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[hr][center][h3]~1440 | PARIS | FASHION SHOW VENUE[/h3][/center][hr]
There were plenty of words that Vera would say, of course. Plenty of sensical words, spoken of my a woman with more common sense than Lucian and Edward combined. But by the time her words reached the point where she was speaking about ‘a dragon, a fucking dragon’, that dragon indeed, did appear. It had, after all, followed after Celeste. And now, though it seemed [i]willing[/i] to let Lucian in, Vera was a different question.

Vera wasn’t being dragged by the pink-haired ghost-seer-model. Vera wasn’t affecting the mannerisms of a cheese-chomping buffoon. Vera, instead, was being stared down by a beast with no eyes, and unless she was going throw that first punch, she could not get close to those two models at all. Ethereal flame flickered out, perhaps a warning for the uninvited.

But Celeste too, would have noticed Vera.

[b]“Of course, I can see you!”[/b] she snapped back. [b]“And unless you had actually faked your death and then somehow gained the powers of a prodigious wallflower, you’re definitely dead. But wait, so [i]that[/i] woman over there is like, working with you then?”[/b] Gears were turning visibly now. Thoughts parsed together, spun into thread, thread that wove a story. The excitement bloomed further and both of her hands now grasped Lucian’s, as if afraid the connection would disappear if she let go.

There was something brighter in Celeste’s smile. Something [i]zealous[/i].

[b]“You’ve died, and become servants of the Holy Maiden?”[/b]

…

The two stepped upon the stage. A well-groomed man with the eyes of a muddy lake. A petite woman possessed with an aura of professionality and pragmatism. Edward would note the hush in the crowds, the dimming of the lights, but it was none of his business. His was work that pertained to ghosts and dragons, after all, necromancy and the naturally-dead-but-still-floating-around-not-due-to-magical-means. The ghosts continued to float about, their advance towards that pink-haired model paused by the presence of the reapers, and yet not noticing Edward amongst their kind yet. Vera was facing off against the dragon herself, yet neither of them had broken the equilibrium of caution and warning.

It all laid in balance. A quiet balance.

[b]“Ladies and gentlemen, I have an announcement to make.”[/b] A soothing, confident voice. Practiced and planned, from a man who was born with a silver spoon. [b]“Jeunes Fleures and L’ile aux fees will be merging.”[/b]

That balance was broken.

Even as a reaper, the necromancer could feel the surge of excitement rippling through the ground, followed by undertones of anxiety and fear. Two influential companies had joined forces permanently! A competitor had suddenly become just that much stronger! Goddamn, imagine the pieces they could create together!

In ordinary circumstances, this was nothing. But when there were ghosts present? That influx of emotion triggered something.

A twitch. A gleeful laugh.

The young child, clutching a flower-shaped bag to her chest, could finally remove it, exposing her bones. Bones studded with flower seeds, which sprouted and expanded, shooting upwards towards the ceiling. They snaked around the lights, but the rumble of discussion of the guests made them deaf to the rattling of the ceiling, and from those sky-lusting roots, carnations bloomed. The two remaining ghosts, shook from their deathly trance, tried to float off, but their incorporeal limbs were snagged by thorn whips, dragged into the back-bending embrace of the child.

Embraced, until petals closed over all three, sealing them in bulb of motley purples and oranges.

Cannibalism. The nature of wisps was to consume those who had yet to turn and to use that energy to further fertilize their phantom-being.

And though two were already being digested…there was another. One that had yet to draw his weapon.

Tendrils, laced with the ceiling itself, reached out for Edward. He could rip through one or two, perhaps. Three even. Four if he tried. He could handle a dozen at once with good positioning. But how many branches did a rosebush have?

…

It was chaos invisible to all but those who were dead and those who could see.

And the dragon, certainly, must have been dead.

Ephemeral flame, once nothing more than an illusion of that element, sparked with true power now, broiling within its exposed chest.
There was a strange woman, and a stranger wisp, and its bestial rage was enough to encompass them both. With a snapping that sounded like a lighter’s spark wheel, the dragon’s jaws opened up and delivered a jet of flame to burn the two of them alive!

…or dead, one would suppose.