Embers & Alleyways [OPEN]

[Saskia Murlew]

Embers flared up momentarily at the end of the fag as she inhaled deeply. It was strong stuff, wherever it came from; she could feel it spread through her bloodstream almost as soon as she breathed it in. It was just nicotine, your bog-standard cigarette. By some miraculous turn of events, she wasn’t addicted to them yet. It hadn’t been long enough since she got out really, and she was adverse to blowing her wages on the brief bouts of pleasure and release they granted her. But she was determined to stay clean from the illegals and seeing as this stuff was, by all accounts, legal, she was using it as a substitute. Every time she saw someone in Easy Street flaring up a joint of something comparatively unwholesome, she would push her way outside and light up one of these. Well, not every time. If she did that, she’d definitely be addicted. But whenever she felt her resolve was flowing at low ebb.

Behind the back entrance to the club, with the fire escape door shut behind her, she could still hear the pounding bass coming from inside. It was so dark tonight she could barely make out the hulking forms of the dustbins around her. Thick cloud cover prevented the stars and moon from making an appearance. The only light in the alley came from her cigarette, flaring up every time she took a breath of it.

It was a quiet night tonight. No takers yet. But the night was still young. She was wearing a black corseted top which stopped low over her boobs, and a short black leather skirt. On her right arm, just down from the shoulder, there was fraying red armband. Bright enough to attract attention, small enough to be easily removed if there was a raid. Easy Street had a reputation and though the lines of prostitution were often blurred in the politics of this place, it was safer not to be caught working as one. She picked at the armband absently before returning the arm around her slim waist and staring into the blackness once again.

A movement, a scuffle of feet lifted her gaze lazily to discern its origins. Probably a drunk who had lost their way.

[Miriam Valentine]

Prowling.

Yes, that was the appropriate word, for something as mundane as "searching" did not do the woman, or the task which she presumed she would successfully complete tonight, any justice. For tonight she intended to become "justice", of one form or fashion. Miriam Valentine was hunting, and the subject of her hunt had, as of the latest information she was privy to, last been seen in the vicinity of Easy Street. Unfortunately, her information had not turned up the individual she was looking for - a quick scan of the inside of the club told her as much - and she'd promptly exited the way she had come in. All of this had taken place in the time that it had taken Saskia to slip out the back door and light her cigarette. Still, "vicinity" gave no promise of a quarry inside the club and, determined to handle this one herself - for her own "practice" - she had decided to do a little scouting.

Or prowling. She liked that. It sounded cat-like, and menacing. Not that she would use the word if asked what she was doing.

Around the front, around the side, and into the back alley she went. Dark and as unscrupulous as the reputation of the surrounding area was, it seemed a proper hiding place for one responsible for a handful of civilian deaths. She was dressed as black as the alley and the night - a skin-tight black body suit, limited in armor since it was designed for mobility, an ankle length black trench coat, black gloves, black boots, and dark glasses completed her ensemble. The glasses, made of DNCS stuff, were the only reason she could properly see where she was going - the built in HUD, connected remotely to the "Guardian" database, offered a variety of enhanced vision functionalities. It was currently on a "low light" setting, as opposed to "true" night vision; a cautionary choice so that unheralded bright lights would not blind her. Other information, including her own vitals, also scrolled across the HUD. Perhaps the most alarming items on her person were the rapier on her hip, and the heavy revolver strapped to her right thigh. And there was, of course, the question as to what sort of other "goodies" she might have hidden within her coat. She most certainly was not one of the "usual" clientele.

As she came around the corner, her heels coincidentally scuffing against the uneven ground, Miriam laid eyes on an individual. Unfortunately, in her mind at least, it was not the one that she sought. She paused only long enough to scan the girl, her gaze lingering a bit longer on her red accessory, before determining that the girl was "not a threat." She intended to simply move on, but something compelled her to speak as she got closer to the other woman.

