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Post by Keretheriel on Mar 18, 2014 23:03:28 GMT -5
Vascxious, one of the only Sigma Cities to not only survive the harsh hand of time but flourish in spite of it. The Frozen City of the Far North had many monikers and such had probably not changed in the considerable span of time since the Tower had risen. The Acacian Grid that powered the City, protecting it from one of the most brutal climates on the planet, was a product of marriage between technological wonder and advanced applied magic— the sheer force of the beautifully complex and intricately connected energetic weaves and distant thrum of more rustic machinery was enough to quicken the pulse of those who could sense it, lying below the City like a silent Guardian.
Bright eyes searched the permanent haze of steam above Vascxious Sigma, the irises mirroring the overcast hints of blue and grey. Wisps of vapor curled from between lips stained with darkest cherry as a black-gloved hand reached to displace the heavy hood shadowing distinct features. Cobalt tones reflected off thick hair of deepest jet and created a stark contrast against pale flesh. The de-hooded figure stepped into the light from the access point to the underground network of tunnels, steam barely clinging to folds of rich silk and fur before drifting away, escaping to join the Haze above.
Keretheriel smirked.
The color palette here in the Far North was rather appropriate for the Betrayer: already she questioned why she'd waited so long to explore the playground that was Vascxious Sigma. Those fever-bright eyes caught sight of the Tower and paused for a moment before dropping to ground level to take in her surroundings. She'd surfaced near what seemed to be a market place of some sort. The Basilica, if she recalled correctly. Granted, it had been quite some time since the Siren of a woman had set foot in the Sigma City— for many reasons to be sure. The dark, violet silk covering her form wasn't out of place in the milling foot traffic, and although Keretheriel was certainly not generic in any sense of the word, there seemed to be nothing that marked her as unique among the denizens of the City— merely a trick of the light of course. Reality had a way of bending just so for the petite vixen. . .
Gloved hands adjusted the thick swathe of fur lining her hood so that it settled attractively over the line of her shoulders before she pushed off into the direction of the covered marketplace that was the true Basilica. There she'd settle with a beverage that could burn and take the time to learn the flow of the City, taking its pulse until she decided what she wanted from it.
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Post by Rosencrance Viers on Mar 23, 2014 22:15:10 GMT -5
Rosencrance Viers exhaled sharply as he heaved the circular cast-iron access tunnel cover back into place, the heavy metal cutout fitting perfectly into the mouth of the hole Viers had crawled out of only moments before. His excursion into the steam tunnels had taken longer than he had anticipated, but the man had accomplished what he set out to do underground, retrieving the cloth bag of his belongings that would serve as 'artifacts' for his new joint venture with Floraelia. Viers snickered as he stood up, brushing the dust off his hands before slinging the weighted bag over his shoulder: the items contained within amounted to knick-knacks, and by their nature were worth next to nothing if judged on function alone. Yet one of the distinct advantages of being as physically old as Viers is that, given enough time, your trash becomes so done else's treasure. The items had value and were worth researching based solely on their age; with the modern eye, they could be used to create a picture of what life had been like thousands of years in the past. To Viers, however, it all amounted to junk, worth only its proposed sentimental value; a value that he cared nothing about. The items would seem suitably historic, and Viers wouldn't lose anything of value if he never reclaimed any of it once it was in Ouroboros hands. It was perfect.
Viers glanced around the near-empty street carefully. It was still early enough in the morning that only a few other people were milling about, most of which were employees of the various shops and eateries throughout the basilica setting up for the coming day. No one took notice of his arrival from within the city's underbelly - it occurred to Viers that even if that had, it would not be altogether odd, considering how much coming and going the man noticed in the steam tunnels. Vagrants, dealers, and black market vendors were moving throughout the city's netherworld like ants in a hill, so what's one more shady character coming up onto the street? Viers grinned as he carefully settled the wide hood of his coat onto the crown of his skull, shrugging his shoulders to let the garment settle before walking into the center of the Basilica's main avenue: this city had always been easy to blend in, even when he was an infiltrating force in enemy territory . . . a situation not altogether different than his current one. Only this time, he doubted he would be acruing near as many civilian casualties- if he was lucky, that is.
