Adore: Shades of Black {~M~} - Page 3

He ducked behind a tree as the boy drew nearer to his location. Remaining anonymous was vital to the observation.

Then again, the boy seemed...well, the only word for it was hollow. He was a shell. He had no definitive purpose. Lost in his own world, a fairly calm place, there was no reason to suspect that he was being observed. There was little which bothered him. But he was still without purpose.
Purposes, to this particular gentleman who was watching, were tricky things. There were self-appointed purposes-that is, those which were what one was made for- and those purposes which were given. It was plausible to have both kinds of purpose. It wasn't, however, to be without either- bereft of drive, ambition, need. One needed a reason to exist.
And this young man's reason was clearly not his own. He just went places, and did things.
"Go see the graves,Shiloh. It's been a while, since you last visited them. Go see the graves."
Shiloh (for that was his name) went cheerily. Not because he particularly enjoyed visiting his parents graves, but more because he had no reason to be sad.
No reason, no purpose. A defining characteristic of this young lad. A recurring factor. An invariable.

Even as he noted Shiloh's slow, measured steps- the steps one would take if one was not consciously walking, but simply was walking, as if one found oneself walking one day and just kept walking-he pulled out a sheaf of parchment, and a Quill. The Quill quill, it was called. It wrote things. Or rather, it was used to write with.
An inkpot soon followed the other writing materials, and thus began the process of Recording the Observations.

The Watcher was'nt writing things down for himself- he didn't need written reminders to recall exact details. In fact, he didn't need to remember in the first place.
No, he was recording things for the benefit of others. Someone may need this knowledge one day. Who could know?
The Watcher could, and did. He knew exactly who needed this information, and would get it to him.


Shiloh reached the gravestones. He scrutinized them for a time. There were four. One for each of them.


One for his Mother. One for his Father. And two, for siblings he didn't care to remember.
He didn't really know what to say. Why would he talk to stones? The bodies weren't even here, not that that made much difference. They were never found after the fire. Never.
Shiloh didn't mind. He supposed that if his family were looking down on him, they'd appreciate a sign of regret, of missing them. Shiloh took a cursory glance over his shoulder, not even seeing the landscape around him, never mind potential threats.
He drew his weapon. It wasn't just a weapon, though- it was more a toy.
Straightening up, he drew his arm back and let fly.

The Watcher noted all of this. In precise detail, he noted everything. Later, he would compact and compress the information, so that anyone reading it wouldn't get bored within three seconds. No one cared about details, these days. The angle at which that boomerang was thrown could prove very useful one day, but no one had time to memorize these details.
Well, except for him.

The boomerang cut through the air, curving around through a nearby patch of wildflowers. They were each beheaded at different lengths, different angles- left to right, biggest to smallest. The boomerang arced it's way back to Shiloh, passing over the graves as it did so. On each mound of earth, a flower fell. Left to right,biggest to smallest. Without looking away from the graves, Shiloh caught the boomerang and sheathed it once more.

Shiloh didn't have prayers to recite, didn't have any tears to shed- he just left.
The Watcher saw him coming, or rather going, and took three steps back, melting into the the shadows under the canopy of trees. He reviewed his notes, reading them very quickly. He decided to tail Shiloh on the way back, too. Perhaps something else noteworthy would occur, and he'd have missed it. And what he missed, the other one missed too.

Sometimes she got sick of living.

In the dark room, a lantern flickered, casting rusted shadows across the walls. The door closed without a sound, lock sliding into place. Deep green eyes examined the room, delving into the corners, glancing towards the window and the wardrobe. Only when she was convinced of her solitude did she breathe out, a shudder rippling down her spine. Her toes curled into the carpet, head resting delicately against the door. Her jaw slacked, cold air rushing into her mouth, to her lungs, and she breathed it greedily, trying to fight her revulsion.

Next time she wouldn't dodge. That man had never held a weapon in his life, but he could have killed her. It was amazing, what people were capable of when a stranger was after their children.

Emerald shoved off the door, crossing the chamber in two graceful strides. A second lantern came to life, throwing ribbons of orange glare across the huge mirror. Her reflection was disheveled, chest heaving, whole body leaning to favor the left side. A minute trail of blood ran down her side, stark against glossy skin. The beautiful face twisted with hate, rising in her throat. She clenched her teeth and held it back, refusing to scream.

