mnkee

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

@Lady Amalthea Well, damn. Elizaveta certainly doesn't like Thalken or Thalcona. Lol. XD

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

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Location: Almack’s
“It’s our choices that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.”

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Fyror took in a deep breath as he surveyed the damage in the ballroom dealt by the Soulless and by the ton. “Are you all alright?” he ask, turning to face his family. Even when they nodded their heads in response, he still looked them over each in turn: his father Colonel Theodore, mother Lilith, younger sister Genevieve, and younger brother Leon.

“Are you sure you are alright? What all happened to you?” his father Colonel Theodore inquired, looking Fyror over.

“I am alright, physically anyways, father. Can we go over the details later?” Fyror replied. “Right now I wish to see that my friends are alright and then help deal with those who have fallen.” His father nodded his head in reply before stepping aside.

Fyror murmured his thanks and began to slowly make his rounds through the ballroom and eventually to the rooms beyond. He noted the amount of people who were dead or injured and all the destruction that had been caused in the chaos. His younger brother Leon followed alongside him, sent on behalf of their family who was clearly not too keen on letting Fyror slip away by himself again. He couldn’t blame them for worrying. “So much death and destruction in such a short timeframe, this does not bode well,” he stated solemnly, glancing over at his brother as they walked together.

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Location: Almack’s
“Sometimes I’m terrified of my heart; of its constant hunger for whatever it is it wants. The way it stops and starts.”

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Thalken brazenly scowls at Virginia with such raw intensity in those dark eyes of his. Most cannot see past that ever-present coldness he exudes, and rightly so. Most cannot fathom the soul behind it, and who could blame them. And yet, believe or not, there is so much more to Thalken than meets the eye. No one, except perhaps his sister Thalcona, is privy to the maelstrom of thoughts, emotions, and ideals that war inside his head on a daily basis. The instincts of a killer fighting for, and often winning, supremacy over the desire to be so much better than this. He wasn’t always like this. Understanding him used to be much more straight shot. He was a mercenary like his father through and through, with no doubt that his path in life was the right path for him. But in a moment, that was all shredded into pieces. The moment his mother was brutally murdered changed him forever. The veil through which he viewed his father through was torn. He realized that his father was a monster. He realized that he was a monster too. He holds all of this bitterness and turmoil within himself, and it is all filtered out in the only way he knows how, as sheer coldness. And right now, when he stares at the Lady Crypt, he doesn’t really see her per se. He sees his father’s mistakes, the wretched dealings the Talink family has made, the innocent lives lost—so much darkness, so much pain. The sooner people have the decency to settle their disputes without bloodshed, the sooner his father would be out of business and the man’s nefarious actions laid to rest.

Thalken took in a sharp breath as his sister jabbed him in the ribs, breaking him from his brooding and intense staring. Thalcona gestured over to the Grand Duchess Elizaveta, who was apparently talking to him. Whether or not he took the Grand Duchess’s words to heart was anyone’s guess as his expression remained unchanged. It remained just plain cold. Thalcona rolled her eyes at him and let out an amused snort before addressing Elizaveta. “Trust me when I say this, Your Grace, you do not want to try to get inside my brother’s head as it is very dark in there. It makes it easy to get lost,” Thalcona stated jokingly at first before growing increasingly solemn, her eyes moving to look directly at Thalken. “And he cannot deny it, because he knows it’s true.”

Thalken’s jaw clenched, the only outward indication that his sister’s words had hit home. She was right, as usual, but he wouldn’t admit that openly. He sheathed his throwing knife before pushing away from the wall and walking out of the room without a word. He went in the direction that he had seen the Lady Crypt and Mary Hale go in, and it did not take him long to locate them. He stopped several feet away from them and leaned casually against the wall. He watched them as they decided upon how to move the body of their fallen friend as the words of his sister and the Grand Duchess went through his head. A part of him realized that this would be a great opportunity to do some good while away from his father’s judgmental gaze. But unfortunately helping people doesn’t come easily to Thalken.

He shifted his weight back and forth before finally letting out a huff and stalking over to them. He stopped as he came up beside Virginia, who was currently crouched down by the lifeless body of Jeanette. “Move,” he stated as gruffly as ever. “I’ll get her.”

