Post by Pandora LeAmour on Jul 10, 2009 23:50:46 GMT -5
Tathar Seregon
Pandora LeAmour
Mathas
Location: The Tower
Time: three hours after sunset
Well, the negotiations for the stock that was to be brought to the Tower had gone rather well, in his opinion. The price wasn't that bad for it to be for such a number of animals and they had guaranteed delivery as late as tomorrow morning. That would allow for plenty of time to have them led to the Keep before the festivities began....and as such, tomorrow was also the last day of his duties as temporary Master of the City, and good riddance to the tiresome and humdrum chore that it was. As he rode through the forest along the trail his horse acted uneasy...as if it were slightly spooked, as well it should be. It knew what he was...it could smell the predator within him, even as he did his best to hide it and appease the beast with quiet soothing words. But he had had to use a horse...It was much, much quicker than carriage or by foot...thankfully he would not be tormenting the creature for much longer, though. For now, as he rode at a more leisurely pace, he just took in the sounds and sights of the forest...so lush and serene, and seemingly safe, but he knew that there were beasts out there....there were other hunters about, but tonight he was very calm and without a single worry...It was like this every eve before the moon phase, after all...A sort of calm before the storm.
Pandora was, of course, still lying in her cot, dressed in naugh but the slippers Tathar had gifted her with, the sheet of the bed, and the book that she had slumbered with, still clutched in her folded arms.
Her eye's were open, and she was awake, if that's what you could call it, but still she was unmoving. Her mind just seemed to be having a wee bit o'difficulty functioning this evening. Too many mindrolls, perhaps.
Either way, she had been lying there since dusk, slowly gaining her mental alertness back. The Tower itself was relatively quiet. With Tathar gone doing the boring chore of choosing the livestock, business was at a standstill.
Hopefully he didn't go over the budget, else he would be making up the difference in... payment of one kind or another.
Her eye's remained locked on the ceiling and Pandora tried focusing on the sounds within the Tower. If her mind would communicate that much, then perhaps she hadn't overdone it afterall.
And true to his earlier predictions he was not within the forest for very long. It seemed that after the initial venture through it for the first time and into the village it became much, much easier to navigate through quickly and without incident....odd, really, and he thought of that even as he felt the familiar tingling sensation rolling over his form as he passed through the barrier on to the village itself. He did not really have very much to attend to tonight, and he was quite looking forward to returning to work within the smithy...Pandora could have the Master of the City position for the rest of eternity, as far as he was concerned...He did not mind doing the small tasks, but he had to get out and about more often...Sitting within cooped up was...mind numbing, and his personal experience of it gave the vampire an all new level of respect for her. And to think that she had done that very thing for so very long...He would have leaped from the top of the Tower itself long before. He reached the stable and dropped from the horse, and it was quite ready to be rid of his presence, cantering forward away from him. The attendant took care of the rest and, as he had payed beforehand, he made his way toward the Tower, cloak already on with hood pulled up tight. Tonight, he hoped, was going to be one of leisure and little else.
Oh there we go. Her mind started working again, slowly at first, and painfully fuzzy, but at least it was still there. That had to be a good signed. And if she could just lay off the Mind Rolling, she might pull through it just fine.
A flash of an image rolled for her eye's only, and she recalled the incident with Mathas. Oh Mathas. Pandora instantly sat up in the bed, as if a child waking up christmas morning and suddenly realizing Santa had been there.
Her mind was screaming for Tathar. Over and over again screaming. She had thought she was calling his name aloud. Tathar. Tathar. Tathar!
No one hollared back. No one even heard. Not a single thought projected to the Vampire up above screaming, screaming.
Her lips. They weren't moving? But she was certain she had been calling for him. Where was he?
The tip of her tongue slipped between slightly parted lips, a mortals movement to moisten something that didn't need it. Lips. Moved.
Not nearly as loud as she had wanted it to be. The end seemed to roll off as a hiss rather then a word at all. Oh where the hell was that bloody Lycan? That sweet, justifiably insane Lycan. Insane? Oh lord, insane. Was she the insane one? No no, surely not. He was the one, afterall, that wasn't coming to her call. Why did she ever remove that mark?!
Mathas! Mathas betrayed her. Mathas betrayed him. Betrayed NightWorld. Mathas. Must. Die.
Yes yes, she had told Tathar that. That she wanted the guard killed. She wanted Mathas killed. She wanted. She needed. Was he dead? No. No he wasn't dead. Pandora would have felt it. Mathas wasn't dead. Tathar wasn't here. All was falling apart. Oh Tathar. If only you knew... Where are you... Oh, Tathar. Dead. He must die. Mathas. Die.
his trek through the village went as smoothly as it always did, and he avoided the square completely to lessen the urge to go and check on his shop. After all, as far as he knew Symphony knew nothing about being a blacksmith. Oh how many repair jobs had stacked up in his absence, he wondered....Hopefully not too terribly many, and hopefully the construct had not attempted to do any of them herself...He had a certain quality of work that he held firm to, after all. Finally he reached the Tower door and beat upon it's surface, awaiting the sight of William peeping out of the slit to see whether or not he was wearing the appropriate cloak for entry. The whole process repeated, William opening the door and bidding him a greeting before closing it and replacing the wooden bolt that held it firmly locked in place, but he had an interesting tidbit of news for him, it would seem, breaking from the norm as he told him that not but a few moments before Pandora had called down for him. If that were the case, then he had better not keep her waiting, and so he immediately set out through the guard's room and headed up the drop, quickly making the trip upwards via each individual peg sticking out of the wall before soon pulling himself onto the ledge that led to their quarters. His eyes fell then to the form of Pandora sitting up in her cot, and it would seem that she was rather...undressed, still....but he kept his voice level even in light of how fast his heart jumped in his chest...Did she not know that she was being very distracting right now?
When he finally arrived, Pandora's eye's widened. She could easily hear the hitch in his steady heartbeat and had absolutely no idea why it had done so. Perhaps just the climb was at fault. Was the smithy in less shape then he thought?
Her voice was low, not overly loud but not a whisper either. Simply... There.
Her eyes. Pleading. Worried. Nay, terrified. The Master of the City was actually terrified. She watched him, her fingers clutching at the book he had purchased for her, her lips pressed firmly together. Had her skin been anything but smooth and solid, she would have undoubtedly had a dozen wrinklelines across her forehead.
He slowly raised a brow at her...she seemed afraid....no....scared out of her wits, really, was more to the point...And he was unsure as to how to react. He had never seen her as such. Fear was something he was sure that she was devoid of...and all because of Mathas...?The thought made his brow furrow and he crossed the room quickly, easing himself to sit on the edge of her cot beside her, keeping his voice low. While she had exposed this to him, he was pretty sure that she did not wish anyone else to know that she was terrified about something...But what was the cause...? He had thought her to be joking or something similar when she had asked him to kill Mathas along with the replacement guard for William...apparently he had been terribly wrong.
Ah yes. He did not know. He had not spoken to her guards before she Mind Rolled him. He had not spoken to Mathas. He had no idea. She was safe. But she wasn't. Mathas was still alive.
Trying to sound normal, Pandora locked her gaze upon him, willing the ability to glamour him into thinking everythign was perfectly alright. Willing him to believe she was in control. The Glamour would not come.
Oh the poor book. If she didn't release it now, her nails would surely leave marks in the binded leather. Mathas must die. Before he escapes again. Before people can seek him out and discover the truth. Before NightWorld came crashing down around her.
She flashed back again, not to Mathas. Not to any day within Tranquility at all. No, this time she flashed back to centuries ago when NightWorld and DayBreak attempted to coexist. When her own maker had her charged and was scheduled to have her burn at the stake. No. No Mathas cannot be allowed to live.
Her eye's still locked upon Tathar, but were so far away. So very far away in a world she did not want to live in again. A world she could not live in again.
His expression changed once more....He had only begun to try and apologize for having not killed Mathas before she spoke once more, her words pained and confusing...What was she talking about? What had she done...? Her words were truth, at least as far as he could tell, but he was beginning to sniff out something else...something she was not telling him....she was hiding the whole story to something, and he wanted to know what. But what could she have done in such a short amount of time? And what, praytell, did Mathas have a hand in to have her so very worked up, aside, of course, from the obvious threat to expose them for what they were.
Pandora shoved her hands underneath the blanket. She did not want to touch those bare hands to Tathar. She might see exactly how frusrated he was with her.
Instead, she sat there perfectly still, staring at him, but not at him at all. Through him. Her icly blue eye's never blinked, never focused. And for awhile there, it was like she wasn't there at all. She hadn't heard his demand. Or she simply wasn't going to answer.
And then, quietly, so very quietly, she spoke. Monotoned. Lost. Far away.
On and on she went. Talking, her voice never raising never lowering. No emotion at all. As if.. Why, as if it weren't she whom was telling the story at all.
Even as she quoted Mathas, her voice did not change. No hint in it of the rage in which Mathas spoke. Or of the pain which she felt, the anger. The fear.
Finally, her expression changed. Her eye's squinted, as if she were watching it all over agian.