Next time, she would surrender, and let the dagger slide through her defense, into skin. Straight to the heart, nice and easy.

The transparent vest pooled at her feet; slender fingers yanked hard at black ribbons, and the corset came off. The cold air stung her sweaty skin, pricking her exposed chest. The locket glinted. A stray golden curl escaped from the pins, falling down her back. There. The cut was shallow but wide, awkward, about three inches long. Just beneath her right breast. It would scar.

Emerald pulled open a drawer, tossing a spool of coarse black medical thread and a curved needle onto the vanity desk. One knee on the stool, she stretched backwards, feeling - and watching - and muscles flexed and grew taunt. The wound pulled, fresh blood dribbling across her ribs. God, it hurt, but she wouldn't show it. It mixed with the hate, both rebounding inside her, unable to break out of the box she put them it. She wouldn't show it.

No one would mourn you, pretty thing. Nobody would bother. Fractured gems make for bad jewelry. No one wears bad jewelry.

Needle in her left hand, she carefully lifted her breast, eyes on the mirror. There was no need to numb it. Emerald refused to. Her skin grew red as the needle slipped in and out, drawing it closed.

---

"Done," Emerald murmured, sealing the letter with an elaborate stamp. Her face was washed, hair repaired, mind composed. She rose from the desk, taking the stiff black cape from the hook nearby. It felt strange on her skin, somehow oily. It was hemmed short, to the middle of her back, nothing that was supposed to protect. Just another formality.

Checking her reflection one last time, she swallowed the vile taste in her mouth and grabbed her mission report, walking soundlessly out of the room.

The halls of Adore were mindless to navigate; Emerald walked them with cold confidence. Those few she crossed glanced her way, either stiffening at her heartless expression. Some men stared after; their desire a tangible slime dripping down her back. She bit her tongue and ignored it.

Rounding a corner, her venture was halted by an unusual sight. A female slave trailing behind an Adore male. Withal, that sight was not too peculiar. It was the male.

Arachnid.

"Spider," she said before she could stop herself, thin brow arching above a cold stare. "Back to the web?" She shot a glance to the naked slave, feeling her stomach roll with disgust at the thought of what he might be doing. "Already returning to your old ways?"

He was in his own world right now. A world where he was very truly happy. A world where he could do as he pleased. A world where the things that tortured him could not follow. But he would never show he was in pain. No, that would reveal a weakness. A weakness his enemies would observe. Anaylze. And exploit. Shiloh didn't want that. He didn't want that. All that aside, Shiloh didn't know why he was thinking bad thoughts in his place. His place was meant for good thoughts, and he went to it when one of the many things that tortured him were coming to try and hurt him. It was the bad thought of his past life, this time. It was probably the worst one of all, really. It hurt more than the sharpest dagger, and stung more than an arrow. Shiloh hated that more than anything.

But of course, these thoughts should not be thought right now. He is in his place, where everything was easy and he was care free. There was only one unhappy thought in his place: why it kept changing. Every time Shiloh came to this place, it went through many significant changes. For example, last time Shiloh had to come, he was atop a snow covered mountain. The moon glistened in its heavenly glory above his head, shining until the end of time. A subtle breeze had come through, and powdered snow gently whipped across Shiloh's face. It was at that point that the wind began to grow stronger. It was still gentle, however, as were all things in his place. He could feel more and more of the powder flying into his back. Eventually, all the snow of the mountain had gathered towards Shiloh. It began to pile itself underneath him. Shiloh began to become closer and closer to the god like moon above him, until it seemed that he could just simply reach out and take it for himself. But he resisted the temptation. He wanted everyone to see the beauty of it. He also did not want to disturb it's wonderful beauty.

