tell me about yourself

Marie-Hélène Alette

Wed 07:05PM CST
Evening finds the Toreador sprawled in the Elysium's library. Although the walls are lined with thick-bound leather volumes - first editions of Carl Sandburg and Mark Twain, H.D. and Ezra Pound, Lord Byron and Sylvia Plath, Marie-Hélène Alette de Saunsanne d'Allais eschews those volumes in clear favor of another. The title and most of the lurid cover are obscured; she has twisted the paperback, bending the spine completely backward. Still, the vibrant colors, the suggestion of something - heaving - are livid, particularly in this room full of dusty volumes.

The creature's mouth is pale tonight, the corners snicked downward in a disingenuous curve of concentration. The rest of her features, too, are mostly devoid of make-up, and whatever prettiness she may have under such circumstances is quite changed when her face is bare. Her features are stark, perfectly symmetrical, with an attractive and almost sculptural curve to the cheekbones and brow. With lipstick to emphasize the width of her mouth, shadow to quicken the light in her eyes, mascara to sweep the pale lashes dark, she is a different creature entirely.

Teagan O'Braonain

Wed 07:15PM CST
Teagan's not unused to finding others in the library. In fact, it oftentimes pleases her that others also take the same pleasure as she in reading the great poets of the ages. But as the Malkavian enters the Estate this evening and sees this figure perched within well, it gives her pause.

She's a creature of habit most of the time, aside from her deviations on occasion due to her very nature as a Lunatic.

Teagan's make up is minimal, only the slash of crimson red lips and the glittered yellow of painted eyes take away from the pale color of her features. She observes Marie another moment, a slight frown drawing her features. She still doesn't quite know how to deal with the creature.

Marie-Hélène Alette

Wed 07:22PM CST
Not so much perched, as sprawled across the expanse of a finely-upholstered, overstuffed leather chair. The Toreador's long limbs, so attractive in aggregate, when posed just so, when shown to advantage by the lines of a designer dress might seem almost awkward when seen from this perspective. She was all limbs, all arms and legs, too tall, gangly even, and would remain so were it not for the strange fashions of the day and a close study of the facsimile of grace.

Teagan's footsteps on the hardwood floor - slight though the sound might be - interrupts the Toreador's concentration and the narrow frown of close, intense concentration breaks and wavers, as the ocean does when it first hits the continental shelf, a hint of things to come. Dark (glittering) eyes flicker up and over the top-most edge of the folded paperback and settle on Teagan. Her mouth crawls into the first stage of a smile and a pale brow rises in speculative assessment.

"Not slumming tonight, hmm?"

Teagan O'Braonain

Wed 07:30PM CST
(Baby likes to play. Taunt. Insult. Shan't rebuke though. Peel away the layers.)

The soft tote bag is swung over the back of a chair as she strolls inside the room, her sable eyes resting upon Marie, cutting the lithe form with eyes that seem to be seeing things that aren't there. And perhaps she does. She wraps small hands around the wooden chairback and her spine straightens just so. The purple coat with its fake fur collar shifts with the movement of her body, glimpses of a black top and faded jeans visable beneath. Her lips curls just enough to reveal the points of several white teeth before she responds in that perfectly dignified English accent.

"Not tonight no. You neither? The streets not appeal?"

Marie-Hélène Alette

Wed 07:39PM CST
"I try to play one against the other," the Toreador replies, as her faint smile curves wider. Her lips remain pressed together, except when she utters the brief words in her faintly continental accent. The vowels glide French, longer and rounder. "And that way, neither is as likely to disappoint. You looked rather lost. The rain."

The paperback creaks beneath her firming grip, slick cover sliding against slick back cover, and the cheap pulp pages rustle thickly. The Toreador arches her back, then resettles in the chair, tucking one leg under the other. "Tell me about yourself." It is an abrupt change in subject, but the Toreador's sharp features betray no such awareness.