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

@Lady Amalthea Okay, I am about to post a simpler post for Fyror, as I am not sure that I want him to meet up with the others just yet. And I am posting a more in depth post for Thalken, where I expand upon what all is going on in his head and why he acts in the strange way that he does.

Strange New Waters - Concluded

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Location: Twelve Daggers Tavern - Port of Tortuga

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Édouard seemed to be content for the moment, looking at Sirena's hair. He had never seen something so fine in his lifetime, to the extent that he was certain his own fiancée would look like a hag in comparison. It was a shame that he couldn't understand her, but he felt that Sirena could pick up French in time. The words that she would say to him and whisper in his ear, his ears turned a bit red in turn at the very thought.

The bandaged man laughed a bit, with a grin appearing on his face. It almost looked like he was straining to do it, as if he had forgotten how to smile ages ago. Sirena’s smirk grew a little more at hearing the man laugh. That was certainly an improvement. "Right ye be, ye're nay man at all," the man replied, before hesitating for a moment. He tilted his head as if to look directly at Édouard, but of course it was impossible for him to see the Frenchman. It was impossible for him to see anything. "I can show ye...He'll need t' get back," the man nodded.

"My Captain an' I, we got th' flask an' we kept 't. I be th' Quartermaster ye be seein' an' we tookst jus' a sip, jus' a sip....Ye must know what happened t' th' lad," the man continued. "He drowned on dry land. An' me...I can show ye what happened t' me."

Sirena raised an eyebrow at the man’s request. She glanced over at Édouard then back at the man. “Alright then,” she stated as she shrugged her shoulders. A mischievous glint lit up her blue eyes as she turned to face Édouard. Now this shall be fun. She placed both of her hands on his chest and tried shoving him backwards with all her might. “Move now!” she exclaimed before turning back to the bandaged-up man. “Do continue.”

Édouard didn't budge, his left leg landing behind his right with a slight bend to afford him stability. He furrowed his eyes in confusion, before one of his mates motioned for him to back off. While Édouard didn't speak English, some of his crew did. It was supposed to be the language of the New World, the language of riches and power. Most of the men who wanted to take Édouard's power away from him could speak English, vowing to be nothing like the Frenchman.

Sirena promptly looked back over at Édouard when she realized that she hadn’t budged him. She let out a small huff of frustration. The man needs to learn some English so people don’t have to play a game of charades with him, she thought to herself. Sirena looked over gratefully at one of Édouard’s crew members who finally motioned the oblivious the Frenchman to back off.

Once Édouard had almost begrudgingly backed off, standing next to a post, the man held up a single finger, indicating for everyone to be still. Those nearby seemed to get the picture, but the rest of the tavern was just as rowdy and loud as ever. Slowly, he unwrapped the bandages, the cloth slowly falling onto the table until there was nothing to block his eyes. At first glance, there was nothing wrong with them. He had them closed tight, quivering a bit from perhaps nerves, but there was no wound to speak of.

Sirena watched the man closely. She stood still as he requested and watched in anticipation as he slowly unwrapped his bandages. Her brows furrowed slightly as he revealed nothing of particular note, apart from his closed quivering eyes. There was no wound, but perhaps if he was simply blinded there wouldn’t be?

"Are ye ready, miss?" the man asked, before silently doing the sign of the cross. He then opened his eyes. They were entirely red and bloodshot, with his dark irises having a certain warmth to them. But soon after, there was a scream in the tavern as Édouard yelped and jumped back. The post next to Édouard had been set ablaze.

Sirena nodded her head in response, before watching him closely again, this time with a sense of trepidation. She squinted her eyes slightly when the man finally opened his eyes. They didn’t have the traditional cloudiness of a blindman’s eyes, instead they were red and bloodshot and had an odd warmth to them rather than coldness. Strange. Sirena let out a small gasp when she heard a yelp behind her. She spun around in time to see the very post that Édouard had been leaning against was now on fire.

"'Tis a curse, miss. Make nay mistake," the man said, offering an explanation as he closed his eyes. The bartender, perhaps used to fires with this sort of crowd, threw water on the post quickly, dampening and killing the flames.

