Caislin Hallows

Caislin Hallows vs. Naiser Vale : This is a tale of two villages one of medieval, one of modern. While there is a mysterious fog that connects them where the water divides.

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Midnight Ambience

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1 Midnight Ambience on Sat Jun 25, 2011 2:43 am

Bruxa Vipir

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Bruxa arrived to take over the closing shift. The evening tender closing out his tabs and informing her of which patrons required what as she shook that leather duster from her small frame. Donning the apron and tying it snug around that willowy waist.

Petite body swaddled in a black pencil skirt that hugged the curve of those slender hips. The form fitting tailored black silken shirt that lay open to give the hint of the red lace bustier beneath. Long ebon lockes hung loose and cascaded down her back. Leaving the crimson strip of tress to lay across one shoulder and shadow half of her face.

Those alabaster pixie like features giving her a porcelin doll appearance within the dim lighting of the tavern. Knee high stiletto boots gave height to the childlike stature and hid the pale flesh of her legs.

Bidding the keeper a good night before she turned to the sparse room. Knowing a few lonely souls in need of a good stout drink would trickle in eventually. Picking up a tray and bartowel, heading to the table in front of the old stoned hearth. Gathering up the stray steins and mugs onto the tray before bending halfway over the table, her back to the entrance as she began to clean its wooden surface. Knowing the bell that hung over the door would alert her to any who entered.

Dark eyes roamed over the random carvings from years of old drunks and party goers leaving their names or tidings. A faint smile tugged at those smooth velvet lips as she worked the crumbs out of one such amateur artwork. A lone talon like nail tracing the deep groove of some long forgotten blade in the shape of a heart with initials whittled within its circumfrence.

2 You and Me... on Tue Jun 28, 2011 4:56 pm

The Puppeteer

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“As tantalizing as ever, my Doll,” whispered a familiar voice from behind Bruxa as she slid her fingernail along the heart-shaped groove, like water flooding and following the course of a canal. The Puppeteer’s appearance, as it almost always was, was sudden and unexpected—he had not been inside when she arrived and the bell above the door had never chimed to announce entering. As if she was a candle and he the shadow cast by objects caught in its flickering glow, he had had appeared silently, easily overlooked.

His clothing was the same as always, the black suit, pristine in its condition, creased in all the right places, smooth in all the rest, without a speck of dust upon it like a starless night sky. The dress shirt he wore, half-hidden beneath his suit jacket, was the the color of a twilight sky, blue bleeding into purple as the sun sinks below the horizon like a man lowering into his grave. His tie, just as his suit, was still the blackest black, a dark chasm slicing down the front of his shirt and covering its buttons. On his head, perched like a raven, the silk gleaming like the bird’s ebony feathers, sat his top hat, just slightly askew. He wore a smirk on his lips, as if it was nothing more than another accessory that suited him as well as the tie and hat. If there was ever a person that fit the saying ‘the clothes make the man’, it was the demonic tailor that fixed his gaze on the young vampiress he’d claimed as his Doll.

“I will have a glass of your best brandy,” he requested, the worlds rolling off of his tongue and out between his lips like a lover’s sweet nothings, as he took a seat at the table adorned with the carving she was admiring.

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3 Re: Midnight Ambience on Fri Jul 01, 2011 12:23 pm

Bruxa Vipir

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Bruxa didn't move from her task as she heard that familiar voice ring out from behind her. "Always my dear Puppeteer" She continued cleaning the surface of the table as she spoke. Scraping the crumbs onto the tray as he took his seat and made his order. A quirky smile affixed itself on that bowlike mouth as her eyes met his. Standing upright, tray balanced perfectly on those slender fingers. "Just one glass of brandy?" She teased eloquently even as she turned to retrace her steps back to the bar.

Each carefully placed step on those stiletto heels left a gentle sway of her hips, sashaying from side to side. The tray discarded upon the counter before reaching for the crystal decanter that held the aged brandy, the overly priced stock. A clean tray retrieved to set the liquor and short stemmed goblet upon. A slow turn on the toes of those spike-heeled boots brought her gaze back to the top hatted man, approaching him with a slow sultry gait.

The snifter set before him and with the expertise of a well trained tender she poured the brandy from the ornate container into his drinking vessel. Ebon hues trained upon the tricky tailor as she filled his glass. "Your brandy mes chers marionnettiste..." She spoke in that rich cajun accent. Placing the decanter onto his table as she stood at his side.

