Reign Over Ice

[Forsaken]

Those two sobbing human mandrakes truly were doing a very poor job of winning any sympathy for themselves. Anonyma scowled at them, sharing the disgust of her 'Guardian' partner in a way that would have been seen as cute...if they'd been among true Guardians. To these people, it was just another sign that they were dealing with two powerful demented psychopaths that had fallen in sync with each other and grown only crueler from that understanding.

She had wanted to know what was on Remsing's peculiar mind when he had come closer, that attractive rumble in his voice. As a thief, she had a unique hatred for those who stole from her in turn. Even though it had been but a moment, it had been a valuable one. They had unwittingly committed a cardinal sin, and what little empathy she may have otherwise retained withered into ash. The trembling in the walls fell so low it would seem to cease, outdone as it was by the crackling roar of the flames.

"It would be my pleasure," The bright tone of glee in her words draped over her anger like a colorful shawl. Then she cast one lingering look at the former parents and tacked on, almost as an afterthought; "...my lord." Her lips curled back from teeth that glinted in the firelight, dangerously sharp. She was mocking their desperate use of a title that had done them so little good. They had not even been worthy of it's use.

Then she gave Remsing a playful bow and ducked out of the room, whistling once again as she walked up the stairs to find an appropriate window. With all the screaming that had been going on in this house, it seemed wise to stay away from the front door. They didn't want half the town to wind up with a good look at them after all; their presence here was not meant to be known.

She left through a window in a dark study at the back of the house, not even bothering with the light. She didn't need it. With a single claw pressed hard against the glass she drew a thin line, her actions announced by the loud creak of splintering glass. Licking the palm of her right hand she pressed it to the window and cupped it to create suction. Then, as she traced the final line, she pulled the whole thing free, carefully setting the pane of glass down without a sound. That should do it; and there were no lights on in the building across the way. She climbed out the window and up onto the roof, where that unlucky young man still sat.

She spared a smile, just for him. "You can come with me, now. Everything has been prepared for you." He looked terrified, but he didn't make a single sound. For a moment Anonyma wondered what kind of nerve agents the ghoul had in his saliva; then she remembered that she'd told him not to make a sound. Technically he could say something now that her back was no longer turned, but he could be forgiven for not remembering the details when she was feeling so pleased with herself just then. She must have made quite the impression! Chuckling, she tossed him over her shoulder and carried him back through the window, delivering him to Remsing.

"Here is our guest of honor, at last!" She announced at the top of the stairs, just before she jogged down them, bouncing the poor man all the while.

[Seven]

"Ah yes, excellent work! Nice tenderizing there!" Remsing commended her before crouching in front of the final unfortunate soul. His face split with a fanged grin. The man knew he was long since beaten, bruised if not concussed, but amazingly silent even through his falling tears. They were his only plea to the monster before him, cocking his head at an unnatural angle; he could hear the screaming of the other two humans, whose fate he realized he'd soon be joining. Remsing appriased momentarily before deciding something. "What a shame for you though. You've only just arrived and you're already leaving us!" he brightly exclaimed before putting his large, spindly fingers around the man's head. 

The young man was clever to not take any assurance out of the soft pat, and instead clenched his eyes shut tight, bracing himself. "Meet you in another life!" The crack of the young man's neck was executed flawlessly with a single sharp sound; his struggle had come to an end as the once tightly wound muscles all loosened and went slack. Remsing supported the limp form, picking it up and carrying it over to the newly made "roasting pan." There was care now that hadn't been present when the young man was actually alive, and he situated the body on the far left of the tray. The woman--positioned in the middle--only broke into louder sobs and screams. Remsing immediately groaned, slapping a hand over his face and dragging it slowly down in irritation.  Most of the white skin fell away with that rake of nails, leaving the streaks of hardened black beneath those claw marks. 

"Guardians almighty," he groaned, "Gag her with a spoon or rip my ears off--I can't take that ridiculous sound anymore!"

[Forsaken]

Rip his ears off, huh? What if... 

