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Post by Miss Jack on May 7, 2008 20:07:04 GMT -5
An hour after his unfortunate encounter with Iseabail, Armand arrived at the edge of the ominous mountain range. An hour was plenty of time to reflect and brood, and he was glad to finally arrive. It was almost as if there was a line marking the territory; everything beyond it seemed to die and turn cold like rock.
The demon that rested inside him seemed to grow more potent in the atmosphere. It felt as if something black and tar-like was seeping out of his core, crawling along inside him until every single space was filled, pushing and crowding him with something so viciously not him. He walked faster, distancing himself between what was inevitable, and the things that he loved. Home… something hissed in his head, so loud that he staggered and gripped his head. It was happening faster than he thought. That’s good, he thought bitterly, trying to make himself feel relieved. The quicker it was over, the less chance there was of someone following him.
He broke into a run, plunging himself deep, deep into the heart of the Eye of the World mountains. He ran until his lungs clenched for air. And stopped. He could fight it for awhile yet, he knew he could. But now was the time to face it--- now, while he was alone. Carefully, he bent to his knees. He closed his eyes and gave in, only a slip of breath. The struggle hit him with unbearable weight. He slumped forward, his arm barely catching his weight. He sickened at the thought of what he would have to do, remembering the feel of steel piercing his flesh. With shaking fingers, he pulled the dagger from its sheath, throwing the leather casing to the side. The blade gleamed and caught his trembling reflection, his eyes, clouded and strained, staring back at him for a brief instant. He clenched his teeth and raised the dagger in the air, waiting.
He shifted his grip against the hilt, curling and uncurling his fingers. Come.
Like lightning splitting through his body, the drive for evil hit, swelled and crashed through him. It poisoned his mind and leaked into his soul. The demon was there, pushing him to change, begging to be free. Armand didn’t have the strength or the will to refuse the natural transformation any longer. He had to let the demon out. He had to become the demon. He was the demon.
The blade crashed into his hand, buried to the hilt. Agony hitched against his throat, he might have screamed, he didn’t know, but the pain brought him back. He was able to focus on the white fire that rocked through him instead of the impending night terror. He gasped heavily. Trembling, he managed to grab hold of the dagger and pull it out of his hand. He groaned through gritted teeth and made a fist with his wounded hand. The blood dripped from the cracks of his fingers like paint.
He sat back on his heels and his shoulders slumped with exhaustion.
Killl.. His mind flooded with red. The second wave came harder, stronger, it nearly undid him. A strangled noise of frustration escaped his throat and he slammed his hand onto the ground. The sting of the wound didn’t come close to penetrating the haze around his mind. The point of the dagger followed almost instantly, pinning his palm to the ground.
Bright circles exploded in front of his eyes and he nearly lost consciousness. He wished he would have. But instead, he gave abnormal attention to the pain. Centered his mind on how much it hurt. His other arm refused to support him any longer and he collapsed, his forehead pressed against his wrist. He could smell the metallic scent of his blood, now pouring rapidly into the dirt.
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Alexander had barely yanked the black sweater over his head when Zizzy came into the room. "Fast," he complimented distractedly.
"Yes I do," he told Iseabail, and his lips curled into a deadly snarl as an image of something darkened his mind. "And we're running. If you can't keep up, I don't care."
When they left the castle, morning light was barely breaking over the horizon. If Iseabail had come straight to the castle, then they were about an hour behind Armand; soon to be half an hour because Alexander wasn't waiting for anyone.
They reached the Eye of the World Mountains and Alexander paused. "Try and stick together," he told the two girls, breathing heavily. "If something happens to either of you, I'm the first one Night-Terror-Armand is coming after." The mountains were hardly the safest place to play hide-and-seek, and he could understand how his brother wouldn't want Iseabail or Zizzy to follow him here.
He slowed his pace to a walk, unsure which route Armand would have taken. The air carried a forboding chill that instantly made him think the worse. "Self-sacrificing prick," he muttered under his breath.
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Post by Jules on May 7, 2008 20:34:10 GMT -5
Zizzy was having a hard time accepting the whole thing. She couldn't quite believe the situation, it seemed surreal. Here she was with Alexander and the competition hiking through the Eye of the World Mountains to get Armand out of the trouble he had no doubtly gotten himself into. She had no problem keeping up, and was breathing only a tad harshly when the pace slowed to a walk.