His eyes widened as she recanted her tale of her night at the tavern...Though it was broken, as if she were touched in the head or under the influence of some intoxicant, though he knew she could not be affected by such...So she must have been exhausted, and seriously so...No wonder she had not ventured out of their chambers thus far tonight....He had no idea what the meaning of mind rolling was, but he got the general idea...she had augmented memories...a daunting task, even for master mages and sorcerors...Rage bubbled up within his stomach, and he began to growl, low and rumbling, his eyes flashing a feral bright green for a moment before they returned to their normal hues...and he raised a hand slowly, moving to press it against her cold skin just below her throat at the top of her chest, pushing gently but firmly until she was once more laying back against her pillow. She needed to rest...He could tell that she needed it...and later, after his deed was done and they were safe from the looming threat that was Mathas' insane ramblings he would return to her...And he would feed her from himself...Perhaps his blood would give her a little extra strength...maybe it would comfort her...In any case he kept his voice low, almost soothing, even as his expression was filled with fury...He would be sure to cause the worm as much pain as possible before he let the man die....He needed to suffer as she was suffering...
Pandora blinked. Such a mortals thing to do, but she did it nonetheless. Looked at him. Really looked at him. Up at him from her pillow. Stay and rest? Stay and rest? Oh no, no no no. She couldn't stay here and rest. She had to deal with Matahs. Did he not understand that? Mathas had to pay.
Pushing herself upward once again, and using his form for her own personal aid, her bare hands forgotten for the brief moment as she grasped onto him and pulled herself back up into a sitting position.
Swinging her feet over the cot was easy enough. Standing took a little more effort, but come on. She was a vampire. An exausted one, but still. A mortals rise was basically all she cound perform. Her current attire, her current state of mind aside. She was not staying here.
Pandora slowly walked at a mortals pace towards the drop. Her voice murmuring quietly as she went. She didn't say any words fully aloud. No, she thought them. Her voice simply made mumblings at her toughts. She had to punish Mathas. She had to at least watch as the Master of the City punished him. Wait. Was she not the master of the city? No. Tathar. Tathar is the Master. Pandora is... Nothing. A vampire girl.
The book she had been gripping lay abandoned behind her, beside Tathas on the bed. Slippered feet slowly, painfully slowly, carried her towards the drop.
All this time, not knowing. All this time, withdrawing. A wasted man stood before the bars of his cell, fair eyes rolling, skin as white as Pandora's. His hands grasped the bars of his cell, but loosely, as he awaited the inevitable.
Well now, apparently she was going to be adamant about going to do the deed herself...and that just would not do at all, now would it? No....And so he rose and stepped forward, seizing her wrist in his hand and standing firm. If she was going to be wandering around, then she at the very least needed to be clothed in a little more than just simply her slippers, and he pulled her back slightly away from the drop and toward himself.
She allowed herself to be pulled by him, away from the drop, towards himself. Allowed? Or simply could not find the strength to fight it. Oh, towards him.
Briefly she spun, and quickly wrapped her arms around his waist, summoning all the strength she could to lock them there. He would not dare perform the punishment without her there to witness, would he? It could be very shattering against her already exausted body. It could simply set her worse off in a state of mind. But it could also prove to be her undoing. Perhaps it was better to risk it then to risk her unable to accept what was done.
Not her decision. She was not master. Just a simple Vampire girl, and apparently not a very good one at that. She hadn't even realized her state of undress. Slippers. Oh how the NightWorlders and Guards would never let her live that one down.
Her eye's glanced around their shared quarters. There was no Bertha. She would come. She always came. Wouldn't she?
With her arms still locked securely around Tathar's waist, or as securely as she thought they could be, Pandora glanced up and into his face once more. Into his eyes. Such... Why, those were not Tathar's eyes. Tathar's eye's were always gentle. Kind. Secretive. Those eyes were not the window to his soul. No no. Imposter. Furious. Anger. Not comforts.
Her voice drifted off. Yes, with Bertha's aid she will dress and come down to deal with Tathar.. No, not Tathar. Mathas. she will deal with Mathas. If only she'd let go of him first. How she'd get down there, she hadn't the faintest. The drop would surely be impossible given her exaustion. Worth it. She would be there. And she would watch as Mathas paid for what he had done to her. No, not to her. To NightWorld. Mathas would pay for what she had done to him. Poor poor Mathas.
He hadn't quit drinking blood. Just because he couldn't have HER blood--not that he wanted it--didn't mean he couldnt still drink it.
He chewed on his wrist a little bit more, but it was no good. Where were the dancing butterflies? Where were the colors that he could HEAR? gone. There were no sounds. There were colors. There was just him, alone in this cell. Alone in this world. and here he had thought it would not be so. Here had he entertained ideas, based on the words of a woman. The worthless words of a woman.
More fool him
Indeed...his eyes were hard and hateful at this moment...but this emotion was not directed at her in the least...No...Likely Mathas' ears were burning damn near to cinders at the moment....Perhaps that would be the way he would do it...To set the man ablaze and watch him squirm and wiggle and scream until the flesh melted away from his form and he moved no more...But no...That would be much too quick...He deserved something much better...Much more painful...and much, much messier. He wrapped his arms around the cold form of the vampire in a reassuring embrace...he would wait for her, of course...Mathas was her pet, after all...her slave...It was only fitting that she bear witness to the man's last shuddering breath before death ripped the life from him. He leaned his head down and planted a soft, fleeting kiss to her forehead and released her, moving his arms around to do the same to her grip on himself, and once that was done he stepped forward to the drop, turning to her once more before he made the drop down.
Oh how wounded. He tore her from his form. She no longer held him in her grasp. Oh yes. Bertha.
The moment the woman was summoned she seemed to appear at the top of the Drop, and quickly came in, scolding Pandora for her current state of dress and began setting about selecting a gown for her Master to wear.
Pandora had no need to undress, she currently was all but ready. It took a moment is all, to step into the newly dawned gown and stand there while Bertha fastened it about her. Her hair, Pandora refused to cooperate with. Bertha was forced to let it hang loosly around the womans shoulders.
Oh, how that was a new one. Poor Bertha knew instantly something was wrong with Pandora when the woman actually thanked her.
Pandora, now fully clothed, headed towards the drop. She stood there, still in the same slippers, but gowned and laced, at the edge of the drop looking down. Oh, what a long way down. Strength to climb down. No no, she didn't have that. Nor did she have the time. She didn't, afterall, want to miss a moment of it.
Stepping over the edge, Pandora shut her eye's tightly, falling. Falling falling falling. Thud. She hit the ground sooner then she expected, and fell instantly to her knees, the many fabrics of her gown cushoning the landing ever so slightly. Not nearly enough, but Pandora wouldn't bruise.
Up on her feet again, with the aid of William. A quick thank you, and a firm grip on the old man's shoulders. Then out Williams Room and into the hallway. She paused and listened. Where oh where was Tathar? Where were they doing the punishment? What was the punishment? Oh for heavens, don't start without her!
He threw himself at the cage again, but it was mostly for show. The damn beasts were getting ready for their time of the month it seemed and each howl brought a tiny spark of life back to his eyes, and that spark was called hatred. He wasn't sure which one of them he hated more at the moment. Pandora's betrayal hurt like a mother, but it was nothing compared to the shame of knowing Tathar had one-upped him. He had been one upped by an animal. A dog. What kind of a man was he? He threw himself useless at the door once again.
Not a second after he had called for Bertha to come to Pandora's aid in dressing he let himself drop down to the ground floor, knees bending upon impact, but this time he stood immediately and continued onwards, the muscles in his stomach screaming momentarily in pain as the tore ever so much from the sudden movement when it still had momentum, but that damage would be well repaired before he even reached the holding cells...the very place that he would be occupying tomorrow night. At the entrance he stopped and made a whispered request to one of the guards, and the man moved off to follow through, seemingly with a gleeful look on his face. It would seem that his decision in implement of death was a good choice indeed...At the very least it would prove to be entertaining...and oh how he planned to enjoy himself...But not before Pandora made it within...No, he had promised her that he would wait, and he would honor that word, no matter the amount he wanted to go ahead and begin the festivities. He waited as the door was opened and he stepped through, entering the area and he immediately headed for Mathas' cell, only as the man threw himself against the bars as he had been doing so very much lately. As he spoke his voice was strained....As if it were all he could do to make actual words rather than the feral and threatening bark of a growl that he really wanted to do.
Noise. The guards were getting excited. They all seemed to be stretched among their posts, leaning as close as they could towards the Holding Cells without actually abandoning their posts.
The holding cells it was then.
Pandora hurried along, her short pale legs moving surprisingly fast for her current state, but still rather slow for one of the Immortal. Her hands ran up alongside the walls, and only moved when she came across a door or one of the guards. Hurry hurry hurry.
Finally making it to the end of the hallway, Pandora turned left towards the Holding Cells, not even glancing to the guards there. The doors still stood open, and she walked through, coming to a halt just inside. From here, she could see Mathas' cell. Oh Mathas. She was furious. She was ashamed.
She simply stood in the doorway. Uncertain if she wanted to enter or turn and flee. Master of the City, my ass. She didn't feel very masterful. Or strong. She felt... Mortal. Weak. Lost. The emotions were too much. Damn her. She would never mind roll again. Never!
Hollow blue eyes turned to regard the wolfman. He wondered how it was going to be--for he knew what tonight was. But he would be dignified, on this last night of life, just as he had been dignified so long ago, when he had been certian the end was near, only to be "gifted" by Pandora.
He held up his gnawed wrists for inspection.
