The revolution came crashing down about George's ears just not so very many years ago, and England licks its sulking wounds. The lion of Britain remains rampant enough in other corners of its spreading glory - but Victoria has not yet taken the throne, and George descends further and further into madness and misery, red-veined and pompous and wigged.
     Politics are of passing concern only to Karoly, however. The Witch Queen of the North is en route to a meeting, one which she has been summoned to without knowing its purpose, only that she is required to sit in attendance...
     She has come from France, at present. France and England are uneasy neighbours at best, particularly with the shadow of the past so hard upon the waters. But there is some free congress, and it is in the very modern French style that she has garbed herself. She wears her original face today, the classical beauty of it of the North - apple-cheeked and full lips, sleepy-seeming eyes prepared to beguile a moment. The hue of them is presently china blue, her hair presently black as midnight upon the broad expanse of the ocean. Her gown is of burgundy-wine velvet cut low to reveal a proud firm cleavage, gold silk ruffles emphasizing its spill. The gold silk continues down between her breasts to just below her waist, where it widens down the front in vertical ruffles across her hoops. A gold turban-cap with thin burgundy stripes perches daintily atop her elaborate hair arrangement, two strings of pearls about her neck, a heavy gold one-piece bracelet about one slender wrist. A cameo brooch is affixed to where the lace ruffles meet between her breasts.
     She's docked at Whitehall, ordering her trunks to be sent on to lodgings, and now, she travels without concern or fear down away from the docks, in the direction where her intuition tells her that she is expected. She will know - she will be told, she will be sent for, or It Will Simply Happen...
 
     From the direction of a nearby dockside warehouse a young dockrat runs up, through the fog, and straight to the woman, "Karoly!" The lad shouts in his prepubescent falsetto as his feet tap a quick beat on the pavestones. He skids to a halt not just a few feet from her.
     And although the few men about seem to take no notice of him he speaks in a whisper, leaning forward, "You've gone too far lady..." and he points to a small dockside bar, the open door sending faux sunbeams through the fog towards her.
     And before anything more can be said, the boy is running a path through the fog, and disappearing from sight just before his footsteps fade from her ears. No one seems to have noticed the boy's arrival or departure other than Karoly, despite the lads rather.. exuberant introduction. And the carriers still fuss with her luggage....
 
     There's a quite exhale of irritation from Karoly as she waves the bearers on. They can bloody well take her things on without her, after all. "Very well," she tells the boy crisply, even as he runs from her. Her features hold a certain coldness as she turns, arranging her arrogance and indifference about herself as a shield, a suit of armour despite her resplendent clothing.
     There's a sussurous, a whispering hiss from the back of her throat as she murmurs words of magic, calling power about her to hide herself from the porters as she turns towards the bar. They do not need to see where Karoly has turned her steps. In this oblivion she turns, making her way to the bar, stepping through the open doorway, mentally bracing herself for ...
     Well, anything, really.
 
     And in fact, upon her entrance, it is just that. A dockside bar. With rough looking sods, rougher looking waitresses, and poolplayers and prostitutes and the customers they're waiting for. The only stand out feature of this particular bar is the fact that they all appear frozen. Men frozen mid-laugh, ale frozen mid-pour, no one blinks, no one speaks, even the flies seem trapped in some micro cage of air. The only noise comes from the restroom as a rather conspicuous flush is heard....
     Presently, a man, appearing in his late twenties and dressed in the finest fashion of London enters from that direction straightening his sleeves. There is an air of power about him, and Karoly knows immediately this is the meeting she was called here for. He smiles to her, and if there is one thing about this demon's smiles, they are absolutely stunning. Those white teeth and parted lips convey an eternity of joy and laughter, and it is only when taken as a whole with his eyes that joy turns to agony, and laughter turns to screams. And with his delicately pressed garments, each completely devoid of soil or mark, he looks completely out of place amongst this rabble and filth.
     He looks up, "Oh Karoly." that smile again, "So nice of you to make it.. please..." he gestures to a table occupied by two rough looking sailors, one of whom he shoves from his chair, still frozen in a sitting position, to the floor, as if he were no heavier than the lace at his wrists, "...join me."
     The only other available seat is taken by a similarly sized sailor, frozen with a mug to his lips.
 
