Post by Stygia on Dec 16, 2010 19:45:10 GMT -5
Stygia was filtering through the envelopes and sealed letters she had gathered for the evening from the Elysium and from various other drop points around the city of Istas where mail was left for the Seti and Setess. She was dressed in a white- ruffled silk bodice shirt, and wore a burgundy floor length skirt. The tip of her demonic tail flicked idly underneath its hem near the floor.
It was a nightly ritual. Seti Azrael seemed to enjoy having the correspondence soon after he awoke each evening.
She smirked to herself as she stood in the kitchen of Nocturne. She equated his enjoyment of receiving correspondence early each night with her own need for coffee every morning.
On queue, Azrael walked into the kitchen from a side door. Her smirk persisted. One could set their clock by his routine. He was dressed in one of his many simple black suits, of her design, and she smiled fondly watching him enter.
“Mail,” she said in her usual melodic abyssal, and offered the small bundle of unopened parchments to him.
He nodded, taking the stack, and stood in front of her. He carefully shuffled through each document, and she waited for further instructions, smiling still, and watched the routine unfold as it had every night now in the years she had served him.
“You seem to be in a good mood this evening,” Azrael spoke without looking up, still shuffling through the documents with the pupiless mirrors of his eyes. He spoke to her in Abyssal, which is why he remained one of the few she ever spoke to.
She grinned, looking down at him. The Seti was only five feet and perhaps nine inches, with a small elven frame. The demoness seemed to tower above him, a full head and shoulders taller.
Small talk was not one of his more adept skills, but he did genuinely try. It was all part of his routine, she knew, as his mind clung to the slipping vestiges of humanity and normalcy still left in the depths of the cold darkness that filled it. Though he was careful to try and censor it from all of his retainers, Stygia could feel the nothingness in his mind through the bond of blood she shared with him, at times. Sometimes those glimpses left her cold, or moody. Other times the nothingness there frightened her, even after all these years. She watched him thoughtfully a moment longer, then spoke again.
“Are you really going to complain? I mean I could find something to bitch about I’m sure, if you really want me to.” She smirked.
She felt the pause in his mind, the calculation, and then he answered in his usual dry and serious tone, “No, I suppose not.”
He looked up at her and added, “I believe this is yours.”
He offered her a small letter, which he had just opened to read. She tilted her head, confused, and took the letter reading it.
“I am off to Elysium…” he began, as he walked passed her toward the entry hall of Nocturne.
“….and then will be in meetings scheduled for this evening.” Stygia finished the thought for him in a detached tone, and nodded as she continued to read the message.
Azrael paused at the entry hall, taking his cloak and cap in hand from the armoire.
“Wait, so um…” Stygia turned toward him as she looked up from the letter.
“You reply to Minister Vorn’s letter Stygia,” Azrael answered her impending question, as the Seti slipped his cap onto his head and readjusted his long ebony hair beneath it, with his pointed elven ears parting his hair on the sides.
“But I, I mean,…I don’t answer letters, I wouldn’t know where to begin.” She said.
Azrael looked to her with his cloak still folded over his forearm.
“I have every confidence in your ability to provide a proper response” he said, and turned for the door. As he left the kitchen he added, “you may make use of my office here, and of Lucif if you do not wish to be out in the storm this eve.”
And then he was gone.
Stygia sighed, and sat at the dining table, reading over the request again. After several minutes she stood and walked through the archway to the engraved doors of the Seti’s home office. She smiled thoughtfully as she studied the double- doors. She realized she was as uncomfortable with change in her routines as Azrael would likely be. The blood that she received from him changed each of his retainers, imparting quirks the dead elf possessed on them all residually. She grumbled, but smiled even so, and entered the office to write her reply.
An hour later she stood on the roof Nocturne Manor, with huge snowflakes falling around her. Stygia glanced out from the cliffside on which Nocturne now sat and overlooked the city of Istas below. The quiet of the winter night was broken only by the soft flapping of wings as Lucif landed nearby on the portcullis edge, having been sent by Azrael minutes before. The demoness’s eyes met the unusually blue eyes of the crow as both retainers considered one another thoughtfully in the silence of the feathery flakes of falling snow.