"Such a silent entrance, I dare say you keep me on my toes..." Side glancing to the still silent bell that was to alert her to anyones entrance before bringing those coal black eyes back to the man. Wondering silently if his appearance was happenstance or if he somehow knew she was there. Not knowing that cloth rose on the lapel of her coat was like a beacon, signaling her whereabouts.

Sliding the now empty tray beneath her arm as she continued. "So...what brings you to the tavern this lovely evening? Looking for a new victim?" That childish laughter tittered through those plush lips, evidently amused with her own light questioning.

4 And the Bottle... on Mon Jul 04, 2011 1:19 pm

The Puppeteer

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“Yes, just one,” he repeated, a hint of annoyance in his tone when she teased, though he quickly broke a grin and added, “for now at least.” As his Doll left to fetch his drink like the good servant she was, he turned to watch the sway of her hips that swung with pendulous grace and listened to her heels clicking on the floor like the steady beat of a metronome counting the pace of her steps. When she turned to return, the view was no less pleasing, and he watched her with a small smirk.

“Je vous remercie, ma poupee Cherie,” he answered the Puppeteer, the French tongue trickled from his lips like raindrops dribbling across leaves. His eyes never left hers as she poured the brandy, knowing she would not dare to stop short and cheat her Master of a single drop. When she spoke again, after setting down the decanter, and commented on his silent arrival, a smirk flashed across his lips like a sliver of moonlight. “On your toes and on your knees,” he whispered. Despite the implications of his words, the Puppeteer leaned back in his chair, the legs scraping across the hard wood floor with an irritating noise, to expose his lap from where it had been hidden beneath the table. A pale hand pat the black cloth sheathing his thigh, inviting or perhaps silently ordering her to sit.

“Hm, not tonight, no,” he stated with a slight shake of his head, the top hat on his head maintaining its awkward perch regardless of the motion. “Just a drink.” The Puppeteer reached out, whether his Doll had settled on his lap or not, and plucked the goblet from the table and lifted it in a toast. “Cheers, to quiet nights and good company,” he murmured before tilting the goblet to his lips and sipping from its contents.

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5 Re: Midnight Ambience on Sat Jul 09, 2011 11:25 pm

Bruxa Vipir

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The smile curled upon her lips, giving her mouth that bowlike appearance as the Puppeteer spoke french. "On my knees?..." A dangerous glint sparked within those dark eyes as one corner of her mouth twitched up, leaving that smile askewed. "Someone is having naughty thoughts..."

Eyes alit to that lap as it appeared from beneath the table and was offered with a pat of his hand. A quick glance around the room,ensured that they were the only ones in the bar. "It seems you, my dear Puppeteer, thus far are my only patron and therefore can benefit from having your own personnel barwench at your command..." She spoke in that alluring childlike tone with the rich southern accent.

Turning halfway on the toes of those boots and with a bend of her knees let that rounded bottom settle into his lap. Watching as he sipped the aged brandy before she spoke. "What luck you have mon amour..." A playful flutter of those long dark lashes as she lifted one slender leg to cross eloquently over the other. "Just what you wished for, a quiet night with me it seems..." Bruxa lifted the decanter holding it up to her lone customer, ready to keep his glass filled to the rim.

6 Make Three Tonight on Mon Jul 11, 2011 2:07 am

The Puppeteer

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Behind the rim of his goblet, the Puppeteer smiled after hearing her words. “As it should be… as it should be,” he whispered, his words the soft and smooth rustling of silk sliding against silk. When he spoke, the Puppeteer’s breath fogged the glass so that the print of where his lips had touched it shown as if surrounded by frost. The Puppeteer sat quietly, back reclined against the back of his chair with Bruxa seated on his lap as lightly as a canary on its perch. If ever he had been pleased with peace and quiet, it was most certainly the time he sat with her, sipping at his brandy.

“Isn’t it a little odd for the local pub to be so empty?” he asked after a long silence. He held his cup out, waiting for her to provide both fresh brandy and answers. His free arm looped her waist, pulling her a little closer to him as they sat together. She was his fine porcelain doll, and he had to be careful that she did not fall and break. “It’s hard to run a business without any customers,” he commented a few seconds later before she could give her answer. The Puppeteer’s head lulled slightly to the side, so that she no longer obscured his view as his gaze drifted to the doorway that had remained shut since his arrival. He expected no one, but still, he wondered why none came. Surely others would come to see his prized Doll, to be jealous of the man that owned her.



