WHEN: 1943 May 18; early evening
WHERE: Streets of Victoriana
WHO: Niles and Valene
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[16:50] Valene SilverPard had had a very interesting last few...weeks month.. days.. years? Who can even tell anymore. The young appearing woman would once more make her way back into town, her barefeet padding on the cobblestones and leaving the softest of impressions in the dirt that lays upon it. Her glamour is woven tight and the small fae that had found her and seemed determined to be staying with her had also been wrapped up within it, appearing as a small kitten that clung to Valene's head, slouching down in that liquid fashion of felines all the realms over. She would pad aimlessly around the town, ignoring the sideway looks and murmurs that followed her, ignored their disapproval, lost in her own thoughts and ruminations. Eventually the woman finds herself in an alley that's fairly familiar, and spotting the fallen trees, she maneuvers to settle upon it, pulling her legs up to her chest and becoming still.
[17:00] Niles Roesler (ohsoincoherently) needed a breather from the ship's interior after the events of the past week. Despite its size it had begun to feel rather claustrophobic and so he found himself strolling around town, less layered and buttoned-up than he would normally be. It was warmer these days, spring coming to full bloom earlier than usual and bringing more temperate weather despite the now and again storms that seemed to cling to the "merchant" ship still lingering in the harbor. The crew of said ship had, thankfully, calmed a bit... perhaps they were recovering, or being more restricted by their Captain after the First Mate's odd disappearance from the ship. Niles paid little attention to it beyond an open appreciation of the quiet. The corner near Murphy's Pub would have been unbearably raucous at this time of day otherwise but instead it was a peaceful enough evening, the lowering sun only casting shadows on the sparse crowds as they made their way back home for supper. The slender doctor paused in front of the bookstore, peering up at it and the new sign at its front. He'd not yet seen her by her tree.... though his mind was open and aware, tasting the environment like a snake with its tongue. There were creatures of Wyld magic nearby.
[17:08] Valene SilverPard would taste rich and lush to his mind. Something fully Wyld, untamed and heady. There is the vast hunger of a creature that's never sated, always on the brink of starvation, even when fully glutted. A primalness that pricks along one's skin, and a heady power that presses out, even when carefully leashed and bound. It's something that makes her vibrant and seductive to many that view her, even though they don't fully know or understand why. But at the moment there is a pensiveness to her, a quit wondering, a leashed feral mind pressing on new places and wonderments...on new responsibilities. A feeling of belonging perhaps, a need to find and bring forth others...for sure. Her body felt different, heavier and lighter all at once. Movement catches her eyes, her head tilting up to watch him, a pang of old sorrow strumming in her heart, causing her to unknowingly lift a hand to rub at her chest, as though to soothe it away. Sarra, her small companion mewls quietly, nuzzling her hair.
[17:22] Niles Roesler (ohsoincoherently) || There were few that were so rich and so complex in flavor. The psychic could hardly ignore the pull of the Cait and the barely-contained storm she was, chaos and hunger and emotion, familiar and alien at once. He shut his eyes and sighed. He was so different, now. The Sidhe beneath the glamor had been warped and altered, morphed by his exposure to the Old Gods, changed by the pacts and connections he'd forged. The glamor itself had shifted a bit to reflect other developments - he often looked friendly, or warm, or kind. But he never looked naive, not anymore. Still it wasn't exactly calculated, measured steps that bore him across the street, halting as he stood in front of the feline, feminine creature watching him from the treeline. "...odd choice of a place to enjoy the evening," he remarked, removing his glasses to tuck them folded into a pocket of his pants.
[17:32] Valene SilverPard would watch him unblinkingly, her eyes, the color of beaten hammered gold, luminescent and brilliant staring out at him. Watching, waiting. She's unabashed at her staring of him, in no way concerned about the niceness, or the politeness of the fact. There is a slow cock of the head, listening to something unheard, or unseen, her lips, painted a dark, almost venomous green quirking in a wry smile "Mayhaps so. However I'm an odd one. A queer one, a wrong one, or so the people of the town say. They watch me move and whisper their scandal while their blood runs hot with the thoughts of possessing me, but I need not tell you this... do I?" She at last murmurs to him in response, allowing one bared clawed foot to sway to an unheard melody. There is no hiding that she's something that belongs to no city, that she's as wild as any large cat, and likely thrice as deadly. She is akin to what he had known, but remade. Sharper, harder, more vast in her hunger and her rage, but something of the old still lingers in those teasing words, covered over with a honeyed purr, each note sounding like it was meant truly for him and him alone.
