|
Post by Obscuris on Feb 18, 2016 2:09:19 GMT
"Ces salauds, comment pourraient ils me trahir ? Comment ils pourraient m'emprisonner ici, comme un criminel, une bête ? Ils étaient mes amis. Ces salauds ont été mes amis et j'étais prêt à couper mon propre bras avant de trahir un d'eux. Maintenant, ils ont emporté tout de moi. Ma famille, ma maison, ma richesse... ma femme. Je vendrais mon âme au diable lui-même pour punir ceux qui ont trahis moi, de voir leur vie s'écrouler autour d'eux et le désespoir dans les yeux, plus près de mes mains autour du cou. Tu m'entends, forces des ténèbres ? Mon corps est le vôtre ! Mon âme est le vôtre ! Mon coeur est à toi ! Je n'aime pas si mon corps, l'esprit et l'âme sont dans le plus profond des fosses, mais je suis limité aux brûlure tortures de l'enfer ! Faire comme vous s'il vous plaît avec moi, mais en échange de me donner le pouvoir d'obtenir ma vengeance !”
"Oh... pensez-vous vraiment que vous êtes prêt à payer le prix?" --------------------------------------------------------- His eyes opened in the dark. Those strange heterochromatic circles fazed around the room trying to figure out if that was real. He was confused. The strange and blurry memories that danced around on his mind just moments ago vanished slowly and he couldn’t hold on to them. They leaked between his grasp like water between his slim fingers. That moment of confusion lasted for a mere second before his mind understood what happened. A mere second of pure confusion and fear.
It had been a dream. Something simple, puerile for a normal person. But he hadn’t had a dream for days, years, decades. “Normal for the weak, fear of the strong”. That ironic thought popped in his mind and stayed there like a parasite on the back of his head, an insolent weed spreading his roots.
The dim blue light of the room was barely enough to see and blurred the shape and silhouettes of the few and austere furniture of the room. A dark and tall figure waited silently beside his bed but he didn’t care or even seemed to notice. The man, if it was still a man, leaned back against the bed and remained silent. He was deep in thought. He was wandering he had dreamed about that, above everything else. Was it because he was close to the end? Was it because his time was running out? He punished his mind trying to solve that intricate mystery for a while. It felt like trying to count all the leaves that fall on autumn or the grains of sand of a beach.
Time went by. The only source of light of the room, a weak candle covered by blue glass, seemed to laugh happily as it consumed itself and created long and dancing shadows. The dark figure remained immobile like a gargoyle but the sound of his breathing, with just a hint of impatience, betrayed its esoteric look. The man finally decided to get up and sat on the edge of the bed. A book slipped from his thigh and hit the stone floor with a soft thonk. The doubled colored eyes stared at the book and a gentle chuckle ran through his shoulders when the man discerned the title of one of Alexandre Dumas’ greatest works. “Maybe you were the one who gave me those nightmares, my dear Alexandre” he muttered with a smile as he picked up the book and put it on the wooden nightstand. The dark figure hawked and Bertuccio’s deep voice filled the room.
“Sir… it’s ready”
Resting his arms on his legs, the troubled man didn’t seem to notice the other man’s words. He raised his right hand towards the candle and its light casted tenebrous shadows on his features. He stared at his hand curiously with the same expression of an artist examining a hideous artwork to find something worth salvaging.
“Will you follow me, Bertuccio?” his voice was emotionless and dry “Will you follow me to the end of the world?"
The answer came without a hint of hesitation.
“Yes, my lord”
And with those words Bertuccio walked out of the room and closed the door behind him, leaving his master examining the veins of his hand, clearly visible beneath the crystalized skin.
A while later, the Count walked through a hallway with his usual elegance and Bertuccio at his side. Compared to the opulence of the mansion, the Frenchman’s simple bedroom seemed like dull and dark cave. Painteresque golden frames contrasted against the immaculate white walls and held gently incredible paintings of antique battles, courts and the wet dreams of art collectors. The hallways and passages were perfectly illuminated by the wide and tall windows, which didn’t have a single stain on them.
Despite its elegant and quite atmosphere, the mansion was buzzing with activity. With just a few hours away until the first guests arrived, an entire army of maids, servants and chefs run around the long and confusing hallways carrying enormous plates filled with food or cleaning until every mot of dust disappeared from the wooden furniture until the tiles were so polished you could use them as a mirror to shave. A particularly stubborn maid was rubbing a tenacious tiny stain on the floor, cursing at the stupid aristocratic dumbass that had hired her for such an annoying job, and didn’t notice the Count waiting patiently behind her until Bertuccio cleared his throat. With a gasp of surprise, the maid wrestled with her long skirt trying to stand up and got off the Count’s way and stared intensely at the ground, biting her lip, as he passed next to her. Imagine her surprise when the Count’s long fingers, covered by black with his usual leather gloves, grabbed her chin gently and fixed his eyes on hers. The maid dove into those deep eyes and felt a warm feeling spreading through her body. He was fascinated by the Count’s gentle gaze and crooked smile, but she wasn’t able to see what laid beneath it. Even the best observer, who could break the spell of those mysterious eyes, would have problems noticing it.
After moment that seemed an eternity for the blushing woman, the Count smiled and rubbed a spot of dust on her face. “Much better” he said and added in a whisper “such a beautiful face should not be stained by a bothersome mot of dust, right?”. The maid felt her knees tremble as the Count let go of her and continued his stroll down the hallway.
Bertuccio was staring curiously at his master from the end of the busy hallway but restrained from asking anything. It was none his business. As if he was reading his butler’s mind, the Count answered. “My dear Bertuccio, what kind of person would I be if let my employees feel so miserable?” At the middle of the hallway, the rude maid returned to her job happily. Bertuccio nodded but he wasn’t at all convinced. With a quick glance at the passage, he could notice the poisonous looks the maid was receiving from the rest of the staff, especially from other women. He knew the effect the Count had on people. It wasn’t something that could be described by words. Whenever he entered a room, all the heads automatically turned towards him and he would catch the attention of everyone present. It had nothing to do with his looks, fame or any of the things people would consider “attractive”. Lacking any other words to describe it, the Frenchman had presence. It was a quality that everyone could notice, some knew about and a just a few lucky had. Presence could get you to places where not even money or power could and made even the most ragged vagabond seem as important as a king. In the world in which he moved in, where the only good attributes of people are their richness and influence, having presence made you stand out like a lighthouse in the darkest of ocean. Few realized that presence, no matter how important and powerful it seemed, was the sharpest of double edged swords.
Knowing the effect the Count’s presence had on women, Bertuccio could predict that those angry stares only meant problems for that poor maid, who would probably had a lot of “accidents” in the near future when the rest of the staff was around. But at the end of the day, she’d only remember the ones who wronged her. With just a few seconds and an innocent gesture, the Count had putted those people against each other and if the word spread fast enough, the servants would jump away from his path like a school of fish escaping from a shark. But Bertuccio wouldn’t do anything. After all, it was none of his business.
Master and servant walked through the organized mess the mansion was until they crossed paths with a beautiful blonde woman. Hair tied in a tight bun on the back of her head, dressed in a simple suit, standing on high black heels and with a clipboard on her hands as she gave orders to the servants left to right, the woman looked more like a commander than a secretary. “Ah, miss Ackerman” the Count called as the pair approached “Your beauty is a sight for sore eyes”. Before the woman could do anything, the Count took her hand and planted a sonorous kiss on the back of her hand, accompanied by an overemphasized and almost ridiculous bow. With a gracious smile, he added “Please, don’t look at me with those deep and wonderful eyes of yours. I felt the vigor of a young man once again when you lay your magnificent gaze on my humble person”
Valerie Ackerman was one of the few people that wasn’t affected by the Count’s charm and if it did, she was doing a one hell of a good job hiding it. Her face was usually a perfect pale mask and her cold, attentive blue eyes that were her best defense against annoying pretenders. A small hint of a smile was drawn on her ruby lips when the Count let go of her hand with and ornate gesture. It was true she didn’t feel for the Count’s velvety voice and manners, but she did seem to enjoy that little game she had going with her boss. The Count would always over exaggerated his good manner when around her and she did find that amusing. That brief crack on her mask was repaired quickly and she raised an eyebrow just a little bit. “Charming as always, I see” she said, turning around to give some orders to a young butler who seemed overwhelmed by the chaos inside of the mansion. “I’ve been told you wanted to speak with me”.
With his usual gentle smile, the Count nodded. “Would you care joining me for a stroll around the mansion?” he asked, offering his arm “I would like to show you something and I’m afraid it cannot wait”. Valerie sighed, more annoyed than intrigued, and handed over her clipboard to one of her busy assistants and exchanged a few words with him. She had learned over the short time she had spent working for the Count that he wouldn’t take a no for an answer. He walked past the Frenchman without the least intention to take grab his arm like one of the empty-headed aristocratic worms that swarmed around him in parties.
“Please, follow me” said Bertuccio, bowing deeply towards Valerie. It was actually an exaggerated gesture to contain a burst of laughter at the blonde’s cold courtesy. The Count quickly got on the side of his secretary, walking in his long and gracious steps and a slightly amused smile on his thin lips.
“So, how are the preparations for the party going?” the Count ask with courtesy. “Everything is going according to the schedule, we should be ready when the gates open. One of your… special guests is already here, the other one will arrive when the party starts” Valerie’s tone revealed she wasn’t in the mood to force small talk with his boss.
With Bertuccio ahead, the trio walked through an ornamented door at the side of the hallway and hastily got away from the chaos of the preparations for the gala. The bald black man walked with confidence as if he knew exactly where he was going, leaving a respectful amount of distance with the pair behind him. Valerie cursed herself for deciding to wear high heel before the party started and took a note on her mind to do it again, as if she was checking out a small circle on a test. She would never admit she was uncomfortable, of course. That would show weakness and the most fundamental rule of her book was to never show any kind of those pathetic emotions like weakness, fear or love. She had made a name for herself following that rule and it became a code for which to live for, almost like a bible.
As they through the endless maze of wooden doors and opulent rooms, Valerie looked at the Count out the corner of her eye. Even after spending almost every day for the past months near that man, he remained a mystery. It was definitely impressive how that extravagant Frenchman, who in other conditions might had seem insane, had suddenly take over half of the growing market and created a multi-billionaire empire in a mere year. And the way he could manipulate people with the same ease a music savant learned a new instrument was even more impressive… and frightening. All of that with a name as strange as “the Count”. Valerie wasn’t in any position to judge. After working a few years as a high ranking officer for the DVU (Dold Värld Utredningsenhet or Hidden World Investigation Unit in her mother tounge), she had learned that the world was filled with strange... almost overflowing.
Ackerman slightly wrinkled her nose without noticing it. She didn’t especially cared about that world, not one bit. By the crazy turns of life, she had found herself working in the DVU a few years ago, right after she graduated from Harvard with a perfect score and a worthless piece of paper that certified her as an expert on Economics. A day after graduating, she was hired for a secret government project to investigate the “fantastic” phenomenon that routed from the Hidden World. When she arrived, the facility was a complete mess. In merely a month, Valerie managed to turn it into the most efficient agency of the Sweden and her name became quickly known. Some even started calling her the Ice Queen after she removed with surgical precision all the tumors of the organization, without even caring about their personal situation. The lucky ones were leaving under a bridge at the moment and the unlucky ones were also under a bridge... with a few meters of water above them.
All of this was done with cold precision and disinterest. For Valerie, it was just a job. A dull and boring job and it was the best she could hope for. When she had the chance to leave it to work for this so-called Count, she didn’t think it for a second. Imagine her surprise when she was ascended from the Count’s lead secretary to his “Hidden World Affairs Manager”. Disgusting. At least, the mystery that surrounded the Count was enough to keep her entrained for some time.
”Ehem, Miss Ackerman” Valerie was so deep on her musings that didn’t realize that her boss had stopped in front of simple wooden door. She looked around and noticed that they were standing on a corridor of the mansion she had never lay a foot on. Bertuccio took a small silver-ish key of his pocket and opened the door. ”We’re nearly there” the Count said and pointed at the open door “Please, come in”. Valeria entered the room and the Count closed the door behind them. The three of them were standing on an old and fairly small library.
The Count turned to Valerie with his usual gentle smile as Bertuccio examined one of the bookshelves thoroughly. ”I am terribly sorry for all this secrecy, Miss Ackerman” he said, sounding genuinely sorry. “But even here, in my own house, I might not be safe talking such things out loud". Behind him Bertuccio pulled on a book and in a spy movie fashion, the bookshelf turned around revealing a room exactly like the one they were in. Valerie wasn’t really impressed. The rich always had something to hide.
At that point in her young life, Valerie was sure nothing could eve surprise her. Of course, she was wrong. When the secret door closed behind her back, the Count gently grabbed her shoulders and happily said “Please, hang on. The first time is always rough”. Valerie was about to turn around and slap that French bastard right on his face but suddenly lost balance when the ground shook and the entire room started sliding down like an elevator. When she regain her footing, the Count let her go and chuckled. “Ah, my dear Valerie” he said, between laughs “Do you really think that a gentleman such as myself would think of doing something so depraved as taking advantage of his secretary?” He kept laughing for some moments before recovering his calm poise. Valerie pierced him with a glacial stare.
“I’m sure you are wondering why I am organized this gala for the Hidden World” the Count said as he held Valerie’s glare “and to congratulate you on your recent… promotion” that last word came with a hint of sarcasm on the Count’s voice “I give you this gift”.
Valerie let herself take the bait. “And what’s this… gift?” she said. The blond woman looked around but couldn’t see nothing outside the walls of the room.
“Knowledge, my dear Valerie”
At that exact moment, the room/secret room was suddenly filled with a bright golden light when it reached the end of shaft. Valerie’s jaw dropped when she saw the view that extended at the back of the Count and the golden light briefly blinded her. She could see the slim silhouette of the Count in front of her with Bertuccio at his side and their bodies’ casted long and menacing shadows. The blinding light covered their features in shadows. Valerie would always remember that moment and tried to convince herself it was just an illusion. For a second, the swedish woman saw the Count’s shadowy arms reached towards her, stretching and bending like a demon’s claws. When he spoke, Valerie saw a terrifying spark on his eyes and a chill went down her spine.
“That… is the Door, Valerie.” He said, pointing behind him. “Now, we just need the Key”.
A few hours later… The preparations were ready and as the sun disappeared beneath the horizon, the doors were opened.
The mansion stood proudly on top of a small hill surrounded by perfectly cut grass that shook gently under the fresh night breeze, creating a peculiar effect when the full moon was reflected on its shiny surface. From the outside, the building was simple and elegant. Shaped as a rectangle, rows of enormous arched windows interspersed with intricate stained glass that showered a few privileged hallways with a colorful and fragmented rainbows. The thick stone walls were exquisitely decorated and the skill of the architect could be seen in the soft curves of the slim white columns that supported the circular balconies of the second floor.
The first things the guests would see upon their arrival would be the mansion’s gates, made from a strange metal that shone with a silver glimmer under the moon but was solid and heavy. They marked the edge of the manor’s grounds and continued in a long and straight fence around it. As they followed a curved path and ascending path that led right to the main entrance, the guests would be surrounded by an exuberant and neat garden. The grass was cut perfectly, fresh flowers roamed through an intricate design, filling the air with a soft and delicate fragrance. Creating a perfect contrast to those brightly colored flowers, a few fountains of pure white marble decorated the gardens.
Before the door there was a small booth with a menacing security guards that would ask with curtly for the guests to surrender their weapons and check them with hand held metal detectors. The vestibule was right after the main entrance. It was a spacious room, dominated by gold, white and brown, which had a wide staircase in the middle. When the stairs reached landing, it split into two separated stairs that reached the second floor and then spread through the complicated maze the mansion was. From that room, a few doors left and right led to hallways and other rooms and two glass doors at the opposite side of the entrance showed a beautiful inner garden, even fancier than the one outside. Some doors around the extensive mansion that connected to the kitchens, dormitories and other areas were guarded by the same type of security guard that were standing in the main entrance. Big muscled men, dressed in suit and black glasses with an earpiece on the right ear.
Of course, the Hidden World had was big and composed by a cocktail of different people and tastes and the Count’s servants tried their best to cover them all. Apart from the tables covered with delicious plates for every taste (from caviar to hotdogs), each room had a different atmosphere and music. From classical music and expensive furniture to death metal and even a stage for performers, going from room to room could turn out to be baffling.
After a few minutes, the party began to get lively and everybody seemed to be enjoying themselves. With the amount of preparation and the incredible array of people that were attending, it was certainly looking to be an exciting evening.
What could go wrong?
|
|
|
Post by Iris on Feb 18, 2016 21:17:50 GMT
Iris wasn't sure where the invitation had come from. Whether she'd received it in the mail and forgotten about it in the messy amalgamation of fabrics and papers that littered her room, or if someone had simply slipped it into her room, Iris genuinely had no clue.
Going about her days normally, she hadn't given the parchment any note of interest as she worked on project after project that ended in either failure or frustration; bobbling figures with heads too big for their frames, long legs that scrabbled along the ground before giving up, she'd even had one creation that tore its own stuffing out. Must have been a severely incorrect rune. Because of all these occurences, there was no telling how it'd suddenly shown up again on this day.
Milling about her usual business, Iris had accidentally torn the tender fabric she'd been using and in a fit of frustration, she'd accidentally knocked over what was once neatly stacked fabric into a pile on the floor and upon the top sat the intricate envelope. The strange appearance distracted her from her momentary fit as she'd been scrabbling to pick up her mess as she noted the strange pull it'd had on her attention and it took a whole lot to pull Iris from her work.
Getting past the waxy seal that held a symbol she'd never seen before, Iris read the letter in one hand as the other propped up her head. An emerald gaze hastily scraped the letters with mild irritation at first that slowly morphed into a small glimmer of curiosity. "The Count? I remember reading about him..." Anyone who was upper class and sported such an interesting wardrobe had always managed to capture her attention either once or twice, never for too long though. Iris knew she could always do better than their dispassionate tailors.
