FLICK
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Post by FLICK on Dec 1, 2009 3:01:14 GMT -5
Walls of rock rose from the ground as the lightning bolts screamed through the air, shielding the High Demon from Altair's attack. When they crumbled to the ground, Altair was disappointed although not entirely surprised to see his rival unharmed: he had not expected it to be that easy. Altair noticed the triumphant smirk with scorn - did Vyncent really think he had achieved a victory with that shield? - before he spotted the cause for the all-too-worn expression to cross Vyncent's face again.
As the line of brilliant red fire shot between them, Altair felt a mixture of elation and rage. Elation, that this meant she was here... Rage, that this meant she was here with him, and that he had taught her. It grew uncontrollably in his chest until it threatened to obliterate all conscious thought.
I am Etoile De Vaux, who the hell are you? Perhaps too strong-handed a request for her father, but spoken with the perfect degree of aristocratic arrogance and authority, despite the quiet tone. Etoile De Vaux - the name rang with power and dominance, courtly grace and subtlety. Here was somebody destined to be his heir... and yet she didn't know him. Her words, more than Vyncent's, wounded Altair, as softly as they were spoken: not knives but blows carrying the weight of seventeen years' guilt.
"Just like you, Vyncent," he growled raggedly, "always having to get the first word in."
Altair's enigmatic golden gaze turned to Etoile, unblinking and transfixed by her gaze. Her eyes, her hair - they were the same as his... and she had his power. Surely that, above all else, would answer her question... if Vyncent hadn't answered it for him.
"I am Altair De Vaux," he said, his voice softening, "Little Star." He had called her that as a child... it had been so long. "You are my daughter."
Altair shot a glance at Vyncent as if his hatred alone could murder the other demon. He had wasted no time poisoning Altair's daughter's mind against him, that was clear, and he wouldn't give up this final opportunity. No matter that Vyncent didn't know any of Altair's motives, or actions, but those fabrications he had pieced together from hearsay and Etoile's story - his silver tongue had always been able to spin lies with ease.
The glance also served another purpose - as a reminder that, despite his preoccupation, there was a corner of his mind fixed as unblinkingly on Vyncent as his face was on Etoile. Vyncent could draw his sword all he liked, but it would take more than a thrust to strike down Altair De Vaux. He could be fast too - not faster than Vyncent Schwarz, but fast enough to evade the blow, and to cast magical barriers between them once again.
"I came for you, Etoile," he murmured, still unblinking, his wide eagle's eyes locked on her face. "I looked for you - I came to Avoir, to your mother's cousin; to L'Academie, to Le Couvert, but always I was too late. But I am here now, and I am, without a doubt, your father."
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Post by Angel ♥ on Dec 1, 2009 16:45:15 GMT -5
Subtlety? Etoile was many things, but she was never subtle, she had been around Vyncent for too long for that. If she wanted something, it was obvious, and if she disliked something, it wasn't going to exist for much longer. This was the girl that enjoyed nothing better than a captive audience for one of her bloody shows. Altair, however, couldn't be blamed for not knowing her, for not knowing the first thing about her. All he had was a name, and her name was wonderfully deceptive. It carried the right balance of authority and power in relation to how delicate and pretty it sounded. She was rather fond of it really, especially when it was on the lips of a deadman.
"Thank you, Vyncent, but I am quite aware of my own history, I didn't need the summary." Her gaze flashed to her mentor for a moment, the icy undertone to her voice apparent. This was not Vyncent's place to speak, his opinion didn't matter here. Etoile had plenty of opinions of her own. Such as, for instance, that he would probably smite her for taking that tone with him. Even she didn't get away with snapping at Vyncent, but, under the circumstances, she had decided that it was justified. She didn't want to hear what Vyncent had to say, she wanted to hear whatever excuses Altair was about to come up with.
She was almost held in place as her father's gaze turned to her, the pair of golden eyes looking right back at her, so similar to her own that it was almost frightening. How long had she waited for this? How many times sat by the window, or gritting her teeth as she was whipped? Hundreds, thousands, it could even be close to millions. He looked just as she expected he would. Her memories of him had been fragmented, bits and pieces left over from from her childhood, from the time when he had been there. His voice, however, she remembered perfectly. As he spoke her name, she felt like she was a child again. Oh, that wasn't a good feeling, not at all.
