Sing once again with me our strange duet
Who: Jadis and Rip van Winkle, and anyone that follows/shows up uninvited (America?)
What: Jadis wants to get shot. Rip gets the honors.
When: Wednesday
Where: Somewhere in the southern district
Warnings: There will be violence?
The candle light reflects off the mirror’s polished silver as a bright streak in the dark draped room of red and purple and gold. A domain fit for the Queen who sits enthroned before her reflection and the witch who plots behind cold eyes.
It is a trap. Obviously.
With a careful hand and an eye for detail, Jadis arranges the golden chains in her long dark hair before standing to observe her profile. Rip van Winkle is too clever and too ruthless to come alone. Perhaps she will even bring her little pet along. No doubt the vampire imagines that the Queen will bring her own allies for protection.
Jadis laughs cruelly with her reflection because she intends to go through with this violent display. No cheating. No trick. Deceit has a place, most certainly, but that which can be earned with a simple truth is more powerful. Undeniable. A complex plan can be lead astray.
The Queen has made no attempt to inform the Major or his minion of her plan. No attempt to hide it. She knows no shame. She has no reason to hide. No need to demand their assistance or to require them to stay away. This is hers alone, and she will not share kindly.
As she strides through the rooms of Monticello, with steps that echo around her, the woman picks up no weapon, takes nothing with her except her fierce pride and undeniable aura of authority and manifest destiny. Jadis is clothed in finest silk and velvet and jewels, the folds of cloth rippling in the wind of her own passing. With a wave of her hand and a force of will, she blows the doors open without a touch.
These children need to be taught a valuable lesson concerning true strength. Let Rip van Winkle do as she will, and so might Jadis learn the true measure of her potential enemy or ally. So many have proven disappointing.
The Southern District that is her new home is distasteful. So abundant with life, a reminder of her own barren and life-less world. Charn. A dead world. It was all her sister’s fault. After all, it was not she who broke the agreement. It was not Jadis who was the rebel, nor the first to use magic, though she most assuredly was the last.
Let these fools imagine what they will; Jadis knows exactly what she desires.
This weapon, this gun, this technology. The witch is well aware that she can not remain oblivious to such a potential power, in a world such as this. And she will learn what it can do; she is willing to feel it in her very flesh. Willing to prove she does not fear the vampire’s gun, though she is fascinated by it. And by the woman who bears it so proudly.
Long ago, Jadis paid a horrible price for a terrible power. What does she have to fear? There is no price she will not pay, no penalty too high, no boundary, no limitation. No hesitation. No regret. Jadis does not believe that she will survive this encounter. Yet there is no true death in this forsaken city. This horrid place provides for her every desire, and so strips away from it any true value or satisfaction.
No matter the outcome, she will return. She has claimed this city, without regard for if the others recognize her right. Jadis has taken control of Monticello, delighting in the distress it causes America because that is proof that she has taken something of worth. And she will hold this gun and speak with this vampire woman, and count any price fairly paid, because it is not a silly, simple thing that she can will into existence. And that makes it valuable
Let the vampire find her then. Let the game begin. And let it be won.
What: Jadis wants to get shot. Rip gets the honors.
When: Wednesday
Where: Somewhere in the southern district
Warnings: There will be violence?
The candle light reflects off the mirror’s polished silver as a bright streak in the dark draped room of red and purple and gold. A domain fit for the Queen who sits enthroned before her reflection and the witch who plots behind cold eyes.
It is a trap. Obviously.
With a careful hand and an eye for detail, Jadis arranges the golden chains in her long dark hair before standing to observe her profile. Rip van Winkle is too clever and too ruthless to come alone. Perhaps she will even bring her little pet along. No doubt the vampire imagines that the Queen will bring her own allies for protection.
Jadis laughs cruelly with her reflection because she intends to go through with this violent display. No cheating. No trick. Deceit has a place, most certainly, but that which can be earned with a simple truth is more powerful. Undeniable. A complex plan can be lead astray.
The Queen has made no attempt to inform the Major or his minion of her plan. No attempt to hide it. She knows no shame. She has no reason to hide. No need to demand their assistance or to require them to stay away. This is hers alone, and she will not share kindly.
As she strides through the rooms of Monticello, with steps that echo around her, the woman picks up no weapon, takes nothing with her except her fierce pride and undeniable aura of authority and manifest destiny. Jadis is clothed in finest silk and velvet and jewels, the folds of cloth rippling in the wind of her own passing. With a wave of her hand and a force of will, she blows the doors open without a touch.
These children need to be taught a valuable lesson concerning true strength. Let Rip van Winkle do as she will, and so might Jadis learn the true measure of her potential enemy or ally. So many have proven disappointing.
The Southern District that is her new home is distasteful. So abundant with life, a reminder of her own barren and life-less world. Charn. A dead world. It was all her sister’s fault. After all, it was not she who broke the agreement. It was not Jadis who was the rebel, nor the first to use magic, though she most assuredly was the last.
Let these fools imagine what they will; Jadis knows exactly what she desires.
This weapon, this gun, this technology. The witch is well aware that she can not remain oblivious to such a potential power, in a world such as this. And she will learn what it can do; she is willing to feel it in her very flesh. Willing to prove she does not fear the vampire’s gun, though she is fascinated by it. And by the woman who bears it so proudly.
Long ago, Jadis paid a horrible price for a terrible power. What does she have to fear? There is no price she will not pay, no penalty too high, no boundary, no limitation. No hesitation. No regret. Jadis does not believe that she will survive this encounter. Yet there is no true death in this forsaken city. This horrid place provides for her every desire, and so strips away from it any true value or satisfaction.
No matter the outcome, she will return. She has claimed this city, without regard for if the others recognize her right. Jadis has taken control of Monticello, delighting in the distress it causes America because that is proof that she has taken something of worth. And she will hold this gun and speak with this vampire woman, and count any price fairly paid, because it is not a silly, simple thing that she can will into existence. And that makes it valuable
Let the vampire find her then. Let the game begin. And let it be won.