Jump to content
Sign in to follow this  
Pasion Pasiva

[Because I Could Not Stop For Death...]

Recommended Posts

[FONT=Garamond][COLOR="#800000"][box]Lucis Angelus DuGrace[/box]

[imgalign=right]http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y222/lesbia_09/lucis_zps86ed433e.png[/imgalign]

Death seemed like such a definite thing. It plagued every creature upon this earth and perhaps even in the universe, for Lucis had heard tell tales of many gods that had died away for one reason or another. But what was true death? Was it what came directly after the body stopped functioning or was it something that came a hundred years later after any and every individual who carried a memory of the deceased was also gone? Was death the end of a memory and therefore the true decent into nothingness? These thoughts plagued him as he sat there in a large and comfortable chair with a glass of wine at his side and an open letter upon his lap. He didn’t belong here but he couldn’t make himself go to her—he couldn’t stand the idea and much less the sight of her in such a weakened condition.

Perhaps it was cruel. Perhaps it would have been a great kindness to sit beside her with her tiny hand within his and to offer soft pulsing waves of heat as she began to drop away from this world and into the vastness of whatever came next. But he couldn’t do it. He was afraid that she would speak and forbid him from what he intended to do and that was not a command that he would be able to follow. It was selfish; he knew it, to make such a decision without her consent but there was simply no other option.

He blamed her for it. She had come into his life, appeared out of nowhere with her plans and her dreams and filled him with a renewed vigor for life. She had given him pride in his name, title, and the abilities that came with such power. Before her, he had lived his life for himself—dreading the day that he would ascend to power and wasting away any potential he had to do good for Orisia. Charlotte had breathed life into him and because of it all of Orisia would benefit. It simply wasn’t fair that she leave him now—so he did what any selfish man would do—he took away her choice.

She would die alone only to awake into a new life well within the embrace of his arms. But to reach that point require a sacrifice and he could only hope that she would one day forgive him for abandoning her when she most needed him. These were the thoughts that filled him with dread and guilt but that did little to shift his intent.

His right hand opened and within it the glowing stone, which cast a silver light, combated his natural heat with a cooling sensation. Golden eyes regarded the stone with a mixture of emotions—something between love and hate. Here was his only chance to revive the brilliant scientist, his darling inventor, his friend…but what if it failed?

All he could do was wait—sit and wait for the inevitable, an announcement of her death.
[/COLOR][/FONT]

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
[FONT=garamond]Understanding slowly became hate, and hate became sadness. Finally, her sadness reduced her to calm, and once gain to understanding. The pain that filled the young woman's body was enough to knock her out on occasion, and at times send her into a short coma. In a few instances, the physicians nearly called for Lucis, but they retracted it, as they could barely feel her pulse underneath all of the stiffened muscles and slowly pumping blood. Her paralytic state baffled many of the doctors in Orisia, and still they refused to tell her why the Prince had not come.[/FONT]

[FONT=garamond]With her changing emotions, her requests for his audiences seemed to shift in the same fashion. At first, the requests were calm and polite, then they became angry, brought on by a bruised and frightened messenger who wanted nothing more than to get away from the surprisingly strong sick girl. Finally, a letter came to Lucis, shortly followed by another. The first was to wish Lucis well, to show that he must have his reasons for not wanting to see her, and to reference the letter that she left in her workshop. By this time, she was bedridden, and the former inquisitor was ashamed of her condition. Even if she was well enough to stand, she could not bring herself to show him how weak she must look.[/FONT]

[FONT=garamond]The final letter, sent two days ago was written by someone that did not carry her handwriting, but was freshly written, and had one sentence across the top.[/FONT]

[FONT=garamond]'The project is a success. The Cecilia is operational and safe.'[/FONT]

[FONT=garamond]The finished project came shortly after she was reduced to bed. Even in that state, she still had the engineers and assistants bring her coffee and the blueprints to better analyze the papers. Without actually seeing the submarine, there was some difficulty, but even in a sickened state, her wits were still keener than those of her workers'. The second trial came at a failure, which came during her anger phase, and shortly before being too sick to stand. The third trial, however, brought the best results, and only needed minor tweaking. The whole crew survived, though they explained a shortness of breath. The final tweak made the vessel perfect. And they took it for a test run.[/FONT]

[FONT=garamond]Chartreuse only wished she could be on the vessel...but she could only imagine from the news and experiences told to her by her assistants. For once during this awful set of weeks, she smiled and wished them to speak more. Her weak hand beckoned them forward, and she listened intently to their journey under the sea of Orisia, and its black depths engulfing the windows in nothing. It sounded frightening, yet familiar.[/FONT]

[FONT=garamond]At present, her head was rest into the firm pillow under her head, though the numbness that overcame her body didn't produce any comfort. Sleeping seemed to do nothing, and it would appear she would perish from exhaustion faster than her sickness. Each time her eyes closed to blink, a shutter of her life passed before her eyes. She recalled the contours of her father's face, and the weight of the first popgun he gave her on her fourth birthday. Her sixth birthday came, where she told her parents excitedly she would join the Inquisitors...and then she remembered how quiet they got and how they tried to dissuade her. Then years later, she remembered spinning, or rather strafing sideways to the sound of a waltz. Her partner was another boy resigned to his fate of aristocracy and etiquette school. The day she ran away, and enrolled in the Inquisitor's Academy, and then to the day she graduated. The feeling of the first actual gun she held, and the blood on her face that brought a cold chill down her spine. All the pain she felt during her slavery, the stinging lash of the whip on her back, then her body rejecting the artificial organs. When the crescendo of her thoughts ended with Lucis' voice, whispering into her unkempt hair:

[/FONT][I][COLOR=#800000][FONT=Garamond]I won’t let you die—I promise, even if I have to give you my own heart, I won’t let you die.

