The Scathachian's pace was easily quickened as the sliver of a moon hung low on the horizon. The early winter's night gave no quarter to those outside scurrying to their destinations. She knew she should be colder than she was, but there was simply no chill running down her back or frigid grip around her chest. Isuelt's breath hung in heavy puffs of smoke as she made her way from the Mogul's residence. She had walked him home, and to be truthful was grateful for the talk they had had along the way. After all, they had much to discuss, and not all of it was for the prying ears of the public.
As she made her way along the Northern cliffs, climbing higher in the district known as Seaside, she saw the moon slip beneath the tree line. The darkness cast on the world down below was only marginally dimmer, but it felt like the lone candle in the room had been snuffed out. Isuelt paused for a moment, her boots coming to a concerned stop along the pavement. Only now could she finally feel the curl that her shoulders ached for, to try and shelter herself against the bracing cold. The sound of pounding surf was her guide now, as the pitiful streetlamps, trying their best, flickered against night's cloak. She drew a deep breath to spur herself on and then pushed out her exhale in a plume of steamy smoke. After all, she wasn't superhuman, and even Isuelt could feel the rake of winter's embrace along her back.
Pressing her boots onto the pavement, she spurred herself on, making the last climb up the cliff road before it would level out high above the city and the beach to reveal a neighborhood of several properties. She had always thought of this area of the city as something of a watchtower. Somewhere in her fantasies, she had imagined that the inhabitants of the city were guarded over on some level by those who called this neighborhood home. The residents of the Seaside District, or the Northwest Cliffs, had proved their service to the city again and again: the Scathachians, the DeAusters, Blood House, one of Batten's residences, as well as others. It was a way to think of herself and those around her as beneficiaries; whether they truly were or not was reality's chore to prove. But in this Daughter of Scathach's mind, she lived among the cliff top vigilant. A selfish and indulgent thought ran through her head just then; she wondered if that was how the gods felt as they turned their powerful eyes upon this mucky world below. Some watching with benevolence, some with disdain, some with marginal disinterest.
At any rate, even an egotistical thought such as this was a great break to the subject (or more appropriately subjects) that had been weighing on her mind recently. In recent weeks, it seemed as if Isuelt had left the world she had known for decades and awoken into a completely new arena. The scuzzy and languishing world she had been a part of had been turned on its ear when Renna's engineered virus took control of her. It saved her, then nearly killed her. And the sights she had seen, the memories she had relived and the emotions she had felt were shoved down her throat with all of the reverence of a whore in temple. They stuck with her, there was no getting around this. The threads of the Sister Network, as Renna....This One...Rosa had called it, were still binding her nightmares and even waking dreams. Not only was she haunted by her own past and the myriad of sins she had committed, but she was now entertained by Renna's demons as well.
"I've got to be thought of as one hell of a fighter if the gods are takin' bets on how long I keep my sanity, right?" She murmured to herself, now realizing that she had been standing before one property. While she was cold, she knew that her teeth should have been chattering. But they weren't. Isuelt wondered about the so-called side effects of this virus and if it had left any markers on her makeup, as Batten said. Only time would tell.
Her dark eyes, expertly blending in to the blackness around her, shifted from the Scathachian Sanctuary and nearly rebuilt shell of the Scathachian Temple to the property she was standing near: Asile-aux-Falaises. Batten's seaside house had been her home for a spell of time recently, and she now caught herself as she absently was about to turn off of the street for this modest monstrosity, rather than the Scathachian stronghold just up the road. She lightly chuckled to herself at a silent joke that Batten had put some sort of homing device on her. But in reality, she knew that her subconscious actions had betrayed her. Another grotesque sigh and another puff of breath saw her legs turn up the pathway and start toward the house. After all, this was one of the subjects she'd been toiling over for the last week.
Her hand on the door's trigger handle, it was unlocked, and she opened the mahogany door without thinking. Habit' She paused and thought about closing it once again to properly knock. Of course, she was sure that Diana would alert Batten to her being there. Right' And she was no stranger to this place, having lived there for the larger majority of the last month, whether she was truly conscious or not. Isuelt's shoulders shrugged lightly, and it was with great relief as she could feel the heat from the residence pouring over her cold limbs. She shrugged out of her cloak, leaving it by the imposing antique coat rack in the foyer. In looking around, the lights were on, and she figured that Batten was with Katt. For after all, she had owed Katt a visit. Wasn't that why she was here after all" At least, that's what the Scathachian told herself.
An espresso gaze washed over the empty study. Her long legs walked her down the hall to the darkened kitchen. The second staircase from the kitchen to the basement level was sure to turn up something, someone. But the rooms below, including the gym were barren of company. A jog back up the stairs, Isuelt left the kitchen, headed down the hallway, back to the foyer where she began to ascend the main staircase up to the bedrooms. Even during her stay here, Batten had given her free run of the house, though she knew that to be a guarded gesture, at best. She knew that there were rooms, and possibly even additional levels present that she (even with looking for them) would have never found. But of the rooms and layout she did know, she continued to search. Batten probably had Katt upstairs, or perhaps in the room he had been using as a lab while she was there. The imposing priestess's steps, however, stalled as she cleared the stairs and she stood silent in the hallway. Her dark eyes were trained on the open door to the bedroom she had occupied. Empty. No Katt. Still, she couldn't suppress the shudder that ran over her body as she looked in at that bed. The things she had experienced, Renna's memories and emotions, came in a quiet, quick flood.
