Crimson Hawk Hotel [Page 33]

At the Destructive Forces Operating Company's Gaia Branch

I step into the dim light, the Master's footsteps echoing off the stone walls. I can hear above the sounds of the others, talking and laughing. It soothes my nerves somewhat. The work the Master has asked of me is dangerous, and requires no small amount of skill. I feel uncertain, but determined to go forwards. If I am to call myself an apprentice of such a knowledgable man, I cannot allow my fear to rule my mind. I fidget with my cloak. A habit.

"Before we begin, let me ask you, Baiya. Do you feel your life is precious?"

The master's calm voice stirrs the air, his tone not one of the teacher to their student. He speaks softly to me. I take a moment to consider his words, resting a fingertip on my lower lip. Habit. 'What is the purpose of this question', I wonder. Does he know I have doubts about my abilities? Is he provoking me, to see if I feel I am too 'precious' to take risks? A test would be like him, but this seems blunt. Bluntness is not like him. The answer is the same, regardless.

"Yes, it is."

"How do you believe so?"

"Because I am able to use it to serve you. Serve the others. We save each other, when others will not save us."

I hate my voice. It rings off the walls, chiming. The Master's is smoother. Sonorous. I feel like a kitten trying to converse with a tiger. The Master seems to be thinking. I twiddle the fingers on one hand idly. Habit.

"I see. That being the case, how do you decide when your death would be more precious to the ones you love than remaining alive?"

The question stuns me. Seeing the Master take a dark turn is unusual. Irregular. I move closer to him, close enough to be touching. Something is off. He doesn't speak further. I take his question in now, finger returning to my lip. Habit, again. A situation in which death is more valuable than life? There are scenarios I can concoct, but being so literal wouldn't be a proper response. Bluntness is not like him. Living for others or dying for them? An interesting conundrum. I wrestle with it for a few moments, before I must effectively concede.

"It depends."

It sounds stupid. The Master laughs aloud, and wraps his arm around my shoulders. I feel small, pulled against his towering frame. He turns to look down into me with flashing green eyes. I feel small.

"It certainly does, doesn't it?"

I feel too embarassed to respond. I sounded like a simpleton. The Master releases me. Bending down, he pulls a tarp off the floor. Beneath it is a runic circle, glimmering. My eyes roam across it. It is certainly the Master's work. Complicated. I can read parts of its purpose in the words chosen, but some meanings elude me. The Master has bent some of the words. Brilliant to make them work for you instead of with you. My eyes catch some very strange ones as well. They change each time I look away from them.

"Those runes, sir..."

"Runes of power, written in a Chaotic dialect. They are unruly when working unchecked, but cannot be fully dominated either. They are impressively potent when allowed to fully flourish. It is difficult to find a balance between giving them freedom and restricting their more dangerous aspects."

Truly brilliant. I am fortunate to be in his tutelage.

"Is that why you have bent the other runes in places?"

"Ah, you're very observant as always, Baiya. Indeed, that is why. Doing this creates a somewhat softer circle, if you understand my meaning. It will allow the chaos runes to work with a bit more freedom, moving the work as a whole away from absolutes. I know I have said so before, but avoiding absolutes in runic work when you can will save you a lot of trouble in the end, even with simple tasks."

I continue to read them as he speaks. As the chaos runes change the bent ones accomodate. The meaning of the 'sentence' is hardly changed. Lkie raeidng wrdos wtih the lteerts caghned auonrd.

"Fascinating. Amazing, even. Is it complete?"

"Of course! It was done a few days ago, in fact. I could have gone ahead with things alone, but I must admit I have a small desire to show off in front of my apprentice. Beyond that, you're also quite directly involved with things, so I figured you may as well be involved with this aspect as well. I'd like your hand in this, if you wouldn't be averse to doing so."

Impossible to refuse. I would have begged to be involved. Being invited was an honor.

"I will. Certainly, sir."

It is difficult to hide my excitement. The Master grins at me fiendishly.

