Antiques crowd the stuffy little shop, a glorious hotch-potch of cultures and fashions through the ages. There is everything from ancient China to early Islam here on display. There are English teapots and Russian dolls, all of them covered in a fine layer of dust. At the desk at the very back of the store sits an old man, his till also antique, the keys clunky like an aging typewriter. Nathan nods his head in the guy's direction and gets a grumble in response so he continues to browse.
Though many items have lost their lustre in the store, they stand in their dusty cabinets with all glory and pride intact. Coats of patina embrace stone and copper sculptures like the varnish of age and wisdom. As Nathan slides his hand on the baroque dining table, feeling the ornate carvings radiate the maker's emotions, he takes in the mellow aroma of oak that has never evaporated. The table is heavily ornate with the most exquisite carving. It had the Chippendale look with its cabriole legs. The claw-and-ball feet suggests that it had been American made. Its wood was the deep rich mahogany that all of the more expensive pieces were made from.
In the corner of the small store is a mirror half hung from the ceiling. The mirror is framed with what look like golden leaves from a weeping willow. At the top of the mirror, also in gold, is a cherubic face meant to be an angel. Above the angel's head is a crown with many points. The mirror itself is tarnished, perhaps it has been polished a few times too many, or maybe that's just what happens with age but Nathan can still make out the reflection of a moving curtain behind the store keeper. He watches it carefully and withdraws a small token he received earlier in the evening from some crazed peddler on the street. The bald man had sold him the copper coin along with the advice to head to this store and “see what treasures awaited within!”
Nathan isn't sure if this was some trick the natives used on all tourists to lure them into a den of thieves, but he lived for this brand of excitement and wasn't about to pass this opportunity up.
The store is wedged between two taller buildings. It looks squeezed, as if the neighbours were closing in and trying to pop it like a pimple. The sign scrawled on the window was old, some letters had become illegible in the peeling paint. But the window itself is clean and the artifacts on display were clearly antique. There is no theme to them or colour coordination and they are crammed together rather than artistically arranged. On the surface there is nothing sinister to suspect but behind that curtain was the chance to discover the unusual.
Nathan approaches the old guy dressed in tweed and cigar smoke and presents the token.
“Say, is this the key I need to get me to... pay attention to what's behind the curtain?”
He laughs at his own joke but the old man stares through him. Nathan sighs and puts the token down on the table. It clatters loudly enough to make the curtains flicker and for a hand to reach out. Nathan looks the clawed paw over with interest, he eyes the older gentleman to see if he's about to move, and reaches around to place the token in the upturned palm. It closes tight like a clam and he would leap out of his skin if he wasn't being grabbed by the wrist and pulled inside.
Thick mauve curtains wash over him as he's being dragged into the back of the store reminding him of another more malevolent fairy tale. The white rabbit leads him down a set of metal stairs and they move so quickly down that spiral that their footsteps sound like crashing thunder and he's dizzy in seconds. When they reached the bottom he is overwhelmed by how still everything becomes.
The hard grip on his wrist floats away and the echo of their footfalls melt. There is something in the darkness that is like a promise, like the world before dawn. It is a room as a canvas rather than a finished work of art, and to him, it is all the more exciting. With each movement something new came to his eyes; a tiny fragment more of the furniture and antique ornaments took form, as if they were waiting for him to make them real. Before long he can hear voices and cheering and… bidding?
Somehow, Nathan Break - renowned historian and professor - has found himself in the heart of a black market auction house.
Behind the curtain [Open]
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Azraeth
- Registered User
- Posts: 3777
- Joined: 14 May 2011, 03:41
- CrowNet Handle: serpent_melech
Re: Behind the curtain [Open]
“It’s your move, Abernathy.”
“Please, I’ve told you already. If you’re going to thoroughly thrash me at this game, you might as well call me Abe.” To which Azraeth offered a bit of a grin. “Also, I don’t need a young man like you stating the obvious. I may have lost my mind years ago, but I have not lost my sight!” The man with wild white hair said - ironically behind glasses which had lenses thicker than his thumbs. In fact, the glasses themselves had a fishbowl effect, magnifying the size of the deep green eyes behind them. The little crinkle wrinkles to either side of them were amplified as well.
Abernathy Finch was known for a few things. First, he was one of the world’s foremost archaeologists, who had traveled to Harper Rock several months prior in hopes of doing some research in the Labyrinth. An ancient underground monument filled with artefacts, dust, and monsters? Of course, things with that had stalled. It was ‘too dangerous’ for a man of Abe’s age. The second thing he was known for was the intensity of his white hair and beard. He had this quality about him, as if he might have been struck by lightning at an early age, and the effects just ‘stuck’. The third thing he was known for (though in much smaller circles), was his mastery of the royal game of Ur.
Also called the game of twenty squares, the royal game of Ur had been invented some four thousand years before present day, and had been wildly popular in Mesopotamia (specifically amongst the Sumerian people). While the game had not caught on in recent centuries, it was still played in some historic communities. In fact, recognizing it and knowing how to play could be considered a test of sorts. Seeing if someone legitimately understood history, or if they were just a poser.