The invitation was simply that, an invitation to a Gala ball held in France. Of course France had always been one of Iris's favorite countries considering it prided itself in being the fashion capital of the world. Disappointment was always a common occurence when people claimed such a high title for themselves, but the French certainly had their way with clothes. Typically they'd seemed to always appreciate the quality of things and money was never an issue in that regard, though like always Iris believed with the proper investment, she could do better.
"Hm...a Gala full of the rich and title-bearing...couldn't hurt to do some field work." Iris was rather hasty in returning her RSVP and spent the following days until the Gala preparing her gown for the occasion. She intended to make jaws drop, to bring looks of envy and awe, to show those watching that fashion was not simply just the clothing, but the way you treated them. She'd show them the perfection of her work.
A day to go and Iris sat wistfully in her clawfoot tub. The sides held the ghosts of many colors and she was currently rinsing the newest stain into the artist's palette of a tub. The vanilla scent wafted about and her once cloudy and bubbly bath changed color slowly, turning from dim white to a slow and rosy pink; her brunette locks reappeared from the warm water as a bright and pastel pink. Being extra careful to rinse her hair thoroughly, Iris sat on the edge of her tub wrapped in a fluffy towel that had her sewn in initials and eyed the slightly dark pink edges of hair that peeked through the ends of her wound up towel. Pink was a little much, but she had to make her impression; this was the Count's gala, but this was also her chance to remind the other fashion names that she was still here. Iris sneered at the thought of anyone thinking they could outdo her in the thing she lived and breathed.
The night of the Gala...
A single black car rolled up to the grand gates and a green gaze looked at them with disinterest, merely ushering her hesitant driver forward. "M-Miss Iris, shouldn't we wait for a signal..or something to go in?" Her skittish driver, Adam, had always been like this when she'd have him drive her from place to place. It was as if Adam always saw things the way he did during her meetings with important figures; he was so strangely paranoid of him overstepping his boundaries and either losing his job or his life. He couldn't help that Iris always met with such scary and shady characters! "We're invited, you dolt, just keep driving forward. Someone will stop us if they want to, now go!"
The ride was slow, not just because of the Count's enormously long driveway, but the way Adam drove was so tedious and careful that Iris's tapping foot could be heard from all the way in the backseat with how high her impatience grew. Iris's impatience led to Adam's nervousness, which led to further slowing until she'd practically reached into the front seat while scoffing, causing a fuss over the wheel and a lot of shouted phrases. "Adam just go faster!", "Miss Iris, please stop, I can't pay attention to the-","Turn here, turn here!", "I'm try-I can't with you turning the wheel- Miss please!"
The scuffle had ended after a lot of swerving and some questionable gazes as the sleek care squealed to a stop just inches from the Benz pulled in front of them, but Iris didn't immediately step out. Instead, the young woman opened up the small, but strangely bulky clasp purse beside her and pulled from it two things; a compact and the ugliest concoction she'd ever created, her Kaspa pouch.
Firstly, Iris opened the marble compact that pompously had her initials written along the top in elgant cursive. With a pale finger whose nails were painted a brilliant ruby red, she traced the end of her bottom lip's line to make sure her pink matte stayed in place and then proceeded to twirl her finger around the many pink curls she'd dutifully worked on early in the evening. Iris looked at her reflection for an unnecessarily long time until Adam quietly cleared his throat, only to do so louder until she perked an eyebrow up at his noise. "What is it?" With a small nod of his head to the side, Adam gestured to the Gala guests who were still pouring their way in and in return, Iris scoffed just slightly. "Please, like I'd forget when we literally just got here? Clearly you don't understand the necessity and importance of first impressions. I have to make sure everything's in order, nothing short of perfection." Adam could only heave out a sigh as his head began to ache slightly; he never knew whether to think of her as devoted, or childish, either way it was something only an ibuprofen could fix.
A few more groaning minutes passed by and Iris finally clasped the compact shut with a loud clack, throwing it carelessly into the baby pink purse at her side. She then looked down onto her lap where the hideous Kaspa pouch looked at her with its permanent frown, as if mirroring the one she'd always given it in return. "God...so ugly." Despite its disgusting aesthetic, it was ironically the one thing Iris had made perfectly. The infinite space and convenience of its holdings were always providing miracles and its one downfall was just in how ugly it was...and unfortunately she felt it was just something she absolutely couldn't be caught with in public on this day. It was just so ugly she couldn't bear to have it seen with the dress she'd worked so hard on! "Whatever. Hopefully, I won't need to use you anyways." Shoving the soft and patchy fabric mess back into her purse, she made one more hasty snap of her purse before throwing the strap over her left shoulder and after giving a few more last minute primps, she cleared her throat and gave a loud exhale. "Alright, go and do whatever it is you do, but be on call. Got it?" Adam could only sigh at the words he'd always had recited to him when she exited his car and he always returned it with the most tired of nods.
Iris opened the car door and exited with her head held high. One leg slowly followed another, bound tightly black stocking that finished with a vibrant crimson heel and carrying her out of the car without a second glance. The moment light hit the fabric of her dress, it shimmered as if made of a thousand glinting scales along the skirt that airily drifted along her thighs; the neck of the dress dipped low towards her midsection, the neck a single strap tied in an intricate bow along the nape of her neck that met with a small, black choker embedded with a small, white gem. Iris's hands were now covered by a white, half glove and she tossed a mess of her pink curls over her left shoulder as she made her way to the heavily guarded mansion.
Dealing with the inconvenience of those who decided they'd need overbearing protection, Iris huffily cooperated with the guard while adamantly arguing on how he was wasting her time. Seemed that being pretty didn't exactly mean her attitude was similar to her appearance...After deeming her bag was safe seeing how the only thing to really set off the metal detection was her compact, other than that she just seemed like a stuck up girl with one too many bags that the guard couldn't admittedly find anything wrong with.
Entering the gala, one hand placed against her half bare hip, Iris immediately began to scope out the well-dressed crowd. They wore the typical high fashion, nothing adventurous entirely...but Iris wouldn't dispute the appreciate she had for good stitching in most of these men's suits. The attention to glittering detail on a passerby's dress was also very nice to see, but she still firmly believed none of them had put as much care into their work as she had. Naturally, Iris stood like an imposing statue with a look that spoke endlessly about her pride as the guests continued to shuffle in.
|
|
|
Post by HungryHunter on Feb 19, 2016 6:20:14 GMT
Melea marched through a hallway open to the outside world, high arches showing an expansive, if not modern, city below. The sun was warm on her cheek, the only thing showing in her plain white robes. She checked a watch with a scratched face. Five minutes till the meeting with the Sub Saharen Conference. That would last anywhere from three to five hours by her calculations, so her schedule was unclear after that. Wretched. Her day couldn't be empty. "Helllllo, boss!" The most despicable voice Melea had ever heard came from the darkness beyond the hallway, where the light from the arches didn't reach. "Get to the point, Gregor." The things she would do to this man if he wasn't so talented...
"I found this letter in the mail. It's for you, my dear." Gregor tipped his stupid hat and held out an elegant envelope. Melea just glared and took a step back. "You wanted to toy with my mail, so you can make sure it's not trapped." She looked at him through a wall of fury. Gregor showed the envelope was already open. The wall remained up. "It's a party invite!" The wall grew thicker. "After what happened the last time I went to something like this, you expect me to expose myself to harm's way again!?" She spat. Gregor put his hands up at chest level, palms out. "Calm, darling. Last time you didn't have blue protecting you. Or me." He gave a glittering grin. "And this time, I had the guests looked into. We've got a seamstress known for some fancy as hell puppets and the top exec of the Friends of the Dead. Maybe we won't need the little girl for your plans after all, with these two." Melea hesitated, looking at the profiles he held up in front of her face. "I need to go to the meeting. Speak no more. And next time you act like this, I'll have those organs that keep causing you to harass me removed." She shook off the thoughts and strode past him. What good could come of such a thing?
Melea sat in a cramped cab, sore ears holding pearl earrings, clad in a white dress that never ceased to horrify her with the way it only had a front and back with appalling windows to her sides and its bare arms. The white gloves weren't enough to make up for a lack of sleeves, even with the large, flared ends that looked like rook heads. The same watch still clung to her wrist. Besides her sat Gregor on one side, a massive pale woman on the other. Gregor's lean body was clad in his usual suit, black with a burgundy vest beneath and a white scarf. His blonde hair was combed down on one side, but the gruesome scar showed anyway, looking like a dragon had raked its flaming claws across his cheek. Melea was glad her own scars were all covered, the largest by the a soft pink eyepatch. His gloved hands tapped fingers on his knees, eager to be grabbing some woman in dance.
The other inhabitant of the car was a massive woman, head bent to avoid the ceiling of the cab. She had a build nearly impossible for a human, both greatly busty and greatly muscular. She wore an impeccable white suit, made of something thick and soft. Her skin and hair were just as white, her eyes watery and pink. Her silk tie, blue and green in the same shades as a meadow with a pond, stood out in the harsh light. A brass badge similarly shone on her lapel, sun shaped with a name written across it under details of the sun rising over the earth, gorgeously cast. "Terenty" the singular name read, no indication of it being first or last. The trio arrived and stepped from the taxi, fare paid swiftly to avoid speaking with the cabbie longer than necessary. They awkwardly checked their information on Gregor's phone again one last time. "Here's your man." Gregor said, bringing up an image of an aging Hispanic man with a pointed grey beard, decked out in a silver suit. "They call him Dead Cortez, head honcho of the Friends of the Dead. They're the biggest necromancy biz in the world. And I heard he has a thing for black chicks, so you're in luck." Terenty grabbed Gregor by the back of his suit and jerked his head back to look up into her eyes. "Do not suggest the mistress is a whore like you, American." She growled, pink eyes looking blood red when narrowed. "Terenty, control yourself. Gregor, that goes double for you." A red stream flowed through the air from Terenty into Melea and Gregor was released to straighten his suit.
"Overreaction central over here... our other mark is Iris Thorne." He displayed an image of a young woman with a rather fearsome expression, pink hair clearly not natural but dyed. "Luckily, I'm getting really current pictures. The paparazzi know what they're doing, just not when it comes to database security." Gregor's cocky grin enraged Melea, but she was professional. She smiled and exuded joy. "Good job, Gregor. Keep an eye out for either, and stick by my side." Melea cautiously made her way to the entrance, bordered by her top crew.
|
|
|
Post by Kuma on Feb 20, 2016 3:22:29 GMT
-I don’t know why they asked us to come.- Goemon talked as he awkwardly shifted positions in the van seat, shuffling inside his tuxedo. –I’m not great at this whole suit and tie stuff.- From the chair behind him and equally outfitted figure placed her legs over the Karate Star’s shoulder. A mocking young voice followed that action, equally as disrespectful. –No wonder your movie career never went anywhere big guy, nobody would like to see your sorry ass in a party if you can’t handle a tux.- Goemon turned his head, glaring at the cocky smile Pit, one of the youngest Spirit Boxers was giving to him. –You should be more respectful little miss, you will never get a proper master if you keep that attitude.- Pitch replied to that with an Akanbe (Lowering the lower eyelid with a finger while sticking her tongue out.)
-You two dudes back there chill down, we are about to arrive and really I’m not feeling good vibes from this place.- Masaomi Takeda, the “Kamaitachi” interrupted them with his really relaxed and aloof voice. He was extremely relaxed….. maybe too much considering he was a high ranker in the Spirit Boxing Federation, where any fighter in the top 20 was more than capable than killing any other ranked fighter in one well placed blow. But he kept it cool, speaking like a surfer dude and having a facial expression that could be described as a fox smile. –And answering your question big dude, we are kind of representing the Federation so we should chill, I’m the cool veteran one, you are the legacy one, following the footstep of a giant and the kid is the fresh blood with attitude.-
-I still don’t like this… What’s the deal with this French guy?- Goemon spoke cautiously. –I heard some buzz in the BHA that he also invited Bounty Hunters and members of the JHWAB.- The imperturbable smile in Masaomi’s face barely changed upon hearing that, he lived in the Hidden World long enough to know that somebody with that kind of contacts wasn’t up to no good. –I only came for the free food and the free publicity, I’m not here to worry like an old lady. - Pitch kept her mocking tone as she lazily stretched her arms. – I’ll get a cool sponsor of something and will be able to finally go challenge people instead of having to beg them to come to my home turf.- Pitch, lacking resources could only challenge the people in the ranking who visited her, like Gen did almost 2 years ago.
The van stopped near the gates and the trio of tuxedo wearing Spirit Boxers walked towards the gates with their invitations in hand, they went through the gates and reached the main ballroom, hoping to mingle, but as trained fighters, they kept an eye open for trouble.
-You can do it Yuki, just calm down… Ya can do it…..*CRACK* DAMNIT!- Yuki Minato, Officer of the JHWAB Economic branch looked at herself in the now shattered mirror of the hotel, all dressed up, ready for the gala. She didn’t like this kind of gatherings, by several reasons. This kind of party remained her of the past, as she was part of the Minato Yakuza Clan, before she disassembled it when she arrived to power. Her rude Osaka accent and manners also made difficult for her interacting with the high brow crowd. Finally her powers, not exactly under her control, not because she didn’t want to, but she couldn’t, since through her bloodline the luck of the Yokai was strong, to a ridiculous degree.
She tended to suck out the luck of anybody around her and add her to her own, causing accidents wherever she went. The JHWAB quickly made a dampener for her abilities in the form on an elegant bracelet, which stung her a bit. She was more at home taking out her underlings for drinks after work than in a fancy ballroom in France. Usually this was the kind of events Branch Leaders used to assist, but considering most of them were busy with the Gainen incidents she was the highest ranking officer they could spare. –Yuki, don’t chicken out c’mon, you have to do this… take this one for the team.- She kept murmuring to herself as she checked herself out in the mirror, she wasn’t half bad with a long black dress and silver jewelry, her red mane carefully combed like a lava waterfall falling over her shoulder.
She sighed, popped her neck in a very unladylike manner and took a cab towards the address with the invitation on her purse. Walking towards the door of the mansion as she arrived.
Falken was invited in relation to his work. He wouldn’t usually go to this kind of gatherings, but the offer was too tempting, meeting the right people would get him gigs for decades giving the right circumstances. The Mercenary didn’t have to change, his nanites, the ones swarming his bloodstream courtesy of Trinity Gate, the organization that created him, shifted his usual attire into formal wear as he drove in a Honda NM4-01 he got from a crazy mechanic, a student in Inazuma, in exchange for some weapon building tips. Falken parked, the motorcycle bolted itself to the pavement as a security measure, and he walked towards the entrance with the invitation on hand. There he was about to meet his oldest and most unrelenting enemy. Metal Detectors.
|
|
|
Post by waybig1010101 on Feb 21, 2016 0:08:18 GMT
Sharp looking metallic wheels rotate with perfect unison along the road at incredible speeds without even the slightly change in height for the elegant Persian indigo vehicle, making it appear as if the beautifully design means of transportation is levitating above the ground. The rather futuristic and impressive looking luxury car with plenty of unique customizations could easily place the vehicle at the epitome of automobile engineering and design…at least until it’s creator finishes his next model. Inside the owner adjusts his already perfect purple tie in front of a multifunctional hologram currently being used as a mirror. While his hands focus on one of the many expensive parts of his attire, he simultaneously issues mental commands to various devices, both around his body and across the globe via his own satellites. He gently touches the lapel of his suit as he is finally satisfied with the image reflected in the floating and transparent mirror. The young billionaire is dress in a rather typical black and white three piece suit, yet the special fabric use for the suit along with a few other accessories, such as his high tech watch and rather odd symbols on his cuffs might draw some attention from certain observers. His eyes move to examine the side screen as he checks to ensure that all his businesses are operating at full efficiently. Eventually he reaches his personal schedule and keeps his eyes staring at a single date for a few seconds before closing the small hologram. Due to his photographic memory he didn’t need the reminder, but he insists on having it. For at times he prefers to examine without memory to avoid relying on a a pervious perspective. After today’s event he will need to travel in a few days for one of the most important meetings of his life. However, for the moment, he pushes all thoughts aside once he is sure everything is running smoothy. He reaches for his wallet and pulls out a small piece of paper. It is only during times such as this that he is free to behavior independent without any influence or judgement from others. He unfolds the piece of paper and proceeds to….
Standing just a little beyond the front gates is perhaps one of the more undressed people attending tonight, if not the most. Wearing a heavy brown leather worn-out duster coat and some plain black pants and boots, Jose looks as if he should be going to an old western gunfight as oppose to a fancy party. The young man had no money to rent a suit as he continues to donate all his earnings to his community back home, and he did not wish to bother anybody to help him with getting a suit. In fact, when he first introduce to the concept of having to wear a suit, he went out of his way to attain a magazine issue dedicated to suits and immediately dislike the idea of wearing such a costume. He didn’t enjoy having to wear something so restricting, especially the part around his neck. So not wearing such an outfit is just fine for him. He figure he will show up in his best outfit due to not wanting to be disrespectfully, which he hopes the host can understand his intention. But as he stands in front of the gate to admire the property and the people attending, he knew that his appearance is extremely poor compare to everything in eyesight. He starts to have thoughts of turning back. After all what is the purpose of him being here anyway? Taking a step back he is prepares to leave when suddenly his mind almost forcefully brings himself to reconsider his next decision. Removing the invitation from his coat pocket, he looks at the paper and is once more fascinated by the excellent handwriting. His curiosity stirs as he reads the card and checks out the estate. Eventually he finds himself walking to the booth with the intense looking guards, though for him he didn’t really feel intimidating. After facing a gainen, the young lad has nearly removed the word fear from his vocabulary. Still, the young bounty hunter does not display any difficulty or resistance when working with the security and is rather easy going about the whole process. For one thing he did not have any weapons on hand nor does he carry any metal substance at all. As they examine him, Jose takes a moment to scan the guards with his Ki senses, just to see if he could pick up anything extraordinary about the guards. He already figures that they couldn’t be normal people considering that the hidden world element here.
