bedside, for the death of †oday

[Javert]

ps--the soundtrack for this post is here. listen as you read to enhance the reading experience. xD it was stuck in my head as I was writing it, so, yeah.


If she closed her eyes, she could still see the visages of a myriad forgotten people before her. If she cupped her hands over her ears and held her breath and quieted the cadences of her wild heart, she could hear the rhythm of drops of rain, or blood, or sweat, or tears, as they fell onto the stone floor and beat against it with inconsequential fists. She smelled the vestiges of extinguished flames and tasted rain or something else like sadness. She felt--

"Sorrow." The word had been hovering on her lips, and Aishe Vukovic's musical voice released it into the air, where it thrummed like a swarm of angered bees against the cave walls and shivered against her own skin. The few members of the camp willing to talk to her without her own encouragement (a kinder word for 'force') had informed her that this place was reverently called the Cave of Sorrows. The name, she decided, was fitting. Nestled deep in the forest, as if wishing to remain hidden, it was tinged with a sort of deep, raw, untainted anguish that none of the precious students of the school would ever have to experience. Everything about it was... Primal. Primeval. Primordial. She felt like an intruder trespassing upon sacred ground: This was a dwelling place for animals or spirits, and she was neither.

Sanctity, however, had never been her strong point. She had the utmost respect for superstition as it was ingrained into the very fibers of her being, but that didn't mean she had to follow its rules. Aishe refused even to follow rules she herself established. Nomads, after all, were created for exploration, and this was one of many places on the school grounds that she had yet to plumb the shallows of.

Therefore, with steps quiet enough to rival those of jungle creature or wraith, hoping that she could disguise herself as either beast or spirit, Aishe walked forward, whispering deeper into the cave. Jutting chins on proud rock faces cast shifting shadows over her own face, rendering her a kindred spirit. She couldn't resist a smug grin. Her mask was securely in place. Emboldened, she trailed her callused fingertips over the cave walls, becoming more intimately acquainted with the stories they told. The evening air was dark and the cave's interior darker, and since she could not see the pictures, she tried to interpret them through touch. They all felt similarly of despair, or something darker, deeper. Emotions enveloped and strangled and tripped one when they were traveling, and Aishe, despite her unshakable, devil-may-care exterior, had experienced them all--excluding these. The prospect of pain this potent made her lips curl. She rolled her shoulders, tilting her head from side to side, reestablishing herself as alpha female against the ghosts clawing for purchase at the nape of her neck.

It was becoming dark enough to render sight ineffectual. Aishe, after a rare moment of stillness, sat and crossed her legs in one fluid movement, resting her head against the cave's wall, smirking face tilted upward to catch the tears that fell from the vaulted stone ceiling; to taunt the silence, she hummed, low in her throat, listening as the melody reverberated around and back at her. Gypsies apparently knew little of solitude, yet it had been her second skin for years, and she allowed herself to shrug it on now. After all, complete isolation here was impossible: The nightmares of tortured souls were always gathered.
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[Poe]

"You know, people say that this cave acts as the gates to heaven and hell."
A calm voice cut through the calm like a knife cuts through soft butter, stirring up the darkness and causing shadows the fly across the walls as the spirits rushed further into the safety of the unknown. In the wooded area outside of the cavern's rock walls a black bird cawed, its mournful song echoing off the ceiling and floor. Calm blue eyes watched as the shadows danced away, his face betraying no hint of emotion. Instead, his eyes traveled to the girl, tracing her figure in the dim, watery light. He knew her, she was the nomad who had joined his caravan, who most were too terrified to approach to speak to, but her beauty made it far too hard to stay away. Bryce Sanders had seen one too many men fall prey to her sharp tongue and trapping words. He had no feelings for Aishe Vukovic in this light.
This light... in these caves, it gave far too much away, let you see too much even if you had the well placed mask. It made the smirk she wore upon her lips look like nothing but evil and gave her shadow a hunched look, as if the devil herself was walking.

He'd watched her enter the sacred ground from the cave's own shadows. If he had wanted, it would have been so simple to reach out and wrap his fingers around her slim upper arm. To grab her and pull her out, demanding what she was doing here. However... Even if he was that gate's own guardian it was not his place. Instead, he'd followed silently behind her, moving with the shadows and pictures on the wall, practically becoming invisible against the cave's walls.
Since his last slip up he had been nothing but serious about his job and the tears from the cave only seemed to fall harder. He had noticed a change in the cave after his last mistake, however, one that was not related to the tears. For some reason, it seemed the the door had been left open... No, not to the point where he could enter this heaven and hell that he had just spoke of... But something was leaking out, and when it caught in the right light, it often appeared that gold and silver swirled along in the water that drained off the cave's walls...
Magic.
It was leaking out of the realms, and he knew not what dangers faced any who ventured deeper into the cave.