"Three days, he said. Three days. God if he's not already dead I'm going to kill him." She snarled. "It's a damn good thing I got the smores stuff last night."
In her slight panic and worry, it might've been obvious that Zizzy wasn't thinking too clearly. There was a pack on her back but otherwise she hadn't really dressed for a hike---she'd rushed out of the apartment as quickly as she possibly could and the pace hadn't slowed since. Not that she wanted it to. She wanted to get to Armand as soon as possible, make sure he was ok and then kick his ass. She could sense something was wrong and was itching to break free of both of them and just run as fast as she possibly could, but that wouldn't be a good idea. She had no idea what condition she was going to find Armand in, and could probably use the help the other two could provide. The vegetation seemed to have given up a while back and the land was barren. It just added to the opressive feeling in the air. Even with her anger, Zizzy had fallen silent. Her stomach felt like a sailor had gotten his hands on it and her mouth felt dry. Slowly, she turned to Alexander.
"Everything's going to be ok, right?" She asked in a small voice.
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Post by Maestro on May 7, 2008 20:41:22 GMT -5
Iseabail laughed shortly. "Ye dinna need to worry about that," she said curtly and followed Alex out. From being on various stages for years, Iseabail was in fairly good shape. She was a little bit out of breath by the time they reached the foot of the mountains, but not much.
She didn't say anything to Zizzy's comment, but her eyes narrowed. And then she smelled it: Armand's blood. It was kind of faint, but it was unmistakable.
Taking a deep breath, she started in the direction the smell was coming from. "This way," was all she said in explanation. "We dinna have much time; he's already bleeding," she murmured, walking quickly.
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Post by Miss Jack on May 7, 2008 21:05:13 GMT -5
Alexander's lips twitched a little with amusement at Zizzy, but all humor fled when Iseabail turned in another direction, led, apparently, by the smell of his brother's blood. He forced his mind to remain clear as he followed after her, but every step seemed to shake his equilibrium a little. Reaction failed him. He couldn't summon the cocky sarcasm that protected him so well against life and yet without it, he didn't know what to do. "He's probably fine," he murmured to himself. He didn't know what he'd been expecting to find, but Armand's blood had not been in the picture. Heat simmered in the air around him. His frustrated pace might have collided with Iseabail, but she was already walking faster than he was.
They rounded the side of a gorge and came upon a small opening. Steep black cliffs, craggy and ominous, surrounded them on all sides. So bleak was the landscape and atmostphere that Alexander almost didn't notice the hunched form on the ground, camoflauged by a black cloak.
A beat passed, and then Alexander ran past Iseabail. "Armand," he whispered, with a hint of panic. Two pairs of gleaming eyes shot up through a curtain of hair, illuminating the dark atmosphere.
"Alexander," Armand gasped, and his eyes extinguished; tired, quivering blue meeting wide orange.
Alexander, for his part, was noticing the stain of crimson on the ground near his brother's knees. Armand's eyes shot over Alexander's shoulders, pinning instantly on Iseabail and Zizzy. "How could you bring them?" he hissed. The air spiked with energy as his temper flashed. He groaned and doubled over, trying to control it.
Alexander rushed forward, but Armand snarled in fury, his eyes open and glaring, pure, fiery white, like lightning. "Stay back," a voice that was not Armand's reverbrated along the cliffs. The sudden wind that accompanied the transformation forced Alexander back a few steps. It ebbed immediately and Armand, panting, sweat glistening off his face, begged his brother, "Don't let them come." He trembled with restraint, and his voice lowered huskily, "Kill me first, if it comes to---" He broke off with another groan, his wounded hand shooting out to catch himself as he pitched forward. Little tendrils of blood seeped out along the ground beneath his palm.
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Post by Jules on May 7, 2008 21:29:32 GMT -5
No.
Zizzy stopped for a split second, froze, no thoughts, no emotion. Just the jack-rabbit pace of her heart. It slammed into her with such a force as time seemed to start again. Overwhelming panic, sickness and fear. Overwhelming need to make everything OK. It propelled her into a run, into the opening. Her pack came slinging off her shoulder and she crashed to her knees. She felt the skin split, felt the impact bruise but she ignored it as she whipped out the one thing more important then smores.