Teagan O'Braonain

Wed 07:48PM CST
There's a flicker of something in the eyes. A slight parting of the red lips. The brow contorts, as memory floods her mind. The voices laughter is like static filling her ears and she cannot help but shut her eyes to it.

"What?"

She murmurs it, barely a sound really as Ashe's features register behind the flickering eyelids, the rain was falling. It beat against her flesh like a heartbeat. (Not even the rain has..)

The eyes open and she grasps the chair, scraping it backward and seating herself as if it were the continuation of a single movement. She feels her hair sliding over her shoulder, obscuring an eye as she narrows them slightly at the woman.

"Tell you about me? Well, that covers such a wide area. Narrow it down. Tell me what you want to know."

Marie-Hélène Alette

Wed 07:57PM CST
The creature flexes the paperback in her hands once more, then casts is almost violently aside. Perhaps she had no more use for it. Perhaps she simply needed to move, to feel herself move, to feel herself complete a gesture that stretched her arm to its limit, almost beyond. Dark blue eyes flicker, tracing the moment of her pale hand against the shadows and shelves, following her own movement as the eye naturally traces the arc of light.

"I know. It covers - everything." Marie-Hélène hasn't looked up. Her gaze remains almost fixated upon her own hand until her shoulders curl in an emphatic shrug. Then her gaze flickers back to the Malkavian, a sweep of lashes across her eye, teasing the curve of her cheek. "That's why I asked. I want to see where you start. That's what I want to know. Humor me?"

Draven the Elder

Wed 08:01PM CST
Again the Elysium. You'd think one such as he had better things to do than frequent the Dorian Estate, but it was good for amusement every now and again. He drifted in like some fell phantom, the shadows clinging to the animal for a moment, before releasing him totally. His facial features were obscured in darkness and fabric, the hooded cowl of his coat that was more cloak than coat pulled low over his face. Of his body, he wore a combination of animal skins and old, tough leather. A wide belt was buckled around his waist, devoid of weaponry for this evening. Knee-high boots, silent despite their clunkiness-looking appearance were upon his lower leg, his lower body covered by doeskin pants.

His eyes flicked from one individual to the other beneath the cover of his cowl. One he recognized. One he did not.

Draven the Elder

Wed 08:01PM CST
Again the Elysium. You'd think one such as he had better things to do than frequent the Dorian Estate, but it was good for amusement every now and again. He drifted in like some fell phantom, the shadows clinging to the animal for a moment, before releasing him totally. His facial features were obscured in darkness and fabric, the hooded cowl of his coat that was more cloak than coat pulled low over his face. Of his body, he wore a combination of animal skins and old, tough leather. A wide belt was buckled around his waist, devoid of weaponry for this evening. Knee-high boots, silent despite their clunkiness-looking appearance were upon his lower leg, his lower body covered by doeskin pants.

His eyes flicked from one individual to the other beneath the cover of his cowl. One he recognized. One he did not.

Teagan O'Braonain

Wed 08:03PM CST
"Where I start. Shall I become very deep then and ask where do any of us start? Where do we begin?"

She shifts her weight in the seat, sliding the coat down her arms and making a show of carefully folding it. She begins to speak slowly. Aware always of the eyes. She drapes the coat over the back of the seat. The soft lilt of her voice filling the room.

"I was born in England. But my family is of no interest. They were rich. As many were. Still are. You'd find more enjoyement if I spoke of him. Of crosses and Bibles. The dark humour of his eyes. A Priest he was. Brought me the present of everlasting darkness."

Marie-Hélène Alette

Wed 08:09PM CST
"No, M'selle O'Braonain," the Rose murmurs quietly in reply, lifting her chin just so as the cowled man stalked into the library. Her smile has softened, but somehow it isn't soft, somehow it mirrors the sharpened awareness of her quiet voice, some intensity gained with the decrease in volume. "I don't care about Him," echoing the girl's emphasis of the name, allowing the word to stand alone, pillowed by silence on either side. "I'm interested in you, and not merely for amusement or enjoyment."