The Arc couldn't help but notice just how few landmarks were the same, especially at ground level. This giant stone done, the Basilica, was once an expansive park filled with monuments and statues to the city's imperial ruler. Contrary to the current situation, hardly any citizens came to visit the expansive display of dictatorial self-love, meaning that it had made a fairly safe place for he and his men to meet when planning their next moves to incapacitate the city's defenses. As he walked down the stone street, Viers violet gaze drifted over the elegant stone structures and quaint modern advertisements: things never stayed the same. They couldn't: and neither could he. Like the city, Viers knew he would have to adapt in order to survive in a world that was moving much faster than the old one ever had. That was the whole reason for his current obsession: with the sword repaired, Viers would have a much easier time taking action in whatever way he deemed neccessary, and the process of restoring the weapon would give him a very detailed survey of the city's landscape, and therefore dictiate where and with whom he could best establish a place in it. From there, he would wait: he knew, eventually, they would come looking for him here. He had made sure of that in his encounter with Fureya, the new chosen Arc. Viers had to build himself a bunker of sorts in the city's infrastructure before then if things would be able to go his way: he only hoped he could act quickly enough to be established before it was too late.
Viers took his time strolling down the mostly-abandoned Basilica avenue, taking the time to examine and catalog the landmarks around him: he had no concept of exactly who lay so close at hand, but undoubtedly he would stumble upon her soon enough.
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Post by Keretheriel on Mar 24, 2014 19:42:51 GMT -5
The Siren had taken plenty of time to investigate the considerable length of the Basilica and, ultimately, had chosen a perfunctory— but very well kept— café that seemed to be permanently open. Though it was nearly impossible to tell what time of day it was, Keretheriel assumed it was either very early or very late. Night had only just fallen when she'd entered the Catacombs; the total journey couldn't have taken more than a few hours. Judging by the tired faces paired with crisp clothing the darkly clad vixen thought it safe to assume early morning had arrived. Those pale, impossibly bright eyes glanced skyward and, though she couldn't actually see the heavens from under the sprawling canopy, she wondered if she could ever become accustomed to only being able to see the sun from the City's skyscrapers. What kind of melancholy existence did the citizens of Vascxious Sigma lead where the only light was artificial and the nature of the climate meant a fixed haze that would never lessen over the course of a day? Interestingly enough, the shopkeepers and staffing seemed rather pleasant: there must have been something else about the City that was worth the lack of sunlight.
By the time the ancient Arc had seen fit to surface the Betrayer had created quite the cozy nest out of the heavy, fur-lined cloak she'd been wearing earlier. To be clear, the petite woman had fashioned a veritable throne out of a corner table that was close enough to the edge of the storefront's 'deck' that she could survey the main avenue of the Basilica with no obstructions. Fortunately her behavior did not appear to be too unseemly, and if the sales clerk thought anything untoward of her patron's coup d'etat of the best seats in the house she kept her distaste discreet indeed.
The Trade City did have a certain energy to it that had nothing to do with the massively complex Grid beneath it. Could it be that Alpha had taken his interest elsewhere while she slept and left the Sigma City in a position to prosper? The Siren couldn't be certain. Surely the City couldn't run so well with such a creature in power: there was no crime that she'd seen as of yet. Shady figures left and right, of course, but everyone seems sketchy in the witching hour. The streets were impeccably kept and she'd even noticed the somewhat regular patrols of some sort of Military Police. The few people who were out and about moved as if their needs superseded all else: they had a sense of security that could only be found in the most established— and habitually safe— communities. She could discover the answer to her mildly pressing question very easily if she only reached for it rather than waste time speculating. The reality was that if Alpha still held the City she'd light up like a beacon and any chance she thought to have in escaping his notice would be obliterated. So she waited. She spread out across three chairs with all the entitlement of royalty, sipped the steaming cup of whatever-it-was, and watched. What she did know beyond the shadow of a doubt was that a Guardian had met death here in this frigid City. Not just any Guardian, but the ever-stoic Keeper of Balance himself: Arktouros Visas. Though it certainly did her a favor Keretheriel considered the event no small thing: whatever had taken that man out couldn't be allowed to remain in the shadows. If she was truly fortunate she'd be able to uncover what happened, decide whether it was useful, and vacate the City before its hypothetical Magistrate knew she was there.
The well-constructed mug she sipped from was replaced on the table's edge with bare hands: the Siren had wasted no time in making herself comfortable. A quiet sigh of contentment eased from those blood-colored lips as her spine melted further down against the dense jet fibers that kept her pleasantly warm. The tip of a slender finger traced the mug's rim slowly, deliberately. Patience, patience. Losing patience could get her quarantined, or worse. And yet, she already felt her blood running hot at the stillness of the Basilica. With the titanic population Vascxious boasted why weren't there more people running around? Keretheriel had a mouth made for pouting invitingly, but somehow managed to remain neutral. . .
Until those too-bright eyes registered a very familiar set of shoulders across the way and narrowed. The man wore a hood but the Betrayer had the sneaking suspicion she knew what features could be found in its shadow. Keretheriel watched the hooded figure's progression closely, taking another sip of foamy concoction the clerk had talked her into trying. She was rarely mistaken when it came to recalling a certain type of physique, but the Siren dared to hope that was the case now. . .
