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Post by Miss Jack on May 20, 2008 23:15:29 GMT -5
He laughed coldly. "My dear, you are his weak point."
The air seemed to grow heavy, colder maybe, as he tilted his head down, his already dark eyes growing more shadowed. "Now, perhaps you would favor me with an answer to one of my questions?"
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Post by Maestro on May 21, 2008 0:09:35 GMT -5
She was his weak point? But, hadn't he pretty much told her that Zizzy was more important to him? Wasn't his visit earlier a sort of farewell, even though he had said he wasn't making a choice?
She suppressed a shiver, remembering what cold felt like. His eyes changed, but Iseabail managed to keep looking into them, face expressionless. "Aye, weel, that depends on your question," she told him. "I will do my best to answer you truthfully." Of course, if the answer would hurt Armand, she'd have to respectfully decline to respond.
"What would ye know of me?" she asked, rather formally. It seemed to fit with the occasion (or at the very least, the dress).
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Post by Miss Jack on May 21, 2008 0:28:06 GMT -5
"No need to be so melodramatic," he mused, lips curling slightly. "I want to know the source of your impeccable manners, Miss MacDonald. Why do you smile in the face of the enemy, caress the snake, if you will?"
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Post by Maestro on May 21, 2008 0:55:10 GMT -5
"Sorry," she murmured, smiling a bit. "Years of opera; melodrama is rather hard to avoid, at times." She loved her job, but sometimes it leaked over to other points in her life.
He only wanted to know about her manners? That was not at all what she had expected him to ask. "Weel," she started, musing over her answer in her mind. "I came into being as the Bonnie Prince's Nightmare; I suppose I learned my manners from the court." That wasn't really what he wanted to know, though.
"I dinna exactly ken," she murmured, sorting through her thoughts. "Ye intrigue me," she answered truthfully. "I do no' think of ye as an enemy; ye are another person that I do no' know yet." Smiling slightly, she added, "And maybe I like the danger." After all, she wasn't exactly one to sit around in her room, doing nothing; she was an opera singer and a Scot and she would take risks, especially ones that interested her.
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Post by Miss Jack on May 21, 2008 13:04:50 GMT -5
He raised an eyebrow, his expression hardening.
He stood to his feet and their lush, feasting surroundings vanished in a mist of blackness, though he left the chair for her to remain sitting on. "Misplaced curiosity," he said quietly, dangerously. "I am your enemy, and as intriguing as I may be, if you get too close you will regret every step you took toward me." He glared at her smile. "Killing you would mean nothing to me, perhaps for the slight joy of Armand's suffering, and that is why you're still alive. When I kill you, I want to enjoy the light leaving your eyes."
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Post by Maestro on May 21, 2008 23:16:06 GMT -5
Iseabail stood as well, staring unflinchingly into those black eyes. "I'm not afraid," she said quietly, and it was half-true. She believed that he would do exactly what he said, but that didn't frighten her. What frightened her was the thought that Iker would cause Armand pain with his actions.
"Do ye live merely to kill?" she asked, slightly sadly. "Have ye even tried to lay aside your hate for one minute to look around ye and see what ye could possibly find to your liking? Or have ye just hated Armand all your life, never thinking of anything but death?" She was a vampire; she knew what it was like to have your mind filled with blood, with carnage, but she also knew what it was like to be able to enjoy a sunset, write a song, be with the ones you cared about.
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Post by Miss Jack on May 22, 2008 0:03:05 GMT -5
He bristled, unnerved that she had hit so close to the truth. He had carried this hatred all of his existence, and he knew no other way than to kill. Most of his kind didn't even acquire emotions, it was his abnormally patient and strong-willed host that had done this to him.
"Your way of life sickens me," he told her angrily. And then he paused, calmly himself, irritated that he had slipped. A brief moment of weakness.
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Post by Maestro on May 22, 2008 0:35:10 GMT -5
She saw that change and knew she was right. But Iseabail was playing a very dangerous game; push too hard and she might never reach him. If she could strike a balance, though, maybe he and Armand wouldn't be constantly at war.
"Aye, weel," she started softly, choosing her words with the utmost care, "Perhaps we are more alike than ye ken. I'm the fear of blood; when I was stuck in the mortal world, practically the only things I saw had to do with blood, death, and carnage. And maybe that is where we differ."
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Post by Miss Jack on May 22, 2008 22:33:08 GMT -5
"Seeing and doing are two very different things," he growled, advancing on her. Out of nowhere, the edge of a dagger traced a circle on her cheek, though it did not break skin. He pulled it down and forced the hilt into her hand. He was close enough that his icy breath touched her face as he spoke. "Kill me, Iseabail?"
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Post by Maestro on May 23, 2008 0:46:32 GMT -5
"Then ye of all people should ken that difference," she murmured, holding her ground. He didn't seem to understand, and it was making her sad. An odd emotion to be feeling toward someone that wanted to kill her, but then again, so were the other things running through the vampire's mind. Namely, curiosity, sadness, a touch of anger, and strangely of all, perhaps, attraction. It was the kind of attraction that occurs when you've looked death in the eye and conquered it; a reckless attraction, but still powerful.
As the dagger traced her cheek, Iseabail's eyes widened in surprise. Her surprised quickly turned to shock and then anger. Dagger hilt in her hand, she was almost tempted to do what he said. Not quite yet, though; her anger was merely simmering. She kept her hold on the dagger, though, the weight comfortable in her hand. The breath that caressed her cheek reminded her of winter nights, the lonely wind howling to the silvery moon.
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Post by Miss Jack on May 23, 2008 1:01:25 GMT -5
His eyes glittered darkly at her hesitation. "Can't do it?" he breathed. If his voice was cold, it was nothing to his face, his skin as cold and hard as marble. He grabbed her wrist, aiming the dagger at his heart. "Of course you can't. Not for yourself, not for Armand. Free to love as you please, but then... I suppose it wouldn't be polite to kill me would it?"
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Post by Maestro on May 23, 2008 1:15:37 GMT -5
"Do no' underestimate me, Iker," she breathed, saying his name for only the third time that night. "Ye would be surprised at what I'm capable of." He grabbed her wrist, but she didn't feel the cold. Her mind registered it, but she was only focused on his face, eyes narrowed.
Enough of this. Taking a firmer grip on the dagger, Iseabail glared into Iker's eyes. "Can I no'? Etiquette is not always meant to be obeyed." It irked her that he did not think her capable of killing. But was she? Would this save Armand? She wasn't sure, but as far as she knew, it might. "This is Tosca's kiss!" she hissed, plunging the dagger into Iker's heart.
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Post by Miss Jack on May 23, 2008 1:21:37 GMT -5
He gasped in surprise, a harsh hiss of pain. He stumbled away from her, a hand coming up to grasp the wound. Blood stained his white skin in crimson trails. He struggled to regain his breath and then he started laughing. It was a frightening, insane sound. He collapsed to his knees, still laughing. Before his last breath left him, he met Iseabail's eye.
"Time to wake up," he whispered, and then died. So to speak.
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