Every night, a different city, and a slightly different appearance. Sometimes mere cosmetics and clothing do the job - other times, she augments it with a touch of magic. Karoly though remains on the move, careful not to linger too long - do nothing to draw attention to oneself. Say nothing to mark oneself as extraordinary. Become one with the city, and its people, the mindless herd of sheep driven with blank eyes through streets and buildings, ever onwards for the almighty dollar, or pound, or bismark, or franc.
She's arrived in London, but less than six hours ago. Travelling light, of course, making herself look nothing like her usual chic, glamorous self - shabby denim coveralls and a Benetton sweater, a loose jacket over that, and travelling shoes, the guise of the not quite impoverished student. Heathrow held no fears for her, a nod of ebony curls and a winsome smile and wink to the fellows and she was through customs almost before she knew it. It wasn't a hard act to keep up...
But now she's out, and Karoly stalks down the largely emptied sidewalk between a pair of relatively new buildings, her anger and frustration seething to the fore. "Stupid, stupid, stupid! I should have... but no matter. I did not see it coming, the signs and portents said nothing of this. And now, I must change to a different identity, one of the careful small pool prepared, and pray it is enough, and that he had no allies who will be able to find me." She presses her fingertips to her temples lightly. "A place to stay, first. A place to stay, and then..."
Pick me. Pick me...
You can't stay -here-...
Sorry, you don't make enough money...
We don't harbour murderers here...
I got nothing but room here...
Each building has its own story, and its own voice. Some have the ability to hear the voices of buildings and just like anything on the planet, some are chatty, some are aloof, some are welcoming, and some are inhospitable wretches. Around you they crowd, pressing in with their staunch brick, their solid forms, reeking of All Things British. Stiff upper lips. Rule, Britannia...
And shadows move along the brick, against the sidewalk. In all places where light does not spread, or is swallowed. Rain is pendulant. Ever About To Fall this time of year, and it is gathered in puddles, reflecting your image as you pass by...
It must be late enough that the streets are largely empty. Is that at all comforting? But at least there's no shortage of hotels. A few that should suit you quite well. You can surely ...feel them out...
Karoly pauses for a moment, glancing up and down the street, ignoring the snowflakes drifting down from the sky. Tugging gloves from her jacket, she discreetly draws a circle in the air. Energy tingles through the pattern, then expels outwards as she slashes through it with the leather glove.
Seek, o broken pattern, that I may find ...
The energy fragments dart outwards through the cold night air, in all directions. Some of the threads she's spun dissipate into nothingness - those, she ignores. Of the ones that return to her, she chooses one which glows the brightest, to eyes that See through the illusion of the real, and that, she follows...
London is a great city, one of the greatest certainly in size and population. And so large that the average mortal mind considers it only in fragments, failing to recognize the ...organic structure beneath. The patterns that interlock into neighborhoods and streets. Patterns that can be grasped, manipulated. But just like the old legends, there is a head buried beneath Tower hill. There is a dragon whose backbone is the Thames. Wherever you or anyone else goes, there are eyes that see...
Some threads are strummed and others fall away like ropes of silk snapped from a spider's web. Those others direct you toward the pockets of sanctuary here and there throughout the city. And even where a few children of chaos play.
Of course, you knew they were out and about when it started to snow. Chaos knows no better tool than the weather...
If Drancy is summer's fire and rain, then Karoly is Our Lady of Cold Misery and Fury. She draws winter's cloak around herself with practiced arrogance, feet finding the path by sheer instinct more than even practice. Chaos knows no steady paths, only broken ones. Up and alley here, down an alley there - it is perhaps not the straightest path, but it is a sure one, and as safe as ever Chaos provides.
"I am here," she whispers, breath fogging in the chill. The whisper is carried by wind and snow, brittle words to carry to those she approaches, if they too are children of Chaos. "I am here," she whispers again, and she pauses at a doorway, and knocks three times, then continues on her way.
"Karoly, daughter of Birgha, witch of the cold North, is here. Open your doors for me, and bid me welcome to your city..."
The streets change periodically at night. You know, when no one's looking or paying attention. They just shift, usually concealed by fog. Innocents lose their way. Criminals escape. Stray dogs find foodbowls -- Chaos no more equals evil then Order equals good -- and alleys become streets, streets alleys...
You are not like the other 'tourists' -- you notice when this happens...
The 'street' is a tiny, even by English standards, walkpath between crowded old buildings, and suddenly you are in the city behind the city. Forgotten street now beneath your feet and thriving on the attention. There is one streetlight among the fog, illuminating a red door.
