This is for adding a Search Category to the thread.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Darkness releases Hildegarde as darkness falls. The murky half remembered fog the Beast within rules slides away as she Rises for the night. Silence and stillness greet her. Iago is somewhere -- she has risen alone.
Outside, the sounds of the night can be faintly heard. Wind, a car horn, the dull thrum of the city.
Inside, a rasp. Wood sliding on wood. Elsewhere in her Haven.
It's just Iago, doing who knows what.
Of course.
Forn Clakes liked this post
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Another night.
As is her custom, the Lord lies still for a few, drawn-out minutes, revelling in the feeling of her Blood sluggishly moving through her veins. At times such as this, Hildegarde very much felt like a ceramic vessel - a crucible in which the Rubidio flowed and stirred, the heat of potential action slowly acting upon it.
After that comes the evening oblation: stuffing her feet into fluffy blue slippers she shuffled off to the bathroom to wash and clean her teeth, the train of her nightgown flowing behind her. Secure in the knowledge that Iago was near, she didn't feel the need to sneak or hide, she fumbled and bungled her way - a habit from life that death had not taken from her. Emitting a bone cracking yawn, she exercised her mouth and gums - her own little combination of voice training and mastering the fang-drop reflex.
She is completely oblivious.
After all, this is her Haven. Her sanctuary. Here, she is Mistress.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
In the bathroom, there's a Post-It stuck to the mirror. Iago knows his mistresses' rising habits, and so knows this is the best place to put such a thing. He's so thoughtful.
Running errands.
Back by 10:00.
YFS, I.
Your faithful servant, Iago.
Elsewhere, something creaks.
It's not yet 10:00.
Yumyumcrow liked this post
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
There are moments when Hildegarde Bingen exists only as a conscious form, beset in a sea of sensations that make little or no sense to her. This moment was not one of them. In this moment, she was very much grounded in the now, as if she were a heavy stone dropped into a still lake, sinking to the bottom.
Iago was way.
Her home was not of wood, but concrete. And concrete, she had learned, did not settle and groan (a fact she found bitterly disappointing).
Curiosity, mixed with a dread she could not place, gripped her. She hid in the labyrinth of her own mind and as she did she stared at her reflection - her doll mask was forming once more: cold mannikin perfection sullied by lack of blush or rouge; dark eyes. Slipping out of her slippers, she padded carefully through her Haven, listening...
Her motives are simple at this point: locate the source of the unwelcome sounds, and if possible, get to the kitchen where there are knives.
Filthy Soviet animals!
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
There's a soft rustly sound: paper. It comes from the direction of the room. The small room. Iago's room.
The noise stops as soon as Hildegarde makes a sound of her own. Stepping into the next room, it's like seeing an indistinct reflection: someone else is stepping into the room as well.
They're built slightly, and slender. No taller than 5'6, and dressed in black. Black pants, black jacket, black gloves. A nylon harness wraps around the waist and chest. Dark, untidy hair is a stark contrast to a white face; unnaturally white, with face paint. Black lipstick and heavy mascara define features in the whiteness.
"Well... this is awkward," the woman says.
Hildegarde had been sleeping like the dead when she'd checked on her earlier. What the hell?
"I'm, ummmm, just going to go?"
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Hildegarde stopped. She didn't move toward the interloper. Not just yet. In truth she was trying to process what she was seeing and clear away the fog of uncertainties and fears that still festered in her lifeless heart. During that paused moment, the Lord found her body shifting to mimic the stance of the would-be thief; she was too busy in her head-space to stop her limbs.
"No. Stay." Hildegarde commanded at length. "Keep me company. I'm sure the man of the house will be returning soon, and he will be happy to speak with you." With effort she broke her pose and took an attitude indicative of a secretary or an old style house wife. "You could have made an appointment, you know..."
I have rolled Hildegarde's full dice pool for Command for the ST's reference. Its resisted by the target's Resolve and Supernatural Trait if applicable.
West liked this post
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"I'd really rather not..."
The young woman gave an apologetic look. This woman sounded... lonely. It beat getting chased out of the house with a baseball bat or shotgun, though. She felt comfortable, and in control of the situation. She just needed to extricate herself.
She raised her hands, palm outward. No threat.
"Made an appointment?"
It's hard to tell if the woman's being funny or... what. Maybe she was doped up on sleep aids.
"Ummm. I tried?"
Only one way to find out.
Princess liked this post
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Why don't we sit?" Hildegarde said carefully, gesturing to a sofa nearby.
Have to keep her here! Iago will know what to do!
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Okaaaaay..."
She couldn't tell how this was going. She had half a mind to just bolt, but she didn't have what she was there for... and maybe she could still get it.
One step, then another, warily watching Hildegarde. She approached the sofa from the opposite end, keeping distance between them, then sat on the edge: Stiffly, ready to stand, not letting her back touch.
"So, when's he coming back?"
It was like verbal 'Go Fish'.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Five. Ten minutes. Running errands." Hildegarde made a smile spread across her face as she sat at the opposite end of the sofa, curling into a more relaxed pose. Head rested on her hand, she watched the would be thief. "You will forgive me for being rude but I don't think I should keep my eyes off you. You might vanish like a shadow. And then where would I be?"
A pause.
"How did you get in? We ensure that the house is well secured... usually." Hildegarde was genuinely curious, and was quite happy to ally her curiosity with her intention to keep the woman chatting away until her servant's return. It did not bother the Lord that her thief was attired in such a peculiar fashion - in fact it didn't register at all.
Draft this Post
