Cicero: Part 7: Cicero's story

“Signor Verdarrio? Signor Verdarrio, you are needed outside.” 

[color=ed1c24][i]Quick footsteps towards the door; he’s rushing…[/i][/color]

[color=00aeef][i]…He’s feeling, Oh, so important and full of glee. How petty, he’s such an insignificant worm in all…[/i][/color]

[color=00a651][i]Farq hasn’t failed us, we’re pleased, he won’t understand, yet…Verdarrio was the only one paying close enough attention to notice her difference. We’re interested in what part she has to play…[/i][/color]

[color=00aeef][i]…But is she a liability…[/i][/color]

[color=662d91][i]We can’t make out the horse-rider but we’re sure he’s supposed to represent the Duke of Florence from the ‘de’ Medici’ crest…[/i][/color]

[color=00a651][i]…Now he was a jouster…[/i][/color]

[color=fff200][i]…the clash of steel, smell of the horses, bright midday sun, the hard trodden earth and the hot, ever-moving sand of the arena…[/i][/color]

“My lord, a Vincent Forthe has come to meet with you outside; he awaits you in his carriage.”

[i][color=ed1c24]No reply from Verdarrio, footfall again, Verdarrio must have pushed passed him…[/color]

[color=00aeef]...looking the fool, head held high to meet his doom…[/color]

[color=ed1c24]…a brush of air; light, quick steps in…[/color]

[color=662d91]...ballet pumps, from the scuffed sound they make…[/color]

[color=fff200]…she twirls with the beauty of the flamenco dancers of my homeland…the summer heat, the pitch darkness of the night at the edges of the light, the crimson swathes of silk,  the brown leather and the grey brick, sweat and grime, a desert rose…[/color]

[color=ed1c24]…she stands before us, eyes entwined with our own…[/color]

[color=39b54a]…like voids of darkness…[/color]

[color=ed1c24]…her silk dress falls about her…[/color]

[color=00a651]…like a cascading waterfall of tar…her skin is pale...no, tanned, like from our homeland, like…Her face has strong cheekbones…[/color]

[color=662d91]…no light delicate ones, she’s Italian remember her accent…[/color]

[color=00a651]…her lips are streaks of crimson blood across her face…[/color]

[color=ed1c24]…but, her eyes…[/color]

[color=00a651]…not voids, a pair of onyxes, cold, hard, unfeeling that matches her Stygian hair…[/color][/i]

“The Crow…”

[i][color=ed1c24]She paused, her tongue is tied, and she’s struggling to keep her confident composure…[/color]

[color=00a651]…reply, quick and sharp…[/color][/i]

“…is as ugly as it is flawed.”

[i][color=00a651]…to stop her discomfort…[/color]

[color=00aeef]…are we romantically involved…?[/color]

[color=00a651]…only our courtesy and refined nature, we have values…[/color]

[color=00aeef]…she is hilariously hopeless; she’s trying to keep up…[/color]

[color=ed1c24]…movement, we hear it in her footfall, she’s changed her stance, more relaxed, because she can see the bemusement in our eyes…[/color][/i]

“Crows pick at the dead, ignoring the entire body and acknowledging only the gluttony of the feast.”

[i][color=662d91]Blind…blind to the consequences and the effects of their meal…[/color]

[color=00aeef]…ironic…[/color]

[color=662d91]…clever, must be northern Italian or from Rome to be educated so well…[/color]

[color=00aeef]…she thinks herself clever, but we lead her down a path in our own little game… she doesn’t like us though, something in her stance and voice…[/color]

[color=00a651]…there is no love for the wicked…[/color][/i]

“But a raven… the dark wings on an ominous wind bringing omens of death and destruction. He circles the corpse and finds the precious, vital organs and in one fell swoop steals them away.”

[i][color=ed1c24]…she is loud, strong, convincing; caught up in her own argument…[/color]

[color=00a651]…maybe a little too loud, we wouldn’t want to attract attention…[/color]

[color=662d91]How ravens are misunderstood everywhere; the Irish believe them the to be harbingers of death, the Norse believe they are the servants of a wise but cruel god, and in the Qur’an they taught Cain how to cover up his murder. Is there no pity for the vagabond bound in black…?[/color]

[color=00a651]…believes we are naught but a scout, a messenger for a darker master…[/color]

[color=fff200]…or does she know…?[/color][/i]

“And with you shall follow the hordes of hell; I shall rid this city of the likes of you.”