The red door slowly opens...
There is no time and no room for hesitation. When one stands at the crossroads, one must inevitably make a decision. Karoly faced such a crossroads once, more years before than most in this city would believe, and she came through, though not unbloodied.
It remains her intention to ensure that that blood remains not hers.
Pulling her gloves onto her hands, she steps out of the cold and snow and in through the opening door, with the same regal indifference that the street has seen. "Good evening," she calls pleasantly. "I thank you for your invitation."
There's no one there to welcome you. Just the door that closes on its own. The interior of the house is crammed. The usual bric-a-brac one would expect to see in a lower rent district of London is of course present, but there is other... dissemblance here. Subtle. As if the entire structure were dissembling, fracturing and yet it remains more or less stable. A lack of Order...
Consider it a safe house...
Who's going to look for you here? You are probably off the radar. For the time being...
She looks around carefully. Doors which close behind one of their own accord may indicate safehouses, but they may just as readily indicate prisons... And she is in no mood to be a captive, not having escaped at such high odds already.
Karoly does place her scant baggage down, and begins examining the room painstakingly. Another small gesture - a circle, slashed through - and she sends more threads scattering through the house. "Seek what active thoughts you may find, and bear witness to me of how many possess such." How many intelligent beings other than herself? She will know the answer, or her spells will be shattered when they reach their targets - and that too, is an answer.
As she waits, she finds a suitable place to sit, and begins seeking to warm herself. Though there are spells which will render her impervious to cold, they take energy - and she did not wish to be a beacon on the London streets. Not yet, if ever.
The threads illuminate one of the white washed walls, something like stucco only not, and the heretofore random peelings and cracks in the wall become a crackling smile. "Put a kettle on, Karoly, prop your feet. Tell me, how have you been. What have you been up to..."
And he laughs, or rather It laughs, as it seems to be fairly neutral in regards to sex for the moment. Plaster falls from the wall. "What are you doing here, Witch of the North? Though, it is true... this is ...northish... it's not your... usual sort of haunt. Bit flashy, don't you think? Not like Lappland. Now, there was a place one could settle in and put down a few roots... steeped in Nordic apocalyptic malaise, Lappland... ah... I'm getting all girly with the reminiscence..."
It gives itself another form, no less stony than before, nor any less crackled and weathered. A harsh face, strictly angular without softness of mortal native land, and ashen as death. "Murder most becomes you, Karoly," the voice is the hush of a grave, the sound of fog scraping against stone. Where surface of his ...skin...appears to be chipping, like old stucco, there is the sight of blood. "I'm sure he appreciates the homage, though he could do without the PR."
"It is not wise to pay the dead no homage. The souls I've sent to Hell, I've paid coin to ensure their spirits keep their distance from me, all nights of the year but one." Samhain, when the souls of the dead roam freely, and Karoly sits behind enough protective spells to hide her from even a god's wrathful eyes, at least - so far.
She lets her gaze shift around, from angle to angle, detail to detail, listening to the voice, the words. "Word has not yet travelled here, then, as to my recent exploits?" Her voice is dry. "Funny, that. Gossip usually runs faster than Hell's hounds..."
"Oh, I've heard. I was just being polite. Hard to get one over on Decay. I get my hands on everything. Eventually. You're holding up marvelously, I must say. You don't look a day over two hundred. Course," the laughter is raspy, "I'd been waiting to get my hands on Your Latest for ...quite some time. Ah well, they can run, but they cannot hide..."
Ash and dust, particles and pieces of him flake off as he moves to sit at a table that has seen better days. As has everything herein. Even yourself, you might say. "Murder is on your heels. And Vengeance. You know best how to run, to keep moving. My old adversary," that's you, and he marks you with stony but non-plussed eyes, and he chuckles, "... but even you. You can run... " And he shakes his head and smiles a pointed smile. But you cannot hide either.
Your magic does center around ... keeping him at bay...does it not?
Decay looks at you. Lascivious. Wanting. Mouth twisting. "Tonight, you have both hospitality and anonymity. Tomorrow... at least one of those will be destroyed..."
Karoly manages to hide her consternation behind an indifferent smile. "A single night's hospitality is all that anyone ever has on guarantee. As it happens, I had no intention of killing him, but he ... forced my hand."
