Joined: Oct 2007 Gender: Male Posts: 826 Location: Australia Karma: 46
What the Thunder Said [Kiki, Jakey] « Thread Started on Sept 29, 2009, 4:58am »
PHILLIP CORMAC VIENNA, AUSTRIA OCTOBER 3, 2009
After the agony in stony places The shouting and the crying... He who was living is now dead We who were living are now dying With a little patience -- T.S. Eliot --
The strings of his cello no longer cut at his fingers. He was a masterful musician now, and the callouses had formed precisely where they should. Hence, his fingers danced up and down the neck of the instrument with ease. Phillip knew this piece well - he loved this piece. Dvorák's String Quartet, No. 12. F Major - lovely key. He'd learnt this piece years ago and it was now almost second nature to him. He'd reached the stage of perfect memory a long time ago - he didn't even need to look at the music propped on the stand before him.
Instead, he closed his eyes and took in the sorrowful tune. He embraced the music. After all, it was the only thing he had left.
He'd made it his dream, and it had whittled out any distractions. His marriage was long gone. Even his friends seemed to be falling. Dominic's death still weighed on his mind two months later. And Phillip didn't anticipate that the mysterious suicide would just step back from the forefront of his mind. No, it had been too strange a death. With the suicide note, particularly. Twenty-seven names. All of them unknown to Phillip, save for his own. His was the last in the list of people to whom Dominic had wanted to apologise. Apologise for what?
TELL THEM I'M SORRY.
What did that even mean? Could he ever find out? After seeing that headline in the newspaper a fortnight ago, Phillip thought he might have found a lead, but no, nothing had come of it. Best to put it out of mind. That's what Sal had said when he'd shown up, yet again, on her doorstep in search of a shoulder to lean on. Amongst other things...
"I gave you my shoulder for four years, Phillip. It wasn't good enough for you then. Why should it be different now?"
He sniffed involuntarily. He still loved Sal, he didn't hide that fact. But they'd divorced almost seven years ago and the opportunity for a second chance had long walked by.
Phillip opened his eyes and glanced around the room. Best get his mind off depressing matters, and as beautiful as the music was, it wasn't the best for provoking joy. The penguined upper class milled about the opulent room sampling the champagne and the cheese platters. He felt underdressed: the gold-thread pinstripe and yellow tie might look flashy as an orchestral uniform, but it didn't hold a candle in a room filled with flowing satin and dapper tuxedos. The chandelier gazed down from above, filling the ballroom with a warmth to counter the storming autumn skies over Vienna.
Phillip pulled his bow across the strings and relished the resonant song. His world might be falling apart, but at least the music was still there. It might be his only shoulder, but at least he had a shoulder. At least he had something to keep him going amongst the chaos. The tragedy. The remorse. The questions. The answers.
"There'll be nothing left of you...but a little pile of ash"
Joined: Feb 2009 Posts: 278 Location: Today...Janey's bed! Karma: 19
Re: What the Thunder Said [Kiki, Ask] « Reply #1 on Sept 29, 2009, 7:07pm »
Brigitte Bourbon-Margaux
VIENNA, AUSTRIA
I watched as the Lamb opened the first of the seven seals. Then I heard one of the four living creatures say in a voice like thunder, "Come!" I looked, and there before me was a white horse! Its rider held a bow, and he was given a crown, and he rode out as a conqueror... bent on conquest. — Revelation 6:1-2
"Come and see," the voice whispered. "Come. And. See." She demanded, without the slightest fluctuation in volume. The French accent oozed from every word that slid, softly, and yet powerfully, from her painted lips. Just the sound of her voice, the scent of her expensive perfume, was enough to make Derick's knees shake, because now...now it was real - his worst nightmare in the flesh.
The large man, Roberto, who held onto Derick, shoved him into the room. A clicking noise of a lock signaled there was no escaping. He would be judged by the woman behind Bourbon-Margaux designs, among other unsavory endeavors. Roberto gripped the back of Derick's neck, as he guided him towards his employer, Brigitte Bourbon-Margaux - sitting elegantly in a chair, her face shrouded in the shadows caste along the wall, by the low-lit lamps.
"'ave a seat Monsieur Davidson," it was both inviting, and without mistake, left Derick no choice. "You know zat I weel insist...on comfort-ability." She gestured to the wooden, arm chair in front of her. "S'asseoir."
Derick found himself sitting, unwillingly. He was frightened, so much so that sweat began to soak the pits of his shirt - even though it was a cool, evening. Roberto, standing so close behind didn't help to ease his nerves one bit either. He was fucked. All three people present knew this.
"Do you like eet?" she asked, scooting to the edge of her seat.
"Do I...do I like what?" he stammered his reply.
Brigitte leaned forward, her face emerging from the darkness. She was silent. Derick stewed under the scrutiny of her icy blue gaze, and the calmness in her demeanor.
"My dress, of course!" She smiled, her eyes lowered to Derick's sweating hands - he rubbed them against his trousers. She didn't allow him time to speak. "It's one of mine. My design. I picked out ze material...only ze best! I envisioned ze colour, ze cut, ze grandeur. Every'sing zat pops on zis dress, is all my creativity - like all of my babies." She tilted her head slightly, her lips drawn into a tight line, but the frown was replaced with a smile, just as quickly.