Abernathy had been stone faced through the whole game, and finally made a move after rolling a tetralogy of tetrahedrons (which were used as dice).
Across from him, Azraeth sat, adjusting his tie. His eyes themselves were inhuman, an affliction of the blood. Dragomir could be recognized for their serpentine gaze - the way pupils were elongated slits. The way they looked as if they should have been reptilian. It was a misconception of sorts - not all of the Dragons had them, but a large enough number did that it had become a foundational fact about them. His own were blue, the way the ocean was blue - with depth; either still and peaceful, or turbulent and tempest tossed. He could be a difficult man to read because of how alien they were.
“I would love to play with you all day, Abe, but I am already late.” He said, as he took the dice and rolled them. Seconds later, he was moving his last piece off the board, and moving to stand - having to uncross his legs from the knee. Abernathy was a good sport, and used a thumb to flick the hard won token at the vampire. Az caught the thing and pocketed it before abruptly disappearing. He reappeared across the city, in front of the venue. He had already secured some other entry chips for a few other people, having sent them to a few close members of his family via mail, along with a note detailing what the night was all about.
He had said to dress up as well. And Abernathy’s token had been the last one he needed to get himself admitted (it would have been very much like Az to have formulated an entire plot, made sure everyone else could participate, and then totally overlooked his own ability to join the fun). So after he was past the entrance, it didn’t take very long at all to begin looking around. He knew when his friends arrived, he would know they were there. Amalea, for one, could just reach out to him mentally to make him aware. And Azraeth could always sense his childer when they were in close proximity.
“Let’s see what we can find.” He had been told that a very specific urn would be up for auction, though that didn’t mean there weren’t...other things that might catch his attention.
“Please, I’ve told you already. If you’re going to thoroughly thrash me at this game, you might as well call me Abe.” To which Azraeth offered a bit of a grin. “Also, I don’t need a young man like you stating the obvious. I may have lost my mind years ago, but I have not lost my sight!” The man with wild white hair said - ironically behind glasses which had lenses thicker than his thumbs. In fact, the glasses themselves had a fishbowl effect, magnifying the size of the deep green eyes behind them. The little crinkle wrinkles to either side of them were amplified as well.
Abernathy Finch was known for a few things. First, he was one of the world’s foremost archaeologists, who had traveled to Harper Rock several months prior in hopes of doing some research in the Labyrinth. An ancient underground monument filled with artefacts, dust, and monsters? Of course, things with that had stalled. It was ‘too dangerous’ for a man of Abe’s age. The second thing he was known for was the intensity of his white hair and beard. He had this quality about him, as if he might have been struck by lightning at an early age, and the effects just ‘stuck’. The third thing he was known for (though in much smaller circles), was his mastery of the royal game of Ur.
Also called the game of twenty squares, the royal game of Ur had been invented some four thousand years before present day, and had been wildly popular in Mesopotamia (specifically amongst the Sumerian people). While the game had not caught on in recent centuries, it was still played in some historic communities. In fact, recognizing it and knowing how to play could be considered a test of sorts. Seeing if someone legitimately understood history, or if they were just a poser.
Abernathy had been stone faced through the whole game, and finally made a move after rolling a tetralogy of tetrahedrons (which were used as dice).
Across from him, Azraeth sat, adjusting his tie. His eyes themselves were inhuman, an affliction of the blood. Dragomir could be recognized for their serpentine gaze - the way pupils were elongated slits. The way they looked as if they should have been reptilian. It was a misconception of sorts - not all of the Dragons had them, but a large enough number did that it had become a foundational fact about them. His own were blue, the way the ocean was blue - with depth; either still and peaceful, or turbulent and tempest tossed. He could be a difficult man to read because of how alien they were.
“I would love to play with you all day, Abe, but I am already late.” He said, as he took the dice and rolled them. Seconds later, he was moving his last piece off the board, and moving to stand - having to uncross his legs from the knee. Abernathy was a good sport, and used a thumb to flick the hard won token at the vampire. Az caught the thing and pocketed it before abruptly disappearing. He reappeared across the city, in front of the venue. He had already secured some other entry chips for a few other people, having sent them to a few close members of his family via mail, along with a note detailing what the night was all about.
He had said to dress up as well. And Abernathy’s token had been the last one he needed to get himself admitted (it would have been very much like Az to have formulated an entire plot, made sure everyone else could participate, and then totally overlooked his own ability to join the fun). So after he was past the entrance, it didn’t take very long at all to begin looking around. He knew when his friends arrived, he would know they were there. Amalea, for one, could just reach out to him mentally to make him aware. And Azraeth could always sense his childer when they were in close proximity.
“Let’s see what we can find.” He had been told that a very specific urn would be up for auction, though that didn’t mean there weren’t...other things that might catch his attention.