She turned her head slightly, eyeing Lucif. The crow mirrored the movement slowly, eyeing her in return. She grinned a little, despite the cold, and offered the small scroll case to him. Lucif took the tiny silver hook in his beak.
In Abyssal she began to speak, “This is to be delivered to Minister Vo-” but Lucif took flight, descending down the cliffside toward Rizzen’s haven in the distance of the valley below. He knew, and like their regeant, Azrael, he was already on his way. She watched him glide away, and smirked, looking now to the single light shining from the upper floors of the Elysium building that was the Seti’s office in the city below.
She remembered an argument she had with Azrael long ago. Or rather, a conversation in which she was furious, as it was difficult to truly argue with a man who listened as emotionlessly and patiently to someone yelling at him as he did to a person who was not.
She had told him that she did not wish to be a mere servant of this household, all the while her demonic sensibilities seethed angrily. She remembered the confusion that radiated from his silver eyes as Azrael considered her before he spoke, and then a memory of his words in her mind:
“Each of you that share my blood is not a servant, but extensions of the Entity. The Blood is the Entity. I am only a part of that whole. There is no longer a “we” or an “us”, now that the blood flows in your veins as well. There is only It. And the blood remembers, always…”
She understood that now, though she had not at the time. She understood that a part of the Entity was taking flight across Istas, and another part of the Entity sat in an office in Elysium, while yet a third portion was standing on the roof of Nocturne overlooking the city and considering this all. Each of them radiated like spokes on a wheel, from a hub that was The Seti. There was no one piece less important to him than another, for in his cold mind, the whole could not function without each.
His logic remained colder than the storms that would continue to descend on the city throughout the winter. But it had become the most desolate kind of comfort for her. The sort so far removed from the ‘way of things’ that it would eternally remain untarnishable, and untouchable. He would never falter so she never needed to worry, and in so doing, Azrael remained a very still place for each of them in a very chaotic world.
The hotheaded demoness knew she would still find plenty of things to complain about to him, and more importantly: at him. But thought too that perhaps that was exactly as he intended it to be. This brought a genuine smile to her painted dark lips. She turned back to stairwell balcony and walked into the warmth of Nocturne once more.
It was a nightly ritual. Seti Azrael seemed to enjoy having the correspondence soon after he awoke each evening.
She smirked to herself as she stood in the kitchen of Nocturne. She equated his enjoyment of receiving correspondence early each night with her own need for coffee every morning.
On queue, Azrael walked into the kitchen from a side door. Her smirk persisted. One could set their clock by his routine. He was dressed in one of his many simple black suits, of her design, and she smiled fondly watching him enter.
“Mail,” she said in her usual melodic abyssal, and offered the small bundle of unopened parchments to him.
He nodded, taking the stack, and stood in front of her. He carefully shuffled through each document, and she waited for further instructions, smiling still, and watched the routine unfold as it had every night now in the years she had served him.
“You seem to be in a good mood this evening,” Azrael spoke without looking up, still shuffling through the documents with the pupiless mirrors of his eyes. He spoke to her in Abyssal, which is why he remained one of the few she ever spoke to.
She grinned, looking down at him. The Seti was only five feet and perhaps nine inches, with a small elven frame. The demoness seemed to tower above him, a full head and shoulders taller.
Small talk was not one of his more adept skills, but he did genuinely try. It was all part of his routine, she knew, as his mind clung to the slipping vestiges of humanity and normalcy still left in the depths of the cold darkness that filled it. Though he was careful to try and censor it from all of his retainers, Stygia could feel the nothingness in his mind through the bond of blood she shared with him, at times. Sometimes those glimpses left her cold, or moody. Other times the nothingness there frightened her, even after all these years. She watched him thoughtfully a moment longer, then spoke again.
“Are you really going to complain? I mean I could find something to bitch about I’m sure, if you really want me to.” She smirked.
She felt the pause in his mind, the calculation, and then he answered in his usual dry and serious tone, “No, I suppose not.”
He looked up at her and added, “I believe this is yours.”