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Post by Rosencrance Viers on Mar 26, 2014 18:27:31 GMT -5
Viers couldn’t help but be lost in thought, his body meandering down the street with the stilted pace of the ghostly-apparition he often felt he embodied. The Arc truly was a ghost among men: a soundless traveler, and image in the corner of a bystander’s eye who, while intriguing, never amounted to a permanent fixture in any space it inhabited. Viers was the imaginary friend that was cared for as a child, now gone; that had been the way he had chosen to live, existing through the eyes of others, traveling alongside their lives and crossing their paths at the junctures that suited them, only to fade away apparitionally before the end of his chosen subject’s time.
When he was younger, still long after the disintegration of his position atop the ranks of the Arcs, Viers had lived as a god among men. He used his strength in foolish contests of power and valor and basked in the glow of adoration given by those who witnessed his actions. He made a show of himself everywhere he went, drawing some manner of fulfillment from his superhuman status. The man found that, in contest after contest, the landscape of adversarious people and situations simply couldn’t measure up: it was as if the Mage’s army had truly wiped the world clean of any and all who could hope to stand against them, leaving the remnants, their leader suddenly gone, to cause all the strife the wished, amassing material wealth and power as they went. Like any good world, however, the state of disentropy created by the Arcs began to be righted as those who could stand up to them, not only equally, but in triumph, began to appear. Viers’ lust for power and recognition was infinitesimal in comparison to those he had lead, and when they began to die, first a few, and then in droves, the Arc carefully slipped into obscurity. The rest fought to keep their little fiefdoms, their respect, and their god-like status: by the time Mithria rose, however, most had already been destroyed, either by some new wonder of force born to an equality-seeking universe or some foolish misstep of their own arrogance, though a combination of the two factors ultimately did in the greatest number of them in.
By the time the last few of his former comrades fell, Viers had already lived several lives as an ordinary man, silencing his own power and agelessness in favor of social connection around those who, had they known his true history, would have feared him. This life, he found, was more fulfilling: he could cultivate relationships and live simply, helping and hurting those around him in the same ways any other ordinary man might have the means to. There were times he stepped out of his cloak of normalcy, in extraordinary situations: or, more commonly, when old friends and enemies came calling through some combination of purposeful intent and happenstance. One such enemy had found him when he had settled down, momentarily, with a woman, and struck at him so forcefully that the surrounding town was left in ruin. With no connection left, Viers made no attempt to hide himself, and turned on his enemies with such vengeance he painted a red line of death across more cities and towns than he could count before returning to silence again. Sometimes, he could still taste the blood in his mouth, the memory of rising from the ashes of his self-made home and the sight of the person he truly cared for as gnarled mass of bone and viscera burned into his mind. It was from then on he chose to be more ghost than man, forgoing longer personal connections for shorter, more casual ones. Though more time than he could accurately measure had passed since then, Viers still couldn’t tell which had been the better life. Perhaps that’s exactly why he now sought something slightly different for himself, though the particular nature of what he was seeking still managed to elude his imagination. He would know it when he found it, he always managed to tell himself.
Viers exhaled sharply, a method of clearing his mind he had developed on some long-built-over battlefield, bringing his mind back to the present just in time to notice the café he and Floraelia had ‘met’ only a few days before. The café itself was noted as a landmark, and the Arc had enjoyed their beverages, but it wasn’t the familiarity or a sense of nostalgia for the place that caused him to slow. That woman in the patio corner, the only one present at such an early hour, nearly made the man stop in his tracks. Viers gritted his teeth in a grin that was equal parts frustration and elation: on the one hand, he had come to Vascxious Sigma primarily to hide from familiarity, a feature the woman certainly possessed. Yet, on the other, old ‘friends,’ however complex, could be a very interesting sign of things to come. The Arc ripped the frustration from his grin and discarded it as he approached the patio fence, the only structure serving as a divider between he and Keretheriel.
The man’s violet eyes shone from beneath his hood, the very image of near-supernatural intensity: a trait the two shared. The way the man bared his canines in the structure of his grin was uncharacteristic of any expression his host would have seen from him: as was so often true but rarely ever observed, Viers had more faces in his repertoire than there were people to see them, and the cycling of those personas took place with the speed of a thought.
“I know you.”
The man’s smile was not affronting, but nor was it welcoming. It was never easy to tell just what a meeting of old friends would yield.
“You look different: I think time has been significantly kinder to you than me, judging by appearances.”