[/FONT][/COLOR][/I][FONT=Garamond]Even with his promise broken, she couldn't help but smile. The dark depths of death engulfed her eyes, and her final thought passed:

[I]To have your heart...I could die happy.[/I]

------

The sudden rush at the Prince's door was followed by the sudden crash of the wooden shield bursting open nearly at its hinges. Out of breath and red in the face, a boy stood in the opening. For a moment he tried to speak, knowing he must be putting his Prince on edge with his display. But he only held up a finger briefly to catch himself. Standing straight, his face straightened from exhaustion and a bit of sadness, he spoke the words Lucis likely longed and dreaded to hear at once.

"She is dead."[/FONT]

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
[I]My Dear Sister,

You will be happy to know that I am well, just as I promised. It seems remarkable that so much has happened in so little time that I hardly know where to begin with everything else. I have been constantly distracted from my work in examining Orisia's resources—the royal family invited me to the castle my first day here, if you can believe it, and since then, it has been one thing after the next. I am continually bumping into their prince who was first introduced to me at his own castle, and it's beginning to feel like him or one of his knights are there every time I turn around. At first, I believed it to be suspicion, but now I am not so certain.

Lucis Angelus DuGrace, the prince I speak of, I think he is a man you would approve of, though your taste has never been particularly discerning. He seems a man that leads with his heart, never hesitating and never doubting his own actions. At first I found it strange for a creature like him (and certainly one that professes at least to be a century in age), but he is endearing in his own right and has more charm in one finger than any of those Southern nobles have in their entire body. The one bone I have with him is his latest exploit, for he will tell me nothing of—[/I]

“She is dead.”

Cicely blinked, her suddenly inattentive quill scrawling a strange mark on the parchment in her lap. There was a boy of some kind, likely a servant, given the attire, who decided to burst in and say those three fateful words. She hadn't the faintest idea of who it was that had just passed or of what importance it was to Lucis, but her brain had always had the habit of filling in such gaps. The queen was dead? The prince had been particularly worried about his mother—some sort of disappearance that Cicely hadn't been able to hear more about—but he also hadn't mentioned if he was trying to help the woman, if he actually could.

At the very least, there wasn't much rescuing to be done now. Cicely looked from the boy to Lucis, lacking pity or sadness due to her confusion, and even managed to perk a stern brow. Why had he wanted [I]her[/I] here? Didn't he want privacy to mourn for his dearly departed? As far as she was concerned, she'd only been along for jotting notes down about Areder's wildlife. It would have been nice if their little party could have stopped every now and again for a decent survey, but they had been something in a hurry, as she had understood. Pleasant as it had been to see Lucis in action on a horse, it had been more than a little obvious that he was up to more than a romantic ride through the wilderness.

So there she was, not sitting at a camp or a lab, unknowingly awaiting those very words, “She is dead.” Fantastic—there was no medicinal knowledge Cicely had to alleviate death, and she could hardly imagine what company she could make, already being afraid to touch Lucis. He was a handsome creature that knew how to please a woman, make her feel lovely, wanted. That didn't keep him from being frustrating. More importantly, it didn't change her position as Shrine City's less-than-noble court alchemist. To think of herself as anything but a passing fancy to the elegant man was to be caught up in juvenile fantasy.

Frankly, there were also more important things to think on. Like that dead woman. Cicely immediately set her letter and the book it rested on aside, standing up as she looked expectantly to Lucis. It seemed she was finally going to to know the truth of his little trip, and morbid as it was, she was determined to help in whatever small way she could. Edited by Fairess

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
[FONT=Garamond][COLOR="#800000"][box]Lucis Angelus DuGrace[/box]

[imgalign=right]http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y222/lesbia_09/lucis_zps86ed433e.png[/imgalign]

There was too much to feel but through the tempest of emotions one single sentiment stood above the rest for it calmed him where he had been certain he might lose all his strength, power, and even will. He felt relief followed by a profound sadness, which he refused to acknowledge or to linger within. Now was not the time to mourn, for death was the beginning by which he had hoped to return life to Charlotte. So although he had stood up long before the boy had thrown the door open, he remained perfectly still as the confirmation of death spilled past his thin lips and filled the silent air that had been stifling the study for hours.

He was aware of the presence of another precious soul but he could not bring himself to lift his gaze and focus that smoldering gold upon Cicely, who had through this all, remained like a loyal friend without question or reprimand. He knew that his reasons for bringing her along had been selfish and that in the end she could very well end up reproaching him everything. It had broken his heart to see the way her eyes wandered toward the wilderness as they rode upon horseback across the Areder Mountains, clear across the island toward the tropical west coast of Orisia. He swore, every time he caught her desolate looks, that he would make it up to her and that he would truly take her on a journey befitting her curiosity and talents. But halfway on their trip he had received word of how poorly Charlotte was doing—not just with the project but more importantly with her health. This and this alone had pushed Lucis into rushing the trip.