Anonyma had casually ambled after Remsing as he placed his last entrée on the giant soon-to-be platter, with no particular purpose in mind. Then the ghoul spoke, and that changed. Purpose flashed through her mind like a vision and she reached for him, lightly hooking her fingers behind his ears so that the tips of her claws traced a pattern that was reminiscent of an ear cuff. "Hold still," The raccoon said, wearing one of her signature flashy smiles. For just a moment, the fingers tensed, the claws pressed harder, her shoulders coiling in anticipation of the harm she could soon inflict. Yet she did not follow through. The moment fled as quickly as it had seized her, unusual and out of place. It was not like her to touch him at all.

With confusion flashing briefly across her countenance, she pulled her arms back to her side, releasing him. 

"Two options makes for a poor order, my friend." She said, with a strangely dangerous undercurrent to the words that only served to make her uncomfortable. There was something within her that was easing free of it's chains, and she couldn't tell whether or not this was a bad thing. It didn't feel bad, and she doubted it would bother her if she was alone. Then again, none of this would have even began if she were alone.

"But I can think of a fun way to silence the screamers, if you wouldn't find further use of my colorful kerchief-ropes to be too repetitive." She knew she didn't need to ask, but this sort of light banter made the situation feel normal. This is what they always did. Touching him like she had was not normal. Talking to him was, and she subconsciously wanted to reinforce the non-weird stuff.

((Short post on my end, too. I had begun to write more, but it was feeling too cluttered. ))

[Seven]

The disgruntled mess came to a jerking and abrupt halt as the raccoon beast went from ambling behind to slinking close to him. The motions felt even serpentine, joints curling over his ears in a manner that was undoubtedly treacherous. He could have still moved away—should have moved away—but he didn’t. In place of whipping around and shooting her a questioning glare for this clearly inappropriate, mal-intent, fascinating action, he stood perfectly still. There was too much subtle ferociousness in her action for it to be lulling, thought it might’ve, though it certainly couldn’t be with his every nerve practically standing to attention with a bolt of electricity. And then, another insane thought.

Do it.

He really, really wanted her to follow through. Rip off his ears! It would have hurt—it would hurt so good—and, and… And he could always regenerate them anyways! Well, probably regenerate them…

He wasn’t sure if it was disappointment or relief when she ambled back, but he groaned either way. At least the frustrated sound could easily be attributed to the screamers. “No, yeah. Seriously. Just go for it. I think she must want me to kill her now with all the fuss she’s making.” That was actually pretty sensible when he thought of it, to hope for the quick death of the young man as oppose to being roasted alive. He chuckled to himself. “Little does she realize I’d just rip out her throat and let her bleed out slowly in the oven. You know what, that’s not a terrible idea!” he said mirthfully. The screaming woman immediately snapped her mouth shut silently.

[Forsaken]

With all her predatory intent now focused on the yet-to-die couple that kept failing to keep their yap shut, Anonyma gave Remsing a nod and moved in. Before she could tie up the living she had to take her remaining props from the dead, so she crouched by the silent one and pulled the knots loose with flourish after colorful, flashing flourish. All of them were pristine; she had by instinct taken great care not to damage her items, but now she wistfully thought it would have been better to have allowed herself to be messy. Just think of how the screamers would scream if she gagged them with blood-soaked rags! Actually...

Anonyma turned her head toward the blood-drenched entryway, a slow grin spreading across her face. Ding ding ding! Problem solved. She practically ran to those blood-splatters, not a single care given for how juvenile and over excited her gait must seem. Sloppily mopping up blood until all of her kerchiefs were dyed red, she ran back and leaped straight onto the table from such an unnecessary distance that the table threatened to skate all of them right into the flames. Fortunately, it only slid a couple feet before stopping short of the fireplace. 

"That start was more lively than intended," Anonyma said in an aside to the man, as though she were trying to cover up an embarrassing mistake and he had the dubious honor of being the only one privy to the details. "But hey, with so few heartbeats left to you in this life, you may as well cash those beats in early." She wrapped a short string of kerchiefs doused in the blood of his child around his mouth and nose, cinching them tight when he tried to yell. Idiot. He couldn't get enough air now to support that bad habit. If he kept trying, he'd just pass out early.