"I offer a warning - these streets are rarely a place for a lady," Her intentions were of her typical regal type, however her diction had probably just failed her. "Lady" probably came out with a mocking flavor to it, given who was on the receiving end of her words. "And tonight the shadows hold something more dangerous than usual. 'Twould be in your best interest to refrain from taking solitary breaks - this night, if not all others."

[Saskia Murlew]

It was quite hard for her not to let out a laugh when the darkness finally retched out the figure into her line of sight. She bit her lip, hard, to make sure the pain eliminated the chance for a chuckle to escape her. They attracted plenty of costumed clubers to Easy Street. Cosplayers, fancy dress nights, steam punk. It was a club for anyone and everyone and no one really cared what you wore. This woman though… she was taking it pretty far. She looked like a night raider. They got them a few times every months; clothed fully in black, demanding the money from behind the bar – robbers, but worse, because they didn’t have the skill to pull it off on a more challenging target like a bank. Saskia took another drag from the cigarette and considered her new company from narrowed gaze.

She let her say her peace. A small worm of concern even managed to appear in her stomach. Which was ridiculous, because she came out here every night and apart from drunks and a few muggers, there wasn’t much to be afraid of. If you knew how to use a knife, you were pretty safe from both enemies. “Thanks, love, for the warning… but I think I can take care of myself.” Another inhalation of nicotine. She let silence blossom between them for a moment.

“What’s the party?” She asked, nodding lazily towards the woman’s attire. In the darkness it really did work, blending her into the shadows as easily as if she was one herself. But those glasses were just weird. “Assassins? If so, you should definitely win best costume... or at least best effort.”



{woop! Miri!}

[Miriam Valentine]

The lady in black had come to a stop a few feet away when Saskia offered her smoke-laced (quite literally, given the cigarette accessory) response. With the reason for her appearance in the alleyway in the forefront of her mind, Miriam's attention was split. While she listened to the other woman, her gaze was already beyond her, searching. Searching, and finding nothing of interest. It was rather disappointing. So, too, was the response she was provided, though it was not at all surprising. After all, the redhead surmised, Saskia's lonesome appearance, here in the dark, could not have been without some form of bolstering, and inherent confidence (perhaps or perhaps not flavored by a touch of arrogance) was a much more admirable tempering agent than drug or alcohol-induced stupidity. Still, she was ignorant of the fact that she was ignorant - to be redundant - but that, too, was expected. The widespread existence of mutants was still little more than rumors.

Then came the questions. Before answering, Miri straightened her posture, one arm folding over her middle, cupping the elbow of the other that reached up to support her chin as she struck a thoughtful pose. Had it only been the first question "What's the party?", she likely would have taken it literally - she honestly did not see the problem with her state of dress, for she was in full "operations" mindset. But the follow-up question, and the qualifier about costumes, made it clear.

"Assassins?" The return question came in a tone that was, categorically speaking, lightly amused. "Forgive me if I fail to see how a contracted target of any importance would be found in this location. And, if I were an assassin, I would currently be acting as a very poor one, don't you think? Collateral damages, as it were... as you would be, if such was the case. I imagine that is not the happiest of thoughts, but you are in luck: I am no assassin, and I've no intention of bringing any harm to you."

Miriam shifted her weight, placing her hands on her hips, lightly. She offered a small smirk. Her gaze moved to just above Saskia's left shoulder as she continued.

"The arachnid descending just above your head may have other ideas, I regret to say. However, if that is the only cause of harm you suffer, perhaps we may still pronounce you "unscathed" this night. Truly, my dear, I appreciate your confidence, but all the confidence in the world would do you little good with regard to the subject of my warning. That which haunts this area is beyond human, and I assure you, you are ill-equipped to deal with it. If it is your wish, I shall linger long enough to ensure that your break expires with you in one piece... though, I admit, you may actually be playing the role of bait, unknowingly and unintentionally." She paused for a moment, turning her head to once again scan the area further down the alley. It still appeared quiet on all fronts. "You've noticed nothing out of the ordinary since you have come out here?"

