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Post by Ceara Mindelan on Aug 30, 2009 13:37:59 GMT -8
The fool. A small, wicked grin came to Ceara's face as she managed to slide into place behind Dahlia, as she now knew the bitch's name to be. She'd moved ever so slowly, hoping the bitch wouldn't notice her...and she hadn't. She'd had eyes only for Emlyn as she went on and on about how she loved him. Okay, maybe she hadn't actually done that, but she was pissing her off. She knew she could be wrong, that Dahlia could actually have fallen in love with Emlyn from what she'd seen of his mind, but Ceara couldn't help but think that she was only trying to steal him away from her. Not that Emlyn had ever really been hers, but still. She felt like Dahlia was still trying to piss her off, this time by trying to steal the man she loved. And she knew that Dahlia knew that she loved him. Nothing had been safe from Dahlia when she'd been in her form, she'd known exactly how she felt about Emlyn, and that was why it was so infuriating.
She waited patiently, relieved that the woman lowered her bow and put it away, as Emlyn had. Now there was no danger to Emlyn if she attacked her. She waited until the bitch had switched back into her own form and bowed to Emlyn. It was obvious that Dahlia had completely forgotten about her. Good. "Hey, bitch," She said quietly, standing only a few feet behind Dahlia. A moment later she thrust out with her sword, aiming to stab the bitch through her lower back. "Never turn your back on an enemy." She said, her voice cold, though she still had a non-too-friendly grin on her face._________________________________________ Words: 310 Mood: Content Notes: Muse!? MUSEE, WHERE ARE YOU! DDD= *looks around frantically* [/size]
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Post by Dahlia Cruorem on Aug 31, 2009 20:34:00 GMT -8
Eyes. Nose. Mouth. Cheekbones. Smile. Always a smile. It was best that way -- with a smile in place that showed the brilliance, the insanity, the brink she had tiptoed like some giant beast, some cat that slunk around in the shadows and knew nothing of fear. Reckless, beautiful in that recklessness, in that desire to be that most humans didn't even understand, let alone have the intelligence to crave, she knew life for what it was: a precious thing, a priceless thing. With a swipe of her blades she could end it; with a kiss, she could invoke life, could make blood pound and flow downward, always downward so it could rise, rise, rise; with a brilliant explosion, it could be birthed, nine months later. It is a tender thing, this life that she controlled, that she knew with an intimacy that should never have been given to her. Without experiencing, she knew the trials that life had in store for those around her.
She was wise, knowing life for a horrible, cruel, dark thing, a cold thing that left you shivering in the snow -- and she always knew it for the hot, fiery flame that consumed and burned you, burned you so deeply it left nothing but smog to fill the head, to rot the mind until it, too was consumed. Suffocation never looked so sweet, but to her, to Dahlia, who knew childbirth ever before she had known the pleasure of sensuality, the world was a frightening place to be conquered, a place that stood up against her existence and hated her, isolated her, rejected her. In this rejected her tender young heart had regrown, had re-stitched itself in a new form, a darker form. So alone, a center of coldness, a sheathed metal core that grounded her, reminded her of the things she would rather not know.
What it felt like to have a blade slide through your flesh, to know the side-long glances, to know the heaviness of words whispered within earshot, to know, to experience without ever experiencing, to fear without ever truly stepping outside the door. And so she had been made, a vicious, tempestuous child acting out against a world that had turned it's back on her -- and all of it was now reflected on Emlyn's face: his loathing, his disgust, his desire to kill, to destroy this abomination which had stolen his flesh. He didn't know, and would never know; and she, foolhardy creature that she was, consumed by her obsession, could not see past it, but through it. There had to be another way out, another way in which to match her words to his, to hear the rough sound of his voice contrasting so vividly to the musical quality of her own. There must, there must -- it was a simple thing, to want. Blown out of proportion, without anyone to temper it, to mold it, it grew wild, fierce and wanton. The want became greed, and the greed running down into selfishness, manipulativeness. Curiosity turned to need, and the simple gesture to please, to become obsession, to know them so well they knew her worth, to prove herself so forcefully that they could not see anything but her. He would forget Ceara if he would but see her for who she was.
