Lady Elfleda (lady_elfleda) wrote in low_tide, @ 2009-11-21 08:21:00 |
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Entry tags: | lady elfleda, rhiannon lee |
Something Buried, Something Found...
There was something buried...
Buried within souls, within minds, but buried, nonetheless. For one who perceived the world at least partially through emotions, Elfleda was drawn to the beach where so much recent etheric activity had taken place. She stood not upon it, but instead, overlooking the same, by an area of grass and exotic trees. Maybe she had already investigated the source for this strange call to supernatural arms. It wouldn't take much to simply travel through the soil and sands, after all, until coming to where the object rested. Or perhaps it was putting out too much of a signal, clouding even the Corruptress' senses. Possibly, she was a lot more interested in others who might also be receptive to the same. Waiting, watching, to observe them.
And then... Life. Something of free thoughts and emotional chaos, as so many human minds were.
Turning to face the oncoming visitor, Elfleda could not have bargained on how ironic her presence would unwittingly be seen...
The figure strolled on the scalloped edge of the water. Her arms crossed against a mild breeze that flapped her T-shirt, old and faded, bearing the logo of a band. The cuffs of her pants were drawn up with elastic cords and fastened around the calves. It kept them above the surf. She picked her way through the sand and seaweed, stumbling only once, when she stepped in a hole a child had dug and not refilled.
"Shit!"
A cigarette burned between her fingers, a concession that Rhiannon hated. In this world and body, addiction to nicotine was not an issue. The partial pack stowed above the refrigerator hadn't been touched for months. It was just this once, or that was the sentiment, anyway. Each time she brought the filter to her mouth, a little bit of self-loathing flared to life. A woman who faced down creatures that hell tossed at Earth's champions ought not be brought to her knees by a tobacco plant.
She protected it when water splashed up around her poorly-placed foot.
When a feeling like ice cubes eased along her neck, she first mistook it for a chill, but the water wasn't cold. Rhiannon looked up. Properties dotted the landscape and streetlamps glowed between. The subdued beats of a reggae band drifted out of a bar, along with laughter. It took a moment to see the woman beneath the trees, whose clothes blended into shadows. She squinted.
And Elfleda stared right back... Impassive black eyes observing the Slayer's movements, set against their owner's utter vacuum of compassion. A blank expression. An absence. The zebra-like pattern of pale and ebony contrasting sharply against the relatively vibrant life surrounding her. There was a distance between them; Rhiannon at the tide's ebb and an old nemesis standing by the shade of trees. A gulf, of sorts, yet, the more one looked upon her, the more the Corruptress' very outline could draw one's mind in, like some kind of magnetised hypnotism from afar.
But this Elfleda seemed not to act like the one Rhiannon would have grown familiar with. There was no game of appearing beside or behind her. No whispered cutting remarks. Just monitoring observation from across the sands. She just... Stood there, regarding the interloper with-
Wait.
Study had given way to the detection of an anomaly. There was something, no matter how slight, which seemed so terribly off to Elfleda. A spark, maybe. However it was sensed, it was there and such things were always deserving of further investigation. Locked on course, the lady in black steadily began to move towards her. No sudden jerking or uneven motion of legs one might expect from walking upon sand, but a careful drift, more akin to an oil slick creeping down a pane of glass.
Water swirled around Rhiannon's bare feet, the gentle recession of waves covering her toes in silt. She held her rib cage tight, fingers knotting in the cotton as the woman descended the bank. A gust of wind pushed at her back. It encouraged her to run, run like hell, while the ground claimed her ankles. The gap between them shrank and Rhiannon was still as stone.
She's here.
Oh, come on, why shouldn't she be? Elfleda touted herself as able to move between worlds, make portals follow her command. Rhiannon followed her into another world once, a hellish place that smelled of excrement and blood. Did the Corruptress have access to this place, too, five years behind where they last stood on the beach together, old enemies holding hands, facing end times that didn't come?
She wet her lips. They tasted like the salty air.
No, I won't speak first.