"Well then, let us begin! Take up the side opposite of me, if you would. I'll be doing the main part of the work, since I constructed this quite specifically. If you would, please assist me in keeping things under control. The circle should do most of the work itself, but as I said, chaos runes are predisposed towards slipping their bonds."

I walk around the circle, cautiously. I find as I do so that the circle is contiguous at all angles around each rune of chaos. There are tens of meanings constructed around each one. The Master is a genius. He nods at me. I brace myself. We both focus our wills into the circle. It comes alive, resonating. It is glory. The air hums with its work. I feel its work beginning, slowly. The basement seems another world. I can sense it pulling across realities. Like a kaleidoscope it shifts its focus. It stops its searching. It has found its purpose. I am overwhelmed by the weight of it. Ancient, primeval forces wash over me. It is all I can do to remain myself. Animal horror wells inside me. I cannot bring myself to cry out. A thousand-thousand words race through my mind. I feel small.

A sharp crack returns me to the basement. I fall to my knees, drained. Sweat runs off my face in rivers. I feel the master's arms around me.

"We've done it, Baiya, you brilliant boy! It worked perfectly."

I can see the body of a woman behind him on the floor. Then my vision fades. I see nothing. A bad habit.

Roen was a dangerous creature to love, she had always known this. It was the reason why she often refused to acknowledge the legitimacy of her feelings, and even went on to vehemently deny a reality that, of all the world, only the devil himself seemed aware of. Or perhaps it was simply only he cared about their particular reality. He made the world of her, and she, without knowing or intending, had allowed him to become hers.

There were moments when she could not resist him (such as the initiation of this particular moment), regardless of want or intellect, but the sobering truth always came through, he was a predator -- and not unlike herself -- but so much better. And so he turned her, with all the footwork of a seasoned dancer, and trapped her between a wall and the wide width of his frame. She was a drop of moonlight in the vast shadow he cast, and so she sank into it, perplexed and frightened where she had been thrilled and even enamored just moments before.

“Roen,” she whispered against his rough mouth, her lips parting to his. His tongue darted out, and she felt him taste the length of her bottom lip before the hand upon her hip squeezed her hand and the one upon the small of her back pulled her closer against him. She was melting, she was warming, she was growing hungry.

“Roen…” a plea, a whimper.

They could never be left alone, but Roen was becoming more and more creative in finding ways to isolate them in plain sight of a crowed. It made her nervous, and rightly so. There was an edge to Roen now, a sort of unabashed sense of supremacy -- of triumph.

Part of her understood it -- part of her even felt some semblance of joy for him. He had everything he wanted. The very fact that she stood here now, dressed like she was and wearing shackles of his own design while he lorded his newly acquired liberties over her was proof of that. Their son, the very fruit of their union, lay sleeping peacefully amidst a sea of people who were not only devoted to him, but who loved him fiercely. For years he had chased this dream, and now he had it -- he had attained it.

He relented -- firstly, to her relief and secondly, to her sorrow. He pulled away and watched as she tried to ease the hurting throb of her heartbeat. She wasn’t use to it beating this fast, or working this hard. Her’s was ice-cold blood and it was meant to move slow through her veins. He made it hard to be what she was, but still she thrived under the dire circumstances by blooming with color, warming at the cheeks, lips reddened and full. She adjusted what she could of her bedazzled brassier and the low waist of her see through skirt.

“You are the most beautiful thing here.”

Still frazzled from the molestation she had been made to endure, she met his gaze with wide eyes and pinched brows -- a face full of concern. Her newly painted lips, pressed nearly into a pout. She looked hurt.

“Are you mocking me? I look like a joke -- a bad one. I’ll be ridiculed and humiliated.”

She could not read his expression, it was only pale and beautiful death that started back down at her, unmoved and unconcerned with worldly matters. He seemed so different here, so much more fluid. And, as if he had read her mind, he plucked her clenched fists from her sides and pulled her hands up to his lips. He kissed her knuckles, and his words suddenly felt more sincere. She softened, visible by how her shoulders sank and her eyes lowered.

