Destination: Home

Cypress · Ash's Doll

Destination: Home

Ashes Of Faith · Lukois' Lucifer

Paris always held such an intangible fe el to it, something held in the very air itself that made you see the world through rose colored glasses. Everything was lighter there and more breezy. The french as a whole had a reputation for snobbery but Ash had always found them to be confident, and very self involved. Which for him was something most appreciated. The narcissim of those around him made hiding almost absolutely unnecessary. As they moved past the Porte de Versailles he saw the statue shining in the courtyard and the corners of his lips curled into something that might have been a smile if it weren't laced so heavily with sadness. Luckily her words distracted him and he turned to look at the young doll who held tight to his arm, strange that for a time he had forgotten she was there. Cypress was deadly in her own stillness.

"I was told that they would meet us at the Salon du Livre at noon."

Fingers dipped into the edge of the tailored jacket he wore and pulled from it a silver pocketwatch that was clipped there. The face flipped up with the press of an unseen catch and he looked at the delicate hands that showed just how close they were to their rondesvois time. Moving down the Rue de St Michelle he started in the direc tion of the meeting place. This was no pleasure trip, though the trip itself was indeed a pleasure, but as always where Ash was involved business and pleasure mingled cleverly. Even in a city with the romantic rosey light of Par is his mind stayed on the matter at hand. It was not his business errand, but rather one for a source that was so close as to almost be one with him. Marcus, the Master who held him bound like a spirit twin, this was an errand of that golden god.

"Creatures of Stone."

The words seethed beneath his breath as they neared the Salon, a quaint little out of the way spot that would have been called a corner bar anywhere else. In Parisian society though it was a Salon. Already he could sense them, sell the cold marble of their souls. His dealings with such legends were few and far between. They were the stuff of faery tales, things better left to the imaginings of children, or so he had preferred to believe. If Marcus was right though, if they could somehow act as a buffer to Kalikas call then the trip would be well worth it. A trip into the seventh circle of hell and back would be worth the price if what he brought back was able to offer them all some peace from that reigning queen of the damned. The only thing that bothered him was the possible danger involved to others. After all Milo had made all the arrangements for legalization documents, false passports, IDs. It had been the rat king who found the Prince and Princess, and20the Rat King who had made the arrangements, and since Milos scruples were less than admirable Ash had insisted on being the one to meet the pair first. As much as he yearned for Evie and Marcus to have peace of mind h e would never rest well if he didn't know the two illegals he was bringing over weren't at least reasonably safe. That was all he could hope for.

Cypress · Ash's Doll

Hues absent of color stared up at the man whom she protected. Fingers reaching up to brush one of the rare stray hairs from his cheek. Nails tucking the hair back and behind his ear. The city of love and romance seemed to not touch the pair at all. Cypress walked being the perfect doll to accompany Ash on this journey. She had insisted in only a way Cypress could insist on such a manner. With the pack safe in Hawaii. How safe, they didn't know and would soon come home to find out. Cypress followed matching his st eps. The sun was bright in the sky. Why they had picked the daytime to meet at the Salon, Cypress did not know. Legends of Creatures of Stone Cypress had little knowledge of.

Fingers grew a little tighter when she saw the Salon. Silence befell her form. She became as she grew to be known, a Doll. A beautiful porcelain woman dressed in finery next to a man who appeared to walk off the Opera or looked like a Mafia man vacationing in Paris. The tattoos always stood out against his pale skin. As much as Cypress scars stood out on her own moonlight flesh. She was above all hoping meeting these creatures would help Ash break away from Kalika. The bound to her, was the most trouble for Ash. Cypress would have risked herself for the man if it took away the spell the vampire had placed upon him. They walked to the steps. Her heels touching ever so softly on the stone flooring. Her nose gathered the sweet scents of the cheeses, the breads and the stale drinks being served, even the fine aromas of the wines.

Dark lashes hovered dangerously close to her cheeks as she swept the room with those hueless colored eyes. The smell of stone was strong. It felt as if Cypress was standing next to a slab of cold lifeless stone. The years worn into the grooves.

-- Edited by Cypress at 04:00, 2008-08-06

Sister of Stone · Soeur de Pierre

China cup settled on the saucer lightly. Coffee, with more milk than coffee swirled with the simple elegant movement. Eyes scanned over the latest French Vogue. A simple curve of a brow turned seeing the newest atrocity that came from La Cabane de Zucca. Did they honestly believe there was a market for chains and garb that could be found in a dumpster? The woman wearing it, was just horrible. The clothes were disgusting. It was making the coffee sitting in her stomach turn. The page was flipped quickly. A wedding gown by Vera Wang stared up from the glossy page. A beautiful design, the slim lines the lace us ed. A little quirk of lips seeing the dress. Fingernails, painted in a steely metallic gray, brushed over the neck line. Cut low enough to give the dress good taste. The picture beside it had the low, dangerous back wit h a train of pearls and lace. It was completely breath taking. Nails drummed out on the picture, debating on purchasing the dress. It was not like Aurora would be getting married any time soon.