Last edited by The Puppeteer on Thu Jul 14, 2011 12:27 pm; edited 1 time in total

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7 Re: Midnight Ambience on Wed Jul 13, 2011 10:41 am

Bruxa Vipir

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Bruxas' eyes roved around the interior of the tavern as the Puppeteer spoke. "The night has been quiet...I agree.." The arm encircling that wasp like waist, the tug that pulled her closer so her back now rested against his chest. "Perhaps the powers of a full moon have people spooked..."

Gaze returned back to the man that kept her pinned in his lap. "Perhaps others are busy with preparations for the supposed grand ball that is to take place at Caislin Hallows..." A tip of the decanter topped off the liquid gold in his goblet, keeping his glass filled.

"As for business, I still have you, my dear Puppeteer to attend to..." She leaned forward breifly to replace the bottled liqour onto the table in front of them. "And surely you do intend on paying for the services rendered..." Now both hands freed, shifting slightly as she turned in that lap to face the top-hatted man.

Slender fingers reached up towards his face, ready to cradle his chin between them, hoping to tilt his head back only slightly to expose his throat. "And of course, I do expect a generous tip ma belle traiter les succulents" She purred at him seductively. It seemed she thought of him more and more lately as her own personal blood doll. To be used as fodder for her peculiar cravings and sate the insatiable hunger.

8 But I Don't Think Another Drink's... on Thu Jul 14, 2011 1:08 pm

The Puppeteer

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“Spooked? In this town with a school of monsters so close?” he gave a chuckle, mirth and warm breath tumbling freely from his lips to rustle her hair like a gentle breeze. Her next suggestion for the empty tavern was far more interesting though and his laughter came to a halt. “A ball?” he asked, a thin eyebrow arching almost like the curve of a question mark. So long ago it seemed Kalika had asked him to ready the ballroom and prepare a costume for himself for a masquerade that never came—it was a slight sore spot with the Puppeteer to have performed so much work for so not just little gain but none. And here, there was another ball being planned and no one had contacted him? The Puppeteer huffed in annoyance, nostrils flaring, and gripped Bruxa more tightly to himself.

The quiet trickle of brandy into his goblet interrupted his thoughts and he smiled. “Yes, you do, my dear Doll.” His hold loosened on her waist but kept a light pressure on her midriff like a corset whose laces had been untied but not removed. The Puppeteer peered down into the dark eyes of his vampiric Doll and he smirked. “Yes, you will be paid,” he answered as he tipped his head back. The top hat tumbled from its perch but an inch from the floor, it exploded into black strands of silk which dissolved in the air like morning mist exposed to the sun.

Already, having finished a glass of brandy, the warmth of the drink burned in his gullet and his senses were just beginning to blur. The fear he normally felt, that her touch and the sight of her fangs kindled, was little more than a gentle nagging worry at the back of his mind, barely enough to pester him, as he allowed her to cup his chin and expose his throat. The Puppeteer’s arm constricted around her waist, holding her tightly, as he waited for the pinch of her fangs. It seemed she was not going to wait until he was finished his drink before she had her own. “Buvez, mes précieux petit vampire,” he encouraged her.

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9 Re: Midnight Ambience on Sat Jul 16, 2011 6:33 pm

Bruxa Vipir

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"Well...it was merely an opinionated answer..." Bruxa spoke up. "I mean..how is one to know why a place is so empty when that one is in here with you...hmmm?" A knowing nod of her head was given on the next subject of discussion. "Yes! a ball!! Isn't it grand?" She seemed excited about the event. As a child of the night she had often enjoyed the parties of Mardi Gras back in her native land. Such gay festivities often left people uninhibited and off their guard so that one could take advantage of such situations.

Blackest eyes watched as the silk hat fell from the Puppeteers head and toppled towards the floor, only to burst into a lovely bouqet of threads before evaporating into nothingness. Once again that child like awe was displayed within the pixie like features of her young face at her companions antics.

As he afforded her the luxury to cup his chin and urge him to tilt his head back, the fangs within her mouth began to enlongate. A slow lick around her mouth as it opened wider, the pointy incisors coming into view as he invited her to quench her thirst. "Comme vous voulez mon cher marionnettiste" She responded in that sweet southern accent.

As his arm tightened around her waist, her head dipped, lips touched lightly against the flesh of his throat. The tip of her tongue darted out to trace the strong pulse of the vein throbbing in his neck. The bite was swift, barely a prick as the long sharp teeth penetrated his skin as easy as a knife cutting through warm butter. Lips pressed firmly against his throat as she suckled the life force from him. Letting the rich red blood fill her mouth, savoring his taste before letting it slid smoothly down her own throat. The pigment of her skin began to take on a rosey hue as she drank freely. If any were to enter at this moment they might think the two were locked in a lovers embrace instead of the gothic princess of the night taking advantage of the reward that had been offered in loo for her services.