     "My lord." Karoly sinks into a careful curtsey where she stands waiting, the blue-eyed gaze carefully lowering to the floor. She has had to meet those eyes before. She will not do so uninvited, uncommanded...
     She straightens carefully after what she considers to be a suitable amount of time, the burgundy velvet rustling along the wood of the floor as she steps between doxy and sailor and beyond them to the table indicated. Is this him? Or one of his fellows, his higher-ranked servants? Karoly doesn't know, and isn't too keen on guessing wrong.
     She regards the sailor coolly enough - centuries of life in service have rendered her indifferent to the suffering of others, and besides, he is frozen. She puts both hands to the back of the chair, using it as a lever by which to tip chair back and then to the side, using one sturdy yet elegant boot to tip chair onto one leg and then rock it firmly away from herself to send sailor tumbling.
     She daintily replaces the chair, ignoring the clatter of man and mug as they make contact with the floor. Then with one hand brought forth to sweep her skirts out of the way of table or chair edges and legs, Karoly sits as invited. "You sent for me," she resumes deferentially, features curiously immobile, though not so immobile as the others in the room. "How may I serve?"
 
     Lazrenaias laughs gaily as he watches such a vision bodily hurls some overmuscled sailor to the floor. That is most humorous. And he lightly takes a breath, looking about the tavern here.
     "Wonderful place is it not?" He cannot help but grin and look about, taking in every face, every frozen emotion, "Not a single one of the mortals, when they were children, ever expected to end up one day in a run down, cesspool of a dock tavern when they were grown..." he gestures to a very young looking prostitute in the corner, her dress hiked up to reveal her knee to some passing sailor. "Except that one of course."
     "Her mother told her everyday she'd never be anything but a whore and a waste." He just laughs and shakes his head, "Her mother was a bit upset that the girl's father there was nothing more than a john for her mother himself." His smile is jovial, "So many jokes here! So much unexpectedness.. isn't it wonderful?"
     And as he asks, he catches Karoly's eyes, his own shining a deep red. And though they don't glow exactly, his demeanor demands an immediate answer, and truthful. No jokester can prank an untruthful mark. And there is no mark greater than the Witch of the North. His smile is disappeared.
 
     "I am sure that it pleases you, my lord." Karoly has learned - oh, yes, centuries have taught her much. "It is certainly true that few mortals can envision easily or at all where their destinies will lead them." She certainly had no notion of where she is now, in any sense of the word.
     The delicate, heavily ringed hands fold in her lap, the external impression that of cold. She was told once, by an Inquisitor whom she killed herself, that she had a passionately sinful mouth. The deep crimson of them owes only little to cosmetics, it is true - a mouth designed to lead others into sin...
     The lips part as she speaks again, voice cool as usual, without the spiteful whip that she treats lesser creatures with. "They seek either power or redemption. They will find little of either here, unless you take pity upon them."
 
     Lazrenaias laughs and nods, "Indeed," and he sighs slightly, his own dark hair and angled features going a bit soft at that, "I never was one much for pity however." And he tilts his head slightly to Karoly, "So, how have you been spending the past decade or so?" he asks, watching her carefully, though he seems.. .distracted, by her somehow, as he looks at her strangely. Still, his question stands, and he listens intently, wanting to hear every detail she can come up with.
     Thunder claps suddenly outside, and almost immediately, rain follows. Lazrenaias smirks slightly at the weather, as if even that amuses him, and he watches intently as people run by outside, avoiding the wetness.... as if they expected to remain dry at the docks....
 