Her final question was really too vague to be of any real use on its own.

[Saskia Murlew]

Saskia narrowed her eyes slightly at the elaborate response she got from her new companion. Her cigarette smouldered silently by her side, held absently by her slim fingers. She could feel the nicotine and alcohol and exhaustion mixing and clashing in her blood stream. She wasn’t really understanding everything the woman was saying. Perhaps it was time to call it a night. But the nicotine was relaxing too and somewhat confidence-enhancing. So she stayed where she was and tried to concentrate on the woman’s voice.

A spider? She frowned and lifted her head a fraction, her eyes locking onto the multi-legged thing hovered above her head. She lifted up her free hand and caught it in the prison of her caged fingers, feeling it squirm and scamper about helplessly between them. She quirked a single eyebrow towards her companion. And then used her two forefingers to flick the spider out of her palm and into the waiting darkness. She was surprised it had ventured this close to Easy Street. The club was so loud and vile inside, it kept most critters within a 1 mile radius far away from its ground-shaking bass.

What was she talking about? Non-human? Perhaps she was high. It wouldn’t be the first time Sas had been faced with a customer on cheap hallucinogenics. Or perhaps it was her first time with drugs, so the effects were all the more vivid. Saskia stared blankly at her for a moment after she finished speaking, but in the dim light she couldn’t quite see the definition of the woman’s eyes to work out whether they were dilated enough to be under the influence. She took another drag of her cigarette. “Thanks for the offer. You can keep me company if you like, you’re amusing… so it would give me something to smile about.” But she didn’t smile while she said it, which made the whole sentence seem a little fake.

She sucked in a breath of night air and wondered how much longer she should stay out here, talking to the druggie. There wasn’t much custom tonight so really, it wasn’t like she was losing out on employment. She cocked her head to one side and decided to make conversation. “You must know that what’s in there,” She jerked a thumb towards the exit door behind her and the club beyond, “isn’t pretty. So, let’s be realistic. Anything that’s out here would have to be seriously fecked up to make it more dangerous than Easy Street on a half price night.” She sniffed and a ghost of a smile almost reached her lips, but a second later and it may as well have never been there. “Non-human, you say? Just what d’you mean by that?” A stronger smile this time, actually grounded in some amusement. “If you’re seeing dragons or myths, love, I’d take the pills back to whichever sleeze sold ‘em to you because they’re probably more trouble that their worth.”

[Miriam Valentine]

Amusing?

That was not the effect Miriam had been going for, and her form straightened at Saskia's relayed sentiment. In her mind, there was very little to be amused about. In the most general sense, the location and the atmosphere, by itself, removed all possibility of "amusement." To the owner and proprietor of "The Palace at Versailles", Easy Street was a perfect representation of the uncouth, unclean lower classes. As she held little inherent respect for the "upper crust" that made up the majority of her own clientele, it was safe to say that Miriam was bereft of such niceties when it came to the folks that frequented a place like this.

Of course, she was too proper to actually say as much, or show it.

Thus, momentarily, the redhead was a touch on the confused side. Between the location and the potential danger she had attempted to warn the other young woman about, she could find nothing to elicit "amusement." She wondered if Saskia's meaning was completely the result of her "misinterpretation" of Miriam's outfit. Luckily, she did not have to ponder long, as Sakia provided a new direction for the conversation and some additional evidence that "misinterpreted appearance" was, indeed, the source of "amusement."

