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Post by Vyncent Schwarz on Jan 29, 2010 18:06:32 GMT -5
"You know that I'm always up for a challenge, friend. I'm just not sure that you can give me one." Altair couldn't see Vyncent's cat-like smirk, but he could bet everything that he had that the other demon would know it was there. You could hear it in his voice. It was ironic, that he was making these claims, when the last time they had fought Vyncent had admittedly come out in the worst of it. And that was putting it mildly. Now he was on Altair's turf, where the other demon had an advantage. He also had Amor. The High Demon's blood boiled as he remembered this all too important fact, and the fog cleared a little with Altair's sketched spell, revealing the demons to each other.
Vyncent couldn't help but take a step back as the pentacle was revealed, his teeth gritted, ivory fangs bared in distaste. It was only a small step back, but vague confusion was written across his face, before he hastily hid it away. Then a merry laugh escaped his lips, ringing around the room, and he shook his head.
"Betraying your nature even more, old friend? I can't say I'm surprised. Perhaps you should visit the temples and the priestesses, I'm sure they can make a pair of angel wings for you." he grinned, straightening up, his eyes flitting to the ring on Altair's finger. The demon had known him long enough to recognise the expression on his face as being utter concentration, his cunning mind working overtime to figure out, first of all, where Altair was going with this, and also how he could break through his surprising defence so he could execute his violent and bloody revenge.
"Clever, I'll give you that." he muttered, although everything seemed to go quite suddenly black when the other demon plunged his sword into the barrier. She screamed. Oh, did she scream.
A snarl ripped from Vyncent's throat without warning, the High Demon advancing forward a few steps without thinking, before he caught up with himself. He took a few breaths, utter loathing in his gaze as he glared across at Altair. Then he smirked.
The incantation he spoke was almost gravelly, his voice low and the runes he drew in the air glowing faintly. Then, without warning he dropped to one knee and slammed his palm into the marble floor, sealing the spell. There was a creak of stone, a rush of power that surged through the air and towards Altair, and then the cool marble under his hand splintered, a deep fissure prising the ground apart on either side. The crack grew, slithering across the floor like a serpent to the hateful thing that was Altair. It split straight through the barrier of chalk that the pentacle was made of, before continuing right across the room. There was a groan from deep within the earth, and Vyncent stepped aside as the ground parted around them.
The astuteness of his incantation was lost on him; he hadn't realised that this was a similar spell to the kind that had almost sent him plummeting to his doom. Why should he? Everything had gone black again, and Altair was going to pay.
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Post by FLICK on Jan 29, 2010 18:56:14 GMT -5
Altair faced Vyncent across the room. He could see that raging, endless hate that roiled beneath his cocky exterior and it pleased him. Altair had the advantage here and knew it - this was his house, Vyncent had lost to him in their last struggle, and he had Amor. The black sword still screamed into the air around him, a deafening screech that seemed to be trapped inside his head. But rather than irritating the demon, he relished in it. This was a victory indeed. No number of smirks from Vyncent Schwarz could change that, not when concentration twisted his features ever-so-subtly as he considered Altair's defence.
But then he lost all pretense of civilisation. Altair withstood the shuddering snarl that tore through the room, even though it would have made many lesser beings quake with terror. Loathing had soaked into Vyncent's features. There was no slick cockiness there, no, nothing but the rage and hatred that seemed poised on devouring the room, the world and everything in it. None of this bothered Altair. No, it was the incantation that came next that was troubling. The rough runes that came tumbling out of his mouth... but that was-
Sudden silence filled the room like a thunderclap as the milky shield of the pentacle was broken and Amor, silent, clattered to the floor. Altair hadn't foreseen that. Vyncent had been clever indeed: rather than throwing pointless magic at the barrier, he had let the crack break the defensive perimeter established by the chalked lines... and left the divine magic without anything to operate through in on the material plane. It fled into the air. Altair snatched Amor from the ground as he sprung back from the spreading crevasse, his expression rippling with frustrated anger.