I'LL USE YOU AS A WARNING SIGN THAT IF YOU TALK ENOUGH SENSE THEN YOU'LL LOSE YOUR MIND
newbie links :
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( beginner guide )
( exp tips )
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Valdimar (DELETED 10176)
- Posts: 42
- Joined: 31 Jan 2018, 11:07
Re: Behind the curtain [Open]
Dress up. Valdimar decided that he would have to ask his sire why had the urge to always be sending cards with invitations and commands on how one should dress. Not that Valdimar minded, of course. It amused him, to some extent – though he was tempted to show up and whatever this thing was dressed in cargo shorts and a Hawaiian t-shirt. Instead, he opted for a simple black suit and a thin black tie, with polished black shoes to round it off. Sleek, and yet not so sophisticated. The thin tie said ‘this is not a business meeting’. It was an auction, apparently, and Valdimar could only hope it was not like the one he’d heard of a couple of months ago – the one that auctioned off people, like they were prized flesh ready to be whipped.
This city could still surprise him.
One might have wondered why someone would want to settle in a city like Harper Rock. Though it was not something that Valdimar had planned for, he couldn’t truly be disappointed by his new circumstances. It was a new city to conquer; he already had a hotel being built near the northern city limits. Outside of the cement playground and closer to the cooler wilderness, where there was space to do what he wanted.
The theme was ice.
It was a tedious process and one that needed constant care and attention during the summer months, and it was where Valdimar spent most of his time. And he knew that he would enjoy his time here; there was so much to learn and, for a place Westerners liked to claim as ‘new’, it definitely had history beyond a settler’s wildest dreams. Of course it would. Every land had a history, and Harper Rock was no different.
Well, no. That was a lie. Harper Rock was different. There was magic here. There was the supernatural. Valdimar had only been inducted recently and he’d only dipped his toes into the whirlpool. He was ready to dive right in and be sucked below the surface, where he soak up the new knowledge like a gasping sponge.
Valdimar followed the instructions as per the note that Azraeth had sent; he approached the back of the shop and handed over his token, before being led underground. Squirrelled away as they were, Valdimar was starting to get the impression that what they would be participating in wouldn’t exactly be legal. He pushed his fingers through his hair, keeping the blonde/brown slicked back. He straightened the tie at his neck and rounded his shoulders, bright eyes searching the quietly gathered crowd for the man who had invited him here.
There was no question as to why. Azraeth knew that Valdimar had an interest in history and interesting artefacts. If it weren’t for their shared interest in such things, they never would have met. Valdimar might have been back in Iceland by now, none the wiser about the strange allure of Harper Rock City.
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Eirik Loki
- Registered User
- Posts: 292
- Joined: 28 Feb 2014, 00:19
Re: Behind the curtain [Open]
Eirik like most had been on the outskirts of the city with Andrew his faithful friend and sidekick for a long time digging up things. As it went they where now at the black market auction. With his Sire no where in sight for how ever many years he only had Andrew around and that man made a great sidekick/part-time lover. He was also good for a pair of eyes. "You know what to look for Andy. Don't fudge it up this time."
Andrew nodded his head. Both where in business suits, but Andrew was watching the Items as Eirik was listening to the descriptions of the items. He would nudge Andrew wen he wanted him to bid on something and shack his head when he did not. He also listened to the bidders around him and would make his bid last on some items making it the highest bid to outbid people. It paid to be a rich blind man though most did not know he was blind.
He was the CEO of a company and he liked that. Nothing was stoping him from doing his job and getting his company in high gear.
Andrew nodded his head. Both where in business suits, but Andrew was watching the Items as Eirik was listening to the descriptions of the items. He would nudge Andrew wen he wanted him to bid on something and shack his head when he did not. He also listened to the bidders around him and would make his bid last on some items making it the highest bid to outbid people. It paid to be a rich blind man though most did not know he was blind.
He was the CEO of a company and he liked that. Nothing was stoping him from doing his job and getting his company in high gear.
To Die Would Be An Awfully Big Adventure.
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Dawn Chekov
- Registered User
- Posts: 203
- Joined: 02 Dec 2013, 01:58
Re: Behind the curtain [Open]
Dawn had been spending a lot of time as of late doing some questionable things all in the name of her newest love. Becoming a mogul. She had KMR and that business had been growing in popularity, as had her jewelry business. Now though she had two new ones, an animal rescue that was growing in popularity as well and her newest, a cosmetics business. It was her jewelry business - Moon Goddess Jewels - that brought her to the darker side of business.
Thanks to Dylan and his rather questionable actions since he had been back in town with her, and her ability to control him - assuming that she had fed off her best friend - she was now making her way into a rather beautiful shop. Dawn was a girl that respected the history of objects, antiques were something she loved, loved to own, loved to collect, loved to do crafts with. But for now, it wasn't the legal things she wished to buy, it was an illegal one. Something that would be the crowning jewel of her shop.
She walked past the older gentleman, giving him a sweet smile and a cheerful wave before producing the token needed to enter the darkness. She was used to darkness, as a vampire (or at least she believed she was one) she was used to the night, used to darkness and dampness and dreariness. So the darkness that followed did not scare her.
At the bottom she stuck out like a sore thumb. With her brilliant white hair that hung nearly to her knees and a bright pink tutu and black camisole, she was a brightness against the dark walls and dim lighting. She headed towards the auction, she passed a male on her way in but then was quick to find a seat once inside.
Dawn read the program she had picked up on the way and was glad to see the thing she wanted was a good 5 lots off so she hadn't missed her chance.