"Realistic... but dragons and myths. Hm, it seems as though you have doubts about the integrity of my warning and, perhaps, the integrity of my person. 'Tis no matter; 'twould be impossible for me to say that I am surprised. Perhaps I should start with an introduction, as that may, at least, allow some small amount of clarification... or, if nothing else, at eliminate the nonsensical element of cheap intoxication which you have just suggested." Miriam straightened then, more so than before, and, since she was not wearing a dress or skirt, chose to perform a perfect gentlemen's bow over a "ghost" curtsy. "Miriam Valentine. Owner and proprietor of The Palace at Versailles, at your service." When she recovered from the bow, she struck a more casual stance. Most of her weight was on her back foot, and she folded her arms across her middle - a purposeful choice, as placing her hands in the pockets of her coat would have caused an unnecessary delay in reaching her weaponry, should the need arise. "I assure you, if I were to be under the influence, 'twould be facilitated by only the best and purest of substances. That, however, is neither my interest or disposition. A little red wine, now and again, perhaps, but I much prefer - or, perhaps, require, is the better word - sobriety. Clarity, as it were, is necessary for precision. As for your questions..."

And, again, she paused, allowing her gaze to search the area beyond Saskia. Still, nothing of interest, though... she felt quite suspicious about it. The darkness ahead was uncomfortably quiet, even with the close proximity of the red light club.

"Indeed, you are correct when you assume of my awareness regarding your... place of employment. It is such, is it not? Your unfortunate link to sustenance and survival? ...Mmm, perhaps 'unfortunate' is incorrect; I know not of your preferences or priorities. But I am well aware of the environment in which you persist. In fact, I am quite possibly more aware of certain details than are you - that is, knowledge of a potential rival establishment's financial turnings is always a magnificent card to have in one's back pocket, should one have need of it at the grand card table of business. I shall casually discount you, however, my dear. While it may be proper to assign certain unsavory terms to "the inside" of the place, and the ongoings and personalities of those within, "fecked up" - I believe that was your phrase of choice - is a subjective label, based purely on the eye of the beholder. I assure you, the debauchery in this establishment pales in comparison to the cut throat environment of the battlefield of business. But these things are of no consequence when it comes to my warning. They are normal. They are mundane."

Now, introductory explanation finished, Miriam appeared to become somewhat agitated. She changed her stance, catering to one with a wider, more solid base. Her right hand moved to finger her rapier's sword guard.

"What I mean by "non-human" is not the subject of myth, nor is it something induced by haphazard and irresponsible substance abuse. Irresponsibility most certainly created it, but what I am after tonight is no mere figment of one's imagination. Here, I shall give you a prize - the benefit of the doubt - in that you can grasp some semblance of my explanation. Do interrupt if science is not your cup of tea. I assume you are aware that DNA is the blueprint by which all living things are created, during the benevolent miracle that is reproduction, yes? A century ago, give or take a few years, those in a certain segment of the scientific community saw fit to create an agent that, intentional or not, was able to alter the DNA of humans exposed to it. I shall not bore you with the limited details I have obtained regarding it and its dissemination over the years. Suffice it to say that the effects, while quite random, have shown the potential to be extremely hazardous to the rest of society at large. My search for one such affected individual has lead me here, and into your company, this evening."

Miriam paused then, frowning slightly. She gave a slight shake of her head.

"Perhaps I am saying too much, too fast. I shall give you the details of tonight's quarry, should you be interested... but I think a step back is required. Would you offer me an introduction? Or would you prefer to remain anonymous?"

[Saskia Murlew]

She had been so disinterested as the woman started to talk again. There was something about the way she spoke, it switched off her mind without even meaning to. It made her zone out and let her mind roll in all the other possible thoughts she could be having in that very moment. But then there was a sentence, a few words that caught her attention back. And it was like someone had winded her. Saskia’s eyes widened and, before she could catch the swear word, it left her; “Shit.” Was she serious? Or seriously deluded? Even drugs wouldn’t make you so honestly state you were that important though. Versailles. Shit. Saskia shook her head slowly, startled eyes locked on her company. She had not been expecting that.