He wanted to scream, but he would not give Vyncent the satisfaction. Metallic syllables flew from his lips like arrows, and the tapestries detached themselves from the walls, glittering with Altair's signature gold, to fly for Vyncent like giant bats as Altair burst into glittering fire.
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Post by Vyncent Schwarz on Jan 29, 2010 19:33:37 GMT -5
Vyncent wished that he could have been in any state of mind to really enjoy the frustration and the annoyance in Altair's demeanour. Scorn seeped from his every pore, and the irritation in his eyes would, on any other occasion, have had the High Demon in fits of laughter at his expression. To say that he relished any negativity that Altair felt, particularly negativity that he had caused himself, would be an understatement of the highest proportion. As it was, however, everything had slid away from him. With Amor's scream, his mask of civility hadn't just slipped, it had fallen away entirely. It was actually a miracle that he had managed to recite the spell, let alone have it do anything.
He was standing to one side of the fissure in the ground when Altair began another incantation, the words and the runes lost on Vyncent. He wouldn't be using any magic today. Oh, no. The tapestries flew towards him just as he threw himself forward, towards the other demon. They enfolded around him for one second, two... and then he shredded them with his bare hands. "Magic and sorcery won't save you now, old friend." he growled, that chaotic double to his voice that seemed to accompany his every loss of temper, the monster underneath speaking in tune with his usual oh-so-velvety tone.
"Come on. Fight me with everything you've got. With your real self. With her." he eyed Amor, the sword that Altair had very nearly destroyed, after humiliating him and beating him into the ground. He was filled with fresh rage. A low growl rumbled up in his chest and throat, and then he was gone again, moving with a speed no mortal could manage, but one that Altair could undoubtedly keep up with. They were going to dance. But only one of them would be left standing at the end.
Vyncent had gone straight for Altair's throat, at first, not even seeming to care about his lack of weapon or his inability to concentrate enough to work any form of magic. He didn't need magic. He didn't need blades. He was going to do this on his own. The black fire that quivered and crackled around him was evidence of this.
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Post by FLICK on Jan 29, 2010 19:58:03 GMT -5
Altair was ready for Vyncent by the time the tapestries burst open, or so he had thought, but what he was faced with now was not the Vyncent he had fought before. Back then there had been something... some vestige of surface, of his facade. This was the blackest depth of Vyncent's soul, and it was rushing towards him at breakneck speed, a whirlwind of fury and claws. This was Vyncent when there was nothing left of his mask, brought to the surface by Altair's attack on Amor. The black-haired demon felt fear claw at the stomach and fought it back.
No. He still had the edge. Vyncent was beyond magic now, beyond tactics, beyond anything other than this senseless assault, and that was an advantage. Vyncent was wrong - magic and sorcery were precisely what would save him. He could endure this battle as long as he maintained his control.
As Vyncent rushed towards him, Altair summoned from the air a glittering golden shield that hung in the air before him. That deflected Vyncent's first attack, but the ferocity of it was undeniable - the force that smashed against his protective barrier forced Altair back across the marble floor, skidding to a halt several metres back. Spells crackling at his fingertips, he braced himself for Vyncent's next rush.
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Post by Vyncent Schwarz on Jan 31, 2010 18:45:01 GMT -5
It was hard to describe the mocking laugh that rang around the room as belonging to anything human, but then it was quite easy to credit a chilling sound like that to Vyncent. He hadn't seen the shield, he only knew, in his fury, that his attempt to rip Altair's throat out had failed, though it did knock him away. He'd have returned to his rampage had it not been for the fear that momentarily spiked through the air, making him giddy. He reined in some of the chaos for a moment or two, barely able to stop it from spilling over and consuming him again as he considered his opponent. Regally dressed, eloquent, elegant and powerful, with Amor securely in his grasp (the sight still made his stomach turn) and magic threatening to burst from his fingertips, Altair would strike an intimidating figure to anyone who looked at him.
Well. Almost anyone. Vyncent just saw a dead man.