"Go on, keep screaming. You'll just choke yourself on the scent of blood." The raccoon had moved on to his wife while she spoke, rolling her eyes dismissively. Then a thought struck her, and she looked back at him. "Unless you're into that sort of thing?" When he couldn't answer properly, she just shrugged and anti-climatically gagged his wife in the same fashion. The woman had looked as though she might scream again, but given that her husband now had to choke on the taste of his kid's blood after opening his mouth like an idiot, she opted to keep her jaw clenched shut. It wouldn't help her breathe any better, but at least she'd have one less indignity to suffer. 

That done, Anonyma brushes her hands together so loudly she may as well be clapping and stepped off of the table so that it now rested between her and the fire. She props her foot against it and shakes it a bit, just to demonstrate how easy it would be to kick it in the flames at that exact second. Her maniacal grin is for the benefit of her victims. 

Finally, she turns back to Remsing. "Care to take the helm, Captain?"

[Seven]

Anonyma's enthusiasm for such a dark fare was amusing at first--beyond amusing really-- but it was beginning to bring a question of doubt to Remsing's mind. There was just this strange disparity. He watched her, and if anyone saw him, could have easily assumed that this was a Guardian gauging his Forsaken. If Lucien or Zahhak saw him, they would have assumed him to be playing into his role. But Remsing was genuinely curious if not actually confused.

This was... great, but, since when were they like this? Anonyma had never been some champion of justice, but, he definitely recalled... definitely recalled... 

What was he definitely recalling?

He tried to shake the thought off, but it persisted. That Anonyma as he knew her was much more sympathetic, didn't partake in bloodbaths, didn't have bloodlust, didn't actually like to needlessly harm. She liked to showoff, she liked to be better, and she liked to toy with people, but she wouldn't have gaily engaged in all of this just to show off and try to best him.  Remsing understood that this much carnage, though appetizing to him, was intensely disturbing to pretty much everything else with a sense of smell or eyes or ears or a brain.  He had constantly goaded her into giving in already to his gleeful manner of life but... But that sort of thing took time to acclimate to. It didn't just happen overnight.

Didn't it?


Anonyma proved that he didn't have time for these introspection right now as she turned to him, about as giddy as he should have been (not her) at the scene about them. He dropped his hand from his chin, flashing her an impressed smile ('Should I be looking a gift horse in the mouth anyways?' It couldn't be a trap...) as he lightly perused her work. 


"It appears so," he said, and the flames in the hearth suddenly emboldened brightly. "Then, shall we?" Contrarily, he didn't wait for reply, the inverted metal table slotting itself in the massive oven, taking its crying passengers to their hellish end.  The pained, broken screams intermingled with the crackling fire, and Remsing smiled serenely with closed eyes, as if it were the finest music in the world. "Ah yes," he said, a finger twirling in a lose manipulation of magic. It left a few small embers in its wake, like a pen drawing in the air. "They should be done soon." He opened one eye in a reverse wink. "Now wasn't that fun?" 

[Forsaken]

Anonyma was quite pleased that Remsing seemed to be impressed by all this, having not even the slightest clue that her unusual antics had left room for doubt. Her own moments of hesitation and confusion and been ruthlessly suppressed in favor of having fun. In a very real sense, she had managed to make herself blind to the echos of those intuitive warnings, no matter who displayed them. 

As for having fun...something about that seemed off. Her sense of fun took a different form than this, and felt more like the warmth of the sun than fire. What was the use in nitpicking though? Warmth was warmth. It was close enough. 

"Don't let anyone ever tell you that you don't know how to have a good time." She said, smirking at him. And also ignoring the inconvenient reality that she herself was usually the one who put a stop to this sort of thing. Before either of them could think too hard about that inconsistency, she pulled a couch more directly in front of the fire than where it had been angled and sprawled onto one end, gesturing for him to join her while they waited.

[Seven]

There had been a moment of peculiarity with which he had stared at her, head cocked to the side, before he resumed a wide grin.  It was at this point that Remsing finally dropped parading around like a Guardian, if only in stance and mannerism. He lept up, perched along the edge of the couch like a much-too-big cat. "Sitting in front of a blazing fire? Waiting for our meal to be done?" He didn't bother to correct the use of "our" to "my," it seemed apropo somehow, and Remsing went on clucking. "I didn't take you for such a romantic."

