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Manifestations - July/August, 1997 DecayAngel, HarmAngel, TwineAngel, Blood Red Rose, Muerta Subject: Manifestations From: DecayAngel@aol.com (DecayAngel) Date: Fri, 1 Aug 97 02:45:21 EDT Angels Behind aged, locked double doors at the end of a hall (Blanketed in despair and rage.) lies a domain filled with Killer Angels. Thundering past the thickly set oaken pieces are their insane screams and seemingly meaningless ramblings. As these double doors swing wide, giving berth to those entering, everything intensifies (The walls screaming with some scribbled quote or splash of crimson blood). The floors are wooden, seeming to throb agony with their pretty scratches and deep gouges. Large picture windows (Mere whores, leaving nothing to the imagination.) have been painted over in a taint of souless black. Clusters of long candles jutting from victorian holders line the walls, giving most of the room a dull, ghostly glow. Tendrils of shadow creep about, radiating power. Radiating their taint. Upon the edge of the world they dance (In this Nightmare Gothic graveyard.)...Upon the edge of destruction the play. The very night itself is torn, jagged and flailing wide open to the rape of inhuman eyes. Near the largest clusters of candle (Exhaling dirty, dank light.) there are long mirrors held up by coiling dragons done in iron. Pillars of stone errupting from the floor boards (Perfectly cylindrical in a flawed existance.) brace the high, arcing ceiling from failing and dying upon the graveyard of thought and broken promises below. Attached to the ceiling in every available corner is a set of speakers screaming and throbbing some nameless techno beat. The air vibrates, dancing to the violation of each pulse. There seem to be no other rooms, only this hall of fallen Angels. Killing Machines. Secrets best left to the slinking shadow. It Manifests. Subject: Angel of Decay From: DecayAngel@aol.com (DecayAngel) Date: Fri, 1 Aug 97 03:04:38 EDT Entrance His nostrils flared wide, inhaling the scent of nothing. Razored boot soles carefully applied to a plane of uncaring floor, he journied down a very intricate maze of halls (A knott work of human emotion.) towards his calling. Towards the manifestation of those like him. Hollow eyes tainted a vicious paper mache white slithered across the soon-to-be-breached walkway. Thin black lips (Painted a taint of souless black.) parted slightly, breaths given and taken in unheard melody. His dance halted entirely to fast, membranes sliding across the leathery expanse of his eyes from side-to-side and clearing away, leaving them seemingly more glossy (Screaming agony scratched out cleary with broken fingers.). Thick mats of shadow peeled away, the sound grotesque enough to be heard by human ears as they revealed the doors. Both swung open with little more than a continued step forward, admitting (Swallowing and ingesting.) his wirey figure. Tendrils of charcoal bled down his face, hanging limply from his chin and shoulders. The verticle scream of his spine ceased as he leaned down, his stance almost child-like (Scraps of a shed skin.), to scoop up a paintbrush and small wooden bowl filled with deep crimson fluid (The blood of aborted dreams.). His thin lips tilted in a smile as he drew out each letter, enjoying the sound of the paint brush drying and scathing against the wall. Stepping back in mocking silence, he studied his work, which read, "My Valentine has hollow eyes." He waited. They would respond. Subject: Velocity From: HarmAngel@aol.com (HarmAngel) Date: Fri, 1 Aug 97 16:25:21 EDT Jagged Pieces Shadows coiling about the far wall suddenly part, giving wide berth to the firey haired Angel as he slides onto the scene. Moving in timed, gracefull step to the thundering music, his head bobbing from side to side, he approaches the other. His fingertips fluttering almost nervously at his hips, he halts, head inclined to tumble a wealth of twine-wrapped inferno locks over one shoulder. His hollow eyes lacked something (What he gave to his lover before dismantling her.), some shreds of controll or reasoning. Both were so very aware of each other. No secrets, no lies. Understanding. Silence prevailed (Scathing like boiling water spilled on a child's skin.) even with the loud bursts of techno pouring forth. Accepting the brush from this other Angel, he collected enough blood to scratch out his own response. Stepping away in turn, shoulder to shoulder with the other (Equals in a hating, unconcious world.) he admired his work as well. "Ruin the Angels-They've got Nothing to Lose." It continues to build. Subject: Black Stitch From: TwineAngel@aol.com (TwineAngel) Date: Fri, 1 