"No one has ever gone back far enough to see if the gates really exist. It's up to you to believe." He studied her, watching as she tilted her head back, one of his hands straying to the wall, pointing out a picture painted in what could have been blood. It was, indeed a picture of a gate, with something black swirling out and figures that could have been people going in. "Our ancestors seemed to believe it was back there though. This is hollowed ground you walk so confidently on."
Bryce wasn't sure what he expected back from her now. Something snappy, something that would put him in his place for speaking to a woman like that. Hesitantly, as if afraid of the fight, he placed his right hand on the hilt of the sword that had been passed down from one generation to the next. White teeth flashed as he gnawed on his lower lip, his blue eyes still cold as they watched her.

ooc: Icky, I'll redo it if you don't like it. D:

[Javert]

(('t'wasn't icky at all, you silly goose. Hush.))

Another voice suddenly joined the melody she was projecting around and above and beyond and below the cave, yet there was no music in this—simply the dullness of a warning, or a threat, flat as the blade of a sword, intended to strike directly at her heart. Aishe did not jump in alarm at the new presence. Instead, humming momentarily suspended, she cursed beneath her breath. She held great pride in her ability to detect pursuers or anyone with half a mind to sneak up upon her; one couldn't be a decent thief without having the ability to recognize others with potential for such talents. Apparently, this man—for the voice was undoubtedly masculine—was more haunt than human, for her pride assured her that only a ghost could have glided so soundlessly.

She stood, languidly, stretching, the catlike fluidity of her movements accentuated even more by the gesture. Nothing about her exterior hinted to the newcomer that her composure had been disturbed—she wouldn't allow it to. Instead, she turned on her heel to face him, standing with arms akimbo, chin up to create the illusion of height and to allow her to survey the shadow-cloaked silhouette with a critical eye. Her smirk widened, flickering in the dim light like a candle's flame as it debated changing to a smile in her newfound amusement. Ah. So it was him. She had assumed upon her arrival that Bryce Sanders held some authority over many others in the camp, so, naturally, he was the one person whom she was determined to upset the most.

“Do they now?” she inquired innocently, arcing a single brow. Her low, lilting voice stubbornly clung to a thick Serbian accent, but her English was flawless; roaming across various countries demanded that one learn and retain whatever languages presented themselves. In her opinion, English was the most unappealing language out of many: It contained no music whatsoever, for the structure of it was halting and awkward and weighed upon her tongue like a stone. Nevertheless, she continued, “I would think that the gods would place such important gates in a less obvious location. It'd be quite easy to stumble upon them here.”

She took a casual step out of the blanket of darkness, intending to gradually close the distance between them, her laughing gaze fixated upon the man whose uneasiness was growing increasingly tangible. His stance was on-edge enough to nearly encourage her to reach out a hand and knock him over. He recognized her as a threat. That was good. It meant he wasn't such an idiot, after all. Nevertheless, he appeared to view her currently as a threat only to this place, this chapel of the earth that housed tormented souls and welcomed the living to worship. Perhaps he thought her likely to storm the gates of hell and release all manner of demon and phantom upon the world, likely to assume the role of Pandora upon this stone stage.

Aishe had no idea how right this assumption was.

As the man's hand strayed to his sword at his hip, a murky suggestion of movement in the blackness, Aishe could no longer restrain a peal of genuine laughter. She held up her gloved hands in surrender despite taking another step forward. “Calm yourself, man,” she said through a grinning mouth. “I don't intend to vandalize your church. I do wonder,” she said, her sarcasm-laden tone moving easily onto more mocking ground, “what you would do if I intended to explore it.” She shrugged, amber eyes dancing. “I'd rather see than believe.”[/size]

[Poe]

"They do," he said, arching an eyebrow in return, watching her rise, her body moving as easily as water in a stream. Bubbling, moving a singly, simple, almost beautiful motion. Those features weren't even something he really noticed, anymore though. He watched her silently, and with her initial response, knew that she was not afraid of him, that he did not surprise her and that she did not fear him. Keeping his face blank, he forced himself to not show his own disappointment that he had not caught her off guard. Aishe was known to be one of the sneakier gypsies in their camp, a thief that made her living off of the good folk of the world- not that any of them could talk. They all stole from the rich and the lowly in one way or another. Still, he would have enjoy surprising her, since he hadn't made a sound during the short walk through the cave close on her heels. In fact, he had found the silent stroll impressive, and though he did not feel the need to impress her wished that she would at least act surprised... Still not letting his previous feelings shine through, he shrugged. "Well, I do not understand the gods' reasons, and I will not pretend that I do, but I suppose they may believe that sometimes the most obvious places are the most difficult places to find."

