Post by Sylvirr on Mar 24, 2017 20:28:20 GMT -5
Was she observant or was she too lost within her own thoughts to see? Though to be fair, it was not easy to see him, were she in the harsh sun and her gaze unfocused and unfiltered. He was a spectre on the horizon in the distance, perhaps little more than a flicker in her peripherals, a fly amidst a bowl of buttermilk, and yet he notices her. And it is with glee, a childish sort of glee that he dances in her direction, a twirling cloud of black ink in pale water and he is a dancer in the dark with long limbs and a careful frame, slender and sleek and yet graceful with each stride before his form fades, swallowed whole by the heavy shadows cast by the bright blazing sun. And perhaps it is made worse-- so, so much worse-- when it is from within her own shadow that his cheshire grin appears. Pallid white eyes, headlights to the form of a snarling and forever-cackling facade, a grotesque display of tooth and gum with flesh melted away, torn, pulled back to show muscle and tendon and tongue, and spidery limbs reach from the chasm of the shade that she, herself, has cast, and he crawls like a creature of nightmares free into the sun and stands before her, clad in a cloak of nighttime that seems to be a sheet of the cosmos itself draped across his shoulders before that, too, fades and melts away, dripping from his form like ichor and drawling along the ground in thin tendrils.
She came seeking asylum. She came to find a home amongst the Gods Chosen. She came to escape the horrors of her past. She came to start a new.
But instead, she has found him.
"Or," and his voice comes from what seemed to be nothing--nothing but the heavy shadows cast by the fading light of day, nothing but the gaping hole that is his grinning mug, and all at once he is THERE, too close, a smile that seems permanent, forever pulled and tugged, ghastly in his expression, and eyes that are bright and round and brilliant, twin moons tucked bout a long and lean face, slender. He is like an oil slick and he steps forth from the Shadows with the gait of a feline, well-balanced and smooth. He is long limbed and elegant, each step as graceful as a dancer, a spider lightly snaking its way across its own web and he comes about, around and beside her.
"You could come with me.... After all, if there is any place to offer Asylum, then it would be with us--those who understand the mind far better than any other.... Or, am I incorrect, Miss Angeni?"
And with unseeing eyes, wide and unblinking and unmoving in a face once handsome and now forever marred, he tilts his face towards her, and were it possible for the cheshire smile to widen even more, it so does, and he speaks in a voice that is accented with notes of the exotic, a smooth and sultry purr that falls from his lips in the manner of a siren-- seductive, warm, honey and velvet.
It was not a coincidence that he used the word she thought--Asylum. It was, in fact, that he KNEW. It a gentle brush of his fingertips against the crackling surface of her thoughts was all he required, the touch of Psychic doing little more than bringing the same dull throb of a headache that seemed to forever permeate his being.
And he moves around her, a circling buzzard, and perhaps it is only then, as the sun dips below the horizon and with it, the last light of day lingers before the stars grow more and more bright, that it can be noted that while his muzzle remains tilted towards her, his eyes, while open, wide--are unseeing. Frosted, foggy, glass that had been etched beyond recognition.
Behind her is where he comes from now, stepping out of the vertigo-like vortex that was his own personal touch, "My price is simple," and the breathy intimacy of his voice is both unsettling and calming, though it seems that hostility is not on his mind today. Simple, yes, as it was simple for all others he'd eventually deemed his 'friends',"I want knowledge and information." It was better to get it willingly-- though, it was not at all impossible for him to get it without their knowledge. "After all, when it comes to brute strength, I am ever so lacking. Surely you understand that I must rely on my wits to make it in this big, tough world." A dramatic pout, though there was truth in it. He was, after all, blind. And how else would he have survived in this world had he not had the sheer knowledge to do so?
"So then, Young Miss...." and he bows, "Let's make a deal."
She came seeking asylum. She came to find a home amongst the Gods Chosen. She came to escape the horrors of her past. She came to start a new.
But instead, she has found him.
"Or," and his voice comes from what seemed to be nothing--nothing but the heavy shadows cast by the fading light of day, nothing but the gaping hole that is his grinning mug, and all at once he is THERE, too close, a smile that seems permanent, forever pulled and tugged, ghastly in his expression, and eyes that are bright and round and brilliant, twin moons tucked bout a long and lean face, slender. He is like an oil slick and he steps forth from the Shadows with the gait of a feline, well-balanced and smooth. He is long limbed and elegant, each step as graceful as a dancer, a spider lightly snaking its way across its own web and he comes about, around and beside her.
"You could come with me.... After all, if there is any place to offer Asylum, then it would be with us--those who understand the mind far better than any other.... Or, am I incorrect, Miss Angeni?"
And with unseeing eyes, wide and unblinking and unmoving in a face once handsome and now forever marred, he tilts his face towards her, and were it possible for the cheshire smile to widen even more, it so does, and he speaks in a voice that is accented with notes of the exotic, a smooth and sultry purr that falls from his lips in the manner of a siren-- seductive, warm, honey and velvet.
It was not a coincidence that he used the word she thought--Asylum. It was, in fact, that he KNEW. It a gentle brush of his fingertips against the crackling surface of her thoughts was all he required, the touch of Psychic doing little more than bringing the same dull throb of a headache that seemed to forever permeate his being.
And he moves around her, a circling buzzard, and perhaps it is only then, as the sun dips below the horizon and with it, the last light of day lingers before the stars grow more and more bright, that it can be noted that while his muzzle remains tilted towards her, his eyes, while open, wide--are unseeing. Frosted, foggy, glass that had been etched beyond recognition.
Behind her is where he comes from now, stepping out of the vertigo-like vortex that was his own personal touch, "My price is simple," and the breathy intimacy of his voice is both unsettling and calming, though it seems that hostility is not on his mind today. Simple, yes, as it was simple for all others he'd eventually deemed his 'friends',"I want knowledge and information." It was better to get it willingly-- though, it was not at all impossible for him to get it without their knowledge. "After all, when it comes to brute strength, I am ever so lacking. Surely you understand that I must rely on my wits to make it in this big, tough world." A dramatic pout, though there was truth in it. He was, after all, blind. And how else would he have survived in this world had he not had the sheer knowledge to do so?
"So then, Young Miss...." and he bows, "Let's make a deal."
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