Post by Death Incarnate on Apr 24, 2016 6:45:38 GMT -6
April 21st, 2016, 5:31pm
The Compound - Malibu, California
Open Grounds
In the precious few hours before sunset, the land about the Compound is quiet. Those few acres of open space, half-filled by a wooden area whilst the rest was open ground, served their purpose via the offer of solace from the hustle and bustle of life at large. Upon them this evening, however, there was no silence. The steps were like none a human being could produce, sounding for all the world like distant, rumbling thunder; too quiet to be imposing but nevertheless carrying an awe-inducing strength all their own. Air and ground alike thrummed with the pounding footfalls, the source of which come galloping into view mere moments after the view swings toward the watcher's right. The pounding comes from the hooves of a powerful-looking horse, white of body with pattered lines of gray near the midsection and flanks, its lower legs, muzzle and mane a rich black. Every time its hoof collides with the earth, its muscle tone is shown to excellent effect in the slowly-waning light of the sun. And resting comfortably in the saddle upon its back, guiding the elegant creature with an economy of motion centered at her grip upon the reins and her thighs pressed against its body, is Death Incarnate herself, Emma Carlisle.
There's a free spirit wrapped in that well-exercised musculature and monochrome coloring, a ferocity no human could hope to tame. Yet the horse obliges without reservation to the surprisingly gentle guidance of the Horsewoman upon his back. Emma draws the animal to a stop with a little tug on the reins, the horse whickering quietly and tossing its head a little as it's brought to a stop. Already it is eager to run again, though when it feels Emma's fingers stroking through its midnight black mane it stills a little. Not entirely, though. And she wouldn't have it any other way, knowing her.
Emma herself foregoes the standard equestarian uniform, finding it just a bit too comical for her tastes. A quilted vest striped in blue and purple atop black over a long-sleeved black top coats her torso, her similarly-colored hair wrapped into a braid that reaches halfway down her back. Form-fitting riding pants cling to her legs, gray on the inside of the leg, black without, with the boots being black leather reaching to just below the knee. But it isn't her clothing of choice that is telling. No, that would be how peaceful she looks. A while back, she mentioned in passing to Eleanor that she'd had a rare 'girly moment' as she called it. That day, weeks or perhaps months prior, was the day she'd acquired the friend currently ferrying her about at a whim. Emma makes a soft clicking sound with her tongue, whispering to the horse in what honestly sounds like gibberish...though there's a certain uniform nature to the strange words, if one could call them that. One word, however, is clear and understood:
"Charon..."
For the uninitiated, the name is that of the ferryman who takes those that have passed on across the River Styx. Fitting for the creature that carries Death on its back. The horse turns its head at the sound of its name, snorting slightly. Emma simply smiles, albeit very slightly, and reaches around to rub the horse's muzzle. Charon accepts the attention gladly as the sound of another horse approaching is heard. Emma sits up again, looking to her right as a tall form perched atop a powerful black stallion comes into view. Charon is no colt, but this creature's size and obvious power just screams 'warhorse'. And saddled atop it is none other than Fury herself, Talon. Emma nods to the red-haired woman, dressed mostly in black, as she pulls up beside her fellow Horsewoman.
"Sleipnir has taken to you well, Talon." Death says with a shadow of a smile. "You seem to have a way with the wild ones and the strong, silent types alike."
"We're of the same blood, so to speak. Furious, burning, unending."
Nodding as a way of response, Emma's expression shifts a little as though she's picking up a disturbance on the edge of her senses. Glancing over her shoulder, she sees someone pacing atop the Compound roof, soon to be joined by a second. When the silence lingers, Talon turns to look as well, squinting under a hand lifted to shield her green eyes from the sun.
"Joanna, and..."
"...Opeare."
Fury and Death stare at the goings-on in the distance, too far away to hear but able to see well enough the goings-on. Soon enough Joanna walks out of sight though it's a few minutes before Shields briefly reappears again before likewise taking his leave. The sight brings an expression of curiosity from Emma, one that Talon comments on.
"What do you see?"
"The end of the woman Joanna once was. Speaking of ends, however," Both women urge their steeds forward at a relaxed canter, Emma only continuing her thought once they're under way. "I should like to thank Sentinel for his recent efforts."
She needs not elaborate any further, as Talon understands immediately what is being referred to. Fury handles her horse with the same care and effectiveness as Emma, it is shown.
"I will let him know."
"His allies are rather effective, all considered. Even the one with a tendency to leer and stare when my back is turned."
"Yes, that would be Rory. You are not alone in that." Laughing behind her crimson mask, a sound that draws a raised brow from Emma, Talon expands on her point. "He would call it something along the lines of 'admiring the artwork' or something equally as charming. Fancies himself some sort of ladies' man. Most find it endearing."
"Nothing I'm not already accustomed to, so long as it goes no further."
"It won't. Sentinel made it quite clear before they set out that you weren't fond of the not-so-fair sex."
"I am learning to tolerate them when necessary. Once the Nightmare is dealt with..."
Leaving it at that, Emma drew Charon to a stop. They were within sight of the small set of stables on the grounds of the Compound, freshly added under the watchful eye of Strife...a person who knew much about such things. Were it up to her, there would be an entirely different sort of animal in those stalls, but she had her own stables for that. All four of the stalls were empty, however, awaiting Charon and Sleipnir alone for the time being.
"...perhaps a measure of healing and further tolerance might be explored."
"Were the Dead Men aware of your intentions from the start?"
"Does that really matter?"
A beautiful shrug raises and lowers Talon's shoulders as her attention goes to the stables now.
"They might have taken the task off your hands."