It was just a compliment.

“Sing once again with me, our strange duet.”

He wasn’t asking her, but still she nodded her head. They were moving then, side by side, with a warm arm wrapped around her back, and burning fingers brushing along the outside of her hip, just above the low-sitting belt. She did her best to own the costume he had forced her to wear. To accomplish this task, she employed her otherworldly grace and moved in silent dignity with her bare feet pointing and making sure every move she made was meaningful, fluid, and akin to that of a dancers.

“There will be people here you do not recognize, my little viper. There will be people here that you do, Pandora. We will need to talk to both.”

They had been moving through a set of rooms, an elegant lobby and were now nearly at the doors of the ballroom. She took in her settings, with quick and stolen glances. The setting itself meant little and less to her, but the layout of the place -- that was something else. She felt vulnerable, and not just because of the way she was dressed. The shackles upon her wrists were heavy, and they were magic, and she suspected they served more than just the purpose of this ridiculous costume. She also felt different, and she couldn’t be sure if it was because of Roen’s influence or the fact that she was moving about a completely different world, a different kind of air, at such a great distance for Orisia and La’Ruta. One striking feature of this change was the sudden gnawing hunger, which had struck her with the severity of starvation. This was the sort of thing she had a secure handle of back in Valucre.

“Soon they will be throwing their spite into my teeth, darling. Tell me, how many tournaments have you witnessed?”

Walking and talking, walking and talking… She wondered if he had any idea where they were going. Dutifully, she moved besides him, though it had less to do with duty and more to do with the fingers that pressed into her side and pulled her to stand hip to hip with him.

“Just two,” she replied, surprised that he asked. Her hands together, gathered before her, covering some of the exposed flesh of her belly. “The first was, long ago, during my first life -- before my torpor. Kalicity took me, she was there fighting alongside the Warlord. It was the first time I ever spoke to him.” There was a pause, a dark and ugly silence as her mind turned to Malice. “At the time, I would have never imagined that I had sewn so much interested with the man. It was only after centuries, shortly after one of my many unplannedtrips to Patia,” she looked at him, her golden eyes narrowed, “-- when I found myself lost in the forests, not far from the Black City, that I had a rather tragic reunion with him. Somehow, he had not forgotten me, instead he was very pleased to have found me, as I am sure you’ll remember.”

She frowned at the memory of her short engagement to Malice, and wondered how in the world she had ever actually considered marrying the man.

As for the other tournament, well he should know about that one. It took place in Drakiss just a few years ago. The devil had not been invited, a fact that had wounded him if she remembered correctly. And things were only made worse when he showed up with Rou upon his arm at the opening ceremonies in Kingshill. The memory of that whole debacle made her uncomfortable. So much so that she began to lean away from him.

She hoped to God she wouldn’t end up seeing that woman here, or worse yet -- Raphael.

“You must have been very young,” Red Death commented.

While the Crimson Hawk remained a constant in this life, those that filled it’s halls were unknown to the Outsider, even foreign. For every known face he saw - and there were precious few, at that - there were a handful of strangers surrounding them, characters all. It was a subtle albeit significant reminder of the times, and how they very much had changed on him since his ventures into Valucre. With a pang of regret and not a little painful nostalgia, he realized that he had journeyed to this event with an expectation for the familiar, but it was not here. His bodyguard, his companions, and even his enemies had moved on, departed. He was a relic of a forgotten time. I’m an atavism, he thought with sad, gentle amusement. I am old.

He turned albeit briefly towards bound Christine beside him, his masked face betraying nothing, his eyes seeking the noble profile of her countenance to reassure him, to comfort him. More than beautiful, she was familiar, known, desired and coveted; she was more than friend, more than companion or enemy - this one was chosen, and though he would never say it aloud, let alone to himself, he was thankful that when he decided to come here tonight, he dared to bring her along with him. They were walking together among the ghosts and shadows of a different lifetime, surrounded by what was fresh and soon-to-be-blooded.