"Tie 'is 'ands down Barry." She called Roberto by the incorrect name, but he knew better than to correct her. The last person who felt the need to do so, got a knitting needle through the jaw. Brigitte didn't care who you were, only that you were hired to be at her beck and call. When she said jump, you jumped. When she said, "find me that piece of paper," you didn't ask her what paper.
Roberto wrestled Derick's hands to the arm of the chair. He was tied to it by the wrists.
"Secured," said Roberto.
"Merci, Albert."
Brigitte got up in a fluid motion. Her gown swished as she crossed the floor. She stood tall, beautiful, and menacing. She closed her eyes and listened - she could hear Dvorák's piece being played down stairs in the ball room. When she was done taking care of business, she'd go mix with Societies pigs. That's what they were to her, pigs. Wealthy pigs she'd prefer to associate as little with. However, it was a necessity that she showed her face tonight, but had no desire to stay long.
"Eet is so 'ard to find good 'elp zese days, no?" Brigitte opened her eyes. She reached over Derick's head, retrieving a pliers from Roberto, and a lighter. She set the lighter down on a glass, table. "I trusted you...and you steal from me....s'ought you could get away wit'it?"
"Why should I let you live?" Again, she didn't wait for him to speak. "Tell you w'at. You're going to be punished, regardless, but eef I can trust zat you won't scream, then...you may live," said Brigitte, her face beamed with a twisted excitement.
Roberto cleared his throat. He didn't expect his boss to acknowledge him by looking his way, but he knew she was at least listening. "Maybe, you should give him something to bite down on, ma-am?"
All expression left Brigitte's face. She looked up at Roberto, causing a shiver to run along his spine. Derick was sobbing. "Right..." she muttered, her attention returned to him. "Stick out your tongue...bite down if you feel ze need to scream."
She yanked out the first fingernail, then used her lighter. The smell of sizzling tissue, and blood filled the air. Brigitte fanned herself as she socialized with the upper class. She got herself a glass of champagne, and was the spectacle of the event. She got praise after praise over her gown, but she was more intent on the night passing by. She was already exhausted over the constant use of her name, and having to smile. She got what she came for.
Joined: Oct 2007 Gender: Male Posts: 826 Location: Australia Karma: 46
Re: What the Thunder Said [Kiki, Ask] « Reply #2 on Oct 5, 2009, 5:24am »
He drew out a resounding A. A contented half-smile formed a charade on his lips. He was always told he looked to dour and needed to lighten up a little. Particularly if he was playing at a function. It was advised to put on one's most serious face in the orchestral hall, but at a party, no one liked to see a furrowed brow. It was much too hard, though, to completely supress the turmoil inside him. Of course, the music's beauty helped, but it was too much of a tragedy to ignore completely. His fingers plucked the strings.
"Did you see that gown?" A elderly female voice wafted towards Phillip. The shrill voice pierced above the other idle chatter. "Lady Bourbon-Margaux has really outdone herself!" The cellist's fingers slipped momentarily, but he recovered expertly. No one could possibly have noticed an error lest they were watching him with the eyes of a music teacher. He shook his head and tried to focus back on the music. He scanned the staves to find his place again, just to be sure. He couldn't let the public's conversation distract him from his job. But that name...
There it was again. "...to have one of those Bourbon-Margaux originals. Just think of how much they'd be worth, though..." Phillip craned his neck towards a stout man with a thick black moustache, the voice of the second comment. Why did that name sound so familiar? He winced and tried to prevent this needless distraction. But the name again - it was as though it were everywhere. Bourbon-Margaux this, Bourbon-Margaux that. A particularly acrobatic arpeggio demanded his momentary attention.
"Brigitte Bourbon-Margaux? I can't stand her actually. Her glare is so... cold." Phillip's fingers seized and the cello line cut out completely. The mention of the Lady's given name had brought it around. He recognised the name now. The second violin shot him a cold glance and he quickly picked up the bass line again. But his thoughts weren't with the music. They were devoted completely to Brigitte Bourbon-Margaux.
She was Number 5. Number Five on Høgh's list.
The second movement of the American Quartet came to a satisfying conclusion and Phillip cleared his throat as thought parched. He was perfectly hydrated, but he needed to find Lady Bourbon-Margaux. Now. The second violin shot him another glance and spoke in her best stage whisper. Her German wasn't very good, but he got the gist. She knew her curses, at least. "What the f*ck was that, Phillip? You trying to make us look shit?" Phillip frowned and stood. Normally, he wouldn't be quite so bold, particularly not to this woman. But the mention of the Lady's name had given him a little bit more confidence. Or perhaps just blind determination.
He rested his instrument against its stand. "I need a drink." He walked away briskly, ignoring the violinist's raised eyebrow. She was so flipping cocky. He was a man on a mission, though, and he followed the mentions of the eleventh name. It seemed Brigitte Bourbon-Margaux was on everybody's lips. Talk of the town! He must have walked circles through the great hall and the several connecting rooms shrouded in gold and marble before he finally caught a glimpse of a statuesque woman with a jaw-dropping gown.
