slayer_fray: (scythe)
slayer_fray ([personal profile] slayer_fray) wrote2010-03-08 10:12 pm

The Guest Hallways

These last few months, the hallways in Milliways have been quiet at night.

Some of the lights have gone; exploded in bursts of energy leaving husks of broken glass instead of bulbs. You'd've thought they'd all be replaced, but maybe the Loompas haven't got around to it.

Mel finds an odd sort of comfort in patrolling - beyond that it's what she does and gives her a target to focus on, it's a way, at least, to get out of the suite with quality Mel-time.

And to explore new ways of getting around the place without being visible. Right now, for instance, she's turned her regular, fruitless patrol into some sort of parody of the game 'Floor of lava', using her skills as a cat burglar to make it down the hall never touching the floor, thanks to doorframes and tables and light fittings, and an occasional dado rail.

Attacks have been down, and she's not expecting much satisfaction tonight. The comfort is in being by herself.

[personal profile] vojvode 2010-03-08 11:16 pm (UTC)(link)
From the depths of the shadows, he watches her little game with a deep amusement. She's beyond human, that much is easily surmised. Her heart beats strong in her chest and she moves like one with one foot in his realm.

The remaining lights along the corridor brighten just a bit and then dim again.

A breeze stirs the air, bitter cold and bone dry.

[personal profile] vojvode 2010-03-10 10:16 pm (UTC)(link)
The breeze stills and for a moment, the whole world holds its breath.

A piece of shadow detaches from the wall, shadows clinging like cobwebs to the figure. Soot black and drifting across the floor towards her position, utterly silent, disappearing into another pool of darkness.

The air grows thick and dank. A hint of myrrh and decay catches in the back of the throat.

[personal profile] vojvode 2010-03-16 11:19 pm (UTC)(link)
She does not see the movement, but she feels it. Just a breath, stirring the fine hairs at the back of her neck. A presence, a gravitas at her elbow.

A shadow passing in front of the moon, a pall over her mind. Heaviness. The calm of the grave.

"You are but a child," he whispers.

[personal profile] vojvode 2010-03-17 11:42 pm (UTC)(link)
The very air around her thrums with the force of her memories, the living thread of her history singing back to the beginning of her line.

There is real power here, he can feel it.

"I can see that."

Another shadow moves, parts and evaporates, reappearing farther down the corridor. The whisper remains right beside her ear.

"And yet..."
vojvode: (tip of the hat)

[personal profile] vojvode 2010-03-18 07:35 pm (UTC)(link)
His silhouette appears at the end of the corridor, and he actually doffs his hat to her, dipping low in a long, courtly bow. After a moment, he stands, replacing his hat on his head. He's very well-dressed, a grey Victorian suit with waistcoat and grey gloves. His eyes are shrouded by dark glasses.

"Come forward, child. I would look upon your face."

[personal profile] vojvode 2010-03-18 08:51 pm (UTC)(link)
A predatory grin mirrors her faint smile, curling his lips. Shadows shift and realign around him, and the air itself seems to be solidifying between them.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, and again, the voice seems to come from all around her. Behind her left shoulder or right next to her left ear. Rich and dark, and thick with the Old Country.

"You must be from one of the many future worlds in this place."

[personal profile] vojvode 2010-03-18 09:46 pm (UTC)(link)
He rests a curled finger over his lips and laughs, the sound akin to sand pouring over velvet.

"Not even my gypsies wear so little clothing. You wear your history in your skin for all to see. It's very -- alluring."

He shifts his weight, and before she can draw a breath, he's standing just outside her reach with the weapon, not even a breeze to betray the movement. He is simply there.

[personal profile] vojvode 2010-03-20 04:22 am (UTC)(link)
He mirrors her, lifting his chin as well. Learning the rhythms of her body, the way she shifts her weight from foot to foot.

Another heartbeat, and he's standing behind her, his breath feathering against her ear.

"I should not say such things to a lady, least of all one to whom I have yet to be introduced."

[personal profile] vojvode 2010-03-21 03:07 am (UTC)(link)
The proximity of her weapons to hand do not seem to concern him in the least.

"Indeed. Well, then."

There is a low purr in the back of his throat. The shadows writhe around them, soot black and velvety. Comforting. There is no threat here, no need to be alarmed. Just a charming stranger asking a few harmless questions.

"If not a lady -- what then?"

