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Post by Sharei on Nov 3, 2018 11:22:36 GMT -6
There were no open windows to be found in the manor. Each and every one of them was shuttered closed with a seamless steel plate to keep out any shreds of encroaching sunlight. In fact, the entire house was especially dark, as hallway lights and rooms had been doused. The only light to see by - a dim flickering thing barely there on the wall - came from the stairwell that lead to the lobby.
As Sarkany pursued the origin of the light he found a single candelabra lit on a side table beside the base of the stairs. It provided enough to squint by, but not a lot else.
There was a second light, this one brighter, coming from somewhere to Sarkany's left and around a corner. The smooth white and black flooring continued down a hall and into a warmer room, square, fitted with overhead pot lights that were on at a dim setting. They showcased a gallery of prized works, some of them painted by famous artists, and some of them painted by Isaac.
The door across from the entrance led to another, smaller room, where the light was still fully on. And aside from the sense that someone had been by recently, there was no sign of Isaac or any of his staff.
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Post by MP on Nov 27, 2018 15:41:57 GMT -6
Sarkany moved on silent steps, light to light, room to looming room. He never understand why humans - pretend humans, even - needed so much vertical space for themselves. They didn’t use it. At that point, one might as well live under open sky.
Musings of the sleep-deprived, he chided himself; there was work to do. An anchor to break; a tear to mend; Outsiders loose in the city, no doubt securing their foothold while he’d slept. Whatever their original reasons, they’d always been eager to expand their influence. That couldn’t be tolerated. Outsiders thrived on weakness.
He emerged into a warmly lit gallery, listening for signs of life. He’d need to speak with his host, if the kuwha hadn’t left already. Furniture, canvases, painted scenes, it was all noise and clutter as he searched. If only it weren’t such an inconveniently large house.
Taking the most direct path toward a likely doorway, Sarkany faltered. He’d stepped through a walled enclosure. Tall canvases facing inward. And on the walls... He looked again at the details, taking them in. The tone of the sky, the richness of sunlight, the regal sweep of the clouds. Earth skies were so empty, no complexity or color. But this...this was his own sky, vast and alive as he hadn’t seen in Ages. He looked and looked, remembering again the scent of the air, the feel of the wind on his skin. The sky he’d been born for. Something in his chest ached at the thought. But his mind was clear and quiet.
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Post by Sharei on Nov 29, 2018 19:04:22 GMT -6
"Sohl spends a lot of time here, too."
Isaac's voice as it floated over the still silence was not judgemental, but thoughtful; quiet in its near reverence and musing. Whether that was out of consideration or genuine appreciation was unclear, but when Isaac stepped up to Sarkany's side his hands were behind his back and his posture was relaxed. His head was tilted as he examined the painting, taking in the graceful lines of a foreign sky.
He had changed out of the biking gear of earlier and into something slightly less formal - or, as informal as Isaac ever went, which meant there was a waistcoat included and he'd chosen to forgo to the tie. The top button of his shirt was even scandalously undone.
"I consider myself very privileged to have seen Araad," he said softly. "It was so beautiful I could not help but recreate it. I apologize if you find that an offense."
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Post by MP on Nov 29, 2018 19:43:13 GMT -6
For all his earlier searching, Sarkany didn't look at Isaac, didn't speak for a long moment. He simply stared at the painting, his expression flat and oddly detached, the way a person might watch the world pass through a car window. It was something scenic. Out of reach.
"It's very good work," he said at last, softly. Still staring at the sweep of the clouds, the distant bruising of a storm front, the way it chased the rays of sunlight before it. Home.
Softer still, he added: "I'd nearly forgotten what it was like."
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Post by Sharei on Nov 29, 2018 20:01:42 GMT -6
Red eyes flickered over Sarkany's face before sweeping up to look at the paintings on the wall. He did not immediately answer the Icarim's statement, allowing instead the gentle pause to help process what must be turbulent emotion. And while there was room to mock what could have been perceived as weakness, this was something that Isaac would never make light on.
"The heart never really forgets," the Director said with a little incline of the head in Sarkany's direction, his gaze warm. "Even if you can't recall the exact shade of the sky, the feeling sticks with you." A small, self-deprecating smile. "Take it from someone who knows."
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Post by MP on Nov 29, 2018 20:46:28 GMT -6
He closed his eyes at that, shutting out the painting, the kuwha, the intrusion of domestic ornaments and artificial light. For a moment, he allowed himself to picture it: the sense of home. The voices of his packmates. Their calls on the wind. A brief, meditative silence.
“It was good to remember,” he said. Sarkany opened his eyes with a faint smile, the light in them focused and present once again.