But there were different shadows he saw, now, a different span of darkness that stretched. Instead of between him and this world of fighters and bravado, it was between him and Christine, and the specters of her own untidy history. Malice, the self-styled Warlord and Great Devourer, Roen was not so vain as to forget the shadow of that creature, nor the impact it had on the life of his beloved. It was a cruel and stark reminder, this lesson in history, that there had been others in life that had touched Gabriela’s fate, long before he. Turning his face when she looked his way, somewhat abashed by the stress she put on unplanned and the silent accusation in her narrowed eyes, Roen went back to observing the masquerade, his attention forward.

“I imagine it was after his defeat at Blaireville, then known as Blaurg. His campaign was not successful against the Terrans.”

He stroked her back with the pad of his thumb, soft and comforting by the weight of his leather glove. Yes, Roen remembered well how pleased Malice was with reacquainting himself with Irene, but now was not the time to confuse of worry his chosen with a display of theatrical wrath, tempting though it was. Rather, he kept his body language carefully composed, revealing a depth of restraint and control typically lacking in his social repertoire, or so it was ever reputed. There was a time and place for such things, and the here and now was neither. So, he kept silent after his aside, and urged Gabriela a different way, keeping her out of eyeshot of Rou Ji, who he had chanced to see while his chosen was distracted with conversation.

Silence settled between them, but the Outsider didn’t mind, finding it somewhat companionable and refreshing. He had been hurt, yes, but there were other slights, other offenses she had made against his pride and his ego, that made Drakiss seem both petty and small. The marriage proposal she entertained from Malice, he had found that more distressing, for example, but that was an old wound, and he had avenged himself of it long ago. He was a devil, his chosen’s tormentor. He did not abide debts, and he had made her pay for her’s often and frequent enough for her to know by now that he did not hold grudges, once they were discharged.

It seemed the sentiment was not shared, however. Feeling her pulling, Red Death turned his head and laid his flat, angry stare on his shackled Christine, suddenly piqued. No, he did not want distance between them, no matter how frivolous. He didn’t want the abandon the closeness of her, the icy touch of her limbs. She was meant to be by his side, and any contradiction to the otherwise tempted to incite his anger. The hand on her hip grew firm, even possessive, and she was brought closer by force rather than by kindness previously shown. It did not matter there lay a child between them, it did not matter that debts were discharged and slights had been set aside if not forgotten: the need remained, the obsession.

He was kind, Red Death, but that did not make him any less monstrous.

“I remember,” he told her. “You’ve fled from the Black City as many times as I’ve brought you there.” Reaching between them both, he fingered the chain of her shackles, making it rattle. “But your chains are mine, you belong to me.” He paused, and for the first time in a long time, the Outsider designed to smile. Soft, secret, like a private joke shared between he and his chosen, it was nonetheless ghastly on his masked face, Death mocking her from above.

“Careful,” he cautioned his beauty, more conspiratory than accustory, now. “I do not wish to make a scene. Do you see that man over there?” He asked, indicating Tenkai Matsumoto with a tilt of his head, turning her lithe body just so to see him from afar, in conversation. “He has wanted to kill me since Sigil, the City of Doors. He is convinced I was part of the massacres and destruction there.” Another tilt of his head, the guiding of her attention towards a new direction. “That one there, James Eradas. He was at the meeting with Koji, Titus, and the others. He has attempted to kill me many times for what I did to Puerto Diablo.”

Red Death licked his lips briefly, wetting them.

“Do you want to talk to them?”

Ouch.

Kae's exquisite dress proved that she was high maintenance; Zeke should have assumed an attitude was included, dully noted. Kae hadn't gave him an opportunity to be a gentlemen, granted, his approach wasn't necessarily nice to begin with. Treat those how you want to be treated, a valuable lesson. Zeke took a bow to excuse himself from her company, a hand sought the bandana covering his mouth and tugged it down just enough to reveal what was left of his mouth, if it was still considered that. Zeke's upper lip was cleft and a majority of his lower jaw was missing, what had still been intact was held together with metal plates. "We all have our insecurities, ma'am." A gruesome smile unfolded. With that, he slid his bandana back up and took a step back, adjusted his posture accordingly and waited to judge Kae's reaction.