"By my reckoning you have had..." She trailed off for a moment to make a point of counting to herself. "...Eleven years. Yes, if I am not mistaken, it had taken you eleven years, so it isn't much of a surprise that I wasn't where you left me. It is rather a long time." Her hands were resting on her hips now, the girl seeming torn between a million different feelings. She didn't know whether she was glad to see him, or whether she wanted to rip his head off, whether she wanted to speak to him, ignore him, or merely scream until she lost her voice. This was all very confusing, and this indecision was out of character. Etoile usualy knew exactly what she wanted, but right now, she didn't have a clue.
"Why now? Can you not see that I am a little busy..." She glanced over her shoulder at the wreckage of a town, before looking back to Altair. "Or is that why you came? Almost convenient that you remember me now." She tilted her head at him, as though she were unable to work him out. It was clear that she was not going to make this easy for him. Why should she? He was the one that had abandoned her, he was going to have to earn her forgiveness, if he stuck around for long enough, of course.
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Post by Vyncent Schwarz on Dec 2, 2009 9:44:40 GMT -5
Vyncent was growing bored with this little exchange. He had been enjoying himself, pushing Altair's buttons, calling out the all too willing demon in him, even though he so desperately tried to suppress that part of himself, even if he despised it and was disgusted with it. That Etoile had arrived right in the nick of time was the cherry on the top, but now this was becoming all too... sentimental. They were demons, things could never be truly sentimental, but he thought that Etoile and Altair were about to get as close to that sickly and feeble excuse for a feeling as they could get. Or, on the flip side of the coin, his little protege could lose her temper and spit in her father's face. But Vyncent wasn't willing to place his bets on a fifty-fifty chance today.
Besides which, his old acquaintance may have paused in their confrontation, but he certainly hadn't. He knew that some part of Altair was still concentrating on him; it always would be, Vyncent had to admit that the demon was a number of things, but he wasn't stupid. They'd been around each other for long enough to realise not to take their attention away from one another for more than a few seconds at a time. And even then that might be time enough to get a good attack in. So when Vyncent began to whisper the old, hated incantation under his breath he was well aware that Altair would know what he was doing. But he didn't mind. This would be worth it.
He didn't get along with ice. Anyone could look at him and know that instantly. But, as reluctant as he was to use it, the pros outweighed the cons this time around. His breath became visible in the air as the incantation continued, and the ground around him grew cold and icy. Vyncent looked repulsed, but as he hissed the last syllable he didn't seem to mind about the chill anymore. Ice had erupted, too quickly to follow with your eyes, clear and solid like a arctic flower around Altair, beginning to close him in, to suffocate him in the cold. Vyncent's fingertips were tinged with blue, and the black fire embraced him soon after he had finished performing the magics, and he glanced across to Etoile.
"We'll talk later." he told her in a quiet voice, his tone making it clear about what he thought of her snapping at him. He was well aware that, on both sides, he would be an unwelcome distraction for this little reunion. But Vyncent wasn't the type to meet with an old enemy and NOT rip his face off. He was spectacular at being the unwelcome distraction. "Your father or not, I have a fight to finish." he muttered.
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FLICK
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Post by FLICK on Dec 4, 2009 18:07:45 GMT -5
Altair's eyes bored into Etoile - they held everything she needed to know. Words had never been his province, they were Vyncent's power. There was little he could do to persuade her, verbally, that he was the father that she had been looking for. It was all in his eyes, his hair - they screamed her heritage, and that, not Vyncent's tutelage, was what gave her her power. That defined her.
"I came," he growled, "because you are my daughter. You cannot deny that you feel the pull of blood."
But Vyncent was acting, and it was more dangerously than he had imagined. Surely he wouldn't... but he had. Altair's patrician face contorted in a mixture of fury and horror as the ice cracked and twisted around him. He could feel the cold already, clinging and dry and icy, like the touch of death... The gold chain around his neck burst into sparkling fire as plumes of golden flame ran from his fingertips, bursting outwards in an inferno as hot and violent as any he had ever conjured. The flames flickered as he struggled with the last vestiges of his self-control, and in a vague, distant corner of his mind he wondered if Etoile would mind if he was killed.
