#replies;; cranberry euphoria

[ironmaidenxsteelheart]

Closed Starter | @alabonshay

"This is the last time I'm walking this far, to get you, you know!!" Wannour chided the broken pieces of Sir Imania's body in this fashion many, many months ago.

The first dozen times that her love had died, it was sweet, or made sense, in some way; now, it seemed that every other day Sir Imania (her brave Sir Imania!) was throwing herself into the arms of danger. Which was all fine and good; the more she was able to work on her body, the more lifelike the function was, but the time it took to journey to bring back all its pieces, denote the failures and make improvements, not to mention repair and replacement.... Well, she'd like to be married before they were both old and wrinkled, you know. Not to mention the toll it took on her soul's connection to the world!! That Knight was lucky that her body was stable enough to support this kind of back-and-forth tug-of-war! With that in mind, it was only natural, to try and figure out how to make a door to anywhere, whenever she wished. If the Angels could manage, surely she could figure out the mechanism. That's what she thought, anyways. ~~ At least it sort of worked, since she was anywhere other than her dark, cozy workroom. It hadn't taken her where she wanted, though-- her ratios were off; too few blackberry seeds, not enough cranberry. Maybe she needed to add frog, for distance? Or a lock of hair? Oh, she knows she's close to home, but she's all turned around and there's not a door in sight!! Wannour shoves her way through bramble and underbrush. There aren't nearly so many plants in this part of the woods, and she wracks her brain to remember clearings and thin spots-- there were only so many! She knew the woods well, she ought to know where she was....but what if all the mixture needed was a little more iron? It isn't until she finds a fence that she realizes she may, in fact, have needed less blackberry seeds. There were no fences, around the base of her mountain. This was brilliant!! Wannour was well and truly lost, after all!! She'd simply ask for direction and be on her merry way. Fences were only suggestions, anyhow. She clambers over it, and makes her way to the dense shrubbery blocking her view-- although she'd never seen shrubs with quite so dense a shape. The fastest way out was nearly always through, however, and no plant would be an exception!! Any tears left by branches could be mended later; and she sustains a great many pushing her way from the brush!! She'd expected to find an abode, on the other end. What she hadn't expected was a garden so magnificent and manicured that it seemed nigh-impossible. Was this shaped by human hands? All of the grass was cropped neat and tidy, bushes trimmed up into impossible shapes-- dense, like the hedges!!-- and more distinct kinds of flower than she had ever witnessed, in so close a space, let alone so rigidly planted. It was a drastic shift, from the wildness of the forest beyond the hedges. To say nothing of the massive fort looming above the garden grounds. She might be slightly worried for her safety, were it not for the sense of awe at the sheer coordination everything in sight must have required. It was like no place she'd ever seen or heard of. Wannour stares, frozen in awe, at everything before her. So much wealth, hidden by mere foliage!!

[ironmaidenxsteelheart]

Closed Starter | @monster-and-mayhem

Not so deep in the woods as you'd expect, and not half so hidden, at the base of the high-topped mountains with their snowy, chilly peaks; there is a door in the rock.

It's a small door, wooden and warped, with rusting hinges bolted into the gabbro and the gneiss. Two bands of thin-hammered iron hold the rotting boards together with spite, hope, and a smattering of blackberry seeds shoved in the lock (they're what impart the spite, you see). Despite its conspicuousness, Wannour's never found herself besieged by visitors--- not many were keen to open a mysterious door, embedded in the rock, miles from the nearest town. Who'd have guessed?? Today, though, she hears a knock. Well, not at first, but eventually, the third time it reverberates above the bubbling of her cauldron and ticking of clockwork, she's thrilled to find that it may not be her mind filling the empty air, after all!! Today, there is a knock that very well may be her love, come to surprise her with a visit, at long last!!!! Sir Imania was so clever, she knew he'd make it back, in due time. No explaining was even necessary, if he'd made it this far!! "Coming!!" She squeals, heart in her throat. From behind the door, there's an avalanche of sound; items crashing out of place. She shucks off her apron, shimmies on her kirtle, and her hat, tying the sash about her head in a flurry as her footsteps stomp to the threshold of her home. Wannour hesitates, in anticipation. Her heart flutters in her chest. Today's the day!! This is it!! Happily Ever After, at long last!! Wannour throws open the door. "Welcome ba-!" She falls short. Blinks, expectant smile turned to pure confusion. Black hair, pale skin.....pointed.... ears...........Huh? "Huh???" Her brows furrow, though the smile remains plastered on her face. "Er-- Can I help you, traveler?"