[i][color=ed1c24]…she whispers…[/color]

[color=00aeef]…finally, at least she’s self aware…[/color]

[color=ed1c24]…she stares straight at us…no she glares…[/color]

[color=00aeef]She is relentless, and hates us…[/color]

[color=662d91]Verdarrio must be dead now, the Nyctari shan’t miss his presence…[/color]

[color=00a651]…remember our values, our honour…[/color][/i]

“Abrenuntias satanae et corpore et animo…”

[i][color=ed1c24]She glares at us even more condescendingly; change in weight from one foot to the other, her stance is completely hostile…[/color][/i]

“Dost thou renounce Satan in body and mind? Do you?! How can you? You denizen of the night, tormentor of the living, bringer of…”

[i][color=00aeef]Insolent wretch, what does she know of…[/color]

[color=00a651]…Wait…[/color]

[color=fff200]Nights of pain, a lifetime in the night, the torment, the suffering, the sacrifice…hot, wet, thick, sticky, pools of crimson in our hands…[/color]

[color=00aeef]…drive the dagger deep into her armour of confidence…[/color][/i]

“What do you know of ravens, little dove? Where is your olive branch in this eternal flood? Do not lecture me on carrion and bird; you mistake the raven as a harbinger. The raven does not call for the wolf, he scares away the crows and the grotesque creatures that feud over the carcass. You do not know the wolf nor even heard his howl!”

[i][color=ed1c24]Her stance has changed… shock? She doesn’t let it on, she has learnt to stand her ground…[/color]

[color=662d91]She’s Christian, to blame me of heresy and talk of hell…[/color]

[color=00aeef]Let us preach of the real God…[/color][/i]

“Where is your mighty eagle to save this dying corpse? Each day it looks more like a cadaver. You think we scavenging birds are strangers? We do not herald from some other line, we were once the Eagle’s children, painted black in suffering, fear deprivation and torment!”

[i][color=00a651]…stop…[/color]

[color=ed1c24]…our eyes flash in anger…[/color]

[color=00aeef]…let our wrath wreak pain upon this naïve girl…![/color]

[color=00a651]…leave her be, she holds no power...[/color]

[color=00aeef]…yet…[/color]

[color=00a651]Farq can keep an eye on her…[/color]

[color=ed1c24]Our long strides take us far from her and…a touch…[/color]

[color=fff200]…warmth, the smell of a garden, the blue sky and the sunlight which brings vibrant contrasting colours that explode in the mind’s eye, a plain brown skirt wavering in the slight breeze, a tied corset with leather strings, a white puffed up blouse with short sleeves, full red lips…[/color]

[color=ed1c24]…our arm pulls away viciously as a ferret rips itself from a captor’s grasp…walk away, slowly…the vampires stay seated, unaware of the previous argument… the piano plays deep, quick dramatic tones…[/color]

[color=fff200]...our hand rested on a cool, smooth, varnished, black piano while vibrations in the wood cry strong powerful notes one after another raising the hairs on our arms…[/color]

[color=662d91]…Beethoven, Symphony No. 5 in C minor…[/color]

[color=00aeef]…the Nyctari love their Beethoven, they thrive on the melodramatic and think themselves so cultured…[/color]

[color=ed1c24]…The music stopped, only the sound of chattering, the clinking of glass and the squeals of concubines can be heard…[/color]

[color=00a651]…odd…[/color]

[color=ed1c24]...the piano plays alone, deep, descending, minor notes that sing from the muffled hammers underneath; the theme is slow but building…[/color]

[color=662d91]…too subtle for Beethoven, too dark for Mozart, Bach? Not melodic and calculating enough…[/color]

[color=ed1c24]Someone walks slowly and purposefully towards us…we step back…she anticipates and grabs my hand…[/color]

[color=fff200]…a deep red dress, the tapping of shoes, the heat, the sweat…[/color][/i]

“Can you tango Signor?” 

[i][color=fff200]…a hand at the hip, a hand entwined with hers…[/color]

[color=ed1c24]…our hand is placed at her hip, she entwines her hand with our other…we’re in the middle of the ballroom…[/color][/i]

“Leave me be Senorita…”

[i][color=fff200]…a smiling, laughing face…[/color]

[color=00a651]Stay in the now…[/color][/i]

“S…M…Miss, I do not have time for games.”

