Tuesday
His unsullied throne, with a harrowing cast of figures, contrasted against the optical illusion of the Dreaming. In full stygian armor, shadowy quintessences stood silent watch where no others were permitted to go; their presence reflecting the habits of their creator. Marquee Morandori sat in his sequin and silk, the cross pattern of his robe more drapery than gown so the physique beneath the attire was visible. He was ancient among his kind. God King of the Morandori empire, sheltered by the desert graveyard where forgotten emperors forever resided beneath the dunes. He often created their likeness as a testament to the history of his homeland, emulating their strengths and stature so his childer were immaculate beings of his own design. The colossal guards creating a semicircle at his rear were to keep up appearances, and for what good it was to seem larger than life, the lifeguard provided assistance worthy of a deity from humble Fae lineage.
Through the air, squared fingers danced with light, their tips strumming unseen cord and string while illumination spilt through the nothingness within the dimension. There was rhythm to the soundless act, solidarity in how the digits remained diligent as they toiled, though Marquee wore the expression of stoicism one might expect from a creature in his position. This was no trial, but a chore. A ceaseless task he needn't take part in, yet found himself compelled to complete with each new decade. Another set of sons, a generation ever so behind his last, with bodies and futures as formulaic as one might expect from the ageless archon. Before the Fae was flesh weaved from the Dreaming, metaphysical birth by the means of clan magic, though Marquee hardly expected thanks for this miracle. If anything, he was counting his seconds while the voyeuristic lifeguard imposed their proximity by looming to further stress their size.
The last article of interest the Elder fixated upon were sets of eyes for each new progeny vessel. Golden hues embedded within his own features rarely strayed from the mold, though in this case, he was finishing a procedure that none other was permitted to practice. If not tiresome, it was far more self-indulging than he was willing to allow himself in private. As he was, seated on his gilded throne, he wasn't quite so thorough as he might pretend to be when watched. His standards waned ever so as his thoughts drifted, and while perfection could be attained by his hand should he wish it so, no such wish was evident in the final moments of progression. Were one to acknowledge these flaws in his newest batch of followers, Marquee would deny having involvement in their existence; who would argue? Who of his clan was in a position to speak ill of his cause when the lineage was their common ancestry, and no fault came from appearance?
The first and last image within the Dreaming his unchristened sons would see would be the retreating back of their Monarch creator as he exited the vast emptiness of the realm, leaving his newest additions without so much as a look of acknowledgement.
Tuesday
Katja was unimpressed with the news of her first charge. She had been silent while spoken to and formal to a fault until the clan of her charge was said by her mentor liaison. In passing, even. Hardly a word of interest over the course of the hour-long orientation concerning what was expected of her, and when it did slip into the forefront of conversation, she gathered the admittance was closer to accidental than intentional. Rather than leave what she thought as further unsaid inquiries, the Arden asked, "Morandori?"
"You heard correct... Yes. He's one of Marquee's progeny." Artemis Arden furrowed his dark brows before shifting his weight from one lanky leg to the other. "I can only imagine what you're thinking, but as long as you don't say it out loud, it's not something you can be reprimanded for."
It took a moment of staring to decipher Artemis' actual meaning, but what was gleaned didn't bode well with the much younger Arden, and her features bore semblance to unease as she continued her train of thought with another question. "Are you expecting to see me again soon?"
"Well... No. If we're talking hypotheticals, Katja, you wouldn't be reassigned after a charge ceased to be. You know as well as I do what the policy is about readmission into the program. Unless you want to be a Watcher, it's a one-time thing." He paused before adding, "Don't go into this expecting the worst for you or for your charge. Neither scenario is a comfortable one. Trust me."
"I'm not sure what to expect," She lied, the corners of her lips teasing at the hint of a smile. "I'll take it one day at a time. That's all I can do, right?"
"Right." His gaze narrowed over Katja as she rose from her seat, an overnight bag already hanging over her shoulder. "I imagine you're looking forward to the experience, so I won't keep you. The bond between a Watcher and their charge is valuable, and in some ways, it's rather fulfilling. Eternity is a long time to be alone." There was more assurance he wished to share with his wayward sibling, but she seemed preoccupied with leaving, and he ceased his rhetoric as the departing Katja beamed one final smile toward him.
"All I need now is his name."
"Oh," Artemis cleared his throat before adjusting his glasses in a nervous fashion, "It's-"
Tuesday
"Andres."
"No, I hate it," Marquee said, a hand scrubbing against his beard in a reassuring gesture. "What about Horace?"
His companion and spouse narrowed her gaze, thick lashes decorating golden orbs that seemed hawkish in nature. "I don't care if you hate it. Once you're done with your part in all this, you leave them to me. Me. So, go do something productive for once and let me take care of your discarded projects."