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Post by Keretheriel on Mar 26, 2014 22:11:58 GMT -5
Damn it.
Had he noticed her? The Siren dropped her gaze to the still-steaming contents of the mug, watching the Arc approach through the long sweep of her lashes.
He definitely had noticed her.
The line of her jaw tightened ever so slightly as his shadow darkened the length of her table and caressed the marble edges that succinctly framed her bodice. This was a complication she wasn't necessarily prepared to deal with. . .
Those rich, cherried lips parted the moment he spoke, leveling his oh-so-certain declaration. Supernaturally searing pale met burning violet as those lashes rose demurely, her chin upturning just as slowly and deliberately as her finger stroked the mug's rim.
”Do you?
The two words, simple in nature and short in length poured from her mouth like the richest honey. Her accent was thick, heavy, and as smooth as finely aged scotch— certainly the tones promised the same kind of heat. . .
His further expounding provoked the corners of her mouth, teasing lips crafted for smokier pursuits into a knowing smirk.
”And time hasn't touched you at all. If I didn't know better, I'd consider your words charming.”
The smirk deepened as her gaze dropped to his grin, mentally tracing the points of each eyetooth. Would he become acutely aware of how flimsy the barrier between them was? Would it seem that the distance between them lessened though neither of them had moved? Whatever effect the Siren might have on Viers was only that of an attractive, engaging woman: there was no trick of the light now. Keretheriel was many things— and prudent was not usually one of them— but to openly play with the light here, in this City, would be utterly foolish.
Her stare lost no intensity as it glided back to his eyes, openly following every curve and line of his features along the way.
”But I do know better,” the words drawled. ”Rather bold of you to approach a woman you may or may not know in a strange City. Especially considering that woman should have died centuries ago. . .” The smirk lessened but those eyes steeled where her mouth softened. ”An interesting risk to take when it's also considered that this particular City, with its particular ruling Council, could have a very particular interest in those who should have died quite some time ago, yes?”
The lush, deep violet silk creaked enticingly as the Betrayer relaxed her posture, settling against the back of her seat with the crook of an elbow moving to rest against the chair next to her.
”Something tells me you're not interested in being top-of-mind in this City. It's the hood and the early-morning traveling that give it away, though I do encourage you to correct me if I'm wrong.” Her mouth upturned sweetly albeit briefly.
”Viers. . .” His name slipped from her mouth, that one syllable flowing like chilled syrup: agonizingly slow despite the sweet promise it held.
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Post by Rosencrance Viers on Mar 27, 2014 16:48:03 GMT -5
Viers smiled, dipping his chin to let his gaze focus even more tightly on the woman regally draped across her makeshift throne before him. Keretheriel had developed, in more ways than one – a confidence that had been stable, yet budding had come in to full bloom, and while the woman gave no indications of how her level of strength and ability had progressed, her confidence told Viers all he needed to know about the woman’s place in the universal hierarchy. Some beings flaunted their power, but most who truly knew what power was kept it hidden carefully in their back pocket, waiting or the opportune moment to reveal it. Viers had understood the woman’s initial hunger, even so long ago: if she was still living, as her presence clearly proved, then she had accomplished at least some part of what she had intended.
The Arc laughed quietly after Kereth finished her little asides: her voice was the same, but her figure was remarkably different, as Viers had noted initially. The man was curious, surely, and while the woman opposite him clearly had not really wanted to interact with him, Viers had no intention of leaving without finding out more. “Keretheriel. I’m flattered you remember me, especially after all this time.” The Arc’s grin was infectious as he stepped to the side, moving around the ivy-covered iron fence separating the patio from the street to take an unasked seat opposite the woman, pulling his hood back as he did so. Appropriate to his action, Viers addressed her next point immediately, once he was settled in his seat that is.
“Bold is something I have been called before. By you in fact, if I am remembering correctly, though I do have something of a penchant for approaching ‘strange’ women. The word ‘strange’ has a strange tendency to be linked to other words, such as ‘beautiful’ and ‘captivating’ when used as a descriptor of women, especially in your case. However, even if ‘should have died’ were a concept I entertained when it comes to a woman like you, I would think the boldness of my approach would pale in comparison to the boldness of your presence in this city.”
Viers clicked his index finger on the table in a show of thoughtfulness, as if he were working through a problem slowly in his mind, despite that his smile indicated he had clearly already solved it. “While I may or may not want to keep a low profile, I’m quite sure the ruling council would develop considerable interest in a Guardian of Balance walking their streets . . . especially considering their societal penchant for discord. And, from what I can tell from my stay thus far, ‘interest’ from the council can be quite hazardous to the object of that interest.”
