“Wise men told him his simple fancies were inane and childish, and even more absurd because their actors persist in fancying them full of meaning and purpose as the blind cosmos grinds aimlessly on from nothing to something and from something back to nothing again, neither heeding nor knowing the wishes or existence of the minds that flicker for a second now and then in the darkness.” |
― H.P. Lovecraft, Necronomicon: The Best Weird Tales
· Southern Gentleman · Disorganized Creative Hedonist · Vain Passive/Aggressive Prick · Criminal Mind · A Craftsman in Ash, Blood, and Bone |
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The earth moved beneath his feet. Blades of grass split like the hide upon the great Balrog's back, a gravestone on an incline marking its armored head. In the moonlight, a pale hand dug for freedom between the tips of his shoes, black soil outlining its bloodless fingernails. A distinct smell of petrichor and the ions on the air ( from a very recent lightning storm ) crawled along his skin under a wrinkled broadcloth shirt covered in ashen handprints. The entire gray-skinned arm finally struggled from its burial prison. Turning fresh dirt through its palm and flailing for freedom beside his shin. The beautiful perfume of rain soaked dirt dispersed, leaving no deodorant for the taint of carrion on the breeze. Striding away he sung to lowly; mostly to himself. The words of a folk song coming intermittently between soft melodic whistles. "O, Death, won't you spare me over 'til another year? Well, what is this that I can't see with icy cold hands takin' hold of me. Well, I am Death, none can excel. I'll open the door to Heaven or Hell."
Something behind him hissed and choked wetly between the last verse of the self-indulgent chorus. It hacked up a wad of mud and mucus. He paused in thoughtful reflection as blood dripped from the leftovers of a fleshy spell component in his hand. The disembodied heart beat twice, continuing to fire the signals of life. Absently, he threw it into the dark. It squelched against a nearby crypt's wall. He continued to walk towards an idling car on the Cemetery Rue. "Shamble along a little faster and get yourself into the trunk won't you, Darlin'?" The lean figure accepted a hand towel from the Driver who exited the car-for-hire to open his door. "We have a schedule to keep."
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Comments
- I owe the Magnificent Risto and Valkyrie : Real soon Friends -
Ah yes the fawning girls. Valkyrie watched intently from her seat near the bar. The brassy southern accent was something they didn't get much around New York. Those kind usually stuck to the south. A 'tsk' escaped her lips as she over heard his comment of charity. She was sure this Hell hole of a party was not going to charity. She didn't know the owner of the Annual Ball herself, but anyone that allowed both supernatural's and humans to mingle for their own entertainment, didn't have charity on their mind. Valkyrie didn't attend for a charitable cause. This wasn't the first time she'd ran into someone she knew at an event like this. It also wasn't the first time she'd acquired a servant from the Supernatural Ball.
Roman, her newest of servants if one could call him that, was befriended here. Right, the lying sack of Cambion made for a horrible servant. All he ever did was eat and well.. need rescuing. Either way, the Ball could turn out prosperous for her if she saw something she liked.
8:15pm on the Dot
Well it was about damn time. The bar light finally clicked on indicating the bar was open. So the party had begun. Valkyrie rose from her seat leaving her belongings in place. She doubted anyone would touch them, and boy did she feel sorry for the soul that did. Aside from the small line that had formed, Valkyrie was one of the first to order her drink. Drink.. just wouldn't cut it, she may have well have gotten the whole bottle. Bacardi, and unopened bottle lay gripped in her right hand, an empty glass begging to be filled in the other.
The Mistress paused, golden hues sweeping over the group of females that she reluctantly had to pass in order to get to her table. What were they fawning over? Holding a considerable few inches over most women, Valkyrie's gaze lowered in an annoyed glare. So she wasn't much of a people person... she tried. That same eyeshot landed upon the male of their affection. Ah, so the Southern man had drawn all that attention? Who was he? What was he? No matter, she wouldn't let the party end that quickly now would she. Withdrawing that intimidating gaze of hers, Valkyrie made her way back to her table. Her golden hues finally fell to the bottle. If nothing else, she'd have herself a drink and be on her way.
(I loved how you portrayed the southern accent! LOL I heard that in my head as I was reading. Will respond soon~ By the way, random question. Is that Hebrew letters at the bottom of your profile? Looks like a Tav, Mem and Alef? Sorry! Just curiosity!)
{Thank you for accepting. Would love to RP sometime!}
New York City Outskirts 8:04pm
It had been some time since Valkyrie had attended a party of sorts. This was no ordinary party though. No, this was a Ball that often lured many supernaturals such as herself. It was known as 'The Ball of the Ancients.' Well Valkyrie wasn't sure about all that.. Either way, last year around this time she had attended one as well. Sad to say, that building no longer stood. Thank Roman for that one.. The Mistress shook her head back and fourth to clear her thoughts. Thick black locks danced as she did so.
Either way, there she stood in all her glory, just entering the Ball. A sequined red dress hugged her figure accented with a simple yet elegant necklace. The dress broke at her lower thigh and was met closely by tall black boots. Perhaps heels would have been a better match, but this was Valkyrie we were talking about after all.
The area was elegant, royal even. Most supernaturals usually went all out at this sort of thing. Whomever the host was, did an excellent job. A large glass chandelier hung from the twenty foot tall ceiling. Tables bordered the left and right sides of the room, while a small wooden dancefloor took most of the attention in the center of the canvas. In the back was a bar. Ever party had one.. even the upper class ones such as this.
Valkyrie took a few paces forward, her golden hues sweeping the area. More than to meet people, she often came here for entertainment. A day in her life was always work; it was nice to have a moment to relax. Where better to kick back than the annual Ball. Tables still remained empty. She was one of the earlier arrivals, and so made her way to the closest table she could find by the bar. The location would come in handy when she began drinking this evening. Sliding into the chair with her gaze facing the door, Valkyrie rested her chin on her hand contemplating her evening before it even began.
(Sure hope this starter works! I didn't wanna get too supernaturally with it right from the start. But I think this was a good inbetween.)
(Thanks for accepting.)