Wicked Things (Cutter& Emmaline&Happy an Nice)
<h1 id="title">Elliquiy Role Playing Forums</h1>
		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Extreme =&gt; Extreme Small Groups =&gt; Topic started by: Cutter on 03-09-2008, 17:33:44</h2>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Wicked Things (Cutter&amp; Emmaline&amp;Happy an Nice)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Cutter</strong> on <strong>03-09-2008, 17:33:44</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				A merry little chime of music greeted Sir Redvers Buller. He frowned and opened the pocket watch. It was a rather cumbersome piece of intricate brass works that he kept in the pocket of his great coat. As he stood in the garden, the chill of the morning air&nbsp; was like the tip of a finely honed knife.<br><br>Sharp. Pointed.<br><br>He drew in his breath. His skin tight as the cool air caressed&nbsp; his stern features like that of a predatory lover. The touch was gossamer, but sobering. Bracing.<br><br>He opened the watch and the voice that announced the time was breathless, its timbre laced with a fusion of desire and fright.<br><br><em>Nuhh..Nine o’clock.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br><br>Sir Redvers clasped it shut with an audible SNICK that sounded like a pistol shot.<br><br>He would have to make a few more adjustments. The music was inappropriate. It was reminiscent of Pachelbel's Canon in D major, an exquisite piece of work, but unsuitable for its presentation within the watch.<br><br>The woman whose voice emanated from the watch had been subjected to The Machine as he recorded her labored words. Her Vagina and Anus were being rhythmically violated by&nbsp; the steam powered apparatus. Each metallic arm thrust in and out of her with a inordinately thick attachment that was meant to stretch her inner core mercilessly.<br><br>Her cries of pleasure and pain were such sweet music to his ears. He felt compelled to record her, and the idea for her to announce the time was thus born. To carry her delicious sussurations of despair and desire with him.<br><br>She too was exquisite. Her body pale, unblemished like fine bone white porcelain. Her red hair that adored her heart-shaped face bespoke the fiery passion that dwelled within her feminine core. Her eyes were bright chips of mischievous green ice. Alas, the light that burned twice as bright within her breast faded. Gone like candle light in a flurry of wind. He did not lament her demise. She still lived, but only as a hollow husk of a girl, not quite yet a woman and now, will never be.<br><br>There was a time he may have felt something akin to pity. Remorse, but that was long ago. The battlefield had claimed that part of his humanity.<br><br>He turned on his heel with military precision and&nbsp; left for the motor car that was idling in the drive. He would be driven to his private dirigible and air-transported to the city. One docked in the Bradbury, he would pay a visit to a certain lass, one with flowing locks and a secret buried in her bosom that he would certainly love to pry out.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br><br><br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Wicked Things (Cutter&amp; Emmaline&amp;Happy an Nice)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Emmaline</strong> on <strong>04-09-2008, 07:48:18</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				Isabella Baudelaire carefully climbed the small ladder behind the front counter of her shop and pulled a tiny skeleton key from the black velvet reticule at her side, the ebony bugle beads that dangle from it jangling together softly. Upon closer examination one would see it really was a key made from bone, ornately carved with vines and flowers, a relic in it's own right. Gingerly she fit it into the small lock and turned it, opening the brass and glass door. It lifted open on a small hydraulic and she reached a slender hand in to pull out a very thin volume covered in a deep lavender leather with silver corner protectors. A rose fashioned from amethyst and silver decorated the center as several more amethyst petals spilled down the cover. <br><br>Balanced precariously on a rung of the ladder, her fingers skimmed over the spine of the book, tracing the single foreign word written there, her brow furrowing in concentration. She laid her hand palm flat against the cover, closing her eyes briefly, as if she could absorb the contents of the ancient manuscript, exhaling softly as she slid it back into it's spot. Her fingers moved over the other volumes until she pulled out a much thicker book covered in plain dark leather that looked quite ordinary and tucked it under her arm.