[personal profile] vojvode 2010-03-23 06:17 pm (UTC)(link)
He hears the quickening of her heart a moment before her hand moves, and he shifts, moving with her like an accomplished dancer. He slips sideways into the space she leaves behind, a dark little chuckle on his lips.

"Oh very impressive. Are you here to separate the wheat from the chaff?"

He watches as she coils for another strike, and he moves again, putting some distance between them.

"A peasant's weapon for just another peasant girl."

[personal profile] vojvode 2010-03-23 09:34 pm (UTC)(link)
His body realises the threat as real before it actually reaches his head. He tracks her advance, and his weight shifts to the balls of his feet. Shadows contract and writhe around him, and he retreats again.

He's mesmerized, watching her advance, learning her moves, so fascinated that she's almost upon him by the time he remembers to move.

[personal profile] vojvode 2010-03-25 06:01 am (UTC)(link)
For as long as Dracula has been alive, he has kept his martial skills honed. And this one moves like a strange combination of a skilled Venetian street fighter and some kind of berserker.

A proper opponent, and the very thought makes him grin.

Again he retreats, but not without brushing his fingers through her hair, just skimming his talons across the back of her neck, his dark laughter ringing in her ears.

[personal profile] vojvode 2010-03-25 09:19 pm (UTC)(link)
When she looks again, he's gone. The shadows around her twist and then grow still.

One of the lights flickers, flares bright, and then dims to a normal level again.

Everything goes quiet. The dead air feels thick in her mouth, and her breath sounds loud in her ears.

[personal profile] vojvode 2010-04-29 08:00 pm (UTC)(link)
The sound of his laughter drifts across the silence to her ears, echoing down the corridor, rich and dark, taunting her from all directions.

He revels in her defeat, revels in the hunt.

"Is that all, Slayer? What an amusing little dance."

[personal profile] vojvode 2010-05-01 10:50 pm (UTC)(link)
"Enough?" He continues to laugh. "Is there ever enough for either of our kind, Slayer?"

Finally, someone worthy of his strength and cunning.

An icy blast cuts through her, and there's a body leaping at her throat, the translucent writhing of shadows growing solid only at the last moment, taking the form of a dire wolf. Talons turn into claws, and the vampire's fangs melt into flashing canine ivory. She can smell the fetid carrion stench of its last meal on its breath, can smell the depths of the primeval forest from which it springs. One of man's oldest fears, the beast from beyond the protective ring of the fire's light. Savage and uncaring, and intent on tasting her blood.

[personal profile] vojvode 2010-05-02 07:29 pm (UTC)(link)
The Beast follows, the smell of fresh spilled blood driving it onward. The massive body pivots, claws raking through plaster and brick like its paper. Its jaws snap shut on the empty air right by her face, springing open again just as quick. Muscles cord, tendons draw tight, and death reaches for her again.

[personal profile] vojvode 2010-05-02 07:50 pm (UTC)(link)
The tip of the blade catches and tears at flesh, just nicking the Beast's shoulder. Black blood slicks the inner curve of the scythe, and gravity carries it out in a wide arc, spattering across the wall.

And still he comes. There is no howl of outrage or pain, only the rush of air in the bellows of its lungs and a growl that resonates through its chest. It circles back, darkness clinging to its flanks and the air around it crackling with the energy of the storm. In the fraction of a heart beat before the next attack, she watches the wound knit closed.

It comes in low this time, faster than before, so fast a human would be hard pressed to even track its motion, and aimed right at the soft center of her torso.

[personal profile] vojvode 2010-05-02 09:49 pm (UTC)(link)
And so the battle rages, each pressing the other, testing and refining their attacks and parries, along the corridor, closer and closer to the laughter and light of the bar.

She catches the Beast in the midriff with the haft of the scythe, slamming him into the door frame, plaster raining down over both of them. Claws flail in the air and it twists and rights itself, pushing off and barrelling into her like a bull through a matador.

[personal profile] vojvode 2010-05-04 10:49 pm (UTC)(link)
She is fast, relentless. A glorious thing to witness in motion. But he does not tire, and does not waiver. He stands his ground, facing her charge until the last moment, and then he launches, not at her centre of gravity but above it. He parries the deadly spike down, his mass continuing upwards, over her back.

Force and momentum carry him through, but she's stronger than she looks, hurling him into the door frame, shattering the heavy beam. The thunderous crash resonates through the whole hall.