[17:44] Niles Roesler (ohsoincoherently) took a moment to listen, letting the flood of thoughts into his mind from the passersby that could see the two of them. She was right of course; they whispered and judged and coveted. He could hear the words, feel the surge and swell of desire in them and shook his head. "Even without reading their minds I'd know well enough," he answered. "Odd... in the sense that you are not like them. But wrong? No... no I'd say there's nothing wrong with you." There was a surreptitious push, a little pulse of ill into the minds of those roaming eyes, redirecting attention from the pair as they spoke - and perhaps a little dizziness, a little nausea, a little nagging pain. Those things were easily explained by the stresses of a day and certainly not obviously attributable to a psychic Sidhe and his whims. Niles disliked the judgment despite fitting his own self into society so well. He wouldn't abide it in his presence. "...you have a friend," he observed, broad and vague though one could easily assume he meant the tiny kitten on her head.
[17:55] Valene SilverPard is not psychic. Her nature is not one to abide with the rifling through thoughts. She's a being of the physical, fleeting though it may be at times. Reality itself is something that she doesn't abide by more often than not, and why should she? She was a Cat, and it is known that cats exist in all points and places at once, by the sheer will of their presences. She needs not to listen to their minds, their scents give much away, as does their body language. She does note the sudden shift in their demeanors, and a low husky laugh echoes, throat and sensual, her body shifting with the murmuration of fur pressing against one's flesh "Oh that's a new trick I'd say, new and old. I care not what they think, I know my worth, and it's something that they and their ilk can not steal from me, no matter how much they lust and despise me for it. Many have tried to bind me, and very few have succeeded" She states to him, allowing her eyes to half-close, sensuously lidded, that gleam of gold staring hungrily out at him. Her fist however still rubs over her heart, where an aching pain shift and lingers "I've a many friend, I'm such an easy going and perfectly acceptable friend after all. One merely has to understand the allure and promise of chaos... Do you Breaker of my Heart? Understand it?"
[17:59] Niles Roesler (ohsoincoherently) chuckled quietly. "New.... I suppose it is. I'd call it a gift. Something from... friends, of my own." He shook his head, making a little wave with his hand to dismiss the notion of the things that populated his airship as... friends. They associated in many ways, on many planes and yet friendship was a concept that he seemed to perceive as far adrift of his day to day interactions. Then she asked her question, spoke the title she'd assigned to him and his eyes swept to her, holding her gaze. Niles made no effort to read her mind, her feelings. The Cait wore them on her sleeve - or would, if she wore such things. "I do. All too well."
[18:07] Valene SilverPard smiles, wide and feral at him as he speaks on a gift and of friends. She does indeed seem to wear her heart and emotions on her sleeve, but there is something vast and old behind her gaze, behind that hunger. A shattered alien intelligence that thinks in a fashion just a bit different than others. Even of other fae. The Wyld creatures never truly belonged to anyone or anything, and she had been a Queen of them for much too long. Little Sarra gets picked up and set on the trunk, a finger rubbing over his head soothingly before she's hopping down and moving closer to him, each step taken with a feral lope, a roll of the hip suggesting things unseen and promises unspoken "Good. Than I think we will be of an understanding to speak" She says as she stops before him, her face tilted up to meet his gaze. This close, even the air shivers with the power of the Wyld creature before him, palpable, tastable, hungry. "You know me. Or knew me rather" She states baldly, understanding this truth without words.
[18:17] Niles Roesler (ohsoincoherently) seems a bit guarded. He knows better than to trust playfulness and hunger and chaos as things that can be predicted and though he does not move away as she approaches he certainly does not close the distance, simply waiting and watching as the languid movements of her lithe form bear her to him. "I knew," he answers, clarifying. Niles is all too aware of how unfamiliar he is with her now. There has been too much time, too much distance, too many things and people and forces for him to claim he still knows her. "...as you knew me." He pauses and looks to the trees, listening to the whispers of voices in the shade, conversations that had been - in another time, another place, under older trees by buildings made of older stone and wood. "...we are changed creatures now, it seems."