And now they were here and they had been here a good four weeks and at no point did he deem it appropriate to tell poor Cicely what was going on. Instead, he entrusted her safety and amusement to his guards and left her alone to explore Izabal and the fine home, of which he had taken ownership while he visited. She had been given a bedroom, she was treated like the noble lady she was, but she was abandoned for the most part. Tonight, after having caught her with that same cheerless expression, he had asked her to come and sit with him—thinking that at the very least he could tell her about the secret project. He imagined that her face would light up at the idea of traveling down into the depths of the sea and seeing and studying all the creatures that lived below.

But he never got the chance.

“She’s dead.”

There he stood—and the letter that Charlotte had sent him, the one where she said her truths, it fluttered to the floor before him. For a moment he seemed lost—for a brief moment—the sheer agony of loss nearly consumed him before reason and purpose pushed him towards the light at the end of the tunnel.

“Then there’s no time to waste,” he responded in such a frigid voice that it would hardly seem like he cared for the individual who had lost her life. Now he looked at Cecily, “—do you see this?” He held up his hand and upon his open palm sat the resurrection stone. It was like glass but clouded silver caused it to glow soft but bright against his pale flesh. “This stone—this stone will bring her back—but I don’t know how. Will you help me?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He stepped over the letter, which remained at his feet and only shifted gently by virtue of a brush from his shoe. Without a word he walked out of the study leaving both Cecily and the messenger to stare after him. He couldn’t, in good conscience, demand that she help him so he wouldn’t stay there to let her suffer under the scrutiny of his glare—which would have demanded that she take to action immediately. So he left her—so that she could decide—so that she could come because she wished to come and not because he ordered it for he was on the very verge of demanding such a thing.

Hurrying, he headed to the Izabal’s castle—a small thing when compared to Versilla—but the place where Charlotte had been housed when she wasn’t working on the submarines.
[/COLOR][/FONT]

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
[FONT=garamond]There was no sadness at the deathbed of the young woman. Since the beginning of her sickness, and the admittance of doctors and physicians to keep her comfortable, she often shooed them away and told them between coughing or vomiting fits that there was no reason to be somber and mourn her death. To her, she was just a traveler that was always a mile ahead of death, and her journey just happened to stop in Orisia. Sure, she was frightened of her own death, but she didn't let the others know. When a lawyer came to write out her will, Chartreuse produced a piece of worn parchment that looked like it had been lost between the pages of a book for hundreds of years. When unfolded, it was a short description that all of her belongings were to be distributed to the people of Orisia based on necessity.

It was just one way for her to show that she wasn't totally heartless.

The physicians pronounced her death, and slowly covered her head with the bed sheet. They knew the Prince was coming, but it was customary to cover the dead. The peace on her face mimicked a sleeping child, and even though her chest did not rise and fall in a rhythm anymore, the light breeze from the window flicked the covers as if to show a sign of life.

"The Prince is on his way."

One physician spoke to another. The two traded glances and shook their heads before going about the routine of putting away their serums, tinctures, and medical devices.

"Who was she anyway? I've never seen her before. And she didn't look like an Orisian."

"Not a clue. The Prince demanded her comfort, but wouldn't show himself for the longest. Even Lord Kayden had shown up on occasion, asking her if she needed anything."

One glanced back toward where she lay and then back to his colleague.

"Sounds pretty important. The Prince probably at least wants to wish her goodbye, but didn't seem to want to come before she passed. Poor girl kept mumbling about wanting to see him. Sometimes she was awake, most of the time she spoke in her sleep."

The two shrugged their shoulders and locked their bags up. Within a minute, the room was empty, save for an apparition that floated quietly nearby. Its frame was lined with a thin ectoplasm that drifted and disappeared as soon as it dropped from his body. It wouldn't remain long, it only wished to see her. When the door opened, and when another person stepped in, it would disperse. Reaching a ghastly hand out, he brushed the tips of his fingers across the form of her hand that lay under the covers across her stomach. The non-descript face flickered a moment, the edges of its transparent mouth moving into a faint smile. With a squeeze, its hand sunk through the bed sheets, and through her hand, but still it attempted to hold her hand tight.

The room filled with a chill as his despair continued, though the chill would only linger for a short while. Releasing his grip on the intangible object, he drifted away and settled in the oaken chair meant for a guest. With either arm to the side of the chair, his chest heaved and hoed like it meant to breathe, and he cried. The wind blew just a bit harder from the outside, causing the sheets to flutter a few moments before dying down. Sorrow and pain would do him no good. And a slow exhale came from his hollow chest as he settled and calmly watched his daughter.[/FONT]

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
It wasn't easy to gauge the vampyre's frequently mercurial emotions. It didn't seem that he was even inclined towards simple expression—singular rage, joy, sadness—for they were all mixed into one. Cicely thought she had seen despair in the dullness of his eyes, but then there would be a spark of something else, perhaps anger, perhaps hope. He didn't bite at his nails or pace the floor as she might have, coldly composed without a word of explanation as to why he felt as he did or whose fate it was that kept him from smiling over the course of weeks. Things had come to the point where the alchemist didn't understand if she was supposed to be of use, or to simply look pretty like any of the other numerous baubles in the house. Without knowing what was going on, the particulars of the newly occurred tragedy, how was she to be prepared or to show anything beyond confusion?

So it was that while Lucis' decisive action led him quickly away and soon beyond sight, she was left muddling in the much emptier room. She couldn't help but be in awe of not only the brevity with which he had left, but the stifling effect of his absence. The room was cold, empty. Even with that constantly furrowed brow, that burning sorrow, the prince had been a comfort. Perhaps it was because he was among the few people she could trust. She didn't have to wonder what he thought between silences, for when the time was right, he would voice them, and they would not be far from the worry and heart wrenching expressions he had already displayed. It was just...

