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Post by Alastair "Alexandre" Kaiser on Aug 30, 2011 2:22:37 GMT -5
[/b][/i][/size][/font]- - -  Love Faith Devotion,,
The reasons we,,
B r e a k our bones,,- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -[/right] Violent, rippling, waves of pain coursed through the body, as deep crimson sprayed much like the tide rolling in. An ear piercing scream would escape the lips, which replaced the previous begging. Vision would begin to blur, as another approached once more – a silhouette disguising all but a glint of spring green and a pearl white smirk. More begging would start that would fall on deaf ears. Suddenly the final blow came, as swift as life was created it was taken. And then there was a sky, a village coming into view. And on the outskirts is where she stood. Alone and broken she has no hopes for a future. Instead she’d place a ring on a gray stone. She’d go to speak, starting with the name upon his grave which read- - - -”Sir, you got even paler. Are you alright? Do you need a place to lay down? There is a house that is used for an inn if you need it.”The scene before Alexandre morphed, which was no longer a sorrow scene but, instead, a peaceful village. He merely perked up before realizing he was in front of a stand. A place to sale anything, in this case the certain dumbapples which this place was known for. It was no surprise to the prophet, to have spaced out over a vision. They came natural to him, always triggered by something or someone. Yet, here he stood buying one thing – innocently minding his own business when the blurry view of death struck him. He must have broken out into sweat since when he moved his clothes clung to his back. Not really a surprise considering the sheer feeling of being struck down, before the agony of having your soul ripped out. Basically, all visions felt real. No one ever told you that in the job description. Making his, now, trembling muscles calm, Alexander released a laugh. ”Nah, I just fergot what I was doin’ from time ta time,” watching the woman puff her cheeks caused him to continue, ”Now, now, just let me see what ya got.” Of course his eyes fell to the object she held in a firm grasp. The only thing she had to sell, it would seem. ”Now what do ya got there?” The lashes parted just enough, allowing ice blue orbs to focus on a foreign fruit. It was ordinary in shape but odd in colour by being a deep vibrant orchid. The curiosity of the platinum male got the best of him as he outstretched his arm toward the ginger haired female. Porcelain pale digits enclosed themselves around the fruit as the woman gasped at the ice cold flesh. Alexandre’s gaze fell to the hazel irises as his smile stretched a tad wider, ”Somethin’ troublin’ ya?”The freckles splattered upon her cheeks would darken as she flushed. Obviously sign of embarrassment over her reaction and being caught. As she would shake her head, locks of ginger danced, she spoke with a strummer. ”No, not at all..! I just didn’t—!!”Alexandre’s left hand would be placed upon her head, fingers stroking down a few loose strands. ”Nah, none of that now.” His words held a purr as he knelt down so lips were near her ear. The rising warmth of her cheeks indicated her blushing and the corner of his lips twitched. Why was her reaction becoming flustered? Shouldn’t she be flat out shoving him away, calling him a creep, or something negative? Oh well, guess some females had bizarre tastes in certain situations. ”He’s not comin’ home,” words sharp as knives, and yet cooing like a mother. ”Yer fiancée, I mean.”Her emerald eyes would dilate in complete terror, perhaps even denial at that. The six foot one, lanky, male would pull back to view the emotion. What was it about shattering hope that was so beautiful? Withdrawing his boney fingers from the woman’s hair, his lips never ceased their smiling as he simply swiped the fruit from her grasp (being the fact he never took it from her grasp). Instantly her free hands would grasp her face as eyes became glossy. ”N-no, you’re lying to m—“Alexandre would merely rub, with his now freed left hand, at his outer ear. The typically slit eyes parted fully, only to stare down at the withering form below. Ice blue irises reflected like mirrors as his tone grew dark, proper, and yet held in a venomous whisper. ”I never lie about my visions, dear. Your fiancée is never coming back again. Blood painted the sky and afterward I saw you mourning over a grave.” Suddenly he flicked his tongue off the roof of his mouth, making a clicking noise. ”His first name is Marcus, is it not?”The silver haired male did not need words as her lips trembled. He was correct as she then released a shriek, and he’d pass while she dropped with hands fondling with the fruit. My, my, wasn’t she a little dramatic? All he simply told her was her future husband had passed. Oh, wait, he’d pause at the orchard of trees and give a faint snicker. Guess the drama was the fact he was murdered, but – wait – he never stated that. My, wasn’t it so much fun to mess with another’s mind? ”Oops, guess I fergot to mention it was no accident.”Still, the image of these oddly coloured fruits in the distance plagued Alexandre’s mind. Why would he..? Was this a sign of..? Ke, what fun this will be~[/size][/ul][/blockquote] |
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Post by Ad'hora ne Ono on Aug 30, 2011 22:39:28 GMT -5
His nails, neatly filed and clean like the scrubbed hands of a murderer, pressed into the skin of the amethyst apple gently, leaving small welts in its bruised flesh as his grip tightened. 'Til, with another moment of pressure, the strained incision punctured... and no more and no less than two drops of shimmering golden lifeblood tracked down along each side of his thumb, leaving a syrupy residue along their paths as they snaked toward his wrist.