[17:50] Valene SilverPard is only so eager to listen to him, to taste the air about them and feel his essence on her tongue. Her chartreuse painted lips part on a screeeing inhale, dragging the aroma of who he is, and what he could be across the roof of her mouth, savoring each acrid note before she starts to pace about him in slow lazy circles. Her vast gaze stares out at him, a sly smile trailing over her mouth, making it seem to almost stretch obscenely. "Yes. Breaker of my Heart. So you are named. You spoke to me before. So long before and so near to now. Both at once, once at both" Her hand, clawed and deadly reaches out to attempt the touch him in a ghost of a caress "I am no more than what I was always meant to be. Feral and Hungry, Vast and Small, Great and Weak. And you? Are you now what you were meant to be or are you still a chrysalis, waiting to break free" She murmurs, stopping before him to tilt her head up, eyes looking to meet his own
[18:00] Niles Roesler (ohsoincoherently) did not move away from her nor did her turn his body to follow her movements. His head tilted to one shoulder, his eyes shutting. He could see, feel without the organs of sight after all. "Long before, yes," he repeated and breathed in air that bore the scent of her to his nostrils. Familiar, changed. He opened his eyes as she reached for him and his own hand raised to take her wrist in its grasp unless she chose to pull away. "I am more myself than I ever was," he answered. He met her gaze unblinkingly, the blue-green irises no longer bearing a ring of gold around the pupil as they once had, when he was a Seelie untainted. Instead a gash of red cut through them like a spill of blood. "I am more than I could have been, more than the Court could have offered me. More than the here and now." Shadows clung to him. Ribbons of blackish smoke, whispers of the touch of the beyond that had warped the Seelie into something entirely... else. She could see him, likely. He had no need to hide himself from her - not the elongated, claw-like feet and darkened blotches of skin, not the sprawl of mottling and the crown of bone.
[18:10] Valene SilverPard steps closer, into his personal space as he catches her hand with his own. Her very flesh feels cold to the touch, nearly painful at some point, though she is not trying to be, however every so often a ripple of warmth, of verdant green lushness, prime for renewal and the riotous heady mouthwatering desire of Spring plays forth, heating her flesh and making it seem as though he's holding a living breath feast of wyld magic. She's an untapped fount of potential and as he inhales her, she steps even closer, bending her arm in a way that could be painful if someone was not incredibly flexible. Closer and closer until there is just a hairsbreadth of space between them, and she's surrounding them in the overwhelming green and mint. Her eyes when they meet his after a slow languid blink are an eerie green, ghastly and slitted with that thin feline pupil. Rings upon rings of green echo within them, and something appears to move between them. The scent of roses creeping into the mix, and than around their wrists, crawling thorny branch of light pink brier roses wraps, binding them together "The Courts offered me nothing but heartbreak and loss, over and over and over. So I spurned them, and made my own. As Wyld and Hungry as I" She purrs up at him, her head tilting back and smiling, her freezing shadows whispering through to weave and carress his own, as hungry as their Mistress.
[19:28] Niles Roesler (ohsoincoherently) was not bothered by the cold. His shadows were cold, the Void, the space beyond the Gate was cold. The touch of his patron was a chill beyond imagining. He did not withdraw from the pain of it though the skin of his fingers and his palms seemed to darken as a result. Worm-like movement was visible beneath his skin as the being that 'touched' the Sidhe's mind became aware of the power that encroached on the tall fae. "The Courts are limited. Even the Unseelie profess to be free thinking and unbound by law and tradition and yet..." he rolled his shoulders in an easy shrug. The eyes that looked down at her were not sad - they were too walled to betray those emotions, his mind housed in layered veils to keep the past wrapped up in neat little packages he could open as he saw fit. But there was tenderness, almost, in the inclination of his head to meet hers, forehead to forehead. "Then Hunger is a thing we share," he murmured quietly. "...though I suppose it always has been."