     "The wars have kept me busy," Karoly answers crisply, remaining focused upon the table in front of the demon, chin carefully lowered, tone genteel and still deferential. Not openly subservient or servile; that has not been demanded of her presently. Yet. "I have spent much of the past twenty years in flux, my lord. I have prospered, because I am your servant."
     Of course. Magic has its price, but it also has its rewards...
     She clears her throat softly, the onyx earrings dancing to either side of her face as she speaks, mute tremors to echo her words. "Louis the Fat was king when I entered France, though not for very long; his son was coronated but five years after. I entered Paris as a scullery-maid, and entered the service of a modest merchant family who held the DeVrize rubies. It was a simple matter to liberate the stones, though the wife unfortunately woke while I was in the act of removing them from her parure. The rubies have bathed in human blood before, of course, but I think that you shall find them - and their curse - strengthened."
     She makes a faint gesture as if for emphasis, the expression on her face still remote. That she feels as well as thinks is known only to a few, only to a very few. Most who know have died violent and bloody deaths... but she can hardly kill a demon, now can she?
     Karoly continues remotely. "I covered my tracks well. It was believed that the diminutive Austrian maid had been taken by force to die a violent and brutal death; the gendarmerie made a token effort to locate me, easily foiled even without power behind it. For a time, I hid in the catacombs and sewers, dealing with the spirits of the past. After a year of communing with rats, I emerged again, and after procuring funds from an obliging gentleman who found the next world in my arms and presence, I arranged for my arrival at Court, where I remained as a renowned though not the leading beauty of the day for five years. I then departed upon a," the red lips smile very faintly at the irony, "religious pilgrimage, which in actuality took me back to Germany, to perform the rituals of alteration. I remained there for several years, dallying a while as a wisewoman and giving counsel to simple village girls on how best to rid themselves of unwanted pregnancies and children."
     She shrugs insouciantly, the gesture as French as her current appearance. "It grows dull with only simpletons for company. I returned to Paris, having altered my appearance most thoroughly. At present? I have returned to Paris, under the guise of a wealthy merchant's wife, offering money to the Revolution's warchests. I am quite popular, and have been promised a position in the coming organization. I do not believe that it shall hold, of course - but I have come, as you have commanded. What more may I tell you?"
 
     There is only the slightest sound of approval as she mentions stealing the rubies and insinuating herself into Parisian society. He smiles and starts to grow bored however, "Yes yes yes..." he says as she mentions going to Germany and returning to Paris. The creature practically exudes malevolent discontent. "I have been watching a certain Doctor Joseph Ignace Guillotin in Paris. I want you to meet him." He pauses, "Better yet, bed him. But he has the strange idea that the death penalty in France should be revoked!" He laughs again, his voice giving the impression of crystal chandeliers and gold flakes in water, "I have in place several people who will be able to convince him the best way to be rid of the death penalty is to make the death penalty more..." He chuckles again, and he sounds so very fey when he does this, ".. humane." He takes a deep breath, calming himself, "I would have you take him from one to the other until he comes up with some idea... and who can say what it will be... to make this death penalty he hates, quicker and more painless." He sighs happily, "The man is delusional.. and much easier to deal with than that Franklin man in America." He grumbles something about electricity.. and its various applications to himself.
     The storm outside has become actually quite serious, and all the porters and luggage has long since made its way to her accommodations. He glances about again, growing bored with his surroundings, and he rises to approach the young prostitute he pointed out before. As he walks he glances back to Karoly, "Do you think you are capable of finding this Gulliotin?"
 
     "I but exist to serve," Karoly answers, complexion still flawless and remote, head bowing a few degrees. "I shall find the one as you wish. I have found men in hiding; from what you say, he is most probably something less invisible."
     The woman remains upon the surface, unmoved and unemotional. Like any whipped spaniel, she knows that to display that which will bring her pain is folly, and so she has adopted this manner : the ice queen. The Witch Queen of the Frozen North...
     "It shall be as you command, my lord," Karoly concludes, the delicate fingers drawing closed in her lap, the china doll eyes still focused upon the wooden table. "How else may I serve?"
 
     Lazrenaias bahs and spins on her, "For all that's Holy woman!" He always seems to use that phrase, apparently he used it originally due to its irony, but it has become a bit of a habit in the past century or so, "Stop being so ... soo... " he glares at her, and her downturned expression. There is no fun to be had in whipping a dog who expects to be whipped... well.. maybe... actually, lets try something.
     His thoughts are often split like this, his inner dialogue talking to some other manifestation of himself and this time, his dialogue takes an ugly turn. As he stares, he simply asks her, "What does it feel like to have someone own your soul?" He approaches her, the prostitute forgotten, or at least ignored.....
     "Does it burn?" He asks, "Does it hurt?" His eyes are no longer red, and in fact, the look almost human now in their green color, only no mortal ever had eyes THIS green. And Karoly knows now, Lazrenaias is planning to have his fun with her... and no doubt the fun will be his alone.
 
     In a way, sending her to the courts of Paris was perhaps a mistake; the courtier's tricks have improved her repartee in some ways. Or perhaps she's goading back, knowing full well there is no way to 'win' in a situation such as hers. The blue eyes lift, and there is a faint flash of fury and fear, quickly suppressed.
     "Would it please you for me to hurt for you, my lord?", Karoly inquires sweetly, tone as bland and gentle as milk. "I am well aware of my proper place. Your will is my will, as it shall be. I know the marks upon me, my lord. If you wish, shall I prove further to you my devotion?"
 