Thanks to Dylan and his rather questionable actions since he had been back in town with her, and her ability to control him - assuming that she had fed off her best friend - she was now making her way into a rather beautiful shop. Dawn was a girl that respected the history of objects, antiques were something she loved, loved to own, loved to collect, loved to do crafts with. But for now, it wasn't the legal things she wished to buy, it was an illegal one. Something that would be the crowning jewel of her shop.
She walked past the older gentleman, giving him a sweet smile and a cheerful wave before producing the token needed to enter the darkness. She was used to darkness, as a vampire (or at least she believed she was one) she was used to the night, used to darkness and dampness and dreariness. So the darkness that followed did not scare her.
At the bottom she stuck out like a sore thumb. With her brilliant white hair that hung nearly to her knees and a bright pink tutu and black camisole, she was a brightness against the dark walls and dim lighting. She headed towards the auction, she passed a male on her way in but then was quick to find a seat once inside.
Dawn read the program she had picked up on the way and was glad to see the thing she wanted was a good 5 lots off so she hadn't missed her chance.
Welcome to my Tea Party
OOC Note: Dawn has Famous (singer) & Siren
Sig by the Kick *** Myk
Crazy little Blood Thief
OOC Note: Dawn has Famous (singer) & Siren
Sig by the Kick *** Myk
Crazy little Blood Thief
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Amalea
- Developer
- Posts: 2184
- Joined: 05 Jun 2011, 01:49
- CrowNet Handle: Tigress
Re: Behind the curtain [Open]
“Remind me again why you’re getting all dressed up?” Lita asked her mistress as she watched the red-head get ready for an evening out. She couldn’t recall her getting this dolled up for the last auction she attended but she wisely said nothing on the matter.
”Because my dearest brother said to do so,” Amalea lightly rolled her eyes at her thrall as she lightly twisted her hair before securing it up with a clip. Fanning the strands over the top of the clip so they cascaded down, she looked at Lita in the mirror, ”Is there something wrong with doing so?”
“I guess not,” the woman replied in a tone that indicated that there was an issue. Under the red-head’s glare, “I don’t see the point of it all? Who cares what you show up in?”
The blood-thief shook her head lightly, ”Sometimes it’s just for fun. Tonight, it’s because Azraeth specifically requested it. Given he knows the venue and the event which I do not, he would be the best reference as to the dress code.” In truth, she appreciated the requirement as it made choosing what to wear less stressful. Of course, given the invitation and entry token had been sent in the mail, she would have dressed up anyway; that just spoke of the night being formal (or at least, that Az dictated it so).
Amalea hummed to herself as she slipped her feet into the black ballet flats she had set out earlier. She could sense the woman behind her was shaking her head at the red-head, but she didn’t really care. Just as she didn’t care what some would be rather put out that the event was being held with the current city conditions. Life didn’t stop just because of zombies on the loose and there was no better way to show that than to actually lead by example. She did recognize that some didn’t feel the same way, especially other humans, which is why she had quietly set up a trust fund to help the victims and future city restoration. There were other things she was doing behind the scenes as well. Tonight, though, was about family and friends.
Having slipped the entry token and invitation into her clutch, she said a quick good-bye to Lita. Concentrating on her destination, she arrived at the venue in a blink of the eye. Entering the building and clearing security, she looked around. She easily spotted Azraeth amongst the crowd; Valdimar was a bit harder to spot given she had only met the man once - their speed date from the event in February. She had had a nice time, but her heart hadn’t been into it given the events that had occurred a couple weeks earlier. A mental note was made to stop and chat with the dragon at some point in the evening. For now, she quietly slipped through the crowd to approach her brother. While still a couple feet away, she gently caressed his mind, You cleaned up nice, dearest brother. Thank you for tonight.
”Because my dearest brother said to do so,” Amalea lightly rolled her eyes at her thrall as she lightly twisted her hair before securing it up with a clip. Fanning the strands over the top of the clip so they cascaded down, she looked at Lita in the mirror, ”Is there something wrong with doing so?”
“I guess not,” the woman replied in a tone that indicated that there was an issue. Under the red-head’s glare, “I don’t see the point of it all? Who cares what you show up in?”
The blood-thief shook her head lightly, ”Sometimes it’s just for fun. Tonight, it’s because Azraeth specifically requested it. Given he knows the venue and the event which I do not, he would be the best reference as to the dress code.” In truth, she appreciated the requirement as it made choosing what to wear less stressful. Of course, given the invitation and entry token had been sent in the mail, she would have dressed up anyway; that just spoke of the night being formal (or at least, that Az dictated it so).
Amalea hummed to herself as she slipped her feet into the black ballet flats she had set out earlier. She could sense the woman behind her was shaking her head at the red-head, but she didn’t really care. Just as she didn’t care what some would be rather put out that the event was being held with the current city conditions. Life didn’t stop just because of zombies on the loose and there was no better way to show that than to actually lead by example. She did recognize that some didn’t feel the same way, especially other humans, which is why she had quietly set up a trust fund to help the victims and future city restoration. There were other things she was doing behind the scenes as well. Tonight, though, was about family and friends.