[19:39] Valene SilverPard is not bothered by the movement under his skin, nor the darkening of his fingers and palms. She has seen the darkness that the darkest of the courts offers, the nightmares that even the Unseelie turn away from, view as nothing other than monsters. She has stood in front of them and survived, chased by the Hunt until her mind was less whole than a broken mirror. For as much power as she gives off, she does not try to consume or devour him, merely staring up into his face as though she was the mindreader "There is more to the Universe than the Courts could ever hold. The Cait understand this, for we guard the Roads" She murmurs to him, untrapped hand laying on his shoulder, her body swaying back and forth against his own in a silent wordless dance. Her forehead presses against his own, and there is an opening of her mind to him. An allowance inside if he wishes to take it, the entrance dark and wispy, with deadly vines that encircle it. "Hunger is what drives most things, Hunger, Rage, Fear. A desperate desire to belong. Do you belong?"
[19:49] Niles Roesler (ohsoincoherently) | There was hesitation. He swayed with her, a hand at her shoulder, the other that was bound to her clasped to her own. To their ears the sound of strings and bells and voices singing wordlessly could be heard, repetitions of melodies he remembered and could piece together to make something harmonic. As their heads touched he opened himself to her - one layer, a reach for connection beyond the dark and veiled and vined things that kept each of them curled up from the rest of the world. But his patron was not one of isolation and he knew this well. Vines became nerves, the blossoms on them synapses firing with electrical impulses of a body surging with life - with lives. There was a mad cacophany of things in his head, the sensations of times past, the whispers of things to come, a tangle of times gone and promised eras and could have beens. He did not seek to understand or grasp them, simply let them echo like a backdrop to his own quiet, ruminating mind. "I belong nowhere," he replied without sadness. "...for there is a sliver of me everywhere. Every time. Any place that I am meant to be or could have been."
[20:05] Valene SilverPard knows no hesitation. There is no caution, or pulling back from him once her mind has parted. If he looks within her mind, he'd see a minefield of dead. Bodies that he might recognize, and many that he would not. Dead upon Dead. Some mutilated beyond repair, glass shards piercing their flesh and reflecting times and memories in a funhouse mirror fashion, warped and twisted, some true, some not. Some bodies are petrified, pieces of them falling off and decaying away into ash. As he looks he'd see one body crumble under the weight of itself. Running along the whole vast open space are vines upon vines, verdant green against the stark black and white that make up the rest of the area, pulsating as they drain away something, pale pink roses exploding into life and than shriveling back up.
She has no talent to look and view his mad cacophony. No skill in traversing minds, nor does she attempt to. Where his head is full of sounds and noise, whispers and could-of should-ofs, hers is silent. There is no noise. There is an eerie deafening maddening silence, so quiet it's like a mute scream. "I belong everywhere." She replies to him, her body swaying forward "For I am not meant to exist in time or space. I am not meant to be nothing more than an afterimage, a forgotten photo leaping into your mind and than vanishing. I am every cat that crosses your path, every mewling kitten. I am vast yet so very small, sharp but so very soft" Her hands slide down to place his hands upon the heavy curve of her hip, his fingers long enough to fit against the swell of her ass.
[20:22] Niles Roesler (ohsoincoherently) was accustomed to death. He saw plenty, his own included and their grisly details no longer disturbed him. He was intrigued by the distortions, the warped features reflected in the broken shards of glass. He looked to see what - or who, familiar or stranger. His eyes peered at the body that crumbled before following the pulsing vines. The silence was almost more troubling than the imagery on its own. He was not accustomed to silence, not anymore. "Not forgotten," he remarked as he moved his hand with her guidance, resting it on her hip. He did not squeeze or grope at her but he did not hide the effect it had on him. He had tricks, usually... to keep his appearance more proprietary where the body's reactions might otherwise give away more lurid thought. But the stiffness growing in his pants was unhidden and unrestrained by any control over sensation or flesh. "Soft but not delicate, Valene," he murmured. Niles did not lean against her, not closing the distance completely. He had restraint yet, it seemed. "You've never been a mewling kitten... nor would I seek to make you one." His swaying slowed, pausing their dance. "What do you hunt for, here of all places?"