<br><br>She pushed the door shut, the soft hiss of the hydraulics releasing as she turned the key in the lock before withdrawing it and sliding it back into the reticule, letting it drop to her side as she began to descend the ladder once more. The volume almost perfectly matched her gown crafted of the finest lavender silk and black lace. The corset top tied front and back, pushing her small breasts up dangerously beneath the black silk chemise. A black bustle of matching lace spilled down her backside, the gown hugging her curves perfectly. <br><br>Her heeled boots clicked softly on the polished wood floor when she stepped from the ladder, walked across the room, and settled into a dainty chair by the window. It was a dismal day in Bradbury, skies so grey the smoke from the factory smokestacks blended right in. Skies that perfectly matched her eyes. Isabella laid the book in her lap and reached a hand to her hair making sure the majority of her thick curls were bound into the bun at the nape of her neck, several thick tendrils escaped and curled around her face.<br><br>Isabella watched the door. She was expecting a client to arrive for this very rare book of maps and lore for a land that never existed. So some said. The sale of this book would pay her flat fee for half a year, at least. The loud tick tock tick tock of clock hanging on the wall slowly lulled her into a light slumber as she waited for the man whom she was beginning to wonder if would even show.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Wicked Things (Cutter&amp; Emmaline&amp;Happy an Nice)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Happy an Nice</strong> on <strong>04-09-2008, 17:05:40</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<br><br>Black smoke choked and coughed from the chimney stacks rising from the rooftops in the chilly morning air. The cool morning temperature congealed them and they hung thick&nbsp; in the sky. Tess stood in the tower window and searched above them. Nothing, yet it was still early. She snapped shut the brass looking glass with a swoosh-click and holstered it into the garter around her thigh. The arrangement of the chimneys gave the impression of a menacing grin. She tugged at her sheer off-white stockings with a military precision, perfunctory and precise. If this were to be done, she considered, it must be done well, without flaw, quickly and seamlessly. She paced about the conservatory, her senses honed by the adrenaline that pumped through her veins. She stopped before the mirror.&nbsp; <br><br>"<em>Well turned out, I must say.</em>" Her hair hung straight and sleek over her shoulders, light ashen blond like gossamer; she was fortunate that very little was required to keep it. She wore nothing beneath the red velvet corset that cinched her narrow waist. Her eye travelled down taking in the black cord that zigzagged between the halves. A narrow view of her naked but tanned body was visible from her cleavage to her navel; view of the cross hatched skin bound snugly under the lacings that pressed into her skin were a deliberate device and one that had always served her well. The layers of crinoline, velvet and tulle were arranged artfully, each exposed in some measure. Sheets of red and ecru draped by degree to form the long slender sweep of her gown. The front fell shorter than the back showing her heavy boots.&nbsp; The sweep of the hemline was fashionable and functional. Her gait could quicken without need to lift her skirt. <br><br>Tess slipped the cap and goggles onto her head, picked up her long leather buttoned gloves and crossed the room to the oddly shaped brass plumbing that descended from the ceiling; a conduit that led from the cistern on the roof. She tucked the gloves under her arm and, turning the valve, filled the tankard. Taking it and the small leather satchel, she left for the motorcar. Waiting there was no longer an option. She filled the steamer’s tank and cranked the gears into motion. She set off for the alley behind the shop. As she worked the gears, she felt the pinion tucked tightly into the hand sewn pocket of her bodice follow her motions. It was her bargaining chip should things not go as planned.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Wicked Things (Cutter&amp; Emmaline&amp;Happy an Nice)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Cutter</strong> on <strong>07-09-2008, 07:22:37</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				He arrived at the Dirigible and cast a baleful glance at the surrounding area. The sky was slate and the ground iron under his booted feet as he strode the rough path to the docking station. The tees were bare. Bereft of the lush green foliage. Much like a shorn vagina. <br><br>Exposed.<br><br>Vulnerable.<br><br>He relished the stark beauty of natures bounty stripped of its Providential comfort. <br><br>His driver ushered him into the dirigible. The winds caressed the air craft angrily as if manifesting a cosmic disdain for this unnatural, manmade obscenity that will violate the virginal&nbsp; &nbsp;expanse of the sky with its phallic-like presence.<br><br>Once aboard, two women who were as starkly pale as the transparent gray of the sky made their way to him. The avoided his gaze. Each unclothed, the only adornment was a leather, studded collar attached to a gleaming chain held by his Manservant. Each were a twin of the other. Almost so, down to the slight blemishes and freckles of their cool, alabaster like skin.<br><br>They removed his great coat with an air of reverence and one began to glide her tongue over it, lapping gingerly the droplets of water that had collected upon it. The other knelt and began to swirl her tongue on his booted feet, removing the grime of the earth from its obsidian shine.