He grinned, turning his face down ever so slightly and to the side as he looked at Mathas....He heard as Pandora had entered, and not soon after that the guard returned, carrying with him a rather short device...It would seem to be a whip...or was it...? The ends of the strands were not knotted at all like a whip should be...no, they each held their own little unique playtoy...sharp and cruelly fashioned...just as cruel as the look on his face was becoming...and he laughed....The sound was cold...heartless...much like one would expect that of a madman to be...but he was not mad...no, he was furious...it just leaked out in a very strange way....He hated Mathas...And such as was his kind, their emotions were deeply anchored in their entire beings....While he loved Pandora with every fiber of his being, he hated Mathas just as fiercely...
The guard that entered seemed to have snuck up on Pandora, and she didn't like that notion in the slightest. Strictly by instint, an instint to stay alive, Pandora attacked. She was amazed at how quickly she was able to move. How strength seemed to come from nowhere as she pinned the guard against the wall, her single hand holding him there by his neck.
Luckily, she was not strong enough to kill him, and the moment she realized who he was, she instantly released him, taking a tentive step backward. Her canines had decended in that moment, and there they remained. Her eye's had flashed red, and they too showed no signs of their icy blue depths.
Turning from the shaken guard with his... contraption in his hands, Pandora faced Mathas and Tathar once more. She watched as the guard straightened himself up off the wall, one hand carrying the whip, the other caressing his throat, and headed towards the cell.
When he had passed her, Pandora took his place, against the wall. Flat against the wall. Her expression was haunting. Anger. Pure vampire. Evil. And she was leering. Oh, that leer.
There was a moment of horror, before he even registered Pandora's antics.
He looked alive now, and both would be able to scent the increased pounding of his heart, even as his wrists leaked out his traitorous blood. He stumbled towards Pandora, trying to keep himself out of reach, wondering why she looked so much like a (devil)...a (perversion of nature)...wondering why she didn't look like his (angel of mercy)...
This was horror beyond horror, and he stepped back, his feet catching on themselves, sending him collapsing backward, catching himself with his hands and crawling across the grimy floor. Oh no no no. She couldn't...she wouldn't...he had known for some time now that she didn't love him, but to make him endure that, she would have had to HATE him.
He caught the sound as Pandora made her move against the guard and he turned his gaze toward her, a brow raised at her reaction...It seemed that the man had surprised her...but in any case she released him and he regained his composure and continued on, handing the device to him. He held it firmly in his grasp, and instructed that a pair of shackles be brought in, and that Mathas was to be restrained by the topmost bars of the cage....He needed to remain standing, after all...Things went much, much smoother that way. And suddenly he had a flashback....Mind returning to that time he had used a device very similar to this...It had been on a ship. He had conscripted himself to the crew in order to pay for passage, and they had somewhere along the journey discovered a stowaway...The man had had no money to pay for his voyage and stay, and therefore had to be made an example of...And they had entrusted the task to him....Anf what a gruesome mess it had been....And he had enjoyed it. See, there was a side to him that he rarely showed...He loved to cause pain...to torture...It was a hidden fantasy that he entertained when he got the chance...And now, he could not help but revel in the moment as the guard entered the cell, Mathas' form falling back as he crawled backwards on the floor...the very floor that was soon to run red with a lake of his own blood...and this thought snapped him back into the here and now....
Pandora wrapped her arms around her self, sliding down the wall until her bottom hit the floor. Then, drawing her knees up to her chest, Pandora hugged them to her, rocking back and forth. She stared directly ahead. At everything. At nothing.
Rocking, rocking rocking.
The words Mathas spoke reached her. She understood them. She agreed with them. It was not right to force him to face his mortal enemy in this hour this final hour of his death. But was she too not one of his mortal enemies now. After the last eve in the Tower, did he not deserve this.
He clearly did not deserve her attention at all. He had betrayed her. He had shoved her, he had spit at her, and he had caused her to overload. To drain her energy where even the measly meal she drank when she returned home had not restorted her completely yet.
Her eye's dimmed from their angered red beast, to the soft icyness of blue for but a brief moment. Oh yes, she heard his words. She had comprehended them. But she said nothing. Her mind flashed before her eye's, replaying the Tavern's events over again. Her hands came up to grip over her eyes as if she could actually block them out. She rocked. Rocked rocked rocked. Silently rocking, hands over her eyes.
When she lowered them, her eye's were red once more. Her mouth was slanted open. Her canines revealed. Pandora LeAmour should handle the punishment. But Pandora LeAmour wasn't here. No. Pandora was strong. Beautiful. Willful. Determined.
Pandora was at the Tavern. She was just a girl. Just a little undead girl. Hungry. Exausted. Angry. Lost beyond reconition that she was indeed Pandora LeAmour, Master of the City.
Still, she said nothing. Staring directly ahead. At a space equally between Mathas and Tathar. At nothing at all. Simply staring. Rocking.
She rocked, even as Tathar spoke. Even as he answered the question Mathas had put to her. He spoke, and she rocked. The words were there, she heard them, she knew what they meant, but she didn't quite comprehend.
Blood. Blood and pain. Oh, that leer was back. Red eyes, decended canines. Creepy grin. Rock rock rock.
He tried to scramble away from the guards, but it was futile, they strung him up just the same. And he remembered, a ghost thought, of dying with dignity, and he rolled MAGNIFICENTLY well. It was a gooooood thing Pandora was not really with them, because as he stood up, the color came to his cheeks, the sparks rose to his eyes, and the smile lined his face. He was again the man he had been when first she had called him to her. Strong, handsome, and so unbelievably mortal.
"I am glad the thought of my demise brings you pleasure, tathar, because it means that I have been enough of a threat to get under your skin. But no, you shall not own me. Not tonight, not ever. I belong instead to a vampire--a MASTER--named Pandora LeAmour, and it is by her creed that I am sentenced, and even if she raises not a finger, it is by her hands that I am slain. When my blood runs forth across this stone it will actually be her blood, for I am hers, and you can't take that away."
He tilted his head to the side, smiling slightly.
Well now...It would appear that Pandora was taking this a little harder than expected...She was definitely off her game, somehow...and he began to wonder if she should even be here after all. But he could not refuse her...He had promised that he would wait until she was here, as she had said that she wanted to be here when the deed was done...And as much of an animal as he was at this moment, he was still a man of his word, and so as she rocked back and forth on the floor, a strange look befalling her expression and mannerism of speaking, As soon as Mathas was strung up like the rack of meat that he was soon to become he entered the cage as well, cradling the whip-like instrument as if it were a precious artifact of great value...And so it very well was at this moment to him...And even as Mathas spoke, suddenly in a state of seeming serenity and clarity that he had never seen of him he remained with that cruel smile on his face, stepping idly up to him...and around him...He reached up with a hand gripped the shirt Mathas wore and snatched, ripping it down his form to expose the skin of the man's torso, all in one fluid movement...he did not care what the man said...tonight, of all nights, the night he had fantasized about ever since he had arrived, Mathas was going to scream bloody murder for him.
Oh, his words. They shut her up instantly. Haunting. Truth. How dare he. Pandora clamped her hands over her ears, willing them away. They did not go. Instead, they echoed in her mind. It is by her creed that I am sentenced, and even if she raises not a finger, it is by her hands that I am slain. When my blood runs forth across this stone it will actually be her blood.. Her blood.. Her Blood.
Blue eyes. Red eyes. Blue Eyes. Grey Eyes. Pain, anger. Understanding, indifference. These mortal feelings, will they not go away?! She was above them. She was above Mathas.
She had not condemned the man. He was a murderer. He deserved to die. She simply prolonged that punishment. Such a lie. His punishment had been worse. It would have been more humane to let him die the first time. She was not humane. The NightWorld Council was not humane. They chose his punishment. She complied. But where were they now?
She was all but ready to scream herself. Get on with it. Get it over with. Finish it. Oh, lord just finish it and take these emotions away with her.
The only thing stopping her was the memory. The stories. The promise that a human servant was linked to their master. Mathas was her servant. It was said that if the human servant is killed, it is possible to kill the vampire at the same time from the action. However, the stronger the vampire, the less likely he/she will die with the death of their human servant. Would this mean that she would feel each of the wounds as well? That she would ache, as Mathas ached?
Oh, how she hoped so. She deserved the punishment just as much as Mathas. She should have refused the NightWorld Council's orders. She never should have claimed Mathas. Oh, the poor man.
And then Tathar moved. She didnt' see it, but she felt it. His movement into the cage. His grip as he tore the shirt from Mathas' back. Oh please, let it begin. Let it end. Let it all be over with.
Oh, he could be an ass, it was true...After all, Pandora never would have wanted some sniveling little man--she never would have wanted the man that he had become. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps, all of this might have been avoided...but perhaps not. He licked his lips as his shirt was ripped.
And he smiled, but that smile was not meant for the blacksmith, it was meant for the Master.
For the moment he ignored Pandora and her actions...Seeing her right now would only soften his hand...and he did not want to be soft and merciful...He wanted to be as hard as stone and as calloused and rough as a bramble bush...And so he kept his gaze and every one of his senses focused on Mathas' form, and he raised his hand....SNAP the whip went as it swished through the air, the weaponed ends to each of the nine heads of the whip meeting the man's flesh with a cold sound, digging and tearing at the skin and flesh...but it was not the worst that was to come by far...no...that initial strike was reasoned twofold...To let the senses adjust to the sudden pain that was to come, as well as to make it seem as if that were the worst to happen...that there was going to be no worse pain than that...but oh how mistaken that line of thought was to be....and he raised his arm once more, this time bringing it down nearly three times the strength of the last...CRACK the lashes would go against his skin, the cruelly barbed hooks on their ends tearing away hungrily, deeply into flesh, ripping it forth with a red spray...and all the while his madman's smile stayed there...
