE. FEELING THE SWEET RUINOUS RAIN CARESS HER SKIN IN SLEEK CASCADES OF WATER, BRINGS A SUBTLE HISS OF PLEASURE TO SMOTHER UPON THE BANSHEE'S BLACKENED LIPS. HOW LONG AGO, HAD SHE TASTED AUTUMN'S DANCE? SAVOURING ITS SWEET ROTTING LEAVES? ITS HARSH VICTORY UPON HER SKIN, AS SUMMER RELINQUISHED ITS HOT CHOKING HOLD OVER THE LANDS, WITH THE PROMISE OF NOVEMBER'S KISS? O, SHE IS COVETOUS AND HOLLOW AND WANTING, AND A NEED BURNS THROUGH THE FIRE OF HER SOUL. A NEED TO RUN BENEATH THE STARLIGHT AND TASTE THE MOON AND FOREST AND WINTER'S BREATH ACROSS HER FLESH.
WITH EACH SWIFT STRIDE, OUR HELLISH BELLADONA PULLS FORWARD, AS AN AUTUMNAL SIGH DREW ITS SOFT, BREATHY CARESS ACROSS THE LANDS. RAVAGING HER MANE AND TUGGING HER HAIR, WITH ALL THAT DOTING HUNGER OF A LOVER. ACROSS HER BODY, AN ICY RADIANCE CRAWLS. SHE OOZES OF TOXIC BLUE AND THE BLUE ICE OF HER POURS OUT IN FROTHY, UNKEMPT WAVES. WHEN EVANGELINA MOVES, SHE MOVES WITH LIQUID FINESSE. POURING LIKE RAW ICE. POURING AS VIOLET FROST MIGHT CRAWL AND CLING ACROSS A FRIGID LAKE, CRACKLING. SHIFTING. CONSUMING. SHE IS EAGER TO TASTE THE NIGHT AIR, AND TASTE SHE DOES, LOWERING HER FINELY-SCULPTED SKULL TO RELISH THE SWEET BLACKWATER UPON HER MILKY BREATH.
FOR TOO LONG HAS SHE WANDERED. FOR TOO LONG HAS SHE RUN. A WILD CHILD, RECKLESS AND UNTAMED. SHE MEETS THE MOONLIGHT WITH A FAMISHED SIGH; AND THE MOON SIGHS IN TURN, COLD, STILL AND BREATHLESS.
another place. another attempt. once more into the proverbial fire. once more to throw words like weapons. dance about like she gave a damn about the realm she had trod in. and once more to even live. Huntington had arrived in this new place. old to some. new to her. she treads carefully, though not cautiously, through the sparse treeline. pale hellfire burns like acid across the autumn night. camouflaged enough given the appropriate season. there seems to be no light to these orbs, only a calm acceptance of the reality. she does not know where she is and finds she cares little. a lanky scar-ridden limb shoots out until her ivory hoof is cemented to the ground. another step. then again. until she finds herself out of the treeline and into plain sight.
her mane presents down her back, a crescendo of highlights both light and dark. the woman is brittle looking though young. stitching makes up her entirety. old and new wounds cover her frame. she does not blink. she stares, taking in the sight of the area quietly and added it to her memory bank. an ear flicks backward before it returns. alone, it would seem. yet for how long? she oft finds many are drawn to strangers. she is no exception to this hypothetical. someone will come. they always did. for now, she would wait for them to come buzzing about her head like a locust's wraith. she stops in her tracks, half-lids glancing about for any sign of movement. and she speaks not a word. ready to embrace new potentials like a mother would a child, she is.
’Solis help me, I’m lost’, she prayed silently, dark eyes scanning the endless sea of sand for anything. A rock, a bit of brush, the trail left by a lizard in the scorching landscape… Anything to give her context as she trudged exhaustedly across the rolling dunes. When she had first left out from her home, not a few days prior, the world had seemed wide and open- an adventure waiting to be had. Quill had never thought that the adventure would be so terrifying. She had anticipated some time on her own, her herd lived so separately from other groups that she knew it would be quite a while before she saw another face, but this… the sand that stretched to the horizon with no end in sight was something she had not anticipated. Even as each step away from her clan had seen the fauna grow sparser, she had not considered the implications, and she had stepped boldly onwards until she found herself here.
“Mighty… Mighty Solis...” she intoned lowly, her dehydrated mind struggling to recall the prayer she had recited daily since the day she could talk. Her voice sputtered out and she tried again, focusing as hard as she could. “Mighty Solis, high in the sky, revered be your light. May my hooves always follow your rays upon the path of righteousness. Forgive me for my sins should I ever step towards darkness and let your warmth guide me home. I am your child, shepherd me into the sun, and I will sing your glories for time eternal.” The gospel gave her some small amount of comfort as she continued to trudge onwards. It held no real physical power, but it was a strong reminder of the unity of her religious sect. After all, she was not the first to leave her clan. Each horse in the herd had passed the coming of age trial and returned stronger and wiser; surely some of them had passed through this very desert, felt this same blinding heat, and lived to tell the tale.