A magnificent car, which appears to have traveled from the future, soon arrives unto the scene. Stopping at the manor’s gate, the single passenger exits through an automatic door wearing a simple looking three piece suit, purple tie, and a few other interesting accessories, including a new addition to his look as he is now wearing a pair of dark shades, which prevent anyone from seeing his eyes. He buttons up his jacket once he emerges outside, while also spending some time to inspect his cuffs. As he walks away from his ride, the car door closes and the vehicle proceeds to park itself somewhere else. Marvel Smith examines the landscape ahead of him, remembering every little detail. Soon enough he reaches the main entrance and confronts the guards. When they check him, they will find no weapons, and that every metal object he holds is harmless, such as his tech watch is just a normal watch with some cool extra features that make it a bit better than an apple watch. However, unknown to the guards, is that their equipment has been hacked to prevent them from picking up any information on the nano bots that are inside Smith’s body. Though Smith did not perform the action with any conscious input, for his nano bots’s defense systems did all the work without his guidance.
|
|
|
Post by Colt of Personality on Feb 21, 2016 17:49:46 GMT
An Invitation from the Count: A Crow and Cat Arrive
“So why did you get an invitation anyway? You said you never met this Count person before? Are you sure you haven’t maybe you saved him during a Bounty job and he wanted to repay you but didn’t know how? Oh wow just imagine that Crow someone you saved who was so grateful that he could only repay you by having a huge gala.” “Yeah well I rather he repay me in cash…..OW! What was that for? Anyway I told you before I don’t know this Count person and I don’t know why he would invite me to some fantasy Gala.” Walking along the curve stone path through the beautiful garden and the elegant and mysterious Count, were the two of the Bounty Hunter Association: Artemis Branch’s famed Hunters, Crow Cementerio the Rail-gun and Toni Sociere the Cat Eye Witch. About a month and a half ago Crow had received a mysterious invitation to a Gala in France while at first the Rail-gun tossed it aside not giving shakes of a desert rat’s tail as his gramps would say. It had actually been Toni who find it again and began to ask and nag Crow to take her to the event, even though he personally had no interest in going but as Toni asking got more and more persistent the Gunslinger couldn’t help but admit he was intrigue. Then finally he gave and agreed to take Toni to satisfy her as well as quench his own curiosity. Standing in front of the main entrance Crow’s hawk like eyes scanned the area noticing the many security guards stationed around the area and the elegant mansion in front of us making him question why did he receive an invination to such a Gala. “Are you sure you don’t know who this Count is Crow?” “Like I said I never heard of him and I don’t know why he invited me. But I will find out by the end of the night.”
The bounty hunters entered the main entrance arm in arm with both of them dressed for such a high profile gala. The Gunslinger were a simple black suit jacket over a dark blue shirt and black dress pants, a black and white tie hung around his neck loosely. Despite the fancy occasion Crow still wore his beloved cowboy hat, its old and worn appearance contrasting against the slick new suit. Underneath the jacket Crow wore his revolver and a bullet belt, he also had a dagger tied to his ankle under his pants. Toni on the other hand wore a dark blue dress against her olive skin tone, the dress had a deep V cut in the back and a slit that went a few inches up the sides exposing her bare flesh. Blue and black ribbons were tied around her wrist and she wore black heels that had ribbon crisscrossing up her legs. Toni’s violet hair was down tonight with some of it covering one of her amber cat like eyes. To finish off the outfit she wore simple earrings and she had a black shoulder bag that contain, a small pistol, her own weapon the Noir Whip +, and her late mother’s Spell Book.
The Gunslinger kept looking back as the valets took away his motorcycle the newly modified, Silver 2. “Hey! I swear if you bring that bike back and there is one scratch on it there will be hell to pay…OW! What was that for Toni?” Crow rubbed his head a little while Toni glared at him, “We are here to have a good time and enjoy ourselves. Also there going to be a lot of fancy and important people so don’t embarrass us.” Crow began to mumble under his breath until he notice the burning eyes and flames surrounding Toni. “What was that buster?!” The Rail-gun laughed nervously “Nothing, nothing just saying how lovely this place looks.” The two walked in and were nearly immediately frisked and search for weapons, as the guard felt Crow’s revolver he stood up and stuck his hand. “Sir I’m going to have to ask you to surrender your weapon for now. We will keep them here and they will be return to you when you leave.” Crow glared a little and made no motion to remove his gun, “You guys got a better chance of England invading again before a Gunslinger hands over his gun.” The Gunslinger noticed a few of the guards move in closer and was more than prepared to take them out until Toni spoke up. “Crow this is a fancy dinner party. There are more guards here than Fort Knox I’m sure nothing will happen.” Toni smiled a little before handing over her bag which contained her own weapons after taking out a small black purse. “Promise me you won’t cause any problems tonight Crow.” The Gunslinger sighed and undid the holster and gun belts then handed them to the guards, the cowboy then kneel down and undid the knife attached to his ankle and also handed that over. “Fine I swear on my word as a Gunslinger that I won’t cause any problems.” As Toni walked away Crow flashed the men a dangerous glare and spoke softly. “I find one thing wrong with my gun when I get it back. I’ll make sure this place doesn’t see morning.” As the two bounty hunters entered a maid came over to take Crow’s hat and he nearly bit her head off. “Don’t even think about taking my hat…OW!” Toni sighed it was going to be a long night trying to keep Crow out of trouble but he had sworn on his word as a Gunslinger and that was assurance he at least wouldn’t be the one to start trouble.
Unbeknownst to the Crow and Toni they weren’t the only bounty hunters representing the BHA, already one of the main areas rubbing elbows and telling stories of his youth was one the Artemis Branch’s Gold Star Hunters. One of the famed Gold Star Gauntlet, the head of the Great Alliance, known as the Great General, Marten Kingguards. Flanked on either side were two other bounty hunters, from the Yatagarasu Branch of Japan the newest recruit to Marten’s Great Alliance Dancing Petal Yuki Toragari (who was wearing an elegant pink and white kimono). On the other side of Marten was a tall man of Russian descent with a big bald head and beard wearing a heavy coat was a bounty hunter from the Fernir Branch of Europe, Roman Drumstrang The Jailer (an ironic name consider he was once a convict himself). Marten’s voice echoed with overflowing pride and a hint of arrogance wearing an elegant black, white, and gold suit and cape he boasted of his accomplishments. “I created the Great Alliance not only to rid this world of dangerous criminal elements in mass but also to create harmony between the dysfunctional branches of the Bounty Hunter Association. Take Miss Toragari here, she is may be young but I saw great potential in here and had to recruit her. And Mr. Drumstrang here while his shady past may cause others to shun him I saw a man who wanted to redeem himself and brought him under my tutelage.”
Finally not to long after Crow and Toni arrived a young girl of 16 years old was stepping out of taxi that brought her here. She was nervous and didn’t understand why she was invited to such a fancy Gala in France however the invitation had not only caught her attention but held onto with it growing tighter and tighter over weeks. Kusuri Inoue the Mahoseki Warrior was nearly trembling with anxiety but with such a huge Gala filled with people she may find clues to the whereabouts of her brother.
|
|
|
Post by Obscuris on Mar 4, 2016 3:32:05 GMT
As guests kept arriving to the mansion, with fancy outfits or terribly underdressed, the long and elegant hallways and rooms were slowly filling with a heterogeneous group of the Hidden World’s finest… and worst. From the high officers of the JHWAB, the proud and muscular Spirit Boxers, the alert and attentive Bounty hunters and many others without any affiliation mixed in a whirlwind of dresses, music and food. Soon the seemingly empty house was alive with the laughs and comments that echoed through the walls and were lost in the depths of the rooms. Like menacing suited gargoyles, the security guards stood beside the closed doors and their tall figures were enough to dissuade even the most curious of the guests of even trying to get near them and watched vigilantly for any troublemakers. In the central garden, surrounded by columns and windows, some guests enjoyed the fresh autumn breeze and admired the beautiful flowers. A few even dared to enter the hedge labyrinth on the far side of the garden, which’s angular twists and tall walls created an atmosphere perfect for a not very innocent acts. Some couples entered giggling like teenagers and disappeared inside the maze.
On the main entrance, the suited men guarding the booth and checking the guests for hidden weapons were starting to get bored. Besides a few knifes, a gun and a suspicious looking heirloom that made their detectors go absolutely crazy, nothing interesting had happened all night. One of the guards, an enormous blonde guy that seemed to have more brawn than brain, was carelessly spinning his metal detector as some members of the MI13 passed through the robust wooden doors of the mansion. When a black haired man reached the booth, the blonde guard stopped him with a gesture of one of his giant hands and said the same line he had been repeating all night with a dull tone, like a child reciting something that he had memorized “Welcome to the Monde Inconnu Gala, sir” he pointed at the booth’s window, where another security guard was ready to receive any weapons “Please leave all your weapons with my colleague, he will keep them safe in a locked room until they are returned to you after the party is over. After that, step forward so I can check you”.
Despite all the information he had to learn about the Hidden World in an intensive class just a couple of nights before, the blond guard didn’t seem to recognize the famous mercenary Falken well known the strange technology that dwelled inside his body, making him a perfectly oiled killing machine. So when the black metal detector started beeping like a fire alarm thrown into a volcano and the guard stood a few inches away from the mercenary to intimidate him, the dumb blonde didn’t know in what kind of danger he was in. “Are you deaf?” He exclaimed, almost spitting at Falken’s face “I told you to leave your all your weapons!”
Luckily for the security guard, his companion did remember that mercenary infamous’ face and almost fainted after that scene. He quickly busted through the booth’s door and pushed back the blonde guy as some of the guests waiting in line watched with the same expectation of a crowd waiting to see a crash at a race. Falken’s reputation had traveled far and wide within the Hidden World and a lot of the guests wanted to see him in action.
“You dumb fuck! Don’t you know who this guy is?” the second guard barked furiously and then turned around with a tense smile. “I’m sorry for the trouble, sir” he said “We’ve been informed that there would probably be a problem with the metal detectors in your case, but I think my friend here forgot about that particular information” he continued as he glared at the blonde guard, who got as pale as paper when he realized what just happened. The second guard pushed his coworker behind and cleared the path for Falken. “Enjoy the party, sir”.
After the doors closed behind Falken, the security guard congratulated his blonde colleague with a thumbs up and a big smile. “Great work, dude!” he whispered when he passed next to him and punch his arm playfully. The blonde guard laugh and the dumb expression disappeared from his face as if it was magic. “I shoulda been an actor, that way I would be swimming in a pool made of gold instead of guarding the house of a bloody French snob”. The guard that accompanied Falken to the entrance chuckled and both of them went back to their work.
At the other side of the wooden doors, the band started playing the Vienna Vals and the center of the lobby was quickly turned into a dance floor and some of the most impatient couples pushed through the crowded room to dance. One of those couples was dangerously near Toni and Crow. The woman squealed happily when she heard the first chords and yanked his hopeless partner towards the center of the room, making her way between the guests. As she tried to pass besides an incredibly obese nobleman, the girl pushed too hard and the large man lost his balance. The sudden wall of meat that fell into the bounty hunters pushed them against the entrance. The doors were opening as guest entered the Gala: a certain infamous mercenary. Pushed by both the guests inside and the ones outside, Crow and Falken ended up standing face to face.
Music wasn’t the only thing driving the woman attending to the Gala crazy. Standing lion’s pride and bubblegum hair, Iris Thorne was a cold and breathe taking statue that caught every eye for more than it was polite. As they strolled besides her, even the fancier ladies would stare with mind bobbling envy. Some of them ignored her without a second glance, others laughed discreetly and tried joking with their partners and others stared stupidly. But no matter what, every last one of them would remember with painful clarity how perfect Iris looked that night: All the way from her crimson heels, to her expertly crafted dress and even her pink hair, that framed her looked with the perfect amount of weird. They would later, in private, see their dresses. Those crafts from the supposed “best” seamstress around the world, made just to catch some eyes and attract men, seemed plain and tasteless compared to the perfection of Iris attire. The way it wrapped around her body like the arms of a lover, the magical glimmer from the thousands of scales… it looked like something out of a fairytale. Something only a truly skillful seamstress could pull off.
More often than not, the beautiful dressmaker exotic look would caught more male attention and that made the collective envy even more sinister. A young and inexperienced man was walking besides a mature woman that could be called, lacking any other gentler words, a cougar, couldn’t keep his eyes off Iris. After trying to get her prey’s attention a few times, with a sad amount of success, the woman grunted and planted a resounding slap on the poor guy’s face. Shocked, the man rubbed his check as the woman roamed away and cursed something about that “pink-haired slut” under her breathe.
A soft chuckle was heard behind Iris. “Well mademoiselle Thorne, you are certainly leaving a mark on my party”. The Count, who had been silently observing the scene, stepped around Iris and stood in front of her. Although his attire wasn’t as extravagant and eye-catching as Iris’, the Count was drawing the same amount of attention as the seamstress. Reaching almost two meters, his slim figure moved with elegance and graciousness. Every step he took seemed natural but a skilled observer could notice the carefulness and perfect pace of a swordsman in each step. His jet black hair fell as a curtain beyond the length of his shoulders and indolently followed the Count everywhere he went like a silk flag. When he crossed eyes with Iris, a crooked smile lightened his features and made him seem as a man who was laughing at a joke nobody else understood… or at himself. That would have been even more notorious if it wasn’t for his eyes. Coldness, irony, sadness and an infinite amount of emotions betrayed his smile in those eyes, that drilled whoever they laid upon giving the nobleman mysterious atmosphere. Indeed, the Count was a strangely imposing figure.
He was wearing what it seemed as a regular black three piece suit but there were some disturbing details only an expert eye, the eye of a seamstress perhaps, could notice. Apart from the white cravat on his neck that reminded of fashion a few centuries old, the suit had some strange modifications that individually weren’t too shocking but put together they painted a creeping picture which’s more terrifying aspect was that whatever it was couldn’t be identified. Perhaps it was the thin black tread that wandered through his white shirt creating a pattern close to veins or the way the tailor’s stitches that held together the black fabric seemed to been pierced with furious anger, like if it was stitching through human skin. Small details, hidden from the regular eye that created a perfect illusion.
At the same time, there was something strangely alluring and seductive about the Count. His smile, attractive features, gallant manners and deep stare seemed to reach the deepest parts of the mind and heart that provoked an irresistible attraction. Even the coldest individuals were surprised by a primal and wild desire at the presence of the Count. Truth to be told Valerie Ackerman wasn’t working for him just for the pay, even if she denied it with all her strength.
“I do not think we have been formally introduced yet” His voice was smooth, deep and calm. He stared directly into Iris’ eyes as he kneeled and carefully held her hand within his own, covered in black leather gloves. “I am the owner of this mansion and the one who put together this humble party. For reasons that are out of my control I cannot tell you my real name, so please, simply call me Count” With a overly charged bow, the Frenchman gently pressed his lips against Iris’ back hand. An impish smile danced on his lips as he crossed eyes with her guest “I see now that the rumors about your beauty weren’t at all exaggerated.” With a deep sigh, the Count stood “I’m afraid I can’t steal any more of your time, mademoiselle” he said “A good host should welcome every guest, no matter how much he would like to chat with a delightful lady such as yourself. It’s an annoying burden, but a necessary one indeed.” Once again, he stared directly at Iris’ eyes and a faint glimmer shone in his cold eyes for a mere moment “I would love to continue this conversation later if you want, mademoiselle Thorne. I’ve been told I have a great eye for art and I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night if I knew that your talent was being dissipated by the wrong public. I’m sure we can reach an arrangement that would benefit both of us greatly.” The Count walked around Iris and before disappearing into the crowd, he stood a few inches away from the seamstress with his crooked smile and, leaning forward, he whispered dangerously close to her ear “Be careful around this people, some of them think that they are on the top of the world and the shock of getting to admire such a delicate gem as yourself may be just enough to make them fall from their golden towers. The world has enough problems to be suddenly attacked by a rain of petulant idiots” He chuckled. With a discreet wink, he walked into the crowd as he greeted the guests.
Along with almost every woman in the lobby, Haydee was also watching Iris but for an entire different reason. If anyone was admiring the beautiful ceiling of the room, decorated by an exquisite painting of a war between angels and demons, they might see a small green haired head peeking out one of the balconies of the third floor of the mansion. Although she was impressed by Iris’ dress, the sudden interest the Count had on that weird pink haired girl made some unpleasant feelings grow in the chest of the young maiden with a strength she had never experienced before.
Haydee, with the lack of experience of the young, didn’t expect to get such a strong feeling of jealousy when the Count approached that woman. The Count usually treated others with a cold, yet charming, courtesy that made people feel strangely attracted to him and he would only use them at will. But it seemed that something about the seamstress had picked the Frenchman’s interest. And something inside Haydee didn’t react very well to that.
The harp player nibbled on her green nail as she studied her own attire. The Count had specifically asked to wear something elegant but discreet and she had chosen a simple black dress that was desperately basic. That wouldn’t do. She needed everyone to know that the Count was hers. With a quick glance at the tall figure walking through the crowd, Haydee went towards her room. She knew exactly what she was looking for.
On the other side of the party, Bertuccio stood guard near a door. With a big yawn, he entrained himself watching the crowded room and trying to guess from what part of the world each of those persons were. That Asian woman in the black dress was probably of the JHAWB, the guy with the cowboy hat was from the Bounty Hunter Association and that giant bearded guy was… Suddenly Bertuccio shook his head and took another stare at that man, whose height made him stand out like a tree on a grass field. “Holy crap! Is that….!” Bertuccio straightened his suit and black sunglasses and walked towards a small group of Spirit Boxers.
“Hey! You!” he called. His deep voice frightened some of the people around him as he made his way through the crowd. Dressed in the same regular suit as the security guards, Bertuccio reached the Boxers quickly as people jumped out of his way. Almost as tall as his boss, well built and covered in scars from head to toes, he was menacing enough to make himself a path to the group. He stood still for a minute and then leaned towards the bearded man. “I knew it, you are…” as he got closer, his sunglasses slipped down his nose revealing a pair of surprisingly lively and excited brown eyes. “You are Goemon Williams!” he exclaimed and clapped vigorously “Dude, I’m your biggest fan! I’ve even got ´Dance with Kung Fu Werewolves´ and ´Six Hundred and Sixty-Six Red Ninjas´ on their original packages!” Bertuccio was about to start a fangirl rant when he noticed the other two boxers that were with Goemon. He turned to them and his jaw dropped with pure surprise. For such a serious and threatening looking man, Bertuccio had an incredibly expressive face. “And you are Masaoki ´Kamaitachi´ Takeda! And the ´Daredevil´ Pitch! Man, you guys are great! I’ve watch all your fights. They were incredible!” he turned to Pitch “That last K.O against Machinegun Sanada was OUT.OF.THIS.WORLD!” To stress even further his excitement, he made the motion of the punch and almost hit someone behind him.