Oh. Pandora's mind screamed. Good god, it screamed. The pain. The stories were true. The rumors were true. How cruel the NightWorld Council. How cruel the punishment. How cruel Pandora.
She grunted roughly, quietly, her tow row of teeth taking hold of her lower lip. Oh yes, it was true. A Master vampire could feel their human servant. They could die when the servant died, if not strong enough. Pandora was plenty strong. Not on the surface. No, on the surface she was falling apart. But deep inside, a voice screamed. The Master of the City took over her. No more Pandora LeAmour. No more Vampire girl. Simply power. Strength. Endurance.
Under her gown, her cold icy flesh burned. For each pain Mathas felt, Pandora felt. For each cut Mathas endured, Pandora endured. For every drop of blood Mathas released, Pandora felt soaking into her own clothes. The only difference is, Pandora would heal. Mathas, would not.
Her eyes remained open, red, unblinking. Focused on the whip in Tathar's hand. Other then the grunt, she made not a sound. She would not, could not distract Tathar. She could not risk him taking sympathy on her. He did not know of the connection between servant and Vampire. Had he known, he surely would have sought for quick and painless. Mathas did not deserve quick and painless. She did not deserve quick and painless.
And so she sat there, arms gripping her knees to her chest, fingers turning from paled white to deathly grey at the strength in which she had them clasped around her knees. Eye's open. Aways open. Watching. Waiting. Expecting. Prepairing. Her lips pressed firmly together, muffling any chance of a sound.
Her shirt, which she was certain was already showing faint hints of blood along her back, facing the wall. Hunger ripped through her. The longing to feed upon the blood that was spilled from Mathas to heal her own wounds. She could not. She remained where she was. Suffering as Mathas suffered.
Oh, once he had been strong, but no matter how much his demeanor had returned in recent minutes, he was weak--weakened from withdrawal, weakened from betrayal, yes, even broken hearted. He tried to hold back the scream, but he couldnt. It was loud, and bounced across the room in every way. Unbidden, tears also sprang to his eyes, but perhaps that only made them sparkle as he raised his head, to look to Pandora. He would not look at the smith, wouldn't give him the satisfaction. He only wished he had spat on the man before letting it get so far. Always his gaze returned to Pandora.
Oh how Mathas' screaming gave him pleasure...it appeased the wants of the beast lurking within him...it craved bloodlust...gore...violence...and pain...And momentarily it took control, and he raised his arm yet again, lashing out over and over, five times in rapid succession, each time peeling off more and more skin and flesh, each cracking of the whip met with a sickening squelch of bloody flesh...No longer were the sounds of ripping skin heard, that leathery chorus of body...No, there was little skin left, by now...and he could very well see the off white color of the man's ribs through the sickly and bloody mess of his back...Oh how he wanted to feast right now...To tear in and devour all trace of the Mathas that had tormented and baited him ever since his arrival into the lands...But no...He had control, in that aspect, at least, and he swung the whip toward the floor, the spattering of blood raining from it as he did so...that glorious arterial spray painting the stone floor and bars of the cage.
Even Tathar's words were lost on her. She was aware of only three things. The whip as it rose and fell. The pain as it overcame her every being. And Mathas' eyes as they watched, knowingly.
Five times the whip fell. Five times Pandora sucked in a breath. Five times her body shook, her back ached, her eye's blurred. Five times in hell. Five times she wished she were someone else. Anyone else.
The first cut right through her. No whip touched her back. No blades broke her skin. But it was her. The skin parted unseeingly, the blood seeped without aid.
She was so focused on the pain she felt, mortals pain, Mathas' pain, that the second blow didn't seem to register. It didn't hurt nearly as bad. A new flesh wound opened. A new array of red decorated the back of her gown.
And then the pain was back. Even as the third lash came, Pandora flinched. Her eye's ran red. Tears. Blood. She silently let them fall. Wept for Mathas. Wept for herself. Wept for immortality.
And just like before, the next lash barely fazed her. The pain, too unbearable. At least Mathas would feel it no more, soon enough. Lucky Mathas.
As the final swing took hold of Mathas, Pandora watched the spray of blood decorate the floor of the Holding Cell. Not a sound came from her. Her profile, silent. Red and grey as death. Determined. In control. The master of the city. Nothing more, nothing less.
And scream he did, as each chunk of his flesh, his muscle, hell, his very bones was ripped from him. He screamed until he couldn't scream any more, and the warm, salty, coppery taste of his blood rose behind his lips. He had just enough coherency to wonder if that odd, sweet taste was what Pandora got to taste every time she fed. He didn't think it was so bad.
It was a miracle that he was still alive. He barely was. The darkness was closing in even as the blood danced down around him. His hands were cuffed, but he could still raise his head, barely, as his disjointed fingers turned in the direction of the vampire. His throat was thick with blood as he uttered his final, dying word, not a cry for mercy, just...her name. The most important name to him. Perhaps the ONLY important name--the name not of the woman, though he surely loved her, but of the Vampire--the one who knew what it was like to kill a man and enjoy it, as Mathas, once a thousand years ago, had killed many. It was to THAT woman, that creature, that he spoke, not out of love, but out of a kindred spirit. It was a testament to her curse, and a reminder, as his final fatal act, that she still could never be mortal--she couldn't even keep her mortal.
But his eyes were still that of a human, as they looked to her and the light slowly died from them. He saw her mask of power and rage, and died without seeing his love one last time.
He did not register Pandora's reactions each and every time the whip fell and cracked the air...the scent of her blood did not catch his attention as it mixed in with the lifesblood of Mathas as it rained down to the floor...Had he known that he was causing her due pain as he did to the man, then he would have stopped...He would have let it be and finished it long before this point...But he did not know...and he was ready and quite willing to go as long as was necessary until Mathas breathed no more and his form ran dry. And apparently, that time was nigh....He heard the final gurgled uttering of the man's final word, and the sudden fluttering struggle of his heart as it began to run dry, and then nothing....And it made him feel empty....As if he had not the chance to complete his task...But it was done nonetheless, howevermuch satisfaction was robbed from the quick ending. He dropped the lash then, and moved past the corpse and out of the cell, telling the guard to clean up the mess and have the body disposed of before turning to pandora....and only then did he see what had happened to her, and his face went pale.
She heard Tathar's words. Heard the shock, the confusion in his voice. But she could not reply. She hadn't the will to. Mathas had taken his final breath, and Pandora was struggling herself to remain.
Upon the floor infont of her, written in the very blood that pooled around her bottom from the wounds on her back, written by her very fingertip, the words Mathas had spoke.
When my blood runs forth across this stone it will actually be her blood, for I am hers, and you can't take that away.
Her eye's remained open. Staring ahead. Grey. No blue, no red. Slate grey. Empty. Her hands in riggor, locked around her knees, which were still hugged at her chest. Her chest slumped forward, leaning on those knees, back inches from the wall. Her gown, ruined. Hair halfway damp from the wounds on her back.
If she was strong, she would heal. If she was strong, she would survive. A vampire is cursed that way. When they take upon them a human servant, they are tied to that servant, and death is not garanteed. She had felt every blow. Every drop that Mathas spared, Pandora spared. Every scream that Mathas released, Pandora swallowed. Even in his final moment, the knowledge that it was finally over had washed through Pandora herself, only for her, it was just beginning.
Time would tell if she would survive the death of her human servant. Time may heal her wounds, and time may simply wash away her name. Nothing was known right now. She was there. But she was not.
She stared directly ahead. Those grey eye's not blinking. Not adknowledging Tathar. Simply staring at nothing. At everything.
Pandora LeAmour
Mathas
Location: The Tower
Time: three hours after sunset
Well, the negotiations for the stock that was to be brought to the Tower had gone rather well, in his opinion. The price wasn't that bad for it to be for such a number of animals and they had guaranteed delivery as late as tomorrow morning. That would allow for plenty of time to have them led to the Keep before the festivities began....and as such, tomorrow was also the last day of his duties as temporary Master of the City, and good riddance to the tiresome and humdrum chore that it was. As he rode through the forest along the trail his horse acted uneasy...as if it were slightly spooked, as well it should be. It knew what he was...it could smell the predator within him, even as he did his best to hide it and appease the beast with quiet soothing words. But he had had to use a horse...It was much, much quicker than carriage or by foot...thankfully he would not be tormenting the creature for much longer, though. For now, as he rode at a more leisurely pace, he just took in the sounds and sights of the forest...so lush and serene, and seemingly safe, but he knew that there were beasts out there....there were other hunters about, but tonight he was very calm and without a single worry...It was like this every eve before the moon phase, after all...A sort of calm before the storm.
Pandora was, of course, still lying in her cot, dressed in naugh but the slippers Tathar had gifted her with, the sheet of the bed, and the book that she had slumbered with, still clutched in her folded arms.
Her eye's were open, and she was awake, if that's what you could call it, but still she was unmoving. Her mind just seemed to be having a wee bit o'difficulty functioning this evening. Too many mindrolls, perhaps.
Either way, she had been lying there since dusk, slowly gaining her mental alertness back. The Tower itself was relatively quiet. With Tathar gone doing the boring chore of choosing the livestock, business was at a standstill.
Hopefully he didn't go over the budget, else he would be making up the difference in... payment of one kind or another.
Her eye's remained locked on the ceiling and Pandora tried focusing on the sounds within the Tower. If her mind would communicate that much, then perhaps she hadn't overdone it afterall.