Aug 97 19:49:40 EDT Black Stitch His trench coat flailing wide open with each step eventually was lost from broad shoulders (Finding death upon gouged wooden floors.). His four braids were strewn about, one falling before his jagged gaze (Like the razorblades upon which he danced.). In a soft, almost child-like voice he whispered, 'The grass is green, the rose is red, remember me when I am dead.' The scream of his spine was comprimised as he fell to all fours, his golden braids dragging along, each metal ring singing in hollow <clink>'s against the gouges. Hips swaying in time to the beat, he padded towards the forming group, his eyes screaming brilliant blinding hate. With each movement, his razors dug into the floors, carving away deep wounds at odd angles. Momentarily he studied them before sitting on his haunches, the palm of his bare hand thrusted against the jagged blades protruding from his boot. The crimson pouring forth (Like a waterfall, I'm drowning in this disease.) stained the floors, as well as spraying across his boots. His hollow, promising eyes still reguarded both, who watched with equal dispassion as the third lifted his boot, setting his bload-soaked fingers beneath and grinding down upon them with shattering pressure. The resulting series of breaking bones scratched through the thunderous silence, barely heard over the riot of techno sounds. Thin lips (the upper pierced) curved in a smile, the pain coursing up his arm quite real and infecting as it spread (But he missed the drug less now.) through out his shoulder. Lifting his hand, the third Angel scratched out his message with broken, bleeding digits. "The bones of children shatter beneath my bare feet. Cutting. How I love to dance upon them." As his own blood trickled down the wall, he fell in upon himself. Beneath a canvas of pale skin, he was a tempest of organized thought. His lips fell agape in a shattering, inhuman scream as he stood, clenching both fists at his hips. Past those worn double doors, his cry could be heard, echoing (Quite ghost-like.) down the halls. Infecting. Engulfing. Welcome to the Cage.  Subject: Wires From: DecayAngel@aol.com (DecayAngel) Date: Sat, 2 Aug 97 05:42:32 EDT Methods of Madness His head swivels to reguard the other two, thunderous silence eating him alive, pinioning him to the scene with nine inch nails. The tendrils of shadow dancing about seem to slur their wording, whispering 'lets play a game.' Tendrils of ever-present insanity prevail momentarily, latching into his concious thought. Paper mache tainted eyes widdened momentarily, those wires of white hot agony marred by trickles of the drug. Falling into a fit of trembling, he issues an inhuman shriek, alarmed and almost trapped as the bowl of blood becomes airborne to collide with the worn double doors (Finding death in a series of hollow promises upon the floor.). Thin lips painted a taint of souless black form in light scowl, the fury of thought tumbling with machine-like speed through his mind. <w> I must kill... Subject: Splinter From: HarmAngel@aol.com (HarmAngel) Date: Sat, 2 Aug 97 05:56:22 EDT Jagged Wounds He dances upon splintered glass inside, the only window to an atrocious scene being hollow eyes, specks of brilliant crimson growing larger in a sea of black. Existence need not be mistaken for conflicting values, for he is sunken into his role. Chunks of his soul are bled forth from fluttering fingertips as silence infects his ears. Head swiveling, he reguards the Angel of Decay from the corner of his hollow eyes. <w> When does it begin? This cage will soon be expanded to the Consortium... Subject: Hollow Eyes From: TwineAngel@aol.com (TwineAngel) Date: Sat, 2 Aug 97 06:11:29 EDT Insanity Whimpering, he sounds nearly child-like, his head swiveling to reguard the other two standing Angels. Childish innocence quickly melts to rage. A fit of violent trembling overtakes him in turn. <w> One more day like today and I'll kill you! I'll watch you drown in the shower, forcing my life through your eyes! His voice is low, gripping the scene with bruising force as he rises, his broken digits forgotten and flexed to bring more pain. Precious pain...Alive. His fury causes him to fold over slightly, trembling from head to toe with clenched fists at his hips. He speaks once more. These eyes have seen too much! You wander around in a short, pointless life only half-concious... You think you know pain! You hate something you do not comprehend! You dare to quarrel with me, husk!? Do you quarrel with me!? ::His voice frantic as it dies in mid air, terminated. Another burst of rage expelled into nothing. Dark crimson puddles at the top of his lacerated fist, dripping down over broken