[i][color=00aeef]Run…[/color]

[color=00a651]Dance…[/color]

[color=ed1c24]Violins play long drawn sighs complimenting the piano…Suddenly and violently the music changes tempo; violins play high, discordant, jarring melodies which are interwoven in strong fast notes from deep cellos like dark lashes of sound…She pulls us forward step by step, we hear her footfall, purposeful strong strides for elegance and show…[/color]

[color=00aeef]STOP…![/color]

[color=ed1c24]We turn away…she turns it into a spin…the hem of her silk dress brushes my legs…[/color]

[color=fff200]…our sight caught on eyes like starlight…[/color]

[color=ed1c24]…our sight caught on eyes…[/color]

[color=00a651]...like the night…[/color]

[color=fff200]…her red dress like a blood stain smeared in the sultry evening’s dim light…[/color]

[color=ed1c24]…her black dress…[/color]

[color=00a651]…like a flowing tenebrous spirit…[/color]

[color=fff200]…her magnetic touch brings me back to life…[/color]

[color=ed1c24]…her magnetic touch…[/color]

[color=00a651]…brings me back to life…[/color]

[color=ed1c24]…we’re too far forwards we’re going to hit a table, we grab her waist…[/color]

[color=fff200]…we spin her round, her smile radiating through us like rays of the sun, her laughter fills the pavilion…[/color]

[color=ed1c24]…we spin her round, her eyes flashing in amusement…[/color]

[color=00a651]…she smirks at us flirtatiously…[/color]

[color=00aeef]…are we getting romantically involved…?[/color]

[color=00a651]…no, we’re showing snobbish, stale, old vampires how to dance…[/color]

[color=fff200]…we push forwards, our shoulders touching, us pushing our weight onto her, advancing as a soldier in war…[/color]

[color=ed1c24]…we push forwards, she startles only for a second before shifting her weight backwards and following my footsteps…[/color]

[color=fff200]…she spins, holding my hand up high, in the middle of the floor, with that playful look of determination upon her face, a moment of ecstasy, a rush of pride, love and adrenaline…[/color]

[color=ed1c24]…we grab her hand and spin her, holding her arm above her head…[/color]

[color=662d91]…6 strides forwards, 8 back, that positions us…[/color]

[color=ed1c24]…we are in the middle of the ballroom, the chatting has stopped, movement is minimal, there is almost no sound other than our movement and the music, they are all watching…[/color]

[color=00a651]…in amazement…told you, vampire’s should learn from their cultural master…[/color]

[color=ed1c24]…we smirk...the air rushes past our face, almost in slow motion…[/color]

[color=00a651]...we move with grace, we move with passion…a moment of ecstasy…[/color]

[color=fff200]…we grab her legs and pull them around our waist, still spinning and moving our head closer…[/color]

[color=ed1c24]…we grab her legs and pull them around our waist, still spinning and moving our head closer…[/color]

[color=fff200]...a rush of pride, love and adrenaline, we kiss her…[/color]

[color=00a651]…a rush of pride, love and adrenaline, we kiss her…[/color]

[color=ed1c24]…stood still, senses gone…[/color]

[color=00aeef]…what happened…?[/color]

[color=fff200]…clapping, the smell of sweat and a garden, I pull away to see her dainty cheekbones, delicate nose and tanned skin…[/color]

[color=ed1c24]…clapping, the smell of sweat and perfume, I pull away to see a pair of obsidian orbs, a plume of stygian curls…[/color]

[color=00aeef]…you are romantically involved…[/color]

[color=ed1c24]…she untangles herself, and puts her cheek to mine, her warm breath on my ear…[/color]

[color=fff200]…she untangles herself, and puts her cheek to mine, her warm breath on my ear…[/color][/i]

“Looking for a desert rose?”

[i][color=fff200]“No soy más que una Rosa del desierto.” She spoke in quick hushed tones before walking away slowly, swaying in playful tones…[/color]

[color=ed1c24]…footsteps lead away from us as she leaves us in the middle of the ballroom, her swaying hips given away by the incoherent footfall; the whispered talking and sighs of the onlookers tell us it is all over as we walk out the room slowly…[/color]

[color=662d91]…how did she know of a desert rose…?[/color]

[color=00aeef]…we’re letting our emotions take over…[/color]

[color=00a651]…we must find her…[/color]

[color=fff200]…crying, tears rolling down our face like a stream of warm blood falling from our eyes…[/color]

[color=00a651]…find her, take her home, and never let her out again….[/color]

[color=00aeef]…we’ll lose ourselves and our way…[/color]

[color=00a651]…what’s the point in a world without her…?[/color]

[color=00aeef]…it’s not her you fool, look at yourself, you’re going insane...[/color]

[color=662d91]…when did you forget, we always were…[/color]

[b]…hush…[/b]

[color=ed1c24]...we walk down the long corridor, looking out into the night, dark minarets and chimneys cover the skyline…[/color]

[b]…look at this cadaver, how repulsive, while the…crows fight amongst themselves, the insects squabble and the magpie’s pick at the jewels, we shall wait, we shall turn crow on insect and magpie on crow in a vicious cycle of our own making…doves may flock to heal it but they will only get caught amongst the carcass…let them come, proclaim the word of some false eagle, while they can…the raven shall be patient…[/b][/i]