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Post by Obscuris on Nov 18, 2015 22:45:14 GMT
La Seine was the most exclusive restaurant in all of Paris and was a high contender of the title of most expensive of the world. It was a palace of opulence that spread through the extensive last floor of one of the tallest skyscrapers of the city, this jewel of western cuisine fed members of the highest of social classes: Presidents, politicians and leaders of giant conglomerates of companies would wait months or even years for a reservation. That night, just a few tables were occupied by society’s “best” which was the way those foolish and disgusting millionaires called themselves, in a vain attempt to draw away themselves of the fact that they were as trivial for the world as a mere insect.
The evening was calm and the clients were enjoying the exorbitantly expensive pleasures of La Seine. No one of those arrogant individuals noticed the man in a suit and black sunglasses that stepped into the hall when the elevator’s gate opened and whispered something to the ear of the maître. The waiter’s eyes opened wide as the man talked and then nodded. Ringing a small bell that produced a high pitched tingling that echoed through the room, the waitress spoke with the clam and soothing voice that characterized those persons who put up with the arrogance of the higher class and announced “Mesdames et Messieurs I’m terribly sorry to announce that for reason beyond our control, La Seine will now close its gates for the night”. While he talked, a troop of waitress appeared from the kitchen gate and with cold courtesy went through the tables removing the plates.
The clients that were trying to complain with the maître suddenly realized that the man who had whispered to his ear wasn’t alone. With a soft “Ding!” the elevator gates opened once more and ten more men poured out. All wearing black suits, sunglasses and a device on their ears, the sight of those bodyguards was enough to discourage any more complains from the clients, who slowly left the place one by one (an overly-sized man was particularly difficult to deal with, as he tried was trying to eat the contents of the plates the waiters were carrying and at the end it took three security guards to take him off the building). A blonde young woman, wearing glasses and a tight black dress which left little room for imagination, popped out of the elevator behind the bodyguards and started giving those tall and menacing men orders like tiny general. While the men moved, she took out a note pad and a pen and carefully wrote something in it.
The best table of the place was still occupied by a young couple who, despite the maître best efforts to explain them why they should go, refused to leave. The main problem was the young rich man who was shouting at the waiter. He had the typical look of a man who never had an honest day of work on his entire life and thought that the world was his. “I’m not leaving here! Don’t you know who I am?” he arrogantly shouted at the maître’s face, who was unsuccessfully trying to calm him. “My father is the president of a huge company, do you think someone like you can make me leave? I could destroy you as a bug!”. His escort wasn’t paying attention, she had a glass of wine (not the first one of the night) on her hand which she was swinging gently at the compass of the soft music with a blank smile on her face. She seemed like a beautiful woman, but the thick layer of makeup she was wearing betrayed her. The bothersome man kept rambling and threatening the waiter and didn’t notice that the elevator’s doors opened once again.
Two of the guards, who were standing next to the elevator, quickly turned around and bowed respectfully to the elegant man that came out of it. He walked calmly into the restaurant and gently placed his large coat in a waiter’s hands and after exchanging a few words with the blond and busty woman, he headed towards the troublesome man. His immaculate shoes didn’t seem to touch the shiny floor as he moved in a calm and elegant fashion. After taking off his coat, his attire was simple and intriguing. His straight black pants fit his long legs perfectly and accompanied his movements like silk and his sleeves got wider as they approached his hands, which were covered by black leather gloves. Beneath a black jacket, he wore a perfectly white shirt that reached far along his neck and was crowned by a neckpiece tied in a way that reminded of seventeenth century attire and completely hid his neck. To complete his look, his long jet black hair fell indolently over his shoulders and back and moved gently as he advanced. Behind the soft lights of La Seine, his hair seemed to flash blue time to time.
This elegant man put his hand softly on the maître’s shoulders and spoke with a soothing and soft voice, but it was heard across the hall. “Please Monsieur, let me handle this” the arrogant young didn’t recognize the man who had just appeared and almost spit to his face as he blurted “Who are you? Another butler? Get out of here before I smash your fucking face”. Despite the man’s agression, the French gentleman didn’t lose his composure “I beg you, Monsieur. Do not use such a rude language in the presence of a lady” he said, staring at her. The woman had been watching with fascination at the Frenchman from the moment he had appeared out of the elevator and blushed notably through her make up when his heterochromatic eyes met hers. The yelling man glared at the strange gentleman, then at his blushing companion and back at the gentleman. He felt as he was losing the control of the situation and those kind of men don’t like when they feel that.