Her name flitted around her and she seemed to brush off her admirers without so much of a glance. Something the size of Australia welled in Phillip's throat, paralysing him. The adrenaline bravery was wearing away quickly and Phillip suddenly felt as though beads of sweat were forming on his brow. He wiped them away with the back of his hand, straightened his tie and jacket and approached with a notable stiff awkwardness.
Her presence was intimidating, and he barely managed to splutter out her name. "Dame Bourbon-Margaux?" He hesitated when her cold eyes bore into his soul. "Sprechen Sie Deutsches? Ich müss mit Ihnen sprechen."
"There'll be nothing left of you...but a little pile of ash"
Joined: Feb 2009 Posts: 278 Location: Today...Janey's bed! Karma: 19
Re: What the Thunder Said [Kiki, Ask] « Reply #3 on Oct 10, 2009, 2:42am »
She'd shown up, and according to her, mingled too. If one counted nods, and dismissive glances as mingling. Brigitte could only immerse herself in a party that she had either planned herself, or needed to garner new clientele from. If it didn't benefit her in someway she usually got horribly bored, ridiculously fast. She couldn't bare to be around the sub-par, bourgeois, full of dull ambition and pretenses. Something she had mastered long ago; she was the Queen of deception, and in her eyes they all tried to no avail, to be like her. Jealousy, hate, admiration, it all dribbled from their flesh like an odour. Unpleasant, yet tolerable.
A part of her relished in the mixed emotions, and the tension that vibrated through the fine hairs of her body. As much as she despised company, the attention still appealed to her – appeasing her narcissistic appetite.
Her face remained unreadable, but her mind ran rampant with disdain for all. Brigitte didn't need to turn her head to scrutinize a person. Her quick, ice blue eyes would capture her subject, and in a few seconds she'd dismantle them to nothingness. No style, no grace, no right to be occupying space in the world.
And the champagne was terrible...
“Take zis away Malcolm,” she ordered, passing the still full glass of champagne to Roberto. “Bring me some'sing of mine. Zere liquor is 'orrible.” What she desired most was a cigarette, and a quiet place to enjoy it. Brigitte sprawled open her small fan, and aired her face as she continued on without her body guard. She didn't weave through the crowd, but rather walked in a straight, uninterrupted line. Those around her had to move out of her way as she headed towards a vacant white collumn – where she intended on staying...for not too long. She'd decided the moment Roberto returned that she would leave.
“Dame Bourbon-Margaux?”
If Brigitte had been alone she would have laughed hysterically. From the tone of his voice alone Brigitte could imagine his face – intimidated. She turned slowly, her eyes fixing on him with all the authority, she claimed. His expression proved her right, and Brigitte felt a pang of home sickness. She missed her employees.
“I prefer we speak English, eef you can,” she replied, still fanning herself as she made no attempt to hide the fact that she was critiquing him, judging his worth, and worthiness. “But I 'ardly s'ink you 'ave any'sing important to say to me. So, go away.”
Joined: Oct 2007 Gender: Male Posts: 826 Location: Australia Karma: 46
Re: What the Thunder Said [Kiki, Ask] « Reply #4 on Oct 13, 2009, 12:36am »
Her stare could have frozen Hell over if she had been inclined to look in that direction. But it still did a darn good job of sending Phillip into a stupor of terror. He'd never been a good people person, and if anyone flaunted confidence, he would melt into an intimidated mess. But when Brigitte Bourbon-Margaux focused the entirety of her powerful presence on the meager cellist, he wanted to drop everything and run. But he couldn't... She might be in danger and it was his duty to make sure she knew. Hopefully, she'd believe him - he wasn't sure he fully believed it himself, nor even knew exactly what it was he believed...
So the first two people on the list had turned up dead. But they'd died in unrelated fashions. The only link between them was that they were both mentioned in Dominic Høgh's suicide note. Perhaps he was just grasping at loose straws, but surely it must mean something. Something. Anything.
Phillip did his best to settle his quivering nerves, and straightened his back, bringing him up to his full height. The Lady Bourbon-Margaux's heels gave her an inch of height that still managed to situate her eyes a smidgen above Phillip's - and he was a tall man. It was clear that Brigitte was an advocate of an imposing presence. But at least she spoke English. That would make things a little easier.
"I... wouldn't be so sure about that..." he began, already regretting how he'd started this conversation. "I... I think you might...." He wasn't sure how to put it. Though he doubted she would be one to fly the coop, Phillip didn't want to announce that she was going to die very soon if she wasn't careful. That would make him sound like a madman, and he didn't want his credibility stained too much. She'd probably label him as crazy even if he put it gently. He pushed a hand back through his hair, trying to phrase it right.
A sigh and he hesitantly leaned closer. He hoped she wouldn't bat him back, interpreting the gesture incorrectly. "I think you might be in danger." Phillip observed the woman's eyes carefully, looking for her reaction. "I think someone might be... trying to kill you." He pulled back, and swallowed involuntarily. He needed to prepare himself for what was likely to be a shout of abuse.
"There'll be nothing left of you...but a little pile of ash"
Joined: Feb 2009 Posts: 278 Location: Today...Janey's bed! Karma: 19
Re: What the Thunder Said [Kiki, Ask] « Reply #5 on Nov 1, 2009, 4:06am »
Brigitte was thinking the woman with her ankles pouring over her ugly, vibrant purple heels, couldn't have chosen a worst match in dress. Colour clash, and the accessories were just damnably wrong. It was hideous, she was not only making an ass of herself, but committing a crime against the artistry of fashion, and she or her stylist ought to be shot. Both of them, punished.