With the indistinct tightening of the corners of his mouth, his teeth coming together with a muffled impact, Ad'hora used the forefinger of his left hand to trace the thumb of his right as if making a surgical cut with a scalpel; this summoned a very thin stream of water that didn't so much spray or fall as envelop the opposed digit, wearing away the imperfect liquid that marred his skin.
Thump. The token produce of Banora Village dropped to the ground in the dust, a dull sound announcing its bouncing and rolling in the dirt as the small wounds in its flesh wept brass tears. As if washing his hands, Ad'hora rubbed the last of the residue away, leaving the dumbapple askew behind him.
He had always felt a kind of foreboding with the color purple, anyway. It made him nervous, since that fortunetelling a lifetime ago... but that was another memory to remain locked away, as russet curls swayed in the breeze that lifted the stifling air from the marketplace briefly before it returned again with a vengeance. But for now, the townspeople breathed easier, though still more restrained for the mutterings of the populace around him, under breaths and in ears and with the brushing of shoulders about the winged man, the murderer - but surely he was imagining that part? Nearly a thousand years had gone into perfecting the mask; a village of peasants could not possibly discern what not even a psychic could, unable to sense the lingering souls, legions of them that had left their marks under his skin.
Enough that he had lost count; couldn't remember their names, faces, or origins. Enough to complete a graveyard unto themselves, headstones ranging from worn away to nothing, the text faded until it was illegible, to crisp new marble, edges still sharp enough to crease one's hands if they pressed against the corners long enough, names and ages and last wills and testaments laid out in stark carvings for all the world to see.
It was all well and good that thinking about this was met with a sort of wry detachment from the man. Were he to maintain emotional connection to his prey, he would surely have driven himself insane by now.
But what was insanity?
The expectation of a different result through the same means. What was he trying to gain by this monotonous existence, a cycle of death that he had more or less locked himself into? The point of it all - if there was a point to life, if its allure only stemmed from the thrill of having a time limit... he had halted his own clock, and in doing so, trapped himself in purgatory.
But...
If there were another way to go about things? He enjoyed his way of life, of course. There was something perversely beautiful about death and suffering. But what of the gain? What of seeing the world from a step to the left?
A scream rent the air, striking the man from his musings as he found himself turning involuntarily, whirling to pinpoint the source of the agonizing cry of pain. But the people around him continued on about their business, as if deaf to what was now shameless pleading and groveling that was almost indistinguishable from the mumbles of pain... what was that?
And as soon as it had erupted, it halted, reedy cries into the darkness fading to nothing like the receding notes of a song. But not before he had pinpointed the source; a nearby Soul, a shade that seemed almost to be transparent, a blank canvas that vibrated like skin stretched taut as a drum, reverberating with a sudden strike.
The twitch of the right side of his mouth; a smirk stretching across his face, greedy and laced with perverted amusement.
A keen of mourning sliced the amiable atmosphere in half, letting the goodwill shatter into pieces of shimmering glass and tinkle to the ground amid a sudden uproar of concerned voices and mutterings. Tagging along behind the man was no chore as the peasants closed in around him, the russet-haired man merely slipping easily through the crowd, wings obscured by the cloak fastened to his left shoulder and stretching across his back.
”Oops, guess I fergot to mention it was no accident.”
You must be joking, he thought privately at the flash of the man's accent, being only within earshot enough to hear the tone of his voice. But at that, he would make to lunge forward with hands clean and pale as unmarred porcelain, to grasp the man's wrist with an innocent and charming expression, utilizing his physical age as a weapon of earning unwarranted trust.
"Excuse me..."
Ad'hora's wide and gleaming emerald eyes, shining with apparent youth and naivete, held a masked undertone of dancing malice within them. The fork in the road; here it must be.