Another pause, as the Rose expells her half-baited, unnecessary breath. "And so: you."

Teagan O'Braonain

Wed 08:13PM CST
She feels him enter. The prickling of the fine hair on her arms. The softed whisper of the voices as they scurried about. Teagan's lips part slightly as her eyes remain steady on Marie, but her voice gains a softer tinge as she watches the reaction to his appearance.

"And so, me. Before I begin I think should address our company. Seems only proper. Hello again Draven."

She turns now, twisting her body, but only enough so that she can rest her chin on her arm. That lop sided grin as she stares into the Wolf's eyes.

Draven the Elder

Wed 08:17PM CST
The wolf-in-man's-flesh folded his arms over his broad chest, each finger of his hands pointed in elongated fingernails that looked to be quite sharp. He came to a halt just inside the library. Enough for speaking distance. He spoke, his harsh feral voice accented in what would be an ancient French dialect. Were they to actually see his eyes, they seemed to glow with the attracted light a deep, burnished gold. However, his face was obscured. "Madamoiselle O'Braonain." The hooded head nodded briefly. He was a broad, tall man, but his size all but belied the preternatural grace of an animal not quite normal.

Marie-Hélène Alette

Wed 08:25PM CST
"Messire..." the Toreador's dark blue eyes flickered with reflected light, or something else. Interest. Awareness, or perhaps even irritation, that the object of her focus shifted just so from her grasp. Arrogance was not beyond the creature, a certain flayed and cultivated pride. She unfurled one long, pale arm to match the greeting, offering either her knuckles to be kissed, her hand to be shaken, or just a faint little wave, adaptable creature that she is. She caught the age of the cowled man's dialect, and schooled her features and voice accordingly, a cool skim of sound, accompanied by that cool skim of a gesture. "...Draven? Allow me to introduce myself: Marie-Hélène Alette de Sausanne d'Allais, a Rose recently transplanted to this city. The pleasure is entirely mine."

Draven the Elder

Wed 08:28PM CST
An amused, short, barely-there grunt was issued as he accepted her hand. His fingernails were black as death, (un?)naturally. He drew that had to within the shadowed depths of his cowl, where she'd feel tough leathery lips press to her knuckles, and coarse hair. A beard, perhaps? Or fur? "Draven LeRenne, Lord of Wolves." Pleasure was not something he spoke of much. The Feral Heart was a cold path.

Teagan O'Braonain

Wed 08:33PM CST
Teagan watches the exchange with little more than a passing glance. She turns, her movements followed by the soft scent of her fragrance. Vanilla and some other elusive scent. She pulls her bag free and begins to rummage within it. Not for any particular object, simply for something to occupy her limbs, to bide her time whist the two become accquainted. She finds a book of poems. The cover leather and beginning to fray. She places it upon the table and then flicks it open, running the pad of her index finger down the page. A soft sound, perhaps a tune, rumbling the cords of her throat.

Marie-Hélène Alette

Wed 08:41PM CST
Another Rose might flinch away from the black fingernails or the brush of coarse hair across her knuckles, but Marie-Hélène does no such thing. Nor, in fact, does she lean forward (as yet another Rose would do), thrillingly alive to the strange possibilities such overt physical deformity might represent.

No, the creature simply accepts the gesture with the cool, dignified grace exhibited by far too few of her kind in these late days, though perhaps something else, some impulse to mere mischief (or sheer destruction) dances at the corners of her mouth, just out of sight, just within her concious control.

"It has been several years since I have met one of your clan within the confines of an Elysium," she continues as she withdraws her hand. Her voice is nothing like the voice Teagan heard - or rather, it is precisely the voice Teagan has heard, except: walled off and up, protected and self-protective and utterly, flawlessly correct. "I am pleased that you are on our side, and not - " the faintest of shrugs. She will not speak of such things, such things are not for polite company (how far sould she carry this act? to the end, of course), are they?