The Count’s servant took a moment to catch his breath and realized the fuzz he was doing. Embarrassed, he looked around and cleared his throat as he put his sunglasses back on. Although he had been serving the Count for quite a few years, there was still a part of him that was stuck on his street fighting years and even if he couldn’t use Ki or join the SBF, he could still get thrilled watching a good fight. And the SBF ring was probably the most thrilling in the world.
After his encounter with Iris, the Count escaped from the most insisting of his guests to greet one of the most powerful men in the Gala. With a two glass of champagne resting on his slim fingers the Frenchman walked towards Marten Kinguards, one of the heads of the Bounty Hunter Association. The powerful bounty hunter was easy to track, as his voice resounded like a trumpet between the walls of the mansion.
“Welcome, welcome!” The Count exclaimed when he found himself standing in front of Marten and his two companions, Yuki and Roman. “I’m delighted to know that you have accepted my invitation!” he stretched his hand to shake Marten’s hand and put the champagne on Yuki and Roman’s hands, smiling politely. “Please, enjoy yourselves! I’m sure you’ll find this humble party pleasantly fruitful” Then, the Frenchman’s smile was replaced with a slight frown as he lowered his voice just enough to prevent his words being heard by the guests around him. he concluded as a soft chuckle shook his shoulders. “I must say, I would be a lie if I told you that Iwasn’t nervous to invite your organization. I’ve heard some strange and disturbing rumors about your people and I was afraid there may be some incidents during this party. That fear was what drove the need for such tight security and the devices outside, I’m sure you would understand. After all, an all-out war in my hallways is the last thing that I need” The last of the Count´s most trustworthy servants, Baptistin, was also exploring the party. Unlike Bertuccio, who was just standing guard before noticing the Spirit Boxer, or the jealous Haydee, Baptistin motives weren´t as…pure. To put it bluntly, he was looking for something to bang.
His playful eyes went from woman to woman, rating them from 1 to 10 with a complex system Baptistin had come up with. Truth to be told, that “System” that he´d defend with all his soul was just a hotness scale. And the former thief wasn´t very picky at all. But that night he felt like getting a bit more exquisite. After all, the Gala was overflowing with hot chicks. Iris caught his eye but the thought of getting on with someone that creepy French/elf dude had touched sent shivers down his spine, so he quickly passed on her. That young pink haired Asian was pretty, but Baptistin preferred more mature woman. His perverted stare stopped in an ebony shoulder peeking out a black bush of hair.
A smirk danced in Baptistin lips as he brushed his pompadour with a small comb and started walking towards his prey, with an arrogant pose. “Hey babe, I´m in the mood for some sweet dark chocolate” he said and the tone of his voice tried to be seductive, but failed miserably. His smirk disappeared when he walked around Melea and stood in front of her. “Woooooo! I´m sorry doll! But I like my women with some meat around their bones, you know?” shaking his hands in front of his chest, Baptistin stepped back and crashed against something that felt as a thick brick wall. He turned around to see the massive tower of muscles that was Terenty. “Hoooooly crap! That´s a bit too much, you know?”
James McGregor entered the mansion wearing an old suit he had borrowed from a friend. As a member of the SBF, he had received the invitation a few months back and felt strange attraction as he opened the envelope and read the curvy golden letters, written in perfect italics that invited him to some sort of party in France. He let out a low whistle when he noticed the signature. That “Count” was well known around the world as a business man and philanthropist that had appeared out of nowhere, crashing into the market as a meteor. What could he possible want inviting him to a party for the Hidden World? Yeah, James was sort of well-known inside the SBF but he wasn’t an important personality at all. (He felt flattered by the invitation, nonetheless).
James wasn’t a Spirit Boxer. He did have some ability to control his Ki an when he was young and inexperienced, he tried entering the Federation with the hopes of becoming a strong fighter. After watching one of the fights, the first thing he thought was “Meh, those guys don’t seem that tough”. And well… he was wrong. In his first fight he was paired up against a young girl that was about half his size. The ridiculous beating he had suffered at the hands of that girl was so incredible it was still remembered to that day, even after five years. But despite getting his ass kicked by a girl who probably hadn’t had her first kiss yet, that earned him the nickname “Clown Face” after the last swing made his nose grew to the size of a tomato, James put aside his pride and kept going to see fights. It wasn’t long until he joined the jokes and laughs and even started telling the story to entrain people between matches, which earned him a round of applause, whistles and drinks. As the years passed, James “Clown Face” McGregor became a loved member of the Federation’s community and was he was proud of knowing, at least by their faces, every member of the SBF. With his sand-color hair, sincere eyes and beer belly combined with a great sense of humor James felt like he had found his place on the world. It wasn’t the great destiny he had thought for himself when he was younger, that was true. But one day, when he was entered one of the underground rings where the Federation’s fights took place and was received by a collective greet, James felt an indescribable feeling of happiness that would accompany him all his life.
He didn’t knew why he was remembering those kind of things as walked into that disgustingly fancy house in a moth-eaten suit, after strolling nervously in front of the security check, but as soon as he went through the wooden doors and was greeted by a the bright smiles of the Boxers and his friends, his mood got much better.
|
|
|
Post by Iris on Mar 4, 2016 4:57:39 GMT
Truth be told, despite being one of the most prominent members within the ever-changing and evolving fashion industry, Iris didn't enjoy social gatherings. Her distaste stemmed mostly from the designer names worn around her; careless flaunting from person to person, everyone wearing another person's hardwork as a stamp of their high-standing while they cooed and bragged about name after name. Did they even know the amount of time, the amount of care, the hours of creativity and frustration that would go into such a work? Yet here they all stood, bodies wearing the fabrics that were personally tailored for the flesh of those who lived in decadence, but not a single person truly 'wore' what was given to them. The true satisfaction of fashion was loving the clothes you were given for the way they made you feel and made you look; the simple way perfection could truly mold onto your skin with a true, masterful hand. Sure, the sinches were done correctly and the stitching was performed by a master's hand, but they were simply wearing the garment...there was more to such a thing. Hence why Iris understood the way she pulled attention easily at this extravagant Gala.
A testament to the perfection her fingers could create, Iris had personally tailored the outfit she wore with the intention of showing others what appreciation and passion could truly bring about. The way the dress that cascaded in crimson, tapered folds along the tops of her thighs, the effortless loop of the bow behind her neck whose ends drifted in soft, feathery tickles along her bare, presented back, and the shimmering gold stitches lacing the scale-like design along the skirt...it filled her with brimming confidence in her work. This dress was made FOR her and BY her; clothing was a second skin for most, but for Iris it was a first and the most comfortable she could ever be. Comfort and confidence, the assurance of knowing you'd done absolutely better than every other designer in the room, THAT was what Iris strove for. Yet she just couldn't be happy in this mass of people wearing fabric just for status, it was spoiling her always spoiled mood. It was a miracle that she could still be valued and favored in the world of the upper class with how she treated every social gathering as a pain more than an honor. Just like any other large scale party, Iris was intending to do minimal greeting and simply become the name spoken to other designers later in hushed tones simply by arriving, but it seemed that like the Gala itself, the evening was going to be...different.
Iris's fierce gaze intensely looked at the soft stitching in her strangely halved gloves in a gesture of intense disinterest with the ongoing festivities. Compared to the awe and wonder she'd held many years ago when attending balls and such, the sudden realization that those who painted with fabric did so for meeting interests of the public instead of relaying their true feelings instead had made her now stoic and prideful appearance stark in contrast. "Oh, the death of innocence," snarkily, Iris commented to herself in a bored exhale between the ruby gloss of her lips. Yet, in something Iris took as a gift for her glorified appearance, the creator of the Gala himself had appeared to her much like how mist came in the night; out of simple thin air.
Initially, Iris felt the odd quiver in her chest as the pale skinned man appeared, but it wasn't because of him. The once fierce gaze whose coals burned lowly suddenly lit in a roaring flare as she looked upon the clothing the Count wore; only one word entered Iris's mind. "A masterpiece..." The word was faint, but held reverence as her eyes widened just a little bit more and a look of surprised liveliness took over her usual resting expression of distaste. From the cravat to the fine polished shoes, every ounce of fabric the Count wore showed the work of someone who had truly loved what they did. The passion in every stitch, the precise cinch in every crevice, the quality of the fabrics she was seeing...Iris had to stop herself from rubbing her eyes; she'd worked awful hard on applying the perfect black lines and she wasn't about to let them stain her gloves. With a clear of her throat and the steadily increasing thump of her heart, Iris composed herself and reached to gently tuck a stray curl back into place. It would be rude of her entirely to be sour in front of the Count himself. "Causing a scene was my intention." Iris was every bit as honest as her work after all.
The pink-haired lioness seemed more like an enthused house-cat, subdued solely by the presence of excellent stitching that she could barely keep her eyes off of. Out of sheer respect for a man who could wear clothes with the confidence she did, Iris gave him the decency of her gaze and found herself briefly disoriented. Despite the way he held himself and the way he wore his clothes, his eyes betrayed something for the brief few moments their gazes had met; Iris's gaze was finely tuned to details and given the opportunity, would gladly devour something she found interesting inch by inch, but such was not the time she was given as the Count's mysterious gaze broke away when he kneeled to kiss the back of her hand. Once again, Iris felt her cold heart thump with intensity as she felt the fine leather through the thin sheeting of her silken gloves. Like night and day, the black and white of the contrasting materials so finely created gave her a thrill and she felt the sudden heat rush to her cheeks. To any on-looker, she could easily be misinterpreted as a swooning woman being courted by the Count, but it was his clothing that was doing the true work on the passionate seamstress.
Breathless, heart thumping, and with a fiery interest that she hadn't ever felt when she'd attended such a gathering, Iris could barely collect herself by the time the Count stood, but appearances were everything in this case and she quickly began to calm herself down. Despite her near victory in betraying her external signs of glee, Iris's pale cheeks were still lit in a soft hue and she had to bite her tongue as she eagerly went to agree with the faint promise of another meeting. Anything to allow her to see that suit again! "Well...that sounds acceptable...I suppose." Iris gently crossed her arms across the front of her exposed chest, gently shifting her weight onto one leg to try her hardest to keep up her appearance of disinterest. "After all, I did come all the way from America. That's quite the way to go without getting to at least have a conversation." Calm and collected, she'd just barely escaped embarrassing herself and seemed to make it out of the short conversation with just the slightest tremble in her voice. Though the moment the Count left her line of sight, Iris's passionate vibrancy seemed to dim and she blinked as if waking out of a day dream; the fire in her heart was slowly dimming, a roaring fire reduced to a flickering flame the moment she didn't have to look upon the beautiful works of a master's craft, so the moment she heard his mysterious voice giving her his sickeningly honeyed words, it took all Iris had in her not to make an immediate look of disgust. The Count could woo her when in front of her visibly, but without the allure of his glorious suit, Iris couldn't be bothered. There was only one thing that wooed Iris more than clothing and it was herself.
Like mist once again, his appearance simply disappeared and Iris was left with a longing for another up-close glance at the marvelous work that the Count wore like a perfect canvas, but simply nothing else. The festivities of the party came roaring back and Iris was once again surrounded by the indulgent masses of those with too much money for their own good and too much jealousy following with. That was the thing about the rich, they always wanted more, more, more instead of striving for perfection in even the humblest quantities.
Iris closed her eyes, the soft glitter of faint red shadow occuring in the movement and when she opened them again, her fiery and daring gaze reappeared and with it, her painfully burning aura. She had to make up for the time she'd lost in showcasing herself and her brilliant work, so she simply glared at anyone who dared to look upon her and not her clothing, almost daring them to try her. Little did she know, there were many more interesting happenings occurring about her and maybe even some individuals whose companies she wouldn't mind if she would just give them a small chance, but unfortunately Iris wasn't exactly the most approachable individual and as a person always consumed with her work, she'd never took the time to learn about any of these 'organizations' that were attending the Gala. JHWAB, Spirit Boxers, hitmen, underworld...all these phrases she gradually began to hear in hushed whispers through the night, none of them really held importance in Iris's mind since she had never known about them before. The only organization Iris had ever been interested in were the Seamstresses after all... When Iris made her way to one of the empty and overdecorated tables that were scattered about the Gala, people moved out of her way either with reverence or frustration and all she did was simply turn her chin up a little higher while her bounds of pink curls suddenly seemed a lot less like cotton candy and more like a true lioness's mane.
Such an air at least granted her solitude at her table of choice. Sitting in the ornate chair, Iris crossed one slim leg over the other in an unnecessary air of elegance while drowning out the sounds of music picking up over the chattering masses. Reaching her gloved hand into her small purse, Iris felt the disgusting stitching of her Kaspa pouch and inadverdently made an expression as if she'd just eaten something bad only to quickly allow the look to disappear as she pulled out her generic, run-of-the-mill expensive cellphone. Delicately, like taking the first bite out of a plump strawberry all while avoiding the leafy green top, Iris placed the index finger of her right hand gently between her lips to pull the white glove from her hand, only gripping to the very end to avoid allowing the white fabric to touch the ruby red of her lipstick. With the glove safely in her lap, Iris's well manicured red nails clicked along the screen of her phone while visibly looking as preoccupied as possible as the party roared forwards, but all the while she was typing searches of the phrases she'd heard about into her phone's browser. Who exactly had the Count been inviting and why did he include her? A man whose eyes hid their true feelings and intentions as deeply as the fine stitches of a coat's lapel wasn't the kind of person who'd invite designers just to invite designers. Who were the JHWAB? The Spirit Boxers? The soft names being uttered beneath the breaths of people who thought that the sound of music alone would drown out their words? Falken and Goemon, soft utters about the sightings of a woman who looked like she hadn't eaten in days with a woman who looked like she could take on all the men in the Gala themselves... Maybe this Gala was going to be a little more for Iris than just a showcase like she'd expected.
|
|
|
Post by HungryHunter on Mar 5, 2016 8:26:42 GMT
Melea passively scanned the crowd around her, tasting their emotions as easily as most people would see color. Not only could she sense emotions, she could feel when they were directed at her. She could tell when she was recognized. Anger, fear, disgust flared. She filtered it out until she felt slimy tendrils wiggling up and down inside her back. Her breath quickened. This is why she always blocked out Gregor's emotions. Her skin crawled at the thought of touching somebody else's. Baptisn was greeted with a single wide eye when he rounded her. She just stared at him and responded in her native tongue. Pure gibberish to everybody around her. A defense mechanism. Few people would bother to continue speaking to somebody who didn't seem to speak their language. She could feel the lust vanish quickly, but his backing away was what let her breathe. Unfortunately, with her defenses down, she felt Gregor's rage boiling over.
He reached out and grabbed Baptisn away from the giant woman by the front of his shirt. "The fuck do you think you're doing, buddy?" His massive scar glowed like molten metal, a heat ripple coming off of it as the air around him became like an oven. "Apologize to them or I'll serve you up like a fancy French dish... wait, I forgot you guys preferred your food raw." Before he could make good on that threat, Melea's hand lashed out across his face. He released Baptisn in surprise more than pain while Melea grit her teeth and rubbed her hand, palm blackened from contact with Gregor's blistering heat. "Mam, your hand needs treatment." Terenty said at once, carefully taking her arm and inspecting the wound, not sparing a glance to either of the men but positioning her body between them and Melea.
|
|
|
Post by Kuma on Mar 6, 2016 3:53:32 GMT
Falken smirked with evident arrogance as he walked towards into the mansion. He rudely whistled with admiration as his eyes, natural and bionic, appreciated the fine décor. -Whoever this Count guy is he clearly is loaded… I should get ready to meet him and see if he needs my… talents. - The Mercenary whispered between teeth as he kept looking upwards, not seeing what was in front of him until he was pushed from behind, lightly clashing against the man he had up front. Falken looked down and his eyes slowly narrowed into a hateful glare, the blue light from his bionic eye gradually turned red, as the information was processed by his mainframe. Moved by his instinct and neural response his nanites shifted to battle mode, enhancing his body, hardening every cell.
He opened his mouth and for a moment he couldn’t utter a word, as he slowly lifted his arm, reading a punch, his fist clenched to the point his knuckles went white, prepared to release his attack directly towards the face of Crow Cementerio, standing right in front of him. After the last time they met the Infamous Mercenary had a score to settle with the Last Gunslinger, as Crow destroyed his old arsenal, forcing him to start paying for a new Pocket Dimension and spend a lot of money in a new repertoire of weapons. His eye twitched for a second as he clenched his fist even tighter, but when he was about to unleash his attack, all of this done in fractions of a second, he stopped, knowing that making a scene here might get him expelled.
He inhaled deeply through his nose and lowered his hand and as swiftly and unnoticeably as he raised it. His voice got raspy, in account of his anger bubbling under the surface of his forced smirk.
-Cementerio…. I didn’t know they would allow 2nd rate sanctimonious pieces of shit like the Gunslingers in the party… and you brought a pet, I didn't know they allowed animals in the party.-
Goemon’s smile appeared on his face with such speed that for a moment his whole traits blurred. –Is nice to find a fan who appreciates good art. - Both Pitch and Masaomi were also showing the hint of a smile when Bertuccio mentioned them. As accustomed the Karate Star patted the back of his fan (Maybe with a bit more strength than what was sociably acceptable) and he reached inside his jacket, taking out a signed photo. –Here, let me give you a present. - He extended his hand towards Bertuccio with a radiant smile on his face.
Pitch rudely buffed to the side rolling her eyes at Goemon’s display but her lack of manners was interrupted by a tired glance from Masaomi, who seemed amused by the whole situation, a situation he was about to be involved in as the Karate Star threw a camera, a Polaroid he was carrying inside his suit. –Takeda-senpai, can you take us a photo?- Goemon was always well prepared, no matter the location, if he ever met a fan, as he felt great affection for all of them, who followed his movies and career. –So, do you want to take a photo with you? Rise up your guard.-
Goemon stood besides Bertuccio with both arms up in a boxing-like guard, as his character in the movie “12 Rounds away from Hell” were he played a Boxer who fought the Devil to get back the soul of his brother.