Having slipped the entry token and invitation into her clutch, she said a quick good-bye to Lita. Concentrating on her destination, she arrived at the venue in a blink of the eye. Entering the building and clearing security, she looked around. She easily spotted Azraeth amongst the crowd; Valdimar was a bit harder to spot given she had only met the man once - their speed date from the event in February. She had had a nice time, but her heart hadn’t been into it given the events that had occurred a couple weeks earlier. A mental note was made to stop and chat with the dragon at some point in the evening. For now, she quietly slipped through the crowd to approach her brother. While still a couple feet away, she gently caressed his mind, You cleaned up nice, dearest brother. Thank you for tonight.
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Nathan Break (DELETED 10340)
- Posts: 10
- Joined: 15 Apr 2018, 21:28
Re: Behind the curtain [Open]
When he moves further into the room, he realises that as well as being in a den of illegal merchants and dealers, he’s about as out-gunned and underdressed as you can be. The crazy guy on the street didn’t said anything about this being a black tie underground event. Nathan looks down at his leather jacket, his grubby gray shirt, his jeans, and his brown shoes with embarassment like he’s suddenly become that guy: the idiot who turns up in fancy dress when everyone else is in an evening gown and penguin suit. He makes a wide step to his right and tucks himself away by the greek styled columns and even more velvet cutains - keen to make himself look as inconspicuous as possible. Most people have their eyes glued to the front of the room, so they barely notice him there, but the security which is made up of ten men who average 6.5 feet tall and 4 feet wide are looking at him like he’s the only one here who will put his hand in the cookie jar. Nathan smiles nervously at everyone he looks at.
It is a handsome room in the Italian mode of the Empire period. Faded tapestry panels and some ormolu furniture and other things mixed in make it rather conglomerate, but pleasing, all the more pleasing. The room was big.The air inside smells of mothballs, furniture wax, and champagne. Rows and rows of white-paint chairs fill the floor in front of the auctioneer’s pedestal so that it looks like church is in session. He’s firing off numbers so quickly that Nathan barely recognises them as English or numbers at all and more like a baby babbling before the whack of the hammer. There’s a pretty girl beside him showing off the item like she’s at a gameshow so maybe her acting gig fell through and this is where she landed at. Her smile is so big and full of white teeth that her skinny, elongated body and bleached blonde hair are just extensions of that. And because there’s a bum on nearly every seat, all Nathan can do is stare from afar.
As he’s looking across the room, he spots a very interesting picture hung up on the far wall in a gilded frame. The tone of the painting is muted, the style reminiscent of Monet. Each stroke has a smudging quality that renders the image watery, like a reflection in a rippled puddle. The scene is a street, London he thinks, the umbrella bearing pedestrians battle against rain and the red double-deckers and black cabs rumble by. It reminds him of Oxford Street, looking out of a rain-splattered window at the rivers of people that move in each direction. Like in this painting they moved so randomly, pushing against one another, flowing, like water. Perhaps to this artist that's what people are, small drops in a sky full of rain, each one looking out and saying to ourselves: “Wow, that sure is a lot of rain.”
It is a handsome room in the Italian mode of the Empire period. Faded tapestry panels and some ormolu furniture and other things mixed in make it rather conglomerate, but pleasing, all the more pleasing. The room was big.The air inside smells of mothballs, furniture wax, and champagne. Rows and rows of white-paint chairs fill the floor in front of the auctioneer’s pedestal so that it looks like church is in session. He’s firing off numbers so quickly that Nathan barely recognises them as English or numbers at all and more like a baby babbling before the whack of the hammer. There’s a pretty girl beside him showing off the item like she’s at a gameshow so maybe her acting gig fell through and this is where she landed at. Her smile is so big and full of white teeth that her skinny, elongated body and bleached blonde hair are just extensions of that. And because there’s a bum on nearly every seat, all Nathan can do is stare from afar.
As he’s looking across the room, he spots a very interesting picture hung up on the far wall in a gilded frame. The tone of the painting is muted, the style reminiscent of Monet. Each stroke has a smudging quality that renders the image watery, like a reflection in a rippled puddle. The scene is a street, London he thinks, the umbrella bearing pedestrians battle against rain and the red double-deckers and black cabs rumble by. It reminds him of Oxford Street, looking out of a rain-splattered window at the rivers of people that move in each direction. Like in this painting they moved so randomly, pushing against one another, flowing, like water. Perhaps to this artist that's what people are, small drops in a sky full of rain, each one looking out and saying to ourselves: “Wow, that sure is a lot of rain.”
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Azraeth
- Registered User
- Posts: 3777
- Joined: 14 May 2011, 03:41
- CrowNet Handle: serpent_melech
Re: Behind the curtain [Open]
Azraeth had very little interest in the auction itself, aside from to mark down who got what item. The thing about antiquities, which Valdimar could certainly attest to, was that they only belonged in the possession of those who could keep them safe, contained. There were, after all, numerous reasons the Mystic had purchased the Cryptozoological Society building, which had absolutely nothing to do with collecting stuffed representations of animals which could never occur in nature, nor framed, smudged images of shadows thought to be greater than they really were. No, Az was there to see if there was anything he absolutely needed...like that urn. Networking too, of course. In a community that was so small and selective, word of mouth was the only way to gain access to anything of worth - magical or historic.
