Post by Sidra Cotton on Dec 21, 2009 23:24:25 GMT -5
The room was beautifully decorated, the table laid with all sorts of silverware with intricate designs on the handle. Each plate had food that could only ever be described as gourmet art and yet none of it appealed to the young woman in corset and bustle skirt. Burgundy hair wafted around her stirred by an unseen breeze as a toothy, fanged smile lit her face. Her host and the other guests were arriving.
Two men entered, both dressed in the elegant styles of the 18th century French nobility complete with the painted on moles in the shape of little hearts. Taking their seats they introduced themselves while waving scented handkerchiefs hand embroidered by ladies with nothing better to do. Polite conversation with false laughter prattled on for a few moments before the lights flickered and another presence was noted. A black form of moving shadow and smoke. None needed to be told that their host was death, for both the French noblemen had been dead for quite sometime and were much used to the games played in Death’s court. As for the young woman?
Sidra had planned and prepared for her place for the span of her life. When Death had finally embraced her and given her the unlife she’d so craved the young woman had agreed whole heartedly to joining him in his court and play his games. For what was eternity without the thrill of a hunt of some kind or another.
Welcome[/I] the voice sounded in their minds as a shadowy extremity waved at his guests. I am pleased you have joined me.
No more was said before an unseen instrumental quartet started up and all four members of the table began to move, each circling the chairs and eyeing the dinner plates and goblets filled to spilling. A chair evaporated without so much as a waft of smoke, sound, or inkling and the music stopped as suddenly as it had started. Everyone scrambled, though Death’s scramble was more of a glide. One of the men was out, he pouted prettily and waved his perfumed square cloth as though it were no matter.
“Iz for little girl. She iz… how you say, new.”
Sidra laughed, her teeth flashing, any excuse to show off her fangs. Real fangs. “Don’t even, Jean Luc. You lost your chair, and your plate in fair play.” The man pouted again, but stood back with a smile and wiggled fingers at the three remaining plates.
“Eat, before ze next round.”
Yet nothing appealed to Sidra, save the goblet. O negative, tangy, sweet, a good year as well. Possibly in their 40s. Aged well, but with enough youthful spice left that it gave the blood an interesting flavor. A little fruity too, but she couldn’t place a reigion.
Too soon the music started again and the three remaining became two. Sidra played in a cutthroat way, stealing the chair from beneath the other nobleman’s tush with a triumphant laugh.
“It’s just you and me, Death.”
As it was meant to be.[/I]
The music started again after a few moments and after it’s sudden stop, Sidra fell into the space where the final chair was supposed to be only to open her eyes onto a black bedroom with a graveyard motif and as the teenager sat up with a suspicious look around as though she expected Death to be in a corner somewhere.
“Cheater,” she muttered, falling back into her pillows with a huff. Shame too, she had been about to beat death.
Two men entered, both dressed in the elegant styles of the 18th century French nobility complete with the painted on moles in the shape of little hearts. Taking their seats they introduced themselves while waving scented handkerchiefs hand embroidered by ladies with nothing better to do. Polite conversation with false laughter prattled on for a few moments before the lights flickered and another presence was noted. A black form of moving shadow and smoke. None needed to be told that their host was death, for both the French noblemen had been dead for quite sometime and were much used to the games played in Death’s court. As for the young woman?
Sidra had planned and prepared for her place for the span of her life. When Death had finally embraced her and given her the unlife she’d so craved the young woman had agreed whole heartedly to joining him in his court and play his games. For what was eternity without the thrill of a hunt of some kind or another.
Welcome[/I] the voice sounded in their minds as a shadowy extremity waved at his guests. I am pleased you have joined me.
No more was said before an unseen instrumental quartet started up and all four members of the table began to move, each circling the chairs and eyeing the dinner plates and goblets filled to spilling. A chair evaporated without so much as a waft of smoke, sound, or inkling and the music stopped as suddenly as it had started. Everyone scrambled, though Death’s scramble was more of a glide. One of the men was out, he pouted prettily and waved his perfumed square cloth as though it were no matter.
“Iz for little girl. She iz… how you say, new.”
Sidra laughed, her teeth flashing, any excuse to show off her fangs. Real fangs. “Don’t even, Jean Luc. You lost your chair, and your plate in fair play.” The man pouted again, but stood back with a smile and wiggled fingers at the three remaining plates.
“Eat, before ze next round.”
Yet nothing appealed to Sidra, save the goblet. O negative, tangy, sweet, a good year as well. Possibly in their 40s. Aged well, but with enough youthful spice left that it gave the blood an interesting flavor. A little fruity too, but she couldn’t place a reigion.
Too soon the music started again and the three remaining became two. Sidra played in a cutthroat way, stealing the chair from beneath the other nobleman’s tush with a triumphant laugh.
“It’s just you and me, Death.”
As it was meant to be.[/I]
The music started again after a few moments and after it’s sudden stop, Sidra fell into the space where the final chair was supposed to be only to open her eyes onto a black bedroom with a graveyard motif and as the teenager sat up with a suspicious look around as though she expected Death to be in a corner somewhere.
“Cheater,” she muttered, falling back into her pillows with a huff. Shame too, she had been about to beat death.
