Topic: Tales of a Spinster: Rhydin's Underground Muse

Earth Bound

Date: 2009-10-06 23:22 EST
Autumn wind, for the moment, was the only sound whispering through the midnight hour struck city of Rhydin. Cloudless this night, the sky was an abstract artist's palette of the celeste; twinkling, mystic, and ever endless. Answers and questions alike had been found in those expanses. Many an eye looked up even now, contemplative and anxious all at once. Some shifted foot to foot, dressed common or exotic as they pleased. Though their faces were different from one to the other, on and on down the small, secretive throng they made, one link bound them.

The Spinster.

'How do you know its here"' Half whispered, half murmured; a small crowd had gathered beneath the night-brought-to-life-glow of a neon, dark rebuking spray paint tag on a back alley wall. A bright mop of toxic pink hair answered the stubby-chinned lad with a point to that neon paint on the brick wall.

'Shhh! You must be new....I've been following her for years. She never plays in the same spot twice.' Said the bubble-gum dream of a nymph.

'She"' Came the man's hushed counter.

More mutterings, more restless shuffles; all were silenced by the sudden clatter of spinner's gear and a box of shuffling discs. Speakers were emerging, moved by willing hands. Faint light rigs began to be strung, and in the distance, a lone pair of feet tapped softly down the cobbled brick of the alleyway. Silence, dead as a doornail; so quiet, the ricochet of a pin would shatter the unprepared eardrum. It was here. It was tonight; tonight in dregs of the back alley, that Theo spun her capitulating bass and pulse.

Bodies writhed.

Hot and slick soon within the cornered confines of the lonely alley. Lights flared, drowned out by the dark twinkle from the sky above. Throbbing tunes gripped the mass of the crowd like a lover never to let go, sinking deeper than any fire-inspired heat. Bleeding, flooding, enthralling, invigorating, rejuvenating.

Something more than sweat and exertion inspired bliss rode the air about the rave scene; pure, creative ecstasy poured through the squirming crowd. A miasma of revelation, a fine finesse of eureka. The supernatural, the fae, and the human folk alike were drawn together in this swarm, drawn by the Muse.

Her arms were a constant flurry of motion with all the passion of a Master painter in the thrall of his composition. Stroking, spinning, whirling, striking out with all the lean lank of her supple limbs to command the tables as she wished. Scratching basses were controlling strings for the limbs of her subjects. Hips bounced back and forth, eyes either closed or half drawn, lost in her own haunt. Skin clinging mini skirts carved from sleek leathers. Tops designed to hang off this shoulder or that, baring a barren-flat midriff, cupping the minute glory of dapple apple breasts. Curling and flyaway ebony strands collected, half beaded, here or there along the pale of her furious, tranced brow. A mistress of song and dance, of poetic innovation, she worked without tiring. How else could these people please themselves but please her?

To drown and sink down. To take a deep breath and let go. To swoon, to sway, to cave in and float away. ________________________________ ________________________________ http://fc00.deviantart.com/fs28/f/2008/072/7/b/it__s_the_dj____by_kawayreaver.jpg

Earth Bound

Date: 2009-10-07 21:56 EST
Wayward breezes stole the Spinster during earlier hours of the evening before the cloak of murky darkness stole the scenery of the countryside. The troves of enthralled would not seek out her siren's spin until past the midnight hours, leaving the musical muse time to wander the streets her melodies so often haunted.

The Inn, a bustling piece of day and nighttime delights. Ms. Theo often thought of the place through the muddle and leaden drawl of her madwoman musings. What a lovely place, how pretty, how square and structurally sound; what treasures could be inside"

None! Empty!

No pity claimed the elegant, lean lines of her face, but the contentment of a child after the present-filled morning of Yule. Food, drink, all were investigated and imbibed without restraint. For such a string of a feminine creature, the Muse consumed much, filling a belly that never seemed to find fullness. Plates later, she spun her amusement, feeling the laz of such a feast beginning to lull what little sense she claimed into the abandon of inspiration.

A trance, a falling; just like the subjects she kept spellbound in their own glory night after night, Theodosia fell inwards, subject to the ebb and flow of the ether within.

Caught in her own spell, the length of woman swayed to and fro, a puppet charmed by invisible strings. She moved a creature apart until her hypnotized steps brought her outside into the dying sunlight. There she reached her trance's climax, peaking out on the soul-riding high she'd been spirited away onto.

Breathtaking, heart pounding, and body rending. Collapsing onto the creak and swing of the porch's bench, Theo sighed a sound usually reserved for post-coitus exploits. Fingertips that felt alien, yet in reality were her own tingling digits, played the slim line of nothing that was her navel, resting across her thighs as eyes opened to the world once more. Night was coming, soon her spell would begin again as it did every evening.