No sooner did he begin to look around than he caught sight of a familiar face in the crowd. Valdimar and Az were nearly the same height, but there was something about the Icelandic man which made him seem to be a looming, and frankly imposing figure. He was just built very large, but not in an unattractively bulky fashion. With distinctive features, and an aura of confidence which was unmistakable, Azraeth (who was naturally somewhat attuned to him as a sire) probably could have picked the Killer out of a sea of people. They were all shadows in the background of an image and his childer was always pulled to the very front. The brightest piece of art there. Especially those eyes.
He had no shame about waving the other man down, no social compunction at the idea of drawing attention to himself. And it seemed he was going to have a lot of company, because no sooner did he raise a hand than he could feel the familiarity of Amalea brushing against his mind. Sister The lone word reached out to the redhead across the space between them. He had once read that, when you loved someone, it was best to say to that person, as often as possible, what you wanted to say to them last. A terribly morbid way of looking at the world perhaps, but gratitude was a way of being. And if there was one sentiment Az very much wanted for Lea to always know of him, it was that he saw her as family. Especially with current events. Nearly losing Flynn. Nearly losing Amalea herself.
She had been different lately. Maybe tonight would see her beginning to return to herself.
His raised hand was a beacon for both Valdi and Lea, though he did not remain in place. Instead, he offered a characteristic (too toothy for his own good) grin, before his serpentine gaze was captured by a painting. He could see someone else with their eyes on it as well, and he moved in for a proper introduction. This man seemed to be human, and wore more plain clothes. “Reminds me of something by Michael Flohr might have done.” He said, by way of greeting. Impressionistic painting always had this ethereal quality to it which unfailingly captivated the vampire’s attention. The muted colors would have looked excellent in one of his apartments, which tended to be decorated in the gray scale, with stylized Victorian sensibilities. “I favor Leonid Afremov though.” He commented. The way Afremov painted was the way Azraeth saw the world. His work was an explosion of vibrant color that did not focus on the decay of urban society, but instead on the beauty of its light sources, the mystery of its landscapes, and the love shared in them.
After all, to the Mystic, there was little inherently beautiful about any one place. It was the spirit there, the atmosphere, the feeling and history which gave any location its context in relation to the rest of reality.
But sometimes a scene was just a scene. He had a flair for the flamboyant and dramatic, he’d been told.
“But you’re not here to admire art, I’m sure.” He said, before offering a hand. “William Carpenter.” He said, using his birth middle and surname, as was his custom when meeting someone new outside of a situation related to vampirism. His hand extended, offered for a shake.
No sooner did he begin to look around than he caught sight of a familiar face in the crowd. Valdimar and Az were nearly the same height, but there was something about the Icelandic man which made him seem to be a looming, and frankly imposing figure. He was just built very large, but not in an unattractively bulky fashion. With distinctive features, and an aura of confidence which was unmistakable, Azraeth (who was naturally somewhat attuned to him as a sire) probably could have picked the Killer out of a sea of people. They were all shadows in the background of an image and his childer was always pulled to the very front. The brightest piece of art there. Especially those eyes.
He had no shame about waving the other man down, no social compunction at the idea of drawing attention to himself. And it seemed he was going to have a lot of company, because no sooner did he raise a hand than he could feel the familiarity of Amalea brushing against his mind. Sister The lone word reached out to the redhead across the space between them. He had once read that, when you loved someone, it was best to say to that person, as often as possible, what you wanted to say to them last. A terribly morbid way of looking at the world perhaps, but gratitude was a way of being. And if there was one sentiment Az very much wanted for Lea to always know of him, it was that he saw her as family. Especially with current events. Nearly losing Flynn. Nearly losing Amalea herself.
She had been different lately. Maybe tonight would see her beginning to return to herself.
His raised hand was a beacon for both Valdi and Lea, though he did not remain in place. Instead, he offered a characteristic (too toothy for his own good) grin, before his serpentine gaze was captured by a painting. He could see someone else with their eyes on it as well, and he moved in for a proper introduction. This man seemed to be human, and wore more plain clothes. “Reminds me of something by Michael Flohr might have done.” He said, by way of greeting. Impressionistic painting always had this ethereal quality to it which unfailingly captivated the vampire’s attention. The muted colors would have looked excellent in one of his apartments, which tended to be decorated in the gray scale, with stylized Victorian sensibilities. “I favor Leonid Afremov though.” He commented. The way Afremov painted was the way Azraeth saw the world. His work was an explosion of vibrant color that did not focus on the decay of urban society, but instead on the beauty of its light sources, the mystery of its landscapes, and the love shared in them.
After all, to the Mystic, there was little inherently beautiful about any one place. It was the spirit there, the atmosphere, the feeling and history which gave any location its context in relation to the rest of reality.
But sometimes a scene was just a scene. He had a flair for the flamboyant and dramatic, he’d been told.