But today it was much different. When Shiloh opened his eyes, he was sitting under a large oak tree atop a grassy hill. It appeared to be autumn, as when Shiloh looked up, a yellow leaf fell upon his head. Smiling, the boy slowly took it from his face and looked at it. It was a very bright yellow, and he could see the veins quite easily. Shiloh loved the way it looked, so he put it into his back pocket so he could marvel at it later. Shiloh looked off into the distance, into a far stretching meadow. He could see flowers of every kind enticing him to join them in their endless dance among the wavering winds. But the boy knew better than that. All he wanted to do was watch them to try to seduce him, and fall asleep as they become disappointed. But when he shut his eyes, he could hear them talking. They were talking about him. Shiloh couldn't help but listen, even though she taught him other wise.
"Oh, what a nice boy Shiloh is. He never does anything wrong. I sure hope he stays as long as he can." The blue tulip smiled as she said this.
"I can't believe how sweet he is, too. Did you hear how he let all of us be warmed by the sun's rays? He had the power to take it away from us, but instead he decided to protect us from the cold." Spoke the red rose.
The yellow sun flower then chimed in, "Did he really? My, my. If only he could come and dance with us," the three flowers giggled at this point, "but I suppose he doesn't want to make the critters of the woods jealous of us!"

Shiloh certainly enjoyed all the attention he was getting from the beautiful flowers, but it was time for Shiloh to say good bye to his friends. Maybe, just maybe, he would dance with them some time. He smiled at the thought, and stood up. He collected all of his happy thoughts, and braced himself. He waved to them, and they waved back, supported by the wind.



~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~



Shiloh shivered as he opened his eyes. Rain poured down at an incredible pace, and the boy realized he was walking. He wasn't quite sure where he was exactly going, or coming from, but he knew from past experiences that his journal would tell him everything he needed to know about his current situation. The rain kept getting colder and colder, and soon lightening flashed and thunder cracked in the distance. The boy sighed. He wished he could remember what he was doing, but for some reason he knew he could not risk damage to his journal. It eluded him, but he would find out if he were to arrive at his destination. Shiloh really did hate the switch between his place and the bad one. He never quite had gotten used to it, and he doubts he ever will. It is just too much off a large change for him to handle. His place always had such gentle winds, while the bad place's gales blew the rain, gravel, and occasionally twigs into his face. It was quite uncomfortable to say the least. And in this place, he was always so cold. The rain was cold. The wind was cold. Even when the sun shined down upon him he was cold. But in his place, he was always warm. Not too warm, though. The temperature seemed always the same, even when he was making angels in the snow, or even jumping into a pile of leaves. Shiloh's comparison of the two places was interrupted by a strange man standing in the middle of the path. Shiloh's pace didn't falter though. He was walking at a certain pace, in a certain way when he arrived, and he did not want to disturb the way he was walking. He might've planned it that way so he would arrive at his destination by a certain time. Or maybe he didn't. Either way, Shiloh didn't want to take any chances.

The man kept asking Shiloh to stop, and give him trivial things, but to no avail. The man took a step back, afraid for a moment, but soon realized Shiloh was merely a boy, and took two steps forward. He was answered by the boy's weapon. The boomerang hit him on the man's left temple with such speed and force, that the man's head snapped to the right, and he fell on his side. Shiloh's weapon kept speeding, unfaltered, much like Shiloh's pace. The boomerang reached Shiloh, and he caught it with ease. And in the same fluid motion, sheathed it once more. Shiloh kept walking forward, in the same pace as before. He looked at the fallen man as he passed. His neck had snapped. The boy looked forward once more, and continued walking in the rain.

He soon looked forward and saw his destination: Adore. Of course it was his destination. The boy had nowhere else to go. He suddenly realized that he had a report to give to his master, Grettnia Sage. Shiloh shivered again. Not because he was cold. He was not looking forward to seeing her. Sure, she was one of the most beautiful women Shiloh had ever seen, but it was looking into her eyes that really bothered him. When he did, all the happy thoughts he had taken with him from his place disappeared. The bad ones flooded into his memory. And each time he looked into those eyes, it was worse than the last time. It made him feel colder than when he was stuck in the rain in this bad place.

Sun can see
Thought you meant to me
And they'll hide
Because of the sun
And you'll see
What is made of me
Son Shiloh
Dead tear
Ghast whisper

Sylvia instinctively flipped her chair over backwards, planting both hands and springing into a flip as she rolled over the back slats. Her move was not as graceful as she would have liked for want of less cumbersome attire, but it worked out and she landed lightly on her feet. Upon hearing the word 'Adore', her defensive stance immediately changed. Undoing the clasp that held her heavy cloak about her shoulders, she let it slide onto the floor. Her garment discarded, she felt much lighter. She would rather have not displayed all of her cards before she played them, but there was no element of surprise to be had now. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught movement by the door as the seated men rose.