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Post by Angel ♥ on Dec 5, 2009 9:40:03 GMT -5
Blood. It was simple. He had come because she was his daughter, the exact reason she had been expecting him to come and save her for. He was a little late, but that could not be changed. Blood was thicker than water, and it was undeniable that she fell that pull of blood, a spark of family loyalty. Even if she didn't know anything about the man, even though he was a stranger, he was her father, and that was enough. Afterall, she owed her life to him, and her power. Vyncent had simply shown her what she was, shown her how to manipulate it to her will, but it was Altair who had given it to her in the first place. Oh, she was confused. It was an impossible choice. Vyncent or Altair? Her father or her mentor? In truth, she couldn't pick between them.
Her eyes narrowed as her breath began to come out in curls of steam, wrapping her coat close around herself as she shivered. If there was one thing that she hated more than water, it was the cold. She could already feel her energy starting to drain away. Vyncent was playing a dangerous game. Her flames roared up around her violently, condensing around her in an attempt to ward off the cold, licking over her flesh to warm it up.
Then came the ice, the half demon actually seeming shocked by this, appalled as the ice encased her father. She may not be able to chose between them, but she could not allow them to destroy each other. "Then you will have to forgive me for interupting, Vyncent." She scowled, her fists clenching and her flames flickering around her violently. "But I don't think I'm in the mood for playing fair."
Without a move from the girl cherry red flames sprang into life around Altair, twisting with his own to help him melt the ice, a look of determination in her eyes. Etoile may never be as strong as Vyncent was, but she was as stubborn as him, and it seemed that the combination of fire was working, ice melting quickly, water pooling around Altair's feet, large chuncks of ice cracking and falling away as the demon struggled.
She had only just found her father again, she couldn't allow him to be taken away so soon. There was too much left unsaid, too many questions left unanswered. Etoile needed to know, she needed to understand, and, to do that, she needed Altair alive.
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Post by Vyncent Schwarz on Dec 5, 2009 18:27:05 GMT -5
The icy magics bled out of his fingertips as Etoile's flames joined the swirling inferno which threatened to melt his frosty prison, Vyncent having no choice to surrender and let Altair out once more. However, his bloody gaze had moved to fix on Etoile now, and he wasn't smiling. "It seems like I haven't finished teaching you lessons yet." he commented in a low, dangerous voice. His pale, angular features remained perfectly calm while he spoke, his attention divided between the recovering Altair and the audacious Etoile. There was tension in the air, though. He was beginning to lose his temper.
He didn't move towards the half demon, however, he could wait for that at some point in the future. He would just be keeping a close eye on her. If she persisted with her interference, well, then he might have to do something about it. Instead, he waited until the cold azure faded from his fingertips, before he moved to draw his sword. Amor still dripped with blood, singing her mournful song tempestuously as she was exposed to the light. Her black blade gleamed, yawning and empty like the pits of hell, and the sharp edge was pointed directly at Altair. He was fast, but Vyncent was faster. And he was angry.
Unlike Altair, he didn't have any self-control to let go. While that might make him vulgar and 'weak' for submitting to his urges, as his former companion believed, in his eyes they just made him that little bit quicker on the uptake. He had flitted forward as a blur of fire and chaos, the sword aimed to make a perfect thrust into Altair's abdomen. He was done playing. He wanted his soul, and he wanted it now.
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FLICK
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Post by FLICK on Dec 17, 2009 21:27:33 GMT -5
Golden flames radiated outward like a shimmering mandala as the icy shell around Altair shattered away into nothingness. It took Altair a few seconds to recover from the exertion, but thankfully Vyncent had occupied himself with Etoile. He felt a sudden rush of warmth towards her, but it only exaggerated the tide of rage that threatened to swamp him as Vyncent muttered his veiled threat. If Altair had his way, Vyncent wouldn't be teaching her anything.
He flicked his attention back to Vyncent. Amor soared out of her scabbard, glittering, keening in the smoky air, and Vyncent rushed towards him. This was the difference in them; Altair considered, calculated, planned, evaluated and Vyncent did. Here, though, that was to Altair's advantage. Vyncent's anger had made him hasty, and haste had made him careless. This direct lunge was a foolish attack.
Seconds before impact, a flash of light burst from Altair's fingers, and in Vyncent's momentary distraction Altair sidestepped the balestra. His hand caught Amor's pommel and his elbow struck Vyncent violently in the face as he twisted the High Demon's arm. The protesting limb released the sword and in the next moment it was in Altair's heart, the next moment through Vyncent's stomach.