     Without so much as a blink, fire burns in Karoly's chest. Her lungs singeing with every breath, or so it would seem. Her skin threatens to melt and drip off her body, her bones, crumble to ash..... But just as the pain would register in her mind, it is over. Lazrenaias' face is tight and angry, "You will never.. NEVER answer my questions with questions!" He stares, for if there was any mistake in sending her to court, surely the mistakes were her own.
     "Now... answer my question Great Witch of the North..." Such mockery has rarely been heard by mortal ears. For all his love of jokes and irony, he is apparently not one to play games and lose.... "How does it FEEL to know you no longer own your soul?"
 
     There is the impression of a scream, but it never actually leaves her lips as she tumbles from her chair to lie gasping, beached upon the floor of the squalid pub. She shudders, retching though nothing comes up but air, no food nor even bile escaping her. "As you command, my lord," she whispers, not in the perfect Parisian accent she's taken on, but her original voice, the one in which she swore her oaths and cast her spells to give up her soul in exchange for that which she required.
     Slowly, very slowly, she draws herself up, palms resting on expensive velvet without paying the slightest attention to the texture. "It pains me. I know full well that there is no redemption for such as I. You delight in my torture, and I can only hope to please you enough that you will hurt me the less." Karoly's gaze is blank and empty as she recites the litany of her feelings, retreating into herself in earnest, this time. "I have no joy in this existence - nothing to be done but continue to exist, as it is yet better than what awaits me, as you have gone to great trouble to remind me... my lord." She pauses a moment, head bowed, waiting to see if this will suffice.
 
     A small snort is all he gives her. Pitiful mortal playing games with the Demon of Games himself! Yet, he is self-aware enough to know he's lost his temper because she caught him off guard. Dangerous girl... useful girl.... And of all things, he smiles. Her pain subsides and is replaced by a light feeling of elation.. physical pleasure instead of pain, as he is not quite strong enough to directly affect emotions, his specialties lie in physical sensations. "You are a very smart woman Karoly, and a very useful servant...." He tilts his head, as if studying an unusual species of flower.. or insect. He takes a breath, "I believe I shall keep you around quite some time my dear... quite some time indeed." And he laughs, again a joyful diamond and golden sound both soft and sharp at the same time.
 
     She has had to train herself well, to survive among the vastness of supernatural entities she encounters. It is well for her that her only communication with the realm of the divine is through this one demon...
     The pale cheeks flush as she very carefully rises again, sinking into another curtsey. "I may only hope to serve you as you best wish," Karoly answers quietly, maintaining the curtsey. "Is there anything else which I may do which would please you within this span of time, my lord?" Few servants which to spend overmuch time with some capricious creatures, save if they might gain more favour. Karoly is no different...
 
     Capricious? Lazrenaias?.. well yes, Probably. "I will make you a pact my dear Karoly of the North." He stands and paces about the tavern, running his hand over this frozen patron, or that stilled server, apparently quite interested in this frozen moment in time. "For every person you get Gullotin to kill, or get to die by his contrivance, I will add a decade to your life, in a fashion."
      He is standing on the far side of some obese dockworker, frozen in some hideous guffaw at some silent joke and his eyes move to Karoly, even if his face doesn't, "Would that please you?" And something.. and air about him tells her he is listening to her response very carefully.
 
     It is that 'in a fashion' which has her hesitation. It shows for a moment, in the faint lines at the edges of her eyes, the lurking suspicion and fear behind the gaze. "It would please me to continue to exist, my lord, though I would wish to know more about the fashioning of this existence."
     Karoly would have been no prize at all, after all, if she had been an utter fool... "I am prepared to do much to preserve my existence."
 
     Laughter long and loud rings off the walls, and they in turn shudder in terror from it. "Excellent answer my dear, sweet, smart little Karoly." He pats the fat man on his jowl and walks over to her, "Very well, since you are so smart I will tell you, but I shall change the time from decade, to a year per victim." He ponders for a moment, "You have the power of course, to keep yourself young for as long as you have the proper sacrifices and power... but I shall keep you from having to deal with such things." His sense of self-satisfaction is palpable, "There are creatures of the night, very few know of them outside their own circles, but they are no more immune to the contrivances of fate than any other. And you my dear..." he looks at her with something very akin to lust, though passion may be a more appropriate word as he looks her up and down, "... would be most to their liking." He pauses and, grinning to himself, finally looks back up to her eyes, "Have you heard of Vampires, Karoly?"
 