Forced her hand, by noticing, by confronting her on it, demanding answers to questions which are meaningless to a witch as opposed to a vampire - even now, it makes her scowl, a slight hiss of frustration escaping her. But she smooths it away, quickly.
"To what extent may I trust your hospitality? Does it run so far as to a discussion of the local - climate?"
"Trust." He clicks his tongue and tsks. Tsks then laughs. "Does the ceiling not stand? Are the walls not holding? What more do you need? Besides, trust is for fools who wish to be led. You are neither. If, however, you would like to ~barter~ for the hospitality, then..." his voice trails off a moment and his stony eyes lock on your form, "I'm sure we can come up with ...something. We're nothing if not imaginative..."
And it's impossible to know whether he is serious or not, or even what Decay's seriousness would be. "How about you pour a cup of tea for us both and we will... chat about your current ...sticky situation..."
A nod, and she stretches her hand forward, leaning as well to look for the tea things. She can pour. She's studied hard at being a lady, as well as being a tramp, among - other things.
"I am prepared to barter, if need be." Karoly rummages through her brain. Used as she is to holding all the cards, this is disconcerting - but she isn't without cards, even now. "Imagination can be a friend or an enemy, though, remember."
And she smiles, cold as ice, settling one cup forward, then pouring for herself. "One lump, or two?"
"I take it plain, but thank you." How British is this. A witch avoiding decay and Decay himself sitting to tea and fucking crumpets. "As you can imagine, I'm busy everywhere... but London...London is one of my favorite places. It crumbles with true distinction. Maybe I'll sink it eventually...but enough about me... let's talk about your problems." As I don't really have problems. Lucky me.
"You're on the lam... fleeing from the long arm of undead law." He cackles. "Tight bunch, too. It's like ...pissing off a member of a large Italian family. You flip off one cousin, and soon you have thirty people on your landing just waiting to pound you." What an analogy.
"But... I'm sure you have nothing to worry about," comes the hush of the world's grave...
"No, nothing to worry about at all," Karoly quips, with the same dryness. She recognizes these tactics. "It is unfortunate that it came down to this."
She leans back, crossing her legs demurely, as if wearing a two thousand dollar Donna Karan suit instead of the coveralls and sweater she's got on, and takes a small sip of the tea. "However, your summary is succint, as ever. I take it then, that you have ... if not suggestions, then something to barter for? Or ... did you lure me here solely to gloat?"
"Lure you..." He smiles strangely and then shakes his head and a hand. "You flatter me. You sent your little threads out. I merely... answered the call." A lift of the cup for a sip and sipping it, he becomes something... almost human. But he ages rapidly, turning to his strange-stony form a minute after the tea is sipped. And so it goes, each time he swallows. From Beauty to Age to something petrified.
"It is unfortunate. You are quite right, Karoly. You have made an interesting choice of locations, I'll give you that." He grins, he sips. Going from savage to beautiful to savage again. "So... what would you like to know..."
We'll get to the price after...
A pause, considering her options. She's much more careful than Drancy - much shrewder, more calculating, aware of potential price and consequence.
"There are many things I would desire to know, of course," Karoly says finally, after another sip of tea. "The fox always desires to know how close the hunt is behind. And, of course, I have not been in London in some few years, so - what webs and spiders are there here, who rules here?" Two questions. Another pause.
"And those who serve our cause... our causes. Who must I seek out, and pay due deference to, this month, polite words mouthed with my mask in place?" The courts of Chaos are ever shifting. Who rules today may die tomorrow, or be replaced, only to replace in turn... "With or without dagger, of course."
"As it has ever been, there are many who have the running of London. It is what gives it its nice, chaotic edge. A great kitchen full of a great many cooks. Impossible banquets." That is the fortune cookie reply. He sips at the tea again, his flesh going olive-ish, lingering. His visage is heart-rending, his features still too exact. He is a being who has never been born. He has not that softness of the vulnerable.
But then, Death's younger brother is vulnerable to nothing, and dependent only upon Time. Time, the mistress that must be appeased...
"If you... were hoping to shun further exercise," by running and jumping, "...you've come to the wrong place." He isn't more specific, not yet. "Your Master will be seeking you. I am sure he will show himself eventually. Whom else ...should you serve, Witch of the North." He leans in, smile sliding slowly. "To whom do you owe anything? Even me..." He winks, he laughs. He leers. "And you shun me. If you would only give me one night..." Almost wistful, if he were intent upon destroying everything he touched. "But then, I think laying with me might be bad for your complexion. Though... it would be damned wonderful for mine..."