"How does it feel, old friend?" his voice was a velvet purr against the crackle of magical energy in the air. He was eyeing his ebon rapier. "It's a good feeling, isn't it? The power, the murder in her song." he smirked, that monstrous other voice starting to lace in with his own again. "But I bet it's not as good as the pride you feel when your enemy's daughter, your own protege, chooses you over her own family, her own blood. Let me assure you," he rolled his shoulders, savouring the words, "It's really a magnificent feeling. But you wouldn't know about that, would you?" his eyes flashed with dark, bloody amusement. "Etoile will never be yours. My stamp is all over her, in her mannerisms, her speech, her flair for the dramatic, her lust for needless, uncontrolled destruction. I bet that just eats you up."
He laughed again, and the chaos flooded back through him. His laugh turned into a vicious snarl, and he rushed forward again.
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Post by FLICK on Feb 1, 2010 1:34:00 GMT -5
Altair felt a familiar rush of confidence streak through his bloodstream, sinking into his fingertips. Gold sparks shivered around his fingertips and leapt incandescent along his forearms and down the black length of Altair, suffusing her with a gentle golden glow. His raven black hair drifted along his neck and shoulders like a shroud. Eyes glittering with scorn and bloodlust, magic crackling around his hands and in the tips of his black hair, Amor singing gently in his palm, he felt more powerful than ever. Vyncent, the savage creature before him, was pitiful in comparison, degraded by fury and shame into a mindless beast.
Perhaps not totally mindless.
Altair shivered with a blazing fury as Vyncent mentioned his daughter. Flames of passion burst into life around his heart; Amor's tip jittered as he gripped her handle, heat radiating from his clenched fist. Etoile will never be yours. Rage threatened to overwhelm him, pounding in his blood, whispering furious commands in his ears, narrowing his eyes and baring his teeth. My stamp is all over her... I bet that just eats you up.
A vicious snarl tore its way out of Altair's throat, reverberating deafeningly off the spectacular cracked marble of the room. His pupils dilated, his lips were pulled back to revealthe full extent of his impressive ivory fangs. The regal lines of civilisation and nobility etched into his face contorted into a bestial rictus. They were no longer charming, sophisticated demons; they were two animals locked in a primal struggle for dominance. Flinging the ebony blade through the air at his enemy and bursting into glittering gold flames, Altair sprung into Vyncent's attack.
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Post by Vyncent Schwarz on Feb 1, 2010 7:42:13 GMT -5
Had Vyncent been in any state of mind to relish his success at shoving Altair from his pedestal of aristocracy, of dragging him, snarling, into the writhing, obscene darkness where he belonged, he would have done so with fervor. He'd had so long to think of this, to construct this plan, to plot and conspire and devise all the tiniest details of his vengeance, and now none of it seemed to matter. Savage instinct pumped, screaming through his veins with every beat of his heart. Adrenaline fueled his rage, filled his eyes with merciless fury and twisted his stance into an animalistic configuration bent on slaughter.
Amor came screeching towards him. He avoided her narrowly, the rapier clattering to the floor somewhere behind them. And then he collided with Altair.
Vyncent's loss of self was so absolute that he had even neglected to notice that the object of his desire was nolonger in his opponent's possession. The next few moments slid by in a blur of guttural snarls, tearing claws and brute force. Onyx coloured flames exploded into life around the High Demon, tongues of fire seething across the cracked marble, lacing with the incandescent gold of Altair's glowing inferno. He fought with a frenzied, bestial rage, fighting fire with fire, as it were.
When they eventually parted after a harsh, almost demonic incantation from Vyncent sent them skidding from each other, Vyncent's fingertips and nails were bloody, a gash had opened above his eye and his clothes had been torn. His chest heaved as he fought to catch his breath, and his low growl filled the room.
But then, without so much as taking his eyes from Altair, he leant down, agonisingly slowly, and closed his left hand around Amor's gleaming hilt. She sang as he straightened up. He grinned the devil's grin.