"Rig't t'rough ze 'ead," she said absentmindedly, completely having shunned the man who thought himself so important he'd convinced himself he'd have an audience with her. 'Fool. Surrounded by fools.'
His voice pressed on her eardrums, and appealed to her attention, like a firefly crushed against the windshield of a car - can't miss it, can't ignore it, it just irritates you into a reaction. His words were obnoxious, and that alone would've left him speaking to himself, but the tone...the tone was the hook, and probably most definitely intended. It tugged at her curiosity with a fierce demand, 'listen to me'.
"Excuchez-moi?" Her voice dripped with a chilliness reminiscent of the coldest places on earth. Her hard glare, reflecting the same coolness, was upon him again. She looked down on him, slightly - her shoes adding inches to her height. She fanned herself briskly. Irritated. She didn't wish to have to hunt down a dishonest employee, didn't want to be here in the first place, she wanted to leave, and now this nuisance. "Pray tell, why would you say zat? 'ave you not'sing else to do but 'arrass a woman..."
She held her tongue as he threaded into stuttering waters. Her eyes narrowed, as a small vein surfaced, and throbbed at the side of her head. Her lips pursed tightly into a straight, line.
'Spit it out, spit it out, SPIT IT OUT YOU BLOODY INGRATE!'
He sighed and leaned closer. Brigitte took a step a forward, and the moment she did he finally said what he was fighting to say all along. Probably a good thing for him at that point, because she had a mind to claw his face then scream murder to the heavens.
Brigitte stopped her fanning at once. Her knuckles whitened as her grip around the handle tightened. The words danger, and kill repeated in her head - it was reason enough to have a little chat with this stranger. If he was telling the truth, then who would want to kill her, and why? Who was he? and how would he know this? It would be negligent of her to not investigate further.
"Can I... talk to you in private?" he asked. His voice drew the haze from over her eyes. Brigitte cleared her throat, and began to fan herself fervently. She again scrutinized the man for a moment before turning her back on him, and walking away. Her gown swished, and her invisible high heels clacked on the marble. She pierced the crowd without any resistance - vanishing among the finely dressed, and filthy rich. Even in such an eye catching dress it appeared she simply disappeared into thin air.
A large man, however strode towards Phillip. Roberto planted a fairly large hand on the musician's shoulder. "Come with me."
Joined: Oct 2007 Gender: Male Posts: 826 Location: Australia Karma: 46
Re: What the Thunder Said [Kiki, Ask] « Reply #6 on Nov 2, 2009, 3:27am »
He finally blurted it out - and she responded as he'd hoped. Well, at least she hadn't dismissed him as insane or tripping on LSD. Her eyes might have narrowed with the coldness of the White Witch, but she seemed to believe him. Hopefully that was why she agreed to talk in private - and not to find a quiet place where she could tear him to shreds.
She exited into an adjacent room, carrying herself with a regal air that might have been at home in the opulent building, but was surely outdated by several centuries. Phillip swallowed, wiped the nervous sweat on his palms on the corners of his coat, and made to follow her. He was stopped by a firm hand on his shoulder. His muscles tensed, and his heart jumped fearfully. A deep, gruff voice answered his unspoken question of terror. "Come with me." Phillip nodded silently, and allowed himself to be steered by the muscled Italian as a gardener would direct a wheelbarrow.
The door closed behind him with a bang. Brigitte stood facing away from him. That didn't set his nerves at ease - he couldn't tell if she was scared or furious. Phillip guessed that she wouldn't display either emotion even if she wasn't staring at the unlit fireplace, but walking into a room to talk to someone to be greeted by their back... He'd seen the movies, and it was almost always an unpleasant encounter.
He cleared his throat, and unintentionally alerted the Lady Bourbon-Margaux to his presence. He felt the grasp on his shoulder loosen, and he stepped forward tentatively. He had to make the most of this opportunity - he had to convince her that his theories were right. If they were, then she didn't have much time: she was only number five. He couldn't blow this... He had to get through to her.
"My lady," he began, trying his best to adopt a formal tone. She carried herself with a demeanor of superiority, and the cellist supposed that appealing to that nature might win him some points. And he was in need of them. "I can't prove anything. I... It's all just a theory, but..." He silenced himself for he could already sense his words drifting into the realm of rambling.
He took a deep breath to settle his nerves. Adjusting his posture to make himself taller - slightly shorter than she, for she wore heels twice the height of the Eiffel Tower - he continued with what he hoped to be confidence.
It was one of his vices - confidence. He always struggled to find it in times of need. He occupied the quiet and the self-doubt too comfortably. It was something he had to overcome, not only for this present moment, but also to give him a chance of ever fulfilling his dreams. He'd never make the Vienna Philharmonic if he had no self-esteem.
"There's a list. Twenty-seven people - and you're the fifth name. Within the past month, the first two have turned up dead." He paused, letting the information sink in. "I have reason to believe that it's not merely coincidence. I think your turn might come soon." He was overcome by self-consciousness, a side-effect of her unwavering gaze. "I... I don't know what to do about it, but... I thought I should warn you."
