In Evangeline's Room

[Forsaken]

Evangeline drifts across a floor strung with the phosphorescent stars of suspended fireflies (the genetically engineered insects were a marvel of science and though they were now dead they continued to glow for a small number of years) as she moves toward a jewelry case that spiraled toward the ceiling like a glittering double helix strung with fantastic treasures. The guise she has chosen for the up-coming outing with her Mireta and Somriad is missing it's finishing touches, and these she finds in her collection as it rotates downward toward her, delivering a set of circlets and bracelets that could better be described as a crown and set of sleeves composed of slender, gracefully curving branches. This set is crafted of darkly enameled gold that sprouts garnets, amber, orange-toned opals just as trees once sprouted leaves. The ornate gown that she wears is of the brilliant tones found in her stones and a fine chain strung with bright foil leaves coils around her slender waist. For the children she will soon visit she is an Autumn Goddess who is no less lovely for the likelihood that not one of those children will have heard of the all-but-extinct season at all.

The Guardian appraises her reflection in the nearby mirror, noting with pride that her green-opal eyes positively blaze among the fire tones with a richness of hue that is dazzling. She smiles at her reflection. She is sure the children will be awed by a creature so lovely. Of course, the same could be said of her no matter what her attire. There wasn't a member of her kin who didn't qualify as breath-taking in the eyes of a humble human.

Evangeline turns away from her reflection. "My lovely Mireta, are you ready to depart?" The Guardian calls sweetly to her Forsaken. "Somriad should be here shortly."

[The Imfamous AKA]

With one fragile-looking arm, Mireta knocks the lid of the chest open on its hinges. She had been given a bed--not as opulent as her Mistress's, but much more comfortable than the cot she had had at her human home or the cold ground she had slept on amongst the Rebellion--when she was first allowed to sleep in the antechamber to her Mistress's room, but it was long gone now. She had been uncomfortable in an open area as she slept, and had requested something more enclosed. Evangeline had gifted her with the brilliantly carved chest, longer than she was tall and filled with soft silks and linens to replace the raised mattress. The chest was infinitely more comfortable than the bed.

"Whenever you are, Misstresss," she replies with a stretch as she rises from the chest. The motion, just like her every motion, is distinctly serpentine, like a cobra rising off the ground. Her expression holds no emotion, never holds any emotion, but the obedience and devotion in her eyes is no different than any other time her eyes lit upon her Mistress.

[Forsaken]

Evangeline's gaze softens into a warm glow as it settles upon Mireta. "What a lovely, selfless creature you are. I have but to mention leaving and you are by my side." The sentimental warmth that radiated beautifully from the Guardian's expression remained, even as her thoughts grew barbed. Her Servant was loyal to her because she had sense enough to treat her with kindness, and coming from stock that was generally noble in nature, a new Servant responded to these tactics best. Kindness was something to be returned to the giver. Cruelty something these cursed beings had spent their pre-Awakened lives fighting. The solution for an easier bond between Master and Servant was so simple, but rarely did a Guardian employ the sensible tactics that she had learned, though her success was obvious.

Evangeline understood the reason for this. It wasn't that her kin didn't understand the relationship between kindness and obedience. She was certain they did, as they employed the very same tactic with the humans they ruled over and did so with great success. The problem lay within a Guardian's core being, that intense desire to be cruel, petty and vengeful. A desire which found it's easiest target in the Servants they possessed. And these Forsaken had been quite...troublesome while abusing their freedom. Certainly they deserved the treatment they received at their Master's impatient hands. Of course, there is no reason to believe they would ever respond well to such treatment. For a being who was concerned more with results than personal pleasure as Evangeline was, knowing this truth was the guiding force in her subtle ploy for power.

Evangeline glides to Mireta and extends one flawless hand in a caress that dances playfully across one fine cheekbone, brushing tendrils of black hair behind her lovely Servant's ear as she does so. "Where is that charming black coat I purchased for you, Mireta? It is quite fetching on your exquisite frame. Would you favor me by donning it for the length of our journey?" Evangeline understands that Mireta is fond of her stripes, but her servant's chosen attire renders her more serpent than human and would be a premature shock for the children. She would hate to dampen the surprise she had planned for them with Mireta by giving them a preview.

[The Imfamous AKA]

Mireta tilts her head into the soft caress, like a cat accepting a stroke. It is one of the few mammalian actions she has retained as she becomes more and more reptilian. Such gestures--a tilt of the head, an inching forward, a drawing back--are the only way to interpret her emotional state. From such a motion, her affection and obedience are obvious, especially when she carefully extricates herself from the chest. She doesn't particularly like the coat, the long, black, restrictive leather, but reaches for it where it hangs on its hook anyway. It is easier not to fight, has always been easier, and her Mistress had come to expect her instant obedience. It had been years since Mireta had even hesitated to do her bidding.

Silent as the slithering of the snake she partially is, she swings the black contraption over her shoulders, letting it settle around her before she buttons it swiftly. Though she rarely uses her hands, they're still fully functional, and it is but a bare moment before she stands before her Mistress, ready to leave. "Iss thiss better, Misstress?" she asks, the tilt of her head conveying the honest inquisitiveness that her expression cannot. There is no sarcasm in the question, only the desire to please. Mireta knows that it is better not to fight, and better still to actively try to be helpful.