Sirena’s attention returned to the man with the bandages. She started laughing at the absurdity of his claims. “What, you are saying that you caused that? You can’t be serious?” she inquired jokingly, but her laughter soon diminished at seeing the grave seriousness on the man’s face. “Such powers or curses are only in myths, like the Gorgons of Greek Mythology, surely?” And yet as she stood there, she couldn’t help but slowly believe that what all he had said and had shown might actually be true.

The man didn't seem to take Sirena's laughter very well. He had done as she requested and given her all the information he had. He had shown her his curse, the very thing that would drag him down to meet Davy Jones himself. Fortunately, her laughter didn't last very long, but he couldn't forget the way it sounded. Rather than answer her question, he gazed down at the table and opened his eyes. A moment later, the table itself was in flames.

"Believe 't or nay, miss. A curse be a curse all th' same," he then shut his eyes again and grabbed the bandages, narrowly saving them from being consumed by the flames. Wrapping them around his eyes, he gazed directly at her. "How else can ye explain, miss, that I can be seein' ye now? An' that everywhere I look wi' me eyes open, 'tis like th' devil appears?"

Sirena gasped when the table was lit a fire merely by the man opening his eyes and gazing down at it. She looked over at the man with wide eyes before staring back down at the fire. This cannot be real. My mind is just playing tricks on me, she thought to herself unconvincingly as she shook her head. Though she had witnessed it all with her own two eyes, she still needed more concrete evidence to convince her that supernatural powers existed in actuality. She hesitantly reached a hand out towards the fire, and as she felt the intense heat of it lightly burn her hand, she winced and quickly pulled her hand away. She took a shuttering breath. It is real. Her normally confident demeanor faltered at the realization, and an inkling of fear appeared in her eyes. After a few moments of silently staring at the burn mark forming on the palm of her hand, she pushed past the fear that threatened her and finally looked back over at the man. “I believe you.” she said earnestly. “But I still have more questions for you.”

The fire sputtered out, thanks to another thrown glass of rum. It was anyone's bet whether the majority of the alcohol in the tavern was thrown or consumed at this point. Édouard looked a little antsy, as he stared at Sirena, his eyes boring into her. Most of his men were watching the bandaged man, the former Quartermaster of Captain Avery Swale. The man had to be Elias Smith, then. Elias nodded at Sirena, understanding that she had more questions.

"So do I, miss," Elias said simply, before smiling sadly to himself. "Don`t touch th' thin', miss, if I canna persuade ye to--" But his words were cut off. Almost as if an angry nest of hornets were inside him, a strange rippling effect went across his skin. It was almost like the waves of the sea. His skin then turned the same soot color that his hands had been, and then not a second later, his body collapsed into a pile of ashes.

"Incroyable," Édouard muttered, looking more impressed than anything else.

Sirena’s eyes widened when the man’s skin began to ripple, as if there was something inside him that was itching to get out. What the hell is going on?! she thought, taking a step backwards out of caution. No sooner had she put a little space between them did the man’s body begin to turn sooty and then quickly disintegrate right before her eyes. “NO!!” she screamed out in frustration, lurching forwards. But there was nothing she could do, and within seconds the man had been inexplicably reduced to ash. “You have got to be kidding me?!” she bit out.

Great, just great. My best source of information has been reduced to smithereens. Now I am stuck getting information from the French man child again. She rubbed her temple between her fingers, feeling like a headache was going to come on at any second. She stayed like that for a few moments before turning to face the Frenchmen with a sigh. “Any of you by chance speak both French and English? I could certainly use a translator when discussing this matter with Édouard. It beats having to basically play a game of charades with him,” she inquired, gesturing over at Édouard with a wave of her hand.

One Frenchman raised his hand. He was a bit short compared to the others and rounder as well, with an almost honest smile on his face. However, his eyes looked somewhat treacherous and beady, as if someone had accidentally put the wrong eyes on a jolly little man's body. The entire effect, to say the least, was highly unsettling. And if that wasn't enough, his fingers looked gnarled and mangled, the result of some horrible accident. "Ai can translate, mademoiselle."