"Laying with you would also set many of my Master's plans to ruin," she interjects, as coolly as ever, while managing to insinuate an arch little lift to her eyebrows. "Entirely aside from my own feminine vanity, which must be appeased."
She flirts with that line of danger, not quite complimenting, not quite insulting, running a fingertip along the rim of the teacup. "And you have not said, yet, what price for your willing assistance in these matters, beyond the night's single hospitality. But you know I will not throw away what I have earned, no more than I must..." Carved from marble, her flesh, the darkness of her hair the contrast. Hers is the cold that burns, the promise encased in ice, for the man who dares.
"I know you well enough, lord of dust, without having lain with you - I know what it would mean, should my thighs part under yours, what price it would cost me. There is no safety in it, and any hint of it would be a lie." She lifts a hand to lay it along her cheek, and murmurs, "You will have to continue to console yourself, I am afraid, with unwilling flesh, and not my own - though perhaps I could provide you with some of that..."
"I knew you would think of something worthy, Karoly. And so, for my hospitality... for my answers... yes, there must be a price of flesh. Preferably young. To decay the young is... " He smiles. "If I can be said to experience ...pleasure... that would be among the highest. It would...certainly distract me from the debt you owe me..." You own youth...
He settles back in the chair, taking his tepid tea with him. Sipping it only gives him flickering moments of beauty and youth. "Male, female, it does not matter you understand. How is your master this millennium? We never talk anymore..."
"I am quite certain I can ... arrange such." Children are so easily lured, in a city this size, even in this day and age. The young believe themselves immortal, and take risks the older and wiser warn them against. Karoly sets the teacup down with a delicacy of motion.
Smoothing her hair back, she continues, "A life, then, in exchange for your information, and your ... continued blindness, at least for a time, provided the life is young enough and - suitable to your tastes. As to my Master, I do not know. He has not contacted me for some time now - his attention is Elsewhere."
If it disturbs her, not to be enough her Master's favourite to have His lingering gaze, it does not show in her expression or the even tone of her voice. "I will, of course, tell Him that you were inquiring after His well-being."
"Very well. And.... yes.... please... do." Oh, to be sure there's likely no love lost there. But then, what's love got to do with it. "Let's start at the beginning then. London is ruled by a confederation of dunces. The greatest population being, of course, mortal. I trust you can gather what you need there from television and watching Parliament. It is a... balanced city, meaning..." his fingers steeple at his flaking mouth, the flakes forming an almost beautiful curve really. For one constantly in a state of falling apart, he's not unattractive. "...it is neither in the Light nor in Darkness. It is neither ruled by Order nor by Chaos. It is the... former mortals who hold the most sway. They are... everywhere."
He looks at you, leers at you and smiles. "They'll introduce themselves to you, I'm sure. You would be smart to ... keep a low profile. And your eyes open. Of...our kind..." he's not sure that's the best way to phrase it, "...there are elements of chaos and decay.... and order and restoration here, to be sure. London... is a hub. It is a center. It is the place where all things and all kinds gather. You will find... allies. You will discover enemies. It will not take long for either to happen."
"I will need to conceal myself well," she murmurs, low in her throat. Then : "I will need to learn more, of these - former mortals. I fought free of this last one by instinct and luck, more than anything else." He was old, and powerful, and I unwitting.
Another brush back of her dark curls, and Karoly smiles. She is beautiful, in that flawless, Dresden shepherdess way, only a faint crookedness of her front two teeth at all marring the smile. "I will, I assure you, keep my eyes open, and my hands - busy."
That makes the eyes leap. "Feel free to stop by whenever your fingers are idle. I'm sure I can find some...industry for you." Decay's smile is an insinuation more than an expression. "And yes... you will need to cover yourself well. The city also attracts a fair number of magicians... of a variety of paths. As for the ...former mortals... I will give you a free lesson. Give them a wide berth. They are... well, they are constant adversaries. And I have had little in the way of luck with them..."
He watches your curls. Your hand moving them back. Your neck. He smiles. "You should go busy your hands right now in finding me a young thing to keep me company..." He is insatiable, Decay. Not even the wind and seas can sate him. "Is there anything else you would like to know?"
"Many, many things," Karoly breathes. Enticer. Seductress. Witch. She is all of those and more, and in her way, insatiable in her own lusts - lust for power, lust for knowledge. Lust for what her Master desires, that she might profit thereby. It is about as safe as frostbite in the Arctic Circle, but for some, the temptation of the frozen North will always remain.