knuckles and onto the floor. Dripping away like little tears in his existance. Subject: Chamber of Miracles From: BldRedRose@aol.com (BldRedRose) Date: Sat, 2 Aug 97 16:28:13 EDT The estate's centermost artery flows like a river of serpentine tile, eddying reflected in the marble veins, and banked by cool stone walls... from the shadowy recesses at the source of the stream rises a triad of doors... on the one side, an entry marking the way up to the lush rooftop gardens of Baghiira's Lair... on the other, the timbers barring the way to the spiralling stone staircase that leads down into Rose's private vault... and in the center, bringing the corridor to an abrupt halt with its warning glare of ancient oak and rusted locks, rises the divine portal to a chamber of miracles. She pauses just outside, a porcelain figurine betrayed only by the feather-light tremblings of splayed fingertips, snug in the lipstick red of opera-length satin gloves as they hover just an inch from the wooden surface, savoring the thickness of anguish in the air just beyond... the decadent cast of nearby torchlight ripples over her slip of the same new-blood hue... an hourglass painted in slick red satin, a shimmering study in scarlet and ice, the only warmth derived from the firestorm of curls over bare ivory shoulders. A shuddering whisper escapes her, a gesture so subtle as to scream volumes of her greedy cravings.. as she lifts her gaze to the top of the door, the flames of dark desire lapping up behind the dazzle of twin emeralds sing hymns to the surging power of bloodlust and the wanton, wicked hunger coursing through her veins. As she lowers those slender fingertips into the thin layer of dust coating the door - this is a chamber she herself has hardly dared breach before - the coupled oak panels swing wide... and her arms break with them, sweeping outward to her sides, then falling with a sigh of felicity, the fingertips stilled at last as they curl over her thighs, the whole of her curvature settling into a languid repose. And she merely stands there, the careless implications of her lazy smile misled by the glint of steel threaded through her emerald gaze. Subject: Grating From: TwineAngel@aol.com (TwineAngel) Date: Sun, 3 Aug 97 01:10:43 EDT Grating With the entry of his Mistress, all movement turns to mere dehydration of thought, his weight shifting to bring him down on all-fours, he crawls towards her, head low and razored boots gouging the floor in pretty designs. His braids trail behind, clinking softly in rythmic ways upon the floors as he crouches to bathe his Mistress' foot in affectionate kisses and nuzzling. Turning to face the others, he sits at his Mistress' side in a display of possessiveness for her affections. Grating silence infects with the moments of pause. Subject: Darling Boys. From: BldRedRose@aol.com (BldRedRose) Date: Mon, 4 Aug 97 23:17:19 EDT With a wary grin, her gaze darts from one to the other, then down, to the mad Angel worshipping at her feet, treating the stilettoes of candy-apple red as though they were an epicurean marvel... there is a brief rustling of satin on satin, barely heard above the thunderous rhythms pumping against the walls and spilling out into the hallways, but very clear to Jonas' ears, as her gloved hand arcs out, the backs of those smoothly clad fingertips making a tender pass across the top of his head. She can hardly mistake the tone of his snarl, and with amusement tilting the corners of her lips, she lifts her eyes once more to Kalas and Conner, playful challenge written in those shimmering emerald depths. Without even looking, she hooks one gloved fingertip through a random braid, twirling it gingerly between thumb and forefinger, then discarding it with a careless ease, as though it were no better than a piece of scrap. Her eyes all fire, her lips slightly pursed as she grins, her chin lifted in the beginnings of a regal tilt, she hints at all the mysteries of some sinister sport forming in the darkest recesses of her mind. And she takes two paces forward, stepping past Jonas. "Well, my darling boys...," comes her throaty purr, the words bleeding out like so much crimson velvet, "... what game would you like to play today?" Her smile is the prettiest lie of them all (deliberately feigned innocence) and she takes another sultry step, and then another, the long swirls of red satin rippling around her legs as her gait carries her boldly into the center of the Cage. Subject: Pecking Order From: DecayAngel@aol.com (DecayAngel) Date: Tue, 5 Aug 97 00:02:50 EDT A soft growl filters through hollow air as he sink to rest upon his knees, weight instantly shifting again to bring him onto all fours. His hips swaying