A first aide kit. She practically whipped the top off in her hurry and looked at Armand. The blood was coming from his hand. Somehow, in her panic she could tell he was loosing control. Her hand whipped out and she shocked him. Not hard enough to do any damage, hard enough to hurt. She felt like yelling, but even she knew now was not the time.
"Hand please." She asked softly, bandage at the ready. Zizzy was trying very, very hard to remain calm and it was tiring her more then the run hand. "Alex, get the disinfectant. God, you went right through the hand...." She had to stop her voice from shaking...
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Post by Maestro on May 7, 2008 21:44:25 GMT -5
"Armand," Iseabail whispered, her heart already wrenching for the man she loved. She had promised him that she wouldn't put herself in his way if he was like this, but it was only his words now that kept her back.
Even though she was a vampire, the scent of Armand's blood was making her sick. Each time she breathed, she was reminded that Armand had been hurt and there was nothing she could do right now.
She heard Armand's words, though, and she responded. "It willna come to tha', Armand," she whispered, vowing again that she would give her life to save Armand's. Granted, there wasn't much wood around, but if her head parted from her body, she would be dead.
He was going to need blood before this was over, that was certain. Iseabail knew that it wasn't too serious, yet, but if things went on, it could be. At least he hadn't severed any arteries and it was 'only' his hand.
As Zizzy ran forward, though, Iseabail knew that it was a bad idea to stop Armand. "No," she said quietly, "Stopping him now will only make things worse," she told Zizzy as she took the other's arm. It frankly hurt to see Armand in pain, but he had to learn to control this thing inside him. It was like Jekyll & Hyde: forcing Hyde back every time wouldn't do a thing to benefit Jekyll. No, Armand had gone off so that he could learn control and that was what he needed to do.
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Post by Miss Jack on May 7, 2008 22:01:17 GMT -5
The shock probably saved her life. Seeing Zizzy so close, feeling her hand on him, caused a wave of panic so fresh and unexpected, it almost cost him his control. The electric shock she sent to to his system shook loose the blinding red and freed his senses enough for him to jerk away from her, fighting a mix of anger and a deep, penetrating dread. "No," he begged.
Alexander reached Zizzy the same time Iseabail did. "We're beyond disinfectant," he said. Apparently, he wasn't the only who'd had their foundation shaken by the sight of Armand.
Armand's entire body was shaking with the effort it took to keep the monster inside him. He couldn't concentrate, not with them so close. He lashed out and grabbed Iseabail's arm. He stared up at her, sweat dampened hair falling into the wild eyes. "Leave," he commanded thickly. He knew she would listen to him long before Zizzy would. "Please," he pleaded, and then shoved her roughly back.
A half scream, half groan ripped through him and he curled to the ground. A rush of blinding wind hit the trio, but Alexander stopped the majority of the impact with a quick arc of fire.
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Post by Jules on May 7, 2008 22:28:04 GMT -5
She let herself be pulled away with not much of a fight. The bandage dropped, she at least had the presence of mind to pick up her bag before they both brought her too far, before it got hit by the blast of wind or touched by fire. Her mind took a moment to catch up. She couldn't leave him here! Couldn't begin to think about leaving him here. He would die. She cried out uselessly and turned to Alexander.
"What do we do? We can't just leave him..." His pain was hard to witness, but she couldn't leave him. It just wasn't possible. What if something happened to him?
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Post by Maestro on May 7, 2008 23:10:22 GMT -5
Iseabail was torn. She had promised Armand that she would leave if he told her, to but she didn't want him to be more hurt than he needed to be. What should she do? Music had seemed to help him before, would it now?
Suddenly she had an idea. She didn't know if it would help, but it was worth a try. "Go," she said to the other two, stepping toward Armand. Thinking quickly through the arias she knew (and there were a lot), she settled on Vissa del Arte, since they had been doing Tosca together.
Moving toward Armand with her arms raised, palms up, Iseabail gathered her voice to her and began to sing: I lived for art. I lived for love: Never did I harm a living creature! … Whatever misfortunes I encountered I sought with secret hand to succour … Ever in pure faith, My prayers rose In the holy chapels. Ever in pure faith, I brought flowers to the altars. In this hour of pain, why, Why, oh Lord, why Dost Thou repay me thus? Jewels I brought For the Madonna's mantle, And songs for the stars in heaven That they shone forth with greater radiance. In this hour of distress, why, Why, oh Lord, Why dost Thou repay me thus?"