Altair was almost shellshocked. He had not expected this, not truly - not to win in direct combat. But there was no time to contemplate his success. As Vyncent sank to his knees, Altair tore the fabled sword clean and turned to his daughter. In just two bounds he was at her side, with barely a glance back to make sure Vyncent was properly incapacitated.
"Now, Little Star, it is time for you to decide where your loyalty lies," he murmured, eyes locked on her face.
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Post by Angel ♥ on Dec 17, 2009 22:08:37 GMT -5
Perhaps that hadn't been the best of moves, it was becoming more and more obvious that Etoile couldn't sit on the fence in the battle; she was going to have to chose a side. The choice was impossible! Yet, she couldn't just walk away and leave them to it, couldn't just leave the fight up to them and let her loyalties lay with the winner. Vyncent or Altair, Altair or Vyncent? No, it was deeper than that, father or tutor? The man that had abandoned her, left her to rot at Le Couvert and come looking for her when it suited him, the man that was a stranger to her, or the demon that she had been travelling with, the one that her told her who she was, that had taught her how to be everything she could be, who had saved her from le Couvert?
It seemed that the decision was made for her. Her eyes widened as she watched the confrontation between them, watched helplessly as Amor changed hands. She saw the next step a second before it had happened, "Vyncent!" She had yelled his name in warning, but it was too late, too late for him to avoid it. That attack showed her exactly where her loyalties lay.
Altair would probably be able to hear her growl as he walked towards her, anger bubbling up within her, threatening to spill over if she wasn't careful. Rage flashed in her eyes as she looked to Altair, her own sword in her hand in seconds, held steady, tip pointed to her throat. Altair was a stranger, she owed him nothing, nor was she about to be claimed like some sort of lost propety. He thought that he could turn up here and demand that she were his? Ha, he truely knew nothing about her, did he? It was going to stay that way.
"It isn't a difficult decision." Her voice was controlled, but the undertone of anger was clear. "I owe you nothing. Give me that sword, or run. Blood claim or not, I will rip you apart." Vyncent would kill her if she didn't at least try to get Amor get, but she couldn't spend too long on this fight, she needed to see to Vyncent, to stop the bleeding before he lost too much blood.
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Post by Vyncent Schwarz on Dec 17, 2009 22:25:51 GMT -5
In all honesty, Vyncent had expected the ice to have taken more out of Altair. He had been in that position before, and it had almost killed him. Turns out, he had under-estimated the other demon. And it was going to cost him dearly. He swore loudly as the light blinded him, and his sword struck nothing. Altair's next move surprised him. Cunning bastard. He didn't say anything as he got elbowed, spitting blood to the floor from his split open lip and preparing to unleash an entire world of hurt on Altair, still blinking dazedly from being blinded.
His next mistake was mis-judging just how quick the other demon could be. There was a sharp crack as his arm was twisted, and Amor slipped right out of his hand. It felt odd, trying to grasp the sword and finding nothing but air. Like it wasn't right. The rapier was still howling her loud, miserable song when Altair struck.
He inhaled sharply - coughed (blood speckled the floor) - and looked down. In that split second, for it could only be a split second that he was impaled or else he would be dead, or worse, he gazed down at the cold blade of his own rapier, spearing him through the gut.
It was a most peculiar feeling, especially when he became aware of the fleeting, screaming pull from something deep inside him, too deep for him to be able to even contemplate it, as it moved towards the blade. Vyncent gritted his teeth, his fists clenching as Altair tore the sword out, and ended the torture. He refused to scream. He wouldn't say a word.
The all-too-crimson blood was gushing everywhere from the puncture in his stomach as he collapsed to his knees, black fire roaring up around him for a second or two before flickering to nothing. That was quick. He felt cold.
Vaguely, there were voices behind him. He heard the words 'star' and 'sword' and 'loyalty' but that was it. Did it matter? Fuck that.
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FLICK
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Post by FLICK on Dec 17, 2009 22:39:58 GMT -5
Etoile's rage was unmistakable, but Altair felt only a kind of cold detachment. She had made the choice now, like he had asked her to. It was not up to him to tell her she had made the wrong one, as much as he wanted to seize her and flee with her now, to take her away from here to somewhere better, somewhere she deserved. But he couldn't do that. He was not going to kidnap her. It had been her decision. But he was not going to fight her either. His fingers traced odd patterns in the air.
