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Post by Ninette De La Magnifique on Apr 11, 2011 17:57:38 GMT 8
Ninette would sit on the dust riddled staircase; majestic in its own right, a marbled make that curved from the ground floor of the 100 years old mansion to the upper floor, housing the endless corridors that made up the house of the damned. A heave of sigh would resign from painted tiers; in sheer boredom for any other emotions were lost to the age old jesterette. A pale, alabaster hand would rise to rest dainty digits on her exposed cleavage; those talon-like nails caressing the semi-sentient being that lies between two full mounds; secured in the deep valley of her cleavage. The whispers in her mind continued; warring words of the old tongue, as if in discussion with the spirits residing within the accursed shard of Ruby. Ears, sensitive as would like any demonic being, perked to the slightest sound that came to brush upon studded earlobes. Obsidian eyes glancing to the immediate vicinity though the blaze was kept low for naught was seen in the surrounding but shadows and shy ghosts hiding within dark riddled crooks and corners. "So bad.. so sad". Came a soft, raspy whisper from the lone jesterette known as Ninette, La Magnifique.
Le Spook: Their afflictions like he understood all others. The disease to him was a complete mystery, and it's nature gave no quarter when he sought it out to study it. If he could have ten minutes alone in a dark cell with Meme.. It made him grin and most cheshire grin to think of what he could do with that time. "It smells so lost here. Lost to ages. To minds. To hearts.. "He called out to Ninette, without warning and certainly without welcome. Spook had never had the pleasure with the this jester, not to any of his memories could he place her name. From darkness of the far corner he reached out of the shadow; lithe, phantom fingers stretched out and latched on to the nearest nook in the decaying walls. With a single smooth movement, he pulled himself from the shadows, keeping his eye on the woman who sat on the staircase. Spook was unnaturally tall, and focusing directly on him came as a certain difficulty for what ever reason. His fitted black pants, tattered at the bottom where two rotted feet stood out with jagged and incorrect angles of every digit. His long legs flow seamlessly, it seemed, into a dress jacket which cling to his boney frame. His hair, matted with putrid fluids - by the smell, not just blood - ran the full course of his back and ended in a twist that jetted it out and to his right. His face, rather the lack there of, was shrouded behind a porcelain mask, the cleanest of any of his dress. A single, ordinary eye was painted into the mask in black, which was fixated on Ninette. "So lost, that one wonders why a child of it's past would return?" A most peculiar thing, his voice. Even the twenty feet or so away he was from the staircase, he sounded as if he was just beside her. Even the roaches and mice scurried about inside the home, as if he had been near them as well. <E>
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Post by Ninette De La Magnifique on Apr 11, 2011 17:58:04 GMT 8
The quiet shuffling, though too soft to be heard but by senses beyond that of the realm of humanity, was heard as whispers; like the rustling of leaves upon tired branches of a dying tree. And in between the tell-tale pit patter of the light footed, a different beat was heard; strong and purposeful in its life sustaining rhythm. The jesterette remained poised on the marble throne of stairs, obsidian eyes peering into the darkness from whence the small sounds were emitting from. A semblance of a smile would slowly creep onto full lips, lending an eerie sight to the beauty that is embodied in the form of Ninette. And then he appeared, as if craved out of the shadow itself, coming to stand a few yards from where she sat. A soft gasp, inaudible, ensued as obsidian eyes widen to register for a moment as the visage so inhuman yet mortal in obvious ways came to reside within her sharp vision. A perfectly formed eyebrow would rise, the tear shaped tattoo on her left cheek, glistening in the dim light lent by the full moon peering from a broken window adjacent to the grand staircase. The mask, the only perfection was an odd contrast. "A lost child must strive to find its way home" She would offer quietly, keeping her station, the only movement would have been her full tiered lips. "And what brought you to this magnificent abode of the damned?" She would continue; the alabaster hand falling back onto her waiting lap. "And who might be so bold as to enter without an invitation?" The air then sizzled with strands of invisible auras; intangible fingers rushing forth to touch the humanoid, probing and prodding its mana. A test it would appear, to see if he was a friend or a foe.