Empathy spread the Muse's senses wide, though, and soon she began drifting in the afterglow of her high, feeling the natures within the meager crowds of the Inn. Young, dead, kindred, old, and older....Eternal, even. That sense of Eternity stole her attention for but a moment before a beggar came calling to the porch's stair, rousing the wiry frame from her lover's lounge on the bench. Swinging, she blessed the tin rattling lump of rags with a kiss to his head, for she had no coin of her own. When he asked what good that would do him, the Muse merely smiled a smile that would make the mona lisa jealous. Speaking not a word, a fingertip brushed to the lost man's forehead, casting within him a minor flicker of her indulgent inspiration.

The beggar was soon gone, spooked, yet feverish.

It wasn't long before that dark, eternal presence found his way out into he first tendrils of night air, the curse of light had held him back until then. Deep eyes drank in the Muse, contemplative and hungry, the eyes of a beast; a Carpathian. He swallowed her scent like a starved man his first meal months.

Moments felt like eternity as each creature regarded one another. One intent and licking with desire, the other whimsical and merry, practically glowing in the presence of such a cool, calm counterpart.

'Why come here of all places"' Quiet and simple despite the hunger that burned an endless race through his ancient veins. A simple question garnered a simple response; one syllable, one child-cute shrug for all her own eternal years. 'Chance...'

Chance, fate, both were a pair ever to be mated, and the Carpathian expressed his lack of interest and belief in either.

Curious and suddenly overcome by the very beat of her own heart, the Muse touched the space above her breast, marveling at the faint bass of movement against her sensitive fingertips. Her ancient counterpart, too, could hear and feel this beat, taste it on the back of his tongue like some savory candy meant to trickle sweet and slow. It was in that moment the Muse found pity as the waves of discontent from the Carpathian's hunger struck her empathetic cords deep.

A sneer, a sudden, momentarily flush of anger. The hungry ancient did not want pity, but something much more precious.

Slowly, gently, the Muse slipped a small, black piece of paper with a scribbling flash of neon across it; her tag. The mark she left, the mark her followers left in the wake or rise of another midnight rave. Taking the slip with the quirk of one, dark brow, the Carpathian moved forward in one swift, fluid motion, nose and lips a lover's sensual, scent seeking hover along the line of her neck and jaw. A touch closer, and his lips would have mused the request he professed for her name against the pale softness of her skin.

'Camilla Theodosia.' Soft as the passing trickle of autumn's cool wind was her voice; the hunger within the fanged creature before her swelled to new heights, his craving beginning to claw past an insatiable level.

'Zachariah Draven.' Her name was stored away for later. He stepped forward, eying her. That is, eying her skin, the many spots that looked most ample and ready to accept the piercing of his fangs. It was all he could do to keep his hands to himself. They urged to take hold.

Carefree as a babe fresh from the womb, the dark haired madwoman gave a small smile as fingers reached, uncurled, seeking the emptiness between Zachariah's own ivory digits. Winding herself in a dancer's hold with him, she just as quickly spun herself outwards, fingers unlinking as she tipped backwards in a whimsical swing from the short stair to the ground below. All so quick, Zachariah's eyes could only widen, but when she'd been a lip's breath away, his fingers squeezed on the empty air left where hers had been just moments before. He let out a low growl. It was nearly silent, resonating from his chest; frustrated and needful. He stepped forward, after her in an unconscious movement.

Zachariah wouldn't plead. He would take, if given the opportunity.

Earth Bound

Date: 2009-10-11 04:27 EST
Unlikely (Stay With Me) ______________________________________ ______________________________________

'Stay please....Stay please. Don't stay with me...'

Another night, another pounding rhythm of bodies in synchronized sway, mere flashes of humanoid form. The lonely, cold night stricken hot by the neverending throng of hungry souls. Hungry, always hungry, always needing and wanting; Theo would feed them. Feed and serve, inspire and enlighten, devour and enflame, to be divine; this was the Muse's purpose. Eat me, drink me; literary timelessness in the flesh.

Everywhere else in the city was frigid, air kissed foggy by the stream of passing bodies moving quietly down the streets, but not where Theo's devote raved. Oh no. A siren of industrial electronica poured through the speakers, touching all, carressing each unseen sense of self. It wasn't the lyrics, it wasn't the singer; it was the spinner, the mixer, the orchestrator of the tunes. Bass struck without delicacy, vibrating the very bones of those caught in the Spinster's mind expanding trance. All but one.