Sirena’s gaze landed on the Frenchman who volunteered for the job. He certainly wasn’t easy on the eyes, but as long as he could translate for her, he would suffice. After all, it would save a lot of time and frustration on both her part and Édouard’s. “Thank you,” she replied with an appreciative nod of her head.

The man then turned to Édouard to explain what was going to happen. "Je serai traducteur pour vous et Mademoiselle Ikaria," the translator explained, eliciting a snort and a few nasty words under Édouard's breath. It was no secret of his hatred for the man. He had been the cause of the translator's ghastly hands, something that Édouard considered to be one of his finer accomplishments in life.

While she waited for the man to explain what was going on to Édouard, Sirena looked down at the slight burn mark on the palm of her hand. It still stung a little as she absentmindedly traced it with a finger. She finally looked up when the Frenchmen’s talking had stopped. She straightened up, pulling her shoulders back and lifting her chin up. “Ask Édouard what he knows about the cursed flask that a Mr. Alucard has promised to pay people big money for. I could only glean so much information before my informant spontaneously combusted,” she explained to the translator before her blue-eyed gaze met Édouard’s.

The man nodded, grimacing slightly as he glanced at the ashes again. He had seen some weird things in his lifetime, but never quite this strange. "Édouard, elle voudrait que vous lui parliez du sujet de la fiole maudite. Que savez-vous, monsieur?" Édouard thought for a moment, considering his reply or more likely struggling to remember the information he had on it. To be truthful, almost everything he knew about it was written on the scroll in his quarters. It was what made them aware of the flask's existence in the first place.

"La fiole, elle a beaucoup de pouvoir," Édouard mused. "Le pouvoir comme la sorcellerie...la magie noire."

His translator nodded before turning to Sirena and translating for her. "He says zhat ze flask 'as a great amount ov power. Power like witchcraft, mademoiselle." Édouard then added something to his translator, speaking in a low tone that made it difficult to hear, but his translator seemed to speak mutter. "He says there iz a scroll in 'is possession zhat mentions ze flask."

Sirena scoffed at the so-called information she was provided. “Well, that is a bit obvious, don’t you think? Try telling me something that I don’t already know,” she retorted irritably, gesturing at the pile of ashes that lay behind her for added emphasis. She shook her head and turned her back on them as she rubbed her temple. She started to pace as she thought back on what she already knew about the flask. However, she paused for a split second and her brows furrowed slightly when she heard the translator say something about a scroll. You mean the scroll I stole awhile back ago? Well, it is nice to confirm that it indeed does talk about the flask. It’s a shame that I can’t read the damn thing since it is in French. Can’t very well have one of Édouard’s men translate it, now can I, she thought to herself. She let out a sigh as she continued her pacing.

She tapped her chin in thoughtful consideration as she paced back and forth. She spoke out loud her various thought processes, and Édouard's translator did the best he could keep up. “For one, the flask is said to be located in the Devil’s Triangle. The place in and of itself has a mystical element to it. Perhaps the flask draws its powers from the place, or from some sort of vengeful spirits of those who died there." The translator then glanced at Édouard, whose eyebrows were furrowed with confusion, before hurriedly beginning his work again. The translation wasn't perfect or exact, but he was doing his best to get Sirena's points across. "Tout d'abord, la fiole est dans le Triangle des Bermudes. Cet endroit est mystique. C'est possible que la fiole acquière son pouvoir d'y ou des fantôme vengeurs qui sont devenus morts là."

"Then the man said that he and his captain, Captain Avery Swale, drank from the flask. And they both eventually died as a result of it. I wonder if Captain Swale gained any powers before he died or if the flask just has different effects on different people."

"Ensuite l'homme a dit qu'il et son capitaine, Capitaine Avery Swale, ont bu de la fiole. Et ils, tous le deux, sont morts finalement à cause de ça. Elle se demande si Capitaine Swale a acquis un pouvoir avant de son mort ou si la fiole a des effets différents pour des personnes."

"But why give people powers just to inevitably kill the people later on?"