He stood up, shaking the table brusquely and stood in front of the long haired man “Why the fuck are you looking at my woman, you cunt?” he shouted “I’ll fucking…” he was interrupted when the Frenchman’s secretary, the blond woman with the black dress, stood next to her boss and monotonically said “Your guest will be arriving soon, Mr. Montecristo. Should I tell the guards to escort this… person out?”
The arrogant imbecile stood there petrified with his mouth open and a stupid expression on his face as he processed what he just heard. “M-montecristo? T-that Montecristo?” he stuttered, suddenly turning pale. A short smile went through the Count’s mouth as he admired the reaction. “My dear friend, it’s not a polite to start a sentence and never finishing it” he said with the same calm tone as his smile grew wider and glared deep into the man’s eyes “What were you planning on doing to me?”. The rude man became pale as a corpse, grabbed his companion hand and pulled her towards the elevator with the expression of a man running away from the reaper. The woman in the other hand, couldn’t get her eyes off the Count’s face and the eye contact between the two was only broken when the elevator’s doors closed.
With the smile still dancing on his lips, the Count sat on the table and stared through the window as the waiter’s cleaned the table. That was the reason he wanted that table, the view. Sideways against a wide and tall window, whoever was sitting there could see the entire city of Paris from there and by the convenient placement of the building, the Eiffel Tower could be admire perfectly from there. The night was young and fresh. The moon shone triumphantly over the city and the stars were the best possible companion for her, blinking on the dark sky like the reflection of the sun on an immense sea.
“Would you like to order, Monsieur?” A waiter asked as he approached the Count’s lonely table. “Thank you, mon ami” the count answered as he leaned back on his chair and crossed his hands over the table “But I’m waiting for a guest. Tonight, it’ll be dinner for two”
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Percival
Newbie
I'll try to do what I can
Posts: 19
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Post by Percival on Nov 19, 2015 0:48:09 GMT
A gentle hum filled the elevator as it rose up each floor. The glass shaft and walls allowed the light of a Paris afternoon to flood in. Looking down, one could see the world below grow ever smaller and ever distant. From this height, everyone was but a mere insect. From up here, the horizon wasn't so distant. From here, all that seemed immense became but minuscule blurs in the edge of one's vision.
The elevator itself was a simple box in shape, with three out of the four sides entirely composed of Plexiglas. The fourth side - the side with the door - was made from pure black granite. The surface was shiny and smooth, with speckles that caught the light and gave it a slightly glittery appearance. The floor was tiled with ornate ceramic tiles.
The individual within was relatively curious, as well. His eyes were seemingly shut, and were covered by bright pink locks, cut messily throughout his head. A smile plastered his face, stretching from ear to ear in an unnerving display of giddiness. His attire didn't even seem to fit in with the setting. His bright white lab coat and Scarlet cravat. His crimson vest and khaki slacks. Khaki slacks! To top it off, a straw skimmer is propped atop his head - slightly crooked, mind you. In his hand were a bamboo cane. His attire seemed more fitting for a Disney cartoon than the most prestigious restaurant in all of France -nay- the world!
A soft hum passed through his lips. A random tune, lacking any and all rhyme or reason. It just sounded like a bunch of random notes that lacked any theory or meaning. A cacophonous tune in minor chord that could drive any normal man mad if given enough time to widdle down one's consciousness.
The elevator chimed as the doors slid open. His song ended as he stepped out. His shining black loafers and the tip of his cane clicked with each step against the solid black marble floors. "Why'd you have to choose Paris as the venuuuue?" He whined.
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Post by Obscuris on Nov 19, 2015 2:52:56 GMT
The Count waited patiently against the window, delighting himself with the beautiful picture that was Paris at night. The lines the building walls traced, the curves of the streets, the soft lights of the houses that flickered like fireflies and, as the crowing in jewel, the Eiffel Tower… it truly was a work of art from an forgotten artist. A few meters away from the Frenchman, there was a small stage illuminated by dim colored lights that danced against the black curtain behind the stages, creating fantastic shapes and almost impossible colors combinations. La Seine’s stage was reserved for the greatest musicians in the world. The acoustics of the restaurant were almost told as a legend between underground players and there was possibly a few jazz musicians that went to sleep every night in tears, harassed by the thought that they would never play in that place. And now, that marvelous stage was being enchanted by the heart breaking sounds of a harp. Dressed in a long dark green dress that resembled traditional Japanese attires, a young and breathe taking beautiful woman was gently caressing the strings of a silver harp. Her name was Haydee. The music she made was soft and filled the restaurant with a melancholic atmosphere.