Do not mistake her; Dahlia on the surface is exactly what she seems: cold-hearted, ruthless and uncanny. She had no sense of right or wrong -- or perhaps held no certain particularity with either choice -- and she did enjoy her vicious little game. But these emotions, these desires were still there, hidden under the current of her surety, of her arrogance and her self-appointed God-head. Subconsciously, she reaches out, even as she stares at Emlyn with narrowed eyes, the burning orange there in seeking to connect with him, to beat him, to force him to acknowledge her supremacy. She would laugh, had she not been tensed to run, to duck under the fall of his arrow. There was so much silence in his head, the challenge to even guess at his thoughts was satisfactory. She could sup on this silence and grow phenomenally fat on it, like a leech drinking your blood, your nutrients, your life with each greedy little sip. Even when she would be too large, too swollen to function, she would still keep her gluttonous lips pressed against his skin, licking, sucking, killing.
Perhaps Ceara was right, and Dahlia was a fool, but it was specific flavor of fool, and Dahlia would wear it well, knowingly, beautifully herself even with the slivers of otherness that engulfs her when the night falls. The other was straight-forward, a hard, anger that lashed out at anything that displeased her morals. Was Ceara any different than Dahlia then? Her own selfishness had gotten her in this predicament, and there was nothing in Dahlia that would forgive this type of hypocrisy -- especially when her filthy, rotten mouth formed words that dropped into her ears like stone. Hey, bitch, -- and before another thought was flowing through her head there was motion, there was reaction. She no longer heard, but became hyper aware of the situation, her body prickling with the sensation of knowing.
Behind, behind! The voice was sweetly sickening where it had told her, so much like a knight! Dahlia wouldn't have said a word, would have slipped up behind and slit their wrist. But the girl was angry, and vengeful and if there was nothing that empathized with Ceara's choice, well, there was this reaction at least; she dropped, a desperate motion though there was a fluidity in her motions as if she were made of water and she were sliding through one form to another without a second thought. Standing one moment, dropping down to the left the next, still, the blade had to get her, and it sliced through the side of her ribs, cutting her deeply on the right side of her body. No pause now, but a vicious snarl of rage, of a creature that had not been human, had never been human rising, rising, rising to the surface. The words settled in her head, conjured up by memory as she rolled to the left, hand sliding into her boot clip and sliding her fingers through Petite Picotin, the little bear-clawed weapon small and innocuous though it fit her hand like a glove, though the other was full of a poisonous blade, of an angry, rage-filled blade.
So began the dance, the death, the death, the death -- and she did not mind it at all, for it forced a certain liveliness in her mind, forced her to know, to feel the pain, to know it for real and savor it. A smile, a seductive curl of her lips, a raised eyebrow and her tangled, black hair was flying behind her as she moved, moved, moved from her rolling crouch that she had dodged with, that her body had been sliced with. So small, this girl, and yet so much damage was being done. She would not miss this time -- and she used her shoulder again as if it did not weigh a hundred pounds, as if the chill burning through her bones didn't originate from that slice. She went back, back the way she had come, getting close, dangerously close to Ceara with her sword but it didn't matter because the blade, Belle Mort was slicing through air, weaving through as if it were art itself and her body but an extension. A flurried movement, a beautifully dangerous movement, of death, of fatality and she slid it across the underside of the woman's armpit, the motion, rolling the changeling onto her toes so she ducked and moved behind, the continuation of the move moving her poisoned blade to slice through the tender flesh of her neck. If only, if only, but Dahlia was not thinking in terms of what if.
If the blade landed, it landed. If it did not, she would continue this fatal dance and smile that feral little rat-smile that bared her teeth, made her eyes seethe. She did not speak -- there was no need.
[/color][/size] word count;; 1374 tags;; Cea, Em Move;; She dropped into a sideways roll though the blade cut into her right flank, and going back at Ceara with the poisoned blade in one hand, and a small little curved finger blade in the next. She went back to Ceara, aimed to slice under the armpit, using the momentum to bounce around to Ceara's back and aimed to plunge the blade hilt-deep into her neck. OOC;; Sorry! I didn't know I had to post first xD mah bad.
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Post by Ceara Mindelan on Sept 1, 2009 7:44:12 GMT -8
Oh s***! Was the only thought that came to Ceara's mind as Dahlia suddenly ducked and rolled, a split second before her sword would have impaled her. She'd been so close. Of course, she'd still cut the woman's side, but that wasn't enough, that wasn't going to stop her! She cursed herself over and over in her mind, wondering why she'd felt the need to alert Dahlia that she was behind her. She hadn't expected anyone to be able to move that fast, though! Really, the only reason Dahlia was still relatively unharmed was just her own stupidity. Still...she'd gotten a few hits on Dahlia, and she figured Dahlia would be feeling pretty weak right about now. How long could she keep this up, what with all the blood she'd lost from her shoulder wound?