"Well, isn't this lovely. I guess they were sent to kill us before we could do any real harm…" she spat to herself, cracking her knuckles in a very masculine message- that she was going to get serious.

Normally, she would have chosen a dagger for a bar-room brawl; or maybe one of her short-swords, but she instead decided to go all out for the first time in a while. The leather-bound shaft of her special weapon felt good under her ungloved hands, and she twirled it expertly while assessing her options. The area was too small to fight using the spear capabilities of her collapsible weapon, so she kept it locked together. Using her best weapon right off the bat might have been an unnecessary decision and it may not have been, but against members of Adore, she wasn't taking any chances. Holding her weapon out away from her body, she bent her arm and let the end of the spear droop down- giving the arrangement a similarity to a striking praying mantis. Her other shoulder was pulled back, arm bent lightly, completing her ready position. Had she been outside, she probably would have spit on the ground for the effect, but it was hardly an appropriate gesture in a building- not just for a woman but a man as well.

Matsu watched the fight break out from a different table. He didn't particularly care about what the man he wanted to kill had to say about Geist or Adore. Matsu wasn't one for plans or directions. All he wanted was enjoyment and to kill Lutious. He giggled. He hadn't expected rain today, but storms seemed to follow Lutious where ever he went. He was a very interesting man. An interesting man he wanted to kill so badly he could hardly contain himself.
His eyes narrowed when a man lunged toward Lutious. Matsu's dagger flew from its sheath in his coat and struck the man in the neck from behind.
"He is mine and only mine," Matsu scowled at the corpse. He hated killing in brawls like this. No one ever knew who was killing who. There was no fear. Only thrill or alcohol. Mastu didn't like that. There was no point in killing anyone if there wasn't any fear in their eyes. It was much better to fight a group of two or three and announce yourself to them. So wonderful to see fear melt away the fiercest of warriors' expressions in a flash, drain them of their color, sapping the very strength out of their legs. Tremble. Shake. That was what Matsu wanted.
The killer blinked when he noticed Lutious had followed the path of the dagger and was smiling knowingly when Matsu met his gaze.
Matsu grinned in return. Lutious was good. Quite good. Killing him, creating fear in him would be the grandest event in his life. He would relish that killing.

Some may have considered a bar brawl to be the ideal opportunity to kill someone, and Matsu generally believed so. However, against Lutious, he took no chances. His instincts told him to wait, and so he waited despite his wishes. Matsu had tremendous faith in his instincts - they were especially strong and had never failed him in the past. Until his instincts told him to act, he would wait. Impatiently, yes, but wait he would.

And so, Matsu yawned and stretched back in his seat, propped his feet on the table in front of him, and contented himself with once again watching the fight. He didn't particularly care who won as long as he killed Lutious. You were either dead or about to be killed. Good...evil...things like that didn't matter. Everyone was the same in death. Death was equality.
"I'm helping the world!" Matsu thought proudly when he thought of all of the people he had made 'equal.' Hundreds, maybe thousands at that point. He'd been killing for a very long time...

Matsu laughed to himself. A VERY long time. He sometimes wondered what he would do if hadn't become a murderer.
"A coffin maker, that's what I'd be. It'd be fun to make coffins out of the bones and skin of the person going into it the coffin. It'll waste nothing!" Matsu decided with a giggle.

After allowing his thoughts to wander a bit more, Matsu refocused on the fight. The soon-to-be Geist members were faring alright, he supposed. Maybe he would save one of them if they needed it. Maybe. None of them looked very interesting, not like Lutious, anyway.
The only female amid the members wasn't bad-looking, but she hardly seemed like someone Matsu wanted to get to know personally. None of them did.
He sighed. He'd got stuck into boring group. He'd hoped that with Lutious heading Geist, it would attract members as interesting as him, but...Matsu wasn't impressed. A sigh escaped him as he tilted his head back and shut his eyes, feigning sleep. It might be interesting to see who would dare attack him while he 'slept'. If no attacks came, then Matsu would content himself with waiting to be introduced by Lutious to the other guild members.