10 Gonna Make Me Lose My Mind! on Sat Jul 23, 2011 11:54 am

The Puppeteer

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“Yes, grand,” grumbled the Puppeteer in a sarcastic tone, annoyance seeping into his voice as he thought of the work he had performed, from decorating the ball room to creating his costume as she desired, for Kalika for a ball she never held. The Puppeteer’s aggravation melted away as his Doll angled his head back for her to feed. His pulse quickened, terror coursing through his veins as surely as the blood within them, and he suppressed it as he closed his eyes and tried to focus on her gentle touch, the softness of her skin, the faint coolness of her body.

The Puppeteer’s skin turned to gooseflesh while Bruxa’s tongue traced over his neck to seek his pulse. Given how loud he heard his heartbeat pounding in his ears, he assumed it would be easy for her to detect. When fangs met flesh, slipping through his skin as if it was nothing but flimsy tissue paper, the man winced regardless of the minute amount of pain. The gentle prick was all it took to set his body aquiver with the innate fear of her kind again. The Puppeteer swallowed and kept his eyes shut, waiting for her to feed. The soft suckle on his neck was actually pleasurable, despite the odd sensation of her drawing the blood from the tiny wounds she’d created. Reclined against the back of his chair, the Puppeteer held Bruxa close to him as she drank her fill. He was certain he could feel the faint chill of her body replaced by an almost equally faint warmth at first but as the hue of her skin deepened with a flush as she drained his lifeblood, he, if it wasn’t truly there, at least imagined the warmth increased. In a way, they were in a lovers’ embrace, master and servant’s bodies pressed together as she satisfied her vampiric needs.

Once the Puppeteer had quelled the fright, he gently began stroking her back as she suckled. He would not bid her to stop until he felt weakened by the feeding, which given the alcohol he’d already imbibed that was dulling his senses, could provide her with a ample feeding. Until then though, he simply enjoyed the intimacy of her closeness.

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11 Re: Midnight Ambience on Wed Jul 27, 2011 9:45 am

Bruxa Vipir

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She sensed the quickening of his pulse. The heart beat grew rapid, the sound of its pounding like music to her ears. Feeling his arms tighten around her lithe form, fingers brushing against her back as she fed from him. Indeed her body not only took on a rosey hue, color seeping into her once pale flesh but her touch grew warm as she drank freely from her blood doll.

Bruxa could feel the strength weakening within the Puppeteer. While she usually took her victims to the brink of death, leaving them to die after a frenzied feeding...This one was special. One that offered himself for her nourishment and so she found herself stopping short. Retracting the fangs and tenderly licking at the small wounds. The enzymes in her saliva speeding up the healing of the pin prick marks on his throat as she lifted her head from the crook of his neck.

The transformation of the feeding left her looking more youthful with the blush of her cheeks and the pinkness of exposed skin. The smile returned as the long sharp teeth returned to a more normal state. Though staying perched in his lap, she reached back to the table with one hand, retrieving the crystal decanter of brandy.

"Mon gentilhomme sucrée délicieuse..." She coo'd at him as she once more refilled his goblet with ease. "I dare say its time for me to replenish your energies" She continued in that rich southern drawl. "I know there is some nice warm irish stew in the galley of the kitchen to aid in such nourishment." A short girlish giggle dribbled through those blood stained lips. "After all, we must keep your strenth up...right?"

12 So, I Think About My Next Drink. on Fri Jul 29, 2011 10:53 am

The Puppeteer

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Drop by drop, the Puppeteer’s strength dribbled from the wound to nourish the petite vampiress, leaving him with less of his former vigor. By the time she finished, the grip around her waist had loosened; the fingers sliding up and down along her back, stilled. His heartbeat abated, both the loudness and frequency of its thump lessening to a slow, soft beat. Whether given willingly or not, being drained of blood was still a taxing experience that left him with a weariness that encouraged sloth and apathy.

The lids of the Puppeteer’s eyes lowered to half-mast like pale flags commemorating the loss of lifeblood he had just donated. The life in his eyes was subdued but it still lurked in the shadows of his brown irises as his gaze languidly slid to the goblet as she refilled it with brandy. With the slow grace of a practiced dancer, the Puppeteer unwound one arm from around the vampiress and retrieved the goblet from the table. He brought it to his lips and took a sip. “I don’t suppose the brandy had enough time to get into my blood to affect you, ma poupée chérie?” he asked, arching a thin eyebrow as he watched her.