A musk touched Aurora's nose. It was not the usual scent of Paris drifting through the doors. Carefully eyes turned to the door way. The pair walking through. They stood out in the only way that wolves could. In Aurora's mind's eyes she could see the red and black wolf. She held no animal to speak of. Though could clearly see into the plane were those creatures resided. Left hand would brush along Caine's arm over the Italian tailored suit that he wore.They are here, mon frère. The words were said in his mind, informing him that the man that Marcus sent was here. Marcus, the man of many talents. A god even to Aurora.

Eyes would return back to the glossy page of the wedding dress admiring the work once again. Steely metallic nails playing in the folds of her loose curls. A fashionable way Aurora wore her hair today. Most was swept up in a elegant bun. I t would have never showed by the way they dressed and acted that they were being hunted. Aurora and Caine did not yield to many threats. Of course they were now on the run from those fools that called themselves Leaders of le Revolution. She could have spit on them, had in fact. Leaving their beloved France because of them. Bastards! Chasing them out after years of protecting this city, this country as they had. Aurora wanted to leave, and in a way she was morning it with every minute she sat quietly looking at her magazine.

Brother of Stone · Frere de Pierre

Lips parted as he leaned slightly forward in his seat, suggesting that he was on the cusp of speaking but stopping himself. The small display had the usual effect as the woman who was their server leaned in closer like that would help her to dicipher the unspoken words from the buds of his lips where smoke still hung like a memory from the cigarette he had been smoking. Careful fingers brushed light and slow in a line against the lace that lined the square neckline of the womans corset, such lovely inventions of torture, and he highly approved of their reappearance in fashion in this modern age. That lace was rough against the pads of his fingers, directly contrasting the downy softness of the womans skin. Such a distraction she was that he had long forgotten his sister as he traipsed through his little intrigue. With a cavalier smile he caught the scent of her perfume, something light and airy, a memory attached to that scent, something that drew him. Just when she migh t have pulled back he spoke in a voice with no definable accent, just a low rumble of heat beneath the words.

"Have you ever had a man tell you that you were ravishing cherie? That when you smile the world seems to glow?"

Vaguely he felt the pulse speed, blood rushing through the woman as her lips parted and lashes fluttered. If he looked into her eyes then he was sure that he would see her pupils dilate quickly with desire. Sometimes he really wondered if there was a female creature anywhere who was even half worth the blessing between her thighs. So far though what he mostly found were trollops and twits. The womans voice caught in her throats as the milky white flesh of her full busom pressed firm against the restraining boning of the corset.

"Well, don't expect to hear it anytime soon."

Like the cheshire cat his lips curled wide as he reclined back, away from her so that he would be able to see the look on her f ace. Three distinct expressions passed over her so quickly that he was lucky to catch them all. Rapture, that thing with wings that perched on the heart like a hawk with its prey, though that look didn't last long as her elegant parisian features faded to a dull sort of shock that registered in the slacking of the jaw and the glazin g of the eyes. Finally, anger, leaping like a flame across her face as he put the delicately rolled Pall Mall between his lips and took a long rapturous drag of thick clouding smoke. Simple c reatures really, easily pleased and so easily angered. In the seconds that followed he could almost read her thoughts, and that had nothing to do with power and everything to do with what a vaccuous waste of space this woman was. She wanted to slap him, to throw his hot cafe au lait on his lap or kick him in the shin. A part of her even wanted to stamp her foot and scream at him, but in the end she simply humphed and spun on her heel to hurry away. Looked like she would be sending someone else to wait on their table, or perhaps the manager would try to kick them out. Now that might be interesting.

Two things happened at once then at the same time, drawing him away from his idle occupations. The sound of his sisters voice was usually easily tuned out, but when placed in combination with a sudden rise in the preternatural power within the small Salon he would be foolish not to at least pay passing courtesy. Elegantly he moved, pushing back h is chair as he came to his feet in movements that were oddly slow and casual. Cigarette held lightly between thumb and forefinger as he took a last drag and then flicked the butt out onto the cobbles of the courtyard without a care for litter or the ruin of such a lovely street scene. Everything he did seemed so smooth and articulated,20as he flicked that cigarette his other hand was already taking his sisters in a chivalrous move like one helping her to rise. Both of them could stand in judgement, watching like marble statues, their eyes gemstones that surveyed and judged the creatures coming towards them. For his part he had to admit that he found the company rather lacking, but then again so many things in life were just so much wasted time. This would be what it would be. They would go because their home was no longer safe, because they were the last of their kind here and to survive they needed to find others like them, but they did not have to like it.