"Listen to yourself, Rockland- it's the same argument every time." Chuckling, the patriarch shook his head before waving off the sight of tailors fitting one of the most recent additions to the clan. "I know your judgement is best, but please mind who you speak to me like that in front of. Consequences for every action..." What ominous intentions may have been attached to his warning were lost on Rockland as he vacated the premises, though she made sure she was tracking her brother's movements until he had slipped from view. The palace had countless rooms with near-identical layouts to the one now inhabited by the two Fae and their hired help, but this same room was where the Emperor's prized spouse did much of the busy work relating to new introductions to the clan. The individual being fitted was quiet, though she was used to doing much of the speaking in situations such as this.
"Andres Amir." She said behind his back, a nod to follow the softness of her tone. "Marquee may be the one who created you, but I am the one who ensures you are not without guidance. We'll make sure that you're prepared to leave when your Watcher is ready. You would be surprised how much can be done with a few hours." Having already seen to handling the paperwork portion of the transaction, Rockland hummed her triumph under her breath before explaining, "There is enough in your account to ensure you needn't rely on strangers for their hospitality, and what subtle nuances I cannot teach you will be left to this Arden you're being appointed. Over the next few days, I have so much to do with your siblings, so you'll have to excuse your mother for her ineptitudes. I'll make it up to you one day, Andres. For now, you are named, and in your name, there is power. A Morandori is never powerless."
Shifting her sights from the back of the fellow, Rockland swiped the screen of her phone and peered over the newest message received. "Ah. Yes. So, you and your Watcher will be meeting in Valesport tomorrow morning, which means you'll need to be on the jet in... two hours or so." Rolling her eyes, the raven-haired femme dragged her free hand through thick locks before adding shortly, "No time to waste. Let's finish this up and you can meet with this woman-"
Wednesday
"Fuck." Katja, half awake, grabbed frantically for her phone as the ringtone blared sharply through the din of her apartment. With the curtains drawn, it was peaceful and free of the light so desperate to spread outside her windows, but there was no escaping the morning hours despite being sealed away for much of them. Not where she was a phone call away from countless siblings and relatives who lived to keep the natural order of their enterprise moving smoothly. Katja oversleeping wasn't a slight against her charge, but against the entirety of the Arden clan. "H-hello?"
"You're late." Artemis seethed through the receiver, not bothering to keep his tone neutral as he went on to say, "Now get up and get to the airport before I break both your legs-"
"Wait, Artemis! Can I use the-"
"No."
"But you didn't even let me finish-"
The phone went dead in her hand as he hung up, leaving Katja to express her irritated groans to the privacy of her loft. At least she was awake, she considered as she slipped from the warmth of her covers and padded toward her closet, grabbing a pair of sweats and a hoodie in drab colors that wouldn't stand out in the airport crowd. Anything to keep from standing out would be nice, even if it meant abandoning her fashion sense at inopportune times. Of course, in her brief consideration for what she might want to wear, time continued to move forward. The Fae released a short utterance of panic when she noticed, only bothering to grab the essentials on her sprint out the door. "FUCK- Fuck! Okay, I'm going now- this time for real..."
And then, traffic. Katja sat awkwardly in the back of her Uber while the deadline for Andres' landing drew closer with each passing second, her eyes scanning packed streets in a miserable plea that something about this morning might go right for the fledgeling Watcher.
Eventually, and loudly, Katja came bolting down the stretch of airport terminals until she was met with the exit for the Morandori's private jet. This end of the airport was refreshing due to how unused it was, but that might have been the reason for the woman's apprehensiveness as she leant heavily into the far wall across from the rampway connecting the plane to the building, her hands busied with tying up her hair so it wasn't windblown during her first meeting with her charge. Immediate regret came over her outfit and the nonchalance of her preparations, but without prior experience, Katja was winging it with countless hopes for possible outcomes in the future. It earned a smile as the bay door proceeded to open, and straightening her posture, Katja flickered her gaze over the party of new arrivals to see if she could pick out which of them were hers.
"Andres?"
BDRP Admin. Writer. Villain. Personal Blog.
I tried running from the memory and the mourning.
I tried running from the memory and the mourning.
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Cipher [closed] - by Kat - 05-05-2017, 11:03 PM
RE: Cipher [closed] - by Kat - 05-15-2017, 06:58 AM
RE: Cipher [closed] - by Scoot - 05-23-2017, 10:09 PM
RE: Cipher [closed] - by Kat - 05-29-2017, 11:17 PM
RE: Cipher [closed] - by Scoot - 06-02-2017, 10:24 PM
RE: Cipher [closed] - by Kat - 08-18-2017, 08:49 PM