Couldn't he walk a mite bit slower? Even had he been human, his stride felt like twice of hers, and he was hampered neither by long, heavy skirts or a wretchedly restrictive corset. He had all the dignity of a noble knight on a mission while she took after him with handfuls of dress in her hands, pouting like a spoiled princess. She wouldn't have time to change into more sensible, mobile clothing because of the sudden rush, and could only regret her choice to be “properly attired” after her return to Orisian civilization. Sure, the forest green ruffles were fashionable, and sure, the painstakingly poised curls bouncing out of place were pretty, but it made her feel like a frazzled peacock chasing after a wolf after he had fled from her roost.

If he could just slow down, there was a great deal they needed to catch up on! It didn't matter if he was reluctant to speak of the deceased woman—what had caught and held her interest was the stone he had flashed before her eyes. As an earth Elemen, she had sensed the thing before she had even seen it, felt the energy of the room flux in its presence, but she couldn't very well learn its qualities and uses when Lucis so quickly absconded with it. Her study into Orisia's Isradis had been a painfully slow one. Cicely had to let it tingle on her skin, to feel its aura press against hers, to let it fill her dreams with patterns and images before she could even begin to understand its qualities. That was how she talked to stones, how she had come to know the Isradis pendant hidden beneath the yoke of her dress.

But that dark, shimmering stone Lucis had held... it was something more than what she wore around her neck. The prince wasn't one to exaggerate under such a circumstance, so she could only assume what he said to be truth—he held in his hand the power to restore the dead, a priceless and terrible device in the hands of anyone. She distantly recalled reading of something quite like that, for it had been no small news in Orisia. It had been reported as a combination of Isradis, formed at a most timely moment when one of the alchemists creating it had supposedly perished. In truth, she'd thought the tale too romantic, too expedient to be true, but with this evidence before her, perhaps it was. Such a discovery would bring all sorts of possibilities to the world of alchemy, asking only more questions about Isradis than it had sol—

[I]Crunch[/I].

“Ow! Augh, [I]ow[/I]!” Cicely more or less muttered her complaints as she ran headlong into a post—she'd just been turning a corner too quickly to see it, not that she was looking. Groaning, she cradled one hand around her nose where most of the force had collided, blanching from the pain at the same time she flushed with embarrassment. She was light-headed a moment, hips and shoulders swaying this way and that before her coordination gathered itself back enough to let her walk properly. When one of the guards stepped forward to ask what was wrong, she simply waved him off, only to double back again and ask for her bag and her horse.

It wasn't like she was going to keep up with Lucis any other way. Thankfully, his men had always proved themselves efficient at any task, and had her things ready for her as she departed from the house. She could only hope to catch up with the price somewhere along the scramble. Edited by Fairess

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
[FONT=Garamond][COLOR="#800000"][box]Lucis Angelus DuGrace[/box]

[imgalign=right]http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y222/lesbia_09/lucis_zps86ed433e.png[/imgalign]

Izabal’s castle was made of huge blocks of carved stone carefully set against each other—an impressive feature, but not one that he was willing to admire given the current situation. He had spent some time within the halls following up the current plans for the secret project, ensuring that materials and supplies were reaching the small port town, and overall trying to facilitate the work of the brilliant minds who labored for Orisia. But today none of it mattered—not the finished submarines, not the money that had been spent, and certainly not the consequences of having stolen from the Black Queen. For days he had been waiting—waiting for the opportunity to do something—other than sitting and fretting over the inevitable.

“Hey!” he saw the two doctors parting ways outside Charlotte’s door. They looked weary, but the sudden cry had jolted them both to attention. Both men regarded the prince and immediately bowed their heads.

“Your majesty,” they said in unison while being shoved aside and away from the bedroom door.

There was a moment; a painful second that nearly stole his resolve, when he saw the billowing white sheet that covered the dead body. Then he became aware of bitter chill that seemed wholly unnatural and completely misplaced given the temperate climate of Orisia’s western coast. Something was off, something in the atmosphere, but he hadn’t the time or care to worry about supernatural occurrences. This was a body, he told himself as he walked into the room and stalked to the bedside, a body and nothing else—but in the blood, somewhere in the flesh, there remained traces of the person whom he adored and who had proven to be worth a sea of troubles.

“Get in here,” he called to the two doctors, who were now merely peeking from the other side of the door. They seemed nervous—but mostly just confused—unaware of what they could possibly do at this point. So one of them, the bolder of the two, entered and walked slowly toward the opposite side of the bed.

“My prince—there’s nothing we can do—I am afraid she’s gone.”

Lucis would have rolled his eyes had he any sense other than urgency. Reaching out he took hold of the white sheet and pulled it back. Again, he was plagued by that same dread as he saw the sleeping face of his dear friend—of his almost lover—and something deep in his gut twisted with guilt, self-hate, and horror. How he loathed death in that moment, how he hated that life could be so fleeting. But these emotions were quickly tucked away under the surface and as his attention fluttered down the length of the body before him. She was wearing a simple gown, one that tied with ribbons at the back. He reached for the hem that brushed above her knees and pulled it up, exposing her naked boxy to the harsh white light of the medical room. With that same move he set a hot hand upon her icy belly and pressed—gently as if he could still hurt her.