When she suggested the stew, he gave a nod, a simple, silent command for her to act on her instinct to serve him. His other arm finally unfurled from around her waist, allowing her to slip off to fetch the food. If she did take her leave, he sat in his chair, shoulders slightly slumped with wariness, and nursed his brandy in silence.

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13 Re: Midnight Ambience on Fri Jul 29, 2011 2:03 pm

Bruxa Vipir

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A slow lick around her lips freed the stain of blood from her mouth. Watching the man whose lap she perched in as he retrieved the filled goblet. "No no, I dare say that fine liqour is still in that stomach of yours." Bruxa coo'd at the Puppeteer. "But ...please do drink up, perhaps later I shall crave a late night snack?" She smiled at him sweetly. "And then I can be drunk from you...hmm?" She giggled at her own light joke as he released his grip from around her waist.

The hue of his flesh growing pallid, his eyes seemed to lose their sparkle and grow listless. Standing slowly as he gave the nod of approval for nourishment. "Nice hearty irish stew, some warm bread and more brandy and you shall be good as new ... right?" Eyes danced over the now sluggish tailor. "After all we both know you've been in worse shape before..."

Another girlish giggle tumbled through those lips as she began to walk away slowly, heading towards the small kitchen behind the bar. It was easy to see she had more energy. Her steps seemed livelier, flesh grew pinker and her mood more energetic. Glancing back over her shoulder before disappearing through the galleyway. Noting how the Puppeteer looked dismal and sullen and if any other entered they might think him perhaps drunk.

"Poor old sot..." Bruxa mused to herself as she entered the small room and gathered a nice stone bowl, filling it with hot stew. Rich thick gravy smothering potatoes, carrots and large slices of lamb. Thick slabs of bread with a coating of honeybutter all adorned the tray that she soon carried out from the kitchen. Glancing around the tavern as the click of her heels announced her return.

14 And It's You And Me on Sat Jul 30, 2011 11:38 pm

The Puppeteer

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When she implied feeding from him again later that night, the Puppeteer’s seemingly limp and lazy body tensed in silent protest. Two feedings in one evening could be disastrous for the demon’s host body and given that he’d been loathed to part with it while trapped within the sarcophagus, he had little interest in giving it up just so she could sample its vintage twice in just the span of a few hours. Her giggles did little to soothe his concerns but when she slipped away and mentioned the food and more drink to replenish his vitality, he gave a wan smile and nod.

The Puppeteer listened to the clicks of her heels as she retreated to the kitchen, and he closed his eyelids. Beneath him, the chair creaked quietly like an old man’s joints when he settled his back more comfortably against its rest. As he sipped at his brandy, the alcohol burning its way down to his stomach like his blood had done to warm Bruxa’s flesh, he pondered the inevitability of aging. He had maintained his body for over two centuries, siphoning his power into the flesh to preserve it. Never before had he attempted such a feat and he was curious how long the body would last. For all he knew, it could turn to dust at any minute.

The rap of stilettos on the floorboards heralded her returned and the Puppeteer broke from his reverie and opened his eyes. He peered first into the near empty cup of his goblet before shifting his gaze to his returning servant. His eyes remained on her for only a second before dipping to the bounty she carried on the tray. “It smells good,” he murmured over the rim of his goblet. Given his weakened state, most likely any food would have smelled good to him, the aroma appetizing as his body craved nourishment to restore what she had taken.

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15 Re: Midnight Ambience on Wed Aug 03, 2011 6:02 pm

Bruxa Vipir

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Approaching the Puppeteer with the large tray, settling it onto the edge of his table. The large stone bowl set before him, bread to the side before the tray was discarded onto the table behind him. "I thought you might like this..." Bruxa seemed to purr at him even as she lifted the crystal decanter, ready to refill his goblet.

"Nice hearty stew to give you back strength." She doted on him...whether it was because she was growing fond of the man or just wished to keep him strong enough to be fed from or perhaps because he was the only customer she had so far this evening. If he lowered the drinking vessel she would pour the aged brandy into his glass.