Yuki shuffled nervously as she walked towards the counter. She constantly fidgeted, touching her bracelet with a worried expression on her face, hoping that whatever Mojo the Intelligence Branch charged it with, wouldn’t run off mid evening or some serious shit would happen. “You can do it, just keep calm, don’t embarrass the JHWAB… don’t embarrass yourself… everything is going to be fine” She repeated that on her mind like a mantra to calm her down, but the more she looked around, seeing the delicate architecture and the luxurious design the more worried she became, as she knew that her powers, if they ever started acting up over the supposed dampening of the bracelet, might bring the whole building down.
-I could use a drink.- She muttered following a sigh and went towards any place that was giving out booze.
|
|
|
Post by waybig1010101 on Mar 6, 2016 8:18:48 GMT
As the young billionaire maneuvers through the crowd, treasure searchers would approach him, yet all he would supply them in return for their efforts to strike up a conversation with him is simply small talk. At most, he would only spend a minute speaking to these businessmen and coquettes. Leaving them with a reasonable excuse, but sill parting ways with some kind words of wisdom to benefit their situations, thus making everyone who engages him understand a small fraction of his good nature, even due he expresses so little emotion. He scans the environment once again to appreciate the beauty and resources that have come together to formulate such an elaborate setting such as this. Though as he studies certain aspects with greater detail, he realizes certain mistakes that could not place blame on the architect, the master of the estate, or even the servants responsible for the upkeep. These errors only occur due to limitations of the world that is currently avoidable to them, which will always be far beyond any mortal's control, but still, nobody could even hope to be able to perceive these tiny details with keen eyes. Whatever it be a curse or a gift, it would require something on the level of his perfect seeking eyes to notify a conscious being of his level of existence that there is anything wrong at all here. A grand place such as this one would only reveal its faults to typical human eyesight if there exists an ideal state to make comparisons with. Regardless, the issues are just as inspirational to him as the near perfections. Removing his focus from the room itself, he starts to narrow down on the people inside. Glancing over countless faces, his mind would display mental profiles of the individuals under his inspection as he has information on many of the guests here tonight. Plenty of attenders are worthy of recognition without the need of his photographic memory; however, there does exists a single being that causes him to experience pure curiosity. To him, the most fascinating person tonight would have the be the host himself, the Count of Monte Cristo. Requiring only a fraction of a second to memorize his outfit, Smith no longer needs to keep his eyes on the extravagant fellow, but his eyes nevertheless remain on him longer due to being unable to resist the man's gravitas. He could waste away a few hours to describe his presence, yet language and literature alone are incapable of delivering a full explanation behind this extraordinary man's dignity. For if he was an art piece, it would without a doubt be labeled a masterpiece, but like the room, he could never be classify as perfection. As he studies him further, he has thoughts of how to deliver a meaningful greeting. But for now he does not seek to address him right away, for he is currently busy with someone else of worthy appearance, who is the only person gathering as many eyes as the Count. Had he been free, he would have gone ahead and introduce himself already, but for now he will remain patient and look for other potential discussions with other interesting individuals. Turning his head, he spots a female guest acting quite nervous and standing right in front of him. At the same time he hears her desire for a beverage, he figures out her identity. Without a moment of hesitation he tells her, "True courage can not come from the bottle Yuki."
Jose walks around a bit and before long he discovers the location of his mentor. Now, one would think he was able to accomplish this task with his Ki senses, or due to their bond, or maybe even by sheer luck. The truth is....it is none of those things. He simply has a fan of his master's works to thank for the quick discovery. He approaches a few feet away from his master in time to witness the legendary fighting stance of one of his many beloved roles... at least that is what he was told one day when Goemon went on a career rant/display during a break between their training sessions. He waits quietly until his master has finish talking with his fan before he greets his fellow bounty hunter. In the meantime he glances around and notices a lot of strong people have gather here today, especially around Goemon himself. He eventually ends up staring at one particular guy and could understand immediately that there exits a massive gap between their strengths and his. Who exactly is this guy? he asked himself.
|
|
|
Post by Colt of Personality on Mar 14, 2016 3:08:29 GMT
An Invitation from the Count: The Magic Gem Arrives
As she stepped at of the taxi that brought her to the Count’s elaborate estate Kusuri Inoue felt her stomach twist with anxiety her nerves were getting the better of her in this situation. Despite being able to fight against some terrible monsters and work alongside powerful allies a big fancy party like this was nerve racking. To make matters worse because occasion Kusuri had to reluctantly leave her guardian Shinshi, the White Mahoseki Knight, behind at the hotel. The pink haired nurse clutched her chest and tried to calm herself but it had little effect, she could only hope that someone she knew would be at this party because she didn’t even know who this count was. Why would someone of such influence and wealth a small girl from japan, a student nether the less, to such an extraordinary gala? Kusuri closed her eyes and saw an image of her brother before her, his back was turned to her but she knew he was smiling. He begin to walk away and fade into the distance it was all the reminder that the Magic Gem Girl needed to reinforce her will here as to why she wanted to go to this party. This party was going to be filled with influential important people all over the world and while getting any of them to talk to her would be difficult if she could get even the slightest bit of info maybe it could lead helping her find her brother.
If anything this Gala could be a good chance to relax after all Kusuri was on her winter break from school and after a very troubling mission in Russia a big fancy party would be a great change of pace. Her teacher and secret crush Professor Weston was kind of enough to provide the Kusuri with money to buy a dress for such an occasion. Kusuri had to admit wearing this dress she felt like going such an event was normal for her. The dress was very modest but in its modesty it was enough to make her stand out, it was a pale pink colors with a gold-ish flowers design towards the bottom, it was sleeveless and despite her flat chest gave the girl enough curves to not look like a child. It had a white ribbon/sash around the waist that ended in a big bow in the back. The Mahoseki Warrior wore white elbow length gloves and heels along with a white ribbon in her hair. With a small bit of make-up and simple jewelry (including the Ruby Heart Necklace around her neck) Kusuri finished the outfit off with a white and gold pocket book which held some simple girly items one might expect when attending a fancy party with the added bonus of her Ruby Wand. She was nervous about bringing the obvious magical item but Shinshi had insisted about it, he was very suspicious of this Count individual he believed this may all be a trap to capture the Mahoseki Gem Girl. However as Kusuri walked up the pathway to the Gala she felt less and less that it was likely but it did raise the bigger question of why exactly the Count had invited her.
Meanwhile just as Kusuri was about to enter the Gala inside of the main entrances a show down was about to tear through the mansion that would make even the Count double check his insurance. The Gunslinger’s instincts reacted far beyond his eyes and brain comprehended the situation, perhaps a trait left behind after many years of skilled Gunslingers. Crow’s body became pose ready to not only block but counter any attack the Falcon Eyed Mercenary had however similar to Falken Crow body relax a moment later. Unlike the Dual Wielding Angel of Death Crow relaxed because he remembered his promise to Toni to not cause any trouble, this promise was nearly broken at Falken’s insult but Crow clenched his fist and replied with a smirk. “Degiraz…Oh don’t worry how I got in here, I just told them I was a lousy cyborg mercenary looking for hand-out jobs from rich old ladies like you.” Toni placed a hand on Crow’s shoulder and felt how tense and tried to move him along. “Crow let’s go inside. I think I’m starting to smell something pathetic.” With that she threw Falken a glare from her cat like eyes. Crow merely continued to smirk a little, “What’s wrong Degiraz business is doing so well so you thought you would come and rub some elbows?” Meanwhile Kusuri was coming in behind during Crow and Falken confrontation there was a chance that she may get in with her Ruby Wand still in her pocket book if the guards were two distracted by the cowboy and the mercenary. She approached one of the guards and politely stated her name. “Um Hello I’m Kusuri Inoue from Japan. I received an invitation in the mail by a….um Count of Monte Cristo.” The young girl held up the invitation a little unsure of if there might be some be lists of names she had to check in with.
Crow’s cobalt blue eyes never left Falkens’ and despite not having his signature revolver with him his hand was close to hip as if he meant to draw the phantom weapon. “How about you and me settle are score once and for all? No guns, no bullets, no powers just seeing who is…OW!” Without warning Toni comically punched Crow in the back of the head then turned on Falken with a warning gaze that he would receive the same thing if he kept if up. “Enough both of you! This is starting to turn into a pissing contest. You can settle your scores another time but tonight is supposed to be nice! Do I make myself clear! You may not like each other but tonight you can put that away. Besides Crow you swore on your word as a Gunslinger.” Suddenly Crow felt bad about his actions he was close to breaking his word as a Gunslinger, “I apologize.” Toni then turned to Falken. “Mr. Degiraz can we please agree to a truce for only tonight?”
While the Gunslinger and Mercenary faced off Marten Kingguards very briefly reassured the Count that inviting the BHA was a good idea. “Fear not Good Sir! I can assure you that while some bounty hunters can be a bit wild they are just a few bad apples. What you see before you is some of the best the Bounty Hunter Association can offer.” As Marten spoke he did have a few of those bad apples in mind including a certain Gunslinger. Meanwhile Yuki and Roman stood a few steps back from Marten while they were there to showcase the Great Alliance and the BHA best they were also there as potential body guards for Marten. Yuki looked over at Roman who was currently scanning the room for any activity. “There he goes again bragging about his Great Alliance. Why of all the Bounty Hunters did he Association choice to send something like him.” Roman let out a soft chuckle which surprised Yuki, “It is because of his Great Alliance that he was sent to represent the Association. Marten is a man of many talents and talking people something they thought was their idea is one of them. With some problems that the Association is dealing with right now getting some more backing would help a lot.” Yuki nodded her head as she understood, “You mean the Black Star Killer.” Roman nodded silently. “More and more Hunters are being taken out there no leads. Some say that it’s a Gunslinger trying to overthrow everything.” Roman stayed silent for a moment, “Like I said more backing wouldn’t hurt.”
|
|
|
Post by Obscuris on Mar 17, 2016 23:58:27 GMT
An understanding smile was drawn on the Count’s lips at Marten’s words. “Of course, my dear friend!” he said cheerfully as he laid his free hand on Marten’s shoulder in a conciliating gesture “I have no doubt that the rumors I’ve heard are completely and utterly unfunded, spread with the only purpose of hurting the reputation of your famous organization and know, monsieur Kingguards, that if the day that you or your people are falsely accused by this… rumors comes, the BHA will have my full support” he finished solemnly. With a heart broken sigh, he continued “But for now, I must go. The party is just starting and, sadly, my position as host makes it impossible for me to exchange more than just a few words, even with such distinguished guests such as yourselves. So let us toast, my dear friend” he exclaimed rising his glass of golden champagne “So that such a wonderful party isn’t ruined by the foul words of certain people”. And as he lowered his glass and took a small sip, his eyes crossed with Marten’s and his bodyguards’. It may have been just a reflection, a mere illusion created by the bright lights and colorful dresses of the Gala. But just for a brief instant, less than a heartbeat, a purple glimmer danced in the Count’s deep gaze. As quickly as he had appeared, the Count was gone, diving once more into the sea of people.
Watching the Count walk inside the crowd was something worth seeing. With the expertise of a master swordsman, the Frenchman waltzed swiftly between the swarm of people that tried to start a dull conversation with that eccentric and mysterious man. Without slowing down at all, the Count exchanged compliments and greetings in just a few seconds but used the perfect amount of words to leave his guests satisfied and his polite and mysterious manners left of them a deep impression that would crawl inside their heads and fly around like a noisy bee until they had no other choice but to reach out to him once again.
However, this time the Count wasn’t true to his words. His tall and slim figure was going towards one of the guarded doors and not towards the other important guests. For a keen observer, there would be something strange with the way the Count was moving. With the same slight and almost imperceptible way his body language changed when he was worried or joyful, the Count’s manners suffered a change after his encounter with Marten. Although he seemed to move with the same grace and fluency that overflown him, there was a faint hurry on his steps and his gentle eyes were slightly narrowed with coldness. When he reached the door, the security guard bowed his head in a simple gesture of respect and opened the door for him just to close it again after he went through.
As soon as the door lock clicked behind him, the Count grunted like a caged animal and would have fallen to the ground if he didn’t support himself against the cold stone wall. A scratchy sound got out of his throat as if it was tearing his insides apart and turned into gasps and pants as the Count desperately held his chest, opening his mouth in a silent scream. Whatever torture the man was suffering slowly seemed to calm down as he kneeled and the sound of his heavy breathing filled the empty hallway. With trembling hands, the Count reached into a concealed pocket on his jacket and took out a simple and small metal box. Inside of it, rested what at first glance would seem as simple pills, very different of the ones the Count has showed to a certain childish individual on a dinner. When the Frenchman took out one of those pills, a disturbing violet and pale light illuminated the dark hallway and reflected on it. But it wasn’t a pill. Resting on the Count’s palm there was a small and polished precious gem which’s strange veins changed between crimson red and aquamarine, creating a shifting purple color. Below that strange and unnatural light, the Alexandrite fragment looked like a living essence trapped in glass.
Without hesitation, the Count swallowed it and bend over. His hand had left his chest and now covered his right eye as beams of dark purple light escaped through his fingers. Gradually, his spasms and breathing went back to normal. Still in his knees, he saw his faint reflection on the glass door of one of his luxurious furniture. There was no trace of the calm and polite mask he wore when he faced the pitiful worms that surrounded him with praises and pointless conversation, only a merciless and inhuman expression remained and the dim and chilling brilliance that shone from his eye hardened his features even more.
“Restez calme, mon ami, mon ombre, mon cher démon” his voice was merely a whisper as he stared into his reflection “Encore quelques jours, voilà tout ce qu'il faut. A quelques jours de plus ... toutes les pièces sont en place. Après deux cents ans d'attente pour ce moment ... nous serons libres”. The purple light seemed to give up at the Count’s words and disappeared like the sun behind the horizon.
The Count remained there a few moments as his breathing went back to normal and then stood up, straightened his suit and recomposed his calm expression. As he walked through the empty hallways of his mansion, the echoes of his words chased after him like a terrible ghost.
“Nous serons libres…”
Meanwhile, Bertuccio seemed to be more excited than a child with a sugar overdose in Christmas Eve.
If just receiving an autograph from his favorite movie star in all the world was enough to bring him to tears, getting a photo with Goemon next to him was an overload of happiness (even though the playful slap that the Bearded Boxer gave him almost sent him straight into the ground). He raised his guard before Goemon could even finish his sentence and posed for the photo, under the amused faces of Masaomi and Pitch. Although he was trembling with excitement he recognized Goemon’s guard from “12 Rounds away from Hell”, a movie that would have won an Oscar if it had depended on Bertuccio. Oh, the way he cried when Goemon’s character finally beat the Devil and was reunited with his brother!
Trying to stick with the theme, Bertuccio copied the infamous guard of the Devil the way it appeared on the movie’s original poster. His ebony hand was almost touching the edge of Goemon’s pointy beard. That moment brought him memories. A few years ago, he had seen “12 Rounds away from Hell” and it had blown his head off in such a way that he tried copying the moves in one of his fights. It had been the most beaten up he had ever been on his life. In fact, one of his bigger scars, the one that ran horizontally through his nose happened in that fight. It was a night he would never remember, because that was the same night when his life changed. The night he met the Count.
After the camera clicked and Bertuccio’s eyes recovered from the flash, his hand shoot into the air at a decent speed, almost hitting Goemon in the face. “Hey Jimmy!” he called when he noticed a familiar chubby figure walking around. “Over here!” “Clown Face” McGregor made his way towards the group with a big smile on his face. “Hey dudes! What’s up? Thank God I found you guys, this party is so laaaaaame” he greeted the boxers and went for a high five with each and every one of them, winking shamelessly at Pitch. Despite his words, his shinning red nose and watery eyes were a silent testimony of how much alcohol as on his system. Then turned to Bertuccio, fist bumping him “Hey bro! What the hell are you doing here, looking all fancy and shit?” The Count’s servant replied with an ironic smile “The Count is my boss, man. I work here” he chuckled as he punched James in the arm. “But yeah, this thing is too… elegant for me, too” Bertuccio added, smirking. The black man turned to the Boxers. “I’m getting some drinks, do you guys want anything?” he asked and after hearing any requests, walked towards a table with an alarming amount of bottles and glasses.
“What a great guy, he’s always buying drinks for people during the fights” James said as he turned to the group of Spirit Boxers. “So, what are you guys doing here? If even the ‘Kamaitachi’ is here, you must be here on something cool, right?” the chubby man added with a gesture of respect to Masaomi.
“Hey! What the fuck man? Careful!” Baptistin exclaimed when Gregor pulled him away “this shirt cost me a fortune, ya know?” The Count’s servant stared at his captor’s, which was literally burning in anger and a disgusted expression drew on his face when his eyebrows started burning by the heat waves emanating from the torn scar. Fuck the Hidden World and fuck that guy. Baptistin’s hand slowly let go of a switch blade that was still hidden on his pocket. He had gone for it automatically as soon as Gregor grabbed him, but it didn’t matter now. No matter how fast he was or how surprised he caught that fucker, Baptistin was still a normal human. He didn’t stand a chance, even if that fucker was unarmed. And the fucking French Elrond (another one of his nicknames for the Count) ordered him to stay of trouble or he would throw him into the fucking Mountain of Doom.
The former thief sighed, relaxing his shoulders. “What can I say, a man’s gotta do…” he started, still in Gregror’s grasp but was suddenly interrupted and set free by a resounding slap, that caught the attention of everyone around them and a couple of guards. Baptistin stumbled backwards and saw that extremely thin woman he tried to hit on, rubbing her hand. With a quick and discreet gesture, he signaled the guards to stay out of that. “Well, look at that” he said as glared at Gregor, with a cocky smile on his face “maybe she did want some of this after all”
With some quick steps, he stood next to Terenty and leaned towards Melea. “I’m sorry, babe. I think we started off on the wrong foot, ya know?” with a sarcastic smirk, he made an exaggerated and almost rude bow and offered his hand. “Wanna come with me and get fixed? I’ve got something that’ll make you feel much better” He pronounced the last sentence with in a tone that made its double entendre painfully obvious.