[ironmaidenxsteelheart]

// Tag Dump! Here's to my first rp blog since high school!!//

[ironmaidenxsteelheart]

Imania flips the broadsword's blade vertical, aiming for his heart. She would never mistake this monster for an angel; bright, white light does not a Divine Being make, and she had fallen from grace, before. Her eyes are dark, smoldering charcoal. "Pray I never find you again." She stabs through his ribcage with a shout, missing the heart by a mile, before she pulls the blade out and plummets. The sound of crumpling metal rings out through the valley like church bells, marking time. A splotch of bright red and silver glints in the grass below. What a feeble attempt at justice.

Miles sighed. This damn fool, why did she have to push him?

"So be it..."

As Imania lunged he sprung up over her sword, claws outstretched to grab hold of her by the shoulders. The world surged sideways for a moment before they burst through the barn doors, and then they started going up.

Up, up, up, higher and higher, the sound of rushing wind roaring in their ears. They continued to ascend until they broke through the clouds where they finally slowed to a stop. Great, white feathered wings had sprouted from Miles' back and kept them suspended with each powerful flap as he held her tightly. The way the moonlight reflected off of him and the clear sky of stars surrounded them, by God, he could've been mistaken for an angel if Imania hadn't already seen how he had to hunt to survive. There was sorrow in his eyes as he stared at her, pity even. He really hadn't wanted to hurt her.

"Any final prayers to your God?" He asked softly, he can at least grant her that mercy.

[ironmaidenxsteelheart]

For what it's worth, to Evergreen, the spritely young lady setting down beside her doesn't rightly seem to give a damn about her name, either. It's all about Big M and the potential it holds, as a mechanical cow for the slaughter. The jerry-rigged chair squeals in shrill, metallic pain, as she sits. "I might be called Wannour, if you squint." She grins, chuckles, holding out a hand cross-body to shake. "Did you put a lot of time into the Big M, Evergreen?" It's obvious that she's trying to ascertain if this was a passion project or a collectable. She'll get it, either way; but Wannour knows first hand that it's harder to let go of an artifact imbued with the blood, sweat, and tears of its keeper. Emotional attachment was priceless.

The old dendie watches the contraption unfold with interest. Quite the impression, unusual craftsmanship as well. It speaks of sheer, rugged determination, the kind which could not help but stoke the least bit of admiration in her. She sticks the fresh, unlit cigarette between her lips, chews thoughtfully at the end. She hasn’t planned to do much of anything today, but her evening was becoming a lot more interesting.

“Hmm,” she rumbles, “It’s Big M. As you un-doubtedly see… a real handsome piece of work.” She sits up at her leisure, puts her drink aside with a grunt. “The old bastard blocking the view, I hear, something along the lines of…Evergreen.”

Yes, simply Evergreen. It never mattered to her that she was descended from the upper-crust. She wouldn’t have anyone kissing her arse, not when she had brought such a sweet piece of work they could kiss up instead. She peers down at the other from behind her spectacles, a thinly veiled, calculating look. “And you might be…?”

[ironmaidenxsteelheart]

Imania lets out a breath. To any other eyes, in any other light, the steam that hisses from her nose would be invisible. "I'll take my chances." She retorts, steeled, unafraid of his posturing and threats. But not because she's cocky. No. She knows something he doesn't. Some secret that quells every mortal fear she knows she ought to hold. She always comes back, after all. He's cornered himself. She sees the opportunity in his stance, and swings low, instead of overhead-- aiming to knock him flat, prone, instead of knock him out. He didn't deserve the mercy of a quick death (who knows how many he'd fed upon), but God Willing, she would grant it!!