Her level gaze does not essentially leave the Lord of Wolves, but somehow shifts to encompass the rummaging Malkavian in the conversation. "M'selle O'Braonain. What are you reading?"

Teagan O'Braonain

Wed 08:49PM CST
She lifts her head and cranes her neck around, resting her elbow on the table beside her and the back of her skull against her hand, her eyes slightly hooded as she slowly lets her gaze play over first She and then Him. With her unrestrained hand she gives a small gesture toward the book.

"Blake. I read of his Tyger. I quite like his style. Perhaps I could show you another favourate? It begins "O Rose, thou art sick.."

There's a tiny smirk playing over her lips now.

Marie-Hélène Alette

Wed 08:59PM CST
The creature's pale brows rise faintly, in almost-mocking concert that could be considered self-mocking, if mockery is ever at issue. "The Invisible worm/That flies in the night/In the howling storm..." She trails off with the end of the stanza and taps one pale, unpolished nail against her temple and salutes Teagan with two long fingers. The gesture says it all: touché.

"A touch, m'selle, a veritable touch." The creature's faint smile widens and deepens as her hand falls back to her thigh. "Blake is a very fine choice, particularly for the young. He is one of the most accessible introductions to the literary world, and yet, his simplicity hides a thorough complexity of meaning, meter and rhyme."


Teagan O'Braonain

Wed 09:05PM CST
Pleased. She nods and gives the woman her full attention once more. In some ways, the Malkavian has resorted to childlike behaviour, not that at her age of embrace she was so far from still being one. Still a child at eighteen? Perhaps. But there is something deeper that resides within her now. A dark to her light. Shadows that seem to move across her features like passing clouds over a field. She bends to this Beast, more frequently than others, and on occasion, she even seems her age. But tonight, she's content to act the innocent young waif she once was. To play the game with this creature. To hang each other on their barbs.

"Indeed. It is my greatest passion, to study the poets. To sit and let their words envelop me. The beauty of a sunrise we are denied, but through words, on occasion I still get to see one."


Marie-Hélène Alette

Wed 09:18PM CST
"You sound more like a Rose than I do, most nights, m'selle," the Toreador replied, cool attention now concentrated on the Malkavian again. The creature's eyes thin faintly, some passing fancy or thought dismissed almost as soon as it had arisen. "If you seek beauty or truth in words, demoiselle," a different appellation, spoken with an entirely different intonation, "stay away from most everything written in the 20th century. Before then you may still find both Truth and Beauty."

Those words she pronounces with clear and careful enunciation, separating them in speech as they would be - capitalized, emphasized - on the written page. "Thereafter, both fall victim to other, harder masters, and I would not wish to deprive you of your sunrises."

Teagan O'Braonain

Wed 09:25PM CST
"No indeed."

Teagan makes a study of the Toreador. Watching the eyes and taking in the formation of words from the mouth. She tilts her head to one side, allowing her dark hair to cascade nicely over one shoulder. Leaving bare the soft flesh of the neck that once a creature like them could not resist sampling.

"Tell me about yourself now."

Marie-Hélène Alette

Wed 09:36PM CST
Toreador are sometimes more mysterious in their ways than Malkavian. This one now rises, suddenly, mind taken with something else she remembered and left, and now wishes to resume.

Or perhaps she is merely avoiding the question.

"Ask me that next time, m'selle." She has already found her feet, and begins toward the door without bothering to retrieve her paperback. "Ask me next time, and perhaps I will answer."

From the library to the hall, from the hall to the night, swift-footed and long-legged, striding all the way.

Teagan O'Braonain

Wed 09:41PM CST
Teagan watches the Toreador leave, a small smile gracing her innocent features as she rises in her wake and begins to collect her belongings.

"Goodnight then, goodnight. Put the lights out. Farefull. Yes Miss Marie, next time I will ask."

With this small statement, she departs.