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Post by FLICK on Feb 2, 2010 2:58:10 GMT -5
Altair fell away from their furious, intermingled inferno of teeth and tongues of flame, skidding back across the marble with the force of Vyncent's snarled spell. Any human's bones would have been shattered to dust, their flesh beaten to a jellylike pulp, but the two demons showed only superficial signs of injury. Altair's silken tunic had been torn, revealing the bloody scratches of Vyncent's fingernails in his chest; there was another gash down his cheek and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. He snatched ragged breaths from the air as he stumbled back to his feet.
In a moment he was ready to clash again, but in that same moment Vyncent had reached down to snatch his fallen blade from the shattered marble floors of Altair's palace. She sung ominously, echoing in the cavernous room. Altair spat the blood from his mouth.
"A coward's weapon," he flung across the room, fingers tracing symbols in the air. The stench of ozone filled the air as lighting crackled into life in his fists, and a protective ward flashed in front of his chest. He teetered on the brink of madness, ready to fly at his opponent in the blink of an eye.
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Post by Vyncent Schwarz on Feb 2, 2010 16:22:31 GMT -5
The smile didn't fade from Vyncent's face as Altair threw insults at him. The High Demon didn't notice the symbols trailing through the air, the crackle of lightning that leapt to Altair's fingertips, the heady stench that filled the room. Amor's song filled his ears, and the ebony blade glittered in his hand. His grip grew firmer on the hilt of the sword, and he stared down at it for a moment or so, completely defenceless, unaware of the rest of the world and the furious danger that sped towards him. He felt complete again. Whole.
But still angry.
"You're right." he sighed eventually. Time seemed to have stopped for Vyncent, and he slid the rapier into the empty sheath at his right hip, as though she had belonged there all along. "A coward's weapon. So it makes a lot of sense that you wanted her so badly." he smirked.
His little moment of clarity ended there, however, and as the lightning crackled in the air towards him the demon lifted his now free hand and hissed an incantation into his curled palm. Power gathered there, and then he had rushed to meet the other demon, crimson eyes flashing with rage.
He sent his empowered fist speeding at Altair's chest when he got close enough, to crack the ward he had pulled up. Vyncent could just smack him around until the ward wore off, or the other demon became too enraged to concentrate on it, but he wanted to enjoy this. At the same time as he threw a punch at Altair's protection, his other hand whipped up to grab one of his fists.
Lightning forked through the air around them. Vyncent's teeth were gritted and he bared his fangs as he stared straight across at the other demon. Smoke was beginning to waft up from where he had wrapped his fingers around his fist. The electricity coursed through him, but with one swift exertion of strength, he crushed Altair's hand in his own, the sound of tiny snapping bones filling the air. "Sorry, old friend. Still not quite up to my standards." he growled. There wasn't even any of that trademark mocking in his voice this time.
His other hand left the cracked ward now, fastening around Altair's pale throat. "Come on, Altair. I want a fight. Either that, or you can beg for your worthless life." he let out a dark laugh.
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Post by FLICK on Feb 5, 2010 2:42:57 GMT -5
"You are a sad creature, old friend," Altair murmured, black in his hawk's eyes. "She has so much potential... but there has always been so much that you refuse to see."
What happened was almost too fast for Altair to comprehend, despite his superior senses. A stab of intense pain behind his eyes alerted Altair that Vyncent had broken his ward with a magically enhanced attack. Momentarily disoriented, and infuriated by how easily the other demon had negated his magical protection, he barely registered Vyncent's block. The lightning in his fist would have fried a human, but Vyncent stood his ground. The meteorological energy Altair had summoned shot through his body, but he endured it until the electrical power was spent - and then, unblinking, he crushed Altair's hand.
The pain, despite Altair's endurance, was excruciating. It was as though he heard each individual bone in his hand had snapped, felt each one splinter and tear and the delicate sinews and fibres that clung to it. Altairs hand was a pale, dead thing in Vyncent's fist; robbed of its movement, the fragile, sculpted lines of its shape broken, it was like a sick, fleshy puppet that hung before him, taunting him, the suffering he witnessed devoid of its normal, savage pleasure when he realised with detachment that he had forgotten it was his.