Eyes moved from the task of serving to the sullen well dressed man. "Come come now, eat up!" Bruxa almost seemed to mother the man. "There's no need to look so glum..." Tilting her own head as she bent at the waist, leaning towards him as her gaze fell to his throat. "Things will get better soon as you fill that belly and have a bit more brandy"

Inspecting his neck and noting how the bite marks were all but gone. The healing salvia had done its job well. Pupiless orbs swept back to his face as that lower lip folded out slightly, a cute pout protruding from her mouth, speaking in a childlike voice. "Or perhaps you are too weak and would rather be spoon fed mon doux nectar" She teased at the condition she had put upon him with the feeding. While he sat there in his gloominess, she reveled with renewed strength and vigor.

The Puppeteer

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Seconds after Bruxa had clanked the tray laden with the dishes and food onto the table, the Puppeteer set his goblet down beside it. He sat in silence, listening to her speak as he examined the fare in front of him. A fresh wave of exhaustion, caused by her feeding, had washed over him, and it wasn’t until she mentioned spoon feeding him that he gave a soft grumble of an annoyed groaned and took the spoon into his hand. The Puppeteer scooped a bit of stew into the spoon and lifted it to his lips, the savory scent swelling into his nostrils to overpower the lingering smell of Bruxa’s perfume from when she’d perched upon his lap.

He ate in silence, his brooding thoughts returning to the forefront of his mind, and the hearty stew despite all its aroma and taste might have been dust in his mouth for how much he savored it before swallowing. As she stood by, waiting to attend to him, he felt her eyes on him like a mother hen or perhaps more like a vulture, and the Puppeteer’s shoulders shook with a light shudder at the thought. “Sit,” he breathed as he pulled the spoon from his mouth, dipping the metal utensil into the stew and letting it lay against the bowl’s rim. The Puppeteer reached out again, long fingers stretching towards a slice of buttered bread. There were things to mull over, and the last thing he wanted was the sensation of her gaze on him disrupting his train of thoughts.

In part, the feeding had soured his mood by inflicting a certain weakness on the demon, who already loathed the weakened state that had become the standard of his strength since his revival. Weakness was not something the Puppeteer would abide, and in a demonstration of his power, more of a reminder to himself than his precious Doll, he conjured up a host of threads which slithered around Bruxa’s pale legs, and soon had them sheathed in soft stockings. When the twin garments were done, he felt none the weaker for their creation—a small victory, he considered, but hardly enough to satisfy him.

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17 Re: Midnight Ambience on Fri Aug 19, 2011 7:52 am

Bruxa Vipir

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The goblet was filled with that fine brandy as the Puppeteer seemed to stare at his food. With a groan he finally began the nourishing task of eating. The one word demand was uttered... “Sit” ... Bruxa perched into the chair next to her only patron.

Leaning into the seat, lightly amused at the brooding disposition of her companion. That lop-sided grin had returned, brightening the delicate pixie like features of that pale visage...though there was a hint of color in her face since the feeding. She knew he was weak and could feel it with his somber attitude and see it in his sluggish movements.

Bruxa stood suddenly as she felt the creepy crawlies of the threads spiraling up her legs. The slender appendages encased in the silky stockings as eyes alit back to the Puppeteer with a curious look. "Such a nice gift for a simple bowl of stew..." She mused as she hiked that pencil skirt above her knees to inspect the new accessories to her outfit.

"You're such a kind man..." The smile turned whimsical, wondering idlely what the Puppeteer had up his sleeve what with the offering of his blood and now the treasured article of clothing. "Is this my tip for taking such good care of you this evening?" She teased, knowing in truth he had given more than she this night.

The Puppeteer

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Bronze
Her obedience was a delight to the Puppeteer far sweeter than any delicacy she could offer, especially in such a humble tavern. As his magic surrounded her legs, wrapping them in writhing threads, her sudden standing with the twin clicks of her heels irked him and a frown crossed his lips. The glimpse of leg mollified his annoyance though as she momentarily hiked up the hem of her pencil skirt to admire his latest creations. The purr of her voice as she commented only added to his pleasure, and he gave a nod. “Come, you want to care for me? Then yes, you may spoon feed me, poupée ambitieux qui se prend pour un serviteur bon,” he bid her with a sly smile.

With the irritating scrape of the chair legs across the wooden floor, the Puppeteer eased himself back from the table enough to allow his Doll to seat herself on his lap once more and he informed her of his intentions with a light pat of his hand on his thigh. His spoon waited in the basin of his bowl of stew, the handle extending beyond the bowl’s brim. He waited, watching her with brown eyes filled with a dominant light despite the weakness that had seeped into his posture like a might oak sagging from rot at its core.

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