Viers knew well that the Magistrate would not welcome his presence, were he to be known to the council: Kereth was right on the mark in that respect. Yet, the particulars of her presence meant that she, like Viers himself, had come from the nearby steam tunnel access to get into the city, which meant that she was hiding as well. If you are welcomed, you come through the front door, not the sewage system.
The Arc fixed Keretheriel in a pointed stare. “I would be willing to hazard a guess that you and I are here under similar pretenses, which makes our running into each other like this both highly coincidental and, potentially, serendipitous. As it was, there is no other being I could think of with whom I would rather escape authority than you, especially considering that current circumstance might just have put us both on the same side for a change.” Viers grin widened to proportions that seemed more wildcat than human, a canine-filled expression that evoked a shadow of another creature with an overlarge mouth and too much history. “So then . . . I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours. You first.”
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Post by Keretheriel on Mar 28, 2014 9:16:59 GMT -5
Viers hadn't changed at all, it seemed— a fact Keretheriel found favorable. It would make him a considerably less concerning complication. There was no ill reaction as he claimed the seat across from her; in fact, there was an air of expectation to her stare, as if he complied with an unspoken request. Sure, the vixen would have preferred if he'd kept on walking, but what was done was done: she would make the best of the situation.
”There is that silver tongue.” Her tone lightened considerably, but was no less pointed. ”I thought it might have rusted after all these years. . .”
Oh, but was he ever as quick and clever as she'd remembered though, at the time, those qualities had made her task much harder than it had to be. She resisted the urge to lean in, redirecting the desire into clasping the heavy mug; the thick consistency of the beverage was allowed to roll on her tongue before she swallowed. He was right in a way she suspected, and couldn't ignore: if her presence did become known in Vascxious Sigma things would suddenly become much more dangerous than they were complicated, and— as much as she liked to throw the board into chaos and pass a little danger around— what he said adequately confirmed her suspicion: this was still Alpha's domain and she would do well to remain prudent. It chafed, but self-preservation was remarkably high on her list of priorities. The top, really.
That he named her a Guardian of Balance provoked no external reaction, but the Siren found it very intriguing. Viers had been active in the world after her Betrayal even if her interaction with him had been nonexistent. Was it possible that somehow Arktouros had kept her Severance in-house? Surely it could have been a devastating blow to the Temples for it to become common knowledge that the Guardians— men and women held up as monoliths, paragons of truth, justice, and protection for humanity— could be subject to very human desires like powerlust. . .
A corner of her mouth twitched those lips back into a perceptible smirk.
”Former Guardian of Balance,” she murmured in a low, but distinct tone. ”Though I suppose the target that connection paints on my back is no more faded for the lapse in membership to Arktouros' club.”
She'd corrected him, yes, but she wouldn't be sharing any time soon that the Magistrate would be more than aware of what Viers had not been: she no longer carried the Mantle of Guardian and hadn't for a very long time. Though she had no plans to enlighten him further she also couldn't take the chance that Viers could be the source of whispers of a Guardian passing through Vascxious Sigma: the last thing she needed were any remnants— or worse, a cycled Arktouros himself— to seek her out while she looked for what could protect her more effectively from their detection.
The Arc's stare was equaled in intensity by her own. It wasn't a new condition that she could ignore his charismatic manner, the gentle yet firm— and mildly indirect— way he had of being oh-so-inclusive as well as intensely flattering. Had she not regularly employed the same methods of creating binding ties to her own prey for the length of their usefulness she'd trust him when he so casually made them a 'we' rather than a 'you and I.' As it stood, she could trust that he intended to avoid detection as thoroughly as she, but it was almost guaranteed that would be the extent of any partnership between them. She couldn't trust him to intervene on her behalf should she fall, which was completely fair, after all: he couldn't trust her either. In all fairness, however, she had nothing to lose by striking an impromptu toss-away alliance with someone she could trust to be just as interested in survival. She could be sure he wouldn't do anything that led to her detection if only because he could rest assured that she'd make it so he'd never escape the City either. . .
”Those words are oddly familiar from you, though I don't quite recall the context. Something about showing rather than telling, it strikes me. Memory does fade so terribly over time, I suppose.” The smirk deepened as she needled him, offering a sharp reminder that he held no sway over her: if she told him anything, it was because she chose to and not because his suggestion was so strong that she felt compelled.
”I'm looking for something very specific. Something, or someone, killed a Guardian here, and I want to know how.” There was nothing so concrete as to offer even the most vague insight to her thoughts and Keretheriel absolutely intended to keep it that way.