Before she could worm her way out of it, he literally dropped himself into a seat beside. Flush beside her. "What next? We roast marshmallows and the last of the chestnuts in the conservatory?" he asked, leaning over her, levering himself with a long, thin arm, still draped over the back of the couch. "Or just--" He unclipped her cloak from around him. Quickly it was brought over, the heavy material (laden with all manner of stuff inside of it), blanketing them both.

[Forsaken]

The direction the ghoul was about to take became clear the moment that particular breed of familiar grin crossed his face. It was so easy to misstep with him; she hadn't been thinking of romance at all when she playfully pulled up a 'chair'. The fact that she'd chosen a piece of furniture that could comfortably hold two was only practical. It was faster to pull one object into place than it was to arrange two. She'd been pragmatic.

Now he was pressed against her with an arm behind her shoulders as he buried both of them in her own cloak, and she felt as though she'd have to claw her way free of her own skin to get free of all the uncomfortable things she was feeling. Anticipation. Excitement. Desire. She didn't want any of it. The feverish gleam in her eyes that briefly betrayed her shifted to abject horror and she bolted out of Remsing's reach and across the back of the couch to the opposite end. The whole thing threatened to spill over on it's back with the force of her leap, but she flung herself down on the cushion fast enough to slam it back down on it's four legs. Before the couch could even settle properly, she lunged for Remsing with her arm set in front of her like brace to keep him at bay. She used it instead to press the length of her forearm against his chest and pin him down, between her and the back of the couch. Now her back was to the fire as she crouched over him.

"Don't. Do. That." The words came low and guttural, trembling like the house itself had earlier. And was it a trick of the shadows, or was there now a pool of darkness beneath the normal sheet ice color of her eyes? Whatever it was, she didn't seem to like what she felt then anymore than she had liked what she'd felt the moment before, because she immediately released him as though she'd been stung.

[Seven]

Her intensely violent reaction confused him. Don't do what? Familiarity and banter and cruelty  and mocking were all staples of their relationship. Closeness was a given since they slept nightly together. Was it really just mocking her with the pseudo-romantic setup she had accidentally aligned?  Hadn't they played and fought and argued over much more? What was the big deal? He half wanted to accuse her of being crazy again, but if this was so deeply troubling to her for whatever reason, then perhaps he should have stepped off and tried to be sensitive about the issue and--

The furrowing of his brow and growing confusion on his face as he lay pinned immediately evaporated as she lifted off of him. He resumed his gleefully manic grin, his flexibly lithe body kicking up legs and turning a full backwards somersault over the armrest, grabbed an actual chair (one of the relatively undisturbed kitchen table chairs) and whipped it at her.   "So we're fighting now!" he replied, all prior trains of thought gone with the newfound assumption. For what else could be to this whole mess but a provocation, goading, and invitation to fight.  Leaving her no opportunity to rebound,  he also spring-boarded toward her, catapulting himself to tackle her. 

[Forsaken]

The chair would careen wildly over Anonyma's head as she ducked, then peeked over the back of the couch to see what the ghoul was doing. It was almost coy, that furtive gesture. Already her discomfort had slipped away while her anger was assimilated into fuel for a brawl. By chance or instinct, Remsing had taken the one action that both sides of Anonyma's colliding spirit could get behind and have some fun with.

Since he threw himself at her too quickly for her to dodge she twisted herself just enough to result in an off-center impact that would likely throw off his center of gravity. They still crashed to the floor together, but he wasn't going to pin her down as easily as he had right after she'd woken up. This time, she was able to land with her knees tucked between her and the floor, giving her plenty of leverage to quickly spring back to her feet and seize the thrown chair.

Standing now, with the chair held out in front of her, she seized her whip and cracked it like a lion tamer. "Stay back, feral ghoul." Her voice perfectly mimicked the booming timber of a circus announcer. "Or it will be off to the flaming hoops with you yet!"