OOC: Meh. 0 inspiration here, but I wanted to get something in just so you guys know I'm still here. xD

Nothing felt better than a good ole' bar fight, the only real place where you didn't have to worry about pulling your punches. Especially not in this orgy of steel and bone as everyone decided to fight for their own cause. The result was mystifying to anyone who wasn't a veteran fighter; it was all too easy to lose sight of your friends in situations such as this. Cojisto, on the other hand, felt at home in a fight. It was what he had trained for, built himself up for, but even now he hesitated. Everyone had started fighting except for himself, Lutious, and a strange man off to the side. It wasn't long before Lutious spoke to him, questioning his lack of motivation to fight. "Are you afraid of the fight around you? Why haven't you risen yet?"

"To be honest? Nothin' but punks 'round here; nothin' worth noting and nothin' certainly not worth fighting. Though I suppose you'd rather I show my skills, right? C'mon right up."

With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he grinned at Geist's master before rising slightly and hooking a gloved hand around his chair. By the time the man was on his feet, the seat had been swung over his head and soared over Lutious' head only to break hard against the back of one man's head. He noted how the old man hadn't moved when the chair came but inches from his head and his grin widened even more; this was a man that he could respect. Cojisto took a look around for the rest of the table before his eyes settled acrossed a gloved fighter and a kid wielding a Katana. Mischievous mischievous.

The fighter's large frame parted the crowd easily, not even the drunks attempted to pick a fight with someone of his stature. The bar was a large place, but he maneuvered it as easily as a swimmer in the sea. Knuckles cracked within the gloves as the adrenaline flowed through his veins. The man and kid who started this whole fight; Cojisto would find that a fun fight to be a part of. Coming from behind the sword wielder, he grabbed the katana as it was about to strike and caused the kid to stumble. Using more strength than he thought he would need for such a small feat, he whirled the kid around and struck him in the gut with an open palm. Without much room to maneuver, he did the best he could and dipped low, bringing the wheezing body over his back and onto a table before striking at the man in leather gloves.

He was stopped, and it caused him to smirk. The man's other fist came up and made a strike to Cojisto's shoulder but it lacked the strength necessary to knock him down. Instead, Cojisto closed the gap between the two fighters and hit the man in the chest once, twice, three times before he was pushed away. Alaster was impressive; any normal man would have been grounded after blows such as that. He may have lacked strength of arm, but he didn't lack endurance or pain tolerance. Alaster's eyes flicked up over Cojisto's shoulder as a katana sliced through the air. With his opponent's sudden change in interest, Cojisto figured that now would be the perfect time to duck. The sharp steel slid through his hair as if it were nothing. Being surrounded by two opponents, the martial artist shifted to the side and rose, bringing both of his hands up in an attempt to strike both opponents in the gut and to give himself some breathing room.

It was not meant to be; the katana prevented the kid from harm and Alaster simply sidestepped and strode forward. His knee rose and connected with Cojisto's chin, knocking the crouched man into a table behind him, while his other hand reached forward and grabbed the kid's collar. Raising his fist, Alaster pulled the swordsman into a full on punch. Even though it had connected, the swordsman had been smart enough to throw himself to the side so that his shoulder would take the brunt of the blow. He raised his sword with his uninjured arm and struck at Alaster with the obvious intent of severing one of those arms of his. The blow was cut short as Cojisto rose and blocked the swing with a chain mail glove. Spinning towards Alaster, he brought his elbow up and smacked the man in the back of the head, sending him flying towards the kid. He released the katana and laughed as the two collapsed on the floor, one on top of the other as they scrambled to get back up.

Thunder filled the bar as bits and pieces of the roof collapsed by the bar. The noise was enough to stop the brawlers in their tracks, causing them to duck as the gunshot resounded through the room. The only ones left standing were the pretty lady, himself and his two opponents, but even they had become still as the bartender's shotgun aimed at everyone in the room, daring them to try something.

"C'mon man, why you have to break up this much fun?" Cojisto said, as he had really started enjoying himself in that little skirmish.

"Now look," responded the bartender, "you all need to clear out of here. There's already been enough bloodshed and this has gone far enough. Get that kid out of here and the rest of you follow, you hear!?" The gun was cocked again as the drunks scrambled to get out of the bar, leaving the Adore and Geist crowd to be either laying around injured or standing and waiting to see what would happen. Silence filled the room until…

"It will be my pleasure." All eyes turned to Lutious as he rose. As he pulled the two katanas that were set against his lower back and pointed one of them at the other swordsman. His gaze shifted to the strange man in the corner before smirking and returning his eyes to the kid.