"There'll be nothing left of you...but a little pile of ash"
Joined: Feb 2009 Posts: 278 Location: Today...Janey's bed! Karma: 19
Re: What the Thunder Said [Kiki, Jakey] « Reply #7 on Nov 4, 2009, 1:40am »
What was a death threat in a day in the life of Brigitte Bourbon-Margaux. They came in droves - e-mails, letters, phone calls, in-person, and of course glares. It came with wielding authority, having power, and being a woman who was a great-white unleashed in a kiddie a pool. She had competitors, employees, acquaintances, and even a handful of strangers who probably would like nothing more than the chance to shove her through her penthouse suite window. However, though all the previous threats had been idle, she'd never once ignored them – not a single one. She didn't make the mistake of underestimating people. She didn't wait around, or hide behind the security of burly men, with guns. Like the predator she was, Brigitte had to be several moves ahead. Eat or be eaten, kill or be killed. She saw the world for what it truly was – beasts pretending to be civilized. And she would know...
He couldn't see but the attempt at adopting a formal tone, and referring to her as 'My Lady,' caused her lips to stretch into a wide smile. In America, after a bit of re-invention, and re-introduction into society, no-one called her Lady. In-fact, it was almost forgotten that the blood of royalty flowed through her veins. It wouldn't be the same back in Europe, though – there she'd always be the Lady Brigitte Bourbon-Margaux, and everything else tacked on from the reputation of the name. She both loathed it, and loved it – the recognition, the respect, the down right ass kissing, and the privileges.
A theory. No proof. It was beginning to sound like the ravings of a madman, caught in the net of fiction. 'Idle...' He believed his lies, and she believed every word out of his mouth were shards of his fabricated stories, yet...yet it niggled at her mind. A tiny voice in her head told her to heed what he had to say. Brigitte thought of Cassandra's visions.
“T'eories, stories, zis a waste of my time Monsieur,” she spoke, with no intention of looking his way. She stared down at the unlit fire place, and for a brief moment wondered if she could buy the building. Its beautiful architecture did not go unnoticed by her, even with the clutter of man.
"There's a list. Twenty-seven people - and you're the fifth name. Within the past month, the first two have turned up dead."
Brigitte stiffened at this new information. A twist in his tale that reigned her curiosity in. She was even more intrigued now, that there appeared to be a bigger conspiracy. Two others were dead. Who were they? And most importantly, what could she possibly have in common with these supposed twenty-seven people? She was least worried about being...fifth. If there was any truth to the man's story, there was no doubt in her mind that she would put to an end whatever that was occurring.
“Va attendre dehors, Roberto,” she ordered, with an air of calm, and nonchalance. In Phillip's pause, the muscular Italian left the room. She listened to his footsteps, and in the thick of the silence, Phillip continued, and Brigitte finally turned around. She fixed him with an expressionless gaze.
“Consider me warned...Monsieur?” she replied, reaching up to unpin her hair. Rich, long, tendrils of brown flowed, and curled along her back and over her shoulders. Brigitte moved closer to Phillip, with her hands clasped in front of her, she looked like she'd just walked out of King Henry's court. She raised an eyebrow, and smiled just a little as her pace slowed to an abrupt stop.
“W'at you can do for me Monsieur Cormac, iz show me ze proof. I am not yet convinced. I 'ave not'sing but your word to go on, and as interesting, and fantastical a story you've shared...I am left wit'no ozzer perspective zan,” she paused as she took one step forward, placing a delicate hand on his shoulder, she continued, “you are crazy. Wild wit'your imaginings, and I 'ave 'umoured you...for ze last time.” A strange sweetness lit her icy, eyes, but her voice was condemning. Brigitte gave his shoulder a squeeze before drawing her hand away.
Re: What the Thunder Said [Kiki, Jakey] « Reply #8 on Nov 4, 2009, 5:16pm »
Ethan pulled at the lapel of his monkey suit, uncomfortable in what he was wearing. Around the library back in New York, it was so easy for him to be unseen, to hide away behind one of the hundreds of bookshelves, bursting at the seams with knowledge, and not have to wear anything smart or impressive. But here, he knew he was representing the library, and he needed to look the part. The New York Library was pretty prestigious in his eyes, and he wanted to try and keep some kind of reputation like that.
His coat had already been taken from him at the door, and on the way in he had been given a glass of champagne and a small cardboard compliment box. He hadn't opened it yet, but he was sure it was likely to contain some kind of ridiculously expensive chocolate, or reservations at a Parisian restaurant where it is impossible to get reservations. Pulling up at a nearby sideboard where he could have some peace, he put down his glass of champagne and took out the compliment box.
It was tied with a very delicate mesh ribbon, which was tied to hold perfectly but fell open under the touch of his slender fingers. The textured white card opened bizarrely easily too, revealing inside several treasures. In fact, he was sure that the contents of this box cost more than any party they had ever thrown at the library. The first was a small, silver glass neck charm, a small fleur-de-lis with a small jewel in the center. It was quaint, and with a smile on his face he hung it around his champagne glass. He knew that he was going to end up dropping it, or leaving it somewhere, but it was nice for the time being.