But her music stopped when the elevator’s bell rang, announcing the arrival of the Count’s guest. As the harp’s last notes fade into the air, the Count stood up and stared at his guest for the first time. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling gently. His strange selection of clothes and informal manners were incredibly misplaced in the elegant and pretentious La Seine, but the Count found more hilarious the reaction of the waiters and his security, whose menacing pose made them appear to be guarding statues. The horrifying features of his face made were part of every child’s worst nightmare and everyone, even the toughest of the bodyguards, took an unconscious step back away from the frightening figure that could have been taking directly from Dante’s nine circles of hell. As a finishing touch, the strange man spoke with spine-chilling whine. One of the bravest waiters, helped by the others, approached the Candyman to get his coat and cane.
The Count, however, didn’t seem to be disturbed by his guest’s weird appearance or manners and greet him as a friend as he walked towards him. “Ah! Monsieur Berlingot, you are finally here” the Frenchman said calmly “I believe we have not been formally introduced yet. You can call me the Count of Montecristo” along with his introduction, the long haired gentleman bowed with the elegance of knight. “Please, do not take this as a discourtesy. For reasons I cannot explain, I am afraid that I cannot tell you my real name. Come, sit with me” He pointed briefly to the table where he had been sitting until his guest had arrived and then walked towards it.
“I am sorry if I bothered you asking you to come all the way to Paris, mon ami” he apologized with his typical soft smile and mysterious expression on his eyes “I have a weakness for this wonderful city. Deep inside me, I found peace and tranquility when I watch her” the Frenchman stood at the side of the table and looked out the window “When I stare long enough, I can almost feel the spirit of those who fought and shed their blood for the sake of this beautiful city and the ideals that she holds. Liberté, égalite et fraternité” For a mere instant, the Count’s gaze turned blank when he pronounced that last word but quickly came back. As he sat down, Haydee continued with her concert and a waiter came to the table with a couple leather menus. “Ah! Where are my manners?” the Count looked disappointed on himself as he grabbed both menus and handed one over to Anthony “What would you like for dinner, mon ami? The scallops with black truffle sauce are a delight”
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Percival
Newbie
I'll try to do what I can
Posts: 19
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Post by Percival on Nov 21, 2015 4:00:17 GMT
"You have a lot of nerve making Paris the locale." He sighs in exasperation. "I've been here so many times, the Eiffel tower's become trivial to me. And that's saying something, y'know!"
With each step he takes, his shoes release a loud snap. Crisp and professional sounding, one could sense the irony from a mile away. He walked with his head held high, yes, but he never seemed to focus on anything. He just seemed to glance upon whatever piqued his curiosity. A potted plant, the ornate tablecloths, the beautiful maiden strumming the serene notes of the harp. He let out a small chuckle every time his eyes caught one of the members of the Count's merry entourage of bodyguards and servants. Nine times out of ten, they seemed to respond by either cringing, or outright stepping back. When the time came for a brave soul to take his coat, he growled and stepped forward. out of his reach. "I want my coat! It's mine! AND my cane!"
He turns to the Count of Montecristo and seems to eye him up. The clean cut beard, the flowing hair. He seemed like somebody out of an anime, or maybe at least a fancy shampoo commercial. He took note of the man's clothes, and scanned the peculiar individual's face inquisitively before slowly slumping into a seat.
Not one for manners, his eyes drifted everywhere as the strange Count collected his thoughts. He caught the occasional word or two, but seemed to find the bright colors of the stage lights to be a more important thing to focus his attention. They shone upon the sleek stage, reflecting in various blues greens and reds into the lowlit dining area below. Occasionally, though, Anthony would nod, or mutter an "Uh-huh" in response to what seemed to be just a lecture from a boring old man.
Then the mention of food came up, and he sat up like a soldier at attention. Then the scallops came up and he groaned. "Ewww, those seem nasty..." He muttered. He lifted a menu and scanned it before slumping over. "These all seem grody... I can't even pronounce half of the ingredients listed on here... is there a kiddie menu or something that has food on it?" He asked as he sat up and looked inquisitively to the Count. "Maybe some chicken nuggets or a PB and J?"
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Post by Obscuris on Nov 22, 2015 22:11:16 GMT
As some a couple of the bodyguards took the fainted body of the waiter who had the scare of a life time when the Creepy Candyman roared as the poor man asked for his belongings, the Count gently called the waiter back with a gesture when his guest complained about the food. Only a two of the Count’s followers were able to stare directly into Anthony’s face. One of them was Haydee, the beautiful harp player who didn’t take her astonishing green eyes of her instrument when the Count’s guest arrived even with all the ruckus it caused between the employees of La Seine. However, she glared at the extravagant man as the Count gave a small speech about his attraction to Paris. The Frenchman didn’t seem to notice the completely lack of interest that Anthony was showing and if he did, he didn’t care. Haydee knew that the Count’s attentive eyes saw more than all his servants combined, so she assumed it was the second option. She, on the other hand, wasn’t as forgiving as the Count. For the small moments she took her attention off the harp, she gave Anthony a painfully venomous look as he disrespected the man she loved and admire and then turned her sight back to her delicate strings of her instrument.