"No." Despite the quiet of Emma's voice, that single word is delivered with fierce authority. Her hands tighten on Charon's reins though she pressures the horse not at all in spite of it. "He ends with me."
"It is likely better that way. Are you coming inside?"
"Not yet. Not until the moon rises."
Her gaze cast skyward, Death could see the sun darkening as it began to sink beyond the horizon. Talon, too, saw it and without another word took her leave. She'd learned well the little idiosyncrasies of her fellow Horsewomen and could see that Emma was slipping into one of her borderline-fugue states...those gray areas where she drifted between two lives, two identities. Turning Charon about, Emma urged him into a gallop in the opposite direction, leaning near-parallel with the horse's back as the wind blew past her. Voices danced about in her mind, thoughts blowing past her like flower petals on the wind. Emma could hear and see each and every one with startling clarity...
April 15th, 2016, 6:11pm
Katalina Star's Home - Malibu, California
Basement
The slight creak in the steps somehow makes it through the layers of material surrounding the vaugely human-shaped form half-hanging from the ceiling at the far end of the room. It had some purchase on the floor of the basement-slash-dungeon though it's obvious that without the locked-on chains, this that used to be a person would fall to the floor. The restrained motion of the figure, coupled with near-inaudible grunts from where the head might be, gives away its recognition that it is no longer alone. As for the source of the original noise, it comes in a pair: Katalina Star and Emma herself. They halt at the bottom of the steps, at which point Katalina gestures to the struggling form. Emma nods and stares in silence as the dominatrix ascends the steps again, closing the door atop them behind her.
Death strides forward, dressed in ripped jeans, boots and a hooded sweatshirt, all in black. Every step that pulls her close to the figure results in the struggling from it increasing along with the volume of very muffled protests. With her hood up, only the lower half of Emma's face was visible, probably by design. Despite the squirminmg of the person in front of her, she had little trouble unlacing the leather hood fastened to the form's outer layer. Below that was a layer of tight latex which required a bit more effort to peel away. Only then did the fearsome visage of the aged and angry Balthzar fully come into view. A thick layer of what looked like duct tape was wrapped around his head and hair several times, giving reasoning behind his unintelligible garble. His attempts to break free were even more ferocious when he laid eyes on Emma but the woman herself was unmoved.
"Where is your fear now?"
A garbled snarl sounds from behind the heavy adhesive layer. Emma's pale, unpainted lips twitch as though she's fighting back a smile...or a grimace.
"Where is your power?"
The figure lurches toward her though the chains bring him up short, causing another spluttering snarl from behind the tape. No doubt the heavy collar around his neck made the effort even more painful. It is through the steel ring at the front and center of this that Emma hooks her right index finger and, in a fury, lunges forward herself. Her forehead cracks against the bridge of Balthazar's nose and nearly immediately blood begins to drip from one, then both, of the man's nostrils, the thick, dark liquid in stark contrast to the tape.
"Monster...Nightmare..."
Drawing back her hood, it is revealed that the impact cut Emma a little ways up from her nose and between her eyes. But hers was a thin, stunted trickle where his was a slow, streaming ribbon of crimson. She paid no mind to it...his nor her own.
"Corpse."
Another protest threatens to form before, in a flash, Emma draws and flicks open a switchblade from the front pocket of her hoodie. The blade gleams in the low light and Balthazar, against his instincts, fights to remain still as the point is put half an inch before his right eye. He twitches, gasping audibly when Emma slices through the tape adhered to his skin. Pulling it away in one tug, which gets a yelp of discomfort from the man, she throws it aside. Pushing his head back with one hand, she yanks the cloth packing out of his mouth and likewise discards it. Balthazar rears back for a verbal outburst but Emma shuts him down another crunching impact of her head against his...this time below the nose and against his mouth. Busted lips ensued, though thankfully for him not dangerously so. Still, his teeth had raked at her skin and her own wound grew by a degree.
"You don't get to speak!" She hisses, giving him a harsh shake by her grip on his collar. "Soon, you won't do anything but rot!"
At that, the bloody Balthazar laughed sharply, the sound hoarsely delivered due to the lack of hydration over the last...well, who knew how long he'd been here?
"At whose hand? Yours? How many times have you had that chance and screwed it up? Don't delude yourself, little girl. Your days are numbered."
"Aura said the same. She'll soon be fodder for those she once lorded over." An imperceptible shift in Balthazar's expression brings a sparkle to Emma's eye and she licks her lips almost hungrily. "Or did you think she got away? Did you think that I only learned what you wanted me to all those years ago? You didn't create the weapon you'd hoped you would, monster. No...you created a replacement. Yours."
"The Phoenix brought down? Bullshit!"
"My Chosen personally tended to her, as did Eleanor. Do you disbelieve?"
Balthazar's response was to spit in Emma's face. Wiping the saliva and crimson from her smooth, half-scarred flesh with her sleeve, Emma calmly walked away from the man and to a nearby shelf. Her body blocks the sight of what she takes from it, though it is revealed anyway moments later. A short wooden dowel is shoved between Balthazar's teeth and strapped strictly behind his head, once more hindering his speech. Retrieving her blade again, Emma scrapes a small stool into place in front of the hung form of the man she called Nightmare and pushed his head back as far as it could go, her palm against his brow and the knife touched to the wrinkled flesh there. Balthzar's eyes widened at Emma's next words.
"One cut for every ruined life, one for every scar you inflicted, every year taken away. But I'm going to start by carving the name you forced from existence right here," Emma punctuates her words with a firm tap of her fingertips on Balthazar's brow. "so you can remember in hell just who sent you there."