<br><br>Sir Redvers Buller looked down like a vengeful God as the Air-ship took flight.<br><br><br><br>*************************************************************<br><br>He made his way through the serpentine alley and cobbled streets of Bradbury. At ease striding amongst the throngs of the unwashed masses. Red-rimmed, baleful eyes cast predatory gazes at him and lips curled over blackened ,yet curiously lupine teeth. They sensed his wealth. Social station but an air of malevolence wafted off him and they stayed the dirks and daggers in their clutches.<br><br>He came to the shop and paused by the door. Isabella would have it. That much was certain. Her price was dear, but worth the pound sterling notes ten-fold . Another female was to come in the fold and Sir Redvers grinned as he entered the store. Revealing very white and very lupine like teeth.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Wicked Things (Cutter&amp; Emmaline&amp;Happy an Nice)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Happy an Nice</strong> on <strong>07-09-2008, 22:23:40</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				Tess snapped the case closed on the round train watch. She held it to her ear to measure its timing and turned the pin one careful twist clock-wise. She listened again for the familiar steady tick tick tick, checking the timing. She’d wager it was perfect now. A slight hiss of steam escaped the engine as she sat parked in the narrow street beside the shop. Of course she knew he’d go see Baudelaire. That’s why she was there, watching, waiting for opportunity. Who else could supply the rare item he sought. She saw him approaching at a good clip and slip into the shop. Tess cranked the steamer and started her up. She waited for his egress and felt a shudder thinking of him.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Wicked Things (Cutter&amp; Emmaline&amp;Happy an Nice)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Emmaline</strong> on <strong>08-09-2008, 05:40:59</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				She traced the edge of the book cover over and over, a silent mantra as she waited. Each sound sharp but distant. Finally she heard what she had been waiting for. The latch on the door lifted and the chimes built into the hinge played their melodramatic tune. Isabella opened her eyes, fingers curling around the book as she lifted it to her chest and stood in one fluid motion. <br><br>The shop smelled of old books and the lavender scented wax she used liberally on every bit of wood in the place until it all gleamed. Scattered in the display cases were volumes valued more for their beauty than their scholarly content. The sorts the Ladies often came in to purchase. The other types of volumes she carried, the ones she specialized in, were rarely out of their locked cases tucked in here and there throughout the store. She also carried other oddities: trinkets and artifacts of places long forgotten.<br><br>"I was beginning to wonder if you had changed your mind," said as she moved behind the counter, laying the book on the beveled glass top that separated them. Only then did she lift her twilight eyes to his.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Wicked Things (Cutter&amp; Emmaline&amp;Happy an Nice)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Cutter</strong> on <strong>09-09-2008, 13:19:35</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				The rain fell with a vengeance. As if each droplet were a dispossessed Angel as it rocketed Earthward, to cleanse the city of Bradbury with its righteous fury. Inside, the gray surrendered it self to the Twilight of her gaze.<br><br>Perhaps she was one of the Fallen. Banished to this mortal drudgery, for she was a thing to behold. As out of place in Bradbury as the rays of sun.<br><br>He took in the shop and all of its artifacts. His cool, gray eyes matched his stony countenance, as&nbsp; his features seem to have been chiseled from the peaks of some remote and foreboding landscape<br><br>Her lithe body could not be denied as much as her aura, though intangible, radiated a disconcerting sensuality. <br><br>He arched an eyebrow. The only emotive response he allowed to be acknowledged.<br><br>“Indeed. Your lack of faith is distressing. A pity, given how much your father values such a Christian virtue, but then again, all virtues are fallacy. The only virtue is to the Self.”<br><br>He moved closer and her scent was upon the air. Not&nbsp; perfumed , but one of secreted desire. Her sex was betraying her. The red flower of her femininity pulsating in gossamer fabric.<br><br>An indulgence on his part, perhaps. He knew women. <br><br>Tasted them. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br><br>Consumed them.<br><br>As he would her.<br><br>“So, I am here and let us begin our Dance, shall we?