rythmicly with each gracefull pad, tendrils of charcoal scream down his face and neck, scraping along the floor. Upon nearing the other Angel and his Mistress, a low, soft growl erupts, his hostility clear with the other's presence so very nearh is source of worship. As she slips towards the center of the Cage, he follows after, so very near her right calf and yet never touching, his nostrils flaring to take in her pretty woman's scent. <w> Let's play a game called Pecking Order, Mistress... His belly low to the floor, he lays at her feet, another soft growl escaping his lips as Jonas nears. Subject: Entrance From: DthDivine@aol.com (DthDivine) Date: Tue, 5 Aug 97 13:00:46 EDT Attracted by the weird howls and the heavy, cloying smell of misery coming from the end of the main corridor, Muerta pauses at the open door and quietly observes Rose as she steps into the room. The creatures moving to fawn and scrape at her feet may be demons, or true angels; she never really bothered to learn the distinction. She leans almost indolently against the doorjamb, confident in her awareness that she is safe. Her left hand is poised, with a slight shimmer of amber causing each fingernail to flouresce; her right hand bears a softly-glowing silver sphere, containing the soul of one LrdVGanx, who dared threaten her and her husband. The left hand ready to slay, the right hand to feed; a sweet smile curls her lips as she clears her throat to attract their attention. Subject: Re:Manifestations From: BldRedRose@aol.com (BldRedRose) Date: Tue, 5 Aug 97 16:07:36 EDT Inhaling deeply of the thick musk of combat in the air, she settles into an eloquent crouch of her own, the gloss of her gown fluttering around her ankles like splashes of new blood... she releases the breath in a low, searing hiss of pleasure at Kalas' words. In the same moment, a glimmer of red snakes out towards his head, as her gloved hand curls around the back of his neck, guiding him closer... as the hiss dies away, melting into a cooing sigh of satisfaction, she presses her fingertips into the muscle at either side of his jaw, forcing his face up towards hers... and the sigh mutates again, growing towards a low, throaty growl of pleasure as she crushes her scarlet lips to his thin, bruised ones, taking her own pleasure from the taste of his madness, gifting him with a reward for all that his brutality provides her. The smoothness of satin caresses his pale cheek, as she continues to devour him with her kiss... her blood pressure rising, the thrumming of an imagined pulse wringing in her ears, she loops a fingertip up, to curl around one of the carbon tendrils, yanking it sharply in her fervor. The sound of a clearing throat gives her pause... with a twitch of her shoulders, she draws quickly away, gasping with frustration as it appears that her craving is to be denied for the moment... hardly accustomed to being summoned in such a manner in one of her own sanctuaries, she whirls around, the whole of her curvature rising into the twist, the inferno of curls whipping over her shoulder with an indignant snap. And stops short, her look of wrath easing instantly away, brightening into a knowing smile at the appearance of a welcome friend. "Muerta..." she purrs, with a quick twitch of her brows, "... come to watch the reindeer games with me? Subject: Substance From: DecayAngel@aol.com (DecayAngel) Date: Wed, 6 Aug 97 00:48:18 EDT In fluid movement and time, he draws away, his hands slicing through thundering air to retrieve both of his blades (This day all Gods die.), the hilts long and leather wrapped, blades short and fiercly hooked. The verticle scream of his spine is pulled strictly taught once more as hollow eyes reguard the husk called 'friend' looming in the doorway to their nightmare-ish existance. His head tilts at an odd, seemingly broken angle, tendrils of charcoal screaming hateful existance down the sides of his face. The drug becons. Teases. Trickling through his veins like a careless teen-mother (About to abort her only proof of existance.), he serves the drug. The collar of his pretty Mistress tightly at his throat, his husk slides across the shadow-strewn ground to take up a defiant stance between the two. Half way between His Mistress and this new arrival, he maintanes a deliberate, preditory stride. Subject: Lacerations From: TwineAngel@aol.com (TwineAngel) Date: Wed, 6 Aug 97 01:30:55 EDT The tattered, irritated nerve endings by which he dangles throb with pain (The substance of true life.). His nostrils flare with the entry of another, eyes widdening as he rises in a single, fluid motion, his fingertips fluttering at his hips.His head swivels, body following suit to face the