Fury filled the dark-haired demon, but it was not the blazing, white-hot rage that invigorated as it coursed through the bloodstream, rising to feats beyond normal possibility. It was a sick, bitter, black thing that curled in his stomach - this was the pure hatred of humiliation that he had felt before, when Vyncent had ground him into the dust, and it was with that memory that he realised this battle had been lost.
"I'm a nobleman, Vyncent," he growled, throat reverberating against Vyncent's hand. "I'm not accustomed to begging." Magic was a closed door to him now - he could sketch no runes with his shattered hand, and any incantation he spoke would be cut off by Vyncent's hand and sizzle into nothing in his throat before he could complete it. Sucking his saliva into a ball, he spat in Vyncent's face. Perhaps it would earn him more pain, but it was worth it for the brief moment of satisfaction.
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Post by Vyncent Schwarz on Feb 6, 2010 17:08:59 GMT -5
"A sad creature I might be, Altair, but you're the one who appears to be at my mercy." Vyncent purred to the other demon, turning his head as he was spat at so it only caught him on the cheek. He smirked, releasing Altair's useless hand to wipe his face, before turning his red-eyed gaze back to his old friend. "Perhaps," he murmured in a polite, amiable voice that quickly took on the savage tones of a half-repressed snarl, "I should accustom you to it."
Vyncent had barely spoken the words when his grip grew tighter around Altair's throat. He lifted him from the floor with one hand, throwing him clear across the room to the other wall. He soon followed, his speed superior to that of a mortal's, making the task of keeping up with his own attack relatively easy. He was behind Altair before he even got close to the wall, drawing Amor from her sheath faster than the eye could see, plunging her into the other demons back as gravity carried him towards Vyncent. She screamed. But this time, her mourning howl was one of pleasure.
One of the High Demon's hands moved to Altair's shoulder to force him to his knees. Vyncent knelt down beside him, his lips lingering next to his ear as he tore the rapier from his back. "I know. I know," he sneered, "I'm a coward, stabbing you in the back like that. It was dishonourable, you have the moral higher ground, you nobleman." he laughed darkly. "Well, old friend, I am a demon's nobleman. And I have to live up to your expectations, don't I? No matter how low they might be."
He lightly shoved the other demon with the tip of his boot as he straightened up again, Amor glistening with blood in the afternoon light. "It doesn't feel so good, does it? When your soul almost gets ripped out. Here's hoping you live through the night." he spat, turning on heel to stroll to the door, sheathing his sword again. He paused. "Actually," he smirked, "I don't particularly care. Die, if you wish. Farewell, old friend." he chuckled. Then he was gone.
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Post by FLICK on Feb 6, 2010 18:01:33 GMT -5
Altair's final conscious expression was a disdainful smirk, as Vyncent wiped the spittle from his face. His lips curled as though he was almost on the verge of laughing... and indeed he was - there was nothing better than knowing you would lose a battle. He need not think, plot, plan for the next hours. All he needed to do was hate, and oh, that he did in droves. A chuckle died as Vyncent squeezed his throat, but his mouth smiled as he was flung across the room, limp as a rag doll, to slide like a piece of meat on to Amor's waiting blade.
It was as though he could feel her tugging at his insides, pulling, sucking at a soul she could not quite reach, too strongly embedded. Surely he must have a soul; the blade was made out of demon souls, wasn't it? He convulsed with a brief giggle. But he doubted there was any chance of it getting into heaven. That brought another chuckle to his lips. He could see Vyncent's lips moving in mindless prattle above him. He always liked to talk, gloat, babble. He probably thought it was charming. Maybe he was even disappointed that Altair wasn't listening to him - that brought more laughter to his lips, gasping chuckles. He wouldn't like the laughter, either. Spoiling the moment.