Iris proud and solitary stance was certainly enough to earn all the privacy she needed, at least from the more sociable of the guests attending to the Gala. But not even her cold eyes could keep the ever presence waiters and waitresses away. As her eccentric pink curls covered the screen of her cellphone and trembled slightly with each button she pressed, a couple of thin and short feet walked towards her. “Ehm… excuse me, miss” said a trembling and almost inaudible female voice “wo--would you like something to drink?”
Dressed in a typical catering service outfit, simple black pants and white shirt, a young woman holding a tray full of elegant and slim champagne glasses stood in front of the solitary seamstress. The girl looked like the embodiment of innocence. Her brown straight hair reached just above her shoulders framed an innocent and blushing face and her free hand opened and closed nervously. However, she seemed unable to keep her eyes, of a greenish brown that resembled the bark of an old oak, off Iris. They would look shyly around from time to time, but would always end up staring at the mane of pink curls with admiration.
“Ehm… miss” she said once more and her voice cracked a few times “I don’t want to bother you but… are you, are you the Iris Thorne?”
At the other side of the enormous mansion, almost unreachable inside the complicated maze of hallways, rooms, studies and libraries, there was a simple wooden door with a small sign that read, in black and white, a single word.
“Maintenance”
Discreet, uninteresting and just the right amount of cliché. “Just the way the he likes it” thought Valerie bitterly as she walked up and down the long table covered in computers. A surveillance room on a broom closet, it was so unwise it really put the respect Valerie had on his employer at risk. The truth was that it wasn’t likely that any of the party guests or any other would reach that deep into the mansion and even that stupid sign on the door was an exaggeration of security. But Valerie felt her pride wounded when the Count told her, between smiles, that she was going to stay all night in a broom closet. And the fact that she had spent an embarrassing amount of time getting ready for the party wasn’t helping either. Now all the attention her tight red dress was getting was from the guards sitting in front the computers that seized the chance to get a peak when the Ice Queen leaned over the desk to check something on the screens.
Valerie sighed and shook her head. That didn’t matter, she was getting payed to work. Nothing more, nothing less. She took another look at the computers that were connected to the many concealed cameras of the mansion and showed every corner of the house. From that small island of technology swimming in the sea of archaic antiques of the Count’s manor, Valerie could see everywhere and everyone. She scanned the screens with little interest until her eyes found a couple talking. As fast (even faster) than the machines in front of her, Valerie’s mind opened like a file and gathered all the information she remembered about those two.
Yuki Minato, Officer of the JHWAB. Economic branch. Born in Osaka. Part of the now broken Minato Clan, a group of well-known Yakuza. According to some sources, there was some strange things on her family tree and her powers, although not completely explained, seemed able to control or modify “luck”. Valerie frowned in disgust. She had always hated the JHWAB and their policy of “coexisting” with the Hidden World and for a brief moment she played with the idea of putting something on her drink. As all the other unprofessional ideas that went through her head, it was properly eliminated. Valerie shifted her attention on the other one.
Marvel Smith. Known genius and millionaire. Born in a family with a strong connection to magic. At extremely young age (4 years old) he completed an IQ test and proved to be a brilliant mind (200 IQ). He is currently one of the top contestants for the unofficial title of “smartest man on earth”. However, his magic potential didn’t seem to catch his intellectual potential. He possesses a large arsenal of high tech gadgets combined with magical artifacts.
Valerie clicked her tongue. Marvel Smith could be troublesome if he was given enough room to act. His intellect and resources put him high on Ackerman’s priority list. She started planning how to deal with him when the cameras caught a gracious figure walking towards Minato and Smith. “Well, I guess he’ll take care of it then” she muttered and looked away from the screen. Valerie was trying to avoid the Count as much as she could. After what he had shown her just a couple of hours before, a freezing chill went down her spine. Even the Ice Queen couldn’t believe her eyes when that elevator reached the end.
“Agh” she muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose with two fingers “What did I put myself into”.
Then, she reached for a small earpiece on the right side of her head and pressed a small button. “Get your people ready” she said and her voice reached the first of the Count’s “special” guests. “You know your target. Prepare yourselves and wait for the signal” after a moment she added “Ah, my employer said that you’ll receive a ‘present’ in a few minutes. Hope you like it”.
The Count returned to the party from another door just a few minutes after he disappeared. With his usual elegance and with another set of glasses of champagne on his hands (at that point, some guests were starting to think that the Count had access to another dimension that was overflowing with champagne and could pull glasses out of thin air) the Frenchman walked confidently towards the unusual pair of Yuki and Smith. The millionaire’s last words were still floating in the air when the Count reached them and announced himself with a soft chuckle.
“Do not be so harsh, monsieur” he said with a smile as he put one of the glasses directly into Yuki’s hand and offered the other one to Smith. “Today is a day to celebrate and my cellars are overflowing with exquisite and delicious drinks! It would hurt me in my deepest if you refused to help on the titanic enterprise of emptying it”
Stepping back a few inches, the Count offered them an exuberant bow. “Allow me to introduce my humble persona” he said as he bowed “I am the owner of this humble house and the organizer of this Gala, the Count of Monte Cristo”. The same way he had done with Iris Thorne, the Count kneeled and gently pressed his lips against Yuki’s hand. “I’m delighted to be in the presence of such a beautiful flower, mademoiselle”. His eyes dove into Yuki’s for a brief moment and then he turned towards Smith.
The Count remained silent and seemed to study his guest with the upmost respect. Suddenly, the calm expression of the Count was suddenly broke by a quizzical and confused look, as if he had bumped into an invisible brick wall. It was almost unnoticeable and if whoever was watching him at that time blinked, they would have missed it. His eyes barely widened and his crooked smile fainted slightly, the same way a smile disappeared after someone heard some terrible bad news. That expression, that seemed foreign on the Count’s face, was as transient as weak breeze. But it undoubtedly, it happened. In a fraction of a second, he went back to his usual self. “And I am deeply honored that you accepted my invitation, monsieur Smith” he said clearly as he extended his hand towards him “The presence of such a successful and respected gentleman such as yourself brings me great pleasure. I am absolutely sure that both of us could benefit considerably from a little talk, don’t you think?” His expression was now calm and unreadable as he fixed his eyes on Smith.
|
|
|
Post by HungryHunter on Mar 18, 2016 23:24:03 GMT
Melea glared past Terenty's broad shoulder at Baptistin. Her single eye glowed green. Gregor was caught in the green cast and went pale, stumbling quickly out of the cone of light. His mind ran involuntarily with thoughts of being emasculated by Melea. The ray of fear's true target was Baptistin of course. Melea kept the dose weak, enough to cause unpleasant thoughts or anxiety. Enough to make him fuck off. "Mistress, you will require first aid." Terenty informed her, gingerly holding her hand by the fingers. Melea sighed and fixed Baptistin in her gaze again. "If you really want to help, find me a first aid kit and some water." She swore to have Gregor neutered when they got home. Sex drives caused nothing but trouble.
A present? From the count? A teenage girl contained a squeal at the thought, rolling in the chair she lay sideways in. She was snapped out of her fantasies by an older voice. "She's in position. She's even less happy now." An older voice by the window informed her. "Hm? Oh, right! Tell the little shit to not fuck it up!" The older woman sighed, looking out at the topiary maze, watching couples enter. "She says not to be too rash."
On the other end of the headset was somebody who would be mistaken for a boy in a dress if not for her padded bra. A scowl crossed her angular face. Her carefully combed and moused hair was already springing up in random spikes. In a glittering white dress, short skirt showing off legs that looked hard and white as marble, she stood out like a spotlight not far off from the Spirit Boxers, shoveling down chips as she kept narrow, angry eyes on McGregor. The girl he winked at looked like a teenager, no older than her. Ew.
|
|
|
Post by Iris on Mar 19, 2016 14:32:29 GMT
The manicured tips of her nails pressed with a pronounced 'clack clack' along the phone's delicate touch screen as she scanned through the first few public sources she'd found. The easiest one to find, thanks to the ceaseless chattering of nosy Gala-goers, was a man by the name of "Goemon". Upon further searching through her phone's search engine she was able to find a photo of him and she could see why he'd be easily noticeable. The man was built entirely like a brick wall, radiating power and confidence, but other than the character of his appearance, seemed like he was just simply a B-movie star and a fighting one at that...not that Iris didn't respect the method of combat, but it simply wasn't her taste and therefore her interest in the individual ended there.
Gently exhaling in the most dissatisfied way possible, Iris wondered who else she'd look up while she was being even less sociable than usual. Thankfully it seemed such a dramatic party would have equally dramatic events as word already travelled fast about the young, sleazy man who'd gotten a face full of palm from one of the female guests, the only difference being that this one seemed to have more of a hold in people's minds. The name "Melea" was eventually mentioned and for just a moment even Iris recognized it; thanks to her recent position in the Seamstresses, Iris had began hearing more about the world than she'd really cared to outside of the fashion industry. Yet the name Melea was strangely familiar...and upon further research on her phone, the most she could even find was that she was doing work in pacifying harsh relations around an area in Africa. However, her image had left Iris wondering how such a gaunt woman could pacify anything if confronted with strength. The girl looked practically emaciated and the only power was behind that glare of hers from the photo that was taken of her. Iris found her disinterest radiating already, again not out of respect, but rather selfishness towards herself; none of these people seemed to have any connections to anything she truly cared about. That was until she heard the first words of Mister Smith's appearance...
Smith was a name she was more familiar with, just like she had been with the Count. Beings of prestige were always on Iris's radar simply because they were the ones who typically paid for the Seamstress's fine work. Mister Smith, as Iris remembered him, was loaded from head to toe in prestige, money, and power within the upper class. Yet, again...Iris was bored thinking about him too. Despite how she was positive he had connections in the Hidden World, she simply didn't care to clarify or investigate more on him. Such was the same with the rest of the odd names that had popped up. Bounty Hunters, mercenaries, hired muscle...none of it was interesting to her. Brute strength was nice and all, but it simply wasn't the passion of fabric. Idly, Iris pursed her lips and wondered why she had even taken this invitation...at least if she had stayed home, she'd be surrounded by her fabrics and at the very most, she could have visited Haruko to have a good conversation.
Shutting off the phone's screen, Iris exhaled loudly again and caused a few of the stray pink curls to dance with the burst of air. All of these questions with dissatisfying answers; did the Count really just invite a bunch of people solely for their social standing? "Disappointing...," and after he'd shown so much promise by wearing such a beautiful work of art over his flesh. The thought of the stitching and fine fabric left her with goosebumps still when she thought of it. Iris's fantasizing was hurriedly ruined when the meek voice spoke to her from the side.
Slicing her gaze through the maze of her curls, Iris's hardened emerald stare could cut through canvas if it wished with how sharp it looked. Fixating the mousy girl in her sights, Iris's expression didn't change as she was asked on her identity; slowly her gaze softened if just the slightest bit. This young waitress was the first to inquire about her instead of simply fawning over her appearance like several other guests had; she'd never expected anyone here would even know what she looked like. Brands, brands, brands, that's all the public cared about. You could mention a name and they'd light up, but that's where their knowledge would stop, so Iris felt a little less harshly inclined towards this young woman who held the tray in her small hands. "Yes, that's me. Why do you ask?" Like a visible wall, Iris's gaze hardened once again and she turned slightly more to face the girl as she awaited her answer.
|
|
|
Post by Kuma on Mar 27, 2016 1:56:32 GMT
A small vein popped on Yuki’s forehead as she heard the voice behind her. The JHWAB Inspector turned around to face Marvel Smith, with a dangerous look on her face. For a split second the thought of knocking the man in front of him down with a quick right cross bolted through her mind, but as soon as it manifested in her psyche, the idea vanished, since she remembered the situation she was in. Her face clearly showed her inner struggled, moving from anger, to frustration and finally landing in a stoic glare of severity. –I’ll find courage wherever I want to. - Was the cutting reply she gave to the Billionaire comment. Before she could move into more scathing remarks someone interrupted what was about to become the start of her rant.
The host of the event, the enigmatic Count of Montecristo, passed a glass to Yuki, whose expression changed first into confusion and then into full on fluster as the handsome host greeted her with a kiss on her hand and compliment. She wasn’t the kind of woman that could be bought with empty praises or just a gentlemanly attitude. But there was something about the Count, as if he had some sort of aura that made her blush like a schoolgirl. She felt completely out of place in the ballroom and at the same time she felt as if he was part of something bigger. Yuki turned her eyes away from the Count’s gaze, too flustered to give a proper reply. Thankfully the host started talking to the man who pissed her off, who seemed to be Marvel Smith, a name she heard before. She downed her drink in one go and listened, still a bit too dazed to interact.
-HERNANDEZ-KUN!- Goemon voice thundered over the chatter around him. The Karate Star moved towards his apprentice and gave him a powerful bear hug, lifting him from the ground.- So you got dragged into this as well?- He asked in a less powerful voice as he let his student go. He turned around to face his companions with a huge, almost childish grin, on his face. Goemon was quite proud of his student and he was a naturally enthusiastic guy, but this was beyond that, he was really happy of seeing Jose here. His student was big enough to be sent to this kind of event, something he could appreciate as he wasn’t the kind of envious master, who hates seeing his student progress. For Goemon Jose’s progress was a reason to be happy. –Pitch-kun, Takeda-san this is my student Jose Hernandez.-
Pitch, which was busy stuffing her mouth with food didn’t react. Takeda, who was talking to another man, greeted Jose with a gentle nod of his head and a cunning smile. He returned to face James. –Nothing interesting I’m afraid, dude, just chilling with some rich dude that invited us.- Masaoki explained really laid back as he turned his head glancing at Bertuccio. –One beer for Goemon, red if possible, one black for me and some soda or juice for Pitch, she is a minor.- His neck returned back to the front and kept conversing with James. –Thanks for all your support bro, people like you make me… nah…- He looked around. –Makes us want to keep fighting.- That really was a lie, as Spirit Boxers tended to fight for their own betterment rather than public, but it was a white lie, one Masaoki was more than willing to say.
-I can take on you any time Cementerio, no guns, no powers… I could kill you with a spoon if I wanted, but I don't want to clean the shit out of it afterwards.- The Infamous Cyborg smiled with arrogance. -The Gunslingers were pieces of cheap trash and everybody knows it. - Falken started moving away with a disgusting smirk in his face - Is not like they are alive to prove me wrong and you aren’t helping their case with the weak-ass embarrassing flailing you call shooting.- He turned his gaze towards Crow’s girlfriend, his right eye shining menacingly as he glared at Toni. –And you should keep your pet on a tighter leash, because among many distinctions I have PETA put a bounty on my head for animal endangerment, a long story that involves a horse and a ferret, but that means I don’t mind killing your bitch. - The Mercenary spew the last word as he walked giving his back to them, moving towards the bar. His cyborg brain would need a lot of booze to calm down, or he would start a rampage, with Crow and Toni as his first victims.
|
|
|
Post by Colt of Personality on Mar 29, 2016 3:05:45 GMT
Crossing Paths
The Cat Eye Witch was not the least bit surprised by Falken’s reaction and his comments but she wanted to at least try to extend the olive branch. While his words may have been ignorant and spiteful she couldn’t let them get to her even though she wanted to smack his stupid cyborg face across the room. However Crow was a different story his was fuming with anger, actually given his nature he was more like short circuiting, small arcs of electrical NE were forming around him messing with the lights. Toni became weary of the situation as she noticed some guards cautiously approaching Crow from behind. The Super Charged Cowboy could handle Falken’s insults about him but to insult the Gunslingers and then threaten Toni was a step too far. Crow clenched his fist and the arcs of NE grow stronger, the Falcon Eyed Killer had called on the storm and was about to be stuck with it’ fury thunder. Then he heard Toni’s voice, “Crow….Crow let it go. He isn’t worth it. You’re better than what he is.” Crow stopped and blinked for a few moments as he let his anger go the electrical NE fading as well, “Whatever….are you okay Toni did he hurt you? Not physically but verbally.” Toni was a bit taken aback by the Gunslinger’s concern and it made her blush. “Oh Crow your concern for me is so sweet. You are like a knight coming to aid of a fair maiden when she has fallen. It making my heart flutter a bit…” “Whatever I was just asking if you are okay. Don’t get over dramatic. Let’s just join the party….OW!” The comical hearts in Toni’s eyes were now fire balls as she punched Crow and then dragged him into the Gala. “Way to be a giant unromantic jerk!”
Meanwhile Kusuri had managed to slip through the guards and screening process without much of a haste thanks to the commotion that Crow and Falken had caused. However once in the party herself the young girl began to have some major regrets about coming to this party. “Wow…um…there a lot here. A lot more than I thought there would be. I don’t even see anyone I recognize here. Maybe, maybe this was a bad idea.” Being in such a large and imposing crowd dwarfed the smaller and friendly school dances the Magic Gem Girl was used to. She move through the crowd nervously bumping into and apologizing to people who were well beyond her economic class looking for someone she could recognize. “I’m sorry sir. I’m sorry mam. Oh I’m so sorry sir. Oh mam I’m really sorry. Please forgive me.” With each step Kusuri’s anxiety grew and soon she was on the brink of having a full blown panic attack. She clutched her chest and tried to calm down she was feeling completely overwhelmed by the situation and could not see a rock of stability in the form of a familiar face. The Mahoseki Warrior may not have a problem facing dangerous Konton Crystal Beasts but being in a unfamiliar room with unfamiliar people was easily getting the better of her she hoped that someone would notice her current state whether they be stranger or friend and aid her.