The woman was so d*** fast, though. She'd spun back around to face her and suddenly thrown herself at her. Ceara braced, but Dahlia ducked under her outstretched arm, slicing at her armpit at the same time. Ceara winced, but she didn't have time to concentrate on that. It wasn't too deep, probably wasn't life threatening and Dahlia was still moving, disappearing out of sight behind her. MOVE! She screamed at herself and moved to the side. A moment later the woman's knife brushed right by her face, cutting her cheek slightly so that a small trail of blood trickled down her face. She ignored that along with the wound on her armpit and spun, raising her leg as she spun and aiming to bring her knee up hard into the woman's gut and hopefully make her double over. If she succeeded at this then she'd kick out with her other foot, aiming to kick Dahlia in the back and knock her forward._________________________________________ Words: 323 Mood: Goooodddd! Notes: Is Ceara now poisoned? Cause if she is and it's very serious poison that'll like kill her in two seconds, I might have to change this so that my charrie doesn't die... xD I was confused with what weapon Dahlia was using to attack each time [/size]
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Post by Emlyn Zynooth on Sept 2, 2009 16:18:42 GMT -8
So her name was Dahlia Cruorem, was it? He would definitely remember it, but he guessed for different reasons then why she was remembering him, and he hoped dearly that she would just forget him and find someone new to torment. Now one of two things would happen: Either she would leave and he would let her go, or Ceara would attack, and it seemed the latter was the option chosen. His heart lept as she attacked, realizing he had been somewhat hoping they could let her go and then he would get her by himself later, but that obviously wasn't going to happen. Ceara wanted her blood on her hands.
He could only watch as they fought, feeling helpless and annoyed at himself. It was awful to just stand there and wonder if he should have let his arrow fly if only to end this while Ceara was still uninjured. But you could never take back the past. You could only move forward. He needed to start thinking about his next move, if he were to make one...hell with that, he knew he would intervene if it was the last and most stupid thing he would do.
So he jumped forward with what he hoped was a manly cry, and put his right arm in front of Ceara. He drew his sword completely out of it's sheathe with his left hand, his rapier and held it out in front of him, towards Dahlia, face like stone.
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Post by Dahlia Cruorem on Sept 4, 2009 5:37:02 GMT -8
She didn't have the force of a true warrior, didn't have the strength, the ability to gut, to annihilate, but that didn't mean she wasn't deadly. Oh no, oh no, Ceara was just beginning to realize. She was small, she was innocuous, she was no heavy hitter but for the shapes she could probably take but what fun would that be? What kind of joy was there in stealing a body, in proving she could use strength that wasn't hers? Hmm, hmm? So you're starting to see, she needed to do this, always did this -- taunted, coaxed, angered into oblivion, holding this ability over their heads, using it, abusing it. She could change on you, alter her shape and destroy you with a mere thought in her mind. Become dragon, become serpent, become knight, indestructible creature of flesh and fur and fang, but she didn't, she never really did. No bluff, but a desire to haunt, to hold over this power saying that if she wanted to she could destroy you with one gigantic mouthful, one belching breath of fire. She didn't need to, and it was this that she enjoyed, this ability to dominate even when there was nothing but herself, her own little self in the skin.
No strength but the strength coiling in her legs, the tendons stretching taut, bouncing like an artist, as if she would walk on air and just smile, smile, smile a viscous little rat-smile curling her lips, making her slanted, blazing orange eyes burn, burn with the inner fire of her ability, of her adrenaline that slicked her groin between her thighs. Hah, hah, yes she got joy out of this, a pleasure so acute it made her run wet, slick, unbelievably sick with her desire that raged over the line of her spine with hostile desire. Bloodshed was her aphrodisiac. The ability to bleed, to make others bleed, to mix that blood and taste it on her lips was a beautiful thing, a disgusting thing that she found a particular joy in. So she smiled as she ducked, feeling the blade slide through flesh, making a shallow wound, but a wound nonetheless. It was her style of fighting -- she couldn't hit hard, but she was fast, so fucking fast, and she danced on her toes like a bird dances in the air, moving from one form to the next as fluid as grace.