"Tsk, typical..."

It was all he could say to voice his displeasure before having to evade the oncoming attack. He darted backward, and though he was only cornering himself deeper into the back of the barn that wide sweep would've landed if he had dodged any other way. She was fast, and clearly not some rookie looking for a chance at praise and glory by slaying a creature of the night. The whirring and steam made him question if that strength was really her own though, or if she was aided by some mechanism.

"I'm not someone you wish to fight, nor do I wish to harm you. You're not the first 'holier than thou' crusader I've faced and as you can see, I'm still standing with all parts of myself intact," he was crouched low, bloodstained fangs bared and hands clawed while his pupils turned to slits. A low, threatening snarl rumbled in the back of his throat, "Leave me be, while I still grant you the opportunity. I'm sure you have other work to be done than sparring with an old beast."

[ironmaidenxsteelheart]

"Unless you can fly, I sincerely doubt it!" She hums, cheerily, as the door clicks shut (it sounds almost....crunchy?) behind Lisa's back. "The nearest village is a day's trek from here, in the direction opposite your entry!" Wannour passes in front of her, to root through one of the many piles marring the room. This one seemed to be primarily jars of various preserves-- raspberry, blackberry, various fruits and vegetables, but also various creepy-crawlies; both whole and in pieces. (Why would anyone need a plucked, malformed chicken(?) preserved along with their pickles and jams? Just why?) She tosses them wantonly aside, the jars failing to break as they hit the ground, instead flickering blue atop their lids and gently clunking to rest.

"They're a bit judgy, though. I'd head further South-East, if I were you-- bigger town, less no-curiosity fuddy-duddies!!" No human Wannour'd ever seen had red eyes or pointed ears, after all; and it would be terribly rude, to send someone off to a welcome of cold glances and suspicion. And possibly fire; but never mind that. She picks up a particular jar by its lid, and looks into it from the bottom, one eye squeezed shut. Was this the right one, for that? She'd need her kitchen, if she was going to make proper food.... "By the way, is there anything you can't eat?"

As she peered into this cave dwelling to her it screamed witchery, and she knew witches could be trickers and word twisters when they wanted to be. She couldn't possibly walk into a trap like this, or she was going to be hopping out as a toad or boiled into the next crafty concoction. She's heard the stories, she knew this witch's game.

But who was she to turn down an invitation to a meal? And such a warm welcome as well.

"Thank you," she said politely as she came through the threshold. She hasn't thrown all caution to the wind, she still looked around for any traps or possibility that she was about to be pushed into that questionably ventilated cauldron, "But uh...I probably shouldn't stay long. I think there's enough daylight out for me to still make it."

[ironmaidenxsteelheart]

Behind Miles, the sound of metal, gently clanking, rears his senses. Her heightened faculties were a curse, but God willing, there was always a purpose. When you are the only one to hear screaming from the Inn at the edge of town, twice the footfalls padding through foliage, and the only one equipped to deal with the threat at hand, you thank God for the light He provides in darkness. "Back away, beast. Don't make this a fight." Imania stands, stance at-the-ready, with broadsword unsheathed and leveled in a two-handed grip. Her face is dark with anger, compressed into a cool, even facade. "You'll be tried, fairly, in tribunal, for your crimes. Stand down, and come away peacefully." In the silence, a ticking noise emanates, barely audible at all.

Starter call post for @ironmaidenxsteelheart

God, it felt good to feed...

Miles hated the process of feeding, the running and screaming and tears and begging, but the moment his fangs pierced a person's neck and the hot blood poured into his mouth it was well worth the effort. He closed his eyes and drank deeply, the blood easing the burn in his throat, as the man he had hunted made soft, choked groans while twitching under him. He had cornered him into a old abandoned looking barn after chasing him through a corn field, and by Miles' knowledge there would be no one around to interrupt him. At least, so he thought...