The scene goes dark before, presumably, the blade pierces his flesh. But the wet tearing and the restrained shriek of suffering isn't so easy to stop.
April 21st, 2016, 7:48pm
The Compound - Malibu, California
Open Grounds
Emma barely noticed that Charon had come to a stop by the time cognizance was returned to her. Remembrance of her interlude with Balthzar had come screeching back with startling clarity. That stilled her slightly while Charon calmly munched on some grass beneath her. By now, the sun was nearly gone, the sky darkening bit by bit as, to the east, stars twinkled to life in the heavens. Emma cast her gaze upwards, briefly mesmerized by them. A shadow passed across her face, then was gone, bringing her to look down at her hands, gloved in soft leather. She reaches into her vest pocket, pulling out a familiar switchblade, flicking it open. The polished steel is free of blemishes and stains but upon it Emma saw only red.
"Soon..."
Closing the blade, she tucked it away again and gave Charon a nudge. The horse lifted its head, snorting and turning slightly as though to look back at its rider.
"Home, Charon. Swiftly."
The horse needed no further urging, turned by Emma's hand and galloping off at a comfortably-fast pace. With the wind in her face and the power pulsing beneath her, Emma once again was allowed to forget the pain and suffering and put her mind to the Chaos she so fervently attempted to embody.
April 23rd, 2016, 4:59pm
The Compound - Malibu, California
Emma's Study
Rain batters stone and earth outside the Compound, the weight of the heavy drops enough to be easily heard with or without a window to smash themselves upon. Thunder, too, rumbles in the distance whilst lightning flashes across a sky of boiling gray clouds. In one of her refuges within the Compound, Emma stands before the room's only window and watches the clear liquid stream down the polished glass with her elbows cupped in her hands, arms parallel beneath a chest covered in pristine white silk. Her black skirt flows a bit as she turns but to no great height though it is enough to reveal legs sheathed in black ending in patent leather in the form of heels. Perhaps Emma had come from a business function recently, for her garb was certainly of a professional style. But who could ever tell where she was concerned?
The camera follows her motions as she stares at something out of sight. At the subtle hint that said recorder might follow her gaze, Emma immediately stares straight at the person holding it who, as we find out quickly, is not Luca.
"Focus, boy."
The view itself trembles as the camera is righted but does not stray from Emma, remaining front and center upon the leader of the Horsewomen as she walks behind the oaken desk placed at the center of the room's west wall. We quickly come to realize that this room is sparse in its contents. Shelves line a few of the walls but remain mostly bare, the same as the top of Emma's desk which bears only a light and a closed laptop computer currently. A stone hearth with a mantle above it rests directly behind the leather office chair posted behind the aforementioned desk, yet chances are it's for appearances rather than the actual burning of dead wood. Emma gives it a glance, then walks from behind the desk toward the center of the fair-sized room, lowering herself into a plush leather armchair, crossing one leg over the other. We get the feeling that there's someone in the room besides her and the unnamed cameraman as Death rests her hands upon the chair's armrests and begins to address someone out of sight.
"It is long since time that we talked. You've only just returned recently and yet, where you sought solace and reassurance you have been given only silence and little in the way of comfort." Emma pauses between comments, turning away from who she's speaking to, a hand lifted to fuss a bit with her black-painted lips. "That isn't how it should have been. More so now that the past is buried in pieces, far from mortal eyes."
Resting her chin in her hand, Emma turns her eyes toward the source of her attention.
"For that I must apologize."
The shock of it is that Emma actually looks repentant.
"Time, though, heals all wounds." She continues, that lifted hand brushing against her scarred cheek, a reminder that those words aren't entirely true. "And time is the reason we have come together today, or at the very least one of a few, all of equal importance. It is time that you were brought back into the fold, my dear. I know what you're thinking, Death lifts a hand as though to quell a retort. "and if you are concerned about what the other riders will think, rest assured that I have considered all contingencies. They will accept this, not because I will make them but because they will come to see the merits of it."
A faint smile flickers into place, then is gone all over again from Emma's features.
"But it will take time and patience, especially on your part. I trust that you understand this?"
No response comes, but that seems to be what Emma expected...even desired. She rises from the chair and he who holds the camera dutifully follows her path to the desk again, to the mantle behind it. Emma looks at the sole object in place upon the raised shelf over the hearth: her sword. The Nail of Eris. A pale hand rises, stroking the lacquered wooden case resembling a skull-tipped cane as Emma speaks.
"I am glad. But now we must both turn our attention to War herself, for she comes our way soon. Very soon. Isn't that right, Jo-Dear?"
That rare affectionate tone surfaces, and as is typical, it does so at the mention of Emma's partner and lover, Joanna Thade, the Horsewoman of War. Emma's back remains to the camera as she lifts the Nail off the mantle and hefts it in her hands. What she might be thinking or considering we dare not speculate.
"This is nothing new for us. We've met between the ropes before, shedding blood and delivering pain as only our kind can. The difference is in the execution. The first time this happened you were even more chaotic than you are now, grasping at any opportunity for wanton, unbridled violence. And I...was no more than a plaything of a trio of manipulators seeking dominance. We were but children in those days, Joanna, but look at us now." Death spreads her arms wide, the weapon clutched in her right hand. "Look at what we have accomplished, bringing our lost sisters to our side and raising to a level of strength that made Heaven shudder and Hell quail. Not an event passes where a lost soul does not pledge themselves to our cause. Our message has reached the masses and the universal truth that is Chaos slowly works its touch into all those who hear, see, and feel the rightness of our mission."