This dance had not needed words, not yet, not yet and as Petite Picotin arced down to bury itself in the woman's neck, the knight's neck, Ceara's neck, it missed. She moved! A thrill of delicious pleasure coiled in her belly, made her burn hot, flushed, pupils wide with the unmistakable look of salacious climax. Disturbed you yet? No? No? Well she missed the sharp movement, as the girl moved, the blond hair whipping around as the blade sliced shallowly through the flesh of her cheek. A rolling chuckle, a rolling purr -- rough, delicious, sensual. So you can move Ceara? she thinks but she has no time to waste her precious breath on speech, on taunting, for her eyes had been snagged on the violent green of the knight's, of the anger mixing with the disbelief there. So fast! So fast and she snickered, lips curling as the knee was brought up, sharp, terrible -- a flash of motion and she guarded herself, her arms rising up, blades curled in front herself as she crouched, caught it in her uninjured shoulder, but the force of it knocked her down - she, light as a feather, blown to the side, but the fear that intoxicated her mind made her muscles run as if oil was pumping through her skin, blackening her, poisoning her, smoothing out the kinks and she she rolled, caught the boot in the back, but kept on going, using the momentum and her hands as she tucked her chin in tight and rolled over herself, tumbling forward as her hands pushing hard against the ground. Light as feather we've said. A double-edged sword. Light enough to kick around; light enough to push herself up and roll to her feet, to push her body forward and flip to face Ceara again.
Another motion this time, but one that she hadn't expected -- a different corner, an unseen corner and the fierce light of the blade flashed in the air. Again, that herald of motion, and she laughed, a purely self-satisfied laugh as she edged away, on the tips of her toes, bleeding, through the scarce covering of clothes that draped her sides, from the shoulder from too much motion. So vibrant, so red against the wrapping that Emlyn had been kind enough to put on her. So red, so vivid, dripping through white bandages, staining, like her skin, down, down, down. Hair tousled, eyes darting from one to the other and she tisked, smiled ever-so-cruelly. "I see you do need a man to take care of you Ceara." she laughed, a delighted little sound as she continued to back up, fingers tight around the edges of Belle Mort, blood mixing with the poison on the edges of the blade and she purred, eyes flicking back to Emlyn. "Dearest, darling dead, this show of honor doesn't do you enough credit." And she shrugged, moving out of her readied stance as if mocking him, sheathing Petite Picotin in her bootstrap. "She'll be dead in six hours if you don't do something about that wound on her neck." and she clucked as if it were truly a pity, a pity that she would just drop dead. "I'm impressed that the stinging hasn't gotten to you yet."
And she lifted the blade, ran her tongue along the sharp edge, licking up the commingled mixture of blood and poison, a wickedness there in her eyes as she looked at them sidelong, knew herself to be immune to the poison -- for hadn't she taken the shape of the very creature the poison originated? "Black Mamba, my darling Tezca was ever so kind in giving me the supply of his poisonous bite." and she twirled the blade through her fingers. "Five hours of safety, and that last sixth hour, so painful, so fatal." and she laughed, a chuckling laugh as she eyed Emlyn. "Between you and her, I'd choose you. What would you choose? Between gratifying yourself, and possibly saving her life, which would you choose, hmm?" but she knew already and there was a mockery in her words as if the question didn't even have to be asked. Another fairy-light step backward.
Gods, her shoulder hurt.
[/color][/size] word count;; 1109 tags;; Cea, Em move;; She crouched, bringing her arms up to block the kick where it jarred her shoulder, but it threw her back and sideways. Dahlia threw her weight with it, and rolled back, though the second kick hit her between her shoulder blades and used her hands to roll to her feet and flip back to face Ceara again. Then she just inched backward, slowly. OOC;; Yay for posting!
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Post by Ceara Mindelan on Sept 4, 2009 19:09:06 GMT -8
Ceara's ignored the slight stinging on her cheek and under her armpit, knowing both wounds were shallow and superficial, not even drawing much blood. Dahlia, on the other hand...oh how her shoulder must be hurting her. She grinned brightly as her second kick hit the bitch, though it did annoy her slightly that she was able to recover so quickly. Still, eying her shoulder, she could see that blood was soaking through the bandages. "Not in too much pain, are you, Dahlia dear?" She asked, her voice taunting as she moved her gaze away from the woman's shoulder and moved to catch the woman's bright orange eyes. It annoyed her how just meeting those unnatural coloured eyes sent a slight shiver down her spine.
However, a moment later she heard a manly cry from behind her, and then Emlyn was standing in front of her, his right arm outstretched to block her. She stared dumbly at him for a moment, before her eyes narrowed and her grin disappeared. She opened her mouth to speak, but Dahlia beat her to it, her words taunting her that she needed to be protected. She clenched her fists and glared at Emlyn's back. "Emlyn, what are you doing!?" She demanded, her voice hard. "Get out of my way!" She snapped. She had nothing against being protected when she actually needed it, but she was doing fine right now. Her cuts were superficial, how could he think he had to protect her now!? It only annoyed her when a man tried to protect her when she didn't need it, as it just proved that said man didn't think she was good enough to protect herself.