That would likely be the end of their interaction, but Zeke would stick around to amuse her if she willed it. But that was a big if.

Scalar Warfare Wrote:

Fierach Wrote:

Boisterous laughter echoed throughout the hall. If the knight cared to look in the direction, he would see a couple approaching their table. A mask made of pearl sat atop her head, revealing her round face full with a wide grin. Her lustful eyes consumed the male at her side as they continued to laugh. The man wore no shirt, revealing his thin cut frame though unlike her his face was obscured by a mask depicting an owl. The woman on the other hand was athletic, broad, yet short and curvaceous. Both carried the strong aroma of alcohol along with them at they sat down at the table.

James would know who Sapphira was, though they had maybe only spoken a handful of times. This was the table they were directed to sit at and despite being uncouth, the pair at least looked the part. Sapphira was dressed in a somewhat revealing white cocktail dress, that hugged her wide hips. The masked male would pull the seat out for Sapphira to sit down but would remain standing behind her. He knew his place.

"How yall doing today?", Sapphira said to James, though her eyes was on the dress of Rou across the room. She thought her dress was cute and would look good on her.

Narcissa Nahara Wrote:

stillnohero Wrote:

Fierach Wrote:

Orchidextrous Wrote:

Juni Onari Wrote:

The porcelain nymph broke into a rare scowl, as she dragged the Boy in Yellow by the hand. Her other hand scratched at her restrictive obsidian slate over both of her eyes, golden command runes sealing her uncanny gaze, as she scanned the room looking for 'not quite a nymph.'

Was it serendipity that bound Namine to notice the Outsider first? A wave of absolute disdain surged through her thoughts, pulsing out of the darker corners of her mind. She had loved a demon, but both her and her patron could not abide the hypocrisy of devils. But she felt a cold nothing for the imp's consort, the servile dance having marred her beauty. "Isn't fear the same as love?", her other self suddenly broadcast to Baiya, her doe-like ears twitching.

Her eyes drifted towards the bar for a moment, indulging in some of the mortal beauties there, before she caught an extravagant juxtaposition in the periphery. A toothless thug and an imitation.

Her expression stilled, a strange insecurity now looming over her. She closed the distance in little time, striding forward with a elf-like grace, and tossed Baiya forward to shake up that awkward interaction. "Sorry that our grace Fasumbra couldn't make it," her imperial lips smugly ... apologized.

In his place, there was tall, curvaceous silver humanoid barely contained in a skintight side-split black band dress with violet accents, flaring open at the hips. Her platinum hair flowed out wildly across her frame, ending right below the hem of her dress. The hands that had tossed the Boy in Yellow rested in long, black lace gloves that traveled almost all the way up her arm, which matched her full-length stockings. Her highly-arched feet weren't wearing shoes.

With most of her face trapped behind the controlling mask, the full extent of Namine's beauty was hidden safely away from Kae and Zeke, but she still exhibited an uncanny doll-like perfection. She was something carefully crafted, a perversion.

Scalar Warfare Wrote:

Trenchant Cogency Wrote:

Better than Gore Wrote:

“Aw come on, Clucky. Don’t be so uptight.”

If it wasn’t for his mask one would probably see how much he was currently struggling to smile and not wring his hands around Izzy’s neck. He then took a sigh and just sat down at the nearby table. “Fair enough…” It seemed he had simply given up, no fight or no resistance. It was no use getting angry at her anyway, it’s not like he’d have to deal with her for a long while anyway. He even refused to give attention to the challenge of skill that Izzy also laid down to him. Instead of actually relaxing he seemed tenser than ever.

“why de smeg did I evun bother wi' this invitation?”