Arms lowering, Emma unsheathes the blade from its scabbard, holding it up so that it might catch the room's dim overhead light. The edge is, as always, finely-honed. The blood groove runs straight down the center, thirsting.
"A mission you claim to have failed, bringing our group dishonor and disdain alike. It is for these reasons that you chose combat as your penance. But I learned from the very beginning that nothing with you, my love, is simple." She glances over her shoulder, the flat of the blade resting lightly on her shoulder. "I choose to believe that there is an ulterior motive within that dangerous mind of yours. That you wish to atone I do not question. Falsehood, I have come to realize, is not something you wield easily and never against your kin. But there is another reason that you sought to face myself, Fury and Strife in combat, isn't there?"
To call her stare accusing...that simply isn't the right word. No, it is more of a searching look. Emma eyes the camera as though it is Joanna herself, that gaze spelunking deep into soul to pull out secrets once thought safe. Black lips twitch slightly before Death turns fully, blade lowered.
"We're well past the point where you can hide anything from me, War, and you shall get everything that you seek and more. You will feel pain. You will bleed and scream. And you being you, the experience shall be one that you love and cherish." Emma delivers those final comments with conviction, knowing with every fiber of her being how right she is. "And you will also feel with certainty the full mettle of your sisters and of myself. Let us dispense with pretense and call this what it is at its very core: you, desiring to test those who right and fight at your side. Talon and Katalina have yet to do battle with you and you desire first-hand experience with their prowess between the ropes. There is also that burgeoning curiosity bubbling up in your mind at wondering how far I have come as well. Could you stand to me more effectively now than you did in another lifetime?" She moves from behind the desk as she speaks, once more going to the window. "This is not mere penance alone. This is a desire to find your level. How high does your prowess and viciousness rate among your equals? Tell me, Jo-Dear, that I am wrong. You cannot look into these eyes, into the very center of she who showed you love and gave you new meaning in your life, she who has bared everything..." The pause is a tense one. "and put forth denial of that truth. To do so would spit in the face of all we seek to accomplish."
Death lifts her blade again, holding it before her eyes and gazing down the length of it as one might sight a pistol. She wields the weapon with grace and skill, a soft whooshing sound just audible as she brings the weapon back to her side in a slashing motion. Drawing the blade lightly along the tip of the case, she slides it within, the two ends meeting with a sharp click.
"Talon and Katalina may not see this. In fact, their perception might be one of confusion at your admissions and challenges alike. But they will fight because they do not know fear. They will bring pain and suffering to you because they believe it is for the betterment of us all. They are not wrong. And it is their level of purity and naiveté," Emma is mindful of her word choice here, not seeking to invoke distate from her sisters. "that will allow them to fight to the best of their ability against you despite your bonds. But I? Yes, that is a more complicated situation, is it not? The truth is not always that which sets a person free. Sometimes it is but a burden."
Going back to the mantel, Emma replaced the Nail of Eris before turning to the camera anew.
"The truth is that this is a test for me as well. Not just for you." A whole new emotion manifests on Emma's features, one that is hard to discern. "What is the truth of that which lies between us? Is it a passion born of violence and parallel purpose, making us lovers of circumstance? Is it a deeper bond rooted in our beliefs and devotion to our cause, one that shall linger for years to come? Or does it defy definition? The last seems most likely." Satisfied with her own answer to her posed question, Emma relaxes slightly. "You test my devotion, my strength and my love for you, Joanna. You are a twisted creature for stretching me in so many varied directions, hoping to draw from me the darkest and most merciless of my power for your own benefit. If it were any other you manipulated into such a mental and emotional quagmire, perhaps even including our sisters, they would crack and falter. But you...you know that I can take it. That I can revel in it." The shadowed smile said more than her words ever could. "And, oh, how I will.
There are, of course, those vultures among the Visionaries who will see this as some warped opportunity to pounce on perceived weakness, however. I know as surely as you and our sisters do that such is unavoidable. Perhaps the so-called Saint and the Orphanage in particular will attempt to bring this to bear against us. What they hope shall be cruel and hurtful jibes pertaining to our lack of a bond as a unit, at our willingness to strike out at one another, will be less than nothing." Smiles, it seemed, never lasted with Emma. The thought of another trying to call the Horsewomen out on handling their personal business in such a manner irritated and amused her simultaneously. "But as is often the case, that is merely perception on their part. And have we not evolved beyond the point where we seek to lead the blind, deaf, and dumb around to our way of thinking. Let them waste time and energy with speculation, I say. Those who truly know will come to us of our own accord. Those, like the aforementioned, who would resist? What remains will be the lesson that others had best follow. And what stronger lesson could there be than they who do wrong stepping forth willingly to pay the price, to do with a gumption and honor lost to the world more oft than not in these trying times?"
While those words sink in, the cameraman dutifully follows Emma's path back toward and in turn past the chair in which she'd spoken to an unseen guest earlier. When our perspective is past both chair, coffee table and sofas, all designed to match, there is no one there but Emma herself. She picks up a framed photograph from the table, staring down at it as she speaks in a more subdued tone.
"That is why you stand alone from the rest, Joanna. While there is certainly a form of affection that I have for our sisters and precious few others in this existence, you're the only one that I cannot do without."
It's not the kind of admission one would expect from Emma, making the effort in getting out, and putting it up for the world to see, that much more impressive.
"And that is why I must destroy you, for your own good as well as mine. Yours is not to ask why, but to rebuild yourself anew and return to me, and to our sisters, as the Horsewoman of War you wish to be. Hold up your end of this warrior's accord, Joanna, and so shall we."
Replacing the picture on the table face-down, Emma turns and walks from the study. Having no other recourse, the cameraman brings the scene to a darkened close.
