Echoed tapping of his ivory walking stick cut through the still cool evening. Tapping that had been silenced for quite some time. The world was changing before his eyes. Life was ending and life was evolving in a passing haze.
All the while, Archebold watched through the broken stained glass window of the manor he painstakingly salvaged from the inside out. He worked quietly and alone, stopping only to observe the goings on.
He remained indifferent to it all. Spire demons, bubbles, Fae, and monarchies. All leaves that, like most things, will wither away.
He mourned nor celebrated anyone aside from his own accomplished renovation. He offered no aid, he expected no aid. He was an island all to himself...and surprisingly, he was quite fond of that arrangement.
However, there is no rest for the wicked at heart and Archebold, while he enjoyed his own company, found himself craving interaction. So he tapped along the bridge, twirling the cane between beats as he whistled a two-note tune as he wandered back into society.
While Archebold may have craved the social interaction of society once more, the Penumbra craved the quiet of the outer edges of society. She has nothing to complain about, nothing to fret over, nothing to begrudge and do, but sometimes the silence was needed — sometimes it was required. And with her new body, her changing mind, the weapon and power she has become, she finds it the easiest to slip away.
She’s nearing the bridge when she hears the two-note tune, pausing briefly before she hears the clicking along the bridge — she knows it doesn’t come from her, from the closed parasol she carries with her, a gift from Arduinna. And while she mulls over the possibilities, she shakes her short hair about her shoulders.
It couldn’t be Archebold. Definitely not.
So she continues on, slinging the parasol around her arm as she slips onto the bone bridge in the darkness, sapphire eyes alight despite the darkened world she finds herself in. She has become better adjusted, better all around, and she doesn’t stop when she recognizes Archebold though a hint of surprise hums through her. She recalls a year ago when they had danced upon the bridge, when she had tested him and teased him — a dangerous game for one who craved it.
“[say]Archebold![/say]” She calls in mock surprise, careful to keep her secret hidden for the moment as she nears, parasol lingering quickly at her fingertips as she moves to settle and block his way. “[say]I see you’re alive![/say]” Her lips form a small smirk, a huff of a laugh leaving her, though she remains distanced, sapphire eyes full of amusement — no longer the fear and surprise she once held. She never once guessed if he had died, but it has been ages since she’d seen him last. She has to poke fun somewhere.
The twirling stopped, tapping silenced as Archebold halted his steps and looked curiously at @Rexanna . He tucked his upper lip beneath his bottom teeth, flicking his lip back out. He said nothing in reply for the time, just looked over the young woman.
"Quite..."
He replied finally to her proclamation of his survival. Black, hollow eyes flexed as he recalled the young woman but made no mention of her name just yet.
"It's none of my business, the matters your people seem to rush toward. I'd like to think I was casually observing..."
Corner of his lips pursed into a smirk as he moved to step around her.
"I'm terrible with names."
He isn't. A finger raised to press against his lip thoughtfully as he turned to face her once again.
"Though...there are certain, triggers to jog one's memory isn't there?"
Archebold asked with a grin as he leaned against the lions head knob of his walking stick. He remembered Rexanna, if not by name, then by the perfectly curved line of her neck. Very few people ever escaped this ascended's memory...but that didn't mean he wouldn't feign ignorance if only for his own amusement.
"There is something...different about you isn't there Rexanna? Pouty lips and perfectly curved neckline yearning for a taste not withstanding...you have weathered the storm and have come out the other end...for better or worse is not for me to say. Perhaps you care to elaborate. Indulge my curiosity...Please."
As he continued to lean, Archebold gestured a hand for her Rexanna to take the stage.
He looks her over, and she preens as she always does, standing in his way before he finally speaks that deep rumble. But as always, it does not stop there, and he continues on speaking of your people, a term she wishes to snort at, but she doesn’t. She remains standing still, parasol slung over her arm still, as her gaze follows him as he moves to step around her. She concedes a step, but only one, sapphire eyes unusually light within the darkness of the night they found themselves in.
And he turns to her, finger pressed to his lips that curls the corners of her lips up. “[say]Archebold, I am hurt.[/say]” She purrs to him, though she doesn’t believe it him in the slightest. She is not naïve enough to think he could forget his adventures here when he had proclaimed so much about the world before this one. Her head tilts, same smirk playing on her features as he grins and leans against his cane.
And then he notices. Extending a hand to gesture for her to continue, and she moves the parasol slightly. “[say]Oh, nothing much.[/say]” She hums, an air of play about her as she turns to walk toward him – not like he is far – but she continues on ever so slightly, as if she deigns to go the same place he does. “[say]I cut my hair.[/say]” She jests, turning to look over at him over her shoulder and grins, fangs on full display.
[say] “Brilliant, isn’t she?”[/say] comes the Wraith’s voice from behind the pair, singular and smooth across the dark, shadow-filled land. So bright, her Lady had agreed, and the more Wessex thinks about it, the more she believes that if anything significant is to be accomplished on behalf of the Ascended, it will have to be done with Rexanna’s help. No one else bridges the gap between races so well (or indeed, at all), and is as trusted.
A pale shadow, the blonde woman strolls casually into view, able to see the two of them as easily as they could see her. She moves like water, flowing from one step to the next with a certain unearthly grace and speed that makes her feel powerful. And she does it all with a slight smirk - this is their time, and Archebold’s return to society, if he chose to maintain it, would be quite fortuitous. If he doesn’t fuck things up for them. They cannot afford indifference.
[say] “What have you been up to, Archebold? Indulge my curiosity, for a moment. Please.”[/say] A wry, challenging expression on her face; she is no longer the newborn Ascended that found him in the ruins. She is so much more.
He could be, too.
|
