09-04-2008, 10:51 PM
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It's been four years, your shadow lingers.
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Location: Turn around. Slowly.
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Re: Cemeteries of London - (Theo Heart)
OoC: I'll be using Vanessa Ricardi Tresco, link in the signature. Good luck, and I hope to enjoy this!
BiC: Vanessa loved graveyards. Punishment and damnation for the wicked, and eternal rest for the righteous. It was... poetic, to her. This graveyard was no exception. She practiced flicking raindrops out of her way without touching them-- it was no easier the hundredth time than the first, but it was something to keep her occupied. The rain pooled at her feet, causing her long black cloak to swish and slosh soothingly behind her. Her low-falling hood kept the water out of her face and at the same time kept her identity a secret. She knew not who roamed these paths, only that no good ever came of traveling alone at this hour. She kept a firm grip on the walking stick she had grabbed off of the ground earlier. It was very steady, oak, maybe? Tacheon would know, were he there.
To her left and right rose mausoleums, which could only mean that under her feet loomed the catacombs of the dead. She pulled her cloak a little tighter. Just because she liked the atmosphere didn't mean she wasn't afraid of it, and she had every reason to be. The dead tended not to sleep peacefully when Vanessa was around. The rain began to pour harder, and this time it wasn't with the warmth from earlier. It carried a dead chill on its breath. Ugh, she shivered, I should really be more careful with my choice of words. Her cloak no longer made any reassuring onomatopoeia, but instead seemed to be dragged backwards by the pooling water in her bootprints.
Vanessa was panicking. She knew it, but could do nothing about it. However, she found something that she could devote all her concentration to; above the roar of the rain she could discern, through her combat training, a rather faint rustling. She whipped around as quickly as she could, slowed as she was by the length and weight of her thoroughly soaked cloak, but saw nothing when she was completely turned around. The effect was rather unnerving, until she looked down. It was a weasel-- or some kind of ferret-- down by her feet. She stared at it, and it looked cold and miserable. She prodded it a little with her foot, and it looked rather reproachful, then scampered away.
"How interesting," Vanessa said, starting very quietly and crescendoing into the rest of the sentence, "that my presence here today is graced by neither man nor beast. Pray tell though, strange creature, what are you then?" She wouldn't move until she got her answer, no matter how long it took to get it.
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