She was near enough to Armand now to kneel at his feet; even though the situation was dour, her eyes filled, her love for Armand shining through. It was a bit hard to get the next lines out:
"Look at me, oh, behold! With clasped hands I beseech you! And, vanquished, I implore The help of your word!"
Iseabail stood up now, reaching out to Armand, managing to keep herself from trembling. She couldn't imagine the sort of pain he was going through. All she wanted to do was lessen that pain, in whatever way she could.
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Post by Miss Jack on May 7, 2008 23:41:38 GMT -5
Armand took a shaky step away from her, looking tortured and like he'd rather stick another knife through his hand. "Don't," he said, his voice breaking, "Don't do this to me..."
Her sweet voice was familiar to his heart and he couldn't tune it out, as much as he wanted to. He cringed when she knelt before him, cursing her, cursing himself and everything he was. It almost worked, and would have, if the Night Terror hadn't sensed the love, like darkness swallowing light.
I know your weakness.
Armand's last, unfortunate thought was a blinding concern and panic for what would happen if he never heard that voice again, and then he fell to his knees. The transformation was, ironically, calm. No sound uttered from Armand's curled form, no blasts of power. He fell, and his head tipped up, a dangerous, sick smile stretching over his face. His eyes were white and glowing and his hair swam off his shoulders as if an electric current flowed from the roots to the tips.
"Finally..." The Night Terror rolled Armand's shoulders and smirked demeaningly at Iseabail. His voice echoed and penetrated like distant thunder; an icy file being scraped down the spine.
Alexander froze. Something was wrong. This couldn't be the Night Terror. Everything was too... quiet. The white eyes flashed and Armand cut his hand through the air. A fierce wind knocked each of them off their feet. Armand, or the impersonator, flexed his fingers. "This is... different. Young Armand has such self-control, such elegance; and his body remains in tact. Interesting."
He glanced up and seemed to notice his audience for the first time. Another grin appeared, making the monster appear to be what it truly was. "Friends of the host, I see. I know--- he's begging me not to kill you. Lucky for you, I don't have time to waste time on your blood." Armand's body shuddered, wind made jagged patterns of the air, and then he regained control. "Very different," he mused.
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Post by Jules on May 7, 2008 23:55:32 GMT -5
Zizzy was thrown to the ground. Her head hit the stone floor beneath her with a sickening thud, but no damage was done. Except maybe a headache and a bump. She stood quickly, zipping to her feet. And almost wished she hadn't...
It was possibly the most frightening thing she'd ever seen. A hulking hell beast wouldn't have been as bad as seeing Armand twisted this way. It was like a convulsion of nature and she could barely stand to look at it. To be able to pick out his familiar features among the gross distortions. The voice, especially, because even if she shut her eyes she couldn't turn away from that voice. Anger filled her, the look of this thing was sickening her, and to think of Armand trapped somewhere inside that enraged her. Bolts, larger then before, burst out over her skin as she firmed her stance.
The fear was being burned away by the anger. A darkish cloud had literally bloomed over Zizzy's head, and it's underbelly crackled with lightning. She took a few steps forward, but hesitated. What could she do? She could hit him with a huge bolt, massive, in fact. But would it hurt Armand too? It was his body. If she burned it, it would burn him, wouldn't it? She clenched her fists, the cloud wilted.
"Dinner date?" She snarled, not entirely sure where this courage or sudden calm was coming from. And realizing that half of herself was begging the rest of her to shut up and hide behind a rock. But it was too small to even influence a twitch.
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Post by Maestro on May 8, 2008 0:41:51 GMT -5
Iseabail had been reaching toward Armand when he ... changed. She didn't move; she couldn't move until that wind knocked her down. It had been unexpected, but Iseabail had quick reflexes and managed to protect her head when she went down. She was up again in a few moments, looking at what was once Armand.
"Armand," she whispered, unable to keep his name from her lips. As it spoke, she shivered. That voice sent chills down her spine and not in the way that Armand's did. For the first time, Iseabail was scared of the man in front of her. She just kept reminding herself that it was the Night Terror, not Armand she was looking at.
"His body will remain intact," she told the thing before her, glaring at it with a bravado she did not quite feel.