“Oh, gods… there’s no need for that.” She spat irritably, though the anger was directed more at herself, as the woman sunk into a brief, introductory bow. “Do you know who I am? What I am?” She clarified, absently jutting her upper arm towards Miriam where the red material flashed unashamedly in the dark lighting. From behind her, in the club, she heard the music and beat shift into a new song. This conversation suddenly seemed a whole lot more interesting, if a little surreal. Perhaps she could linger a little longer, after all, there wasn’t much custom in there tonight. Her fingers absently rolled the cigarette, her eyes watching her company and her ears finally paying attention.

She didn’t follow the next topic though; rival businesses? Was Easy Street in more trouble than she realised? She made a point of avoiding the management where possible. She liked to work and keep her head down and generally, just survive. But if the place was sinking that meant she would go down with it. And there were not many places left for prostitution. Easy Street may be sleazy and more than a little dodgy, but at least there were back rooms that she could call her own and colleagues – and a club full of people - that could be called upon in an emergency if necessary. Gods… if she ended up with nothing but back alley business she’d be slit and guttered in less than a month. She had zoned out again, her eyes glazing fearfully with the future she painted herself and she had to forcibly drag her mind back to Miriam’s voice. She wasn’t making much sense. “Saskia.” She blurted out, just to change the subject, just to offer a delayed response to the woman’s own introduction a moment before. “Saksia Murlew. But most people just call me Sas.” Then a small, disbelieving chuckle. She looked away, shaking her head before returning her gaze to the woman in black. “Did I just tell someone who works at a palace to call me Sas? Ha. Something to tell the grand-kids." And then she stopped, her face falling a fraction as registered the meaning of the old saying. Sayings like that were for normal people, they didn't - they couldn't - apply to her anymore. She lifted the cigarette to her lips and took another breath of the stuff, letting it seep into her bloodstream. The embers flared up in its end. She could feel it getting shorter, the heat reaching her fingers… it was almost finished.

But then she was talking again, about this threat she was so keen on. Was the alcohol and smoke just blurring her brain or was she just not understanding this right? She sucked in another breath of smoke, narrow eyes fixed on her company trying to follow her words. But then she started talking science and deep, deep down in the dregs of her memory, rusted from disuse and faded with time, was her academic mind. And it heard the buzzwords and stirred after so long… Saskia found herself frozen in concentration, her cigarette-wielding hand stopped halfway to her mouth as she remembered what she had thought lost. But it was there, still, to her amazement – and it was understanding. Once Miriam had finished, she took a moment, silence blossoming between them as she calculated the truth in what she had said… articles, memories of comments and news and how it had all faded into nothing. Could it have been true?

“Shit.” She said again, shaking her head. “You’re actually being serious, you’re…” She trailed off, staring into Miriam’s eyes, scanning her outfit. Trying to fit the pieces of the puzzle together. “You’re telling me that whole thing was real? That it was true, that it actually happened?” The statement that had circled all that time ago. She had forgotten about it, the whole thing, up to this moment. Like everyone else, she had been utterly convinced it was a prank, which led, ultimately, to its dismissal.

“Okay.” Saksia sucked in a breath fresh air, letting the crispness of the night’s atmosphere do a little to sober her. She dropped the burnt out cigarette to the floor and crushed its embers with her high booted foot. She needed to clarify things, make sure she was understanding this. “Let me get this straight: this thing you say you’re here for is human, but not… it’s altered in some way. And you don’t know how but you know it’s dangerous.” There was something still not fitting, something jarring in her mind; “And why, exactly, is a member of the Palace of Versailles charged with containing it?”