prospect of a fresh kill. His hollow eyes traced with wires of code (Whispers burried with his sanity.), he starts forward, pierced lips parting to issue an inhuman roar which causes tendril of shadow to snake up each of the stone pillars. Peircing his flesh from inside out, metalic blades slither forth from his fore arms, arcing out over his fingertips to end in diamond shaped serated edges. His razored boots skid upon the floor, insanity combatting curiosity. Raising a blade-pierced arm as if to deliver a her a fatal blow, he turns statue still, hollow eyes fathomless as they devour and taint across a canvas of flesh. Metalic blades halting inches from her throat, his head inclines, some what animal-like in study. <w> A friend of Mistress? Subject: Re:Manifestations From: DthDivine@aol.com (DthDivine) Date: Wed, 6 Aug 97 10:22:25 EDT A smile with all the sweet promise of Hell curls her lips as she nods to Jonas. "Yes, dear, a friend to your Mistress." Her pale gaze lights on Kalas, matching his predatory stare, openly challenging; her right hand lifts, displaying the soft, fluttering glow of a living soul. Her chuckle rings out like steel edged in honey. "Oh, look, I brought a present, too..." She gives Rose a seductively promissory wink. Subject: Re:Manifestations From: BldRedRose@aol.com (BldRedRose) Date: Wed, 6 Aug 97 15:57:37 EDT Soft amusement dances in her eyes at the prowling antics of her Angels... how very like guard dogs they are, she muses... ready to put themselves in the path of any unknown, programmed only for her. But a little flicker of unease crosses those emerald lights as she spots the brazen challenge from Muerta, the familiar threat present in that honey-sweet smile. "Muerta... there's no need... they're only curious...." Her brow furrowed with concern... intrigued by the light, but a little unsure of the meaning of the wink, she straightens her spine, watching carefully, ready to intercede should either party antagonize the other before her Killing Machines have had a chance to learn Muerta's scent. Subject: Agitation From: TwineAngel@aol.com (TwineAngel) Date: Wed, 6 Aug 97 18:57:47 EDT His nostrils flare once more, thin lips tilting in a slight scowl as he withdrawals. A soft hiss issued from the sole of his razored boot, he spins around to stalk back towards his 'brother', body inclined slightly in the direction of travel as a deeply inhuman roar melts past the music. His fingertips fluttering at leatherclad hips still, the blades remain deployed as a sign of his agitation towards this visitor. Golden braids whip about with each movement, settling with a light <jingle> as he at His Mistress' shoulder, slightly behind although quite easily ready to spill blood. <qw> Mistress... She taunts with ignorance.... It is not advisable, though in your presence it will be tolerated... His hollow eyes burn past, like shards of a broken mirror to reflect the one standing in entrance to their domain. Subject: Re:Manifestations From: DthDivine@aol.com (DthDivine) Date: Wed, 6 Aug 97 22:18:22 EDT ::Again, her maddeningly soft chuckle:: I had no intention of challenging them, dear Rose; I always stare back at people. If you looked like me, you'd do it as well. ::Without the slightest break in her endearing smile she brings the sphere close to her lips, crooning a single whispered word; she then rolls it toward Jonas, a toothsome present for him:: Tolerate me you shall, my friend; verbum sapienti sat est, you know ... These are wonderful, ahh, persons, Rose, truly ... Subject: Tempest From: DecayAngel@aol.com (DecayAngel) Date: Thu, 7 Aug 97 00:29:32 EDT Paper mache tainted eyes remain unblinking in a lifeless stare, pinionning the stranger's body as if to locate fatal areas. As the orb roles past with hollow, metalic <clink>'s upon the marred floor, his thin lips (Painted a taint of souless black.) whisper in translation. <w> A word to the wise, brother... His blades held fast with in pale fists, the moment gives him pause. She has drawn attention to herself, and is therefore inviting their attentions... Yet she is a friend of Mistress, and to dismantle such would be inexcusable. Her taunting laugh brings only more taunting carress from their drug. He feels it must come soon, or he will fail at the hinges and die himself... <w> Brother Jonas... before you dismantle her for defiance, know that she came into an uncertain situation baring gift and malice. Cupple friend with blow. Toleration is prefered to dismantling this one. She may yet prove to be a friend... An easy, preditory gate brings him back to his Mistress' side, thin, painted lips whispering in verse. <qw> The grass is green, the rose is red, remember me when I am dead... |