As Crow and Toni navigated through the crowd of people for a place to sit, the representatives of the BHA were also making their way through the crowd. Marten was chatting with anyone who would stopped to listen, Roman was quietly keeping an eye on the entire room only joining in when Marten invited and Yuki was also looking around trying to get away from the embarrassing situation. The Toragari Heir looked blushed every now again when she realized she was looking at particularly pretty girls a smile forming on her lips when they would smile back. However her eyes widen with surprised for a moment when she stopped a familiar cowboy not too far from the crowd. “Cementerio is here.” One may assume Marten would be too focused on talking about his past accomplishments as well as the value of the BHA and his Great Alliance. But the moment he heard the name Cementerio the Great General turned on a time and focused on Yuki. “What?! What do you mean Cementerio is here?” Yuki was a bit taken back but replied, “I just saw him he is over there with a girl I don’t recognize.” Roman spoke up, “That girl looks to be Toni Sociere from the Artemis Branch as well. She is skilled in her own right. There are many within the Fernir Branch who consider her illusionary abilities to be on par with our own magic users.” Marten stroked his bread a bit frustrated, “Why would the illustrious Count invite someone like Cementerio. He could jeopardize everything the Association is trying to establish. As for this Sociere I never heard of her before but that doesn't mean she not interesting she might make a great addition to the Alliance, I never paid much attention to magic users though. As for Cementerio bringing him into the Alliance is something that I have desired for a long time but he is a wild card. The Gunslingers have always been wild cards with their own brand of Justice.” As Marten contemplated his various options Roman spoke up. “What would you like us to do sir? The General of the BHA look towards Roman, “Nothing for now eventually we will cross paths but the night has only begun.” Yuki quietly spoke up “I’m going for a walk its getting a bit crowded.” Marten didn’t really have time to reply because Yuki was already walking off.
Yuki walked brushing some hair from her face smiling lightly as a couple of girls but her mind was elsewhere. She wanted to talk to Cementerio but she wasn’t sure what she would say. She was still deeply embarrassed by her actions by in Kobe even though she didn’t really remember them. However she also felt grateful for his actions in not reporting her to the BHA and returning her to the Yatagarasu Branch headquarters. She had since been training diligently to improve herself without her family’s sword and improve the style passed down to her. In fact if it wasn’t for improving herself she wouldn’t have been noticed by Marten. The only reason she agreed to become a part of his Great Alliance for a chance to encounter Crow again and attempt to best him. As Yuki was getting closer to the bar she spotted a man getting a drink (Falken). One look in her eyes and she saw something unfamiliar to her yet she know how dangerous it was like seeing a cobra ready to strike the eyes of killer and a man with bad intentions until he got some booze into himself.
Meanwhile Crow and Toni were looking for a familiar face as they heard familiar voices, the Gunslinger did hear the boisterous voice of Goemon and thought like saying hi but probably later. At least Toni spoke up. “Oh look I think that Haruko over there? Just like at her pink hair it has to be her.” The still slightly angry Crow finally broke a smile seeing Haruko would be a welcome change of pace after encountering Falken. The two bounty hunters sat down at the table with Iris who they confused for Haruko. “Hey Harukooooooohhhh. I’m sorry we thought you were somebody else miss. We didn’t mean to interrupt. “Crow frowned as he quickly realized it wasn’t Haruko (despite also having pink hair.) “Whatever Toni let’s just sit down and order a drink.” Toni looked a bit embarrassed, “Crow you don’t just sit with someone you don’t know.” “It’s a party more often than not no one knows anybody Toni. Besides I’m sure Miss…..” Crow waited for Iris to say her name if she wanted to. “Wouldn’t mind some company.” The Rail-gun politely addressed the servant in his kind southern way. “Excuse me sister. When you can do you mind bringing me a glass of whiskey on rocks. As well as a shot of tequila I just had an encounter with a pile shit and I plan on wiping my memory of it. Toni would you like anything?” The Cat Eye Witch was a bit shocked to hear Crow so willing to get drunk, “Um I guess a sangaria please and a glass of water.” Crow then turned to Iris he looked at her outfit and the grace and elegance it held along with it many intricate details. Having encounter many seamstresses recently he knew they held for their own work not to mention they detail and skill they put into stich. It reminded Crow of a Gunslinger trained in the ways of Gunsmiths. “So you are a seamstress aren’t you? I’m Crow Cementerio of the Bounty Hunter Association.” Toni spoke up smiling, “I’m also a bounty hunter I’m Toni Sociere nice to meet you. That dress is amazing it’s puts some of the others here to shame.”
|
|
|
Post by waybig1010101 on Apr 7, 2016 4:30:03 GMT
Before he could respond to Yuki's comment and attitude, the host of the event greets them. Smith examines Yuki, noting the enticement that the the presence of the Count has on her. He knew at the moment that the count has already defuse the situation between him and the JHWAB Inspector with the upmost ease. Men of his caliber are the rarest beings to find in human history. His entire demeanor and overall skills would probably reflect the concept of human perfection to many people, yet for a split second, he witness a momentary crack in that perfection. The short lived change in the Count's expression was so sudden, that it would have most likely cause someone to doubt the moment has ever existed at all, but for Smith, his eyes could perceive that one singular moment at a rate that no regular human could hope to comprehend. Still, he does not change his own facial expression in the slightest upon witnessing that tiny moment. He kindly takes the drink with a simple graceful movement, yet Smith keeps the refreshment away from his lips as he says as he shakes the Count’s hand, “Your words are too kind. And if I’m allowed to be frank, I think anyone who shares a conversation with you will benefit from the experience.”
Jose couldn’t help but to stare at Pitch for a bit as she stuffs her face with food. He didn’t look at her due to any reasons of attraction, rather he couldn’t imagine someone being able to be so carefree in this environment. Though, if these people are friends with his master, then he really shouldn’t be surprise. Turning to the one called Takeda, he replies with his own slight head nod before asking his cheerful mentor in a puzzled tone, “You looking forward to something? Jose long ago has realize that Goemon is a happy individual during most parts of the day, yet he seem to be almost glowing with uncontrollable joy at the moment. "Anyway, how have you been these past few days master. I hope you haven't cause too much trouble since I last saw you."
|
|
|
Post by Obscuris on Apr 24, 2016 22:40:00 GMT
Absolutely delighted by Smith’s words, the Count shook his hand firmly and then offered the successful man a deep and pronounced bow. “Your words honor me, monsieur Smith. Such a compliment from one of the world’s finest brings great joy to my heart, but I am afraid I don’t deserve such praises. I’m just an ordinary man who was at the right place at the right time and seized the chance the world offered him. I have my way paved by many others, even those who meant to harm me… and many will pave my way In the future” His relaxed and silky voice didn’t flinch one bit with those words “However, It would be a pleasure stealing a few minutes from an extraordinary man as yourself for a longer conversation. Would you perhaps… Oh, excuse me.” He was interrupted by a security guard, who left his position and went through the crowd to whisper something in the Count’s ear. The Frenchman listened for a few seconds, barely leaning his head towards the guard. He then nodded in agreement and turned to Smith and Yuki. “I’m terribly sorry, my dear friends. I have just been told that all the guests have finally arrived. What kind of host would I be if I don’t welcome them to my home? Can we continue this delightful conversation later, monsieur Smith? Over a game of chess, perhaps? As I said before, I believe it would be greatly beneficial for both of us. But for now, I must go!” He took a few steps back and bowed once again. “Madame. Monsieur” he said as a goodbye, before penetrating the crowd towards the large stairs at the other side of the room.
“I knew it!” squealed the young woman but quickly contained her outburst and stared at her feet, red as a tomato when her eyes crossed Iris’ cold and hard stare. “I-I’m really sorry to bother you!” she repeated between stutters, clenching the long silver tray on her hands “B-but I was told to give you a message and I couldn’t refuse” with each word se seemed to get more nervous and faster, until it was almost impossible to understand her. “T-the Count’s t-tailor ordered me to find you! S-she’s a fan of your work a-and would love to talk to you. You just h-ha-have to go through that door” she pointed at one of the side doors, guarded by two of the omnipresent security guards “If y-you tell them who you are they’ll le-let you in! She told me she wouldn’t take a no for an answer” her energetic eyes sparkled and her next words, barely a whisper, seemed more for herself than for Iris “he didn’t let me refuse either and when I tried he told me that if I did it I’d get all yo…”her muttering was suddenly interrupted when the two chatty Bounty Hunters sat near Iris.
When the Gunslinger slipped past her and loudly greeted Iris’, the poor and nervous young waitress almost threw the tray all the way across the room. He recovered from the surprise at the right moment to hear what Toni and Crow ordered. “Ye-yes! I’ll get what you order” she nodded but never took her eyes of Iris. “T-that door, miss Thorne” she managed to say before turning her back on the group and sprinting away. However, she stopped for a second and glanced at Iris once more. But this time, her innocent and nervous eyes drilled through the seamstress, tainted by a dark shadow of envy… and greed.
Now that all the guests had arrived, the mansion’s main hall was boiling with laughter, joyful chatter, music, dances and people. But mostly people. Although other rooms and hallways of the mansion were open to public, it seemed that the richest and most “important” guests found the main hall to be fit for their ridiculous taste. The abundance of eccentric foods and drinks, from shrimps bigger than a grown man’s hand to wines so rare their own existence could be discussed, acted as an enormous beacon for some of loudest and more arrogant guests that teemed around the hall like disgusting and fat flies. Young women in tight dresses drinking as if there was no tomorrow letting out annoying giggles every time a man walked passed them, old noblemen and women with more pride than brain exhaling stinky clouds of smoke out of their cigars and fat sweaty business man that, after a dance or two, would end up sitting on a chair too weak for them, panting like an anemic elephant; all this people contributed at creating a dense, hot and unbearable atmosphere at certain parts of the mansion. A horrible place for a small, thin and shy young woman about to have a panic attack.
Kusuri was trying to make her way through that sweaty swamp she was drowning in. For such a small girl, it was an almost impossible enterprise. As she squeezed through the wall of bodies around her, accompanied by a few muffled curses when she accidentally stepped on someone’s feet or maybe poke an over weighted woman with her elbow, the air became hotter and heavier. To make things worse, a sudden burst of laughter made a large woman bend over and her… vast backside pushed the poor Mahouseki warrior into the ground.
In the same level of the mansion where Haydee was peeking a moments before, hidden by a one way mirror and the bright lights that shone over the party, two figures stared down at the party. A cold and surly silence overpowered the room, in an almost violent contrast to the people below them. It wasn’t a silence born from hate that weighs over two enemies or the delicious silence of the expectation of the hunt. It was the silence of an exasperating boredom.
That annoying silence was broken from time to time by the four other people on the room. Sometimes it was the whisper of a deck of cards being shuffled, the screeching sound of a sharpening stone on the edge of a sword, a childish snore or curse after realizing the fucker dealing the cards had been cheating.
“Look at those guys, munching food like maggots when there are people dying from starvation around the world” said one of the men standing next to the window. “So many lives thrown to…"
“Oh, shut up!” exclaimed another man, frowning at the cards over the table. “You always start with shit like that when you’re hungry. What are you? Twelve?”
“I don’t do that!” the man at the window replied, almost at the top of his voice. However, the perfectly timed growl of his stomach brought all the room to a short laughter. The noise woke up the kid sleeping on a black leather couch, who rubbed his eyes and looked around with sleepy eyes. “What happened?” his childish voice didn’t reveal its gender “do we get to kill someone now?”
“No, go back to sleep” said a woman, the other figure next to the window. The kid obeyed her and not even a minute later he (or she) was snoring again. The woman then turned to the man with the cards. “Where is your brother? We were told to stay right here and watch, but he doesn’t seem like the type that follows orders”
The man took his eyes of the cards and shrugged “No idea. Maybe he’s just walking around this place, trying to steal something, who knows? I don’t give a fuck where he is, as long as he doesn’t screw this up.”
“You should start worrying more about it. The guy who hired us told as to stay away from the party or we would see single cent.” The woman replied and she shook her head when a chill went down her spine “What a creepy dude…”. That last comment went unnoticed after the violent crackle of a table turning over and cards flying around, accompanied by a loud curse from the dealer of cards. “WHAT?!” the man yelled as he dashed towards “Who told you that?! We have to find that idiot now before he fucks us up!”
“It might be too late for that” said the man near the window, pointing at the party below them as he left room for his companion to watch, who quickly made his way through and looked to the sea of people looking for a familiar face. Behind him, a soft and scratchy laugh floated through the air “Ohohoho… Youngsters are so lively this days’” chuckled an old man, with a weak and low voice. Finally the man was able to locate his brother. But instead of feeling relieved, his mood got even worse when he saw the small pink haired head that had just landed next to him. “Oh shit…” he muttered, face palming “We’re screwed. Fucking screwed.” And proceeded with an angry and painfully offensive rant. “What’s the big deal?” said the woman, who seemed as the newer one of the group “As long as he doesn’t make a big fuss we should be OK.”
“He’s going to eat her up” replied the man, without taking his eyes out of his brother. The woman stared at him and shrugged “Well, a little bit young for my taste but the world is a free place”. The man seemed too busy to answer as he kept on insulting himself, his brother, their employer and almost everyone on the room. The other man sighed and answered for him.
“He’s not speaking figuratively”
Kusuri’s imminent fall was saved by a couple of strong arms that caught the girl before it was too late. Those arms belonged to young man, in early twenties, of olive complexion and honest face. A long, whitish scar ran vertically over his right eye, closing it shut. With Kusuri on his hands, he offered her a kind and wide smile “Wow there, miss” his English was sloppy and spoke with a deep strange accent, but his voice was energetic and friendly nonetheless “You don’t look so good! Want to get some fresh air?” he asked, pointing at one of the windowed door leading to the Mansion’s inner garden.
The moment the strange energy escaped Melea’s eye, Baptistin cursed under his breathe once again. Another fucker from the Hidden World. Yeah, it was supposed to be a Gala for those guys, but was there any normal human on the fucking guest list? The bitter and annoyed thoughts of Baptistin were suddenly replaced by something way worse once the greenish energy touched his skin. At first the French thief just felt slightly uncomfortable under Melea’s, as if he was hearing the screeching sound of fingers over a blackboard. The disgusting sensation crawled inside him just to get worse and worse with every second it passed. Exponentially unsettling images went through Baptistin’s mind until a particularly painful picture shocked his brain that left the Frenchman with a hand on his crotch and trembling knees.
It was an almost divine relief when Terenty distracted Melea and her nightmarish gaze left Baptistin. The sensation disappeared as quickly as it had appeared and Baptistin took a step back to recover. With his pride wounded but not defeated, he stubbornly stepped forward and glared at the small group. He was about to go on a rant about where that monstrous woman could put her advice, but the sight of the tall and distinguished figure of the Count walking near them was enough to calm his hot temper. Clicking his tongue, Baptistin turned around and signaled one of the guards. “Bring this delightful young ladies a first aid kit. And make it quick” he ordered before turning around and, with all the courtesy he was able to find (it wasn’t much, but at least it was something), asked “Can I ask you if you’d like to go to somewhere more private to take care of your wounds or are you going to mind fuck me again?”
Meanwhile, “Clown Face” was trying hold the tears that flooded his eyes after Masaoki’s words. “That was beautiful, man. You guys are so awesome.” he said, wiping the tears with an old handkerchief and then blowing his nose. Maybe Masaoki’s words wouldn’t work with a regular person, who might be able to notice he was lying, but it work like a charm on James. The devoted and passionate love he had for the Federation and its members, plus the dangerously high level of alcohol in his blood, didn’t turn him into the most perceptive man. “You know? I was kind of lost back then, before I started going to the matches” he started and anyone who had even been in that state would knew that James was about to start a speech that would be excruciatingly long and almost impossible to stop, a drunk rant. “I was a whiny prick who thought he was the center of the world but after I discovered that world and you guys, I… I… sniff” he blew his nose again and, after a couple of fruitless efforts put it on his pocket, dropped the handkerchief to the ground “Oh damn, sorry…” he muttered. As he bended over to pick it up, he stumbled and crashed into a tall and ripped man.
The man in question wasn’t having a good day. After his date for the evening had slapped him in front of everyone because he had stared at a certain pink haired woman for too long, his mood wasn’t the best. And having an obnoxious, sweaty, drunk fat guy falling on top of him didn’t help at all. “What the fuck are you doing?” he exclaimed at James as he pushed him away. “Get out of my way, fatass!” The man stared at James and the rest of the group with extreme disgust on his face walking away. When he turned around a small and delicately hand knitted emblem of a wolf over a star sparkled on his jacket´s right arm, under the bright lights of the Gala. The symbol of the Fenrir Branch of the Bounty Hunter Association.
“Fucking asshole Hunter” grunted McGregor as he tried to regain balance “They think they’re the fucking kings of the world, always stepping on everybody. I hope he gets a zit on his ass so big he can’t even sit again” The fat boxing fan leaned against the Boxers and whispered, as if he was telling a secret to his high school pals “You know? There have been a lot of crazy rumors going around the BHA. Apparently there have been some hunters disappearing randomly. And they think that well… you know!” he passed his fingers through his neck to emphasize his words. “Those pricks are getting reeeeeally paranoid and there have bene pointing some fingers at anyone, and I mean anyone” he finished opening his hands, as if he was trying to hug all the Boxers, in a revealing gesture. As the word “anyone” came out of his mouth, a faint violet reflection travelled through James iris’ that disappeared with the same speed as it had appeared.
Bertuccio returned just as the whole scene happened, carrying with him a tray with the drinks. After fighting his way through the crowd, slapping the sneaky hands trying to get on of the drinks as some people confused the tall black man with a regular waiter. He handed out the drinks, taking a moment to give Goemon his Red Lager with trembling hands. When he noticed Hernandez, he offered him the glass of beer he had poured for himself. “I’m hoping you’re just his fighting disciple” he said and added with a grin, showing his perfect line of pearl white teeth “You don’t seem like the type to show up on the next Six Hundred and Sixty-Six Red Ninjas, right?”
“Hey dude! You didn’t bring anything for me!” James spouted, with his eyes wide opened with surprise. “Sorry James, I guess forgot about yours” Bertuccio replied with a smile. However, his squared jaw was slightly tense and his smile seemed forced. “If you really want something go get it dude” said Bertuccio as he pointed to the small island of glasses that went through the people with the thin arm of a waitress attached to it “All yours, dude! Enjoy!” With a huge grin, James turned towards the crowd, not without reaching for a bro fist with Bertuccio. The Count’s servant hesitated for a bit before pressing his knuckles against his friend´s “See you around, Jimmy” he said, with a surprisingly serious tone, as James disappeared into the party.