He offered her a small letter, which he had just opened to read. She tilted her head, confused, and took the letter reading it.
“I am off to Elysium…” he began, as he walked passed her toward the entry hall of Nocturne.
“….and then will be in meetings scheduled for this evening.” Stygia finished the thought for him in a detached tone, and nodded as she continued to read the message.
Azrael paused at the entry hall, taking his cloak and cap in hand from the armoire.
“Wait, so um…” Stygia turned toward him as she looked up from the letter.
“You reply to Minister Vorn’s letter Stygia,” Azrael answered her impending question, as the Seti slipped his cap onto his head and readjusted his long ebony hair beneath it, with his pointed elven ears parting his hair on the sides.
“But I, I mean,…I don’t answer letters, I wouldn’t know where to begin.” She said.
Azrael looked to her with his cloak still folded over his forearm.
“I have every confidence in your ability to provide a proper response” he said, and turned for the door. As he left the kitchen he added, “you may make use of my office here, and of Lucif if you do not wish to be out in the storm this eve.”
And then he was gone.
Stygia sighed, and sat at the dining table, reading over the request again. After several minutes she stood and walked through the archway to the engraved doors of the Seti’s home office. She smiled thoughtfully as she studied the double- doors. She realized she was as uncomfortable with change in her routines as Azrael would likely be. The blood that she received from him changed each of his retainers, imparting quirks the dead elf possessed on them all residually. She grumbled, but smiled even so, and entered the office to write her reply.
An hour later she stood on the roof Nocturne Manor, with huge snowflakes falling around her. Stygia glanced out from the cliffside on which Nocturne now sat and overlooked the city of Istas below. The quiet of the winter night was broken only by the soft flapping of wings as Lucif landed nearby on the portcullis edge, having been sent by Azrael minutes before. The demoness’s eyes met the unusually blue eyes of the crow as both retainers considered one another thoughtfully in the silence of the feathery flakes of falling snow.
She turned her head slightly, eyeing Lucif. The crow mirrored the movement slowly, eyeing her in return. She grinned a little, despite the cold, and offered the small scroll case to him. Lucif took the tiny silver hook in his beak.
In Abyssal she began to speak, “This is to be delivered to Minister Vo-” but Lucif took flight, descending down the cliffside toward Rizzen’s haven in the distance of the valley below. He knew, and like their regeant, Azrael, he was already on his way. She watched him glide away, and smirked, looking now to the single light shining from the upper floors of the Elysium building that was the Seti’s office in the city below.
She remembered an argument she had with Azrael long ago. Or rather, a conversation in which she was furious, as it was difficult to truly argue with a man who listened as emotionlessly and patiently to someone yelling at him as he did to a person who was not.
She had told him that she did not wish to be a mere servant of this household, all the while her demonic sensibilities seethed angrily. She remembered the confusion that radiated from his silver eyes as Azrael considered her before he spoke, and then a memory of his words in her mind:
“Each of you that share my blood is not a servant, but extensions of the Entity. The Blood is the Entity. I am only a part of that whole. There is no longer a “we” or an “us”, now that the blood flows in your veins as well. There is only It. And the blood remembers, always…”
She understood that now, though she had not at the time. She understood that a part of the Entity was taking flight across Istas, and another part of the Entity sat in an office in Elysium, while yet a third portion was standing on the roof of Nocturne overlooking the city and considering this all. Each of them radiated like spokes on a wheel, from a hub that was The Seti. There was no one piece less important to him than another, for in his cold mind, the whole could not function without each.
His logic remained colder than the storms that would continue to descend on the city throughout the winter. But it had become the most desolate kind of comfort for her. The sort so far removed from the ‘way of things’ that it would eternally remain untarnishable, and untouchable. He would never falter so she never needed to worry, and in so doing, Azrael remained a very still place for each of them in a very chaotic world.
The hotheaded demoness knew she would still find plenty of things to complain about to him, and more importantly: at him. But thought too that perhaps that was exactly as he intended it to be. This brought a genuine smile to her painted dark lips. She turned back to stairwell balcony and walked into the warmth of Nocturne once more.