And true to his earlier predictions he was not within the forest for very long. It seemed that after the initial venture through it for the first time and into the village it became much, much easier to navigate through quickly and without incident....odd, really, and he thought of that even as he felt the familiar tingling sensation rolling over his form as he passed through the barrier on to the village itself. He did not really have very much to attend to tonight, and he was quite looking forward to returning to work within the smithy...Pandora could have the Master of the City position for the rest of eternity, as far as he was concerned...He did not mind doing the small tasks, but he had to get out and about more often...Sitting within cooped up was...mind numbing, and his personal experience of it gave the vampire an all new level of respect for her. And to think that she had done that very thing for so very long...He would have leaped from the top of the Tower itself long before. He reached the stable and dropped from the horse, and it was quite ready to be rid of his presence, cantering forward away from him. The attendant took care of the rest and, as he had payed beforehand, he made his way toward the Tower, cloak already on with hood pulled up tight. Tonight, he hoped, was going to be one of leisure and little else.
Oh there we go. Her mind started working again, slowly at first, and painfully fuzzy, but at least it was still there. That had to be a good signed. And if she could just lay off the Mind Rolling, she might pull through it just fine.
A flash of an image rolled for her eye's only, and she recalled the incident with Mathas. Oh Mathas. Pandora instantly sat up in the bed, as if a child waking up christmas morning and suddenly realizing Santa had been there.
Her mind was screaming for Tathar. Over and over again screaming. She had thought she was calling his name aloud. Tathar. Tathar. Tathar!
No one hollared back. No one even heard. Not a single thought projected to the Vampire up above screaming, screaming.
Her lips. They weren't moving? But she was certain she had been calling for him. Where was he?
The tip of her tongue slipped between slightly parted lips, a mortals movement to moisten something that didn't need it. Lips. Moved.
"Tatharrr."
Not nearly as loud as she had wanted it to be. The end seemed to roll off as a hiss rather then a word at all. Oh where the hell was that bloody Lycan? That sweet, justifiably insane Lycan. Insane? Oh lord, insane. Was she the insane one? No no, surely not. He was the one, afterall, that wasn't coming to her call. Why did she ever remove that mark?!
Mathas! Mathas betrayed her. Mathas betrayed him. Betrayed NightWorld. Mathas. Must. Die.
Yes yes, she had told Tathar that. That she wanted the guard killed. She wanted Mathas killed. She wanted. She needed. Was he dead? No. No he wasn't dead. Pandora would have felt it. Mathas wasn't dead. Tathar wasn't here. All was falling apart. Oh Tathar. If only you knew... Where are you... Oh, Tathar. Dead. He must die. Mathas. Die.
his trek through the village went as smoothly as it always did, and he avoided the square completely to lessen the urge to go and check on his shop. After all, as far as he knew Symphony knew nothing about being a blacksmith. Oh how many repair jobs had stacked up in his absence, he wondered....Hopefully not too terribly many, and hopefully the construct had not attempted to do any of them herself...He had a certain quality of work that he held firm to, after all. Finally he reached the Tower door and beat upon it's surface, awaiting the sight of William peeping out of the slit to see whether or not he was wearing the appropriate cloak for entry. The whole process repeated, William opening the door and bidding him a greeting before closing it and replacing the wooden bolt that held it firmly locked in place, but he had an interesting tidbit of news for him, it would seem, breaking from the norm as he told him that not but a few moments before Pandora had called down for him. If that were the case, then he had better not keep her waiting, and so he immediately set out through the guard's room and headed up the drop, quickly making the trip upwards via each individual peg sticking out of the wall before soon pulling himself onto the ledge that led to their quarters. His eyes fell then to the form of Pandora sitting up in her cot, and it would seem that she was rather...undressed, still....but he kept his voice level even in light of how fast his heart jumped in his chest...Did she not know that she was being very distracting right now?
"Erhem...William told me that you called for me?"
[/center]When he finally arrived, Pandora's eye's widened. She could easily hear the hitch in his steady heartbeat and had absolutely no idea why it had done so. Perhaps just the climb was at fault. Was the smithy in less shape then he thought?
Her voice was low, not overly loud but not a whisper either. Simply... There.
"Mathas. Have you dispatched Mathas yet?"
Her eyes. Pleading. Worried. Nay, terrified. The Master of the City was actually terrified. She watched him, her fingers clutching at the book he had purchased for her, her lips pressed firmly together. Had her skin been anything but smooth and solid, she would have undoubtedly had a dozen wrinklelines across her forehead.
"Please tell me you have, Tathar. Please tell me you have corrected it!"
He slowly raised a brow at her...she seemed afraid....no....scared out of her wits, really, was more to the point...And he was unsure as to how to react. He had never seen her as such. Fear was something he was sure that she was devoid of...and all because of Mathas...?The thought made his brow furrow and he crossed the room quickly, easing himself to sit on the edge of her cot beside her, keeping his voice low. While she had exposed this to him, he was pretty sure that she did not wish anyone else to know that she was terrified about something...But what was the cause...? He had thought her to be joking or something similar when she had asked him to kill Mathas along with the replacement guard for William...apparently he had been terribly wrong.
"Dispatched...? Pandora, is something amiss?"
[/center]Ah yes. He did not know. He had not spoken to her guards before she Mind Rolled him. He had not spoken to Mathas. He had no idea. She was safe. But she wasn't. Mathas was still alive.
Trying to sound normal, Pandora locked her gaze upon him, willing the ability to glamour him into thinking everythign was perfectly alright. Willing him to believe she was in control. The Glamour would not come.
"Mathas threatened to expose NightWorld. You were to terminate him. Have you or have you not?"
Oh the poor book. If she didn't release it now, her nails would surely leave marks in the binded leather. Mathas must die. Before he escapes again. Before people can seek him out and discover the truth. Before NightWorld came crashing down around her.
She flashed back again, not to Mathas. Not to any day within Tranquility at all. No, this time she flashed back to centuries ago when NightWorld and DayBreak attempted to coexist. When her own maker had her charged and was scheduled to have her burn at the stake. No. No Mathas cannot be allowed to live.
Her eye's still locked upon Tathar, but were so far away. So very far away in a world she did not want to live in again. A world she could not live in again.
"Tathar. Oh, Tathar. I am so sorry. I had to. For you. For Nightworld. For me."
His expression changed once more....He had only begun to try and apologize for having not killed Mathas before she spoke once more, her words pained and confusing...What was she talking about? What had she done...? Her words were truth, at least as far as he could tell, but he was beginning to sniff out something else...something she was not telling him....she was hiding the whole story to something, and he wanted to know what. But what could she have done in such a short amount of time? And what, praytell, did Mathas have a hand in to have her so very worked up, aside, of course, from the obvious threat to expose them for what they were.
"You are hiding something from me, Pandora. I want to know what it is..."
Pandora shoved her hands underneath the blanket. She did not want to touch those bare hands to Tathar. She might see exactly how frusrated he was with her.
Instead, she sat there perfectly still, staring at him, but not at him at all. Through him. Her icly blue eye's never blinked, never focused. And for awhile there, it was like she wasn't there at all. She hadn't heard his demand. Or she simply wasn't going to answer.
And then, quietly, so very quietly, she spoke. Monotoned. Lost. Far away.
"He followed. Tavern. Mortals everywhere. Dancing. Feeding. Lurking. Mathas. Hands on Pandora. Groping. Dancing. Mad. So mad. Tathar. His name is not Tathar. Why did she call him Tathar. So fuzzy. So much blood alcohol. Called him Tathar."
On and on she went. Talking, her voice never raising never lowering. No emotion at all. As if.. Why, as if it weren't she whom was telling the story at all.
"Mathas so mad. Shoved Pandora, yelled. Tathar? Is that what you were going to say, Pandora? You were going to call me by a dog's name? How dare you.Is that who you wish I was? Some damn great smelly Beast? Why him? WHY HIM? I was here first--I had you first, and then you went and stabbed me in the back for some yelping pup! A pup that you had me collar and leash to you! What the HELL goes through that skull of yours? You think you can just stray us along like we're your little puppets? You can't! YOU CAN'T! Begone from me, witch, I'll not buy your snake oil again."
Even as she quoted Mathas, her voice did not change. No hint in it of the rage in which Mathas spoke. Or of the pain which she felt, the anger. The fear.
"Shoved into Lycan. Mathas. Spit at Pandora's feet. Guards. Capture and drag away. Mortals. Meals. Watching. Connecting the dots. Could not risk Tathar. Could not let them live to remember. Could not. Not for Tathar. Not for NightWorld. Not for Pandora."
Finally, her expression changed. Her eye's squinted, as if she were watching it all over agian.
"Mind Roll. Not strong enough. One per week. But seven Mortals. Mind roll. No memory of Pandora. Mathas a drunk. Drunken ranting. Nothing more. Nine in total. Must roll minds. Must protect. Mathas. Must die."
His eyes widened as she recanted her tale of her night at the tavern...Though it was broken, as if she were touched in the head or under the influence of some intoxicant, though he knew she could not be affected by such...So she must have been exhausted, and seriously so...No wonder she had not ventured out of their chambers thus far tonight....He had no idea what the meaning of mind rolling was, but he got the general idea...she had augmented memories...a daunting task, even for master mages and sorcerors...Rage bubbled up within his stomach, and he began to growl, low and rumbling, his eyes flashing a feral bright green for a moment before they returned to their normal hues...and he raised a hand slowly, moving to press it against her cold skin just below her throat at the top of her chest, pushing gently but firmly until she was once more laying back against her pillow. She needed to rest...He could tell that she needed it...and later, after his deed was done and they were safe from the looming threat that was Mathas' insane ramblings he would return to her...And he would feed her from himself...Perhaps his blood would give her a little extra strength...maybe it would comfort her...In any case he kept his voice low, almost soothing, even as his expression was filled with fury...He would be sure to cause the worm as much pain as possible before he let the man die....He needed to suffer as she was suffering...
