<div class="floatleft">(http://i87.photobucket.com/albums/k132/BriBla/Sister%20Maria%20Lucia_zps30ottdjs.jpg)</div><strong>Name</strong>:  Maria Lucia  (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=233968.msg11550235#msg11550235)<br/><strong>Location</strong>: Amelia Linbergh Estate - Singapore<br/><strong>Tagging</strong>: Open<br/><strong>Content</strong>: The perks of being a wallflower in nun's clothing.<br/><br/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;"><br/><br/>Oh, the Beast, in all her wonderment would be shoved, pushed, and prodded by the lines of that wolf in nun's clothing. Striding forwards indeed as some mythological creature, denied the comfort of her own little stone to hide behind. Instead forced to make her body move underneath the heavy weight of woolen robes to attempt to move the girth that occupied the chair. It would be almost comedic if it wasn't happening to her. Almost.  Oh, her breath had not been long enough at all, as she struggled against the teeming force to find a perfect space for that woman to occupy from her seat. Mrs. Aster, in all her evident glory deigning to dismiss the Sister with but a foul look and a flick of her fingers, as if to clear offal from the line of her sight. <br/><br/>Just the excuse needed, as the Hostess rose upwards to speak only after those special guests were given their place at table. Of course, those who watched from the outer berth gave ooh's and aww's at the tension that began to fill the room. Such glittering stars to be taken with the display of what was absolutely occultism in it's own way. To speak with Spirits left Maria with that look upon her own face, the treasures being exposed though, oh those were glimmering glinting bits of time and history. A wonderment upon the dark features as she wondered to herself how expressive the Spirits might be, considering if the Madame was as 'talented' and not merely a sham artist directing a con, in attempt to sway a bit of coin this way or that.<br/><br/>It mattered little to the small woman, as she would move back, Mrs. Aster's dismissal of her so that the woman could watch the display left her freedom to roam. Let alone the weight of her gaze falling upon her own prey, the gentleman with his bushy white hair, and gnarled fingers having found a seat to watch the upcoming <em>'show'</em> a bit out of the way, in that alcove. Maria slipped, as quiet as a shadow, drifting with that gifted motion of one used to blending in, comfortable with being '<em>forgotten'</em>. Her delicate fingers plucked up a fine crystalline flute, as she moved past a waiter who gave her only the raise of eyebrow that the Nun would take drink, as she strode towards the one who her dark eyes hunted. <br/><br/>Nearer, always nearer, with faint motions as gloves of Madame Romanova were removed and that hand reached outwards. Did Maria even notice the way breathing had begun to slow and deepen? So convinced it was merely some ten pence show, that it was beneath her attention and if not? When had a spirit ever said something useful to her? The notion made her lips curve as she came to the side of Mr. Von Schultz, the presentation of the offered flute but a small flourish of her hand as she dipped her habit covered head forwards. <br/><br/><em><strong>"For you, kind Sir, with all the grateful tidings of Mrs. Aster. She thought you looked rather parched. Are you, Sir? Parched that is?" </strong></em><br/><br/>The soft words whispered to the line of ear, her head dipped close enough to gift it, crouching beside the seated man, who watched the table from this vantage point. There was some bit of tenderness in the Nun's expression, some doll like animation as the gnarled fingers of the man rose outwards to take the flute between his calloused fingertips, gruff voice rolling out of lips thick with his own accent. <br/><br/><em><strong>"I am. Beyond all belief, Sister." </strong></em>The cold gaze of his near dead eyes as they turned to meet the face of the one. <em><strong>"But it was not she who sent you."</strong></em><br/><br/>Maria drew in a light breath as she brushed lips to the line of that wrinkled brow, the blessing of the damned to one who was as damned as she was. <em><strong>"No. It was not. But it does not matter now, does it? You know why I am here?" </strong></em><br/><br/>Von Schultz gave that faint nod the motion so light it was barely noticeable. Maria's lips curved into something akin to a smile as she turned dark eyes to watch the show, as her hand drew closer to the shoulder and then with but a feathered whisper of her fingernails found the line of his scalp to rest nails against. <em><strong>"Good. Then we can dispense with the nonsense of polite behavior. I was never much for it anyhow, an illusion of the truth of men. "</strong></em> The crinkle of her nose showed her disdain for the sensation of her fingertips against that wrinkled flesh as she let those dark eyes half closed. Touch. Such a needed sin, for what she wanted, the faintest compulsion forcing fingers to spread as Maria allowed him at least the view of the show. He was given that, for it would be the last one he would ever see. <br/><br/><em><strong>"I have come such a long way, to know what you know. To see what you see. But I am not without kindness, I knew it once. I think you may have as well. What a heavy weight you must have upon that soul within that flesh case. I can smell the rot of it from here. You know what comes will be pain, for us both, but I can promise you, after you will feel nothing but the peaceful illumination that absolution brings. Savor it, as you savor these last moments wallowing in your filth. For they are but moments." </strong></em><br/><br/></span><br/><br/></span>