'Stay here please, don't stay here....Please. Please don't.'

The Carpathian had been haunting his preferred victim, still feeling the lingering thrill of a Muse upon his tongue. That sanguine kiss he'd stolen, oh how it haunted his ancient senses, remembered as though that coppery, sweet warmth was still clinging to his throat, teasing.

He watched her, not only studying her routines and movements, but benefitting from her talents, satiating his neverending lust for life's most precious fluid on the rolled folk that wrung beneath the music her spindly fingers made. Who needed glamor when one walked into a whole crowd of people whom were already primed for the gluttonous pickings"

Still the Spinster swayed with her crowd, fingers and arms bouncing from bow-tight tautness to rubbery noodles. The deftness in her touch was dizzying all it's own. Light's flashed, casting shadows and forms of the dancer's spirits and that one, pale, dark predator.

'Please don't, please don't, please don't....Please, please, please, please don't.'

He would taste her again, willing or no. There was a mystery within the Muse's presence that his blood drunk senses were still trying to deceipher. The Carpathian was not to be denied his growing fixation. ______________________________________ ______________________________________

http://th00.deviantart.net/fs51/300W/f/2009/274/5/b/The_Cold_One_VIII_by_fagetkid.jpg

Earth Bound

Date: 2009-10-28 12:33 EST
] ___________________________________ ___________________________________

Breath caught between an intangible spectrum of warm and cold fluttered too close to her neck. His words quick and smooth, like a dagger that sought it's slide home into flesh, willing or no. Darkness curled outwards from him, seeking her whimsical immortality like a virus seeks a healthy body to feed and grow from. The Muse took a breath, daring the noise it brought, her own voice almost too soft. Thick and leaden, she put a space between, giving a berth where the Carpathian had taken it.

And he took it again, eyes narrowed as he tired of this game; his body ached with the need for the sanctuary of her veins. 'You say you live for everyone, yet you deny me my share. My part...' Quiet, but heavy, his presence pressed upon her again without so much as the shared touch of a fingertip.

Theo stole one moment after the next, clinging to a world where she thought drowning was her only option. Eternity within the chaos of your own visionary's finesse was quite detrimental to a state of sanity. Somewhere, the Muse connected dots, though, voicing her empath's fear of him. She felt the deepness in him, like a horse knows the fathomless darkness of a pool too deep and dangerous to swim through.

'Give in, give me what?s mine. I can make it something without pain.' Eyes slitted, dark and lustrous, as he took the air about her neck once more; fighting back the frenzy. 'I can be painless...'

Inspiration did not often give in easily, but timid and shrunken as a child, she bowed, nodding silently. Sweet, draining oblivion stole her away...

_____________________________________ _____________________________________

Not ever, in all the time whispers of the Spinster's appearances, had their been word of her talking. All she did was come, slow and quiet, and pour out endless troves of her hypnotic reels. This time was different, it seemed; this time the crowd that'd gathered held it's collective breath as the tall idol of Theo's figure frowned sadly, her fingers prime on the discs as the bass plucked an experimental ripple.

"Make me beautiful." Three words, simple and soft to the point they were almost inaudible, or a trick of the atmosphere. That collective breath was released in a single, rushing stream from the inspiration seekers as the Muse began, head bowed, her body writhing atop the tables as the music began to pour.

And pour it did.....Like rain to the thirsty leaves of a drought plagued meadow. Camilla's body swayed, a sweet, dark, undulant thing in the flash and flicker of lights that held the world frozen in time. Words that echoed her earlier, nonsensical sentiment whispered from the speaker's undeniable tremble.

'Make me beautiful, make me beautiful'

Sense, for the first time in a long time, was beginning to climb into the Muse's thoughts. Words were coming easier, thought patterns were climbing less erratically, weaving a garden of order rather than a creeper vine's mass of disarray. It was the Carpathian, Zachariah. He fed from her source, he drained the bit of her most packing a punch; like a plug to an outlet, he helped stem the oversurge of energy she hummed with.

'Perfect soul, perfect mind, perfect face...'

A rush of that zeal her body so ached with jolted through her veins with a renewed vigor, sending the thin, wide stretch of her lips open to the air in a gasp. Sensation was heightened, regular feedings laid her open further to the intense power of age and inspiration that swam through her. Through all that, though, she felt him watching. The throng of her crowds held a dark, gaping void in them; unlit and hungry with an impatience only born from the blessed curse of immortality. That gnashing void was the Carpathian, Zach, waiting with all the patience of a predator, for he knew his prey's habits like a pulse on the back of his tongue.