"Just stay here and rest. I will take care of everything."
Pandora blinked. Such a mortals thing to do, but she did it nonetheless. Looked at him. Really looked at him. Up at him from her pillow. Stay and rest? Stay and rest? Oh no, no no no. She couldn't stay here and rest. She had to deal with Matahs. Did he not understand that? Mathas had to pay.
Pushing herself upward once again, and using his form for her own personal aid, her bare hands forgotten for the brief moment as she grasped onto him and pulled herself back up into a sitting position.
"Mathas."
Swinging her feet over the cot was easy enough. Standing took a little more effort, but come on. She was a vampire. An exausted one, but still. A mortals rise was basically all she cound perform. Her current attire, her current state of mind aside. She was not staying here.
Pandora slowly walked at a mortals pace towards the drop. Her voice murmuring quietly as she went. She didn't say any words fully aloud. No, she thought them. Her voice simply made mumblings at her toughts. She had to punish Mathas. She had to at least watch as the Master of the City punished him. Wait. Was she not the master of the city? No. Tathar. Tathar is the Master. Pandora is... Nothing. A vampire girl.
"Must see Mathas. Mathas must pay."
The book she had been gripping lay abandoned behind her, beside Tathas on the bed. Slippered feet slowly, painfully slowly, carried her towards the drop.
All this time, not knowing. All this time, withdrawing. A wasted man stood before the bars of his cell, fair eyes rolling, skin as white as Pandora's. His hands grasped the bars of his cell, but loosely, as he awaited the inevitable.
Well now, apparently she was going to be adamant about going to do the deed herself...and that just would not do at all, now would it? No....And so he rose and stepped forward, seizing her wrist in his hand and standing firm. If she was going to be wandering around, then she at the very least needed to be clothed in a little more than just simply her slippers, and he pulled her back slightly away from the drop and toward himself.
"Pandora, if you must go down there, then at least have Bertha come and dress you."
She allowed herself to be pulled by him, away from the drop, towards himself. Allowed? Or simply could not find the strength to fight it. Oh, towards him.
Briefly she spun, and quickly wrapped her arms around his waist, summoning all the strength she could to lock them there. He would not dare perform the punishment without her there to witness, would he? It could be very shattering against her already exausted body. It could simply set her worse off in a state of mind. But it could also prove to be her undoing. Perhaps it was better to risk it then to risk her unable to accept what was done.
Not her decision. She was not master. Just a simple Vampire girl, and apparently not a very good one at that. She hadn't even realized her state of undress. Slippers. Oh how the NightWorlders and Guards would never let her live that one down.
"Yes. Bertha. I must dress. I must see to Mathas. I must."
Her eye's glanced around their shared quarters. There was no Bertha. She would come. She always came. Wouldn't she?
With her arms still locked securely around Tathar's waist, or as securely as she thought they could be, Pandora glanced up and into his face once more. Into his eyes. Such... Why, those were not Tathar's eyes. Tathar's eye's were always gentle. Kind. Secretive. Those eyes were not the window to his soul. No no. Imposter. Furious. Anger. Not comforts.
"You will wait, will you not? Yes. Yes, you will wait. I will come to you. I will come to..."
Her voice drifted off. Yes, with Bertha's aid she will dress and come down to deal with Tathar.. No, not Tathar. Mathas. she will deal with Mathas. If only she'd let go of him first. How she'd get down there, she hadn't the faintest. The drop would surely be impossible given her exaustion. Worth it. She would be there. And she would watch as Mathas paid for what he had done to her. No, not to her. To NightWorld. Mathas would pay for what she had done to him. Poor poor Mathas.
He hadn't quit drinking blood. Just because he couldn't have HER blood--not that he wanted it--didn't mean he couldnt still drink it.
He chewed on his wrist a little bit more, but it was no good. Where were the dancing butterflies? Where were the colors that he could HEAR? gone. There were no sounds. There were colors. There was just him, alone in this cell. Alone in this world. and here he had thought it would not be so. Here had he entertained ideas, based on the words of a woman. The worthless words of a woman.
More fool him
Indeed...his eyes were hard and hateful at this moment...but this emotion was not directed at her in the least...No...Likely Mathas' ears were burning damn near to cinders at the moment....Perhaps that would be the way he would do it...To set the man ablaze and watch him squirm and wiggle and scream until the flesh melted away from his form and he moved no more...But no...That would be much too quick...He deserved something much better...Much more painful...and much, much messier. He wrapped his arms around the cold form of the vampire in a reassuring embrace...he would wait for her, of course...Mathas was her pet, after all...her slave...It was only fitting that she bear witness to the man's last shuddering breath before death ripped the life from him. He leaned his head down and planted a soft, fleeting kiss to her forehead and released her, moving his arms around to do the same to her grip on himself, and once that was done he stepped forward to the drop, turning to her once more before he made the drop down.
"Of course. I will wait for your arrival before I begin. Bertha! Come tend your mistress!"
Oh how wounded. He tore her from his form. She no longer held him in her grasp. Oh yes. Bertha.
The moment the woman was summoned she seemed to appear at the top of the Drop, and quickly came in, scolding Pandora for her current state of dress and began setting about selecting a gown for her Master to wear.
Pandora had no need to undress, she currently was all but ready. It took a moment is all, to step into the newly dawned gown and stand there while Bertha fastened it about her. Her hair, Pandora refused to cooperate with. Bertha was forced to let it hang loosly around the womans shoulders.
"Thank you, Kind Sweet Dependable Bertha."
Oh, how that was a new one. Poor Bertha knew instantly something was wrong with Pandora when the woman actually thanked her.
Pandora, now fully clothed, headed towards the drop. She stood there, still in the same slippers, but gowned and laced, at the edge of the drop looking down. Oh, what a long way down. Strength to climb down. No no, she didn't have that. Nor did she have the time. She didn't, afterall, want to miss a moment of it.
Stepping over the edge, Pandora shut her eye's tightly, falling. Falling falling falling. Thud. She hit the ground sooner then she expected, and fell instantly to her knees, the many fabrics of her gown cushoning the landing ever so slightly. Not nearly enough, but Pandora wouldn't bruise.
Up on her feet again, with the aid of William. A quick thank you, and a firm grip on the old man's shoulders. Then out Williams Room and into the hallway. She paused and listened. Where oh where was Tathar? Where were they doing the punishment? What was the punishment? Oh for heavens, don't start without her!
He threw himself at the cage again, but it was mostly for show. The damn beasts were getting ready for their time of the month it seemed and each howl brought a tiny spark of life back to his eyes, and that spark was called hatred. He wasn't sure which one of them he hated more at the moment. Pandora's betrayal hurt like a mother, but it was nothing compared to the shame of knowing Tathar had one-upped him. He had been one upped by an animal. A dog. What kind of a man was he? He threw himself useless at the door once again.
Not a second after he had called for Bertha to come to Pandora's aid in dressing he let himself drop down to the ground floor, knees bending upon impact, but this time he stood immediately and continued onwards, the muscles in his stomach screaming momentarily in pain as the tore ever so much from the sudden movement when it still had momentum, but that damage would be well repaired before he even reached the holding cells...the very place that he would be occupying tomorrow night. At the entrance he stopped and made a whispered request to one of the guards, and the man moved off to follow through, seemingly with a gleeful look on his face. It would seem that his decision in implement of death was a good choice indeed...At the very least it would prove to be entertaining...and oh how he planned to enjoy himself...But not before Pandora made it within...No, he had promised her that he would wait, and he would honor that word, no matter the amount he wanted to go ahead and begin the festivities. He waited as the door was opened and he stepped through, entering the area and he immediately headed for Mathas' cell, only as the man threw himself against the bars as he had been doing so very much lately. As he spoke his voice was strained....As if it were all he could do to make actual words rather than the feral and threatening bark of a growl that he really wanted to do.
"Hello, Matty boy...I heard that you have been a very, very bad little boy, indeed..."
Noise. The guards were getting excited. They all seemed to be stretched among their posts, leaning as close as they could towards the Holding Cells without actually abandoning their posts.
The holding cells it was then.
Pandora hurried along, her short pale legs moving surprisingly fast for her current state, but still rather slow for one of the Immortal. Her hands ran up alongside the walls, and only moved when she came across a door or one of the guards. Hurry hurry hurry.
Finally making it to the end of the hallway, Pandora turned left towards the Holding Cells, not even glancing to the guards there. The doors still stood open, and she walked through, coming to a halt just inside. From here, she could see Mathas' cell. Oh Mathas. She was furious. She was ashamed.
She simply stood in the doorway. Uncertain if she wanted to enter or turn and flee. Master of the City, my ass. She didn't feel very masterful. Or strong. She felt... Mortal. Weak. Lost. The emotions were too much. Damn her. She would never mind roll again. Never!
Hollow blue eyes turned to regard the wolfman. He wondered how it was going to be--for he knew what tonight was. But he would be dignified, on this last night of life, just as he had been dignified so long ago, when he had been certian the end was near, only to be "gifted" by Pandora.