“Perform an autopsy,” he snapped at the doctor who stood there with an expression that denoted his understanding for loss—he had seen people act out in much stranger ways. But the request seemed to baffle him.

“We don’t make a habit of opening bodies here in the guest halls, my prince,” he said helplessly.

“Her organs,” he felt his voice catch—he was hoarse, as if he had been running, “—they’re mechanical, they need to be removed, immediately. You have to do it carefully. You have to make sure you don’t hurt anymore of the tissue, her heart, her lungs,” again his voice caught, his hand was trembling and he hadn’t even noticed it. He stepped away, feeling weak.

From the door, the second doctor chimed in, “Prince Lucis she will be properly prepped for burial in just a few hours, please, come with us.”

“Do as I command!” he snapped, his voice falling into a deep throaty tone that held an inflection that could well have been mistaken for a threat. Still, his appearance was positively composed. “No one is leaving this room until those organs have been removed.” Only then did he look to the door with more than just an expectation to see the second doctor, who had by now, moved into the room. He was searching for Cicely, who had unfortunately been left behind, but who should have been making her way through the halls of the castle by now. But Lucis didn’t know that in his current state—he could only imagine that she had decided not to come.
[/COLOR][/FONT]

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
[FONT=arial narrow]Pure sympathy had long since been forgotten, her bedside manner only growing more cumbersome with each passing day. Death, to which she had no choice but to watch come to pass, came for Chartreuse. She was worn from the days of caring for her, unable to do anything to stop the girl from departing. With locked bag in hand, she followed behind the first doctor and shut the room door as she stepped through its frame.

A very brief exchange took place and they were about to part ways when a voice echoing in the corridor caught her attention. “My prince.” The elbow that pushed against her arm as he broke between them to enter the girl’s room knocked the black medical case from her hand.

[B][COLOR=#800000]“Get in here.”[/COLOR][/B]

Her counterpart entered the room on the prince’s immediate command, while she lingered for but a moment to pick up her belongings before entering the room as well. The girl once ready for her final resting place was now completely exposed.

Her lowering eyes barely caught a glimpse of the man’s shaking hand before she chimed in, “Prince Lucis she will be properly prepped for burial in just a few hours, come with us.”

The snap of his voice made her take a step back towards the door, and immediately her right hand rose as if to guard against his threat. What she believed to be a sorrowful attempt to hang on turned out to be something else entirely. A sullen sigh broke free from her dry lips, what he was asking—[I]commanding [/I]them to do, was unthinkable. Or was it?

Amber eyes fell onto him with something of an exhausted expression, lids nearly halfway closed. Since there really was no choice in the matter, she stepped forward and sat her medical case onto a nicely carved and stained waiting table. “As you wish, Prince Lucis.”

Keys were pulled from a pocket. With the case unlocked heavy hands set to their work. Though weary, her mind was as sharp as the blade of her scalpel when it came to the placement of her utensils. Each blade, clamp, and even the larger tools of the kit was set just right, and shined against the white backsplash of the towel she’d laid out. In moments she was ready and turned to check on her peer. If they too were ready, it would mark the time to begin. [/FONT]

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
“Crazy man, tearing up the dead! Who even puts metal 'organs' in—”

“S-sorry! Didn't mean to—oh!” Cicely heaved for breath as she was knocked against the wall, having met yet another obstacle while rounding a corner. Her nose had started to bleed halfway up to the castle, necessitating use of a lacy handkerchief that was now caught up in the metal tools the person in front of her had dropped. Further apologies were muttered as she scooped the bloody cloth up, having her hands batted away when she tried to aid the man in retrieving his tools.

“This is fragile equipment, Miss, and I'm in a hurry. Prince DuGrace has—”

“Lucis! You mean he's... hugh... he's already here?” Cicely grasped at her side, closing her eyes a moment as she tried not to think about how tightly the ribbing of her gown was clutching at her lungs. That, along with the black lace itching against the sweaty, tender skin of her collarbone was almost enough to make her give up then and there. It took her a moment to compose herself, righting her body back on its feet and remembering the task at hand, before she was able to continue. “I'm here specifically to help. You mentioned something about metal?”

The man, or doctor, as it were, stepped back a moment, taking her in. Cicely couldn't guess at what he saw. A big, green squawking peacock, perhaps? He cleared his throat, adjusting his hold on the small box that held is equipment. “Well... yes, a woman that recently died apparently had metal in her body, and we're to take it out. If you insist on helping, would you mind coming along and explaining yourself?”

Fantastic, more speedwalking. Cicely couldn't help but muse that it would make a divinely amusing sport—seeing a line of noble gowns in motion as each woman tried to hustle faster than the one beside her. Perhaps that was what balls looked like when Lucis was present? What made it worse was that the man leading her also expected her to talk when she was trying to conserve what breath she had. Thankfully, there was only enough time to ask her name, her relation to Lucis before both doctor and alchemist found the room where a desperate prince overlooked a woman setting out—

[I]Gods! What madness is this![/I] Cicely blanched, reaching for the door frame to steady herself as she stared at a half-naked corpse. There was an open window in the place, and yet the air felt sick to her. Of course, she'd had the displeasure of smelling the opened dead before, and this corpse hadn't even been meddled with just yet, but something was just downright [I]wrong[/I]. Suddenly, what was worried confusion became insult, and insult became anger. One didn't just go about tearing a woman open straight after death! They were stuffing tool boxes where flowers were meant to go, placing surgeon knives near enough to nip at linen that likely hadn't been laundered for days. Exactly what did they mean to do—butcher the body and then bring it back to life as a zombie?