Was that his own blood, on the point of the sword? It was certainly coming out of his own chest. Strange, because he couldn't feel anything, nothing but that screaming sucking that hurt but didn't hurt, as if his soul was just going to a place where there were others like it. To hang out. Hahaha. But he didn't have long to ponder this new conundrum, because suddenly the black and red, glistening blade was jerkily pulled out of him, and he collapsed on the floor.
Oh, but it had felt good: almost like his soul had wanted to go. Maybe it did, maybe that was why she took them so easily. He laughed again, blood steadily pooling behind him. But as Amor had been pulled out, Altair felt sanity returning. Maybe that was what his soul was, his mind, his thoughts. Maybe she was stealing those, threatening to leave behind nothing but laughter and chaos. Vyncent was gone now, and Altair had stopped laughing. He clawed against the floor, pulling himself up against the wall.
Pain. Suddenly pain was everywhere, excruciating and mindblowing. At least it meant he was still alive, but not for long. He looked down at the hole in his chest. It was bleeding a lot.
Fuck.
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Post by Vyncent Schwarz on Feb 6, 2010 18:48:38 GMT -5
Yes, it did seem that Altair's laughter had rather spoiled the moment for Vyncent. But he couldn't help but smirk; he'd seen more than one person laugh helplessly at the hands of his blade. He'd seen more than one spiral off into complete madness before they had died. This wasn't a surprise. Although, the High Demon did feel some kind of smugness at Altair's reaction. It was almost mortal, to him. He didn't mind. He had what he wanted, and it was with a cheerful smirk that he strode from the manor, his hand resting on the all too familiar hilt of Amor, feeling, at last, like everything was how it was meant to be again.
Well. Apart from one thing.
Vyncent would appear to blur with the speed that he moved, the demon tearing across the grounds towards where he had left Etoile. He didn't have much time. Altair would be dead soon. He had a favour to uphold.
He slowed down a few metres from Etoile, sweeping his hair back from his face and absently wiping the blood from the cut above his eye, straightening out his clothes. "I kept my end of the bargain." he murmured in a low voice, acting as if to walk straight past her, but pausing when he reached her. "He's still alive. I know you wanted to hurt him, but I'm afraid he's not going to be around much longer if you don't hurry. I left him alive for you. Call it a departing gift." he told her. Over the last few days it had become very clear that it was time for he and his protege to part. He had taught her as much as he could, or so he thought. Besides which, when you brought Altair into it, things got messy and sentimental.
It was time to move on.
"It was a pleasure, ma cherie." he briefly touched her shoulder as he left, smirking, fire dancing along the ground in his wake. "Oh," he called, half looking over his shoulder, "Like I said. You might want to run." he chuckled cruelly, before he left. His figure was a shrinking silhouette in the distance, a slowly fading reminder of the nexus of chaos and the lust for destruction that was Vyncent Schwarz.
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Post by Angel ♥ on Feb 9, 2010 17:17:05 GMT -5
Patience was never a virtue that Etoile had desired to posess, she was more a fan of sins than virtues, and right now she was learning how much of a vice impatience really was. It wasn't just the waiting, of course, she was angry that she had been left behind, told to sit and stay like a good girl, denied the satisaction of watching Altair's defeat. She was not just some child, some precious doll that needed to be protected from the world. That was her house down there, and it was her father that Vyncent was intending to murder, should that not grant her automatic acess to this? No, of course not, when things were really fun she was sent to sit on the sidelines. Nevermind the fact that she was the one who had saved Vyncent, who had dragged him all the way to that Godforsaken healer. She could have just left him, the circumstances may be totaly different right now, but it was the principal that counted. He had left her behind.
"Bastard." The curse wasn't the first to slip from between her lips, her golden eyes almost seeming to glow in the sunlight as she watched the house. From here she couldn't see very much, she may have a wonderful view of the estate, but it was what was inside the house that interested her. All she caught were flashes of fire in the windows, perhaps an obscure figure moving behind the panes of glass, but nothing of any use. They were fighting, but that she could have told you even if she were blindfolded. What the outcome of the fight would be, who had the upperhand, what was being said? She couldn't even take a guess at any of the important details.