"Still," he said, the usual wry tone save for a faint brisk edge. "We have the here and now to think about. There are angels to deal with."
He resumed walking, leaving the circle of canvas. Sarkany glanced at the kuwha to check that he was coming. Yellow eyes lingered over the man's shoulder for another half heartbeat. One more glimpse of home. Then the painting was out of sight, and he put it from his mind.
"Did you still mean to come?" He looked at Isaac levelly, as if the exchange had never happened. "You should know: even without the daylight, the lights still burn. It won’t be pleasant for you."
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Post by Sharei on Nov 29, 2018 21:00:16 GMT -6
Isaac said nothing in the short pause before his companion broke free of whatever spell he had come under, allowing the respite from the storm. Nor did he acknowledge it, choosing instead to give Sarkany the privacy of silence. It was only when the Icarim opened his eyes and started speaking in a new, refreshed sort of tone that Isaac turned his gaze back.
"As though that was ever in question," Isaac replied with a brief shrug. He followed Sarkany out of the gallery with his hands in his pockets, the comfortable gait and at-ease posture denying that he had ever been hurt that day. The damage was quite clearly repaired. "I thought we might make a game of it," he said as they passed into the main lobby. "See who can kill more of them. Winner gets a fancy prize or somesuch."
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Post by MP on Nov 29, 2018 21:12:03 GMT -6
For once, Sarkany didn't return the joke. He wasn't tense, exactly, but his eyes were uncommonly serious. A little of the haze lingered at his temples; he should have slept longer, if his body had allowed it.
"I won't be going for kills," he said. "They'll have an anchor. Some kind of tether to this world. I'll need to destroy it. And then close the door, whatever form it takes." He smiled faintly, though the expression was still mirthless. "They're all yours, as long as you can keep them off my back."
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Post by Sharei on Nov 29, 2018 21:25:38 GMT -6
Isaac shrugged one shoulder. "Again, these questions that ought not to be asked," he said. Isaac's hands slipped out of his pockets so that he could push open the front doors, and the hissing sound it made as the lock disengaged was like the pressure release of a deep freezer. "Don't worry, we will get this thing done."
A rush of cool autumn night whispered around them as the pair stepped out onto the front step. The house's porch light lit them, but the rest of the world was dark. The stars glittered, and there was that smell in the air of the edge of winter's frost. Isaac inhaled deeply and let it out in a slow breath.
"I've got your back."
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Post by MP on Nov 29, 2018 23:27:09 GMT -6
I've got your back.
Sarkany sat on the roof's edge, overlooking the outline of a harbor against the dark sea. He smelled the salt tang, familiar alongside that promise. It was the kind of thing they would have said. The kind of crisp night air they used to enjoy. Back in the old days.
But then, this was not the past. And the kuwha was not his companion. He pulled himself back to the present. His thoughts were too prone to wandering lately; it was dangerous. Sloppy. He refocused on the docks - on the figures idling there, their shoulders lit with something a little too keen for starlight. There were eight that he could see. Not a full host, but no light threat. Eight. A frown threatened at the corners of his mouth. It was a significant number in the Guard. Dangerous in its implications.
"Careful," he said softly. "They don't look like the last ones we fought."
He examined them more closely, looking for signs, for a hint of organization. An initial target. But they only stood there shoulder to shoulder, serene and luminous against the dark. Waiting, he'd almost say. And it was true - the obvious thing to do was to wait. Sarkany had struck and, failing that, gone to ground. It was natural to assume he’d try again. The corner of his mouth slanted. His pupils narrowed. He didn't care for these odds.
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Post by Sharei on Dec 3, 2018 10:13:25 GMT -6
"You say that like it matters," Isaac replied, a pair of glowing red eyes in the shadow of the dark. A flash of a wicked smile, the points of fangs. "This won't turn out like it did in the daytime. They might not understand it yet, but they're in my domain now."
The Director slid off the roof then, a shape against the deeper darkness that suddenly suffused the harbour. It was like a wall as it descended, blotting out the distant street lamps and the starry sky until their light could not penetrate. The only source that still seemed to have any substantial weight was the light about the angels themselves, yet that seemed in itself less like a weapon and more like a defense as the darkness pressed in.
Oddly, Sarkany would still be able to see.
"So," he said, his shape resolving itself in front of the angels, hands in his pockets, as though it had materialized out of nothing. "I don't think we've been formally introduced."