Ceara blinked as Dahlia said that she'd be dead in six hours, looking surprised as the hand that wasn't holding her sword wandered up to feel the cut on her cheek. A trickle of blood was still rolling down her cheek...but she was hardly even bleeding. Now that Dahlia mentioned it, however, it was stinging a little more than she would have expected. Normal, shallow cuts like this didn't usually hurt this much. She kept her hand on her cheek, staring in disgust at Dahlia as she licked her blade, licking Ceara's blood and the poison that apparently coated the blade. She snarled in disgust, but kept her mouth shut, still trying to figure out whether she was telling the truth or not, whether there really was now poison in her system.
As Dahlia asked Emlyn what mattered more, finishing Dahlia or helping her, she snarled at the woman once again. "Don't play with him that way, you bitch!" She snarled before turning her emerald eyes on Emlyn. "Go on, kill her," She encouraged, obviously forgetting that she had been the one who had wanted to kill Dahlia._________________________________________ Words: 497 Mood: Pressured Notes: Emlyn should get poisoned too, then Cea looks less weak xD [/size]
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Post by Emlyn Zynooth on Sept 5, 2009 11:39:24 GMT -8
He lowered his eyelids at Dahlia as he tried to ignore what Ceara was yelling at him. She was going at it again, saying she didn't need to be protected. Since when did need matter? He didn't do it because he thought she needed it, he did it...because he needed to. He was a soldier. He didn't let others to the fighting for him, and he couldn't just be a bystander, and he couldn't let Ceara get hurt again. Nope, it just wasn't even an option, not while he was around.
"What did you expect me to do? Just stand there?" he spat back at her, not caring if he hurt her feelings. Hell, he had done that before and all that had happened was...oh dear, maybe he should be more careful about that. Well, he sure hoped that wasn't going to happen now. That would result in not good. Aww hell, know that was all he could think about...and she was right behind him! He willed himself to not blush but he could feel his cheeks heating up slightly. This really wasn't an ideal situation.
He had to focus on Dahlia, because then he...could just plain focus better. Hate was a much easier emotion to deal with, and he already had more experience with it. Again, ignoring what Ceara said, he took his own route to deal with the changeling, "I don't need to kill you to prove you're low-down and dirty scum." He meant every word of it, and glared at her, trying to push her away from then with the sheer force of his dark eyes. He just wanted her to leave so he could get to work on finding an antidote for Ceara.
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Post by Dahlia Cruorem on Sept 7, 2009 19:49:01 GMT -8
Oh, what a creature, what a target! To glare at her so, to ignore the other like she had hoped he would! His eyes were dark, ice and dark where they stared at her, buried beneath her flesh and poisoned her more fearsomely than she ever could to another. She smiled, a stormy little smile as her tangled, black hair twisted behind her, swayed with the utter motion of her living. Each little breath, each twitch of her fingers, of her wounds where they were stretching her, hurting her, bleeding her dry. Would she become a dried husk? Would she die? Oh, death, you perfect being. Come get me! she grinned fiercely in the face of Death, of that malevolent creature who would wrap it's bony fingers around her scrawny little neck.
The little demon, the imp of chaos. Dahlia, blood flower, darling dearest of the seas, knew herself given away the moment her eyes sought out Ceara, to check the emotion there, to know it and taste it on her tongue. Her power was drunk with use, potent from the filling itself and supping on new, stranger thoughts and it was satisfied with this little taste, this little bit, for now, for now. Even Dahlia knew the insatiable whimsy of the power that made her, created her, whittled her from the clay in which she had been made. Changeling! Demon! They turned their faces from her in fear, thinking she captured their souls, and she took a certain pleasure from it, knowing that the intoxication of that fear was all her doing.
So instead of bating the other, in sticking out her tongue like she wanted to, Dahlia cut off the impulse and merely looked consideringly at Ceara, smirking ever so mockingly as she tipped the blade upward, the long arcing, poisoned blade touching the oil-slick length of her hair. "Don't worry, I'll tell your family how proud they should be." and she laughed, a delighted little chuckle as she saluted the knight, bowed ever so slightly and again her eyes were moving, changing, turning to the darker half, the silence half.
"I really do like you, Emlyn. There's a silence in your head that's so intriguing. It's a shame to see you waste your brilliance on trash." And she winked again, a tempestuous turn of her eyebrow as she hopped back. "As for her living, well I wish you all the best of luck, but I have a ship to catch, a crew to feed, and things to pillage. Think of this as a lesson, will you?" and her eyes bounced back toward Ceara, leering. "Don't be so self-righteous, it makes it too easy, hahahaha."