     "In the stories of my childhood, of course," Karoly answers carefully, expression blank once again. "They come out from their graves at night to drink the blood of those whom they loved in life, cursed by the creator." She does not often use the word 'god' in any sense, anymore.
     She rises from her curtsey, hands joined together in front of her, the heavy bracelet like a cuff on one wrist, however decoratively ornate. "I fail to see, my lord, why I would be of particular interest to them, but I await your education in this as in all things." Her tone remains respectful, even with that furtive, lurking fear.
 
     Lazrenaias waggles his hand slightly, "Close enough, though they are much more picky than that really, well, most of them at least." He sighs slightly and continues, "They are creatures of the night, sunlight is deadly to them, but, they are much stronger, faster, and more resilient than most other of the creatures on this plane." He glances up to her, "They are also eternally youthful, as long as they are not actively killed." He shrugs, "I believe I can arrange a meeting with such a creature for you. Should you do well with the young Doctor of course." He chuckles slightly, knowing she will do a satisfactory job... she always has.
 
     Owing her entire existence to demonic entities is a dangerous thing at best. She relies upon Lazrenaias to sustain herself in many ways; while the pact includes the safety of her life, there is much which is not covered in such a pact... as she has come to know full well over the past six hundred and some years.
     "I suspect, my lord, that such a meeting would be disadvantageous - if I were to be found out by them," Karoly answers woodenly, "they might recognize me, and in coming years, view me as some threat. However, you are wiser by far than I; I must as ever bow to your plans, my lord. I shall endeavor to please you by finding M. Docteur Guillotin."
 
     Raised eyebrows are her only answer to that, "Well then what say you to my pact? As always, you are free to say no..." And reap the consequences. "Why such a creature would recognize you when you have never even expected their existence until now?" he scoffs, "You worry overmuch Karoly, after all, have I not protected you until now?" Amusement fills his voice, much as it always does, and his eyes are a deep red again, and he would apparently have her believe he was unconcerned by her answer, at least according to his expression.
 
     "I shall endeavor to satisfy you, my lord," Karoly answers quietly, some of the remoteness gone from her voice. She sounds tired, and almost fragile for a moment. "You know that my existence is spent in servitude and in seeking of your favour. If you wish me to meet these creatures of the night, then I shall do as you bid. Shall I pretend to be other than your slave? I know the truth; I may not dance save as your puppet. Shall I seek my freedom? I cannot. I am not as I was, and I fear death. As a caged beast knows the limitations and boundaries of her cage, so do I know the limitations upon my existence. Would you have me love you as well as fear you? You know full well that I do not love - and why."
 
     "Very well, then I consider our pact sealed." But he sighs slightly, "You know, you really take all the fun out of having a soul bond sometimes. You know that?" After all, what fun is it to watch a caged animal sit in her cage and sleep? He can do naught but shake his head and wave her out the door, "You have your assignment Witch, get to it." He glances over to the young prostitute again, who upon closer inspection actually seems to have the beginnings of a smile on her face, "And Karoly, you should try to smile more... I am sure it would make you prettier..." And he waves her off, all but forgotten as he turns his attention to the girl and her john, "I'll be letting these people go soon, you may want to find your way out of here," It is a suggestion, but the warning was more than he would normally give... is he feeling generous?
 
     "My liege." Karoly straightens, the pale blue of her eyes regaining their frozen appearance, though there is no more hint of a smile to her features than ever. "I have been told I have a charming smile - dimples and all. However, it is the face which I wear at court - and I was of the impression that you preferred me less facile than such creatures. I shall endeavor to remember your wishes for the next time that I am summoned to your bidding." There is another curtsey, and then she turns, that harsh whisper to restore the charm of 'not-seen' about her person. With a quick, light step she makes her way to the door.
 
     As Karoly crosses the threshold back into the foggy London night, the bar roars back to life about her. And there is even more laughter as two men have apparently fallen out of their seats suddenly. Drink is had all around, and for a time one might believe everyone there is enjoying their place in the world. But soon enough all of these people have to go back to their normal lives, much as Karoly must. And even the young prostitute has to make a pound or two to buy bread...