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Post by MP on Dec 3, 2018 14:44:24 GMT -6
Sarkany’s last remark, that cockiness would be the death of the kuwha one day, went unspoken as the shadow swarmed away. Cocky or not, the kuwha had made his move, and it was his job to take advantage of it. The seraph was only half there as he slipped down from the roof - a there and gone presence barely tethered to this world. Sometimes it was a hazy thing, remembering where he was, or where he was going. But he’d been walking that line for a long time. Sarkany ghosted around to the pier, a shadow among larger shadows, following the fractured air. It was a prickle here. A sting ahead. There was nothing at the end of it but black water and the sound of the unseen surf. Still, he could sense the door there, like teeth in the gut of some prey beast, gnawing the rift wider. His eyes narrowed. How confident they were. It was an insult. And a very bad sign.
Far behind him, the angels fell into order: five moving forward, three falling back. The wings of the latter were out as they advanced - not toward Isaac, but back toward the pier. Their gliding steps were lazy and purposeful, only the movements of guards for now. Sarkany had slipped below the pier and, for the moment at least, was out of their sight. He was still moving forward, edging toward the distortion, tracking the movement above him. Their presence would have to be tolerated for now. The remaining five showed no inclination to let Isaac pass.
“We have no words for a murderer,” it said in its melodious voice.
It seemed they were armed - or at least, there was something in their hands. The objects might have been spears, might have been swords, might simply have been the light, which flared and crested over them to meet the encroaching dark.
“Leave us, shadow,” said another in cold harmony. “Our workings here are no concern of yours.”
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Post by Sharei on Dec 3, 2018 20:00:11 GMT -6
"I'm afraid that's where you're wrong, so I would spare some words if I were you."
Although the Director had not yet moved the shadows edged closer, pressing in on the angels staying and going with a physical heft and pressure. It was almost as though it were seeking to douse the light of their halos with its blackness. The air felt heavy, and shadows slithered around and between the angel's feet.
"This world does not belong to you," he said diplomatically, his eyes tracking the retreating figures. They only made it a few feet before a wall sprung up between them and whatever destination they were headed toward. It stretched tall and wide, blocking off the pier. Another rose to their left and right, and a dark ceiling formed, effectively hemming the angels in.
"You have no jurisdiction here," Isaac continued, undeterred by their unwillingness to cooperate. "You have no embassy. You have no diplomats. You have shown no interest in formal relations. Therefore, I must only conclude that you are invaders. Am I wrong?"
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Post by MP on Dec 3, 2018 21:04:03 GMT -6
The angels stood together, calm in each other's presence. Every face an empty slate. Every figure alike. But on closer examination, they were not fully identical. The foremost spread its wings against the weight of the dark, flaring pinions as narrow and pale as blades.
"We have come for a thing of ours," it said in tones of music and thunder.
"It called to us. An invitation," said another, its halo a fiery light about its head.
The other three fanned gradually outward, fingers tightening on their spears. Their auras spread with them, one steady, one wavering, one golden as the sun. Together, they were a ring of spears, poised and ready around the threat.
Behind them and beneath the pier, Sarkany held still. He sensed one of the three above him doing...something. The air felt thinner somehow - not the feel around the door. It was shallower, rougher somehow, like the catch of a cat's tongue over flesh. His eyes widened as he recognized the feeling, cruder, but still so like that of his pup. And then the angels kept walking. Not through or around the wall - they were simply outside, flickering in and out like candles. Sarkany grit his teeth and glanced toward the kuwha's voice. No way of giving specifics, but he had to give some warning.
With his eyes fixed on Isaac - or at least where he remembered him last - Sarkany tapped his own chest urgently. He nodded up at the figures above him, a warning gesture. It was a poor attempt, for though he'd heard some of Isaac's skills from Sohl, his son had told the kuwha little of Sarkany. An advantage, it had seemed at the time. In this moment, the seraph regretted it. There was nothing for the man to link but what he'd observed himself.
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Post by Sharei on Dec 4, 2018 13:04:45 GMT -6
Red eyes closed and his head tilted slightly, taking in Sarkany's odd behaviour as he processed the angels' motives. He knew the Icarim was trying to tell him something but had no way to parse the attempt. Did he want Isaac to come to him? Little busy, he grumbled mentally. There was nothing for it - he left Sarkany to his own devices and refocused on the moment.
His eyes tracked the one that seemed the most inclined to speak, but his senses tracked the others. Five spread around him and three in the rear for support. Magic users, likely, given they had moved beyond his wall with seeming ease. Isaac's mouth pulled into a small smile, even as there was no mirth in it.
"Yet I find you attacking a guest," he said softly, and there was all the more malice in it for how calm he sounded. "In my house. I don't think so. See, this planet - and by extension everything on it - belongs to me. Its mine. And I really don't like it when upstart kids try to kick down my door and mess with my things. So you've got two choices, I'm afraid. Leave, now, or I'll show you exactly what it means to tangle with forces beyond your ken."
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