The other one was the Count’s blond assistant, the one with the tight black dress. Her name was Valerie Akerman. With Swedish roots and the United States as her birthplace, the woman had brilliant golden hair diligently tied in a bun on the back of her head. Her curvy and sensual body could belong to a well-known model and the tight black dress she was wearing made some of the least professional guards stare at her for long periods of time. However, her tough and sever expression discouraged all attempts to get near her and gave Valerie an atmosphere more suited to a school principal than a super model. She felt an almost immediate aversion against the pink haired man-child who was talking to her boss and found his lack of manners and respect extremely irritating. Unlike the reserved Haydee, Valerie didn’t like to hide her emotions. The straw that broke the camel’s back was Anthony’s childish rant about the food. Valerie walked towards the Count’s table and stood beside the Candyman, staring at him with disgust. “Do you have any idea who are you talking to?” she said coldly “After all the trouble he took to…” the Count simply raised his hand and Valerie made a huge effort to control herself. As if nothing was happening, the Frenchman made another gesture to the waiter, who had stopped a few steps when Valerie started her indignant rant. “I am terribly sorry, monsieur” he said calmly to the confused waiter “but the menu is not of the taste of our guest. Could you please bring him one the exquisite dishes he is asking for?” the waiter nodded and asked Anthony for his order. As he walked away, the Count turned to the Candyman “You will have to forgive my assistant, mon ami. Valerie is an impeccable and efficient assistant and secretary but she tends letting her strong personality get the best of her from time to time. I find that feature of her to be a delight even in this serious business world that I am in”. Although the Count’s voice was calm and polite, Valerie understood she was receiving a scolding and, after giving Anthony a glacial stare, she went back to her table and sat with her back against the two men.
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Percival
Newbie
I'll try to do what I can
Posts: 19
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Post by Percival on Nov 24, 2015 4:27:00 GMT
The Pink haired man stood with that stupidly terrifying beam spattered along his face as he turned to look at the lady approaching. When she opened her mouth to speak, and only words of distaste spilled out, his eyes saddened, despite them being closed. He looked up to her, about to cry, then sighed when the count waved her away. "Such a meanie..." he muttered. "Why are girls always such meanies...?"
He then looked to the count, whom seemed to be taking his mannerisms very well. Unlike his mean assistants, he accommodated for his peculiar tastes (Or lack thereof). He didn't even seem swayed by asking the waiter to bring out Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwiches. His smile seemed to grow wider. It were as if this guy wanted to be friends. This peculiar gesture seemed to confuse Anthony. It almost seemed suspicious. Anthony processed this, and knew to not take this man lightly. He remembered how his goons described him as "A powerful man, with a lot of influence around the world." and "The owner of the most powerful country in Europe."
This intimidated him once it came to mind, but Anthony made sure to not show his fear. His eyes once more kept darting around the room. They caught each assistant's eyes, then caught the count's himself.
"So what did you bring me here for?" He asked in a surprisingly sweet tone. "You know I, too am a very busy guy. Candy doesn't sell itself, you know." He fidgeted with his hat and cane, already getting antsy from this dull, stuffy atmosphere. It was not his kind of scene for obvious reasons.