&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Wicked Things (Cutter&amp; Emmaline&amp;Happy an Nice)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Happy an Nice</strong> on <strong>10-09-2008, 05:15:23</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				Tess huddled under the tarpaulin cover of the steamer. The rain rolled on the fabric, beating like a steady drum. She sat and the glass fogged. Her repeated clearing of the clouded windows was the only thing that kept her from becoming sleepy. The dull heavy thrumming of the relentless rain, running in rivulets down the pane, and the grey afternoon skies were hypnotic. She recollected the weeks leading up to Sir Redvers’ journey to Bradley. <br><br>Tess was raised by a lovely and delicate woman. Marie Argent, her mother, managed to provide a more than adequate existence for them. She was skillful with mechanics and made many of the devices and inventions that aided them in their day to day lives. She worked in mechanics manufacture and design, for a very small private organization. It supported them just enough. Marie raised a little extra for them by selling the cast off trinkets she made from the metal. She thought about the odd-sized pinion tucked into her bodice and remembered her mother’s gentle and easy smile. <br><br>Now, nearly two years later, she had finally caught up with the scoundrel. Her mother had been working on a slightly larger project for her benefactor. The projects were always piecemeal and she never really knew how they were finally used. Tess’ father left when she was an infant; she had never known him nor missed his lack of presence. <br><br>One day, while working on the project for the organization, her mother disappeared. The workspace she used in one of the abandoned factories had been ramshackled. Someone had searched the place. Tess found the pinion as she shifted through the debris. It had taken Tess months to trace the organization to Sir Redvers. Work order requests were always delivered by courier. The secrecy led her to investigate the benefactor and the trail was lost several times. One factor was a constant in all of her field investigations and that was Redvers Buller. She waited in the rain sodden vehicle for him to emerge from Isabella Baudelaire’s curious shop. 
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Wicked Things (Cutter&amp; Emmaline&amp;Happy an Nice)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Emmaline</strong> on <strong>10-09-2008, 15:51:41</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				"I would ask you refrain from imposing my father's, or anyones for that matter, ideals on me Mr. Redvers." There was a softness to her voice despite trying to sound unaffected by his mere presence before her. He was an imposing man to be sure but not unpleasant to look at by any means. <br><br>Isabella placed a hand on the book and smiled one of her business smiles. She quite hated parting with some of the volumes that came through her shop, and as much as she would like to keep this particular one, the price it would fetch was far too dear and she was a practical woman when it came to money. Usually. <br><br>She tipped her face up, not wishing to show any sign that his mere presence was a bit daunting. Everything about him was precise. She suppressed the chill that ran up her spine and began speaking. "I am sure you are aware how rare this volume is Mr. Redvers?" Her eyes held with his hoping for some sign of... what? She did not know. She took a deep breath which only accentuated her small perfect breasts, though her action was without guile. <br><br><br><br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Wicked Things (Cutter&amp; Emmaline&amp;Happy an Nice)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Cutter</strong> on <strong>15-09-2008, 04:55:15</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				He revealed nothing as she chastised him.<br><br>His eyes bore into her. Gaze unwavering. <br><br>Her facade was compelling,but the minutiae of her body betrayed her. He was an astute observer of the feminine. And a inhumanly methodical creation of Patience.He would have her.<br><br><br>And break her.<br><br>"<em>Sir</em> Redvers, ." His voice low, but tinged malice and&nbsp; a hint of corruption. <br><br>He moved closer to hear and her scent filled his nostrils. Indeed, she was a vision. One he would capture and make his own. <br><br>"Indeed. That is why I will acquire it. For it to be in other hands, is to speak of blasphemy. Price is no matter." He paused,eyes locking with hers.<br><br>"All things have a price, <em>milady</em>"<br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Wicked Things (Cutter&amp; Emmaline&amp;Happy an Nice)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Emmaline</strong> on <strong>18-09-2008, 07:34:42</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				She reached up and tucked a willful curl back behind her ear, delicate fingers with perfectly manicured nails brushed along her cheek. It was only the tell tale ink stains on her fingertips that gave way she did anything but sit around and look pretty.&nbsp; <br><br>Her lips parted as a shudder ran through her, one she hoped did not show, as if she could feel his thoughts in her soul. Thoughts her soul decided were far too dark for her to know.