“You've lost your mind.” Cicely's golden gaze settled on Lucis with the weight of a hundred granite boulders. She was angry, yes, but it didn't show in her expression. The woman was as stolid as stone, her brow only mildly furrowed as she spoke. Her rage was instead made manifest by a sudden gravity of presence—creaking, grating, unease in the stones themselves made the room buckle as though everything was twice its own weight. Nothing actually moved, not even trembled, and yet the air had gained palpable weight. “You ordered all this—that in and of itself declares you unable to act according to your position and duty. You are not a knight, not a prince, but a child, and you have no place in this room.”

The alchemist's gaze then went into the lady doctor who'd just finished laying out her tools. “And you! By the gods, do you call yourself a doctor! By cutting into a corpse in such an exposed area, you submit every person in this castle to whatever disease or condition that may have killed this woman as well as anything else that may be developing in that corpse. This area is cramped and unsuited for proper positioning of the body—insufficient means for a proper operation. Do you even know where to start any removals? Do you even claim to know anything that was the cause of death!” Edited by Fairess

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
[FONT=Garamond][COLOR="#800000"][box]Lucis Angelus DuGrace[/box]

[imgalign=right]http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y222/lesbia_09/lucis_zps86ed433e.png[/imgalign]

At some point he had moved to the foot of the bed. There he stood, watching with a tilted head as the female doctor—the one who had remained surprisingly cool and collected—unlocked her bag and began to set out her tools. The other doctor, her peer, looked a bit distraught and excused himself to go get his own utensils. Lucis watched after him for a moment with a sinking feeling that the man would not return, returning his golden gaze to the female he asked with a weariness that had not yet been present in his voice, “can you do it alone?” He knew that regardless of the answer, one way or another, he was going to get this done—even if it meant tearing into Charlotte himself and drawing out the artificial organs that had granted her life but which had also poisoned her.

The doctor didn’t have a chance to answer for the heaving and struggling of his Lady Cicely quickly interrupted the growing stillness of the room. More than likely two pairs of eyes would turn to regard Cicely as she staged through the threshold of the bedroom. Lucis stared at her with a mixture of emotions, as always. They all danced across the surface of his eyes but were just as quickly burnt away as if it were debris that had managed to fly too close to the sun. If it was anger, relief, or frustration—it didn’t show on his handsome face for his square jaw had settled tight and refused to move even as she flung accusations of mental stability.

She couldn’t understand and he wasn’t going to hold that against her. But it was one thing to question him and another—a very different thing—to try and stop him from fulfilling a promise. He had sworn that he would keep Charlotte alive, he had even promised her his own heart, and he had failed. This was all that he had left and he wasn’t about to let anyone come in to derail his plans.

Chartreuse would live.

Still, there was something in the way Cicely’s honey colored eyes glared at him. There was a sharpness there that he had never thought her capable of. She spoke with command although she looked as if she were about to double over and faint. Had this whole situation not been so tragic he might have teased her or complimented how well she had hid this other side of herself. But she had insulted him and that could not be allowed, especially since her accusations had no basis. He was no child—and she would not be allowed to forget that he was Prince and a Knight, and one that she owed a certain amount of respect to. Then it struck him as suddenly as the news of Charlotte’s death. It was the smell of blood, faint and sweet in a room that was so heavily perfumed by death. He was aware of his hunger then. He was painfully aware of the emptiness of his core and the smell of her living blood was ambrosia to him.

He was upon her before she finished her next set of reprimands—aimed at the doctor this time. He came and stood before her, slipping in and out of sight, revealing for a terrifying moment that unnatural speed that elevated beyond human comprehension. Two strong hands gripped her forearms and held her firmly. A smoldering gaze bore down on her as he examined her face, her neck, and then the rest of her body. It only took a moment to find the source of the bleeding at which point his eye softened.

He’d move her then, pulling her by the arms, towards the corner of the room where a chair stood. Gently, but firmly, he’d corner her into it and once she was sitting he would take a knee before her—only then did he let go of her arms and only to set his hands firmly upon her hips to ensure she didn’t jump out of the chair. “Are you alright?” He asked, ignoring everything she had said previously. A hand reached out and hot fingers pressed to her chin making her tilt her head back, “—what happened?”

Just because his main worry was with the dead now didn’t mean he would lose all sight of the living. Cicely was precious to him—and she was for some reason hurt. He could her hear her heart, it was thundering and he could see the discomfort of her clothing, which in turn made him frown. She looked lovely—she always looked lovely—but he couldn’t understand the reasoning behind so many layers. He loathed to see her uncomfortable and if they had been alone he would have freed her of her tight constraints.

“This room is part of the medical hall of the castle, Cicely—there is no better place to perform this operation. And there is disease to be exposed to. This is Chartreuse, her heart, her lungs, her organs are all artificial and made out of metal. I know what killed her, I smelt it on her breath the first day I met her. Her lungs were full of rust, her blood poisoned by the metal, and I will bring her back but I cannot if these artificial items are still inside of her.” He finally released her and pulled from his pocket the small silver stone—it glowed like his moonlight flesh—this he set in her open hands.

