@Morose BAM! Incomes the sass from Sirena. Additionally, Edgard had a revelation. He finally figured out what is going on! Lol! Man, I turned him into more of an idiot than an evil mastermind. That is not what I had originally intended. Oh well. I'm not emotionally attached to Edgard. XD
mnkee
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*Retired Account, Archiving for the sake of my writing
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Sirena glanced back over at Septima in time to catch the roll of the woman's eyes and upheld finger. Her blue eyes narrowed as indignation rose up within her. Septima's flippant manner and impudence rubbed Sirena the wrong way. She herself could deal out sass to others, but she really did not tolerate others doing the same to her. How ironic.
Her gaze stiffly followed Septima as the woman dealt with her brother, the recently awakened Lord Dywell. Her brows rose and her eyes widened slightly as the woman seemingly casted a spell on her unsuspecting brother. It was admittedly a nifty trick, one in which would have proven quite useful to Sirena over the years. Some of her irritation dissipated and was replaced by curiousity. The notion that Septima possessed some form of magic logically should have frightened her, but it didn't. She was instead more or less intrigued.
Her demeanor softened as Septima came back over. Sirena was ready to give the woman a chance, to give her the benefit of the doubt. Well, that was until the witch opened her mouth and out spewed the same level of impudence. The look that overcame Sirena's features basically said 'oh really.' She stepped towards Septima unfazed by the woman's words. "Is that a threat? Or a challenge?" she stated with a slight edge to her velvety voice. The corner of her lips pulled up into a smirk, and there was a sly glint to her eyes.
"Now, if you do not wish to destroy the flask, then how else do you expect to regain your soul, huh? Drink from it?" she questioned. She let out a light, almost mocking, chuckle before her voice grew serious once more. "That certainly did us all a lot of good. We are all dead, directly or indirectly because someone did just that. You say you want to regain your life and gain the power of gods in the process, but at what cost? It is surely not a free-for-all."
Her attention was then diverted to Anastasia as she returned. Of course, Sirena did not recognize her seeing as her friend was possessing another woman's body.
"Oui, je sais que tu n'es pas mort!" Edgard interjected midway through Alisanne's spiel. Why did she keep demanding she wasn't dead?! For goodness sakes, he knows she is not that easy to kill! It's just that with every passing minute he believes less and less that she is actually here with him, in the flesh. She was alive, just not here. His eyes widened and the corner of his lips twitched as she finished what she had to say.
"Vous sournois peu--" he began before turning away with a huff. He shook his head and held his temple between his fingers. God, this was all giving him a headache. She killed her sister Margot?! He supposed it made since. After all, she never did like to share power or title. He should have figured that Édouard's death wouldn't be enough for her. He vaguely wondered if he was the next on her list. It wouldn't be the first time she tried to have him killed.
Despite her explanation, he was still left with one big question. How in the hell was she here?! He faced her again and eyed her skeptically. His eyes widened as blood began to soak her hands and drip from her hair. "Vous n'êtes pas vraiment là. C'est une sorte de vision. Ou prémonition. Ou lien psychique," he exclaimed, more to himself than to her. His brows furrowed at that last idea of his. Psychic link. She was a psychic link? God dammit.
I will be getting a post up tomorrow. :)
@Lady Amalthea *shudders in horror* Aaaaahhh noooooo don't compare Thalken to the Cabbage. *gags* He's no Édouard, or French man child, as my character Sirena in Strange New Waters calls him.
@Lady Amalthea I guess nothing new/strange is happening where Thalken is as of yet? Hmmm, maybe I can just have him snoop around his father's stuff to figure out what the man's up to. I can also react for Beowulf and Thalcona. Once they get a definitive answer from Virginia, Beowulf is not going to want to stick around regardless of what is happening. He just really doesn't care. Don't you love villains? XD
By the way, thank you for the traveling information for Fyror and Gerard. I really am clueless about that area. I would have to do a lot of research to get the information and knowledge you already have.
By the way, thank you for the traveling information for Fyror and Gerard. I really am clueless about that area. I would have to do a lot of research to get the information and knowledge you already have.
>Inspiration is hitting, and I am excitedly waiting for new posts! :P
@Lady Amalthea Okay, I finally got the post up. It took me awhile. I swear it takes me at least half an hour per a character to write a good quality post. I wouldn't say this is my best post, but it was the best I could come up with at the moment. >.<
As Thalken left the Glimmeric, the sun was setting and so with it went its warmth and light. The practically barren streets of London were cast into the shadows, giving them a more ominous feel. If the streets were dangerous during the day, they were most certainly treacherous come nightfall. And yet, one could say this was Thalken's domain. After all, he had lived a life in the darkness and was only beginning to relish the light.
He opted to take the same route he had traversed earlier today. His hand rested on the hilt of his Dao as he navigated the dark alleyways through the Strand to the Adelphi area. It wasn't the safest means of travel, but it was certainly quicker, particularly for those like himself who were quite familiar with them. As long as you didn't run into any criminals along the way, the lessened amount of congestion made for swifter travel. However, that factor seemed to matter little tonight, as the streets of London were oddly empty. Fear drove people to their homes out on the countryside, as if that would provide them better protection. No, as far as Thalken saw it, that just made them easier to pick off one by one.