The Compound - Malibu, California
Open Grounds
In the precious few hours before sunset, the land about the Compound is quiet. Those few acres of open space, half-filled by a wooden area whilst the rest was open ground, served their purpose via the offer of solace from the hustle and bustle of life at large. Upon them this evening, however, there was no silence. The steps were like none a human being could produce, sounding for all the world like distant, rumbling thunder; too quiet to be imposing but nevertheless carrying an awe-inducing strength all their own. Air and ground alike thrummed with the pounding footfalls, the source of which come galloping into view mere moments after the view swings toward the watcher's right. The pounding comes from the hooves of a powerful-looking horse, white of body with pattered lines of gray near the midsection and flanks, its lower legs, muzzle and mane a rich black. Every time its hoof collides with the earth, its muscle tone is shown to excellent effect in the slowly-waning light of the sun. And resting comfortably in the saddle upon its back, guiding the elegant creature with an economy of motion centered at her grip upon the reins and her thighs pressed against its body, is Death Incarnate herself, Emma Carlisle.
There's a free spirit wrapped in that well-exercised musculature and monochrome coloring, a ferocity no human could hope to tame. Yet the horse obliges without reservation to the surprisingly gentle guidance of the Horsewoman upon his back. Emma draws the animal to a stop with a little tug on the reins, the horse whickering quietly and tossing its head a little as it's brought to a stop. Already it is eager to run again, though when it feels Emma's fingers stroking through its midnight black mane it stills a little. Not entirely, though. And she wouldn't have it any other way, knowing her.
Emma herself foregoes the standard equestarian uniform, finding it just a bit too comical for her tastes. A quilted vest striped in blue and purple atop black over a long-sleeved black top coats her torso, her similarly-colored hair wrapped into a braid that reaches halfway down her back. Form-fitting riding pants cling to her legs, gray on the inside of the leg, black without, with the boots being black leather reaching to just below the knee. But it isn't her clothing of choice that is telling. No, that would be how peaceful she looks. A while back, she mentioned in passing to Eleanor that she'd had a rare 'girly moment' as she called it. That day, weeks or perhaps months prior, was the day she'd acquired the friend currently ferrying her about at a whim. Emma makes a soft clicking sound with her tongue, whispering to the horse in what honestly sounds like gibberish...though there's a certain uniform nature to the strange words, if one could call them that. One word, however, is clear and understood:
"Charon..."
For the uninitiated, the name is that of the ferryman who takes those that have passed on across the River Styx. Fitting for the creature that carries Death on its back. The horse turns its head at the sound of its name, snorting slightly. Emma simply smiles, albeit very slightly, and reaches around to rub the horse's muzzle. Charon accepts the attention gladly as the sound of another horse approaching is heard. Emma sits up again, looking to her right as a tall form perched atop a powerful black stallion comes into view. Charon is no colt, but this creature's size and obvious power just screams 'warhorse'. And saddled atop it is none other than Fury herself, Talon. Emma nods to the red-haired woman, dressed mostly in black, as she pulls up beside her fellow Horsewoman.
"Sleipnir has taken to you well, Talon." Death says with a shadow of a smile. "You seem to have a way with the wild ones and the strong, silent types alike."
"We're of the same blood, so to speak. Furious, burning, unending."
Nodding as a way of response, Emma's expression shifts a little as though she's picking up a disturbance on the edge of her senses. Glancing over her shoulder, she sees someone pacing atop the Compound roof, soon to be joined by a second. When the silence lingers, Talon turns to look as well, squinting under a hand lifted to shield her green eyes from the sun.
"Joanna, and..."
"...Opeare."
Fury and Death stare at the goings-on in the distance, too far away to hear but able to see well enough the goings-on. Soon enough Joanna walks out of sight though it's a few minutes before Shields briefly reappears again before likewise taking his leave. The sight brings an expression of curiosity from Emma, one that Talon comments on.
"What do you see?"
"The end of the woman Joanna once was. Speaking of ends, however," Both women urge their steeds forward at a relaxed canter, Emma only continuing her thought once they're under way. "I should like to thank Sentinel for his recent efforts."
She needs not elaborate any further, as Talon understands immediately what is being referred to. Fury handles her horse with the same care and effectiveness as Emma, it is shown.
"I will let him know."
"His allies are rather effective, all considered. Even the one with a tendency to leer and stare when my back is turned."
"Yes, that would be Rory. You are not alone in that." Laughing behind her crimson mask, a sound that draws a raised brow from Emma, Talon expands on her point. "He would call it something along the lines of 'admiring the artwork' or something equally as charming. Fancies himself some sort of ladies' man. Most find it endearing."
"Nothing I'm not already accustomed to, so long as it goes no further."
"It won't. Sentinel made it quite clear before they set out that you weren't fond of the not-so-fair sex."
"I am learning to tolerate them when necessary. Once the Nightmare is dealt with..."
Leaving it at that, Emma drew Charon to a stop. They were within sight of the small set of stables on the grounds of the Compound, freshly added under the watchful eye of Strife...a person who knew much about such things. Were it up to her, there would be an entirely different sort of animal in those stalls, but she had her own stables for that. All four of the stalls were empty, however, awaiting Charon and Sleipnir alone for the time being.
"...perhaps a measure of healing and further tolerance might be explored."
"Were the Dead Men aware of your intentions from the start?"
"Does that really matter?"
A beautiful shrug raises and lowers Talon's shoulders as her attention goes to the stables now.
"They might have taken the task off your hands."