"Mais pourquoi est-ce qu'elle donne du pouvoir aux personnes avant de tuer les mêmes personnes plus tard fatalement?"

"Perhaps the flask itself doesn’t kill them but death is just a consequence of not knowing how to control the strange powers that it dishes out. Like a blessing and a curse all wrapped into one. Afterall, the man couldn’t look at people with his own eyes and yet he could still see people—” She found that the more she thought about it the more questions she ended up having.

The translator took a deep breath, glad that it seemed Sirena was coming to the end of her verbal trains of thought. He may speak English, but he was beginning to feel a slight strain on his skills. "Peut-être la fiole ne les tue pas mais la mort est une consèquence de ne pas savoir comment on contrôle des pouvoirs bizarres qu'elle donne. Comme une bénédiction et une malédiction en même temps." Édouard, for what it was worth, seemed to have followed Sirena's train of thought. Yet it was clear by the expression on his face that he had the very same questions Sirena had. He knew just as little as she did. The only person in the Caribbean who knew more, as far as anyone was aware, was Mr. Alucard himself.

"Parle avec Monsieur Alucard," Édouard instructed. Parler was one of the few French verbs that any pirate would instantly recognize, relating it back to the right of parlay in the pirate's code. Édouard's translator wouldn't be needed--he was instructing Sirena to go seek out Mr. Alucard.

Sirena halted her pacing and turned back to face Édouard as he spoke words that she could understand without the help of a translator. A small smirk graced her features as she approached him. “My captain has already spoken to Mr. Alucard. Clearly, he was not too forthcoming with information as I was sent out to gather intel on the flask,” she replied. She crossed her arms over her chest as she stopped a few feet in front of Édouard. She pursed her lips with clear disdain evident in her facial expression. “We are being played by Mr. Alucard. He sends us out on a mission but doesn’t give us all the information we need to complete it successfully. He has ulterior motives, and I can’t help but want to find out just what those are.”

Édouard's translator was thinking through the translation, but Édouard heard Sirena say Alucard's name and the disdain in her voice. Her body language made it clear--she wasn't happy with the man. A few moments later, his translator rapidly confirmed his suspicions in French, and Édouard bit his lips, before smirking in turn. Motioning towards his translator, he leaned in and whispered something to the man, before clapping him on the back and nodding his leave at Sirena.

"He says zat 'e does not vork for Monsieur Alucard," the translator explained. "Ze Fraternité du Sang has zheir own designs for ze flask."

A wicked gleam came to Sirena’s eyes as she watched Édouard depart. I hope you have enjoyed the peace between us while it lasted, Édouard. As I have a feeling the next time we meet it will be on less than friendly terms, she thought to herself. Once he was out of sight, she turned to face the room. She had gathered a decent amount of intel to take back to her captain, but her work was still not done yet. The Bellona needed a crew before they could set sail to the Devil’s Triangle in search of the accursed flask. Surely, someone on this god forsaken island would be up to the task.

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

@Lady Amalthea Well, I will better manage my time better this round so I can effectively contemplate and write up a post. I'll take this as an opportunity to do a little character development. I see Thalken's sister Thalcona as one who aids in that process. Man, if anything happens to her he will blow his top. It will be a spectacular display of sheer violent rage. XD

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

@Lady Amalthea I guess Thalken is just useful at killing, gathering intel, and making you very uncomfortable or irritated. XD

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

@Lady Amalthea Oh, don't worry Veta will be safe from Thalken. Thalken is too busy turning into a creepy stalker. I guess his logic is that if you don't understand something or someone just glare at it/them and maybe the knowledge will just come to you. He has zero proper social skills if you haven't already figured that out. XD

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

And he's not even staring at her like he is checking her out, he is just glaring at her like he wants to kill her. XD

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

eye-molesting the Lady Crypt

@Sigil

I am surprised I didn't choke on the chips I was eating when I read that. Oh lord. XD

"Use vords, not glares to communicate. You vill go further."

@Lady Amalthea

LOL!! This keeps getting better and better!!
Andddd.....
You're killing me with these Millicent posts! D':

Strange New Waters - Concluded

@Morose Wait, what?! I have a bad feeling this has to do with our collab. D: