"Look down there, enchanting isn't it. The ancient city of Rome, so much more than a conglomeration of disparate buildings. Through the aeons and mists of time it's grown changed and taken on it's own personality.
From it's founding by the wolf-born Romulus and Remus, to the height of an empire. Interesting they call it a founding, does that imply there was something there all along, a spark of vitae, a breathe of life?
That je ne sai quoi, which makes it unique... allows it to influence others, to change them.
For Rome isn't just a ornament, a static collection of buildings. It thrives, not dependant on the humans that reside
Just because it was a machine, doesn't mean it's not alive." She flounces, with an affectation; "Anyway.... Oh I know a lovely little bistro, off the beaten path. They do a lovely little tagilatelli
Airship you arrived on: Cercueil Volant: A ricketty vessel it seems only o hang together with string and sprockets. Whilst 'flying' on it Cassie, seems to have a wench glued to her hand and a smudge of oil on her face. Her French accent becomes thicker as she swears up a storm as the Airship continually falls apart on her.
One or two lines about appearance: Dair hair and Parisian features, she comports herself with a self-confidence that boarders on arrogance. She knows how competant she is, and seems to expect all others to be the same.
One or two lines about personality: Bold and adventurous, she has come back from a trip across the Alps after breaking into a Swiss bank to liberate gold from the undeserving capitalists. She has a strong streak of Anarchist in her, but a good heart spending her money on charities or to fund her crazy exploits.
Any other relevant information: Adele Blanc-Sec crossed with Steam-punk.
“What have you DONE!” she punctuates the last with a thrust kick to the sternum. The twin goes flying back-wards; her back crashing into a steel pump. The large dent from the impact shows in the flanks, as the furious woman advances upon the prone.
Seeing her death advancing upon her, the replicant picks up a wrench from atop the pump she swings it. Dodging out of the way the weapon it connects with the metal box; a jarring pain shoots up her arm as there is a snapping sound....
The wrench falls to the floor with a tinkle of metal, as the women look into ear others eyes.
A low hissing sound erupts as the disgorging it's black viscous oil over the duo. The dark shower covers the pair, making any identification very difficult as they spin away. Facing each other in a slightly crouched fighting stance, they circle slowly.
A small flinch from one and they move together mirroring each other. Each with a low kick their shins cash heavily, then again and a trifecta ; when they go for a fourth Cassie hooks her heel around the on-coming attack and pulls back. Drawing them both down into the splits they face each other, a steely gaze crosses between the two. 'What did she do.''I am not inferior to her.'
The air between there bodies seem to spark with tension as the first strikes with an elbow landing just under the jaw. With a nod the twin smashes her elbow back. The respect and tension as they alternate strikes faster and faster and faster. Until with a jaw breaking smash rocks a twin backwards as she tucks and back-rolls onto her feet. Whilst the striker uses her momentum to spin into a handstand and flip back onto her feet. Facing each other in their fighting stance.
They circle slowly around each other; then a brutal leg-strike to the ribs is counter with a flying knee strike. The split after the flurry breathing hard, pale eyes showing underneath the dark covering of motor-oil. Another kick is caught, the captor draws the hopping French-woman close and punches her with heavy hands. Despite reeling from the strike, she wraps her other leg around the thorax driving the air from the lungs.
There they exchange punches; "Loser.""Weak.""You cannot protect anything.""Leto, Gigus, Taraz, Father."
Subsequent elbows and punches get weaker until they roll apart on groggy feet, they stand facing each other.
Making a sandwich:
Having got all the ingredients together for the Chicken and Lettuce sandwich, Cassie prepares. She draws the knife from it's protective sheathe. Grasping the tool in her firm grip; with a practised motion she draws it back and forth across the crown of the loaf. The teeth gently bite into it with a soft rasping sound. Slowly the bread yields to her expert touch as the rapidity of the motion increases... Until with almost a sigh the slice falls away from the body of the loaf. Cassie looks down satisfied with the results of her efforts.
Placing it upon the counter she tests the bread with the sensitive tips of her fingers. The firmness is perfect as it gives, just enough under her touch, quickly bouncing back and recovering.
Cassie smiles, taking the lid off the butter dish she carefully reveals the soft butter, warm and softly melting. Malleable to the touch the golden oil promises delight. Drawing the blade of a knife across the surface, with a delicate but insistent motion; the soft viscous fluid curls up around the tool. Gratefully accepting it's fate it clings to the implement; before it's deposited upon the moist bread. Pushed across the surface it leaves a residue in it's wake; a soft slightly salty moisture to make the mouth water.
A crisp round sphere of lettuce is removed from the cold fridge. Droplets of moisture cling to the perfect curves as it awaits the despoiling to come. With relish Cassie snaps the outer leaves from the lettuce, releasing it from the bondage it was held within. Biting her lip, Cassie decides which leaves to pick. The inner folds softer and tenderer, whilst the outer crisper and with a fuller flavour gained by experience. Picking up the larger leaves, then with a snap of her wrists she flicks away the moisture - releasing the crisp taste held within.
The torn chicken breast was next, giving the sandwich it's filling. Placing it upon the hardwood board, she runs her fingers across the golden outer covering. Cassie thinks to herself; 'Do I leave on the moist skin, or not.' A quick decision later and she slowly peels back the outer covering, exposing the pale succulent flesh underneath. Nails pushing into the tender breast, it pushes back against her a certain firmness refusing to yield to her touch. Her lips quirk into a smile, then suddenly she thrusts into the flesh. The succulent meat gives way as she tears chunks away from it, pale strands cling together as she draws them apart. Placing the warm meat upon the crisp green bed, with a satisfied sign at the aesthetically pleasing sight.
Finally to top it off mayonnaise, however there was no fresh. Thus she retrieves a bottle from the cupboard. With a deft flick of her thumb the lid pops open, ready for the contents to be spilt forth. Taking a firm grip around the mid-section she turns it upside down. A quick firm squeeze, again and again, the creamy fluid burst out of the tip. The tangy sauce covers the pale poultry; much to her delight. Placing a second slice of bread to cap off the sandwich, Cassie presses it with a satisfied sigh.
Rashida's whisper to Mimi:
14:19:07 ‹Treppa› You are more than one thing, Mimi. You may have been created and you may be an image of Cassie DuSollier. But your creator has no choice of souls for you anymore than you had the choice to be created. Your soul is your own, though your programming is not. You have free will. I know this. You are safe from me as long as you remain true. Remember this.
14:19:10 ‹DSX› Oohhh
14:19:17 ‹Treppa› Remember it when the time comes, and trust me too.
Flashback:
She moves to the balcony, the chill night air raises goosebumps upon her exposed flesh. She looks out over the still dark lake, the reflections of the city fish flitting through the gentle ripples. Cassie smiles softly...
Arms come up from behind her encircling her, the dark hairs upon his arms lightly brush the swell of her breasts, just above the lacy soutien-gorge, her body tightens reflexively.
She leans back into him wishing him to take her right there, but they had promised...
Next week and she would be his and he would belong to her. Vowed together for eternity.
His strong powerful chest, so warm. Feeling safe there the horrors of the past just melt away in his arms. The slow rise and fall of her chest as the vista before her so serene and beautiful, like Breath blows across the nape of her neck, a light caress causing her to lose sensibility.
"Got the parts Mon Amour?" he asks softly whispering into her ear, stubble of his strong jaw prickling her skin.
"You need a shave!" she teases, knowing how much she enjoyed the soft rasping tickling.
The smell of his leather overalls, oil and the masculine musk fill her nostrils, she sighs contently. In his powerful arms she feels comfortable, finally at home. "I've fixed the boat." her voice warm without a hint of pretense. Rubbing her oily fingers down the overalls that have been pulled down to her waist.
Sure that there's a better tomorrow with him. Cassie reaches up to touch her face once more, slowly turning around...
The hollow noise and vacant vista fill her senses. Her heart sinks...he was gone.
Blinking away the tears streaming down her face she goes inside.
Cassie carefull looks inside the doorway, cautious to not present a target.
Inside a dark silouhette stands amongst the vibrant hues glimmering against his dark form. There's a hint of deepest blue to the form as he's hunched over a complicated console. Bellows rise and fall nearby, with a mechanical wheeze
The notes paint a sonic-scape
Spoiler:
Overlooking the vale the church stood, the
Rumours said it stood during the Romanic's time; that even the Gauls worshipped at this site.
The service had gone without a hitch, the elderly priests' monotone floating into the rafters.
Few city-folk had turned up and even fewer nobles, the trip being too far and their time too precious.
The locals peasants had deferentially left straight after the ceremony, clearly uncomfortable in the presence of the Lord. Though they'd soon be back to the village and drinking to his memory, for he'd been a decent land-owner.
Scoured of any emotions, hollowed out she looks straight-forward unable to cry anyone. Eyes, unblinking and uncomprehending. The last vestiges of her childhood, hang as cobwebs on the breeze.
"Are you sure? Whether it was the Orleans or the Republicans - whomever assassinated him won't neccesarily try for your daughter
[b]"She deserves to be able to defend herself, to know the truth. Not to blame herself." her mother looks down to the pale child.
"It'll be quite expensive, both her education and enabling her to claim her birth-right."
Taking a reedy breath, her mother replies; "I'll pay the cost." It's clear she isn't just talking financially.
"I'll contact him. He won't do it unless she's willing. Whilst I'll help with her spiritual training.
Spoiler:
Ricketty man hobbles around Cassie; [b]"Good, good." He knocks his stick at her legs whilst checking her expressionless face. "Best catch them when they can be moulded."
'Don't lose your smile.' echo's in her head.
"It'll be tough, difficult, painful, exhilarating. You might find yourself thrown into a world of turmoil, up against your fathers' enemies. Making enemies of your own. Reclaiming your birthright will be nearly impossible."
"One question. Do you want this?" there's an ambivalent catch to his voice; both filled with hope and despair.
'To live a simple life, Though not vengeance, though that might have been mothers wishes.'