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Post by Miss Jack on May 8, 2008 14:24:32 GMT -5
The Night Terror paused in his descent of terror and massive killings. Oh, if only his brethren could see him now. Pausing before he killed. Living, thriving on a host for so long had blessed him with its ill effects. Most Night Terrors needed only a functioning body that thrived on fear, be it old, young, powerful or weak, for them to begin their reign of terror. To do what they were created to do. But for some reason, he’d been created in the same instant his host was born and they had meshed as one, growing together, and yet remaining separate. Armand Ira, crown prince of the Isle of Morpheus, who always thought before he acted, who had too many reasons behind his every move, who insisted on making up his mind with routine and precision.
He faced his three opponents and let his irritation show. Their lack of fear of annoyed him as much as his hesitation to end their lives. He would see their blood smeared across the rocks before the day had ended, either way. He felt a sudden fit of discomfiture and knew Armand still hadn‘t disappeared entirely, the way he was supposed to. I will enjoy your pain as you watch them die, he thought. And you can feel as helpless as I have for years.
“You dare address me in such a way?” he hissed quietly, his voice rasping and crawling along the ground. He glanced calculatingly between Zizzy and Iseabail. A ghost of a smile flitted across his face. “He loves you. This will give me profound pleasure.” He grinned that same insane, bloodthirsty grin, raising a hand, but whatever he had planned to do was cut short as a spiral of flame connected with his shoulder, knocking him to the side. Furious surprise crossed his face before he regained his balance and whipped around toward Alexander.
A tendril of smoke simmered off Alexander’s arm, the heat rolling off his body visible in shimmering waves that distorted the air around him. His mouth slanted into an arrogant smirk. “What?”
The Night Terror smiled. “I have heard you were headstrong, young prince. I think we both know that’s just a nicer way of saying you’re stupid.” He’d always thought he’d bonded to the wrong twin. Here was the kind of hot-blooded host he could have flourished in. Someone who rejected rules the moment they were handed to him. The Night Terror shifted. The energy around him ebbed and his eyes became a sharp, icy blue. “You would fight your brother?” he asked in Armand’s calm, cultured baritone.
Alexander’s eyes darkened. “You’re not Armand.”
“No, I’m not,” Armand said. He flashed a grin and the Night Terror returned. “I am Iker.”
Alexander clenched his fists and his arms ignited, like two sleeves of fire. He rushed the Night Terror. Iker met him head on and caught Alexander’s fists. The flames vanished and Alexander felt as if something vital had been sucked out of him. His own face laughed at him. “Duh,” Iker said, but with Alexander’s mocking grin and overconfident bravado. Alexander snarled and Iker morphed again. The face remained the same, but the orange eyes turned blue, and the unruly black hair grew out, falling past his shoulders. Alexander pushed with his fists, but Iker-Armand kept his grip and both their shoulders trembled as they strained against each other.
“It’s always bothered you that I’m stronger than you, hasn’t it?” Armand asked him. The worst part was the hint of kindness to the voice that was much more like Armand than Alexander cared to think about. “Feel better now? It’s your fault this happened to me,” he continued. Alexander’s grip faltered and Iker, with inhuman strength and the help of a strong wind, sent Alexander hurtling into a cliff side, which crumbled and collapsed beneath the impact.
“Well.” Iker turned back to the girls and dusted off his hands. “Who’s next?”
A thin shrapnel of rock whistled through the air and caught Iker across the cheek. He took a shocked step backward and touched his fingers to the thin gash on his face. He brought his hand down, glancing almost curiously at the blood on his fingertips. Alexander strode toward him, his clothes torn and a cut above his brow bleeding into his eye. His body glowed and thrummed like a furnace.
Iker chuckled. “You’re more powerful than I first gave you credit for, Alexander. I know it was you that meant to harness my power. We could have been great together, unbeatable. It can still be…” he trailed off. “If you’re willing to kill Armand.”
With a growl of fury, Alexander lunged for him. He jumped in the air, fire in his hands that he intended to send into every pore of the imposter’s body. Nellie looked up at him, her eyes glistening with terror. “Alexander, no!” she cried and covered her face with her hands.
Alexander’s eyes widened. As if someone had hit a break inside him, he fumbled, veering to the side. Something collided with his stomach, all breath fled, and he crashed into the ground.
Iker laughed manically. Alexander pushed himself upright, eyes smoldering. The ground shook and the rock at Iker’s feet split open, yawning wider as the tremors continued. “Ah, the jaws of hell,” Iker mused. The clothes on Alexander’s back began to smoke, his skin practically orange he was so hot.