[20:36] Valene SilverPard does not need to see or feel reactions, not when she can smell them. Each change in his scent brings out a low, deep, rumble. Deeper than her small body should hold. She's such a small creature, yet for a moment, in her mind there is superimposed an image of something large. From the deep recesses of her inner mind's working a shade is formed in the shadows. Vast and broad, it's frame sleek in the haunches, staring out at him with eyes that burn a vile putrid green. There is a malevolence in that creature, saliva slavering from it gaping maw, fetid frozen breath misting out in the air as it salivates, panting, staring out at him. But it's still silent. Nothing is allowed to make a noise in this cracked and broken mindscape. It stays in the shadows, motionless besides it's breathing, quivering with the desires to spring forth.
Again there is no hesitation, no shame, no pretense from the cat that is masquerading as a woman as she takes that last step, allowing the softness of her body to press against the taunt frame that stands in front of her. Those onlookers that he had affected earlier would feel an unerring sense of danger, though it's hard to tell from what, and Sarra, on the fallen tree behind begins to quiver in place. He doesn't seem frightened...more at tune with his Queen's magic and the aura that she possesses. "There is nothing more dangerous to one's health than a mewling kitten Breaker of my Heart. Because every mother cat knows that cry and every mother cat becomes a God to protect that little creature" She whispers, moving to stand on her tiptoes so that she can lean in to let the sound carry to his ears "You ask me what I hunt for here? That's the wrong question. The right one...the one that no one thinks to ask... is what don't I hunt for here? Because that... that is a much shorter answer"
[20:51] Niles Roesler (ohsoincoherently) saw. As adept as he was at seeing beyond what was offered to the senses how could me miss the creature? He could feel its hunger, its malevolence, its chill in the air as clearly as if it were standing in front of him. He did not recoil as she pressed against his body. He was wiry, lithe muscle stretched over lanky bones, scarred flesh covering the tension. He had no beast at his back, no teeth or claws endemic to his soul. The hunger that pervaded was not attached to such a form. It lingered in his eyes, sought to consume and encompass and envelop. Large hands and lengthy fingers rested on her hips, pulling her closer as she tiptoed to whisper at his ear, one of his knees finding its way between her thighs - for support, for teasing, for pressure. "Am I on your list of huntees?" he asked, almost casual, almost joking.
[21:05] Valene SilverPard is always that creature. It's not so much a separate entity to herself, but rather a piece of her soul that generally is set aside in favor of the smaller easier form. It's rare for a Cait to even take a human shape, much less a larger form, but Valene's odd parentage cropped up every so often in unexpected ways. The Beast desires to devour everything it comes across. Yearns to rip through the delicate outer covering of the woman's body, rend it to pieces and feast upon it. To split the bones and suck out the marrow to eviscerate and consume the offal. It is her hunger and the fierceness that has kept her alive, and it's pressing dangerously close to the surface. His hunger meeting her own.
As his leg shifts to press between her own, her foot tangles in it, pulling it closer, shifting so that the soft womanly aspect of her groin presses into the meat of his thigh, her hips undulating in a dance that's as old as existence itself. Forward to press against him, sinuously moving and caressing him with just belly and pubis, and than riding backward, using him to her own pleasure. The instinct of danger danger danger grows stronger for those few that are still looking on, and Sarra begins to softly mew, trying to reign Valene back. Her hands hold his to hips, claws just pricking at the skin as her voice rumbles out a statement "A smaller selection of who is not on that list. Your name is not on that smaller one"
[21:24] Niles Roesler (ohsoincoherently) was rare to lose his temper or his patience but there was a growl, low and hungry in his throat as he felt the warmth of her grinding away at his leg. His hands pushed and pulled, encouraging the rocking as his own grip tightened on her hips. "Because I am the Breaker of Hearts?" he asked, his mind reaching, throwing its influence to the nerves in her lower body, the endings in her pelvis, the cluster of them gathered at the crux of her sex. He tried to increase the sensation, the pleasure, the pressure - as if he were stimulating it directly, first by the simple plane of his knee and then the rough pad of a finger, the wet slide of a tongue. The sensations faded quickly, reduced to the mere grind of her warmth against his body. "And what would you do with me? With your claws and your teeth? Take my bones? Break me open? Feast on my entrails like a carrion beast?" Where the pleasure had been he gave her coldness, chill and numbing and lack of sensation - brief, until he pulled away from her and the manipulation of her senses faded with the proximity.