[ironmaidenxsteelheart]

Wannour's mouth screws up sideways, into a pucker-- none too upset, but obviously disgruntled nonetheless. "You know what?" She says, reaching a hand into her skirt pocket, "You're right, the shade's lovely. I think I will join you, here." And that's the beauty of skirts, she'll tell you, is the sheer amount and size of what you can fit in their depths!! Wannour pulls out a quad of metal pipes, and expands them to full size with one mighty, spiteful, shake into a jerry-rigged folding chair. It's not pretty, made of hand-shaped pieces and bulky, screwed on parts. But it is floral. Matches her personality, one would say. "Did I get your name?" Wannour smiles, and settles in for the long haul. She will part this woman from her baby, if it takes her all day. Imania would understand!

@ironmaidenxsteelheart from here

Evergreen makes a snuffle, as a half-smile turns its corners around her tusks. The dendie gives her chin a hearty scratch, folds her arms up behind her head, and sinks down into her lawn chair.

She admires the lake from her spot in the shade, framed by the swaying leaves of the willow tree. “It is roasting,” her accent rolls softly, “Why not settle in, the shade is much nicer.”

It is abundantly clear the other has forgotten the point of this event. Today, Evergreen has brought not just an ordinary part of her collection, but the crown jewel. A real conversation piece, for the rest of the old money shooting the breeze around the lake. No amount would part her from her baby; not after 3 years scraping all the rust until she shined.

[ironmaidenxsteelheart]

This wasn't remotely the person she was expecting (hoping).... Oh well. Company was company!! "It's no bother at all, really!" She makes room in the doorway, for Lisa to pass through, revealing mountainous clutter pushed wantonly to the sides of a dark, stone-walled room. A cauldron bubbles above an open flame in the center of the floor (isn't that an asphyxiation hazard? How is this space being ventilated???), next to a small side-table covered in vials and jars. What might be a large, iron casket sits snugly against the wall nearest the entrance, bracketed by solid wooden desks piled high with materials-- everything from springs, to parchment, to satin thread, and various foodstuffs, all in a jumble. "We'll get you directions, but it's getting very dark. Please, come in, and let's get you something to eat!!" It's dark, and messy, and chaotic....but it's also warm, and Lisa is being offered food, in addition to her directions. So it might well be a fair trade.

Lisa stood at the other side of the door, blinking at this woman that had greeted her so excitably. Miles had warned her about approaching out of place structures in the wilderness, something about fae portals or the abodes of sinister things, and she was starting to think he was right. She was terribly underdressed for the mountain chill, only in her light turtleneck, jeans, and hiking boots with a small backpack, but just moments ago she had been running on all fours covered in a thick coat of fur, so it hadn't really bothered her until now.

"Uhm...Hey," she started awkwardly, still slightly thrown off by the welcome, "Sorry to bother you but, I was wondering if you knew the way to the nearest town. Looks like I got mixed up on the trail somewhere and I really don't want to get even more lost by running around without any idea on where I'm going." She would've found her way back where she came or to her destination, eventually, but nightfall was approaching, and she knew how dangerous things could get in the mountains at night.

[ironmaidenxsteelheart]

"If he is evil as you say, then you'll stand trial right alongside him." What a joke. A vampire preying on humanity has the gall to project its blame elsewhere-- what excuse was 'justice' for another wrong committed, not out of necessity? Evil or not, there was only one demon, here.

"So be it. If you won't come by choice, you'll come by force." Or else die trying to escape. There was likely little hope for his meal, anyways-- if he was to escape a similar fate. Imania adjusts her grip, says a prayer beneath her breath (sacrilege, heresy, blessing, the whirring of gears and hiss of steam), and lunges with a sweeping swing of the blade-- strong and fast, unnatural, for her stature.

Starter call post for @ironmaidenxsteelheart

God, it felt good to feed...

Miles hated the process of feeding, the running and screaming and tears and begging, but the moment his fangs pierced a person's neck and the hot blood poured into his mouth it was well worth the effort. He closed his eyes and drank deeply, the blood easing the burn in his throat, as the man he had hunted made soft, choked groans while twitching under him. He had cornered him into a old abandoned looking barn after chasing him through a corn field, and by Miles' knowledge there would be no one around to interrupt him. At least, so he thought...