"It looks like you have another decision to make, little one," he murmured, almost sadly. His hand moved to Vyncent, still lying there, in the growing pool of his own blood, and his fingers traced the last lines of the spell-pattern. He murmured a word, and the ground around the High Demon shifted and cracked, destabilising from beneath, as though ready to collapse. There was Etoile's choice - to stay and fight her father for the sword and for revenge, or to save the being she had chosen over him. Altair had little doubt what she would choose, and with another word erecting a flimsy barrier between them in case he had been wrong, he turned to stride from the village.
He should have felt satisfaction, power, the warmth of success as it suffused his fiery veins, but it was separated him by a cold veil of loss. He had defeated Vyncent - he even had her, the sword, Amor - but he had not succeeded in what he had come to do. Etoile had gone with Vyncent. With the detachment of a surgeon, he traced a line around her place in her heart, positioned a mental scalpel, and tore her out. She had no place with him any more.
But Amor sung by his side now, and his greatest enemy lay behind him. Despite it all, all her betrayal, he couldn't help but feel a faint glow of pride. His lips curled in a smile, fangs sliding from beneath his teeth. Aside from his fight with Vyncent, he really hadn't indulged in a while, and he knew precisely what would cheer him up. What he needed now was a good, fresh kill.
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Post by Angel ♥ on Dec 17, 2009 23:07:01 GMT -5
Her gaze flashed to Vyncent as he finished the spell, scowling as the ground began to shift and crack. "Fucking coward." She cursed, angry that he was forcing her to chose, yet again. He had too much pride to just run, but didn't have the balls to fight her? He would pay for this, their next meeting was not going to be pleasant, not in the slightest. He would see exactly what Vyncent had taught her, and he would feel every type of pain she knew how to inflict. "Mark my words, you'll pay for this." She hissed, lingering where she was for a moment before sheathing her sword and turning her back to him. She doubted that he would stab her in the back, and if he did, well, if he did then saving Vyncent wouldn't hold her back.
She needed to get him away from that unstable ground. She was speaking a levitating spell before she even realised, holding a hand out towards him to guide the spell. The demon was lifted from the ground, swiftly floated out of danger, placed down again at her feet, where Etoile crouched down to examin him. He was bleeding heavily. "Vyncent, Vyncent, can you hear me? You awake." She questioned, moving his shirt away from his wound before holding her hand over it. Healing magic, she wasn't good at healing magic, but she had picked up a thing or two in her travels. She could stop his bleeding, but it was draining on her energy, and she couldn't do any more.
"Hang in there." She murmured, holding her hands over his wound as she began to speak the spell to stop the bleeding, her hands glowing white with healing magic, energy flowing out of her to join the spell, leaving her feeling rather cold. Bah, white magic, she hated the stuff.
"I didn't set fire to the stables yet, I'm going to go and check if there are any horses left in there. I won't be long. Don't die." The last part was an order, Etoile straightening up, using what was left of her strength to cast a shield around him before running off through the village to the stables. She returned around five minutes later, leading a huge black horse. She dispelled the shield as she got back to Vyncent, hauling him up onto the back of the horse with some difficulty, before clambering into the saddle herself.
With a flick of the reigns the horse set off at a gallop, Etoile steering the creature in the direction of the last, decent sized town that she had seen, one hand on Vyncent to make sure that he didn't fall.
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Post by Vyncent Schwarz on Dec 17, 2009 23:33:44 GMT -5
The demon's sight was failing him by the time the floor started to crack under him, trembling dangerously and threatening to give way at any second. His gaze flashed to the departing figure of Altair and he bared his fangs, teeth clenched as he breathed heavily. Oh. That... he was going to pay for that. Just as soon as he got his second wind, and he'd be a fucking dead-man. One arm was wrapped firmly around his stomach to try and stem the bleeding, but it really wasn't working at all, the blood soaking through the sleeve of his coat and splashing to the floor all over again. It was everywhere, everything was just red. He shivered to himself. Cold. It was too cold.
When she moved him away from the uneven ground, he fucking knew it, a cry of pain ripping from his throat before he could stifle it. Ugh. Was that him? That pathetic sounding... oh, he was dizzy.
A second after she had put him down and he was coughing again, vomiting a copious amount of blood onto the stone and fighting to breathe. There was a faint sound somewhere above him. Then she was in front of him, his arm slipping to his side again as she pressed her hand to the wound. Etoile. Etoile was there? He lifted his sightless eyes to her face. He didn't know.
