@Lady Amalthea Okay, I finally got the post up. It took me awhile. I swear it takes me at least half an hour per a character to write a good quality post. I wouldn't say this is my best post, but it was the best I could come up with at the moment. >.<
mnkee
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*Retired Account, Archiving for the sake of my writing
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As Thalken left the Glimmeric, the sun was setting and so with it went its warmth and light. The practically barren streets of London were cast into the shadows, giving them a more ominous feel. If the streets were dangerous during the day, they were most certainly treacherous come nightfall. And yet, one could say this was Thalken's domain. After all, he had lived a life in the darkness and was only beginning to relish the light.
He opted to take the same route he had traversed earlier today. His hand rested on the hilt of his Dao as he navigated the dark alleyways through the Strand to the Adelphi area. It wasn't the safest means of travel, but it was certainly quicker, particularly for those like himself who were quite familiar with them. As long as you didn't run into any criminals along the way, the lessened amount of congestion made for swifter travel. However, that factor seemed to matter little tonight, as the streets of London were oddly empty. Fear drove people to their homes out on the countryside, as if that would provide them better protection. No, as far as Thalken saw it, that just made them easier to pick off one by one.
Thalken traveled quickly through the Adelphi area to the nearby docks. He had anticipated to run into someone or to encounter some form of resistance along the way, but he hadn't. One would think that the lack of problems would put him at ease, but it in fact did quite the opposite. It put him on edge the remainder of his travels. Considering all he had seen and experienced yesterday and today, he did not buy for one second that tonight was going to be purely peaceful. Something was a foot. He could feel it in his bones.
He finally passed through the docks, which were surprisingly constable free. He supposed even they did not want to remain outside after dark. He quickly covered the remaining distance home, and soon enough he was stepping foot inside the manor on the Talink Estate. The absence of his sister and father quickly became apparent to him, and it only served to add to his tension. According to the servants they were settling the terms of a business transaction with the Crypts. Thalken did not like that they had left without him. If only he knew the deal the Lady Crypt was making with the devil...
Fyror and Gerard finally rode into St. Albans as the sun set. It quickly became apparent that the small hamlet was filled to the brim with people. Fyror figured they were most likely leaving, or rather fleeing, London for the so called safety of their homes out on the countryside. His mind was too preoccupied to entertain the thought of whether or not leaving the confines of London was an intelligent decision.
They once more had to stop to change horses and to check the carriage. At this point, Fyror had lost count of how many stops they had made today. All he knew was that with every minute lost was one more minute that Lord Rutherford had on them. They had to get to Millicent before it was too late. Despite the dangers that traveling at night posed, Fyror was even more determined to press on. If they waited until morning to travel, the roads would be heavily congested with all these travelers, and thus they would slow them down tremendously. As far as he saw it, that wasn't an option even if the alternative was a risky one.
While the horses were quickly being changed, he paced outside the carriage to stretch his long legs and to burn off some energy. His face grew grim as he heard the none too comforting conversations around him. Washed out roads was the last thing they needed considering they were already behind as is. He hoped at least that meant Lord Rutherford would have to hunker down in Nottingham for awhile while the storm past. One could only hope and pray in the given circumstances.
Fyror turned as a man approached them. "We are heading for Manchester on urgent business," he addressed the man.
Sirena slipped in between people to make her way to the front of the crowd. All the while she took everything in with a soft yet inquisitive gaze. Her brows furrowed when the flask, the very thing that was calling to something deep within her, finally came into her view. Strangely by it was the sleeping form of a man, Mycroft Crypt, the Lord Dywell. Though the temptation of the flask was great, she was not so foolish and lacking in self control to not seek out answers first before even considering heeding its call.
Her gaze turned to Septima as the woman seemingly chastised the brown haired, blue eyed Millicent. Her head tilted a bit to the side as she listened to the witch's words, which did not make complete sense to Sirena seeing as she wasn't privy to the context of the conversation. Septima's gaze then met hers, as if having sensed her eavesdropping. She returned the woman's raised brow and unspoken words by arching one of her own pale blonde brows. She hoped the woman would elaborate, and that the woman did.