[21:55] Valene SilverPard is on the very verge of cracking into her hunger regardless of the actions that are going on. She is a never-ending craving of hunger/pleasure/sensation. She is gluttonous and starving, full and content, all these things and more. She is something that can never be caged, never be collared. She is a creature that is firmly set in her instincts and her needs, while balancing out the desires and the cravings of others. She can almost taste his temper and hunger on her tongue, and as he grips and pulls her down harder, she gives a pleased sound, her lips pressing against the lobe of his ear.
And then the sensation grows, and spirals, becoming more and more arousing and pleasurable, filling her with that desperate drive to consume more and more and more, to fill herself with every aspect of him, every depraved and wicked thing, each unwitting and unwilling desire. She hungers to feast on him, the beast in her mind moving closer, crushing some of those husks with large fully clawed feet, destroying more memories in the violent urge to wholly engulf him. However... Roesler makes the switch and the control, the playful chaotic hunger that had filled her and made this more an enjoyable dangerous game is shredded.
There is a ripple of laughter, a cackle of sound that bursts from her, a braying of violent delight and despair co-mingling as he pulls everything that had been good, had been satisfying, had been tying her to the now, instead of the then...away. He leaves her barren and empty, a husk that has one purpose and one alone. To ravage and devastate all that lays before her. The claws on her hands seem to thicken, become longer, stronger as she drives them through his hands, piercing with a feral strength down to bone, ripping them away and shredding through the tendons and prescise muscles. Her caressing mouth, that had teased and whispered into his ear splits her face wide, a ragged maw of sharp teeth, overfilling that lovely jaw and threatening to crack it open. Her canines extend and her jowl unhinges before locking down on the ear that she had been teasing, sinking in the cartilage and tearing back, hopping away from him, smiling as she swallows that piece whole.
"Yes Yes. Breaker of Hearts. Consumer of Lives. You. You. You. You will be my favorite prey, break me, love me, hate me, crave me. For I will savor your taste, and want it forevermore within me. You created the chasm.... and you will fill it" That voice is guttural, deep and void of kindness and playfulness. Just a violent glee aimed fully at him.
[22:13] Niles Roesler (ohsoincoherently) was not surprised by the sudden bite of tooth and claw. She tears into his flesh, breaks bone and while there was a grunt and a gasp as he staggered backward there was no shock, no confusion on his face. He knew what he'd done. He bled, dripped on the street from his mangled hands and the crowd of people around them seemed to go on about their day as if they could not see - and indeed they'd been made not to, their minds convinced that there was nothing more than an amorous exchange occurring in their periphery. Some part of him wanted this, he concluded. It was penance perhaps, some cleansing of self through the visceral agony of being rent apart by what could have been, by what was.
There was no running from this but there was no time to indulge, to fully play out the macabre dance they wove about themselves. He focused on those feline eyes, the predatory stare met with his own and when she moved next, she saw, she felt sunlight.
She pounced on him, amid grass and tree roots across a stony bridge from a sleepy London town. Away from the bustle of civilization where the wilder things made their home they laid in the grass, the Sidhe's dark hair sprawled across his forehead, the feline's hands on his shoulders. As if they'd been playing - and they had, back then. Never at the pleasure house, never in the city. But near where Valene called home, before gaps and distance and emptiness. It was warm, there was laughter. There was a priest there too, languid and contemplative against a nearby tree, ruminating on some deep conversation about grandoise goals while he brushed falling leaves from his vestments.
He left her with the dream, real enough that he hesitated before slipping away into the crowd.
[22:22] Valene SilverPard would have leapt upon him, anything to get that blood.. but suddenly there is a memory that is spilling through her mind and she goes so still. She stands there, her eyes blank as she relives something.. something powerful on in it's happiness and peace. Her body quivers, eyes a shattered green before a heartwrenching scream rips from her, tears spilling down her cheeks...and she whirls and darts into the woods, ripping away her glamour as she does. Sarra...unsure of what's going on...looks back and forth.. and than follows after Niles, moving quickly through the crowd.