"Now look here, no more trouble. Put the swords down or I'll-" The bartender's words turned into an estranged gargle as a dagger planted itself in the man's throat. All eyes except Lutious' gazed over to the man in the corner, the only man who hadn't joined the fight asides from the aforementioned man. Lutious started walking slowly, closing the distance between himself and the kid. Alaster had long since backed away from the swordsman and now was near the door, almost as if he wanted to bolt but couldn't help but want to see the upcoming fight.

The swordsman was tired, fighting the two gloved men had tired him but he still had enough fight in him to stand straight and prepare for whatever onslaught this man was capable of. Lutious' swords raised skywards as he swiped at the ceiling. Three large gashes appeared, nothing else happened, silence passed for a few seconds before a loud creaking sound came from the storage room. The ceiling creaked and the weight caused it to start dipping before finally breaking and pouring barrels of wine and ale down upon the floor. With one solid move, Lutious raised his leg and kicked a heavy barrel towards his opponent. Having expected something like that from the moment the ceiling was cut, the kid slashed downwards with his sword and sliced the barrel in half, the two ends flying to either side of him as the wine flew into his eyes and onto his clothes. The next barrel came heavier; being blinded by the alcohol and not being able to bring his sword into a defensive position, the barrel struck him in the chest with more force than Cojisto had been able to hit him with. Both the kid and the barrel flew towards the door. Katana close to his chest, the swordsman scrambled backwards as he tried to get the wine out of his eyes with his sleeves.

Lutious' smirk grew larger, almost into a grin, as he stood before the floored swordsman. Cojisto crossed his arms, having wanted to be the one to take both him and the other brawler out, but said nothing. Even with the coast clear, Siv hadn't put away her weapon, apparently wanting to keep herself prepared with all these men around. Weyland looked around for his friend, though Cojisto didn't know if he would find anything but death in this area. Alaster was still beside the door and the strange dagger throwing man merely sat there, looking bored.

A motley crew, but all looked on towards Lutious' scene.

"I lied, I'm sorry." Arachnid and the newly named but not minded Junebug stood with the constant essence of bitter wind swirling through olive green leafs grown from brown branches to shelter them from a light rain. "It was the only way I'd be able to get you out of there that easily. You see, someone was eavesdropping, and would have followed us if I said something along the lines of, 'lets go talk alone.' Of course, timing isn't the only thing wrong with that phrase; but rather the phrase itself. There's not going to be a 'lets', but there is gonna be a 'me' talking at you. If you don't mind." Arachnid flicked his no-where-stare to Junebug quickly, and then back to what the description hints, "I would hate to take an advantage of your keen ability to do what you're told, but at this moment I'm going to steal a bit of water from that puddle of mud. Just for a bit. I promise I'll give it back."

As if on cue by some hidden device only controlled by Arachnid himself, the wind rustled the leaves in a perfectly timed measure to destroy awkward silence, yet allow Junebug and Arachnid himself decide 'what the hell just happened?' Arachnid gave his eyes the task of spotting possible hiding humans or animals under brush or behind trees. His mind, however, was at the podium with the task of telling Junebug about himself among other things; whether she guessed it or not.

"I like company and companions and friends and all the other endless words I could use to explain the same gawd damn thing. You see, Junebug, I got attached to someone named Junebug herself. Eh, I guess I wasn't in love with her, and much as I liked the taste of her. Even seconds after she left, I was deciding the next place I could put my- eh…my point is I was obsessed with her for the wrong reason. I don't like that fact, either. You see, after she was murdered…it's terrible, but I felt it hard to miss her as much as I should have. I mean, it was a complete mind screw. Was I missing her, or the image of her on top of me? The latter seems to be that case, and that justifies nothing. Just…nothing. So, I've decided I'll never let that happen again. Sex will not be…well, don't get me wrong, I'm still gonna have sex like the world's ending if it's permissible, but I'm not going to base a friendship or relationship on it. This is where you come in. If I could…I mean…I'm going to, but…I'm gonna ask you something. Would you like to be my friend?"