He studied her, realizing by the slight recognition in her eyes that she knew who he was and that she was overjoyed that he had chosen to run into her, especially while he was acting all serious and stuffy about the job. He enjoyed what he did, and he treated the place that he protected with the respect that he believed holy ground deserved. So he watched the woman carefully close the space between them, still stiffly standing his ground.
What was running through her mind was exactly right- he did fear that she would somehow possess a subtle magic that would be enough to force open the door to Fantasia again, making her the Pandora to the English world, letting hell reign down upon it. That was the only reason his jaw tightened and he stood this way, eyes stony, staring into her soul, unable to make out if she meant harm or if she was only benevolent. Her soul was mixed, only mischievous, which could actually lead to many, many bad things.

He had barely realized that his hand had strayed to his hip, revealing his unease with her here, with him unable to understand who she was and what she wanted. So the order to calm himself surprised him, and he blinked, his hand quivering on the gold post before it settled again, unwilling to move. He did not know if he trusted her, and though her words about not vandalizing his "church" should have put him at ease, they did not. His eyes narrowed as she went on, pausing as if to chose the perfect words.
"Explore?"
He rose an eyebrow, his words expressing the emotions swirling about inside of him. He heard the mocking tone, and fought to keep control, perhaps if he did not explode, did not over think the situation she would leave the way she came, forgetting about his silly comment about the gates of heaven and hell-perhaps that had been a mistake. He swallowed as she said she'd rather see than believe.
"Ah, so you're a genuine doubting Thomas?" He asked, smiling a bit, forcing his face to relax. "I suppose I could say nothing to discourage you, after all, a man who is afraid to hit a woman wouldn't be much against you, would he?" He asked, mocking himself now. "But I'd warn you, there are catacombs in this cave. It's a giant maze that even a brilliant mind couldn't wrap itself around. And I wouldn't want you to get lost."

Or did he?

[Javert]

Like gentle percussion, the steady beats of a drum before a ceremony, a sacrifice, drops of water cascaded from the ceiling and onto the stone floor beneath her feet. Pausing in her slow meander towards Bryce, Aishe glanced upwards, and held out a gloved hand, palm facing upward as if to receive a gift of the gods, whether it was intended for her or not. The water pooled in her hand like shadows and felt like quicksilver. Momentarily interrupting the cave's music gave her another sense of superiority over these spirits, and, grinning, she turned her hand over so that water beaded upon the backs of her fingers. She wouldn't vandalize, of course, but she could disturb—every sacred place needed sacrilege every once in a while, she reasoned, and she would be more than happy to provide it, especially if it meant further ruffling the figurative feathers of the guardian angel before her.

Aishe's eyes flickered back to him. His voice remained impressively composed, but there were subtle hints of undertones that crashed like undercurrents. As he smiled and relaxed, she followed suit. A flick of the hand sent the water upon it returning to the earth, and she stood with hands on hips once again, using body language to imply that she proposed nary a threat. Had she crossed her arms, it would have appeared threatening and closed-off; she figured that this gesture would state that she was harmless as a fly, but intended to be queen bee of the situation.

“Wise words,” she acknowledged with a slight inclination of her head, although her eyes glittered in amusement as she quipped, “for a fool.” Aishe, in truth, considered him in the ranks of neither scholar nor harlequin—there were certain qualities in him that she was beginning to find unappealing, but others that she respected. Her goal, however, was to establish her dominance, or at least her equality, and that wouldn't occur if she didn't downsize her opponent until they stood on equal ground.

She glided another step forward. “Of course explore,” she stated as he echoed her. She arced a brow. “Wouldn't you? Have you no curiosity at all? We're not cats,” she grinned, with an eyeroll, “so we've no reason to worry, now, do we? Put the claws away.” Curiosity, in fact, now held her fast, and she glanced over her shoulder as if it had physically compelled her to do so. She saw no tormented ghosts rattling chains, no ethereal auras bleeding color onto the darkness, but the sense of overwhelming, oppressive sorrow remained, deepening as the shadows did. She looked back at Bryce. She smiled: a challenge. “Then come with me, if you're so concerned,” said Aishe, her chin high, her mouth grinning, “or I'll be forced to go by my lonesome.”

((meh, sorry that it's a tad shorter than usual. trying to get back into the swing of things. xD))[/font]

[Poe]

OOC: JAVS! I have no muse. So I'm replying when I'm not terrified of your amazing awesome post.
Thank youuuu!

And I love you lots, I'm just like... letting you know that it miiiight be a bit. XD <3!
POE! <3

[Javert]

((ohhhhhhhhhh, pshaw. that post was neither amazing nor awesome. xD but I totally understand lacking a muse (nanowrimo2009, anyone? >>), so pleaaaase take your time! I ent going anywhere. hehe. <3))

[Poe]

Did You... Sail Across The Sun...?