Much like the tide, itself, Elfleda's approach seemed now somewhat inevitable. She simply held no interest in concealing her true identity, in this instance. Nor did she have any reason. The closer she got, the more clearly into focus her quarry became. With every sloshing swish of the waves, so neared Elfleda's black presence. Once, long ago, this mysterious creature of gothic likeness would have sung with the birds, but none did so now. Not even vultures. Even the odd crab would scuttle away, sensing something wrong approaching and wishing to be out of its way.
Then, once near enough, that same pale expression of nothingness seemed to quirk with a frown. For as off-putting as the Corruptress, herself, could be, there was something she was detecting about Rhiannon, in turn. She stood there for a moment, trying to gauge... To ascertain... Head turned one way, then the other, unsure quite what to make of this.
And why was there no reaction? Not the type Elfleda was accustomed to receiving at first sight, at any rate. Instead, she was being met with a form of... Stubbornness. Iron resolve.
At sides, fingers slowly reflexed. Their nails like knives slicing against one another. Head turned, once again, but then turned up; ear listening intently to a whisper unheard by mortal ears. The Corruptress had discovered something beyond a mere target here: She had found an enigma. Someone who was not corresponding to the way things should be. "Calming, isn't it?" She finally asked, in that familiar, half-telepathic vocal tease. "The tide receding... The life-blood of the sea, pouring back into its veins... And yet, you do not belong."
There was an awful quality to Elfleda's inspection of her, worse than the knowing looks of experience that passed between them before. Rhiannon shrank from it. Or at least, shrank as far as she could with her feet trapped in muck. A stranger, she thought, digging fingernails into the soft flesh around her ribcage. Those were not the looks of an entity who remembered years of pushing against one another, of plans thwarted and of partnerships made out of necessity. This was not the vibe of a wicked mother and her rebellious daughter, which so often their conversations mimicked.
The wind snapped. Long pieces of hair stung the Slayer's cheeks. She peeled them out of her eyes and felt a pang of regret for the prized position of respect she had earned with her enemy, now gone. But so much of her journey was accomplished in reaction to Leviathan's Bride and that had not washed away.
"I may not belong, but neither do you. You haven't for centuries." An ocean wave, amplified by a ship's passage offshore, slapped at her calf muscles. Rhiannon stepped out of the hole and gained a bit of height. "Yet here we are."
Elfleda's reaction was equivalent to what might be imagined if someone had told her to fuck off: Head reared back, spine straightened and an already blank expression changed to a raising of brow. If one could have photographed the result, it would be tempting to write 'WTF is this shit' below, for it was clear the hellish diplomat had effectively been knocked for six. She was unused to others making correct assumptions about her and, while it was possible to avoid the implications with a poker face, the fact remained that the mortal was different.
Without knowing the reasons for why, the Corruptress could only enact suspicion. When she next spoke, it was purely in the realm of audible voice, although the clarity of her accent had not diminished a bit.
"And how might you know of this?" She asked, posture shifting to something more confrontational. Eyes narrowing just slightly. Something of a more predatory feel about her, albeit a cautious one, as Elfleda started moving slowly to one side. "A book? Tale of woe imparted from learned associates?"
Tread lightly, Rhiannon warned herself, for she had done nothing yet to prove she was useful, thereby warranting Elfleda's preservation of her life. That poison-sweet odour filled her nostrils and she remembered the invisible horde which could pinch and stab with talons, while the porcelain-skinned bride of the underworld floated on the periphery with a song in her heart.
But that was reason talking... Wisdom she had cultivated over time. Rhiannon had another thing, though, which she suddenly realized and it trumped wisdom. She had the upper hand. Or at least, it wasn't a landslide in Elfleda's favour, anymore. God, it was hard not to smile. The Slayer's teeth ground together as she set her jaw. An eyebrow flicked. Her back straightened, the crossing of arms becoming confident rather than protective.
I know your names. I know you were human. I know where you bow down to your Master. I know what your heart feels like in my fist and I know how you taste.
"Would you believe a little birdy?"
Rhiannon's mouth twitched. Let the repercussions come, she didn't care. It was worth the look on the bitch's face.
"No..." Replied her solemn nemesis. "I would not."