Far too long passed before there was any movement from the house, Etoile catching sight of Vyncent as he left the house, the smallest of smirks tugging at the edges of her lips. Vyncent was the victor...was she not supposed to feel happier than this? The sinking dread in her stomach was something that she hadn't been expecting, nor had she been expecting that strange cold, empty feeling to settle in her bones. This wasn't right, not at all.
Her features had been carefully arranged into a mask of indifference by the time that Vyncent reached her, Etoile taking note of the state of him, the blood, the torn clothing, the minor injuries, with an air of detattachement. He had Amor and he had his revenge, Vyncent had everything that he wanted from this meeting, and she was left feeling so...strange. She couldn't hide the spark of interest that lit in her eyes at the mention of Altair. He was still alive? Why was that strangely soothing to hear?
"You left him alive? Aw, you do know how to give the very best of presents." She smirked to him, her voice filled with the playful spite that should have come naturally at this moment in time, instead she was acting, playing up to her role just for long enough to get rid of Vyncent. "It was interesting." She agreed with him, turning to watch him as he walked away. "Au revoir, Vyncent. Don't get into too much trouble without me." She called after him, watching as he walked a few more steps before giving in to her unexplained panic, turning to run.
She had never moved so quickly in her entire life, that she was sure of, her breathing shallow and uneven by the time that she reached the house, pushing the doors open as though she had lived there all along. Her father wasn't difficult to find, the scent of his blood was thick in the air, marking the path to where he was. The half demon paused for a moment just around the corner from where her father lay dying, composing herself, smoothing out her hair before turning the corner.
Her stride was filled with confidence as she moved towards him, eyes once again closed doors, merely reflecting the world, giving no insight as to her emotions.
"Coucou Papa." She murmured to him in greeting, a smirk playing over her features as she moved over to crouch down in front of him, her eyes flashing as she examined his wound, reaching out to lightly touch her fingertips to the blood on his shirt. "It seems that the tables have turned." She murmured to him, drawing her hand away to show him the blood that stained her fingertips. "Is this what I am supposed to save you for? Blood? From what I have seen, everyone has it." A thoughtful expression settled in her eyes now as she examined the blood on her fingertips, as though she were trying to make a difficult decision.
"I can stop the bleeding, heal you enough so that you don't die, and go into town and get you a healer." She told him, her voice cold and matter-of-fact. "But, when you are well, you will tell me everything, no lies or self delusions. Everything. Agreed?"
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Post by FLICK on Feb 12, 2010 20:15:06 GMT -5
All the rage and madness had burnt up inside of him, leaving Altair feeling curiously empty: all that was left in him was pain. It seemed everything he had been made of was determined either to consume its self, in defeat devoid of an enemy to hurl itself against but Altair himself, or to leak out of him through the whole that Vyncent had torn in his chest with this stick, red fluid Altair found himself oddly unable to think of as his own blood. Maybe the mind was incapable of comprehending that it (and with it, the world, for what was the world if not a conglomeration of individual experience) was dying. The thought seemed to usher in madness... or anger.
He was Altair de Vaux, and he would not simply die here. He soundly refused the prospect: he could not abide it; his ego would not tolerate it. Dying was for other people to concern themselves with. He had an enemy again, and that enemy was death.
But when Etoile walking into the room, cool and clean amongst the soot and destruction around her, he found that he was not as empty as he felt. A heart still beat in the cavernous hall of his ribcage.
"Have you come to kill me or to save my life, Little Star?" he asked, golden eyes boring into his daughter's pale face. "Everyone may have blood, but we have only a little, and mine is steadily running out." He bared his fangs in a deprecating grin. "If you save me, you will do it to find out what you truly feel."
Altair listened attentively as Etoile laid out the terms of their agreement; cold, businesslike, unfeeling. "How could I say no, little one?"
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