Next in the box were three small hearts, covered in gold foil. Unwrapping one, the dark surface of the chocolate was revealed, and putting one in his mouth, he realised why french chocolate was so popular. It was wonderfully creamy, a caramel center bursting almost as soon as he'd put it in his mouth. The chocolate had actually made his eyes widen, and he took out the last present- a piece of paper. He put the box in his pocket, and unfolded the paper, breaking a small wax seal. His eyes flicked from side to side as he scanned the short note. It entitled him to a bottle of very prestigious-sounding port on his way out, to take home with him. It also offered a few thanks for being at the event.
As if they hadn't done enough already...
He hadn't read many books on precious metals, but from what he could tell, it was real silver. It even had what he suspected may be a British Hallmark, on the underside of the fleur-de-lis. They had really made sure their guests were comfortable. What struck Ethan was that he was probably the only one in this room surprised by these gifts. To him, being invited on behalf of the library was an honour, even if it was simply to serve as delivery boy for the very old books that were being donated to the library. To the wealthy in the room (which was pretty much everybody), this kind of lavish treatment was likely expected.
Clutching the champagne glass with both hands, he took a few awkward steps to the center of the room, looking around for some kind of way into a social situation that was more comfortable than standing alone. He sipped the excellent champagne. Excellent, fantastic, lavish, extraordinary. Everything was so close to perfect, it was near... boring.
Joined: Oct 2007 Gender: Male Posts: 826 Location: Australia Karma: 46
Re: What the Thunder Said [Kiki, Jakey] « Reply #9 on Nov 7, 2009, 3:19am »
Well, she seemed to believe him. That was a start, wasn't it? Even if she dismissed her bodyguard - Roberto? That name too... familiar... - in the manner of a crime lord, she had believed him. Even if she slid toward him like a tiger stalking prey, she had believed him. Even if she grasped his shoulder like a twig in a four-tonne vice, she had believed him. And that made his soul sing.
There was faith in the world, after all, even for the maddest of ideas. Phillip had been living in a world of crushed hope for the past several years - in one way or another. The divorce, the endless rejections from more prestigious orchestras, Dominic's suicide... To have someone take his side, to have a flicker of faith in his thoughts and feelings was a blessing he hadn't received in a long time. Or perhaps it just felt like a long time - exaggerated by the death of his best friend.
But he was just glad that Brigitte Bourbon-Margaux did not immediately dismiss him. She demanded proof, and though he had none to present, it was a fair question. He squirmed a little in her grasp and tried to avoid looking into her eyes. He had the image of the mythological Medusa - as if looking into those blazing eyes of frigid judgment would transmutate his blood into stone. She released him with an extra-powerful squeeze which hurt more than it should have for a man of Phillip's size and his eyes darted the room, seeking a godsent clue to this mystery that had remained hidden for so long.
But all he could come back to was the list. She was on the list. The same list as Jeremy Davy - dead - and Malcolm Schwartz - dead. Wasn't that proof enough? Enough to sway her at least? He couldn't push his mind onto any other rational consideration. Just the names. The names, over and over.
Christopher Cyris. Kayla Lockheart. Weixuan Xu. Sophie Salmon. Roberto Medici.
Roberto...
Phillip stiffened at the thought. He was number four. And if Brigitte was number five, then there was a connection. A clue, perhaps? He suddenly fancied himself the detective - the Holmes, the Poirot. "You... you said Roberto," he began, hesitantly. "Your bodyguard." He hoped that he'd remembered right - but of course he had. He'd poured over that list night after night. "Roberto Medici is number four."
He made to pause, in order to venture a glance in the Ice Lady's direction, to gauge her reaction. But his mind was moving to rapidly. He'd struck an idea, and it pushed past his usual shy demeanour and demanded that he just blurt it all out. "If you're the fifth on the list, and he's the fourth, then maybe there's a pattern. Somehow. I know it sound crazy, but please, go with me on it." Deep breath. "Fifth, fourth. The third is someone named Kacy Keiley. Do you know anyone named Kacy Keiley?"
--------------------------------------------
In the adjacent room, a young woman, dressed to the nines but wholly uncomfortable in her gown, placed the wine glass on the table. She was shaking, almost uncontrollably. She couldn't understand it... She couldn't make sense of any of it... It wasn't supposed to be like this. It never had supposed to end up like this. She sniffed back a tear and made her decision. She was leaving this party. Now. She turned and almost collided with a long-haired man sipping his champagne. There was a fleur-de-lis attached to the stem - why she noticed this above all, she had no idea. She muttered an apology under her breath.
Re: What the Thunder Said [Kiki, Jakey] « Reply #10 on Nov 17, 2009, 1:46pm »
Ethan couldn't help but eat another chocolate. They were so good! With all these small appetisers circling the occassion, silver platters sporting a carpet of vol-au-vents circulating the room atop the hand of many dozens of impeccably polite waiters. Who, might Ethan add, were all dressed impeccably. Everything was incredibly amazing, and oh so predictable. He washed down the chocolate with a glass of champagne, before turning on the spot to find somebody to talk to. Hopefully about libraries. He really didn't know much about anything else.