Sirena's lips thinned at Septima's next words. Her breath left her as she finally put two and two together. This was the flask they had been searching for, as commissioned by Mr. Alucard. It was the flask that had caused such pain and devastation on Tortuga and beyond. It was the reason they were all here, the reason they had lost their lives, and apparently their souls as well. Her jaw clenched, and her blue eyes darkened to something more reminiscent of a stormy night. And yet her eyes also held such intelligence and determination. She promptly approached Septima and Millicent.
"I have been enslaved enough in life. I will not be further enslaved in death. What is power without freedom? It is nothing," she butted in, her voice strong and assured. "If the flask is all that stands between us and true freedom, we should destroy it. Perhaps then it will release our souls, or perhaps not. Nothing good ever came without a little risk." Her attention suddenly snapped away as a scream pierced through the dullness of the ocean. She momentarily looked at a loss for words as she watched Mycroft Crypt. She glanced back at Septima with a questioning look before returning to the man as an unsettling smile came to his features. Her gaze eventually drifted past him to Édouard. What did the Frenchman do this time?
Edgard's gaze narrowed on Aravis as the woman spoke. He felt that there was something totally off about her. It was more than just the fact that she seemed completely unfazed by his outburst. No, it was the fact that her demeanor was so emotionless that it seemed almost lifeless, or soulless. He glanced over at Alisanne and ended up doing a double take when he caught her rolling her eyes at him. "What?!" he spat as irritably as ever at her.
Alisanne raised her hand, perhaps to silence him? He didn't really know. His harsh gaze softened slightly as it landed on the ring she wore, the sun glinting off of the metal. A warmth filled him at seeing her wear the ring he had given her, and the corner of his lip pulled up. Apparently in the wake of his distraction and moment of reminiscing he missed the telltale signs that she was pissed. Pain suddenly pulsated through him as she suddenly struck him across the cheek, the force of which slung his head to the side. Genuine shock crossed his features just as he felt a warm liquid trickle down his cheek.
He touched his cheek and then pulled back his hand to reveal blood. His jaw clenched, and his nostrils flared. A storm brewed in his eyes as his gaze swung back to her, his open glare meeting her narrowed eyes. "What the hell was that for?!" he yelled.
"Je ne suis pas morte, connard!" Alisanne shouted back at him.
"J'ai un peu pensé ça! Cela n'explique toujours pas comment vous êtes encore là !" Edgard growled. Of course he was too embroiled in his current argument to take notice of Anastasia's sudden appearance.
*Blinks*
@Lady Amalthea... white flame of purity O_o!?
...
Too bad we can't throw some soulless at it, I wonder what the effect would be.
No, hurry!! We need to throw some Talinks at it!!! XP
boo >_> those Talinks... what's with them, being a frog wanting to eat swan meant or something <_<
Hey now. Thalken's getting better. And Thalcona isn't that bad either. They're working to change the Talink name into something more positive. Beowulf on the other hand is a lost cause.
Location: St. Albans (Stage Coach Post)
As soon as the carriage came to a stop in front of a Stage Coach Post in St. Alban's, Fyror, followed by Gerard, promptly exited the carriage. They needed a change of horses before they could continue on with their journey. Fyror broke away from Gerard to talk to their carriage driver, who happened to be one of Colchester Garrison's carriage drivers and a soldier in his own right. "Good sir, we have a change of route in mind for us. If we break away from the Great North Road and take this Stage Coach Route headed straight for Manchester, we should buy ourselves some precious time. The quicker we get to Gretna Green the better," he explained to the driver, pulling out his map and pointing to the route.
Gerard was thankful enough to be able to stretch his body once they arrived at their stop over. He wasn't that much used to sitting, being cooped up in a small coach, as usually he was the one who drives them. It won't be long to have the horses changed, which after that they'd continue on with their journey. He hopes that with their newly planned route, they'd be able to have a much bigger chance in getting there on time to save Millie.
While he there, his eyes darted towards a familiar sight, and only then realizing that the broken down coach farther across him, was the exact same one that took Millie the night before. Seeing it the way it made his heart tense. What could have happened? There was no mistaking it. He absently paced towards it and just some steps away. "This is it. " he gestured Fryor, "This was the same coach that took Miss Millie away that evening." Gerard then approached one of the people, a worker at the post, who the both of them will definitely get some answers from regarding the coach.