"No." Despite the quiet of Emma's voice, that single word is delivered with fierce authority. Her hands tighten on Charon's reins though she pressures the horse not at all in spite of it. "He ends with me."
"It is likely better that way. Are you coming inside?"
"Not yet. Not until the moon rises."
Her gaze cast skyward, Death could see the sun darkening as it began to sink beyond the horizon. Talon, too, saw it and without another word took her leave. She'd learned well the little idiosyncrasies of her fellow Horsewomen and could see that Emma was slipping into one of her borderline-fugue states...those gray areas where she drifted between two lives, two identities. Turning Charon about, Emma urged him into a gallop in the opposite direction, leaning near-parallel with the horse's back as the wind blew past her. Voices danced about in her mind, thoughts blowing past her like flower petals on the wind. Emma could hear and see each and every one with startling clarity...
~*~
April 15th, 2016, 6:11pm
Katalina Star's Home - Malibu, California
Basement
The slight creak in the steps somehow makes it through the layers of material surrounding the vaugely human-shaped form half-hanging from the ceiling at the far end of the room. It had some purchase on the floor of the basement-slash-dungeon though it's obvious that without the locked-on chains, this that used to be a person would fall to the floor. The restrained motion of the figure, coupled with near-inaudible grunts from where the head might be, gives away its recognition that it is no longer alone. As for the source of the original noise, it comes in a pair: Katalina Star and Emma herself. They halt at the bottom of the steps, at which point Katalina gestures to the struggling form. Emma nods and stares in silence as the dominatrix ascends the steps again, closing the door atop them behind her.
Death strides forward, dressed in ripped jeans, boots and a hooded sweatshirt, all in black. Every step that pulls her close to the figure results in the struggling from it increasing along with the volume of very muffled protests. With her hood up, only the lower half of Emma's face was visible, probably by design. Despite the squirminmg of the person in front of her, she had little trouble unlacing the leather hood fastened to the form's outer layer. Below that was a layer of tight latex which required a bit more effort to peel away. Only then did the fearsome visage of the aged and angry Balthzar fully come into view. A thick layer of what looked like duct tape was wrapped around his head and hair several times, giving reasoning behind his unintelligible garble. His attempts to break free were even more ferocious when he laid eyes on Emma but the woman herself was unmoved.
"Where is your fear now?"
A garbled snarl sounds from behind the heavy adhesive layer. Emma's pale, unpainted lips twitch as though she's fighting back a smile...or a grimace.
"Where is your power?"
The figure lurches toward her though the chains bring him up short, causing another spluttering snarl from behind the tape. No doubt the heavy collar around his neck made the effort even more painful. It is through the steel ring at the front and center of this that Emma hooks her right index finger and, in a fury, lunges forward herself. Her forehead cracks against the bridge of Balthazar's nose and nearly immediately blood begins to drip from one, then both, of the man's nostrils, the thick, dark liquid in stark contrast to the tape.
"Monster...Nightmare..."
Drawing back her hood, it is revealed that the impact cut Emma a little ways up from her nose and between her eyes. But hers was a thin, stunted trickle where his was a slow, streaming ribbon of crimson. She paid no mind to it...his nor her own.
"Corpse."
Another protest threatens to form before, in a flash, Emma draws and flicks open a switchblade from the front pocket of her hoodie. The blade gleams in the low light and Balthazar, against his instincts, fights to remain still as the point is put half an inch before his right eye. He twitches, gasping audibly when Emma slices through the tape adhered to his skin. Pulling it away in one tug, which gets a yelp of discomfort from the man, she throws it aside. Pushing his head back with one hand, she yanks the cloth packing out of his mouth and likewise discards it. Balthazar rears back for a verbal outburst but Emma shuts him down another crunching impact of her head against his...this time below the nose and against his mouth. Busted lips ensued, though thankfully for him not dangerously so. Still, his teeth had raked at her skin and her own wound grew by a degree.
"You don't get to speak!" She hisses, giving him a harsh shake by her grip on his collar. "Soon, you won't do anything but rot!"
At that, the bloody Balthazar laughed sharply, the sound hoarsely delivered due to the lack of hydration over the last...well, who knew how long he'd been here?
"At whose hand? Yours? How many times have you had that chance and screwed it up? Don't delude yourself, little girl. Your days are numbered."
"Aura said the same. She'll soon be fodder for those she once lorded over." An imperceptible shift in Balthazar's expression brings a sparkle to Emma's eye and she licks her lips almost hungrily. "Or did you think she got away? Did you think that I only learned what you wanted me to all those years ago? You didn't create the weapon you'd hoped you would, monster. No...you created a replacement. Yours."
"The Phoenix brought down? Bullshit!"
"My Chosen personally tended to her, as did Eleanor. Do you disbelieve?"
Balthazar's response was to spit in Emma's face. Wiping the saliva and crimson from her smooth, half-scarred flesh with her sleeve, Emma calmly walked away from the man and to a nearby shelf. Her body blocks the sight of what she takes from it, though it is revealed anyway moments later. A short wooden dowel is shoved between Balthazar's teeth and strapped strictly behind his head, once more hindering his speech. Retrieving her blade again, Emma scrapes a small stool into place in front of the hung form of the man she called Nightmare and pushed his head back as far as it could go, her palm against his brow and the knife touched to the wrinkled flesh there. Balthzar's eyes widened at Emma's next words.
"One cut for every ruined life, one for every scar you inflicted, every year taken away. But I'm going to start by carving the name you forced from existence right here," Emma punctuates her words with a firm tap of her fingertips on Balthazar's brow. "so you can remember in hell just who sent you there."
The scene goes dark before, presumably, the blade pierces his flesh. But the wet tearing and the restrained shriek of suffering isn't so easy to stop.