[Miriam Valentine]

"I know who you are now, Miss Murlew, but only because you have been kind enough to reveal that information," she began, her response coming after letting Saskia's final question hang in the darkness for a moment. Miriam reached up, flipping her hair back behind her shoulders, letting the motion distract her for a moment as she considered whether or not it was a tactical mistake to keep her hair loose on "missions." "As for what you are, you needn't thrust your scarlet letter forward. 'Twas an obvious thing to pick out upon my approach. I wonder... is this time we are sharing, now that your cigarette is finished, inciting a charge of some sort? 'Tis a bit silly, but I'm unsure of how else to ask this - what is your... hourly rate? I presume it an unfair thing to keep you from... business... without... compensation, even if it is to clarify questions that you have asked."

The redhead paused again, then, folding her gloved fingers around her rapier's scabbard. A flick of her thumb allowed a half-inch of the blade to become loose for a second, then an extension and pull of her index finger slipped it back into place. It was a distraction of preparation and, in truth, she had to keep herself from performing a similar action on the revolver on her thigh. She held little doubt that an appearance of a firearm would alarm the other woman a bit too much. Instead, she returned to Saskia's questions.

"I suppose I should resume with a few corrections. For one, I am not a "member", nor do I "work" at Versailles. 'Twas one of the many things I inherited from my father; I oversee operations. Perhaps you should call on me in the future, if you truly don't believe me. I might be convinced to give you a personal tour, if for nothing else than the shock waves such a sight might cause."

In this, Miriam seemed genuinely amused. She was not joking, though she suspected it might seem that way. Really, she thought the prospect a potentially entertaining "change of pace" compared with merely existing and observing, as was her usual habit within the Palace. More than that, she was prefacing the "serious" with a lighter touch, in the same manner that one might exchange pleasantries with a business rival before engaging in "negotiations."

"As for the rest, Miss Murlew, I am quite serious and "that whole thing", as you called it, was most certainly real. Many wear scars associated with it; some more obvious than others. 'Tis rather interesting that you refer to my quarry as "human" first. There is a great split amongst those with knowledge of the situation, as to whether or not that is a correct practice. As for the alteration you mentioned, 'tis the result of the manipulations of a biogenetically engineered virus, or so the reports say. There are others that claim it a chemical agent, but the evidence I have seen states that the former, rather than the later, is, in fact, the truth. I've no idea what the goal of such a project was, but speculating on that is a useless endeavor. One thing I can report is that the virus itself is lost, and all indications are that the manner of its creation is lost as well. Though, naturally, there are those in the world that see it as a Philosopher's Stone of sorts, trying - and so far failing - as they might to recreate it."

She turned, then, giving Saskia a side profile. Her gaze turned skyward, and she took on a thoughtful expression.

"As I said, the individual effects of the virus are quite variable. The manifestations of these effects, ironically, may very well incite the kind of "myth" qualification that you originally applied. My personal experience ranges from individuals that manipulate the elements - fire, water, wind, earth, lightning - to those with more hidden talents, such as "total recall" memory or telepathy. There are those that may manipulate the physical with their mind, and those that may become intangible, such that they may phase through physical surfaces. Likely, my dear, if you can think of something that seems only fantasy, beware because, in this day and age, it could actually be reality."

Miriam gave a polite little cough, then, covering her mouth with a gloved fist, and then turned back to regard Saskia. Her expression was a somewhat harsh smile. A flip of her hand tucked a portion of her long coat behind her, and the same hand then came to rest on her rapier.

"And I am not "charged" with containing it. There are many ways in which you might interpret my intentions. Perhaps it is simply defined as a "hobby", like other members of the upper class who think themselves "hunters" and go on expensive safaris. Perhaps I am merely in the habit of testing myself and my skills in abnormal ways, because the mundane has proven boring and overly inadequate. Perhaps I feel that, as an individual with the means, I am uniquely qualified to do this as... a service to society. A way of giving back, and in a manner that does not allow or require fanfare or appreciation." Then she paused for a moment, the harsh smile fading a little. "Or, perhaps, I have been touched more deeply by this matter than I let on, and I am simply fulfilling the legacy left behind for me. Regardless of the veracity of any or all of those options, the fact remains that it is a choice, not a charge."