Dahlia bit her lip, dark orange eyes brimming over with mirth, with a vision of gleeful tears as if the very surface of her eyes were glimmering, shifting like the waters she called home. "I'll see you later! Well ... one of you, at least." and she grabbed at a random mind, bland, and ugly and ever so quickly, her body shifted -- one moment her own, the next a young child, blinking grey eyes, long straight brown eyes, and the palest white skin. Her dirty little dress, torn and re-stitched sloppily around her dirty knees. A sweet smile that warmed the depths of her eyes, and the little girl twirled on her toes, her fingers clasping in the dirty cloth, feet bared and grimy. A delighted, innocent laugh and she disappeared into the shifting tides of the oncoming traffic, of shuffling feet, and rumbling carts full of spoils.
[/color][/size] word count;; 597 tags;; Cea, Em move;; N/A OOC;; Definitely not one of my better posts but I wasn't sure how to end her part in this Y_Y sorreh.
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Post by Ceara Mindelan on Sept 8, 2009 8:33:33 GMT -8
Ceara snarled back wordlessly at Emlyn as he spat a retort back at her, just showing that she was annoyed. Yes, that was exactly what she had expected him to do. It had been her fight, not his. Or, at least, more hers than his in her opinion. Still, she let it drop, since there was no going back in time and changing things so that he didn't interfere. If jumping in made him feel strong and superior, or something like that, then fine, she'd let him do it for now. Hopefully he'd eventually learn that she didn't want or need protecting over such a minor thing.
Well, she supposed being poisoned wasn't exactly a minor thing, but still. She was still having trouble believing that she'd been poisoned. Sure, it stung, but not that much at the moment. It wasn't anywhere near unbearable...though then again, if what Dahlia said was true, then her sixth and apparently final hour on this earth was supposed to be very painful. Well, that would suck. Still, she wasn't going to worry about that just yet, because again, she was having trouble believing that she'd really been poisoned.
She just glared back at Dahlia as she said that she'd tell her family how proud they should be of her. "You stay away from them," She snarled, though she doubted Dahlia actually would go to her house. She was sure Dahlia had just said that to get to her. After all, she'd been in her mind so she knew the ill feelings Ceara and her parents had for each other. And that had sort of felt like a slap in the face, but she refused to show it. She refused to let Dahlia win like that.
Ceara clenched her fists and once again snarled wordlessly, this time at Dahlia as she called her trash and then told her not to be so self-righteous. The only reason she stayed silent was because she just wanted Dahlia to go away. And she did, surprisingly. Ceara just frowned as Dahlia changed into a little girl and watched as she disappeared into the crowd. Then she turned her attention back to Emlyn, looking at him and wondering what to say. "Sorry for...dragging you into that..." She said hesitantly, not sure what else to say. She kept one hand pressed to the shallow, stinging cut on her cheek, not even realizing that it was there, for her mind was elsewhere. It seemed like Dahlia had developed a little bit of a crush on Emlyn. For his sake, she sincerely hoped that he never saw Dahlia ever again. Who knew what that insane woman would do if she ever saw him again._________________________________________ Words: 472 Mood: Rushed and hungry =( xD Notes: None [/size]
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Post by Emlyn Zynooth on Sept 8, 2009 19:44:52 GMT -8
Emlyn's hard glare remained the same as the crazy girl...woman, whichever, doted upon him with words. Sure, compliments were nice, but only if they meant something, and he didn't take any word she said to heart, especially when she was insulting Ceara in the same breath. And really, who cared if she thought he was interesting? He would actually prefer it if she thought him dull, because then she would leave them alone, which was all he wanted, not to have another person 'like' him. He'd had enough of that already, god dammit.
He could tell that Ceara was annoyed at him for interfering, but he didn't want her to waste her breath on something that didn't matter. If Dahlia was going to find him again, at least, that's what he guessed she planned to do, then he would deal. He didn't want her to feel like Dahlia had to be killed right now, and even though he had seen how insane she was, it would feel weird to just kill a girl. Or perhaps he was chivalrous enough to just not allow himself to see it done before him, then again, he wasn't all that chivalrous...
He watched as Dahlia turned into a little girl and disappeared into the crowd. Drat...he just realized, well, he just hoped that when she found him again and he knew she would, that she would have the decency to at least take the looks of a total stranger, instead of becoming Ceara again, or who knew what he would do, or what would happen. It was something he couldn't really prepare against, an idea that, to be perfectly honest, completely scared him. He could always have a plan, or at least, he should always have one.