Fyror finished up discussing the change of routes with their carriage driver before starting to help change out the horses to speed up the process. Before he could do much, Gerard called out to him. His gaze swung over the stable hand, and his brows furrowed at the man's words. "Are you certain?" he asked. Regardless of his question, he stopped what he was doing and followed Gerard over to the broken down carriage.
One of the workers who was working on the broken down carriage caught sight of the approaching men, when they came face to face Gerard asked him questions immediately. "Did you see the owner of this coach? Where are they?" His eyes burned with intensity as he looked at him, in an almost demanding nature yet the other one seemed to be less affected by it.
His eyes switched to Gerard, and to Fryor, shrugging as he went back to his work "Can't say I have. With ol them noble types that come and go here. I might've, if one of yous help me remember." he side glances Gerard, and then he understood what he was trying to mean.
Fyror let out a sigh, figuring out pretty quickly what the worker was implying. The man wouldn't speak unless he was paid to do so. Why couldn't people just do things out of the goodness of their hearts? Fyror looked annoyed as he reached into his red jacket and pulled out his wallet. He took out a few coins and handed them over to the man. "Will that be enough for your troubles?" he asked tersely. The man seemed to take a minute to look over the coins and then them before nodding his head. "Good then. Answer my friend's questions. Who owned this carriage, and where did they go?" he inquired, getting straight to business. Fyror looked a bit imposing as he crossed his muscular arms over his chest and looked down at the man with an intensity to his eyes, but perhaps that would be to their benefit for a change.
"Well, I didn't get their names but I got a decent look at them," the man began. He went on to explain that there was a lord fitting Rutherford's description, a young, pale woman with brown hair who was clearly Millicent, two brutish men who were likely guards, and of course their carriage driver. "They didn't stay for long. They paid off a man to take them to Nottingham. This all occurred before sun up this morning." Fyror nodded his head in understanding before glancing over at Gerard.
Gerard felt a tentative relief at what he heard, glancing at Fryor and back to the worker. He did not delay to press him with more questions. Worriedly glancing shortly at the state of the broken down coach, he asked him "Did something happen? "
"See, they all came to the post on horseback, telling us the carriage has broken down a few miles south." the man cracked the joints of his knuckles then shook his head "Seemed like they were pushing too hard in a ride that's meant for light travel and not for long hard distances."
"If they've been pushing that hard as is, when they get to Nottingham they are likely not going to stop for the night. I suggest we don't either when we reach St. Albans if we wish to have any hope of cutting them off in Manchester," Fyror stated grimly to Gerard.
It's been some time since all happened, and it's most likely that Millicent is almost or beyond halfway to Gretna's by now. They can only hope there's still enough time to catch up on them, and with a little more intuition they might. Gerard can handle to push through with their traveling, if it means having a good chance on catching up.
"We should push through, it's the only way we can have a chance to reach them."Gerard turned to Fryor, more determined than usually patient in the tone of his voice. Not even his own tiredness will make him stop for anything, it's not like he can have some proper rest with Millie still out there.
Fyror nodded his head in agreement before spinning on his heels and heading back to their carriage, which at this time had a fresh set of horses. The both of them quickly got aboard the carriage, and then they were off again once more. They would need to make two more stops at stage coach posts along the way if they wished to keep their horses fresh. The more time wasted was the more time Lord Rutherford would have to get ahead of them, and for them to make it to Gretna Green first was not an option. They had to cut them off if they wished to save Millicent's life.
Fyror was anxious to say the least as he sat back in the carriage. He let out a sigh and held his temple between his fingers as he leaned back against the seat. His mind went back to what that man had said in regards to Lord Rutherford's company. "I should have figured that Lord Rutherford would bring guards with him. He is not going to give up Millicent willingly, Mr. Connolly," he stated, looking over at Gerard. His lips thinned, and a deadly serious look came upon his face. "If our confrontation becomes violent, I want you to grab Millicent and go. I will hold them off the best I can." One of his hands fell to the hilt of his sword, while the other patted his musket. And he meant every word he said to a fault. Gain his loyalty and he will be your greatest ally, but hurt an innocent life and he will be your worst nightmare.