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Post by Obscuris on Nov 26, 2015 19:02:03 GMT
The Count took his time before answering. He cut a small portion of the magnificently presented scallop, put it delicately on his mouth and then cleansed his palate with a sip of a local red wine that shone in a delightful crimson color range. He savored the dish with pleasure, it was definitely a dish of one of the best restaurants in the world. After some moments, the Count’s strange double-colored stare fixed intensely on Anthony’s closed eyes. “Straight to the point, I see…” he whispered and with a simple gesture to his servants, his servants and bodyguards stood up and quickly left the room to give the Count and his particular guest privacy. The last one to leave was a waiter, who brought the Candyman’s plate and then strode hastily towards the kitchen door. Only Haydee remained in the room, striking swiftly chords. “Feel free to talk, mon ami. We are alone now and you have my humble word that no one is hearing this conversation” the Count didn’t take his eyes of his guest for a second as his servants left the room and for the first time in the dinner, his stare fell on Haydee. For a fraction of an instant, the Count’s gentle and elegant eyes softened and his affection for her young servant shone brightly. However, that brief moment flew away. “Such a beautiful flower, isn’t she?” the Count said softly “Do not worry about her, monsieur. Haydee is my most trustworthy servant and she would gladly accept the cold embrace of death before saying a word of this conversation to any other soul.”. He stared at Anthony once again and recovered his elegant mannerisms. “I do not know if you are aware, mon ami, that there exists another world inside this one. Lurking in the shadows like a furious beast contained only by few fragile chains, the Hidden World’s beats like a living being. Individuals of immense power, skills and richness clash as if they were hurricanes beneath the ignorant noses of the real world. Only a few powerless organizations control the immensely strong winds and just the smallest of cracks would create absolute chaos.” Following his words with gestures, the Count finished his speech by mildly emphasizing that last word which sounded potent comparing it with Frenchman’s soft tone of voice. The elegant businessman was about to continue when Haydee, who had silently stopped playing and her feet didn’t make a single sound against the cold stone floor as she walked towards the Count. Without a glance towards Anthony, the young woman took a small golden box out of her clothes. “It’s time, monsieur Count” she spoke in a gentle undertone that sounded soft like silk. The green haired girl handed the shining box to his master and silently walked away. “Ah... thank you very much, my dear Haydee” the Count smiled grinned at his beautiful servant, who answered with a cute and timid smile of her own. “I am sorry for the interruption, mon ami” the Count said as he opened the small box. Inside, there were a bunch of brightly colored pills and the Frenchman took one and swallow it without much effort. “It is a medicine I have to take from time to time. A small medical problem, nothing to be worried about” one of his typical gentle smiles danced on the corners of the Count’s mouth as he left the small box in the side of the table “Although, luck is on my favor. Those pills are unbelievably sweet and prove to be a delightful treat from time to time” “Now, now…” he looked confused and took his eyes for a moment while he stared out the window. The Count drummed gently his fingers on the wood, concentrating “where was I…?”
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Percival
Newbie
I'll try to do what I can
Posts: 19
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Post by Percival on Dec 3, 2015 23:24:33 GMT
The plate laid before him was a simple children's platter. The faire you would typically see served by a mother to her child a lunchtime. Upon the simple white plate was a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, cut so that the crust was removed, and formed into two perfect right triangles. Each was propped upon the edge of the plate, and between them lay a large serving of Dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets. Anthony's eyes drifted down, and he smiled. It wasn't long before he had begun to play with the beastly pieces of fowl. When the count mentioned Haydee, he was off in the Jurassic period, observing two breaded giants going at one another. He smiled and growled as each of them bashed heads before finally lifting one to his mouth and tearing its head off with a satisfied roar. This was interrupted when the count turned to face him. He as hunched over, his eyes widened, revealing golden irises. Slightly embarrassed at getting a tinge carried away before a grownup, Anthony sat up and dropped the food on his plate, looking as though nothing had happened.
When the Hidden World was brought up, Anthony bumped up a curious eyebrow. His eyes were sealed shut once more. Oddly, them mentioning brought up an image in the back of his head. Tall, tendrilly... a cloak? What was this? He had never seen something like this before... an immense mask of masks. Madness... It seemed as though it were a distant memory, but it was no use dwelling on it. Though the chaos that seemed to swirl about it was fantastic. Chaos.. Yes, chaos. When the count says the word, it sounded like he was choking up. If it were Anthony, he'd have choked up from the beauty of it. His smile widened as he daydreamed of the chaos from the fun house. He daydreamed of driving his parents and town mad. He remembered when he got the cane and the hat, and... oh, it seems the count is eating something. He watches as he takes the pill, unsure what the purpose is. The again, he doesn't really seem to care.
"You still haven't answered why I'm here..." He groaned. This count guy seems to just drone on and on. Perhaps this is what he was brought here for? To be bored to death singlehandedly by this pompous frog who reeks of wine, cheese, and cologne?
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Post by Obscuris on Dec 8, 2015 3:34:17 GMT
“I am sorry to bother you with the extensive thoughts of a boring business man, mon ami” the Count softly said, fixing his eyes on his strange visitor. “It is a particular habit I feel obliged to use in the world I live in. Some of my ‘associates’ require long, tedious and repetitive conversations to get an idea on their hard aristocratic minds. I see that this will not be the case, so I will do my best to accommodate my speeches for you, monsieur Berlingot”.
The Count put his plate aside after taking just a bite of the extravagant meal and interlocked his long fingers over the table. “If you are so eager to get to the point then I should not make you wait any longer” After a small pause, he continued with a more informal tone “Tell me, monsieur Berlingot, what would you think a man of business would do if he is informed that there is a whole new world living right under his nose, bubbling with economic potential and opportunities?An untouched and prolific market that it is almost inaccessible to the regular world” The Count smirked unintentionally. Although he seemed to prolong his ideas once again, it was the shortest summary he could produce about such an extensive topic as the Hidden World. “I have been informed that you are a man with some… interesting skills, to say the least. The perfect skills a man like me could use to enter that new world which is filled with super-human beings.” The Frenchman’s gaze became more intense “I am proposing you an association, mon ami. And I am willing to pay you whatever price you ask for it" With a soft smile, he added "although I imagine you are not someone who will be satisfied with money and richness”
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Percival
Newbie
I'll try to do what I can
Posts: 19
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Post by Percival on Dec 27, 2015 23:00:26 GMT
He may be young at heart, but he knows what exploitation of resources is, and he has a good feeling as to where this "count" fellow is leading him. The instant he spouted the word "association" from his fru-fru lips, Anthony's suspicions were proven. An association. The word rang through Anthony's head, bouncing about as he tried to figure out this man's intentions. For once, however, the candy maker was curious. For once, the count had him hooked. What was this other world? "And what are the conditions of the association?" he blurts. It's not normal of him to talk business. Even he seems surprised by the words slipping out. His smile returned to his face. "And why do you need my powers? And what is this world? And why is a businessman who is clearly more boring than a schoolteacher interested in somewhere actually interesting?" He then mutters "Because you clearly have a taste in locale that is about as riveting as tofu...goddamn Paris..." The word Hastur pops into Berlingot's head for but a split second.
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Post by Obscuris on Jan 3, 2016 2:41:23 GMT
Anthony’s harmful words that were received by another one of Haydee’s disapproving and cold stares, didn’t seem to bother the Count. On the contrary, it made his gentle smile wider. “You ask many questions, mon ami” he said, his voice smooth as silk “but you are missing the most important one. Why worry about the why and how, when you could be wondering what would you achieve from this association?”
Haydee started playing once again as the Count made a small pause to enjoy the heartbreaking notes his companion fingers tore from the harp. Resting his head on his open palm and slightly bowing it, the Frenchman close his eyes for a moment and then continued. “I am sorry, monsieur Berlingot. Another one of the pesky habits I caught is that I never reveal my plans before the deal is sealed. A knowledgeable gentleman such as yourself would understand, I am sure. Instead allow me to show you, my dear friend, this ‘Hidden World’” the Count took out a small device out of a pocket with one swift movement and after he touched the only button it had, the lights at La Seine’s dimmed leaving a comfortable half-light and the wall in the opposite side of the room slide under itself revealing a massive screen. When the first images appeared, the incredible quality of the recording made it seem more like a window than a television.
The video showed what appeared to be an underground amphitheater with several beams of lights pointing to a ring at the center of it, surrounded by an excited and cheering crowd. By the magic of video editing, the constant racket of the mob was completely cut out and their screaming faces in the shadows of the ringside seem to transform their features on that of a wild beast. Six pillars hold up a tall metal fence around the blood stained ring where two opponents stared at each other intensely as they walked in a circle, like two wolves about to fight for their packs. A few punches pierced through the dense air of the ring as they measured each other strength and tried to find an opening. The match had just started. “It looks like a common fight club, don’t you think?” The Count commented as he gently moved his glass of wine, making the blood-red liquid dance inside of the cup “Hundreds of underground rings host fights each night to satisfy the hunger for blood of both combatants and audience. But this one is indeed different in one crucial detail. Look!”
One of the fighters was a young woman dressed in traditional Chinese kung-fu clothing and her long hair tied diligently into a small bun on the back of her head. She moved confidently through the ring in slow and methodic steps, without taking her eyes of her opponent and armed with an impenetrable guard. Her foe couldn’t be more different than the martial artist. Showing of an amazing orange crest, the teenager seemed fit for a punk rock festival than an underground ring. His face was covered in piercings and a pair brutal tattoos run through his neck and his shirtless chest. The punk jumped and insulted his opponent without any guard whatsoever. They both danced around each other for a moment until the pierced man lunged forward and unleashed a barrage of punches against his foe which were easily blocked by her strong arms. However, the man continued his attack until the woman found herself on the middle of the ring and then jumped backwards, leaving a good distance between them. The martial artist stood in her place like a rock, completely unfazed by the dishonorable attitude of her rival. That seemed to anger the punk-rocker, who spit at the woman and insult her on the most harmful way he could imagine. Furious by the lack of attention, he started circling around his opponent to find a hole on her defenses and after a few laps around the ring, the man speed grew faster… and faster… and faster. Beyond the human limits, the man he left behind an after image of himself as he sprinted through the battlefield and as he’s speed grew bigger, the mirage become clearer. So solid the mirage was, that when he stopped moving there were two fighters against the martial artist. With a foolish smirk, both the man and his mirage attacked the woman but hit nothing but air. The left and right side of the woman in the kung-fu attire seemed to be independent from each other as they blocked his attackers’ fierce offensive in perfect harmony, like a perfectly oiled machine. The incredible showdown continued for some moments until one of the punk-rockers threw a punch with too much strength and lost his balance. Not willing to lose her chance, the martial artist clenched her foe’s arm between her hands and, fluid like water, threw him over her shoulder against the mirage. The man pierced through his after image, rolled on the canvas and stood up with haste. Spitting foam out of pure rage, the rocker charged towards his opponent naively and launched a straight punch against her face.
With her eyes closed the woman took a deep breath as her rival moved and the instant before she was hit, her legs blurred and in the blink of an eye… she disappeared. Unable to stop his momentum, the man fist hit the metal fence and pierced through it with such power that the entire ring shook as if it was hit by a truck. The crowd hold their breath when the woman reappeared in the middle of the air behind the man. The woman’s arm burst into flames as she spin in mid-air and unleashed a powerful faming punch to the head of her confused foe. The last thing the poor man could see was a flaming fist inches away of his face as he turned around.
The recording stopped as the crowed exploded in cheers over the triumphant martial artist as a couple of medics took out the unconscious body of the punky, whose hair had been completely burned by the flames. “Wonderful, isn’t it? What you just seen was one of the matches of the organization known as Spirit Boxing Federation, or SBF.” The Count said as he took another sip of wine. “As you can see, it is no ordinary sport. The members of this organization use energy derived from the very essence of their emotions to gain power and achieve such magnificent feats as the ones you have just seen. This Spirit Boxing Federation is just one of many organizations that conform the Hidden World and that power is a mere grain of sand in the vast sand the Hidden World is. I am sure that you can see the potential this strange world hold, my dear friend. A common man such as myself, no matter how powerful he is in the real world, would never be able to advance in that market. In that fact rests the reason why you are here, monsieur Berlingot. As I told you before, I could use a man with your skills if I want to enter this new and exciting world.” With that sentence, the Count pressed the button once again and the screen was hidden was again as the lights turned back on.
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Percival
Newbie
I'll try to do what I can
Posts: 19
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Post by Percival on Jan 4, 2016 3:30:12 GMT
His eyes opened slightly, narrow slits that met the businessman with skepticism. why make a deal if the terms weren't laid out as to what the deal entailed? And yet what was to stop him from finding out more about this hidden world deal, himself? It was a subject matter that held his attention, and he wanted to see it with his own eyes one way or another. It was that toy at the toy store mommy never bought, and he wanted it. He wanted to play with it. He knew not of what it was, but the very name made him want to tear it from the package and smack it up against the wall a few times until the arm broke off and the plastic was bent into an unrecognizable shape.
But he still was cautious about the deal. Mind you, he didn't want to dwell on it. He was an idiot, he wasn't stupid, but he DOES have the attention span of a squirrel high on LSD, so he was growing awfully bored of all of these necessary details and wanted to get straight to the part where he either pushes the big red button or slams down the glass case and shout "No" in Howie Mandel's bald face. But then the lights went down, and Anthony gazed curiously into the projection screen, his eyes couldn't have grown wider.
Ir was hypnotic. The screams of people. The cage that could only be comparable to one you'd throw dogs in. The dried blood that once was crimson now a deep brown on the canvas. The entire screen practically reeked of insanity, and it took all of the willpower in the world for Anthony to not start drooling over it like Pavlov's dog in a bell factory. Each solitary swing, each parry and uppercut. The two - then three- then two again. It all seemed so fantastical. They were like those weird people he fought back in the fun house. It was peculiar.
His fascination soon waned when he turned the video off, the carnage disappearing from the screen only to hear Mr. Fancypants start rambling again. But amidst the artsy fartsy dribble, the pieces of the puzzle come together. He doesn't think. He wants to go to this world and wreak all of the havoc he wants. He wants this toy, this immense toy. He clambers onto the table, knocking his sandwich off its plate and the potted plant over; spilling pedals and water onto the floor. His hand extends over to the Frenchman. he wants in, and while this dribble spouting poet bores him, the prospect of amassing chaos amidst an entirely new world brings him a giddiness that makes even his breath shaky - almost lusty. "I'm in." he grins breathlessly.
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Post by Obscuris on Jan 7, 2016 22:31:43 GMT
“Wonderful!” the Count celebrated with a solitary clap and a soft chuckle as he leant back on his chair, grabbing once again his glass of wine. “Let’s toast then, mon ami! For the fruitful and marvelous future of this association!” he exclaimed energetically as he took a sip, closing his eyes in delight. But when he lowered his cup, something had changed.
His elegant and courteous grin was his usual and his eyes seemed as welcoming and thoughtful. But something hid beneath that deep and strange smirk. Like a hallucination, the faint glimmer of a fire miles below water, a tenebrous glimpse of something dark and powerful appeared at the depths of the Count’s pupils. For an instant, through that microscopic crack on his imperturbable mask, a darkness that could block the light of the sun itself escaped. Was that just a reflection of the incredible lights of La Seine’s stage? A mirage? Or was it something more? The answers were drowned with that strange dusk with the same speed as it had appeared.
“Say, monsieur Berlingot” the Count said calmly as ever and with a quick glance at his guest’s cane added “are you, by any chance, interested in the fine art of fencing? After I acquired this humble restaurant, I have made some slight modifications and there is a room behind that door” he pointed at a door that was partially hidden behind the stage “and it’s a perfect place for such activities. After all, a good exercise is great after a dinner” Despite his words, the Count had only eaten a few bites of his expensive meal.
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Percival
Newbie
I'll try to do what I can
Posts: 19
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Post by Percival on Jan 10, 2016 2:32:09 GMT
Just as soon as he had scrounged up the nearest tipped glass of wine had he caught sight of the glimmer within the man's eyes. It were as if - for but a brief moment within a brief moment - he had caught a glimpse of what he had glimpsed as a child. A memory surged through his head as a wave would sure along the beach and drag every grain it could grasp onto and pull into its milky wake.
His hand began to shake and his smile quivered. His pallid face paled further into a floury ghost white. He knew not of fear, so why was he shaking? Well, he knows what fear is, but it's out of character for him to quiver. He could feel the grip on his cane tighten, though he resisted the urge to draw back and pierce this man right between the eyes right here right now.
Because he knew he'd be stopped.
Not by a guard, not by an assistant, but by the count himself.
His wind-battered branch of an arm brought the glass to his lips. He forced himself to drink the little wine that remained in the glass. When the count brought the question of fencing up, it took him a moment to realize that a question was even asked. When he finally came to realize that the count spoke once more, his head snapped back to face him, and the smile had returned. He looked like the Berlingot everyone already knew. The psychopathic smile. The eyes sealed shut without as much as a sign of being forced closed. "Yes?" he muttered, unsure what was just brought up. "Something about a fence?"
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Post by Obscuris on Jan 11, 2016 23:31:27 GMT
“Fencing, mon ami” the Count corrected “A gentlemen sport, without a doubt. Pardon my arrogance, but I have been told that I am a skilled fencer and I find exercise after a good meal invigorating” A comprehensive smile was drawn on the Count’s face after he stared at his guest for a few moments “Oh! Maybe you have heard before of my brilliant swordplay and you are afraid to face me?” A sarcastic chuckle shook the elegant Frenchman’s shoulders as he stood up slowly. “I assure you, there is nothing to fear. Please, come with me”. With his hand on his back the Count walked towards the stage. After stopping for a moment so Haydee could gently entwine her arm on his, the tall man opened the hidden door.
Compared to La Seine’s elegant atmosphere and decor, the room that was revealed across the door was dull and purely functional. The impeccable white of the walls and ceiling made the square shaped room seem much bigger than it truly was and left whoever was in it with a feeling of smallness, like a fish swimming in the immensity of the ocean. Hanging from the walls laid a collection of the world’s finest swords so complete and fabulous, it could bring even the most compulsive of collectors to his knees in tears. Solemn Japanese katanas, heavy Middle Age great swords and even an antique Tuccina sword from the South America aboriginal cultures. A big black circle was drawn in the middle of the room, creating a perfect space to practice or spar against an opponent. On the wall opposite to the door, there were to more doorways that lead to a smaller room that could be used as a locker room.
As he walked into the training room, the Count sighed in delight “Magnificent, isn’t she?” he said as he look around. “It took me a long time to finish this marvelous collection, although the biggest part of it remains safe at my humble abode” Haydee let go of his hand and sat delicately on a chair near at the side of the room, away from the ring, and the Count reached the center of the room. “I am sure you notice that this isn’t the typical fencing arena, but it will be enough for a calm spar” the slim gentleman stared at the circular line that marked the edges of the arena and added “and this will undoubtedly be a perfect scenario to test your skills, mon ami. I am incredibly curious about your fantastic gifts. My sources were very vague about them and fell the need to test them, so that I can see with my own eyes that you can handle yourself in the Hidden World” With a simple gesture, the Count pointed at one of the doors “In that room you will find the protective clothing and a practice rapier, mon ami, if you are willing to duel with me, of course”
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