With a renewed sense of purpose and belonging, Quill lifted her head and looked into the distance. Somewhere on the horizon, there was a glimmer. A mirage? She squinted her eyes. Perhaps… but she was not so certain. And, even if it was, what other point of reference did she have? The sands still continued endlessly on every side, ripples in the dunes mimicking the variegated surface of lake water on a windy day. Water… Mighty Solis she missed water. Mirage or not, she had to try. Lifting her head, she forced her body to speed up, her head bobbing gently as she gaited through the sands. If the shimmering wasn’t water, perhaps it would be something else that could guide her. While Quill knew that only she was the guardian of her own actions, she had to trust that Solis would give her the opportunity to do well. He would not have led her to the desert if there was no escape, she only had to find it.
As the sun set, Roshan watched his bonded move throughout the crowd from his hiding place in the shadows, a cocksure grin pulling at the thief’s lips. Bandit trotted cautiously underfoot with his wings pressed close against his sides, the ferret-dragon’s eyes locked on the prize at hand; a pearl necklace hanging halfway out of a shopper’s pouch.
That evening, the streets were far busier than normal. Whether or not that meant anything, Roshan had no idea. He tended to stay out of the political or governmental loop, since all of that shit was bad for business. All he knew was that the influx of people on the street gave him an excuse to help fill his pockets and deliver a few additional goodies to Vendetta. Just one more pretty little trinket and they would be good to go.
Once he was close enough, the oblivious equine in deep conversation with her walking partner, Bandit unfurled his draconic wings and jumped into the air, his tiny body hoisted effortlessly to snatch the pearl necklace out of the satchel. He gave it a tug and the piece of jewelry came free, and just as quickly as he had crept in, Bandit folded his wings and landed upon the sand-packed ground, turned about, and hopped quickly back to Roshan’s hiding place. The ferret-dragon scampered into the shadows at Roshan’s hooves before leaping into the air once more, wings unfolding, and flew up to rest upon the painted stud’s spine.
Bandit made a happy little chirp before securely tucking the pearl necklace away into the satchel that Roshan carried, then settled upon his spine, pleased with himself. Roshan’s grin turned brilliant, white teeth glinting. “Well done, Bandit. I think V will be pretty damn pleased.” Or, as ‘pleased’ as Vendetta could ever express when it came to them. Ducking out of his hiding place, Roshan veered down the alleyway in the opposite direction of the gossiping couple, his pace set at a leisurely sashay. He moved with a remarkable confidence and a pep in his step, head up and eyes forward, grinning mischievously at those that he passed. The borrowed satchel he wore bounced against the golden sun emblazoned upon his chest, effectively hiding it from view.
These were his streets. This was his domain. These people that pilfered about were only pawns in his larger game, they just had no way of knowing. Crawling up the thief’s thick, braided mane, Bandit splayed out atop Roshan’s head, watching the people of Solterra pass them by.
’Just a little while longer, Bandit.’ Until what, he wasn’t sure, but Roshan could feel something in his veins.
An arrow whizzes into the ground several feet away from Caine. It does not seem as though it was meant to hit him, and, if he looks around for the archer who shot it, he won’t even find a trace, as though this unknown assailant was some sort of ghost. The fletching is immediately obvious; the feathers of a hawk, tipped with bright, bloody red. (Paint, or something more sinister?) A closer examination of the arrow will reveal a piece of paper tied firmly to its shaft. However, it seems to be blank…
The surface of the paper glistens with something…sticky. From some sort of plant? Perhaps if he were to wave the letter above a flame, Caine would find a message…meticulously neat and practiced in design, but brief.
RAVEN,
I’ve observed your actions since our new Sovereign took power, and I find that I’m rather impressed by you. I believe that we share a common interest. If you are interested in learning more, meet me at the southern tip of the Vitae Oasis at midnight tonight; you’ll know where to look when you arrive. I’ll be waiting.
Burn this message.
-A Friend
Should Caine decide to meet this mysterious “friend” at the Oasis, when he reaches the southern tip, he will find it apparently empty. If he examines the location a bit more closely, however, he will notice that there is an unmistakable brokenness to the palm leaves lining the shore, and this deliberate brokenness carves a path towards the waterfall several meters away. As if to encourage him, one of the palm leaves has a feather caught in its broken stem, and, although the casual observer might imagine it fell there naturally, it is tipped with the same violent red as the feathers from the arrow. As he approaches the waterfall, perhaps he notices a faint, clicking sound, barely audible over the rush of water – as though someone is stepping out of the shadows cast by the rocky crags…