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Post by Alastair "Alexandre" Kaiser on Sept 2, 2011 13:52:50 GMT -5
[/i]?”[/colour] Alexandre wasn’t fond of sweets which, oddly enough, tasted awful bitter to him. He cringed with an inhale through the mouth as the taste still lingered. Alexandre fought the urge to stick his tongue out like a child, in failing hope to aide losing the taste. Shifting his weight to his right, the arm was held up as Alexandre prepared to drop the fruit. However, the object would fall simply out of his hand with the next action. Something, no someone, had reached out to his chilled skin. Glancing over his shoulder Alexandre’s eyes would open up to slits, revealing sheets of reflecting ice to challenge the emerald of the shorter male. The other slender, cape (cloaked?), short cut, unruly, brunette would most likely be unfazed. The lack of hesitation would bring curiosity up and beyond its normal standards, mainly when the other spoke with bright eyes. What do you know a brave one came to play in this game. Silence, before he spoke. ”What do ya want?” Shifting his body to face Ad’Hora head on, Alexandre’s lips dropped for a moment. ”Now what would a lil boy like ya want with me?” ‘Little boy’ being the understatement of the century, but Alexandre would call a God himself young compared to him. Once more did the eyes flutter shut and the platinum haired male spoke with bitter amusement, ”Yer parents need ta teach ya manners.””Or don’t ya have family?” Lips would part once more as Alexandre’s free hand fingers ghosted the brunette’s hand, which held the wrist firmly enough. Slowly the taller figure slinked forward, sinking his head down low. He spoke bitterly, yet lips held a smirk. ”Listen here, kiddie.” Fingers would attempt to ensnare themselves around the small equally small wrist. ”Bein’ an orphan ain’t great, ya know. Gotta defend yerself and yada yada. Saw that lady back away?” Alexandre would aim to pry the same shade of complexion, his own fingers attempting to apply pressure to the joint. ”She gotta live without a lover. Why? Spooky thin’ up and killed ‘im.””Shame, really. They planned a life together,” the tone suggested there was no remorse. ”Green eyes, didn’t he have green eyes?” a purr with hidden intentions fell loosely as Alexandre pondered out loud, ”Now isn’t that amusin’. Maybe she’d take a likin’ to ya?” Lashes would part for a split second before fluttering shut. ”Nah, too young fer her.” A weak chuckle, ”Besides, don’tcha have yer own search ta do?” Ah, the true art of fake predictions of the future; work the other into revealing even little keys to weave together a false prediction. Alexandre knew his job well, and so far his rambling was just that; with a tad of curiosity. Whether or not this was a murderer, the silver haired man wouldn't know until later on - maybe? ”I’d be wastin’ yer time, young’ns like you don’t like ta know yer future. Ya live for taday,” As quick as the amusement was there, it was gone as the platinum haired male spoke again. ”Ya made me drop my apple. Whatcha gonna do ta do ta make it up ta me?” Not like he honestly wanted one, but let’s see if Ad’Hora would offer something. [/size][/ul][/blockquote] |
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Post by Ad'hora ne Ono on Sept 25, 2011 18:24:11 GMT -5
Wide and carefully innocent eyes sharpened just slightly at the question. "I've none." The only response he was able to give before the silver-haired man before him moved, turned to face him with almost a predatory sort of movement. Ad'hora played possum, simply waited until the man spoke again, as if unsure of what to do with himself.
He spoke of the woman that had screamed, as he gently freed Ad'hora's grip from his own wrist. How he had seen the fate of her lover, with all the emotional connection of one discussing the weather. In that moment, Ad'hora thought to himself that he'd done well, finding a kindred spirit amongst the muck of sentimentality.
A brief flash of the man's eyes as he observed a connection between the brunette and the dead man; the Genome could but watch as he expertly wove his way through what would have been a conversation, would there have been any way to respond.
"I am not among those so easily to be cherished," he responded cryptically, cutting in. But the man's rhetorical question caught his attention, skeptical or not. "Tell me then, what am I searching for?"
The sudden darkness to Ad'hora's eyes and tone vanished as quickly as it had come, as the silverette fell to jesting about his (apparent) age once more. Though if one were to read deeply, the comment about the apple could be taken as...
Ah-ha. Susceptible prey, at last.
The brunette made to approach just slightly, a subtle shift of the feet as he made as if to lure the other into his presence. "However can I replace such a treasure?" he asked quietly. "But of course, that depends on what you have in mind."
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