"Doesn't matter," he mumbled, avoiding her gaze as he turned to face her, now that the changeling was gone. He realized that this was his first time along with Ceara, the REAL Ceara since...he'd just have to pretend he wasn't thinking that and that the thought hadn't even occurred to him. He raised his hand and brushed it against her cut cheek slightly and leaned in to look at it. She had said black mamba...what cured black mamba poison? They'd have to do something soon..."Do you know anything about snakes?"
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Post by Ceara Mindelan on Sept 9, 2009 13:26:10 GMT -8
Ceara couldn't help but wonder what Emlyn was thinking as he turned to face her, avoiding her gaze, as was the usual with him. She was surprised when he raised his hand, and her body responded instantly, pulling her hand away from the cut so that he could brush his hand against her cheek. She knew...or at least, she figured that he meant nothing really affectionate with the touch, but still her skin seemed to tingle as his hand brushed across her cheek. She wasn't really one to embarrass all that easily, or at least, no where near as easily as Emlyn did, but still she felt herself blush as he leaned in to peer closer at the cut on her cheek, turning her head slightly to the side so that he could get a better look at it.
The cut was clean and shallow, and there was no sign that she'd been poisoned, other than the stinging (which was to be expected with any cut) and what Dahlia had said. Which was probably why she was having so much trouble believing it. Who was to say Dahlia just wasn't lying to scare them--er, her. She doubted Emlyn would care really all that much. Sure, he said he didn't hate her, and if he had he probably would have just left as soon as Dahlia had, or not even interfered in their fight, but she assumed he was just being his natural, chivalrous self. It made her really confused when she was around him, making her wonder whether something he did was a sign of affection for her or whether he would have done the same for any woman in trouble.
She shook her head as Emlyn asked if she knew anything about snakes. "Just that they freak me out and I've now decided I hate them." She said, shrugging nonchalantly, not appearing worried in the least. She surprised herself by telling him that she was afraid of snakes. She usually hesitated to tell anyone anything personal about herself, especially her fears. They could be used against her, after all. Ceara appeared pretty open to people, but in conversations it was pretty rare for her to admit personal stuff. But with Emlyn, right now, it just felt so natural, like she'd done it a million times before. Besides, she trusted him completely, she knew it would never even cross his mind to use any of her weaknesses against her.
"What about you?" She asked, doubting he did. It never even crossed her mind, the last time she and Emlyn had been alone together, when she'd kissed him. Instead, she was thinking back to how his hands hand felt when they'd touched her before. His hands were rough and calloused...but so gently when they'd moved across her skin and into her hair...only, that hadn't been Emlyn. That had been Dahlia, playing her mind games. Still, it had looked like Emlyn...it was hard not to think of it as having been real. It was just an intimate moment that she and Emlyn would probably never really have._________________________________________ Words: 540 Mood: Good <) Notes: T'is amazing, how almost all your posts give me so much muse! xD [/size]
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Post by Emlyn Zynooth on Sept 10, 2009 17:09:32 GMT -8
He blinked his eyes when she said she hated snakes. He found it rather odd, considering it was just the poison of the black mamba. It wasn't like the snake had actually bit her. Perhaps it had been another experience, though he personally never found animals very menacing. They were simply neutral to him, neither bad nor good, and often better company than humans. If you got hurt by one of them, it was more your fault than theirs, so you just dealt with it. In this situation, it seemed more logical to direct that hate at Dahlia, whom he was definitely blaming.
"Are you starting to have hallucinations? I hear that can happen." he said while furrowing his eyebrows worriedly. Black mamba, black mamba...he had learned a little bit about them in training for when they might ever go into war with Africa. He knew that if she started getting symptoms in an hour, than the amount she had been given would indeed be fatal...but she could die within three minutes if she had been given enough. He couldn't just wait around for an hour to see what happened, not when he could be doing something to prevent it...
"I know a little bit...but not what the antidote is..." He tried to think back to his training, but the more he thought about it, the more he knew he had probably never been taught it. Clean it out, wrap it up, and get them to the medic, that was all a soldier was expected to do, especially with something as specific and unlikely as a black mamba bite. He hadn't been expected to remember what plants looked like or what they did. He was trained to kill, not to heal. Perhaps he should have become a physician...
