Igraine

Loki's Laugh

So sorry, I meant to get a post up tonight for Hallerna and Svala, but honestly I'm literally falling asleep over the keyboard, drifting off every time I get a few sentences done. I do have a good start though, and I should be able to finish it up either in the morning (less likely) or after I get back from visiting even more family up north (far more likely).

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

*hugs Dot tight* Thank you hon, you are so sweet! And I really hope that murder thing is totally overblown or... Something... D:

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

Veti put all the spin on Gabe's toss that he ever could have wanted, grinning widely as her amber eyes followed him appreciatively along the length of his graceful falling arc toward the Fenrir's backside. She shook her head with an incredulous chuckle.

Batshit insane. A crazy fucker - yeah, she'd called it. Hopefully he had just enough brains not to fall off the ass end of the Fenrir, but at the moment the FNG was nowhere near Veti's biggest concern. No, at the moment she was sprinting toward Siya and her impossibly huge shadow, the one that seemed to engulf the demigod of destruction in a darkness that was all the tiny vampiress' own. Honestly, she hadn't the least idea what she would do when she got there, but Veti had had enough time away from her partner this past day. It was about damned time they got in on a little action toge -

Veti stopped cold, falling forward to all fours, her momentum nearly sending her hurtling to her snout in the dirt. She simply could not believe, would not believe, what she was seeing before her very eyes.

"Thad?"

A groan of inconsolable despair escaped her throat as she closed the distance between herself and her love in an instant, her powerful arms wrapped encasing him entirely as she pulled the seemingly catatonic man close, lifting him off his feet. Even beneath her thick crimson pelt, Veti shivered at the cold that radiated from him like mist off a block dry ice.

And the werewolf knew this strange, unexpected sensation that had absolutely no place here in this mild Irish night, beside the crimson lightning of a god that wanted to burn the world to ashes. This was the cold of Daisy's realm. The cold of the grave. The bitter chill of a cooling corpse beneath a lake of black ice.

This wasn't fair. This wasn't right. He had only just returned to her. They had fought so hard to find him again, to bring him back...

"Thad? Baby?" As she cradled him in her arms, Veti could feel the labored rise and fall of his chest, and knew there was still breath in his lungs, however shallow; his heart still beat, though far too slowly, far too faintly. His blue eyes were still wide open, but unseeing, almost unblinking. Whatever had happened here, the werewolf knew instinctually this was no working of the Fenrir.

Her lover held tenderly in her arms, Veti retreated several yards from the demigod, knowing very well that neither she nor Thad had a thing to offer in this fight. She had fulfilled her promise to her only wolf brother and now, if the whole world truly was crisped to ash by the Fenrir, if somehow, some way, her friends' gambit failed? There was little else Veti could ask in this life, but to leave her mortal life beside the man she loved.

The werewolf collapsed to the ground, Thad's unresponsive body still held to her thick, heavily-muscled chest as she gathered all of him to her. His head was nestled in one of her great, ebony-tipped claws, and she rocked him so tenderly.

"Thad, baby please wake up. Look at me please, baby look at me. Please don't go - not yet. Not without me... " Great tears welled up in her amber eyes, trickling down her muzzle to fall against Thad's neck. "Stay with me Thad," she pleaded, "You, all of you... The pieces of Max, the warlock, the student... The son, the lover - my love. Come back to me baby, please... "

But Thad did not move, beyond what faint, nearly imperceptible motions of his lungs and heart, that said he still somehow remained this side of death - though for how much longer, she could not begin to guess.

"I love you Thad," she whispered, one of the werewolf's claws running the length of his now-limp arm, bringing his fingers to her maw, laying the cheek of her great head - wet with tears - in his palm. She would never love another, as she did this man. He was her love, her mate, the one perfect man born to complete and match her in every last way. There should have been a ceremony. If they both had not spent so many years in complete idiocy, there would have been a ceremony, a grand celebration with beloved friends and family, filled with laughter and reminiscing and jests and probably not a little drunkenness, to share the promise of lives entwined with love and devotion to the end of their days.