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She was trouble. Bryce could already tell. He knew from the first time he'd laid eyes on her at camp- she was T-R-O-U-B-L-E, trouble. He had hoped that she would mind her own business and that way he could mind his, but now it seemed, she was forcing him to stick his nose into her life... But she had done so first! He ground his teeth together, already being rubbed the wrong way by her words. He was no fool, he simply knew that they could not take the contents of this cave lightly... His family had held the sword that was at his hip for generations for a reason. And that was to protect those that were inside... By her lurking into the depths of the cave, to satisfy her hunger for exploration and curiosity then he was almost sure that there would indeed be problems...

He did know he wasn't a scholar, though he was sure that sometimes he acted like he was, but he still did not appreciate being called a fool. As he was positive no one did. But it wasn't his job to try and get her to like him, it was his job to keep her safe, whether she liked it or not. He rubbed his chin slightly, studying her with a measuring gaze. Deciding to give up being... the one in charge, she tucked one of his hands into the worn pocket of his mahogany colored breeches, the other hand scratching his chin.

Seeing as there will most likely be no stopping you," he muttered, shrugging, "you might as well go ahead. And I'll take you up on the offer to join you. Otherwise I fear you might have a few choice words for me." He grinned slightly, ignoring her jive about cats, having no quip of his own to jab back at her. "You'd probably rather go by your lonesome though, wouldn't you?" He asked, though he needed no answer. Her stance told him that she would be the dominant one if it was the last thing she did. Well, he had new for her- he was the boss.
She could be equal to him, but he wouldn't start taking orders from her, if that's what she wanted.

Bryce nodded toward the darker part of the cave, awaiting her to take the lead. He had traveled very far once, before hunger struck him so hard he was forced to leave and go retrieve his lunch like a dog. Nothing had scared him, in fact he had held everything he saw as sacred. He doubted, though, that she would- not that she really had to.

ooc: EW. Javs I'm so sorry. D: This sucks badly.[/center]

[Javert]

((EW HATE THIS POST.))

Unable to surprise her upon his entrance into the cave,[/b] the man must have become skilled in the throwing of curveballs within the few minutes that they had been conversing, for Aishe Vukovic was now thoroughly stumped. Not good, she thought wryly—many surprises were far more unpleasant than even this one, and were often constituted of knife blades between shoulder blades, or family members suddenly being announced dead. The man before her probably had not the stomach, she assumed, incorrectly, to provide the first, and Aishe had not the family for the latter to repeat itself. Still, her lips twitched, alluding to a frown rather than describing it in full. She had not expected him to take her up on her offer for company into the depths of the caves—in fact, she had not expected him even to allow her entry. Indeed, she had rocked her weight onto her toes, preparing for a fight if need be, her dark-adjusted eyes examining the sword at his hip and calculating the fastest way to retrieve the knives in either boot.

This was not part of the plan.

She did not betray any further signs of disappointment. Instead, Aishe ran a gloved hand through her hair, removing it from her face but probably placing flecks of dirt or beads of rainwater into it. She grinned. Fine. If he wanted to play, she would not decline the invitation, and would not retreat until a winner emerged or a tie was agreed upon. “You think me so antisocial a creature? I'm hurt.” Her dark eyes, their expression ever unable to be hidden, flashed, clearly conveying the words that her tongue would not. “I'm honored to be in your company, my friend.”

She presented her back to him, then, to rival the clearly sarcastic compliment, and shaded her dark brow with a hand, eyes squinting to peer more effectively into the darkness. Glancing over her shoulder, Aishe could not resist a grin, as the prospect of exploring and potential discovery quickened her pulse and melted away any earlier feelings of resentment. She was fully in her element, now, fully immersed in the joy of the hunt even before it began; her prey would be the unknown, her weapon her curiosity. “Well, then,” she said to him, “let's go.” Without waiting for a response, she sprang into a crouch, retrieved a knife from one boot, unsheathed it to reveal a wicked blade, and, quite calmly, rose, her eager feet immediately carrying her confidently forward, the knife merely an extension of her arm. Life upon the open road had instructed her to never be without a naked blade and eyes wide open when questing forth into blatant darkness. Her knife would be no use against ghosts, but flesh and blood would feel its sting, and she had no idea what manner of creature lay hidden in the shadows—whether man or beast.

“Now, don't be frightened, little one,” Aishe advised, not bothering to turn her head, eyes drinking in and swallowing in gulps the tunnel of black before her; her lilting voice bounced off the cave walls and would no doubt be carried back to Bryce. “I promise that this knife isn't meant for you.” She was walking slowly enough to absorb every inch of her surroundings—she was loath to miss a thing, or to encourage any further surprises. A small sliver of her attention even remained on Bryce, just in case he decided that his sword would indeed fit nicely between her shoulders. “Do you know what manner of creatures call your church home?”



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