<br><br>"Sir Redvers," she repeated. She slid open a small ornately carved box on the glass counter top and withdrew a slender writing instrument and a sheet of scented paper. It smelled of violets, her favorite flower. All these movements were done while she held his gaze, his closeness disconcerting and she was thankful for the counter separating them. Finally her gaze wavered and she bent her head, her lips parting further as she wrote a figure on the sheet and turned it around and slid it across the counter. Likely the figure was quite a bit higher than he expected. <br><br>Her fingers lingered on the sheet as her other hand lay across the cover of the book he sought. She lifted her gaze to judge his reaction, her face far closer to his than she expected and her breath caught in her throat.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Wicked Things (Cutter&amp; Emmaline&amp;Happy an Nice)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Cutter</strong> on <strong>20-09-2008, 21:51:44</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				He moved deliberately, his gray eyes bright, despite his out-ward appearance. His clothes were rough-hewn, much like his facial features. A small scar snaked under his right eye and coursed down his cheek like a red, scabbed river.&nbsp; <br><br>He spied the attractive women in the motor-car. The rain pelted her with a ferocity that did not seem to dissuade her intent gaze upon the book shop’s door.<br><br>His Master left nothing to chance. The man posses a uncanny ability to predict when a potential trouble may arise or whence it would come from.<br><br>That is what saved him. That is why he owed Sir Redvers Buller his life.<br><br>He walked, blending into the unrelenting gray of the city and the weather.<br><br>He was just out of her line of sight.<br><br>Watching.<br><br>Waiting for the right time.<br><br>The right moment.<br><br>To pounce on her lovely body.<br><br>And serve it up to his Master.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Wicked Things (Cutter&amp; Emmaline&amp;Happy an Nice)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Happy an Nice</strong> on <strong>21-09-2008, 03:43:47</strong>
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				<div align="center">(http://img221.imageshack.us/img221/1410/il430xn36435410pf7.jpg) (http://imageshack.us)<br>By HappynNice (http://profile.imageshack.us/user/HappynNice)</div>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Wicked Things (Cutter&amp; Emmaline&amp;Happy an Nice)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Cutter</strong> on <strong>21-09-2008, 03:46:18</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				Gorgeous. Simply beautiful!
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Wicked Things (Cutter&amp; Emmaline&amp;Happy an Nice)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Happy an Nice</strong> on <strong>05-10-2008, 22:45:01</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				Time seemed to stretch out. Tess was not willing to lose her quarry; she had worked too hard to find him. The two year search culminated in this moment. She had given up everything but the flat and a few possessions to hunt leads. She had given up her values a time or two to bring herself closer to people who she thought could give her some information. Now, after two years, she felt unprepared. Would she interrogate him or just try to kill him? She was unsure how she would hold him if she could get him alone. She had the knife in a leg holster and could gain easy access through the front of her skirt. She wished she had more. <br><br>Tess reasoned that more than sufficient time had passed for Sir Bullers and Isabella Baudelaire to conduct their business. She grew terribly antsy waiting. Chewing on a loose bit of cuticle, snagging it painfully, she made the decision to attempt a look into the building. She left the motorcar idling in the event Sir Redvers came out while she was out of the car. She opened the door and splashed into the quickly rising water in the alleyway. Between the buildings, the rain, falling so heavily, took longer to find outlet.&nbsp; She closed the car door behind herself and looked in either direction, more to keep the motorcar safe than anything. She approached the side of the building, water pouring over her in torrents, soaking her immediately, and gathered some empty pine crates that accumulated along the building's side. She piled them quickly and somewhat precariously, one atop the other until she felt she had sufficient height to peer into the high window along the side of the shop. <br><br>The fabric of her dress was heavy from the rain as she pulled it around and swept it into her arm. She climbed the crate tower slowly, her white legs soaked and gleaming in the gloomy daylight. Water ran into her heavy boots. Tess stepped onto the top crate and pointed her toes to peer into the window. It was grimy from the industrial air created by the Bradley town factories. She held the cuff of her sleeve and used her forearm to scrub at the window. She could make out a pale illumination and some blurry dark shapes which were unmoving. She turned to keep an eye on the street. No sign of anyone, a waste of effort she thought. She carefully backed down the impromptu staircase she had built, feeling thwarted but not defeated.
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