"Please don't go. I love you." Veti felt so hollow, empty, holding the shell of the man she loved. The werewolf turned her head to the hand she held, baring her teeth as she wrapped her jaws oh-so-gently about Thad's forearm. Slowly, deliberately, she sank her fangs into his flesh, her long soft tongue lapping about his salty skin tinged with the faint coppery taste of blood.

"You are my mate, Thad," she whispered as she released his arm, the wolf disappearing into the woman who still held the man she loved so dearly. "That 'maybe someday' we talked about earlier - it came tonight baby. Forgive me. But if you are going to leave me here alone, or if we're both going to die tonight? The whole damn world, this side of death and the other, will see and know. You are the one I was created for, and I have always known that you are mine... "

Tears coursed down Veti's ivory cheeks as she rocked the still man in her arms, sitting there in the ominously flickering scarlet flames of the Fenrir.

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

Ominous-er and ominous-er... o.o...



I'll have a post up here a little later on today, likely somewhere around early to late evening

World of Darkness (Boston)

((Hello all - and Fallen Muse, thank you for the chance! I have to admit though, I've never played this game before, so most anything and everything in here could be seriously jacked up, inappropriate or wrong - pick your adjective! It's compiled from what I could glean from the Wiki. So I'll gladly take any criticisms and corrections, and I do have one question - how impossible is it for a childe to kill a Sire, or at least seriously maim? ))

Location: Anywhere along the major East Coast metropolitan areas, traveling between homes in Washington D.C., New York City and Boston

Name: Brigid Teague

Generation: 9th Generation

Clan: Toreador antitribu

Disciplines: Auspex, Celerity, Presence

Personality: Charming and perverse in turns, charismatic, alluring and invariably cruel, Brigid – like her Toreador clansmen – is absolutely obsessive in her endless pursuit of perfect, matchless beauty. But of course the main difference for Brigid is that over the past two centuries, her idea of matchless beauty has grown a touch… Dark. She is vain to a fault, and cannot tolerate rejection in any way, shape or form. Those who do make this mistake, will earn her eternal enmity. Brigid is highly intelligent, eminently sane, and so very, very patient. She is no fool, and will not lash out indiscriminately. Instead, Brigid will bide her time, and wait for that perfect, opportune moment to take her vengeance, in the cruelest, most cold-blooded manner possible. Her designs are unfailingly intended to inflict the worst imaginable anguish and agony to her target, ripping away whatever or whoever is most dear. And everyone has something beloved, held close and cherished: some aspect, some person, some great love or ability without which life – or unlife – becomes an endless grey Hell on Earth.

If nothing else, Brigid demands undying perfection at her art, even from herself.

Biography: Mortal Brigid was born in New York City in 1802, to a wealthy shipping magnate - one of the first families to make 5th Avenue the magnet for the fabulously rich that it would eventually become. An only child, Brigid learned early and well, that the entirety of this world revolved around her every last whim. And while she was spoilt as befitted her family’s wealth, she discovered early that she truly was a naturally gifted dancer.

With all her indomitable will, Brigid devoted her every waking moment to ballet. No expense was ever spared to indulge her insatiable appetite for perfection in form and grace. An entire wing of their expansive home was devoted to her art, where Italian and Russian tutors would stay for as long as Brigid saw fit, to bleed from them all she felt was needful from their tutelage. Natural ability became meticulously-trained sublimity.

For all her insufferable arrogance, Brigid truly did become one of the most renowned ballet dancers of her time, celebrated from the nascent dance theatres of America, throughout European continent to Russia. And it was this spectacular success that first attracted her Toreador Sire. He was beautiful, perhaps even as beautiful as she, and she basked in his seemingly endless devotion to her. And when he made that fateful offer, Brigid was willing – more than willing – to toss aside her mortal life for the promise of what his Embrace could give her: a preternatural dance ability far greater than any a mere mortal would ever know, and all of eternity to reach the pinnacle of her craft.