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Post by Rosencrance Viers on Mar 28, 2014 21:33:18 GMT -5
Viers caught the eye of the server as she wandered by and carefully mimed sipping a cup of coffee, signaling that he wanted a beverage also without ever interrupting Keretheriel while she was speaking. Clearly the man meant to make himself comfortable, and a short laugh rolled off his tongue as soon as she pointed out its gilded nature. “Rust accumulates most often from disuse – as you might remember, I tend to use my tongue often, and in varied and interesting ways.” Unlike the Arc, Keretheriel had changed, though Viers certainly felt that the core of her personality was mostly untouched. The man didn’t dwell on the differences much, however: Viers always rolled with the punches, and tended to focus on what was new and interesting in people rather than getting hung up on the past.
The server set down his mug and Viers flashed the woman a smile so intense it made her blush as she stepped away. Grasping the cup in his palm, seemingly unphased by the beverage’s undoubted heat, he ticked his head to the side as Kereth mentioned her change in occupation. Her severance from the Guardians wasn’t altogether surprising: they were a long-since dying breed of useless protectors, in Vier’s estimation, and the fact that the modern world had no place for them had been made clear centuries before when they all seemingly went underground and became a memory instead of a fact of life. Still, Viers remembered a time when the threat of the Guardians of Balance loomed over the entire landscape of Azaleth, and while, besides Kereth herself, he had steered well clear of the majority of Guardians, Arktouros was a being he was specifically aware of. The Arc had encountered him twice, though only in passing: Viers had a tendency to end up on the sidelines of important events, so he saw a lot of the major players without necessarily always being seen.
While filed away the information as interesting, his outward reaction to Kereth’s admittance was dismissive. He gestured as though waving off the concept while he took a quick sip of his steaming coffee, not bothering to let it cool in the slightest. “I never thought you fit there. You always struck me as so much more than someone intended to enforce rules: while in my company, you seemed more interested in breaking them.” The Arc painted a flattering picture of Keretheriel’s effect on him, but the truth was that the man had a long memory when it came to people: after all, they were what his life had focused on since he left the Mage’s army all those centuries ago, and that level of importance made them settle in his mind surrounded by a great deal of finely-detailed context. “You are right, though: not many would remember the Guardians in this day and age, but those that do, especially here, would likely not look too kindly on their mission statement. Then again, there are worse résumés to have.”
Viers took another sip of his coffee as he watched the woman’s reaction to his request: she had always been quick on her feet, and seemingly she had gotten quicker over time. She also kept herself regulated, making her nature a mysterious unknown that was downplayed just enough that she could pass for extraordinary in personality, yet still somewhat ordinary in construction. It was a tactic Viers had perfected long before he had met the woman the first time, though it seemingly took her much less time to get it down than it had taken him to learn.
The Arc shook his head as she tried to rib him, chuckling over his mug before he put it down on the table to lean forward, staring her down. “Does it? As one old gent to a somewhat-older lady, I feel it is my duty to advise you to sharpen that particular skill as soon as you can: the world becomes a scary place if you can’t remember your mistakes enough to learn from them, especially on as long a timeline as you will undoubtedly have. However, I would be more than happy to remind you of exactly what was said, and shown, the last time we met. Really, I’m only thinking of you.”
Viers grinned wide enough to show his sharpened canines clearly as he leaned back in his seat, draping one arm over the back of his chair as he bent his neck to the side, stretching it. “A Guardian dying here would certainly have made news, at least if he was killed in any way that was remotely public. I haven’t been here long enough to hear anything, but I do have a contact who would undoubtedly know the answer off-hand. Perhaps I can find out for you: who was it, and how long ago were they killed?”
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Post by Keretheriel on Mar 30, 2014 13:55:27 GMT -5
The Siren couldn't quite keep her smirk from reaching her eyes when the serving girl reacted visibly to Viers.
”Well, there's someone who might be fascinated in the capabilities of your tongue. . .” Those pale eyes scoured the other woman's form indelicately when the server could finally bring herself to turn away from the intensity of her companion. It was clear she harbored no ill feelings about the woman's susceptibility to a man like Viers— if anything Keretheriel found the interaction amusing.
”Easy quarry, that one. Now I understand how you've managed to avoid disuse. Aim low, and you're always sure to hit your target,” a hint of her teeth showed, morphing that smirk into a playful grin.
She finished off the contents of her mug before abandoning it, taking a moment to stretch both arms languidly before straightening her posture somewhat. She wasn't judging, really: when there was a lack of more challenging prey a hunter survived on what was available. Still, the vixen couldn't resist a little provocation. Their banter had certainly begun to brighten her day. His dismissive gesture caught her eye and she shifted focus for a fraction of a second, returning her stare to his like a very engaged predator— pupils slightly dilated and all.