Thalken traveled quickly through the Adelphi area to the nearby docks. He had anticipated to run into someone or to encounter some form of resistance along the way, but he hadn't. One would think that the lack of problems would put him at ease, but it in fact did quite the opposite. It put him on edge the remainder of his travels. Considering all he had seen and experienced yesterday and today, he did not buy for one second that tonight was going to be purely peaceful. Something was a foot. He could feel it in his bones.
He finally passed through the docks, which were surprisingly constable free. He supposed even they did not want to remain outside after dark. He quickly covered the remaining distance home, and soon enough he was stepping foot inside the manor on the Talink Estate. The absence of his sister and father quickly became apparent to him, and it only served to add to his tension. According to the servants they were settling the terms of a business transaction with the Crypts. Thalken did not like that they had left without him. If only he knew the deal the Lady Crypt was making with the devil...
Fyror and Gerard finally rode into St. Albans as the sun set. It quickly became apparent that the small hamlet was filled to the brim with people. Fyror figured they were most likely leaving, or rather fleeing, London for the so called safety of their homes out on the countryside. His mind was too preoccupied to entertain the thought of whether or not leaving the confines of London was an intelligent decision.
They once more had to stop to change horses and to check the carriage. At this point, Fyror had lost count of how many stops they had made today. All he knew was that with every minute lost was one more minute that Lord Rutherford had on them. They had to get to Millicent before it was too late. Despite the dangers that traveling at night posed, Fyror was even more determined to press on. If they waited until morning to travel, the roads would be heavily congested with all these travelers, and thus they would slow them down tremendously. As far as he saw it, that wasn't an option even if the alternative was a risky one.
While the horses were quickly being changed, he paced outside the carriage to stretch his long legs and to burn off some energy. His face grew grim as he heard the none too comforting conversations around him. Washed out roads was the last thing they needed considering they were already behind as is. He hoped at least that meant Lord Rutherford would have to hunker down in Nottingham for awhile while the storm past. One could only hope and pray in the given circumstances.
Fyror turned as a man approached them. "We are heading for Manchester on urgent business," he addressed the man.
Sirena slipped in between people to make her way to the front of the crowd. All the while she took everything in with a soft yet inquisitive gaze. Her brows furrowed when the flask, the very thing that was calling to something deep within her, finally came into her view. Strangely by it was the sleeping form of a man, Mycroft Crypt, the Lord Dywell. Though the temptation of the flask was great, she was not so foolish and lacking in self control to not seek out answers first before even considering heeding its call.
Her gaze turned to Septima as the woman seemingly chastised the brown haired, blue eyed Millicent. Her head tilted a bit to the side as she listened to the witch's words, which did not make complete sense to Sirena seeing as she wasn't privy to the context of the conversation. Septima's gaze then met hers, as if having sensed her eavesdropping. She returned the woman's raised brow and unspoken words by arching one of her own pale blonde brows. She hoped the woman would elaborate, and that the woman did.
Sirena's lips thinned at Septima's next words. Her breath left her as she finally put two and two together. This was the flask they had been searching for, as commissioned by Mr. Alucard. It was the flask that had caused such pain and devastation on Tortuga and beyond. It was the reason they were all here, the reason they had lost their lives, and apparently their souls as well. Her jaw clenched, and her blue eyes darkened to something more reminiscent of a stormy night. And yet her eyes also held such intelligence and determination. She promptly approached Septima and Millicent.
"I have been enslaved enough in life. I will not be further enslaved in death. What is power without freedom? It is nothing," she butted in, her voice strong and assured. "If the flask is all that stands between us and true freedom, we should destroy it. Perhaps then it will release our souls, or perhaps not. Nothing good ever came without a little risk." Her attention suddenly snapped away as a scream pierced through the dullness of the ocean. She momentarily looked at a loss for words as she watched Mycroft Crypt. She glanced back at Septima with a questioning look before returning to the man as an unsettling smile came to his features. Her gaze eventually drifted past him to Édouard. What did the Frenchman do this time?
Edgard's gaze narrowed on Aravis as the woman spoke. He felt that there was something totally off about her. It was more than just the fact that she seemed completely unfazed by his outburst. No, it was the fact that her demeanor was so emotionless that it seemed almost lifeless, or soulless. He glanced over at Alisanne and ended up doing a double take when he caught her rolling her eyes at him. "What?!" he spat as irritably as ever at her.
Alisanne raised her hand, perhaps to silence him? He didn't really know. His harsh gaze softened slightly as it landed on the ring she wore, the sun glinting off of the metal. A warmth filled him at seeing her wear the ring he had given her, and the corner of his lip pulled up. Apparently in the wake of his distraction and moment of reminiscing he missed the telltale signs that she was pissed. Pain suddenly pulsated through him as she suddenly struck him across the cheek, the force of which slung his head to the side. Genuine shock crossed his features just as he felt a warm liquid trickle down his cheek.
He touched his cheek and then pulled back his hand to reveal blood. His jaw clenched, and his nostrils flared. A storm brewed in his eyes as his gaze swung back to her, his open glare meeting her narrowed eyes. "What the hell was that for?!" he yelled.
"Je ne suis pas morte, connard!" Alisanne shouted back at him.
"J'ai un peu pensé ça! Cela n'explique toujours pas comment vous êtes encore là!" Edgard growled. Of course he was too embroiled in his current argument to take notice of Anastasia's sudden appearance.
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