~*~
April 21st, 2016, 7:48pm
The Compound - Malibu, California
Open Grounds
Emma barely noticed that Charon had come to a stop by the time cognizance was returned to her. Remembrance of her interlude with Balthzar had come screeching back with startling clarity. That stilled her slightly while Charon calmly munched on some grass beneath her. By now, the sun was nearly gone, the sky darkening bit by bit as, to the east, stars twinkled to life in the heavens. Emma cast her gaze upwards, briefly mesmerized by them. A shadow passed across her face, then was gone, bringing her to look down at her hands, gloved in soft leather. She reaches into her vest pocket, pulling out a familiar switchblade, flicking it open. The polished steel is free of blemishes and stains but upon it Emma saw only red.
"Soon..."
Closing the blade, she tucked it away again and gave Charon a nudge. The horse lifted its head, snorting and turning slightly as though to look back at its rider.
"Home, Charon. Swiftly."
The horse needed no further urging, turned by Emma's hand and galloping off at a comfortably-fast pace. With the wind in her face and the power pulsing beneath her, Emma once again was allowed to forget the pain and suffering and put her mind to the Chaos she so fervently attempted to embody.
~*~
April 23rd, 2016, 4:59pm
The Compound - Malibu, California
Emma's Study
Rain batters stone and earth outside the Compound, the weight of the heavy drops enough to be easily heard with or without a window to smash themselves upon. Thunder, too, rumbles in the distance whilst lightning flashes across a sky of boiling gray clouds. In one of her refuges within the Compound, Emma stands before the room's only window and watches the clear liquid stream down the polished glass with her elbows cupped in her hands, arms parallel beneath a chest covered in pristine white silk. Her black skirt flows a bit as she turns but to no great height though it is enough to reveal legs sheathed in black ending in patent leather in the form of heels. Perhaps Emma had come from a business function recently, for her garb was certainly of a professional style. But who could ever tell where she was concerned?
The camera follows her motions as she stares at something out of sight. At the subtle hint that said recorder might follow her gaze, Emma immediately stares straight at the person holding it who, as we find out quickly, is not Luca.
"Focus, boy."
The view itself trembles as the camera is righted but does not stray from Emma, remaining front and center upon the leader of the Horsewomen as she walks behind the oaken desk placed at the center of the room's west wall. We quickly come to realize that this room is sparse in its contents. Shelves line a few of the walls but remain mostly bare, the same as the top of Emma's desk which bears only a light and a closed laptop computer currently. A stone hearth with a mantle above it rests directly behind the leather office chair posted behind the aforementioned desk, yet chances are it's for appearances rather than the actual burning of dead wood. Emma gives it a glance, then walks from behind the desk toward the center of the fair-sized room, lowering herself into a plush leather armchair, crossing one leg over the other. We get the feeling that there's someone in the room besides her and the unnamed cameraman as Death rests her hands upon the chair's armrests and begins to address someone out of sight.
"It is long since time that we talked. You've only just returned recently and yet, where you sought solace and reassurance you have been given only silence and little in the way of comfort." Emma pauses between comments, turning away from who she's speaking to, a hand lifted to fuss a bit with her black-painted lips. "That isn't how it should have been. More so now that the past is buried in pieces, far from mortal eyes."
Resting her chin in her hand, Emma turns her eyes toward the source of her attention.
"For that I must apologize."
The shock of it is that Emma actually looks repentant.
"Time, though, heals all wounds." She continues, that lifted hand brushing against her scarred cheek, a reminder that those words aren't entirely true. "And time is the reason we have come together today, or at the very least one of a few, all of equal importance. It is time that you were brought back into the fold, my dear. I know what you're thinking, Death lifts a hand as though to quell a retort. "and if you are concerned about what the other riders will think, rest assured that I have considered all contingencies. They will accept this, not because I will make them but because they will come to see the merits of it."
A faint smile flickers into place, then is gone all over again from Emma's features.
"But it will take time and patience, especially on your part. I trust that you understand this?"
No response comes, but that seems to be what Emma expected...even desired. She rises from the chair and he who holds the camera dutifully follows her path to the desk again, to the mantle behind it. Emma looks at the sole object in place upon the raised shelf over the hearth: her sword. The Nail of Eris. A pale hand rises, stroking the lacquered wooden case resembling a skull-tipped cane as Emma speaks.
"I am glad. But now we must both turn our attention to War herself, for she comes our way soon. Very soon. Isn't that right, Jo-Dear?"
That rare affectionate tone surfaces, and as is typical, it does so at the mention of Emma's partner and lover, Joanna Thade, the Horsewoman of War. Emma's back remains to the camera as she lifts the Nail off the mantle and hefts it in her hands. What she might be thinking or considering we dare not speculate.
"This is nothing new for us. We've met between the ropes before, shedding blood and delivering pain as only our kind can. The difference is in the execution. The first time this happened you were even more chaotic than you are now, grasping at any opportunity for wanton, unbridled violence. And I...was no more than a plaything of a trio of manipulators seeking dominance. We were but children in those days, Joanna, but look at us now." Death spreads her arms wide, the weapon clutched in her right hand. "Look at what we have accomplished, bringing our lost sisters to our side and raising to a level of strength that made Heaven shudder and Hell quail. Not an event passes where a lost soul does not pledge themselves to our cause. Our message has reached the masses and the universal truth that is Chaos slowly works its touch into all those who hear, see, and feel the rightness of our mission."
Arms lowering, Emma unsheathes the blade from its scabbard, holding it up so that it might catch the room's dim overhead light. The edge is, as always, finely-honed. The blood groove runs straight down the center, thirsting.