But mid turn, low and behold, he bumped into someone. He should have known he couldn't have gone the whole evening without bumping into something, anyway. He blushed as he saw the rather beautiful woman he had bumped into, but it instantly collapsed into a frown and an embarrassed, ashamed burning sensation when he saw she was at the verge of tears. He'd only felt a light bump, but she may have been very sensitive. He could have really hurt her, and he felt like he just wanted the floor to open up and swallow him away from the shame and embarrassment.
The flushed librarian barely had time to stammer the beginnings of an apology, before the young woman had murmured hers and begun to walk away, her eyes cast downward, holding herself as if she was obviously distressed. He couldn't help that maybe she was feeling a little more than scorn at the man who'd just bumped into her, perhaps they had collided just because of her current state of mind.
Starting to walk after her, Ethan spoke a few quiet 'excuse me?' and 'madam? miss?' remarks before realising she wasn't in the mood to talk to him right now. He'd have to be a little more assertive. They were practically on the balcony by the stairs before he managed to reach her, pat her on the shoulder and grasp her attention. "It was my fault, I apologise. Are you alright?"
Joined: Oct 2007 Gender: Male Posts: 826 Location: Australia Karma: 46
Re: What the Thunder Said [Kiki, Jakey] « Reply #11 on Nov 17, 2009, 9:35pm »
KACY KEILEY VIENNA, AUSTRIA OCTOBER 3, 2009
It was so awkward. It seemed as she was approaching the exit of this oppulent building, the crowds became more clustered. She'd have to fight her way out at this rate. And fight, she did, at first. At least until she collided with that man. He looked at her, dazed, for a moment, which she felt wholly uncomfortable with. Sniffing back the tears in her eyes, she avoided his glance and headed off in the other direction. If pushing through a crowd meant more of those kinds of glances, then she'd content herself with solitude for a few hours. Until the crowds had cleared, at least. Her primary goal, still, was to get out of here.
She headed for the grand staircase, which no doubt climbed high in the sky. She ascended quickly, nearly tripping on her dress, in the process. As she reached the top of the first flight, Kacy glanced back over her shoulder to see a nightmare approaching. The man she'd run into was following her. Breathing loudly through her nose in frustration, she continued towards the second flight, and the balcony that cam off of it. She ignored every one of his remarks, even if they did have that exotic American accent.
She was nearing the base of the second flight when a tap on her shoulder caused her to pause. Turning already knowing what face she'd meet on the other side, she made no attempt to force a smile. If anything, her expression became more pained. She stared at him, coldly, through glassy eyes. "I'm... I'm fine, thank you," she answered through a quaver in her voice. It was clearly - wholly - untrue.
Her life had been upended not more than a couple weeks ago. Everything was chaos, terrible chaos. Of course, she'd lost the lead of Rosalind to that doe-eyed ingenue, but that was not her greatest worry. Nor were the increasingly physical advances of her co-star Jack Thorster. He even had had the gall to say she'd been chasing him for months. But both of those dilemmas paled in comparison to that terror that she could never tell anyone. The horror that had forced her to consider things she'd never, ever, expected to contemplate.
Kacy wiped the back of her hand across her cheek, her porous skin soaking up the teardrop-blush solution. She stared up at the concerned brown eyes of the American, and felt her solid confidence quiver. "Everything's fine," she attempted again, before crumbling spectacularly. "If you like a life worse than hell."
"There'll be nothing left of you...but a little pile of ash"
Joined: Feb 2009 Posts: 278 Location: Today...Janey's bed! Karma: 19
Re: What the Thunder Said [Kiki, Jakey] « Reply #12 on Nov 23, 2009, 4:41am »
Brigitte watched as Phillip's eyes paced the room, where as he could not. He wouldn't...no he couldn't budge. He appeared the type of man that didn't dabble with disrespect, wouldn't want to create an offense. She could smell the fear wafting from his pores, as potently as a room full of her employees – gathered, and in her presence. Again, she wished for home, and to be among the many exotic wild life she kept in her penthouse – especially Yogi, her caged beer. He could make her laugh, and she could do with a bit of laughter in this rapidly, irritating, and dulling situation. What was this man even driving at? She considered that he was trying to scare her, but why? Or perhaps, he was working for someone. He had no proof, where was his proof? Her body shivered, quaking with unchecked fury, before she realized.
Brigitte became prostrate, and still at once. Her eyes still met with Phillip's. She cracked a tiny smile, as she slipped a hand into her clevage. A silver case glimmered in her hand. With quick movements, she'd plucked a cigarette from the case, lit it, and re-concealed all items. She took a long drag on the black cigarette – it smelled of cloves. She pursed her lips and blew a cloud of spicy smoke. “Monsieur Cormac,” she began slowly, lowering her gaze as she shook her head from side to side. “Zis iz a waste of time, my time, and I'm afraid eet wouldn't go wit'zout consequence.” She exhaled audibly. “I want to believe you. In fact, in fact I kind of do...believe you. Call eet woman's intuition, or w'atever,” she continued, with a wave of her hands. “But een ze end, I 'ave no proof. I need proof. I need answers to questions. I need to know why zere iz zis apparent fate for me, and zat you know zis. I want to see ze names, ze list.” She scrutinized his expression, uncertain as to whether he was even listening to her. Then he stiffened.