But all grand things must come to an end, whether even Brigid Teague would see it so. Like so many Toreador, her Sire was insatiable in his eternal search for that one perfect moment and, eventually, even Brigid became passe to her Sire’s jaded palette. And while she was still far too young to understand all she needed of the vampiric life, he abandoned her to her own devices without so much as a proper adieu.

It was the perceived rejection by her Sire that first set her on the antitribu path, her quiet, seething and eternal rage over his seeming betrayal encompassing the repudiation of every last thing he ever held dear, to include the Camarilla.

Like many of the Toreador though, Brigid maintains a close contact with humanity, which for her is a boon for blood and business alike. She runs three separate highly exclusive BDSM brothels: one in D.C., one in NYC and another in Boston. These serve as both sources of information and blackmail; and an outlet for her ever growing, evergreen sadism.

Appearance

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

o.o... Wonderful post, T! Ominous, but awesome!

Loki's Laugh

Subtle, Walrus

Masques and Daggers (Derren Krenshaw & Igraine)

So sorry that took far longer than I expected, Derren. *shake fist at power outage last night* D:

Masques and Daggers (Derren Krenshaw & Igraine)

"No need for embarrassment, Mr. Goemon. Sometimes it is simply easier to speak with someone a touch more... Well, familiar is all," Galina said sedately, nothing in her placid demeanor and silken, melodic voice belying the sudden surge of regret that rose like bitter bile in the back of her throat

The truth of the matter was, sitting here with this well-spoken and courteous young spy from Japan? She was, of course, being far less than honest. Oh, Goemon was obviously a man in whose presence one might easily be charmed and disarmed, though letting one's guard down so far with this man was likely a very unwise proposition. Even so, his appearance and easy manner truly did invite familiarity. But no matter Galina's claim to Goemon, the company of the 'familiar' was not at all what she truly craved at least.

No, there was little she would not give to have even a broken, halting conversation concerning nothing of any grand importance at all. Perhaps small talk of the superb quality of the fresh greens in the salad, even aboard a ship; or maybe some discussion of the lovely baroque cherubs painted on the vaulted ceilings above? Or better still, perhaps no conversation at all, but simply silent yet incomparable company during an after-dinner turn about the Empress' deck.

Goemon was pleasant, yes, and could even become dangerously familiar if she were foolish enough to allow such a thing. But all his presence truly did was remind her of all she did not have this very moment, of the genuinely decent and exceptional company she so deliberately betrayed for the sake of duty, the like of which she would surely never find again.

The wolf in the woman paced behind the cage of those darkly calm eyes, whining softly in her misery, worrying at the ache that she simple could not shake. And it was this torment roiling just beneath the surface of Galina’s serene aspect that simultaneously – and paradoxically – both distracted and focused her thoughts. While the woman mutely mourned, it was the spy whose designs took shape, the one constructive outlet left for her brilliant yet troubled thoughts.

And it was the spy Galina who agreed wholeheartedly with Goemon, that this was a most strange and unprecedented arrangement. If this assignment had not been broached to her father through the most reliable of channels, the young woman might very well have burst into laughter at the absurdity of Goemon’s proposition, right then and there, courtesy be damned. The amount of trust it seemed she was expected to place in this stranger’s hands was near unprecedented in Galina’s experience.

But of course courtesy would not be damned, and most certainly not here in the grand elegance of the Empress’ dining room. And so Galina simply nodded and bowed politely as Goemon did once more before she spoke yet again. “So yes, an… Engineer, you said? I am afraid, Mr. Goemon, that the questions simply must continue, though I imagine that does not surprise you in the least. Of course I should very much like to know his name, and is he a passenger of the Empress, or is he a crew member? What type of engineer is our dissatisfied defector?”

Galina dabbed gently at the corners of her mouth with her napkin before she spoke again, a nod of thanks to a server who passed, who filled first her wine glass, and then Klara’s and Goemon’s, with a lovely golden chardonnay. And when he had moved on to a different table, the young woman continued her query. “What country does this engineer hail from then, and to where shall he be sent – and did you say you had managed a way to remove him from the Empress… While we are still at sea?”

Loki's Laugh

I can wait to write my post to give Loker and Ragnar time to show up, no problem :)