[P] bad guy | manon

[Lourde]

I was no stranger to heartache.

Maybe that's why I found myself in Denocte, in the markets that held the most bustling life Novus had to offer. Sure, it wasn't my usual cup of tea, being surrounded by the drunkards, fools, and whores who found the outer-edges of the market home - but that wasn't why I found myself in the far corners of the bazaar that evening. No, over everything, I wanted to find them. Who are they, you might ask? Well, they may be the family I'd always been looking for. Though, I'd never rightly admit it, I'd always been looking for some excuse to fit in. It was hard, being a young, troubled orphan, with no place or option but to beg in the streets...or to give "favors" to those disgusting enough to ask a child for it. I wanted no part of a kingdom, nor did I want to pray to a "god" to help me...I didn't want to be treated like a servant or talked down to as if I was some sort of moron. No, those I sought out that night could promise me something better...or, at least I thought.

There was a certain level of allure to their secrecy, to the way no one knew exactly who was involved in their creation, but perhaps more intriguing, who could be part of their evolution. My hooves clipped the cobblestone, with no attempt to mask my arrival, I turned down the dark, foreboding alley on the edge of the market street, and stopped when I saw her eyes. Swirling cerulean and emerald, they reflect what little light reaches here. I knew this was where the Scarab lie, swift whispers spoke of the palace that lay here in the darkness. But I wanted more answers, I had questions - I was not going to approach it without any sort of ammunition.

"Manon," I said, looking to the peddler with eyes of steel. I was a soldier, I was no coward, but the way her stained-glass eyes bore into me, you could say in that moment I was one. "I've heard you're familiar with the White Scarab." I placed each word carefully, calculating them to receive a decent response. I go no closer, leaning against a brick wall. Cold white vapor exhaled from my nostrils as we stared daggers at each other. Tell me something, anything. I thought to myself, but said nothing, keeping my face stone cold. Manon could be the first link to a better life...if she knew something of the Scarab, they must've thought her worthy - or, they pitied her. 

An orphan can smell another orphan from a mile away. 


@Manon 



this S U C K S because i've never written her before. but i can't wait for their conversation!!

[Manon]

† † †

She grew up on the streets. Her mother handed her away to a woman who cared for nothing but the shine of stolen treasures and lucrative secrets spoken only in hushed corners of sinister alleyways. She pulled apart the little red girl, peeled away her naivety and innocence until there was nothing left but the empty shell of a desperate child yearning for affection. How she used that small child, sending her out to gather information on the dark doings of those who called themselves important, of those who donned their bodies in extravagant wares and held their heads high enough to look down upon each other. Though try as she might nothing was ever good enough and Manon soon adopted the ways of the ones she interacted with... and the once innocuous heart was wrapped in the thorns of a brilliant ruby rose.

And then came Senna, and he gave her a way to exploit the anger that had built in such a fragile chest.

The Scarab became a home, though she would never admit to it as more than a means of conducting business. Her true home was the Marketplace streets, shadowy figure lurking behind the spaces the light touched. Thieves taught her stealth, brawls taught her battle, and desperate men taught her some semblance of love--of unabashed desire for beauty, nothing more. These all twisted tight knots within her and she became something more, something deadly and sinful.

Her name rang out in the eerie silence, and for a moment she stood in shock. Who knew her? Who knew her true name? Thoughts raced, memories scrambling to find some sort of connection. There were few, select souls to whom she spoke her given name to--she was Manon, the Red Rose--for she only used her moniker for everyone else; and when she turned to face the one who spoke she was surprised. It was but a girl, a stranger who gazed at her with faux-steel eyes, the brightest blues, putting on a brave show when in reality Manon could see right through it (she used to be it, she knew what it looked like, what it felt like). And then she mentioned the Scarab. At the word, swirling eyes pulled away and settled on the looming building behind the red-riddled woman, crystals swiveling with the motion upon her crown. Then a smirk formed on her mottled lips. "The White Scarab?" She drew the name out, slow and deliberately, her voice the soft rasp of someone who had just woken from deep sleep. She wondered how the child knew so much, for even though Manon's presence and the Scarab were common knowledge, how had she known to seek the serpent out specifically? Who had given the kid her legitimate name?

The grey girl must have been someone special. Paint splattered face set itself again toward whom she addressed. "Now now, the Scarab is no place for a child." And though the girl feigned a sense of coolness--her blase pose against the wall did not go unnoticed--Manon knew something lingered in her breast, something of unease. She could smell it, like a wolf smells fear. "But if you think you are worthy... Prove it to me," she ended her taunt with the flash of a searing smile, teeth glinting beneath the shine of the moon hanging above.

Right now, I am barely off of my knees
But someday, I'll find peace

CREDITS

@lourde let the fun begin <33