'A perfect lie, a perfect lie...'

Music fluted into the night, haunting and unrelenting in it's rhythmic grip.

'A perfect lie.'

Earth Bound

Date: 2009-11-18 14:09 EST
Winter was coming, but that didn't mean the cold killed all. No.

The Spinster was still about, wild and enthralled with her own abandon, careless and free as a wind thick with spring's promise. Thoughts of coherency plagued her still, more and more so each time she succumbed to the Carpathian's kiss. Nights blended into days as did weeks into near a month, and for the first time in what felt like eons, the Muse could actually act upon her radical thoughts instead of just bare a happy slavery to them.

Theo was slowly finding the reigns of her power once more, and it was a blissful feeling of sanity she'd not expected; a breath of fresh, cool air in a world of colorful chaos. Oil slick eyes bled a hungry path along the city's streets and vanilla inhabitants with a keen interest they'd not held for oh so long a time. Feeling the weight of control settle in was a thing to mourn as much as it was to celebrate, for what was the beauty of wild, unrestrained magic if there was no hand to call and control it'

Spindling steps wove a renewed, curious path from her various haunts, from marketplace to backwater hovel; the Muse was revisiting the sites of her magic hour revels. She could still taste their euphoric sweat; it was sweet and savory all at once, like a rare candy stuck to the back of her tongue she wished never to melt away. Pulses lay there, bright and thrumming red behind the backs of her eyelids; she could still hear them.

Drunk on her rediscovered sense of self, and so often followed now by her hungry admirer when the light of the world faded to gray, that Theo paid no mind to the steps trailing behind her every move. There were always steps, there was always a buzzing soul somewhere in the wake of her steps just waiting to taste a big of euphonic bliss.

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http://fc04.deviantart.net/fs39/f/2008/332/a/5/Street_Ghosts_by_Dolore.jpg

Earth Bound

Date: 2010-06-03 12:07 EST
Elements of Life _________________________________ _________________________________

Spring was abound, and summer was quick on it's heels. Shoots of green and thicker, heavier foliage littered the trees above and the shrubs below; Theo felt them with quick passes of her fingers, watching the waning daylight play their soundless music across them.

So many sounds call out in the night, but none could rival the sweet, clarion call that was the spinster's song. Though others cast their nets to the sea of ears, it was the she that still pulled the largest cache. Words did not often pollute her tunes, no; it was all about the sound. Speech was simply another harmony to add in with the melodies she wove.

Music calls to each and every soul, it's a force felt and bent to even before birth; the heartbeat; the basest rhythm to a creature's existence. It's in the womb most first learn this undulant sound, and for those born in a less corporeal fashion, it's the soothing void of the universe that first fills their immortal soul. Theo was such a creature. Her life was a thing formed from the void of thought, a birthing based from the fruits of godly minds and eternal powers. Though a daughter, one of many, born from a line built upon countless eons of tradition, it was she and her siblings that were meant to be the deviants from the very beginning.

It was these thoughts this night that stole through the maestro of trance and reverie. One of many, for her mind was ever-whirling with semi lucid thoughts and raw, beautiful insanity.

Theo's steps were as unpredictable as ever, swerving to and fro, her limbs close behind, rising to feel and touch along the many windows of shops, walls, faded graffiti, the cheeks of curious children....Everything enthralled the muse, it always had and it always would. It was the basis of her existence, the joy of life and living, the charge of giving inspiration and jubilation. She reached out to touch and observe all she could, for eternity was a palette like no other, offering new colors with each passing revolution of time. Cartwheels took her through the market square, music stole her further, blurring the edges of her oily hues and setting them ablaze with a sudden strike of euphonious passion.

Theo paused to sit, if only for a moment, savoring the sudden overflow of melodies that flooded her brain. Fingers moved of their own volition, twisting and spinning; she looked at times like a weaver too touched in the head to be let at a loom, spindling and twining her fingers over unseen strings. Her eyes were wide, the pupils wider, drowning out the odd, rainbow-black rings of her irises. It was clear she'd spin again this night.

Now it was that fun, little series of matters that lead the muse to finding a new setting to spin at. Swift as the wind and wily as the reeds that bent to it, Theo was gone; her wiry build and too-tall height all but a supple skeleton's memory lost in the endless sea of bodies passing out and about in the market's cobbled square.

It was smaller eyes that watched her go this time, small and sweet and innocent; the little girl's cheek she'd touched in passing now held a song in her heart she'd not before.

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http://fc03.deviantart.net/fs24/f/2009/241/5/8/Little_Lilou_by_powoui.jpg