A little pout, mocking and congratulatory at once. "Right this moment? You know that the little ones are all abed at this hour. But if you wish it..." She makes no move to rise, not yet, no. "Actually, there is another thing, since you mention. These magicians. Who must I beware, and who must I ... tempt across the lines?" In this, if nothing else, Decay and her unseen Master are on the same side. From Order to Chaos. From White to Black. It is the same, and not the same, but to gain one of the numbers of Order's servants... what feather, and what coup.
Stony fingers give an ashen wave, a trickle of moment followed by the roll of shoulders. "Anyone would do. What..." he rasps a laugh, "...do you want me to call them out by name? Now, where would be the fun in that. Hmmm... another cup of tea, if you please...it will allow me to ruminate..."
And so he does...
"Tempt who you may. Beware all. This answer is always the same. Without great risk, there cannot be great reward. The greater the risk, the greater the glory. But, why am I telling you this. You know this. It is in your contract..."
Speaking of contracts...
"There are some in this city who will be able to match your temptation, tempt for tempt. There is a house of untold pleasures here. If you wish to tempt, you may find allies there..."
She leans forward again, each movement practiced, each gesture graceful and alluring. She knows herself, and fits into her skin. The cup is refilled with a delicate hand, and Karoly presses her tongue to her upper lip, as she thinks.
"Names are useful only when they are True, or when they do not change. I understand the game, and its risks, by now." And she would be unlikely to admit to a weakness or error of that magnitude, even if she did not. "Mmm... the shadows ever hold watchers, eyes by the thousand. Surely there is some place worth beginning."
A house of pleasure? That piques her interest. Karoly sets the teapot back down, folding her hands together in her lap. "Allies ever are of use. Tell me what you will, then... the more you tell me, the greater shall I repay you."
"The house is a club, bright and shining, held like a secret past a plain door. Do not judge it on its surface. Think of it not as a 'place' but as an energy. It is called Phantasmagoria. It is the ... focal point for power. It is a dark and delicious swirl." Yes, decay includes moral, emotional and mental decay as well. You can see how it delights. "I do not frequent it myself, so you will not have to worry about running into me there... I know how well that would please you," not, "...I think you will... find it to your liking. Right up your alley."
He takes up the tea again, sipping at it. Becoming manlike again. If he weren't who he were, well...
"First, you must concentrate on making allies... discreetly. You come in ... with enemies already behind you. Count on being followed. Count on being watched. And if they find you, do not count on mercy."
"I have never counted on mercy." That is true. A child of a much darker age, Karoly is, one where more than once she escaped being burned as the witch she is only barely, by the proverbial skin of her teeth.
She runs her fingertips around the teacup's rim again, as if attempting to provoke a chime from it. "Very well. In the morning, I shall procure for you my payment. And.... I will begin my work. For now, I shall take the rest which this refuge you have provided will afford me. I thank you for your hospitality," which shall be paid for in full, and perhaps a bit more, "and look forward to remaining on such ... pleasant terms with you in future." From a distance, preferably.
"Is there anything you would desire I keep my eyes open for, so long as I am going to be out and about?" For surely if Decay points her to Phantasmagoria, there must be other reasons than the obvious...
"Bring me a pure heart... an open mind... a caring soul... a beautiful face... snowy breasts, preferably hitherto untouched," oh great, he wants a virgin, "...if you cannot find this all in one person, bring howeversomany it takes..."
Decay smiles and he rises, ashen skin flaking as he smiles. He becomes the wall again...
"Bring me that... and we will... talk a year's truce, you and I..."
"I will see what I can do, and we will ... discuss terms, depending upon what I find." Karoly smiles coolly. She can afford to negotiate, a little, to not seem the weaker party. "After all, if I find something rare enough - you may even wish to tip me." Rather than have me sell it to some other bidder, and leave you with something that only barely fulfills the requirements laid out.
She rises, with all the grace of the professional dancer, someone who has made a habit of grace so long that it is no longer habit but second nature, and her dark curls tumble artlessly about her apple-pink cheeks. "Your conditions, however, shall be met. Guten tag, then," and a pause, and a trill of artless laughter, almost a mockery of Isabel's laugh, "mein freund." Karoly, calling Decay her friend. Truly, a rich jest.
She turns, and with those words and that laugh eaten by the stony walls and its occupants, she goes to the stairs. "Until tomorrow..."
Posted by rowan at May 23, 2003 08:29 PM