"Dammit," he muttered, kicking the ground in front of him, thoroughly frustrated at himself. How much venom had she been given? Two drops was enough to kill, but unlike in a bite, it was not injected into her bloodstream, and if Dahlia had just coated the knife with the poison, it was possible that there hadn't even been enough. And it was a shallow cut. Perhaps it hadn't even gone in yet. He furiously ripped through the saddlebags of the still close-by Treasure and came out with a wrapping, which he wiped against Ceara's cheek, leaning forward, trying to see if he could tell with his eyes where the poison was.
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Post by Ceara Mindelan on Sept 13, 2009 16:03:14 GMT -8
Ceara shook her head as he asked if she was having hallucinations yet. No, she felt completely normal and fine. However, she did like the attention he was giving her... which immediately made her feel bad. Emlyn never really ignored her, and it was awful for her to be happy to be getting his attention when he was only giving it to her because he was worried she'd been poisoned. Dying wasn't exactly worth his attention...though she was about ninety percent sure that she wasn't poisoned. Surely she would have felt something by now, right? "No, I feel fine." She told him honestly.
As he began wiping her cheek, she let him without minding, also knowing that even if she did want to do it herself (which she didn't), he'd only get slightly annoyed. Still, she didn't mind him touching her like this. "I don't think we need the antidote, Emlyn. I feel fine, really." She said. On the edges of the cut on her cheek was some black liquid type stuff, the poison, which hadn't exactly gone inside of her. The cut had been too shallow. She decided to change the subject slightly. "You're going to have to be careful now. Dahlia seemed to have taken a liking to you, and if she was to take my form again then she could do...whatever she wants." She said, thinking back to the kiss, giving herself a mental shake. She grinned as an idea came to mind. "We should make up some code word or something, so that everytime you see me, you can ask what it is, and the other way around. That way, she shouldn't know...I think." She said, though she was still a little confused about all that Changeling stuff._________________________________________ Words: 318 Mood: Good <) Notes: Not so much muse at the moment, sowwy =( [/size]
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Post by Emlyn Zynooth on Sept 13, 2009 16:52:04 GMT -8
When Ceara said she was fine, he shivered a little inside, hoping with everything inside of him that her words were true. It didn't seem like any of the poison had gotten in the wound, and it needed to enter the bloodstream for it to be fatal. Perhaps...perhaps they had, for once, been lucky this time, and unlike all the other times they had met, it wouldn't end in a trip to find the nearest healer. Then again, maybe it was a little pathetic that it was only because they had been fighting just one girl, as opposed to a group of thugs or a well-armed, well-hidden murderer, give or take the fact that said girl was a changeling. "She wouldn't be able to do whatever she wants just by becoming you," he muttered, annoyed, as he tossed his cloth back in his saddlebags, though it had been loud enough for Ceara to hear. What exactly did she think was between them? He genuinely had no idea what was going on. But he also knew he shouldn't lose his temper and start yelling again, like last time, even though it was nearly the same situation, wondering if she respected him at all. It sure didn't seem like it sometimes.
He tried to shove thoughts away of starting another shouting match by chuckling only very slightly and putting on a look of deep thought as she mentioned a code. It was a good idea. "It should be something I'd normally say...so she doesn't suspect anything, but what you say should be out of the ordinary. Perhaps I should warn you to not pet Talisman?" he suggested, trying to be somewhat pleasant and un-argumentative yet again. Of course, it hadn't mattered to him before when he had felt like yelling at something...what had changed?
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Post by Ceara Mindelan on Sept 13, 2009 17:10:39 GMT -8
Ceara heard what he said, and she blinked in surprise at the tone he'd said it in. "That...That wasn't what I meant. I just meant..." She broke off, not even realizing what she had meant. Probably exactly what he'd interpreted it as. She'd just meant...that the bitch could make her do something horrible, like hurt him, physically or mentally. Still, she decided to just end off there and not try to explain herself. She lowered her head a bit, looking at the ground, trying not to show her hurt. She wasn't sure why what he'd said had gotten to her...it just had.
"But if she had changed into you, Talismen wouldn't be with you." She pointed out, looking up at him once again, her face blank as she pushed away her hurt. She tried to think of something out of the ordinary that she would say, but it was hard. What was something she wouldn't say? Well, she wouldn't ask him for help. But that couldn't exactly be the code. "Why don't you just think up a sentence for me, and next time you see me, if it's really me then I'll say it. I can do the same for you." She suggested. She wasn't sure whether he was angry at her or what, but she decided not to think about it too much. She just didn't understand him enough...and he obviously didn't understand her at all._________________________________________ Words: 266 Mood: Content Notes: This was a little rushed cause I gotta go really soon. [/size]
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