"Good evening, Tathar. Yes, I do suppose I might have stepped out of line."
He held up his gnawed wrists for inspection.
"I lost control of my temper, and that was very bad indeed. Have you come to take me to your harlot, that she might reign her justice upon me?"
He grinned, turning his face down ever so slightly and to the side as he looked at Mathas....He heard as Pandora had entered, and not soon after that the guard returned, carrying with him a rather short device...It would seem to be a whip...or was it...? The ends of the strands were not knotted at all like a whip should be...no, they each held their own little unique playtoy...sharp and cruelly fashioned...just as cruel as the look on his face was becoming...and he laughed....The sound was cold...heartless...much like one would expect that of a madman to be...but he was not mad...no, he was furious...it just leaked out in a very strange way....He hated Mathas...And such as was his kind, their emotions were deeply anchored in their entire beings....While he loved Pandora with every fiber of his being, he hated Mathas just as fiercely...
"Out of line...? No...You crossed the line several times....you spat on it...And for this...for causing Pandora such stress...for threatening all of NightWorld...I will be the benefactor of your pain this evening. And rest assured...the pleasure will be entirely my own."
The guard that entered seemed to have snuck up on Pandora, and she didn't like that notion in the slightest. Strictly by instint, an instint to stay alive, Pandora attacked. She was amazed at how quickly she was able to move. How strength seemed to come from nowhere as she pinned the guard against the wall, her single hand holding him there by his neck.
Luckily, she was not strong enough to kill him, and the moment she realized who he was, she instantly released him, taking a tentive step backward. Her canines had decended in that moment, and there they remained. Her eye's had flashed red, and they too showed no signs of their icy blue depths.
Turning from the shaken guard with his... contraption in his hands, Pandora faced Mathas and Tathar once more. She watched as the guard straightened himself up off the wall, one hand carrying the whip, the other caressing his throat, and headed towards the cell.
When he had passed her, Pandora took his place, against the wall. Flat against the wall. Her expression was haunting. Anger. Pure vampire. Evil. And she was leering. Oh, that leer.
There was a moment of horror, before he even registered Pandora's antics.
"You? YOU are going to be the one? that...that can't be!"
He looked alive now, and both would be able to scent the increased pounding of his heart, even as his wrists leaked out his traitorous blood. He stumbled towards Pandora, trying to keep himself out of reach, wondering why she looked so much like a (devil)...a (perversion of nature)...wondering why she didn't look like his (angel of mercy)...
"Surely not, Pandora? Even after everything, still you would not only have me put to death, but by him? After everything that already has been done, you will not even allow me the dignity of killing me yourself?"
This was horror beyond horror, and he stepped back, his feet catching on themselves, sending him collapsing backward, catching himself with his hands and crawling across the grimy floor. Oh no no no. She couldn't...she wouldn't...he had known for some time now that she didn't love him, but to make him endure that, she would have had to HATE him.
He caught the sound as Pandora made her move against the guard and he turned his gaze toward her, a brow raised at her reaction...It seemed that the man had surprised her...but in any case she released him and he regained his composure and continued on, handing the device to him. He held it firmly in his grasp, and instructed that a pair of shackles be brought in, and that Mathas was to be restrained by the topmost bars of the cage....He needed to remain standing, after all...Things went much, much smoother that way. And suddenly he had a flashback....Mind returning to that time he had used a device very similar to this...It had been on a ship. He had conscripted himself to the crew in order to pay for passage, and they had somewhere along the journey discovered a stowaway...The man had had no money to pay for his voyage and stay, and therefore had to be made an example of...And they had entrusted the task to him....Anf what a gruesome mess it had been....And he had enjoyed it. See, there was a side to him that he rarely showed...He loved to cause pain...to torture...It was a hidden fantasy that he entertained when he got the chance...And now, he could not help but revel in the moment as the guard entered the cell, Mathas' form falling back as he crawled backwards on the floor...the very floor that was soon to run red with a lake of his own blood...and this thought snapped him back into the here and now....
"Oh yes, Mathas...Today I am your judge....your jury...your executioner...And I will take great pleasure in it. All the way until your body is numb and you respond no more. Tonight, on your very last night, I own you."
Pandora wrapped her arms around her self, sliding down the wall until her bottom hit the floor. Then, drawing her knees up to her chest, Pandora hugged them to her, rocking back and forth. She stared directly ahead. At everything. At nothing.
Rocking, rocking rocking.
The words Mathas spoke reached her. She understood them. She agreed with them. It was not right to force him to face his mortal enemy in this hour this final hour of his death. But was she too not one of his mortal enemies now. After the last eve in the Tower, did he not deserve this.
He clearly did not deserve her attention at all. He had betrayed her. He had shoved her, he had spit at her, and he had caused her to overload. To drain her energy where even the measly meal she drank when she returned home had not restorted her completely yet.
Her eye's dimmed from their angered red beast, to the soft icyness of blue for but a brief moment. Oh yes, she heard his words. She had comprehended them. But she said nothing. Her mind flashed before her eye's, replaying the Tavern's events over again. Her hands came up to grip over her eyes as if she could actually block them out. She rocked. Rocked rocked rocked. Silently rocking, hands over her eyes.
When she lowered them, her eye's were red once more. Her mouth was slanted open. Her canines revealed. Pandora LeAmour should handle the punishment. But Pandora LeAmour wasn't here. No. Pandora was strong. Beautiful. Willful. Determined.
Pandora was at the Tavern. She was just a girl. Just a little undead girl. Hungry. Exausted. Angry. Lost beyond reconition that she was indeed Pandora LeAmour, Master of the City.
Still, she said nothing. Staring directly ahead. At a space equally between Mathas and Tathar. At nothing at all. Simply staring. Rocking.
She rocked, even as Tathar spoke. Even as he answered the question Mathas had put to her. He spoke, and she rocked. The words were there, she heard them, she knew what they meant, but she didn't quite comprehend.
Blood. Blood and pain. Oh, that leer was back. Red eyes, decended canines. Creepy grin. Rock rock rock.
"Blood and pain. Blood and pain. I own you. Blood and pain."
He tried to scramble away from the guards, but it was futile, they strung him up just the same. And he remembered, a ghost thought, of dying with dignity, and he rolled MAGNIFICENTLY well. It was a gooooood thing Pandora was not really with them, because as he stood up, the color came to his cheeks, the sparks rose to his eyes, and the smile lined his face. He was again the man he had been when first she had called him to her. Strong, handsome, and so unbelievably mortal.
"I am glad the thought of my demise brings you pleasure, tathar, because it means that I have been enough of a threat to get under your skin. But no, you shall not own me. Not tonight, not ever. I belong instead to a vampire--a MASTER--named Pandora LeAmour, and it is by her creed that I am sentenced, and even if she raises not a finger, it is by her hands that I am slain. When my blood runs forth across this stone it will actually be her blood, for I am hers, and you can't take that away."
He tilted his head to the side, smiling slightly.
"So do you worst to this poor murderer's body, it matters not. Mathas Compton died long ago, and the screams I know you are so desperate to hear will only be a tribute to his memory."
Well now...It would appear that Pandora was taking this a little harder than expected...She was definitely off her game, somehow...and he began to wonder if she should even be here after all. But he could not refuse her...He had promised that he would wait until she was here, as she had said that she wanted to be here when the deed was done...And as much of an animal as he was at this moment, he was still a man of his word, and so as she rocked back and forth on the floor, a strange look befalling her expression and mannerism of speaking, As soon as Mathas was strung up like the rack of meat that he was soon to become he entered the cage as well, cradling the whip-like instrument as if it were a precious artifact of great value...And so it very well was at this moment to him...And even as Mathas spoke, suddenly in a state of seeming serenity and clarity that he had never seen of him he remained with that cruel smile on his face, stepping idly up to him...and around him...He reached up with a hand gripped the shirt Mathas wore and snatched, ripping it down his form to expose the skin of the man's torso, all in one fluid movement...he did not care what the man said...tonight, of all nights, the night he had fantasized about ever since he had arrived, Mathas was going to scream bloody murder for him.
"Maybe so, worm...But we shall see exactly how long that willpower will last before you beg for mercy..."
Oh, his words. They shut her up instantly. Haunting. Truth. How dare he. Pandora clamped her hands over her ears, willing them away. They did not go. Instead, they echoed in her mind. It is by her creed that I am sentenced, and even if she raises not a finger, it is by her hands that I am slain. When my blood runs forth across this stone it will actually be her blood.. Her blood.. Her Blood.
Blue eyes. Red eyes. Blue Eyes. Grey Eyes. Pain, anger. Understanding, indifference. These mortal feelings, will they not go away?! She was above them. She was above Mathas.
She had not condemned the man. He was a murderer. He deserved to die. She simply prolonged that punishment. Such a lie. His punishment had been worse. It would have been more humane to let him die the first time. She was not humane. The NightWorld Council was not humane. They chose his punishment. She complied. But where were they now?
She was all but ready to scream herself. Get on with it. Get it over with. Finish it. Oh, lord just finish it and take these emotions away with her.
The only thing stopping her was the memory. The stories. The promise that a human servant was linked to their master. Mathas was her servant. It was said that if the human servant is killed, it is possible to kill the vampire at the same time from the action. However, the stronger the vampire, the less likely he/she will die with the death of their human servant. Would this mean that she would feel each of the wounds as well? That she would ache, as Mathas ached?
Oh, how she hoped so. She deserved the punishment just as much as Mathas. She should have refused the NightWorld Council's orders. She never should have claimed Mathas. Oh, the poor man.