And then Zizzy was wagging a finger at him. “I think somebody needs to cool off,” she said. Clouds rolled and a torrent of rain hit Alexander. It pummeled him until he was certain he was going to drown, and then it stopped. Soaked, Alexander coughed, his shivering form sending up wisps of steam. The ground had closed up and the heat in the air had vanished.
The laughing Zizzy turned into Armand, who turned to look at the real Zizzy. “Thanks, darling,” he said with a wink, blowing her a kiss.
“Had enough?” King Jack asked Alexander. Alexander couldn’t manage the words, but his eyes blazed challengingly. Or, they tried to blaze. Weakly sparked would probably be a more accurate description.
Iker decided he’d come back. He enjoyed toying with the impetuous young prince. He faced Zizzy and Iseabail. “One down, two to go.”
Alexander tried to make it to his feet, to stop his limbs from shaking, but failed. The Night Terror had missed the confusion in his eyes. When they were kids, hadn't it been Armand who would dunk him in water when the fire began to consume him? Iker pretended to know what was in Alexander's head, but why would he do something to help him? He wouldn't, Alexander decided. Armand was still in there.
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Post by Jules on May 8, 2008 18:03:07 GMT -5
"Yes." She replied simply, generating electricity. But she wasn't ready, didn't have enough for it not just to be swatted aside as an annoyance. And then a column of fire smoked into his shoulder.
The scene was horrific, but she didn't get in Alexander's way. Seeing him attack Iker without hesitation gave her confidence to call back the cloud. And then he took on her face. Her eyes widened to saucer plates and she felt her mouth go dry. It used her, her power... against Alexander. She felt sick with anger. Zizzy couldn't in fact remember being so angry in her entire life. And it showed. The lightning coursing over her skin no longer left any piece of her untouched. She was utterly consumed though it didn't seem to be affecting her at all. The cloud above her heard had lifted and melted effortlessly with the sky above them, turning it a storm-hardened black for about a mile radius.
The tremors frightened her, but not for long. There wasn't room for much besides the rage at the moment. She had enough sense to step on one side of one before it threatened to swallow her.
She was concerned for Alexander but it would've been incredibly stupid to turn her back on Iker to check on him. Hopefully he was fine, hopefully they would all come away from this unscathed.
"You will leave." Her voice was no longer her own, but a thunderstorm speaking. Unsettling in it's own right as howling wind made her vowels and the crash of thunder her punctuation. In her anger she wasn't thinking too clearly, but she couldn't stay like this for too much longer without burning herself inside out. So she let loose, a large bolt aimed directly at Iker's chest.
"Leave." She boomed.
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Post by Maestro on May 8, 2008 20:03:22 GMT -5
Iseabail didn't say anything for a moment; she was trying to gather her thoughts. Iker, the thing had said. How ironically like Jekyll and Hyde this whole situation was except for the fact that Iker could use the thoughts and powers of others against them.
But Iseabail didn't have long-range powers. If she was going to do something, she was going to have to get in close to do anything, really. She was a vampire: she might be stronger than a usual Nightmare and she might have fangs, but unless she had a weapon, she had to be up close and personal with her opponent. Foolishly, perhaps, she took a step toward Iker, thinking quickly through her choices.
It probably actually wasn't a good idea to be showing Iker things that he could use against the trio, but it was too late for that now. Besides, the only thing Iseabail had that could turned back against her, really, was her voice. And she had already made that known.
She had registered the fact that Alexander was still down, but she didn't have a chance to call out to see if he was all right; they could worry about that later. Right now, she had to do something to try to save Armand.
Knowing that there was nothing else she could even try, really, Iseabail took a deep breath, deciding on something that was probably foolish. She was going to sing again.
"Iker, ye have no idea what ye've done. Tosca does not deal well with people hurting the man she loves." Taking another deep breath, she murmured, "Armand, I ken that ye are still in there. If ye can hear me, this is for you."
With that, she started to sing, never mind that this bit was Tosca to Cavaradossi, now, it was just Iseabail to Armand, characters aside. True, it was a dire situation, but the vampire had no idea what else she could do. She sang as if her life depended on it, as if Armand's life depended on it, reaching out to Armand, even though Iker was the one she could see. If he hurt her now, so be it; if not, well, then perhaps it could help?
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