“You...you said Roberto,” he began. Brigitte only cocked a brow, and again wrapped her darkened lips around the cigarette. Another drag, another cloud of sweetness. He proceeded to ramble like she often did with no-one present at times. She listened without expression.
“Do you know anyone named Kacy Keiley?” he inquired. This man had the nerve to ask whether she knew of someone. She didn't have to know the names of anyone, as long as people knew who she was. It was a mistake that had cost a young woman an eye. An unfortunate accident with a high heel shoe. Brigitte Bourbon-Margaux didn't keep tabs on names, especially ones that did not directly contribute to any of her interests, or endeavors, or matched her wealth.
'Kacy Keiley. Roberto Medici' Pointless titles. Yet she found herself thinking. Did she know anyone by that name? There were no ah-ha moments, and Brigitte felt another wave of frustration rolling over her like foamy, salt laced waves. Her hand flashed to Phillip's face, gripping his jaw, squeezing tight as she got uncomfortably close to him. She took a drag from her cigarette and blew the smoke into his face, before bringing it dangerously close to his cheek, then up to his eye.
“Eef you'd like a life worst zan 'ell, Monsieur Cormac, continue to try me...” she spoke with a hard edge. She chucked him away. “John!” she shouted. “Come ere.”
Roberto entered the room, his hand buried in his jacket – fingers sliding away from the hard, steel of a pistol, when he reliazed Brigitte was unharmed. “Yes ma-am,” he said, in his gruff Italian voice.
“W'at iz your name, quickly,” she ordered, tapping ash onto the floor.
“Roberto Al Medici,” he responded. He glared at Phillip.
“I 'ave been calling you John all zese years! And you say not'sing!” she sneered.
“My apologies,” he replied. It was the correct response when dealing with Brigitte. She was not at fault, she was never at fault.
Brigitte was looking at Phillip now. “Intriguing.” She smiled, followed by a chortle. “Roberto, according to zis man, and 'is list...you are going to die.” She laughed louder, bending at the waist, her face flushed slightly, her hair tumbled. She soon erected herself, laughter teetering off into silence.
“Zen after you, I die...isn't zat a bitch?” Brigitte brought the cigarette up to her lips. The ember shined, and the paper crackled. “Do you 'ave zis list wit'you, Monsieur Cormac?”
Joined: Oct 2007 Gender: Male Posts: 826 Location: Australia Karma: 46
Re: What the Thunder Said [Kiki, Jakey] « Reply #13 on Nov 27, 2009, 9:07pm »
PHILLIP CORMAC
His heart thumped, audibly. The adrenaline that coursed through him made him jumpy. He was sure he'd caught Lady Brigitte's attention, and she seemed to believe him - at least to some extent. And that gave the wiry cellist an immense boost of confidence. Even so, his fingers still twitched as he waited her response. If she knew a Kacy Keiley, then he was one step closer to stopping this, stopping whatever was about to happen. Presumably her death, Roberto's death, Lady Brigitte's death, etcetera.
He didn't know how he would stop it though. He'd never been oozing self-confidence. He was a man of ambition, undoubtedly, always auditioning for the more prestigiu=ous orchestras the moment a cellist's seat became available. But he had little faith in the world's justice. Somewhere, in the crevasses of his soul, he doubted that it would ever happen. There was some part of him, tiny it may have been, that believed he would never achieve his dreams. It was the same with this list, with solving the riddle, only the doubt did not linger in a recess of the mind - it stood, proudly, in plain sight.
He was caught by surprise when her spidery hand reached out and clamped his jaw. He could feel her fingernails, poised to gash his skin. He coughed as she expelled her cigarette smoke into his eyes. What confidence he'd been granted by a run of good luck began to dwindle, and the nervousness returned. His legs felt weak. Oh God, oh God... I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to... The smouldering butt of her cigarette crept to his cheek and inched towards his brown eyes. He could feel the heat and he trembled.
Then, as soon as he thought he might come out of this with an eye patch, she released him, tossing him back. He staggered, almost losing his balance. Whoever this woman was, she had no fear and sadism pulsed through her. She looked to be enjoying this, relishing the opportunity to see him - an insignificant musician - squirm. It made Phillip doubt. Had he made a big mistake here? Should he have just ignored the name, and moved on? Perhaps she deserved what was coming to her. She beckoned her bodyguard, Roberto, and Phillip watched the pantomime out of the corner of his eye.
He felt wholly out of place. He just wanted to get out of this room, right now. He wanted to save the remaining twenty-five on the list, but they were not worth losing an eye.
He felt the ice queen turn to him again, demanding to see the list. He was in this now, though. He couldn't run. "Of course. It... I try to keep it with me all the time..." He cleared his throat, reaching into the breast pocket of his pinstriped blazer. His fingers brushed the paper and a tingle ran through his body. That always happened when he thought about the list: his body put itself on edge. He pulled out the paper and carefully unfolded it. It was a scan of the original list. He'd made it before the authorities had arrived, and hadn't mentioned that he'd made his own copy. They didn't need to know that, but he needed to know what meaning there was in that suicide note. He held it out for Brigitte to take.
"Twenty-seven names there. The first two are already dead." His eyes flicked, of their own accord, to the door. "I don't know what's behind it, but I'm trying to find out. I'm trying to solve this mystery."
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