There was no mistaking Elfleda was being played and she could get rather vindictive at such times. To cheat, subvert and degrade were perfectly viable strategies and she looked upon the girl with a feel of being thwarted, even if partially. This one knew things and that made her all the more relevant as a potential target.
But knowledge could be dangerous... What kind of danger did Rhiannon represent? What level of threat? To stand there with such conviction, spoke volumes.
"I do, however, possess means of discovery, Rhiannon Lee," came the warning. The spiritual air around Slayer already starting to cloud with something toxic. Something invisible, yet vile and poisonous, readying itself to probe at the brunette's aura, searching for weaknesses. Tasting Rhiannon in preparation to convert her. Corruption was what Elfleda defaulted to. It was her reason for being. To invert someone's inner self, addict them and lead that soul down a far darker path. "I'm sure that, for one so enlightened, this is no mystery to you..."
As if they were heat radiating from a warming source, Rhiannon felt those waves touch and then stroke and crawl along her flesh, until the fine hairs on her arms stood up. A nasty tangle of knotted up emotions began to pulsate in her chest, like the first stirrings of betrayal or the sudden onset of an anxiety attack. Just as every other time, a tiny inner voice whispered how easy it would be to let anger take over... Just open her arms and fall off the cliff into oblivion. The problem was that Rhiannon remembered the hard landing.
She held her ground. In order for corruption to succeed, it needed a chink in the armour. Every time she had fallen prey to Elfleda, it was because, on some level, she allowed it to happen, whether by open invitation, passivity or a lengthy visit. That wouldn't happen this time. "I don't think you should do that," she said, letting a few seconds pass before she dropped the hammer. "Æðelflæd."
Somewhere, in another world, Elfleda would have been interested to hear that deepest secret, confessed only at world's end, used in such a manner. Of course, she had not known Rhiannon would be cast into a dimension where her alternate self would carry on, blackening anyone it could.
If anything guaranteed surprise, then that did. There was a time when Elfleda had used her original name. That was before she got wise to how sorcery could be applied to it, however, guarding against influence and making tasks she was expected to accomplish exceedingly difficult. To know another's name was to know, in some small way, their soul. Obfuscating one's identity through different titles was a tactic which worked well - and for such a relatively unimportant creature to have gained knowledge of such a thing...
Instantly, Elfleda spiritually recoiled. An instinctively defensive measure, to be sure. If the brunette had access to her longevity and name, then she was already a potentially formidable opponent. While it could be a bluff, Elfleda was not willing to take the risk. Unseen dangers had a way of backfiring on one's own plans and the Corruptress had no desire to be seen as a failure.
Or potentially even worse.
This time, fingertips tapped together in a drumming motion. One of those rare instances where Elfleda seemed genuinely unsure of how best to approach a problem. For all her impressively regal poise and status, this more gothic of the two dark-haired females could get rather poisonous when confronted with frustration. In those precious few moments, she might be silent, but there were definitely thoughts going through her mind. Scenarios, solutions, past experiences... By rights, even a Slayer of vampires should not pose a significant threat. Elfleda worked in the spiritual realm, after all, not physical. A wooden stake aimed at her heart would not secure destruction.
And yet... The annoyance persisted. What to do?
Choosing, now, to clasp those hands together in contemplation, Elfleda observed the stranger with a higher degree of inferred respect. Any next steps demanded a greater understanding.
"What do you wish for?" She phrased, honestly. "What do you seek?"
A broad question, to be sure, but one which prompted an easy answer. "I want you to go away," Rhiannon said, fast and genuine. She shook her head and gave the other brunette a sour look. "So, don't bother whoring yourself. You haven't got anything I haven't seen before." Probably that revealed too much - a level of personal experience with corruption - but it wasn't such a secret. After all, she hadn't got that knowledge by psychic means. Rhiannon turned her head, intending to take the first step of a return walk up the beach. But as she pivoted, hesitated. It dawned on her that she could ask for a lot from a woman who summoned portals with the flick of a finger, who served an entity as impressive as Leviathan.
Maybe even a fix for their odd circumstances...