Gerard could see his seriousness on his words. There was truly no way of knowing the danger that comes their way. Undoubtedly, it would be a tough encounter. If it were only possible to assist him when things ever turn that way, he would do so. He could not take another death of a companion, with an unspoken pledge to watch each other's back as most partners do. Yet saving Millie was their ultimate goal, and no matter the costs even though possibly trading a life for another should be unnecessary. After some thought, nevertheless Gerard gave Fryor a short nod, as he agrees on the plan at hand.
The daylight streaming into the carriage diminished with every mile they traveled, and yet every second felt like an eternity. For the duration of their travel to St. Albans, Fyror mulled over what information he had again and again in his mind and scoured his maps for any side routes that would buy them some time. He only stopped for the short time it took to change out horses at each stop. Their combined tension permeated around them in the carriage. Soon enough they would reach St. Albans. The sun had set, but it seemed their journey was only just beginning.
>Trying to get things done before the weekend is up like...
Edgard's head tilted to the side as he looked down at Alisanne. His stormy blue eyes darkened and narrowed slightly. Was she enjoying this, his utter torment? Well, she always did like a little insanity and to live at the eye of his storm. He leaned forward to whisper in her ear, with a slight growl to his voice, "You are lucky I love you because you are really starting to piss me off." The corner of his mouth twitched as he pulled away. Her amusement annoyed him, and yet he found that he could never truly be angry with her when she was just being her evil self. No, he found it too damn attractive. Surely, she would be his downfall.
His gaze followed Alisanne's to the brown skinned woman nearby. The woman was watching them, or him with a seemingly emotionless gaze. Could she see Alisanne too? Whatever, he didn't care. He started to turn away but then his curiosity got the better of him. He actually cared more than he would like to attempt even to himself. "What are you staring at?" he spat irritably at the woman. That certainly wasn't the proper way to get information, but he wasn't really in the mood to sit down to have little chat. He wanted answers NOW.
Sirena drank in her foreign surroundings with her inquisitive blue eyed gaze. Her overall demeanor was relaxed as a small smile graced her features. She watched as the tide rolled in to crash onto the sandy beach with a spray of sea foam before receding. Further inland she saw a dense jungle, which was likely filled to the brim with wildlife. What treasures laid within these sands and waters? What adventures laid in wait? Surely, the afterlife was filled with endless adventures, the first of which was calling out to her. Perhaps she would think differently if she knew that it was that godforsaken flask that was drawing her in. Everything, even life and death, seemed to be hinged on it.
She walked forward, following a path in the beach that would lead her to that which called for her. Her brows furrowed the slightest bit at the odd sensations that walking on the sand elicited. One minute she could feel it as it shifted under her feet and the next it seemingly fazed through her. It was like she was a ghost, trapped between the world of the living and the world of the dead. Regardless, she continued onward unfazed by the notion. Eventually, she came upon a precipice overlooking a lake. She oddly felt compelled to jump, to dive into its depths. So she did. She took a swan dive off the ledge and into the waters below. The water seemed to rush up to meet her, and as she passed through it, she was chilled to the very bone. She fell down and down until she ended up in a cavern beneath the lake itself, and soon enough her feet finally touched solid ground.
Before her are a multitude of people, all seemingly hovering around something. She can't see the flask due to all the bodies blocking it, but she could feel its call stronger than ever. She walked forward as her gaze took in the people, even picking out some vaguely familiar faces, like those of Édouard's crew. She was not really shocked, relieved, or upset by the presence of others. She was just more or less indifferent, at least that was until she practically ran into Édouard of all people. Her gaze trailed up his body, and her blue eyes widened as they landed on his face. Bloody hell, she thought. It donned on her after a moment of staring that the fact that he was here at all meant he was also dead. Was it wrong that she held a certain amount of satisfaction at the thought? A devious smirk replaced her once shocked features. "It seems you ultimately got what was coming to you," she teased. She gave him a sly wink before turning away from him to figure out what everyone was staring at.
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