“But you’re not here to admire art, I’m sure.” He said, before offering a hand. “William Carpenter.” He said, using his birth middle and surname, as was his custom when meeting someone new outside of a situation related to vampirism. His hand extended, offered for a shake.
I am SO SO SO sorry this is coming so late. I had no clue the OP had posted again. >.< I have no excuse <3 <3
I'LL USE YOU AS A WARNING SIGN THAT IF YOU TALK ENOUGH SENSE THEN YOU'LL LOSE YOUR MIND
newbie links :
( path story intro )
( beginner guide )
( exp tips )
( path story intro )
( beginner guide )
( exp tips )
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Amalea
- Developer
- Posts: 2184
- Joined: 05 Jun 2011, 01:49
- CrowNet Handle: Tigress
Re: Behind the curtain [Open]
Having spotted the dragons in the room, the red-head was free to take a moment to appreciate the architectural details of the venue. To most it was rather large given its status as a black market auction house but to her it was no different from a hidden speakeasy from the yesteryear. It was Italian in origin and design for certain though her practiced eyes could pick out the subtle influences of the French. The tapestries, though faded, added further texture and warmth to the room while being unique works of art in their own rights. A mental note was made to wander around after the conclusion of the auction to take in the finer details of the textiles.
The architecture itself was worth the trip this evening if truth be told. Amalea had studied it in college; it was a large part of her degree work. After coming to the city though, her passion for it was buried first by the need to find a job to survive and later her desire to help vampires. It was only recently that she rediscovered that she love for the subject hadn’t faded as well as the benefits of focusing on something she loved. It had been part of a hard lesson to learn, though she couldn’t deny that the experience had her stronger as well as helped her form stronger bonds with those who cared about her.
Mainly, she was attending tonight’s auction at the invitation of her brother. It wasn’t something she’d attend otherwise, typically. She didn’t have the interest in most of the items that were usually auctioned off on these nights. The value of the lots being bid on was largely lost on the red-head. Her eye was for design not hidden purpose. If one was to lay a magical, but plain plate beside a colorfully patterned one, she would tend toward the designed plate without a second thought. It was only once the significance of a plain item such as that was explained or discovered that she could see the beauty in it.
Sister. The word whispered into her mind caused Amalea to smile. She recognized the gentle touch anywhere and, even if she hadn’t, only one person in the city dared referred to her as such. He was also one of the few that had stood unwavering in his support of her these past couple months; showing her not only that true family existed but that family didn’t necessarily have anything to do with genetics. Somedays, it was still an overwhelming revelation particularly when she also considered that Amara also viewed her as family, Flynn was pretty much family and Every miswell be given all the pair had been through together.
The red-head had been a bit surprised to receive an invitation for tonight at first. After all, it wasn’t her usual thing. Perhaps it was for that reason he had chosen her and here. There were too many memories attached to her usual haunts. Memories she was trying to put in her past and out of her mind. Experiences marred by recent times. He knew this; they all did. It was one of the reasons their bonds had strengthened exponentially. Slowly, with their help, her therapy and time, she was beginning to rise again. A phoenixesque dragon in the making.
The raised hand drew Amalea much like a moth to a flame; though she knew there was no burning at the end for her. Feet traced a path through the gathered crowd as her eyes remained on Azraeth. She couldn’t help but smile at the way he seemed to gravitate towards a man that seemed to look a bit out of place among the finery. Both seemed to have an interest in the painting hung on a far wall. It was a piece she had seen on her way in. A rainy day in a busy English city, it was well painted and she could appreciate the beauty of it, but it wasn’t a subject matter or style that interested her. She tended towards brighter pieces with more life to them.
If she was surprised by the introduction the vampire gave the man as she drew near, Amalea gave no indication of it; though she did make a note to use said name should she need to this evening. Smiling, she waited till the greeting was acknowledged in some form before she brushed her lips lightly across Az’s cheek. ”Evening, gentlemen.” Turning towards the man she could tell was human, she offered her hand as well, ”Amalea. I hope I’m not interrupting?”
The architecture itself was worth the trip this evening if truth be told. Amalea had studied it in college; it was a large part of her degree work. After coming to the city though, her passion for it was buried first by the need to find a job to survive and later her desire to help vampires. It was only recently that she rediscovered that she love for the subject hadn’t faded as well as the benefits of focusing on something she loved. It had been part of a hard lesson to learn, though she couldn’t deny that the experience had her stronger as well as helped her form stronger bonds with those who cared about her.
Mainly, she was attending tonight’s auction at the invitation of her brother. It wasn’t something she’d attend otherwise, typically. She didn’t have the interest in most of the items that were usually auctioned off on these nights. The value of the lots being bid on was largely lost on the red-head. Her eye was for design not hidden purpose. If one was to lay a magical, but plain plate beside a colorfully patterned one, she would tend toward the designed plate without a second thought. It was only once the significance of a plain item such as that was explained or discovered that she could see the beauty in it.
Sister. The word whispered into her mind caused Amalea to smile. She recognized the gentle touch anywhere and, even if she hadn’t, only one person in the city dared referred to her as such. He was also one of the few that had stood unwavering in his support of her these past couple months; showing her not only that true family existed but that family didn’t necessarily have anything to do with genetics. Somedays, it was still an overwhelming revelation particularly when she also considered that Amara also viewed her as family, Flynn was pretty much family and Every miswell be given all the pair had been through together.