”More concerned with breaking them, no. I wasn't contrary simply for the sake of it, though it probably seemed that way. I've just never been too keen on restriction.” The well-fitted seams of his clothing was offered a passing glance before her gaze dropped away from him completely, moving to sweep the visible length of the street instead. She wasn't nearly as interested as her mildly suggestive glance might have implied. ”I needed something from you then.” The insinuation was left hanging. Indeed, she had needed something from him and though his conditions were as lacking in creativity as they were in decorum, they weren't so compromising that she rejected them out of hand. They were currently in a different set of circumstances no matter how he suggested they were on the same side in this round: she didn't need anything from him even if his help would have made things easier.
She felt him lean closer, drawing her unyielding focus back to him. Her grin widened as he spoke, and there was a light in her eyes that hinted at suppressed mirth. Keretheriel took the opportunity to lean in as well as he continued, even going as far as to reach a hand of delicate make toward him and, using the tip of her fingers, to very, very gently trace the indent of his cheekbone back and down until she could sweep a slow caress along the hard line of his jaw.
”Oh, Viers, you're absolutely right,” fine brows rose, her expression becoming ingratiating. ”I do my best to remember every life-altering, shattering event as clearly as I can. I suppose the only explanation for my lapse in memory would be that either my survival wasn't challenged or the details were terribly mundane.' The Siren shrugged apologetically before leaning back in her seat to mirror his stance, even going as far as to raise the opposite arm to rest against the back of her chair— the motion enticing silk to strain in a particularly revealing fashion against the swell of her breasts.
Back to business, though a faint smirk curled her lips just so. ”Arktouros himself, actually, though I can't be sure how recognizable he would have been before his untimely demise. It wasn't long ago. Within the last year.” Slender fingers picked at silken fabric, adjusting its fall across the thick of her thighs. ”How he was killed is my priority, but I would also like to know why. I'm sure the sheer simplicity of being a Guardian could be motive enough, but I'd prefer to know more concretely.” Keretheriel eyed Viers with subtly renewed interest. ”Where did you say you were staying?”
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Post by Rosencrance Viers on Mar 30, 2014 14:33:56 GMT -5
Viers couldn’t help but laugh at Kereth’s insinuation. It was true that, given different circumstances in a different location, he might have been spending his time chatting with the server, angling to draw her to some dark corner in the back where he could demonstrate exactly the level of his skill at oration. However, this was neither the time nor the place, and the woman sitting at his opposite more than kept the majority of his attention acutely focused. Her jabs just made him grin all the wider, and ever-increasing echo of the look trademarked by another male figure with much lighter skin and redder hair.
“Oh, I still aim quite high when the opportunity presents itself. Where I am currently in residence in the city is proof enough of that, even for your jaded, though still captivating, eyes.” The Arc enjoyed his relaxed posture, raising his chin and looking to the sky as he continued. “I know it was more of a business transaction for you than a choice, back then, but I also know it was a job you particularly enjoyed, despite your protests now. You would not be so troubled to convince me how little I matter if that was actually the case: it wouldn’t be worth the time for you to do so.”
Viers fixed Keretheriel in a surprisingly serious stare, momentarily hiding his mouth behind his mug as she pondered over what she had decided to share with him. “Arktouros dying here would have caused quite a stir, though perhaps not a publicly-documented one. The council here seems to keep matters of that type fairly tight-lipped, though something that killed a Guardian like him would have undoubtedly left a mark on the city’s landscape. I’m sure I can find something out for you.” The notion of Ark dying, here, sat oddly with Viers. It was too close to . . . why would the Guardian leader come here? And why would he be killed? It was always possible that the tower was responsible, but Viers hadn’t considered the Magistrate’s actions to be that direct, not usually, and he certainly would not have had Arktouros eliminated publicly, as Kereth had implied, unless it served some greater purpose. That left . . .
Viers decided to keep those particular thoughts to himself, choosing instead to smirk suggestively at Kereth. “Ah, so it seems you just might need something from me after all. I’m staying in the safest place in this city I could imagine: in plain sight, in the bedroom of a council member. The Magistrate’s daughter, if I’m not mistaken.” Viers Grin told the story of his insinuation: Is that aiming high enough for you? Yet the admission was also a calculated one, designed to subtly shift the power dynamics of the developing relationship between himself and the woman opposite him. “She’ll be gone to the Tower on business for the day, however, so we could have the place all to ourselves . . . that is, if coming home with me would not be aiming too low . . .”