“I don’t know how this works…but I cannot let her be dead for a single second longer. I promised I’d save her—I promised I wouldn’t let her die. Don’t make a liar out of me for too long. I would not have her exposed to whatever lies on the other side for a second longer than she must. Help me. Please help me.”
[/COLOR][/FONT]

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
Dr. Concordia barely began to slip a set of gloves onto her slender fingers when her counterpart decided to go grab his tools. She, much like the Prince, felt he wouldn’t return. A cool gaze of amber hues in the royal’s direction brought on a curt nod. Her words were cut off by the abrupt barrage of words from a woman who’d entered the room in quite a rough manner. They bounced around in her head for a moment as she took to pulling both gloves all the way on.

[I]I can handle it to the best of my abilities, Prince Lucis.[/I]

She felt no doubt, every doctor was required to work on corpses before they were permitted to touch the living. Removing the organs, weighing them, and dissecting them; it was all part of the learning process. The body was a beautiful shell of skin with complex parts to be examined and studied as carefully as possible.

The insulting words spat in her direction lifted auburn brows along the pallid forehead. The once dark circles beneath each eye had begun to diminish as her task came so close to unfolding. As guest to the DuGrace home, she was allowed to revel in the charts of her current patient. She had only been able to spend a couple of days with the girl. With the explanation of Lucis to his dear friend Cicely, she knew what she was looking for. The only matter she would have to deal with, was the spread of the contamination to all the tissues in the body.

While the loud and questioning woman was cornered and distracted she turned to the task she was given. With her left hand pressed above the girl’s right breast, the scalpel lowered onto the pale cold flesh. She was ready to begin the surgical process. Edited by -Lilium-
redundancy; cut and edit for other reason...

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
The skin at Cicely's throat was tight, nostrils flaring. Each breath was controlled, and yet steamier than a hot bath, letting out the rawest of emotion with each huff. She was angry, yes, decidedly angry at the irony of her entrance. She'd been denouncing the bizarre actions within the room, setting herself into a flurry of what she deemed to be corrective action, and all for what? Her concerns were all but ignored, and she was seated in the corner like a misbehaving child. But it wasn't Lucis she was glaring at. The doctor, it seemed, had no intention of having her work interrupted, determined to see her orders through. Loyalty, skill—it was all there in the way she approached that patient with an unwavering blade in hand.

[I]Patience is the way of the earth. It needs nothing, wants for nothing, but when it moves, all things tremble at its power. I am the earth, and it hears me. Things must be done in the right way at the right time, and that time is not yet.[/I] Cicely closed her eyes, fingers clenching against the fabric of her gown. The emotional high lent energy to her senses, and in mere seconds, she could feel the metal of the room in a kinetic sense, as though each nail, each blade and post were actually a part of her body. She didn't need to see it to know it was there, and all it took was the slightest tweak of her mind to bend the metal in the doctor's hand. The keen blade of the scalpel collapsed against itself, almost like the wax of a candle dripping down its handle.

Slowly, Cicely's eyes opened back up. She had wrapped one of her hands around the one Lucis held to her chin, catching her breath as she had looked down at him. It had been all she could do not to gasp at his firm hand on her hip, for it was warm and demanding and more welcome than it should have been. She had been treated to more than one guilty mental image—his ivory hand on her bare flesh, his hungry lips at her aching neck—and even in her upset, a maiden's blush had found its way to her cheeks. It had seemed an eternity since he'd let her go, and between his words and her metal bending, she couldn't remember exactly when it was that the stone had ended up in her hands.

“I'm not really a qualified person to establish sanity, am I?” Cicely stared back at Lucis with pained eyes. “But you are in grief, Lucis, and hardly partial to judgments that need to be made. This isn't the right place for this task, and you don't have all the information you need. That's why you wanted my help, is it not? Or am I to be a pretty ornament at your side, doing nothing because you keep me from action? If you want my help, you must trust me, and if you trust me, this is one matter where you must do what I know you loathe—and that is to leave things in control of another person. I can help this woman, but in my own way and in my own time. The last person resurrected by this stone was reported dead for close to a day... and I do believe we yet have time to do things properly.”

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
[FONT=Garamond][COLOR="#800000"][box]Lucis Angelus DuGrace[/box]

[imgalign=right]http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y222/lesbia_09/lucis_zps86ed433e.png[/imgalign]

How could he know what this new energy was? His power was inherent—he did not control fire, he was fire, simple as that. But he felt it and recognized it for what it was. It was something different and powerful, a source that could not and should not be overlooked. Still, he turned to gaze with a narrowed gaze, at the medic’s utensil as it was bent through the use of some unseen force that was clearly under the command of his fair lady. There was a moment of blind rage that struck him with such force that he whirled back to face her with wisps of smoke escaping past his nostrils and twisting up into the air around them before they disappeared—as if they had never existed. However, the temperature rose by a few precious degrees that would certainly make Cicely more or less uncomfortable in her layered dress.

“But you are in grief, Lucis, and hardly partial to judgments that need to be made. “

Fortunately for her, she spoke quickly, and although his fists—which rested on either side of her chair’s arm rests—had gripped the finely carved wood in something akin to a death grip—he listened. The words came from her like water from a spring and although they did little to ease the burden of his guilt and mounting fear, he felt himself give under the sweetness of her gaze and the sharp and determined line of her pinched lips. And so he drew back, still upon a knee, he drew back and sat on the floor like a child with both his hands upon his lap. He looked defeated, tired, and perhaps most notably—saddened.