"A mission you claim to have failed, bringing our group dishonor and disdain alike. It is for these reasons that you chose combat as your penance. But I learned from the very beginning that nothing with you, my love, is simple." She glances over her shoulder, the flat of the blade resting lightly on her shoulder. "I choose to believe that there is an ulterior motive within that dangerous mind of yours. That you wish to atone I do not question. Falsehood, I have come to realize, is not something you wield easily and never against your kin. But there is another reason that you sought to face myself, Fury and Strife in combat, isn't there?"
To call her stare accusing...that simply isn't the right word. No, it is more of a searching look. Emma eyes the camera as though it is Joanna herself, that gaze spelunking deep into soul to pull out secrets once thought safe. Black lips twitch slightly before Death turns fully, blade lowered.
"We're well past the point where you can hide anything from me, War, and you shall get everything that you seek and more. You will feel pain. You will bleed and scream. And you being you, the experience shall be one that you love and cherish." Emma delivers those final comments with conviction, knowing with every fiber of her being how right she is. "And you will also feel with certainty the full mettle of your sisters and of myself. Let us dispense with pretense and call this what it is at its very core: you, desiring to test those who right and fight at your side. Talon and Katalina have yet to do battle with you and you desire first-hand experience with their prowess between the ropes. There is also that burgeoning curiosity bubbling up in your mind at wondering how far I have come as well. Could you stand to me more effectively now than you did in another lifetime?" She moves from behind the desk as she speaks, once more going to the window. "This is not mere penance alone. This is a desire to find your level. How high does your prowess and viciousness rate among your equals? Tell me, Jo-Dear, that I am wrong. You cannot look into these eyes, into the very center of she who showed you love and gave you new meaning in your life, she who has bared everything..." The pause is a tense one. "and put forth denial of that truth. To do so would spit in the face of all we seek to accomplish."
Death lifts her blade again, holding it before her eyes and gazing down the length of it as one might sight a pistol. She wields the weapon with grace and skill, a soft whooshing sound just audible as she brings the weapon back to her side in a slashing motion. Drawing the blade lightly along the tip of the case, she slides it within, the two ends meeting with a sharp click.
"Talon and Katalina may not see this. In fact, their perception might be one of confusion at your admissions and challenges alike. But they will fight because they do not know fear. They will bring pain and suffering to you because they believe it is for the betterment of us all. They are not wrong. And it is their level of purity and naiveté," Emma is mindful of her word choice here, not seeking to invoke distate from her sisters. "that will allow them to fight to the best of their ability against you despite your bonds. But I? Yes, that is a more complicated situation, is it not? The truth is not always that which sets a person free. Sometimes it is but a burden."
Going back to the mantel, Emma replaced the Nail of Eris before turning to the camera anew.
"The truth is that this is a test for me as well. Not just for you." A whole new emotion manifests on Emma's features, one that is hard to discern. "What is the truth of that which lies between us? Is it a passion born of violence and parallel purpose, making us lovers of circumstance? Is it a deeper bond rooted in our beliefs and devotion to our cause, one that shall linger for years to come? Or does it defy definition? The last seems most likely." Satisfied with her own answer to her posed question, Emma relaxes slightly. "You test my devotion, my strength and my love for you, Joanna. You are a twisted creature for stretching me in so many varied directions, hoping to draw from me the darkest and most merciless of my power for your own benefit. If it were any other you manipulated into such a mental and emotional quagmire, perhaps even including our sisters, they would crack and falter. But you...you know that I can take it. That I can revel in it." The shadowed smile said more than her words ever could. "And, oh, how I will.
There are, of course, those vultures among the Visionaries who will see this as some warped opportunity to pounce on perceived weakness, however. I know as surely as you and our sisters do that such is unavoidable. Perhaps the so-called Saint and the Orphanage in particular will attempt to bring this to bear against us. What they hope shall be cruel and hurtful jibes pertaining to our lack of a bond as a unit, at our willingness to strike out at one another, will be less than nothing." Smiles, it seemed, never lasted with Emma. The thought of another trying to call the Horsewomen out on handling their personal business in such a manner irritated and amused her simultaneously. "But as is often the case, that is merely perception on their part. And have we not evolved beyond the point where we seek to lead the blind, deaf, and dumb around to our way of thinking. Let them waste time and energy with speculation, I say. Those who truly know will come to us of our own accord. Those, like the aforementioned, who would resist? What remains will be the lesson that others had best follow. And what stronger lesson could there be than they who do wrong stepping forth willingly to pay the price, to do with a gumption and honor lost to the world more oft than not in these trying times?"
While those words sink in, the cameraman dutifully follows Emma's path back toward and in turn past the chair in which she'd spoken to an unseen guest earlier. When our perspective is past both chair, coffee table and sofas, all designed to match, there is no one there but Emma herself. She picks up a framed photograph from the table, staring down at it as she speaks in a more subdued tone.
"That is why you stand alone from the rest, Joanna. While there is certainly a form of affection that I have for our sisters and precious few others in this existence, you're the only one that I cannot do without."
It's not the kind of admission one would expect from Emma, making the effort in getting out, and putting it up for the world to see, that much more impressive.
"And that is why I must destroy you, for your own good as well as mine. Yours is not to ask why, but to rebuild yourself anew and return to me, and to our sisters, as the Horsewoman of War you wish to be. Hold up your end of this warrior's accord, Joanna, and so shall we."
Replacing the picture on the table face-down, Emma turns and walks from the study. Having no other recourse, the cameraman brings the scene to a darkened close.