Le Spook: Even as he spoke, as he replied to her in a melancholy of tones, the mouth behind the mask didn't move. Perfectly still he stood before her, folding his undead hands behind his back and taking a single step forward. "For now, my new acquaintence, I am a long lost friend of the Carnivale." He let her reach forth to him and understand all the better who, or perhaps what, he was. It very much felt like she was gazing into the depths of an abyss. A darkness, a blacker than black shadow, seemed to what constructed the very core of the one standing before her. His features flickered and danced for a moment, as if he was the picture in an antique television that was losing it's signal. "I have been here before. For one of your brothers brought me here." Illustrex, you know you can trust me.. As if a passing memory had been given life, he had stood where she sat now. She felt his presence, and the very anger he shook with. And she felt the same overwhelming darkness that she did now, standing in that same place. "History," he began, while the memory faded with a cruel laugh as it's ending note. "Is destined to repeat itself. Evil will always give birth to new evil, but that isn't something I need to tell you, is it?" And that same cruel laugh. The very same pitch, the same unpleasant cackle filled her ears. He turned his head upwards as it to look at the chandelier above them, but even as he did, the eye painted on the mask stayed on her. "I offer this, Harlequin. A favor, as it were, for knowledge. I will give the favor, if you will give me the knowledge." His stonewashed mask turned back to her, and once again, his features flickered in and out of existence. "But I cannot stay here, dear girl. While I might be welcome, I am no Harlequin. This.. Physical body.. " He lifted his hands and seemed to look at them, though once again, he never took his eye off of her. "Is so very tired from the travel it endured to get here. Here.. Just to speak to you. But you can come to where I am. You can do anything, Harlequin." The sound of his voice was that of someone who had admired and loved, only to be rejected and denied. <E>
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Post by Ninette De La Magnifique on Apr 11, 2011 17:58:25 GMT 8
The strands of auras were dismissed as he stepped forth, his hidden visage becoming apparent, though just a moment, behind the unique mask. The jesterette has come to a conclusion that he was neither a threat or a foe but being what she was, wary was never far behind. Trust was not a virtue known to the Harlequins, if ever they have any to begin with. The black pools of her obsidian gaze shimmered as if a tiny stone had been hurled into its mirrored surface, disturbing the peace, and peace will never be related to something so sinister, as they regarded the entity standing purposefully before her. Ninette, the Harlequin has felt the raw energy behind his seemingly fragile make. The forbidden powers of the Abyss has lent much darkness to the entity before her that it was almost tangible to the jesterette's senses. What are you? The words began to form in the recesses of her dark mind but was swiftly withdrawn with the coming of his voice. A perfectly shaped eyebrow would rise as her ears perk, the aura emitted by the entity was captured. A trace of her sibling in the air? She heaved a ragged breath, unnecessary to the undead form but as habit of her vessel."So you have.." She replied. Xander, the Harlequin known to the world as Illustrex came to mind as if introduced somehow by the words that flowed freely from the entity's hidden mouth. Her eyes followed as his head moved to look up at the cobweb riddled chandelier. Or did he? For his animated eye seemed to stay focused on her flawless visage. She heaves another cold, unwanted air. Her lips would move to reply but for the continuous words that formed sentences in a voice yet to be classified as human's or otherwise. Finally when his words died did she replied. "I do not know where you reside." Eyes strayed from his masked facade to caress her beloved surrounding. "And why would I search for you to ask for a favor I do not require?" Her soft, raspy voice seemed to be disembodied; floating next to his ears. As swift as light, she was standing before the projection of sorts, staring into the animated eye with the determination of a spoiled child. "I shall do nothing for the likes of you". She finishes with a mirthless chuckle though lips remained pressed firmly together.
Le Spook: "Because," He began slowly stepping towards her. With the rise and fall of his sentances, another step. "Time is still outside of your grasp. Ageless a Harlequin might be, but time has no master." With each slow step, his presence became more and more obstructive. Her thoughts became interupted and unprecise, her eyesight unsteady and unfocused. It didn't necessarily seem like Spook was doing it on purpose, but rather, it was an unfortunate reaction to his projection onto this plane from where ever he had come from. "Because you will find that in time everything grows around you. Something will happen. Someone will come. A hero of light, a mercenary of greed, an agent of darkness." He stopped, just a few feet from her, slowly kneeling down to be eye to eye to her; otherwise, he had towered over her at a staggering nine feet. "What I offer, Harlequin, is my favor. A favor from the Spook." His name seemed omnious. It echoed about the mansion in a most unnatural way, as if the very mentioning of the being inftont of her didn't belong, or never should have been. "And all I ask in return is a cup of tea in my home, and a conversation about the very thing that created you, and the one who spawned this blissful horror.. Meme." If he could have grinned, he might have. "I seem to recall several names from the conversations I've had. I seem to remember a most peculiar conversation with Illustrex, about.. Well. Family matters should remain.. In the family, Mmh?" <E>
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