It was then one would notice a conflicting aura, one that seemed to be heavily conflicted, and trapped. It was clear that something was up other than this ball, and that clearly the environment wasn’t helping with it. As he watched the seemingly friends stare about and have fun, it did nothing but remind him of what he used to have. Silly camaraderie even when he was too focused on actually getting things done. If it wasn’t for his own problem he would actually find this heartwarming instead of anger-inducing and annoying.

, s they tray of meat was laid across however, and seemingly shared with her friends. Leon stomach began to growl. Hunger was something fairly common to him nowadays due to the way his body chose to actually acclimate to the overall warmer climate. Without really thinking on whether it was polite or not, Leon reached out.

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Sins of an Angel Wrote:

> Better than Gore Wrote: > > Better than Gore Wrote: > > > > > Cthulhu Wish Wrote: > > > > > Melech Dawntreader Wrote: > > > > > ”Just a Kroww” Wrote:

Narcissa Nahara Wrote:

> "You cannot champion me from the afterlife, now can you?"

As many words as he had previously thought he had to say to her, and inevitably on her behalf, this one phrase seemed to steal his tongue. His senses were confused between the heat of her warmth and the aroma of cinnamon she perpetuated, and the putrid, sour taste rising in his mouth. Despite the comfort her touch afforded him, he remained shaking. When she brought her forehead against his, he resisted his underlying urge to kiss her. While he missed her and her affections, he wasn't fully convinced that the woman before him was the one he loved.

Part of his mind longed for the reassurance she was currently attempting to deliver. The other part screaming at him not to accept the venomous honey her words carried. Torn betwixt necessity and desire, the young Knight had finally for the first time in his short life found something that he couldn't simply rationalize with knowledge or his own two fists. While Master James had served him well in preparing him for nearly any scenario he might face in life, he had not prepared his apprentice for dealing with himself. Surely, some things in life were meant to be learned on one's own. Jin simply regretted not finding a life experience like this sooner. He wished for someone to tell him what he should do, and yet, he knew deep down inside that his answer could only be his own.

Quote: Wrote:

> "Come with me,"

**"..."

W**as she still trying to make light of the entire situation? Was this some sort of charade? If so, for who? While he was in no mood to dance, he knew it would be an easier means of speaking somewhat privately with the perfect distraction of music and other couples between any prying eyes and ears. He didn't follow with enthuse, yet he didn't easily deny her request for him to follow either. He took her body intimately, in familiar arms, one hand cradling her's as the other settled upon her hip. Pressing their torsos together as Rou made it a point to continue fingering his wounds before they had even had a chance to staunch the bleeding.

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> "I had wanted to tell you myself; please believe me,"

**"Tell me what? That a tyrant smacked you around a bit before forcing you away from my side, away from your life? Or are you referring to your remark about me championing you?"

W**ho did Rou Ji think Jinsoku was, what kind of man did she see when she looked at him? He liked to believe he was not a man of vanity or ego, though when his hubris was placed on the line, it seemed that even he was indeed a man of ego. To a certain degree anyway. Yes, he wanted Rou, more than anything he had ever wanted, save for his priceless training afforded to him by Master James and the Order of Force Majeure. Whether it came later or not at all, her answer would not be afforded at this time. Instead she sighed into his chest, shifting the topic of conversation with displeasing ease, and even wearing a grin reminiscent of the woman he met long ago. Before he had even had the pleasure of meeting James, or even stepping foot into the famed City of Doors for that matter.

Quote: Wrote:

> "So Jin..." she said with a fiery grin, "are you going to pull your head out of your a and win this thing with me, or aren't you?"**

"Are you going to pull your head out of your a and return to living for yourself?"

H**e had far from forgotten the conversation had at the bar. Her motives for being here, for competing, it was all full of political motivation, and for the sake of her tyrant and his nation no less. The man that beat her into obedience was important enough to her to give her life to. But to the man that would give his life for her, this all seemed to be nothing more than a game to her. He was nothing more than a game to her. That, or she was lying about not being driven by fear.