Hang in there...
Ha. That was funny. She thought he was dying? Stupid half-breed. He didn't die. He didn't... why was everything so dark, and cold?
His head flopped to rest on her shoulder as she performed the healing magics, the demon lifting his hand to feebly wipe at the blood on his mouth. A flash of pain informed him that he was still alive.
That felt wrong. Oh, that felt so, so wrong. He wasn't healed. What was he? He couldn't... couldn't bleed. He didn't know what was worse, this sensation or bleeding out all over the ground.
"...Hurts." he coughed as she got up again, his arm moving around the half healed wound once more as she left. He sat there in a daze, blinking as blurred, strange shapes started to appear through the darkness. As well as a lot of red. Looked like his blood. Ha ha! This was all so funny.
He groaned as she helped him onto the horse, pretty useless currently. His other hand automatically moved to the scabbard to grasp the hilt of Amor, and he looked pleasantly amused when his fingers curled around nothing but air.
Unsurprisingly, he was silent as they started to travel towards the city, the demon hunched over in the saddle, needing her support to stop him from toppling off, and his white face was a mask of pain. He didn't know where they were going. He couldn't hear well.
...What if he really was dying?
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Post by Angel ♥ on Dec 17, 2009 23:56:00 GMT -5
Etoile was painfully aware of every second that past as they thundered through the countryside. Everything seemed to take so long, they didn't seem to be getting anywhere. It was half an hour before the lights of the town even appeared in the distance, twinkling in the night, the town slumbering, unaware of the evil which was coming it's way, unaware of the slaughter of the tiny, neighbouring village. At one point, she even started to think that they weren't moving, that the town just moved further into the distance with every stride that the horse took. She did not have time for this! Vyncent needed a healer, and he needed one now.
An hour had passed by the time they reached the town, this giving her a little time to regain some strength and compose a plan that made at least a little logical sense. Etoile pulled on the horses reigns to slow it, golden gaze flickering around urgently, halting when she found what she was looking for. She dismounted swiftly outside the healers shop, having recognised the sign, helping Vyncent down from the horse. She didn't care that it was the middle of the night, the healer was going to fix Vyncent, and he was going to do it now.
She broke the door to the shop down with a word, supporting Vyncent as she moved inside, red flames flaring up around him, condensing to keep him warm. "I am going to bring the healer." She told him as she helped him up onto the examination table, laying him down. He looked shocking, any hint of colour had faded from his face and was instead staining his clothes, he looked weak and in pain. No, he couldn't die. It was impossible, not from a little stab wound like that. "I won't be long." She assured him before sweeping off.
Etoile was true to her word. The healer lived in the flat above the shop, which the half demon broke into without a problem, moving into his bed chamber to grab him by the scruff of the neck and haul him out of bed, literally dragging him behind her. The wife was incinerated before she could even scream, the man sobbing in shock, confusion and fear as she pushed him towards Vyncent, flames dying down around the demon as she rested her hands on her hips. "Heal him, now." She demanded, her tone leaving no room for negociation or hesitation. "He was stabbed, I stopped the bleeding, heal him."
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Post by Vyncent Schwarz on Dec 18, 2009 0:29:48 GMT -5
If the hour had been slow for Etoile, then it had been an eternity for Vyncent. An hour, that was all... just an hour, and he had slipped into a coma like state, every breath seeming like torture. He had only expressed it once or twice, his pride refused any more than that; once when the horse had leapt over something and had jarred him, and again when finally, and long last, they arrived at the healers.
The lights twinkled around him absently, but his blank eyes couldn't see any of it. Were it not for the ragged breath every now and then he could be officially seen as dead; he had lost his sight again some time on the journey to the town, but at least he could still hear. Somewhere inside him, a protesting little spark of life was holding out. This was pathetic, he was pathetic, he had to pull himself together and fucking deal with it. He'd been stabbed. So what? Wasn't the first time it had happened, wouldn't be the last. Okay, it was the first time that it had been with a demonic weapon, with his own sword to add insult to injury, but surely it couldn't be that bad?
It was this deceiving little stream of thought which led to his umpteenth mistake that day, and he dragged some flimsy shreds of energy together and dismounted the horse, straightening up. Bad idea.
"AGH!"