And then Tathar moved. She didnt' see it, but she felt it. His movement into the cage. His grip as he tore the shirt from Mathas' back. Oh please, let it begin. Let it end. Let it all be over with.
Oh, he could be an ass, it was true...After all, Pandora never would have wanted some sniveling little man--she never would have wanted the man that he had become. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps, all of this might have been avoided...but perhaps not. He licked his lips as his shirt was ripped.
"Unless your actions become louder than your words, I'm rather afraid I might be able to endure quite a lot."
And he smiled, but that smile was not meant for the blacksmith, it was meant for the Master.
"I say again, do your worst, and then take your woman, and comfort her afterwards. I am sure she will need it, and I have always worked to make sure she was never in need of a single thing."
For the moment he ignored Pandora and her actions...Seeing her right now would only soften his hand...and he did not want to be soft and merciful...He wanted to be as hard as stone and as calloused and rough as a bramble bush...And so he kept his gaze and every one of his senses focused on Mathas' form, and he raised his hand....SNAP the whip went as it swished through the air, the weaponed ends to each of the nine heads of the whip meeting the man's flesh with a cold sound, digging and tearing at the skin and flesh...but it was not the worst that was to come by far...no...that initial strike was reasoned twofold...To let the senses adjust to the sudden pain that was to come, as well as to make it seem as if that were the worst to happen...that there was going to be no worse pain than that...but oh how mistaken that line of thought was to be....and he raised his arm once more, this time bringing it down nearly three times the strength of the last...CRACK the lashes would go against his skin, the cruelly barbed hooks on their ends tearing away hungrily, deeply into flesh, ripping it forth with a red spray...and all the while his madman's smile stayed there...
"And she will never again want anything...Now, Matty boy... Scream.... Scream for me..."
Oh. Pandora's mind screamed. Good god, it screamed. The pain. The stories were true. The rumors were true. How cruel the NightWorld Council. How cruel the punishment. How cruel Pandora.
She grunted roughly, quietly, her tow row of teeth taking hold of her lower lip. Oh yes, it was true. A Master vampire could feel their human servant. They could die when the servant died, if not strong enough. Pandora was plenty strong. Not on the surface. No, on the surface she was falling apart. But deep inside, a voice screamed. The Master of the City took over her. No more Pandora LeAmour. No more Vampire girl. Simply power. Strength. Endurance.
Under her gown, her cold icy flesh burned. For each pain Mathas felt, Pandora felt. For each cut Mathas endured, Pandora endured. For every drop of blood Mathas released, Pandora felt soaking into her own clothes. The only difference is, Pandora would heal. Mathas, would not.
Her eyes remained open, red, unblinking. Focused on the whip in Tathar's hand. Other then the grunt, she made not a sound. She would not, could not distract Tathar. She could not risk him taking sympathy on her. He did not know of the connection between servant and Vampire. Had he known, he surely would have sought for quick and painless. Mathas did not deserve quick and painless. She did not deserve quick and painless.
And so she sat there, arms gripping her knees to her chest, fingers turning from paled white to deathly grey at the strength in which she had them clasped around her knees. Eye's open. Aways open. Watching. Waiting. Expecting. Prepairing. Her lips pressed firmly together, muffling any chance of a sound.
Her shirt, which she was certain was already showing faint hints of blood along her back, facing the wall. Hunger ripped through her. The longing to feed upon the blood that was spilled from Mathas to heal her own wounds. She could not. She remained where she was. Suffering as Mathas suffered.
Oh, once he had been strong, but no matter how much his demeanor had returned in recent minutes, he was weak--weakened from withdrawal, weakened from betrayal, yes, even broken hearted. He tried to hold back the scream, but he couldnt. It was loud, and bounced across the room in every way. Unbidden, tears also sprang to his eyes, but perhaps that only made them sparkle as he raised his head, to look to Pandora. He would not look at the smith, wouldn't give him the satisfaction. He only wished he had spat on the man before letting it get so far. Always his gaze returned to Pandora.
Oh how Mathas' screaming gave him pleasure...it appeased the wants of the beast lurking within him...it craved bloodlust...gore...violence...and pain...And momentarily it took control, and he raised his arm yet again, lashing out over and over, five times in rapid succession, each time peeling off more and more skin and flesh, each cracking of the whip met with a sickening squelch of bloody flesh...No longer were the sounds of ripping skin heard, that leathery chorus of body...No, there was little skin left, by now...and he could very well see the off white color of the man's ribs through the sickly and bloody mess of his back...Oh how he wanted to feast right now...To tear in and devour all trace of the Mathas that had tormented and baited him ever since his arrival into the lands...But no...He had control, in that aspect, at least, and he swung the whip toward the floor, the spattering of blood raining from it as he did so...that glorious arterial spray painting the stone floor and bars of the cage.
"Yes...that's it...More...Scream more, worm...And beg for mercy."
Even Tathar's words were lost on her. She was aware of only three things. The whip as it rose and fell. The pain as it overcame her every being. And Mathas' eyes as they watched, knowingly.
Five times the whip fell. Five times Pandora sucked in a breath. Five times her body shook, her back ached, her eye's blurred. Five times in hell. Five times she wished she were someone else. Anyone else.
The first cut right through her. No whip touched her back. No blades broke her skin. But it was her. The skin parted unseeingly, the blood seeped without aid.
She was so focused on the pain she felt, mortals pain, Mathas' pain, that the second blow didn't seem to register. It didn't hurt nearly as bad. A new flesh wound opened. A new array of red decorated the back of her gown.
And then the pain was back. Even as the third lash came, Pandora flinched. Her eye's ran red. Tears. Blood. She silently let them fall. Wept for Mathas. Wept for herself. Wept for immortality.
And just like before, the next lash barely fazed her. The pain, too unbearable. At least Mathas would feel it no more, soon enough. Lucky Mathas.
As the final swing took hold of Mathas, Pandora watched the spray of blood decorate the floor of the Holding Cell. Not a sound came from her. Her profile, silent. Red and grey as death. Determined. In control. The master of the city. Nothing more, nothing less.
And scream he did, as each chunk of his flesh, his muscle, hell, his very bones was ripped from him. He screamed until he couldn't scream any more, and the warm, salty, coppery taste of his blood rose behind his lips. He had just enough coherency to wonder if that odd, sweet taste was what Pandora got to taste every time she fed. He didn't think it was so bad.
It was a miracle that he was still alive. He barely was. The darkness was closing in even as the blood danced down around him. His hands were cuffed, but he could still raise his head, barely, as his disjointed fingers turned in the direction of the vampire. His throat was thick with blood as he uttered his final, dying word, not a cry for mercy, just...her name. The most important name to him. Perhaps the ONLY important name--the name not of the woman, though he surely loved her, but of the Vampire--the one who knew what it was like to kill a man and enjoy it, as Mathas, once a thousand years ago, had killed many. It was to THAT woman, that creature, that he spoke, not out of love, but out of a kindred spirit. It was a testament to her curse, and a reminder, as his final fatal act, that she still could never be mortal--she couldn't even keep her mortal.
"Mas--ter......."
But his eyes were still that of a human, as they looked to her and the light slowly died from them. He saw her mask of power and rage, and died without seeing his love one last time.
He did not register Pandora's reactions each and every time the whip fell and cracked the air...the scent of her blood did not catch his attention as it mixed in with the lifesblood of Mathas as it rained down to the floor...Had he known that he was causing her due pain as he did to the man, then he would have stopped...He would have let it be and finished it long before this point...But he did not know...and he was ready and quite willing to go as long as was necessary until Mathas breathed no more and his form ran dry. And apparently, that time was nigh....He heard the final gurgled uttering of the man's final word, and the sudden fluttering struggle of his heart as it began to run dry, and then nothing....And it made him feel empty....As if he had not the chance to complete his task...But it was done nonetheless, howevermuch satisfaction was robbed from the quick ending. He dropped the lash then, and moved past the corpse and out of the cell, telling the guard to clean up the mess and have the body disposed of before turning to pandora....and only then did he see what had happened to her, and his face went pale.
"Pan...dora...? What happened to you?"
She heard Tathar's words. Heard the shock, the confusion in his voice. But she could not reply. She hadn't the will to. Mathas had taken his final breath, and Pandora was struggling herself to remain.
Upon the floor infont of her, written in the very blood that pooled around her bottom from the wounds on her back, written by her very fingertip, the words Mathas had spoke.
When my blood runs forth across this stone it will actually be her blood, for I am hers, and you can't take that away.
Her eye's remained open. Staring ahead. Grey. No blue, no red. Slate grey. Empty. Her hands in riggor, locked around her knees, which were still hugged at her chest. Her chest slumped forward, leaning on those knees, back inches from the wall. Her gown, ruined. Hair halfway damp from the wounds on her back.
If she was strong, she would heal. If she was strong, she would survive. A vampire is cursed that way. When they take upon them a human servant, they are tied to that servant, and death is not garanteed. She had felt every blow. Every drop that Mathas spared, Pandora spared. Every scream that Mathas released, Pandora swallowed. Even in his final moment, the knowledge that it was finally over had washed through Pandora herself, only for her, it was just beginning.
Time would tell if she would survive the death of her human servant. Time may heal her wounds, and time may simply wash away her name. Nothing was known right now. She was there. But she was not.
She stared directly ahead. Those grey eye's not blinking. Not adknowledging Tathar. Simply staring at nothing. At everything.