As she reached up to cross her arm over her chest and let her hand fall on her shoulder, she wondered if that in fact wasn't the reason she was here. She had left Batten only a little while before, on her way to escort Race home. Some things that the Playboy had said upon his departure had stuck out as odd, at least for the context. In any event, she was here, standing in the upstairs hallway, pressed up against the doorjamb of the bedroom in which she had nearly died. Perhaps it is true what they say, when you are faced with the end, sometimes all you yearn for is a new beginning.
As she made her way along the Northern cliffs, climbing higher in the district known as Seaside, she saw the moon slip beneath the tree line. The darkness cast on the world down below was only marginally dimmer, but it felt like the lone candle in the room had been snuffed out. Isuelt paused for a moment, her boots coming to a concerned stop along the pavement. Only now could she finally feel the curl that her shoulders ached for, to try and shelter herself against the bracing cold. The sound of pounding surf was her guide now, as the pitiful streetlamps, trying their best, flickered against night's cloak. She drew a deep breath to spur herself on and then pushed out her exhale in a plume of steamy smoke. After all, she wasn't superhuman, and even Isuelt could feel the rake of winter's embrace along her back.
Pressing her boots onto the pavement, she spurred herself on, making the last climb up the cliff road before it would level out high above the city and the beach to reveal a neighborhood of several properties. She had always thought of this area of the city as something of a watchtower. Somewhere in her fantasies, she had imagined that the inhabitants of the city were guarded over on some level by those who called this neighborhood home. The residents of the Seaside District, or the Northwest Cliffs, had proved their service to the city again and again: the Scathachians, the DeAusters, Blood House, one of Batten's residences, as well as others. It was a way to think of herself and those around her as beneficiaries; whether they truly were or not was reality's chore to prove. But in this Daughter of Scathach's mind, she lived among the cliff top vigilant. A selfish and indulgent thought ran through her head just then; she wondered if that was how the gods felt as they turned their powerful eyes upon this mucky world below. Some watching with benevolence, some with disdain, some with marginal disinterest.
At any rate, even an egotistical thought such as this was a great break to the subject (or more appropriately subjects) that had been weighing on her mind recently. In recent weeks, it seemed as if Isuelt had left the world she had known for decades and awoken into a completely new arena. The scuzzy and languishing world she had been a part of had been turned on its ear when Renna's engineered virus took control of her. It saved her, then nearly killed her. And the sights she had seen, the memories she had relived and the emotions she had felt were shoved down her throat with all of the reverence of a whore in temple. They stuck with her, there was no getting around this. The threads of the Sister Network, as Renna....This One...Rosa had called it, were still binding her nightmares and even waking dreams. Not only was she haunted by her own past and the myriad of sins she had committed, but she was now entertained by Renna's demons as well.
"I've got to be thought of as one hell of a fighter if the gods are takin' bets on how long I keep my sanity, right?" She murmured to herself, now realizing that she had been standing before one property. While she was cold, she knew that her teeth should have been chattering. But they weren't. Isuelt wondered about the so-called side effects of this virus and if it had left any markers on her makeup, as Batten said. Only time would tell.
Her dark eyes, expertly blending in to the blackness around her, shifted from the Scathachian Sanctuary and nearly rebuilt shell of the Scathachian Temple to the property she was standing near: Asile-aux-Falaises. Batten's seaside house had been her home for a spell of time recently, and she now caught herself as she absently was about to turn off of the street for this modest monstrosity, rather than the Scathachian stronghold just up the road. She lightly chuckled to herself at a silent joke that Batten had put some sort of homing device on her. But in reality, she knew that her subconscious actions had betrayed her. Another grotesque sigh and another puff of breath saw her legs turn up the pathway and start toward the house. After all, this was one of the subjects she'd been toiling over for the last week.
Her hand on the door's trigger handle, it was unlocked, and she opened the mahogany door without thinking. Habit' She paused and thought about closing it once again to properly knock. Of course, she was sure that Diana would alert Batten to her being there. Right' And she was no stranger to this place, having lived there for the larger majority of the last month, whether she was truly conscious or not. Isuelt's shoulders shrugged lightly, and it was with great relief as she could feel the heat from the residence pouring over her cold limbs. She shrugged out of her cloak, leaving it by the imposing antique coat rack in the foyer. In looking around, the lights were on, and she figured that Batten was with Katt. For after all, she had owed Katt a visit. Wasn't that why she was here after all" At least, that's what the Scathachian told herself.
An espresso gaze washed over the empty study. Her long legs walked her down the hall to the darkened kitchen. The second staircase from the kitchen to the basement level was sure to turn up something, someone. But the rooms below, including the gym were barren of company. A jog back up the stairs, Isuelt left the kitchen, headed down the hallway, back to the foyer where she began to ascend the main staircase up to the bedrooms. Even during her stay here, Batten had given her free run of the house, though she knew that to be a guarded gesture, at best. She knew that there were rooms, and possibly even additional levels present that she (even with looking for them) would have never found. But of the rooms and layout she did know, she continued to search. Batten probably had Katt upstairs, or perhaps in the room he had been using as a lab while she was there. The imposing priestess's steps, however, stalled as she cleared the stairs and she stood silent in the hallway. Her dark eyes were trained on the open door to the bedroom she had occupied. Empty. No Katt. Still, she couldn't suppress the shudder that ran over her body as she looked in at that bed. The things she had experienced, Renna's memories and emotions, came in a quiet, quick flood.
As she reached up to cross her arm over her chest and let her hand fall on her shoulder, she wondered if that in fact wasn't the reason she was here. She had left Batten only a little while before, on her way to escort Race home. Some things that the Playboy had said upon his departure had stuck out as odd, at least for the context. In any event, she was here, standing in the upstairs hallway, pressed up against the doorjamb of the bedroom in which she had nearly died. Perhaps it is true what they say, when you are faced with the end, sometimes all you yearn for is a new beginning.