“I fear that the more time she spends in this condition the more she will resent me for letting her die.” It would be strange, perhaps even disturbing, to hear such a confession from the second highest ranking individual in Orisia. But if there was one thing the DuGrace family was well known for was the fact that they wore their emotions upon their sleeves. If the stone didn’t work, then Lucis wasn’t really certain what he might do. He had promised his life in return for her own if only it would ensure that her eyes might open again and that her lips could once more part and breathe in air.

For some inexplicable reason he knew that he needed Chartreuse to live—and that if she didn’t, then he might well die.

“Do what you must,” he said, rising slowly to his feet, “—but don’t make me leave. I won’t leave her.” He was at the bed side now, after having moved to the dead woman’s side with a speed that was utterly unnerving. He held her small pale hand and tried, over and over, to warm her dead flesh.
[/COLOR][/FONT]

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
The blade was almost pressing into the skin when the blade folded against itself. A shaking hand rose towards her face so she could better examine it. Turning it in front of her eyes she sighed and straightened up.

Her gaze narrowed as she turned to ever so carefully place the blade onto the prepared nightstand. With parted lips she exuded a deep sigh, whether out of irritation or relief she didn’t express. Turning to look upon the two she waited in polite silence. Intruding on their grief and despair, she felt, would be extremely unwise.

Even though she dared not interrupt she caught on to what Cicely’s plan was and moved back to the tools of her trade. One by one each was carefully placed back into the case. Closing and snapping it shut, she once more exposed the key and locked it.

Without facing them she very casually laid out the question, “May I be excused until the preparations are in order? I do not feel that I should be here in the middle of your grieving.”

She fully intended on assisting Cicely with whatever she needed, but for the moment they needed to grieve and prepare for the operation. With that permission, she would exit and take here leave until the time for her to return had come.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
“Well... we do need someone to handle the body. Can't think of anyone better for the job.” Cicely struggled to meet the prince's gaze, already having felt a mountain's weight of tension pressing in on her. It wasn't her usual circumstance to be cornered in a chair with a burning fire just about ready to explode in front of her. But there would be time to reflect on that later—those things she should have done, should have said instead of bursting in the room and loosing it—the first priority was removing that metal. The mere idea raised a great number of questions: was such a stone truly capable of regrowing entire organs? How much time did she have before it was too late for magic to work? There were too many unknowns, the only certainty being needed procedures to perform what may or may not bring a stranger back to life.

“Now... I need a room with a decently sized and level table... if you don't have any operation rooms, as seems to be the case. I will require some of my supplies back at the house, and... I shall also require our good doctor's assistance, so I shall need someone to...” Here, Cicely paused, realizing that the only two living beings in her room were herself and Lucis. Something told her he wouldn't be keen on leaving the body for any reason.

“Right... I'll make the arrangements. Shortly, I'll return so you can bring the body and alert the doctor that it's time to proceed.” The alchemist stood a little shakily, wringing her hands as she finally went into action. Something just felt... odd in the air, as though she didn't quite belong there. But it wasn't the time to second-guess her intervention. No, it was a time for action, and she had the distinct impression that Lucis was in no position to be kept waiting needlessly. With a sweep of a skirt and the lightest inclination of her head, Cicely swept out of the room, making her way towards what she hoped was an office or some center of operations.

Getting a proper room didn't turn out to be difficult —few things were hard to find when one was in direct service of a prince in his own country, after all. Cicely was provided with an empty storage room sporting a long, unremarkable table. Her items had already been brought and set aside, so she was quick to arrange what she needed. On one of the shelves lining each wall of the room, she placed an orderly stack of parchment, on top of which went a quill with an almost shimmering black ink bottle. One one of the counters lining the right side of the room, she set out a plethora of materials, including various stones, empty bottles, and liquids that would have won curious stares from any onlooker.

After a brief set up, the next task had to do with a single bottle, on which she inscribed a strange blue rune. A moment afterward, she carefully dropped a few pebble-sized bits of magnetite in, then preparing a syringe which she set down next to the bottle. As soon as the woman was brought in, she'd take a sample of the remaining blood to form a special kind of stone, one which had been formed by elvish doctors some time ago. They were almost invaluable in medical operations, attracting a subject's blood to the area they were placed on. When placed correctly, they could stop bleeding entirely, making use of only certain veins to circulate the necessary flow of a mortal body.

The next solution Cicely prepared was slightly more disturbing—pure latex extract from a rubber tree. While not much more than an odd smelling, never behaving fluid, its purpose was to be combined with yet another piece from the subject it was meant to be used on—a flake of skin, a piece of bone. As soon as she had that, she'd add a small quantity of [I]Nexus[/I], and then boil the fluid in a flask painted with the same blue rune. With any luck, the bonding would go well, and the fluid could be used on the corpse to peel back bone and flesh alike without actually cutting into the body.

Of course, Cicely's subject was dead, but avoiding blood and tissue loss would make things less messy, as well as allow her to purge the remaining metal toxins in that same blood. And all the while these preparations were made, the alchemist uttered a command to her seemingly normal quill, explaining her actions and purposes. She'd also requested written records of anything known about the woman and her condition, but that information was yet to be seen or delivered. All Cicely could do was wait as the doctors whose aid she'd requested delivered the message to both Lucis and his doctor that she was ready to begin a “proper” procedure.

OoC: My apologies for such a late reply! I ended up moving to a new home and it took a week to establish internet, along with settling in and getting ready for another season of school. Hopefully this post isn't too rusty, and it makes up for some of the wait!

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
Guest
This topic is now closed to further replies.
Sign in to follow this  

  • Recently Browsing   0 members

    No registered users viewing this page.

×