Viers knew asking Floraelia about Arktouros would give him a great deal of information: with their mutual interest in history and historical figures, unless she was under orders of silence from the Magistrate, the Mithrian would love to converse as to what had happened and speculate as to the why, information that could at least point Kereth on the right track.
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Post by Keretheriel on Mar 30, 2014 15:33:54 GMT -5
”Color me surprised.”
One brow quirked upward visibly, but she wasn't reflecting on how he'd managed to secure himself an invitation to the bedroom of a Council member: as much as she made light of Viers' ability to captivate, she really only provoked him in regards to herself, specifically. Certainly she didn't underestimate how his charisma might affect the more malleable. No, she was much more interested in the fact that Alpha had a daughter, and it couldn't be dismissed that she might be actual offspring of the Magistrate. It seemed highly unlikely that Virianus had taken the time to breed, much less raise an actual child— especially one that would be unable to recognize what she was harboring under her roof, searing violet eyes and smiles that took no prisoners aside— but stranger things happened.
The pads of her fingers each touched the top of her thigh in a series that repeated. ”It occurs to me that I've told you all about my mission in the Trade City, and though you've so casually shared with me your status as an honored, but I assume secret, guest of a member of the Council, you haven't actually told me why you're here. I could be convinced the thrill of bedding the Magistrate's daughter under his nose would be enough for you, and while it would explain your desire to stay off Grid, I suspect it's a little more complicated than that. Hiding in plain sight for the sake of hiding doesn't sound like you at all: what's really your angle?”
Black cherry lips melted into a smile meant to incite dark thoughts and rushed blood.
”Don't be so dramatic, Viers. The residence of a Council member is still the residence of a Council member. The invitation coming from you only makes it dangerous, not worthless.”
She watched him intently, able to acknowledge the power dynamic had indeed shifted. The scale wasn't completely tipped in his favor, but he'd shown that a partnership with him might be more an asset than she initially suspected. . .
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Post by Rosencrance Viers on Mar 30, 2014 15:48:23 GMT -5
Viers laughed. The Arc had a hard time believing that the woman was actually ‘surprised’ by his little revelation concerning his current lodgings. Predictably, however, she was intrigued, which had more-or-less been his intention when he made mention of some of the particulars of his situation. Dealing with an individual like Keretheriel was a complicated affair, but Viers, as was his usual MO, endeavored to keep things as simple as possible. So, when she asked him of his intentions, having been so kind as to share with him an overview of her own, Viers seemingly didn’t hesitate to respond honestly. Well, mostly.
“My angle is whichever is the most enjoyable, as despite your protests I am sure you remember. However, particularly, there is an item of importance to me that I need repaired. A weapon. I do not have the resources to fix it on my own, therefore I am using my current host’s connections to tap into an organization with greater resources here in the city, that being the Ouroboros Corportion. Under the guise of historical restoration they could repair this artifact for me, something that would assist me greatly in coming days.”
Viers shrugged lightly, taking a final sip of his coffee before carefully depositing the mug back on the tabletop. “Everything in this city is dangerous. The true test is whether the danger is worth risking or not.” For once, the man was seemingly being matter-of-fact rather than suggestive, though the small smirk that managed to find its way to his lips tried to illicit thoughts to the contrary. “Though, in my estimating, being safely indoors is much safer here than sitting in plain view on a busy street corner. Especially because indoors, clothing is always optional.”
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Post by Keretheriel on Mar 30, 2014 21:36:34 GMT -5
He was serious. The invitation wasn't in jest; he was actually going to let her, with all the unknowns she represented into the home of Alpha's daughter. Of course, he had a point that it would take them off the street and out of the public eye. The idea of setting foot in what was a veritable forbidden space was remarkably delicious, and she couldn't quite suppress a shiver of anticipation.
Perhaps he would misinterpret her eagerness and attribute it to the memory he thought to stir of centuries past— the scent of rain-darkened earth and the crackle of a fire. She remembered the weight of him and the oddly specific way he had held her face in his hands to kiss her, but it wasn't thoughts of changing angles or their bodies melting together that made it seem the air suddenly seem to dance along every inch of exposed skin like the caress of electricity. Her blood had run hot before, when it had appeared she would be forced to wait, and now suddenly things were moving again. Now it was cold fire coursing through her veins. . .
All of the information was tucked away for later: she had no real context to put any of it in just yet. The Siren straightened up to an actual sitting position, taking the time to pluck coin from a pocket in her cloak well worth the serving girl's trauma and set it near their mugs.
”Shall we, then?” The Betrayer stood, taking the time to sweep the heavy garment from its rumpled spread and settle it 'round the curves of her bared shoulders— adjusting it until the lavish pelt of rich black framed her features attractively.
{End Scene}
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