He was gritting his teeth again as she led him inside, one of his arms flung around her shoulders. He was almost bent double, swearing softly to himself and closing his eyes again. He barely felt like himself. Someone else, some strange, panicking, feeble, hurting thing was possessing him. That had to be it. No fucking way was this him. He vaguely felt the flames that flickered around him as he ended up sprawled on his back on the crude examination table, his chest rising and falling rapidly again, the puncture in his stomach gaping with every breath. But there was still no blood. Oh, Christ, he wished there was blood. Then there would be pain, and no ache.
The healer was still trembling, in shock and clearly frightened out of his wits by the time she shoved him towards the High Demon, Vyncent staring, glassy eyed at the ceiling by this point.
It seemed like the healer was in between a rock and a hard place. On the one hand, this... monster, whatever she was, had just incinerated his wife, and torn him from his bed, presenting him with a creature that could be none other than the man he'd seen in the wanted posters. Though he'd never dreamed he would see him in this sort of state. So, on this side of the coin, he had nothing to live for. Nothing to lose. But on the other... he really didn't want to die.
He blinked, and his gaze cleared. "Right." he nodded, sweeping forward to the examination table. "Fire demon." he observed, touching a hand to Vyncent's forehead. It was as cold as marble. Clearly, that wasn't going to count as good. But he wasn't here to play with species and supernatural means of healing. He was here to heal a wound.
Without a word, he removed Vyncent's coat and cut through his shirt to reveal the wound, still bloodless and gruesome in the pale light of the lamp. The healer took a deep breath, and began to draw symbols in the air, his hands and his eyes glowing a faint white by the time the spell was finished. He was nowhere near qualified enough for this. A demon? That was impossible to save. But at least when he failed, she could kill him and that would be over with, he had tried his hardest.
He pressed his hands over the wound, Vyncent flinching and gripping the sides of the table, fangs biting into his bottom lip and drawing blood as the healer attempted to work his magics.
It was a good job, really, by the time he got around to stepping back. The healer was drained, exhausted both mentally and physically and surprised as hell to have done it, but the majority of the wound had been healed. The demon on his table was still missing a lot of blood, but nolonger was it a dangerous amount, and the wound was a faint bloody cut by now, just above his navel. Vyncent's breathing was a lot more comfortable at least, and there were the faintest hints of life in his eyes, which were still as dazed as ever.
"I need you to help sit him up." the healer mumbled, struggling to his feet and flitting to a cupboard to draw out strips of clean material for the bandage. It had been a near-fatal wound, it would be sore for a long while, but for the first couple of days, at least, the bandages should keep his posture, and stop it aching as much. Vyncent was trembling from a cold that the healer couldn't feel, but he didn't question it.
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Post by Angel ♥ on Dec 18, 2009 14:54:53 GMT -5
Etoile's panic was hidden behind the anger in her eyes, the girl stood growling faintly even as the healer worked his magic. She couldn't make it stop, the sound rumbling up from her chest of it's own accord. It was rage and panic all mixed into one, the two emotions battling for dominance. For now, the panic was winning, it had dragged her away from the fight with Altair, pushed her to where she was now, but it wasn't enough to smother the anger that boiled inside her completly. She was saving it, nurturing it and putting it to one side for her next confrontation with her father. If he would not fight her by choice then she would just have to make it so that he had no choice. He would not escape so easily the next time they met.
She was stood glaring at the healer the whole time, watching the wound carefully as it began to shrink, not seeming to notice that the 'I'm going to rip you apart' vibe that she was giving off would make it difficult for the healer to concentrate. It was his job to heal people, he would be able to do it, distractions or not. If not, she would just have to give him an insentive to try harder. Etoile was not going to let Vyncent die, it was as simple as that. If she had to fight off Death itself then she would. She had chosen Vyncent, she wasn't just about to sit back and let him die. He had saved her life enough times, now it was her turn, whether he wanted saving or not.
Etoile let fire dance around her hands She moved to help Vyncent sit up, holding him up so that he didn't slump back down again while the healer was bandaging him up. "How long will it take for him to heal?" She questioned, the sharpness in her voice demanding a definate answer. No if's, not maybies, she wanted to know. There was a hint of worry mixed in with the anger in her eyes, the half demon studying Vyncent carefully. He looked terrible, as though he were on death's doorstep. The wound may have been partially healed, but he wasn't out of the woods yet. She would have to keep a close eye on him until he started to show an imporvement.
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