After a few moments of silence, Bertuccio turned to the Boxers and pointed at the slime figure reaching the first steps of the stairs “Hey, the Count is about to speak” he said and added with a grin “You guys will want to hear this”
The Count walked towards the stairs, shaking hands and smiling at the wave of guests that greeted him. His everlasting confidence and elegance were in display as he strolled down the hall. However, they shook like the branches of a young tree the moment his radiant shoe landed on the second step of the stairs and his eyes fell on the young figure standing at the landing.
Haydee stood there, sparkling like a brilliant pearl. She had chosen a special dress, one she very dear to her. The first one she had ever brought after the Count saved her from the horrifying way she was living in, almost about to die and scavenging behind dumpsters of a disgusting city which name she had already forgotten. Of an immaculate and pure white, the exquisite fabric wrapped around her waist and chest, accentuating her young figure and then flared to her ankles. A neckless which held a small but brilliant jewel, accompanied by her long greenish hair that fell like a cascade over her right shoulder, were the perfect contrast with the innocent white. To frame her angelical look, a long and silk-like cloth wrapped itself around her arms and floated indolently over her shoulders.
Her sudden and beautiful appearance turned quite a few heads, buy Haydee just had eyes for one person. And his were just for her. After recovering from the initial shock, which could have probably produced a lot of giggles if he’s back wasn’t against the guests, a slow and wide smile was drawn in the Count’s face. It wasn’t his usual courteous and charming smirk, the one he always showed to the rest of the world. No, the smile only Haydee saw wasn’t that one. It was the smile of a teenager watching his crush, the smile of a fiancée watching his soon to be wife walking down the aisle, the smile a husband offers his wife one they discover they are pregnant, the smile of an old man making his best friend laugh the same way she did fifty years before. The smile of someone in love. With a bow deeper than any he had given that night, the Count offered his hand to Haydee.
The same smile appeared on Haydee’s face and for the two of them, everything else seemed to disappear. For one beautiful moment, lasting as long as the bright light of a shooting star, the Count and Haydee stood there, enjoying the perfection of the scene. No words were needed, not even a gesture. And no amount of words are enough to describe what those two felt.
But the moment passed and both of them regained they’re composure. Haydee walked down the stairs, with a calm and relaxed face. However she did take her time to offer the hall her best defiant look, aimed at all the women in the room and an especially hard one to Iris, with an air of triumph around her. The young woman grabbed the Count’s arm gently and both of them looked down at the party from above.
For those away from the main hall, the lights of the rooms they were in became dimmer and a large screen descended through a wall to show a live broadcast of the Count and Haydee. With a few small crystalline sounds as he softly hit the edge of his glass, the Count asked for silence before addressing the Gala.
If somebody didn’t give a rats ass about the so called Count and his speech, that was James “Clown Face” McGregor. He wasn’t the type of guy who would create any problems in such and elegant party, but for some reason that day he was feeling particularly thirst for alcohol that evening. And after a few shots and beers, he didn’t care about anything else than getting more booze. Actually, there was one more thing he was aching for and thought he’d get it when saw a young woman standing against a wall. She looked kind of a tomboy, with short hair and angular face. But James was drunk enough the get over that and stared with admiration at the pearl white and strong legs that showed beneath that short skirt.
Visibly drunk, James stumbled towards the young woman and tried his best to sound charming. “Whazz up, gurl? You waana get it on?”
|
|
|
Post by Iris on Apr 25, 2016 1:37:00 GMT
"The Count's tailor-" was all Iris heard before vivid images of the Count's wardrobe flooded her mind once again. Beneath the pink hair, her frantic thoughts saw image after image of the precise handiwork; the passion of the stitches, the pride in the folds, the love in the work. Iris lost her interest in the mousy girl who was stuttering so badly that she could barely understand her, Iris was not a woman of the utmost patience unfortunately. She had already been depositing her expensive phone in her small pouch and replacing her glove over the finely manicured red nails when her peaceful table was suddenly disrupted.
Like a crack of lightning, Iris's demeanor changed immediately. Again, her gaze hardened and she did too, sitting straight back in her chair with a nearly chilly air overtaking her presence; normally she'd have time, but she could be wasting an opportunity to meet someone as impassioned by the seamstress trade as she. Yet, at the mention of the familiar acquaintance they spoke of, Iris decided she'd give them a little bit more of her now valuable time... "Haruko? You know her?" Easing her bare back into the chilled metal of the chair, goosebumps rising along the pale, visible flesh, Iris's brow raised slightly while she crossed one of her long legs over the other in an almost extravagant manner. "And Iris is my name. I wouldn't say I'd enjoy company, but anyone who is familiar with Haruko isn't the worst company to keep. Though I am on a schedule now." Her arms had crossed over her small, but well dressed chest as she waited expectantly for their answers, but she did seem to gradually warm up to this odd couple at the mention of the man's knowledge upon Seamstresses. "Oh, so you can tell?" Much like a prideful cat, Iris seemed to swell a small bit at the recognition. There was something about recognition for her profession that really did it for her; quickly, she collected herself, but the slightest hint of a smile rose along her usually frowning lips. "Yes, I am a seamstress," Iris cleared her throat slightly and decided to return the compliment...but looking upon the man, Crow's, hat, she looked visibly conflicted and quickly turned her attention to Toni instead. "Lovely dress. It really suits you. And thank you, I worked over-night on it, it's not exactly perfect though..." Her pink brows furrowed slightly and her once proud expression seemed more critical and almost...pouty as she began to ramble lightly. "I slipped stitch 72, did my best to repair but I also dropped stitch 98. The third fold along the back didn't quite hang the way I wanted and the left bow's arm is about 3 centimeters shorter than I'd like..." Iris quickly sighed though, tossing her hand as if tossing the information that plagued her, "Well anyways...as I said, I do have something to attend to." When she stood, she towered, and she combed her gloved hand through her bountiful curls slightly to right them, then offered the same hand to Crow who was nearest. "It was...pleasant, to meet you. Hopefully I'll see you both by the end of the night again." She cast one more glance to Crow's hat, grimaced slightly, then gently took her hand back as she made grand strides to the door the waiter girl had directed her to.
The door was wide and unnecessarily elegant and its bodyguards didn't do much for her either. Standing with her pride visible on her face and stature, Iris spoke to the nearest man on the left. "I'm Iris Thorne, I hear I have someone waiting for me here and I really distaste being late."
"Ahhh...what if they don't like me?" In the far corner of the main room, a single woman stood, shrunk back into the corner to avoid as much attention as possible. She whispered gently towards her left arm that was pushed up against the corner's wall, the same place with her purse was, and if anyone who passed by had the knowledge to recognize her language, they'd realize it was Japanese she was muttering. From the darkness inside of the purse, a singular voice spoke back to her and only her, smooth and almost flirtatious with its dulcet tones. "Darling, just by looking at you tonight, I'd be surprised if you didn't garner at least three proposals." The pale cheeks of the girl's face turned a faint, pale green and she gave the purse a small hush, whispering again while her voice obviously held her flattered tone. "Hebi...stop it, you're not making things easier. I really want to impress them, they all came out here and some from really far away." The voice spoke again, a gentle yawn in its tone as if this were all common happenings. "Like you didn't too? Japan's a far ways away from here, darling." The woman leaned into the wall, visibly sighing. "That's not the point...They deserve a good show for coming here. This Count individual does as well, he was very generous in letting me come here." Hebi, the disembodied voice in her bag, spoke again and in it the audible sound of something rustling against the fabric within could be heard. "Is this really about your infatuation with these silly creatures? You do know how short their lifespans are, correct?" Tensing up her gently sloping shoulders, white hair spilled across her back in the movement and she talked in a slightly scolding tone in return. "Hebi, you know I dislike it when you say things like that...it doesn't matter how short it is, I want them to enjoy themselves. Besides..." The rustling could be heard again from the bag and his voice took on a slightly more sinister tone, "Besides. This isn't just about them, is it? Being here in Europe again, worried your old 'friends' are around?" The look of worry that flashed across her blue eyes was enough to answer the question and the small, scaly head finally peeked from its holdings. The golden, lidless eyes stared back and their slit pupils remained un-moving. "Afraid of them telling still?" It seemed a sensitive question, for her silence was stony and she gently placed her index finger along the scaly figure's nose, gently nudging him back into the purse. "That's enough for now, Hebi." There was a mutual understanding in the silence and he allowed her to push him in, despite under most circumstances he would have fought back. Truthfully, he too was worried, he'd only heard rumors about the faerie realm here in Europe and it was much different back in Japan where he'd met the sweet angel of a mismatched being that he happily trailed around now.
The girl's name was Eri and she was now worried, nervous, and stressed. Everything she'd told Hebi had been true and as were his assumptions; she feared not performing at her peak to these lovely humans who'd all come out dressed from head to toe. She also feared making the Count regret his benevolence in allowing her to come here, even if it wasn't something she'd planned; her agent had been enthusiastic about broadening their market, "You can even speak French, it'll be a hit!," he'd been so enthusiastic even as her face paled. Japan was her home now, her territory, but Europe...even if she visited every year, her work had remained nice and secluded generally speaking. It hadn't caught Lianhan Shee's attention...but being here in such a high scale Gala where her kind were known to happily enjoy themselves made her nervous. Would it be possible for that devilish man-eater of a fairy to appear here tonight? "Mm..." Mumbling softly to herself, Eri sighed gently and steeled herself against the wall as she pushed away from it, shaking her head as if to physically shake the worries away. "No good, Eri, working yourself up like this! You'll never perform your best if you keep worrying about it." Giving herself peptalks was an up-point of her optimism and she decided that she'd take the edge off, just a little bit, she still had some time before her performance.
The way she moved across the floor was best described as light and airy, each step was taken carefully, yet strangely lackadaisically. Eri was a woman of average height, but the less average thing about her was the way her chest pressed into the low-cut dress she was given to wear; Eri had felt embarrassed as her wardrobe team primped and primed her, her disagreement with the low-cutting garment met with sighs of envy from her loving team members. "Eri, look at these...look at them," the lead outfit designer for almost every show she'd had pointed towards her chest. "You're going to Europe...it'd be an absolute WASTE to not show these off. You're so gifted, I'll never understand." The neck of her dress sparkled gently, highlighting the small black, dancing gems that stretched from her chest to drape against her neck and they mirrored the glittering stones dangling from her ears. The entire ensemble was fashionably black from her accessories to her shoes, but it made her stand out painfully bright, she'd felt at least. Her skin was pale and what was even whiter was her mane of silky, white hair whose bangs she'd pinned with small, flower shaped hairpins. Eri was nervous with her steps, taking care to avoid bumping and brushing into anyone, she didn't want to gather any attention before her show tonight, and thankfully these people didn't seem to be the type that'd be into her genre of performance anyways.
Eri's blue sights were set on the bar where she'd have just a small drink or two, but then a feeling suddenly hit her. Stopping in her tracks, she looked around slowly as the coil of unease began to wind in the pit of her stomach; this feeling was familiar, but still a mystery to her. It was then that Eri knew something was amiss at the Gala, the feeling of Premonition was creeping up on her, but there were so many people here! Casting her gaze from face to face, Eri felt distress as she looked at the laughing, talking, vibrant faces of humans she so strongly adored. Who was it, who was in trouble here? Her black nails of her left hand pressed against her glossed lips and she found herself nibbling on the thumbnail gently as her distress rose; who was it! This feeling rose and rose as she approached the bar, the single seat left on such a busy evening besides a man whose outburst she'd missed amidst her pouring of worries. Gently hitching herself on the seat besides the man known as Falken, her heart heavy with apprehension as she immediately captured the bar tender's attention when she spoke. "Excusez-moi, avez-vous liqueur à la crème?" Her defacto return to Europe was also her default drink that she'd enjoyed so heavily when she'd still lived in the area. While the bartender poured her her drink, a little distracted in between glances of admiration at such a divine creature speaking to him with a voice that rung in his ears and heart, Eri felt her worries still growing. That Premonition feeling was still hanging in the depths of her gut and it almost made her sick with worry, she could feel her head ding slightly with every throb of her heavily growing heart; how could she help whoever was in harm's way here? More and more this feeling grew and Eri distinctly heard a hissing call from her purse, the creature so attuned to her emotions at this point, "Eri, stop!-", but as all misfortunes concerning her presence, she unknowingly released these feelings of fear and apprehension as an omen to the nearest person next to her in the form of massive inconvenience; in this case, it was unfortunately the already heated Falken beside her.
Like a lightning strike, the edge of the glass cracked once and spider-webbed along the side before collapsing underneath the broken glass's weight. As if the metaphorical electric shock passed through her, Eri sat up in attention as the realization dawned immediately over her. Her eyes glittered with nearly oncoming tears as she turned immediately on her stool, apologies pouring over her lips in rapid succession. "A-ah, Je suis vraiment désolé!! Oh non nooon...Ahhh. Ceci est ma faute, je suis vraiment désolé à ce sujet!." This wouldn't make sense to anyone at the bar, why would she apologize for such a freak accident in the first place? To top it off, she was still speaking in French as if she expected the entirety of guests to be French. Yet still, she tucked away stray shimmering hairs behind her ear, standing and reaching towards the napkins nearest along the bar and offering the measly paper napkins while she patted them lightly along the bar's top, her apologies still coming out in fiercely. "Je suis vraiment vraiment désolé ... Je vais acheter vos boissons pour la nuit ! Monsieur....um.." She didn't know what to call him at this time, she looked up with her pleading eyes begging forgiveness for a crime no one was blaming her for. Her mind was eased just barely after letting out a loose Omen, but now it was growing with worry for the individual next to her whose drink she'd just utterly destroyed. This just wasn't Eri's night. To top it off, she still had to perform! Eri offered out a dry napkin in an attempt to help Falken dry off if he'd gotten wet.
"It's simple, Fumi. Even simpler than what we normally give you. You don't have to take ANYTHING-", when they stressed the last word, she'd known it was for her sake and not theirs. They weren't saying she didn't HAVE to, they were saying she SHOULDN'T. "We just need you to get in, alright? Get in and just...take a look around. Size up the place. It's a big fancy party, everyone's too busy and there's tons of guests. Just keep low profile and look around, that's all." It was like listening to chiding parents over the phone. Fumi sat in the low-key black car, twirling a strand of curly black hair again and again over her finger as she pouted with the phone held between her shoulder and cheek. Fumi let out a blubber of a sigh that vibrated past her lips and immediately recieved backlash, "Don't screw this up, got it! The boss is STILL angry that you left what he wanted in your last heist. You keep screwing up and he's just going to find someone else." Fumi rolled her eyes at having heard this again and again. It was a show of 'yeah right', Fumi was the best regardless of whether or not these clods wanted to admit it. Fumi simply hummed a sound that seemed to agree with whatever the man on the other end fo the line said and the line promptly cut out to a dial tone. Fumi laid her head against the headrest of her seat and let out a loud, childish groan, even stomping her feet a small bit into the floor of the car while the dial tone sung in her ear before she closed it with an annoyed 'thwack'. If this was just a normal job, she'd just suck it up, but they told her she couldn't take anything...what kind of hire was this!!
Fumi exited her car and stood at the very edge of the gates to the expansive and glorious Gala. Tapping her boot against the ground lightly, Fumi watched as the hilariously large group of Gala-goers stood in line to be checked by security. Thankfully, this group was so large that the poor security seemed overwhelmed... Fumi glued herself to the side of a large man that passed her by and she walked, unnoticed beside him until they reached the front where she slipped her arm through his. The man, startled, naturally looked down to the girl who barely came to his chest and looked at her with a mixture of anger, annoyance, confusion, and embarrassment. "Who...Whose child is this?!" The sudden exclamation from the man drew everyone's attention, and even garnered the attention of the security. Yet as soon as the words left his mouth, Fumi's bitter smile disappeared along with the rest of her; left in her place was nothingness as security came to inspect the empty space beside him, looking at him with irritation while smoke slipped past their feet.
When she reappeared inside, Fumi took a few quick gasps to recover her breath and she quickly made her way to the nearest bathroom...which was an adventure all in itself. In this sea of people who all towered over her, pushing and shoving past them without trying to garner attention was both easy and hard, they were just all so big and they didn't notice her in the slightest. It took her an unnecessarily long time to make it to the extravagant bathroom, but it was there that she could finally catch her breath. Inside the unnecessarily decorated washroom, Fumi's eyes sparkled with admiration at the glittering golden lining across practically everything. Looking down into the marble flooring, she could see her pale, small face among the messy sea of her black hair that struggled against the single binding pulling it back into one large ponytail. Whoever cleaned here did one hell of a job.
Fumi had been distracted as she rubbed her hands along the fine-marble sink countertops until she heard the clicking of the bathroom stall. Instantly with just a gasp, Fumi disappeared and floated as a black mass against the ceiling, spindly smoky tails retreating into a nearby stall that whose toilet she reappeared on, wobbling as she caught her balance on the stainless seats, waiting for the sniffling and chattering to end and bring back the gentle silence that followed the women's retreats. Slowly, Fumi inched open the stall door, looking around with narrowed crimson eyes, and then she ducked down to the spotless floor and looked through the open ends of the stalls to see if there were any others. Thankfully, it seemed she was alone!! Broadly stepping out again, Fumi began to admire all the glittering extravagance of the bathroom, paying no mind to her appearance in the nearby mirror. Fumi looked painfully like a child in the ensemble her employers had chosen, and maybe that was the point; she wore a thin white, button up shirt that flared into lace at the neck and arms, her bottoms were a pair of small shorts attached to suspenders that she had gotten into a habit of snapping out of entertainment, and her feet were donned in her usual laced black boots that squeaked softly against the floor. She was just so small and her frame was so petite that she mirrored a school-child in this appearance...but thankfully, she didn't care at the moment, for her widened and enamored gaze set upon something that she just couldn't pass up in the bathroom.
Anyone who walked in probably wouldn't be able to explain what they saw. At the end of the counter was a decorated basket full of small soaps formed into the shapes of animals. Ducks, to be specific. And these soap ducks were taken by a greedy hostage whose touch became their literal undoing; soap after soap dissipated into wispy smoke that bound itself to her mass of curly black hair whose binding was practically screaming with what it was being forced to hold. Stopping after at least seven ducks, Fumi held the eigth up to the lights above, her face an expression nothing short of glee as her silent excitement became practically palpable in the small space of the bathroom.
|
|