The red-head had been a bit surprised to receive an invitation for tonight at first. After all, it wasn’t her usual thing. Perhaps it was for that reason he had chosen her and here. There were too many memories attached to her usual haunts. Memories she was trying to put in her past and out of her mind. Experiences marred by recent times. He knew this; they all did. It was one of the reasons their bonds had strengthened exponentially. Slowly, with their help, her therapy and time, she was beginning to rise again. A phoenixesque dragon in the making.
The raised hand drew Amalea much like a moth to a flame; though she knew there was no burning at the end for her. Feet traced a path through the gathered crowd as her eyes remained on Azraeth. She couldn’t help but smile at the way he seemed to gravitate towards a man that seemed to look a bit out of place among the finery. Both seemed to have an interest in the painting hung on a far wall. It was a piece she had seen on her way in. A rainy day in a busy English city, it was well painted and she could appreciate the beauty of it, but it wasn’t a subject matter or style that interested her. She tended towards brighter pieces with more life to them.
If she was surprised by the introduction the vampire gave the man as she drew near, Amalea gave no indication of it; though she did make a note to use said name should she need to this evening. Smiling, she waited till the greeting was acknowledged in some form before she brushed her lips lightly across Az’s cheek. ”Evening, gentlemen.” Turning towards the man she could tell was human, she offered her hand as well, ”Amalea. I hope I’m not interrupting?”
Sorry about the delayed reply!
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Valdimar (DELETED 10176)
- Posts: 42
- Joined: 31 Jan 2018, 11:07
Re: Behind the curtain [Open]
The Killer stood stoic in the middle of the crowd; even when his sire raised his hand in a greeting wave, easily spotted over the heads of those gathered, Valdimar offered a mere arch of a brow and a nod. He recalled the story he’d heard, the memories he had of being a small, tiny child growing up in Iceland. Iceland had been a reclusive country, no one went there. Until suddenly the tourist industry boomed and people from all over suddenly had an interest in this small, dark island.
The Icelanders weren’t sure want to think. They didn’t know how to treat the tourists, having never been exposed to their kind before. An advertising campaign was designed, teaching Icelanders to smile more, to be friendlier. They weren’t on a Russian scale of unfriendly – they didn’t arrest people on the street for smiling, because they thought it was something to be suspicious of. They were far more awkward.
They were better now, of course, but sometimes Valdimar represented that old Iceland, the awkward Iceland that didn’t look awkward, so much as appeared aloof. Though perhaps that had something to do with Valdimar’s path. Or maybe he’d landed on the path he had because of his aloofness. It didn’t matter, in the end. He watched Azraeth long enough to see him start speaking to a stranger (or not, Valdimar couldn’t tell from this distance whether the other man was known to Azraeth or not), and long enough to witness the two joined by a redhead. Amalea. He hadn’t seen her since the speed-dating event. He’d have to say hello, later.
For now, a third person had caught his eye; she stood out like a sore thumb, with her skin as pale as paper and her hair equally as white. He recognised her from the week before; he’d met her on the street, and they’d taken a woman to hospital. His gaze followed Dawn until she took her seat, and then he meandered over and took a seat beside her.
”I know who you are now,” he said. He’d been too preoccupied on the night to figure it out, then and there. He’d known she looked familiar, but the name she’d given was not the name she normally went by.
”Prima Dawna. You are featured in my Spotify,” he said with a smile, his legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles, one hand on his thigh and the other arm stretched over the empty seat on the other side of him.
The Icelanders weren’t sure want to think. They didn’t know how to treat the tourists, having never been exposed to their kind before. An advertising campaign was designed, teaching Icelanders to smile more, to be friendlier. They weren’t on a Russian scale of unfriendly – they didn’t arrest people on the street for smiling, because they thought it was something to be suspicious of. They were far more awkward.
They were better now, of course, but sometimes Valdimar represented that old Iceland, the awkward Iceland that didn’t look awkward, so much as appeared aloof. Though perhaps that had something to do with Valdimar’s path. Or maybe he’d landed on the path he had because of his aloofness. It didn’t matter, in the end. He watched Azraeth long enough to see him start speaking to a stranger (or not, Valdimar couldn’t tell from this distance whether the other man was known to Azraeth or not), and long enough to witness the two joined by a redhead. Amalea. He hadn’t seen her since the speed-dating event. He’d have to say hello, later.
For now, a third person had caught his eye; she stood out like a sore thumb, with her skin as pale as paper and her hair equally as white. He recognised her from the week before; he’d met her on the street, and they’d taken a woman to hospital. His gaze followed Dawn until she took her seat, and then he meandered over and took a seat beside her.
”I know who you are now,” he said. He’d been too preoccupied on the night to figure it out, then and there. He’d known she looked familiar, but the name she’d given was not the name she normally went by.
”Prima Dawna. You are featured in my Spotify,” he said with a smile, his legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles, one hand on his thigh and the other arm stretched over the empty seat on the other side of him.