Rhiannon's head ticked left. No. She didn't want it. That was a bigger revelation than anything. All she wanted was to go back to the little cottage she shared with Connor and lock the door behind her. Locks didn't do shit, but it felt good to turn them.
There was something to be said for politics. If nothing else, it was a great educator for the human condition: People could generally be brought down in one of three ways... Bribery, conversion or by being outright destroyed. Rhiannon had just refused the first and circumstances were preventing the second, which left only the third.
Threats.
That she demonstrated understanding of the Corruptress' strategies, was yet more confirmation of prior familiarity. Elfleda might be a relative stranger to her, but things had shifted. As of now, she felt as if she should know her. Felt like she should already be a great deal more aware of this one's circumstances. An error had resulted in hell's proverbial catalogue of Earth-bound names and to know of this was as troubling as it was puzzling.
"Whoring..." But the word she repeated only gave way to a black smile. Head tilting in refreshed examination, for if Rhiannon had yet to lash out by now, then she was either unwilling or incapable of it. "Your terminology holds... Amusement for me," she spoke. The pause of deliberation between each sentence, allowing for mouth to carefully shape itself for the next phonetic announcement. Verbal foreplay, almost. Or maybe just good manners... "And yet, what you ask now becomes the request I cannot grant."
The Slayer wished her to be gone? Then she would stay. Suggested she leave? Then Elfleda would dwell. Wanted her to vanish? Then she would refuse.
The opening moves in their chess board had been made, once more. What would the kill tally look like, this time?
"Any more than you would speak of who has tutored you against me."
Rhiannon's tongue clicked loudly against her cheek. "Yeah. Didn't figure asking nicely would work." There was no way around it. Submit and lose or defy and further intrigue. She looked at the black dome of sky overhead. The lights of the island weren't strong enough to blot out the stars. Orion stretched on the horizon, his right shoulder bright as Betelgeuse burnt its way towards explosion. "That said, you really ought to give me more credit. When it comes to us, I've never needed a tutor. I just kinda' dived in and figured things out. Apparently, you could use one." Looking down, Rhiannon remembered the cigarette in her hand. At some point, the wind had knocked off the cherry. The filter was hopelessly bent from the squeeze of her fingers. She dropped it in the sand and let the next swell of water take it.
Something occurred to her and she smiled. "I can never seem to get rid of an enemy." How she felt about it was complicated and it showed.
"I'm gonna' go."
She pointed in the direction of the street, where people sat in well-lit restaurants and bars, chatting about ordinary things. With no more fuss than a woman exiting a bad dinner date, she stepped out of the water and headed up the beach.
Enemy... Meant in the generic sense or a more personal one? Elfleda might not have troubled herself with such a line of questioning, were it not for the young woman having exhibited the knowledge she had. And now, apparently, making little more than a casual goodbye, of sorts, before simply heading off.
Had the notorious Lady Elfleda, Corruptress and Bride of Leviathan, just been... Blanked?
Not necessarily an egotistical sort, the entity was, nevertheless, at a loss for how best to react to that. At the very least, her style of dress and the earlier encroaching of wickedness around her, should have filled the Slayer with a clue that this was not a regular experience in Florida, to say the least. But no, she seemed perfectly aware of who had been faced.
Parting mouth to say something, Elfleda apparently thought better of it and watched Rhiannon depart. Either this was a rarity or downright unprecedented, because the one figure who had always seemed to know precisely how to get at the brunette was now... Left in the proverbial dust. Not that Elfleda was somehow forbidden to chase after her, but there were too many unanswered questions at play. A stealthier form of observation might be called for now. An exercise in monitoring, as it were.
Head turned and formerly human eyes glanced down upon the used cigarette, cast from Rhiannon's hand into the cleansing fury of waves. The Slayer's own form of pollution... Perhaps, in some ways, their differences were not too radical. Only the methods.
There was no parting shot. Only the silent summoning of a meeting between realities; something formed out of black mist and with no accompanying fanfare. Through it, Elfleda stepped, allowing it to close behind her. There were matters to consider. Questions to meditate on. Things to weigh.
And a Slayer, soon, to shadow.