Quest 296

[primrosella]

[Voice Post]

I, er...yes, hello again, everyone, it's so very nice to see you again! My, it's that time of the year again, isn't it? This must be our visit for the winter season, since the last one we had was, er, in the fall. It's, um, been quite some time since then, hasn't it?

...Yes, well, um. Yes. Er...

...Oh, honestly, this is ridiculous, I've never had such trouble with the visitors before--er, mostly, anyway, since there was that one time when--well, but that's beside the point. Um. It's just that there's someone here and I think he's been following me and I can't for the life of me puzzle out why, since every time I turn around he just up and disappears again! Honestly, I've never seen anything like it; normally the people who come to call are so eager to say hello. They don't usually sneak around in the shadows and turn up in nothing but glimpses wherever I go.

But, er, in any case, I am eager to say hello to people, and so please do stop by if you have a moment, since I'd like very much to visit with you if you have the time. And, er, I suppose if the person following me--or even if you aren't following me, but simply happening to turn up wherever I go on coincidence--can see this, too, then please do come out and say hello, yourself? I can't imagine why you wouldn't...

I'll be looking forward to it, very much so!


[OOC: As per usual, she's canonically from just after the end of Perils of Rosella, and with some very disjointed and vague knowledge of Absence Makes the Heart Go Yonder. Not that that really means anything to anyone, but. If something comes up that I don't want her to know, I'll just have her forget it, so have a party--anything goes! HIT HER WITH EVERYTHING YOU'VE GOT. Troll, threadjack, have a ball!

And of course, I am totally okay with backdating. ♥]

Comments

[chases]

[ A white dog follows. ]

Why do you run, two-legs? The Black Dog wishes only to bless you.

[primrosella]

[It's pure good fortune that keeps her from losing her footing, trying to turn to see just what it is that's pursuing her--a bad habit, and she really ought to know better--but it's also an action that promises danger if she's foolish enough to repeat it; her skirts tangle and twist, and she nearly stumbles.

Why is she running, she wonders? Because running has carried her far from death so many times before, and she doesn't know what else to do.]

Is that what you call a blessing?

[chases]

[ It is not Death that chases you now, Rosella, but the hunter, Death's little sister. Known as the White, the proudest of the Dogs, she is the herald of the hunt and she will catch you. She has no other function. ]

All things die. Two legs, four, a hundred. It makes no difference. Time is time, and my brother says you have had yours. Many times over.

[primrosella]

Well, he's wrong!

[Childish, perhaps, to retort like that. But what else can she do?]

[chases]

[ For now? Run. ]

Blessed Brother is never wrong. Hold your tongue, two-legs, or I will tear it from you when you fall.

[primrosella]

[Oh, she's running. She's running like her life depends on it--and it has, so many times before.]

There's a first time for everything!

[chases]

[ The white whisper disappears from upon her heels. When next Rosella turns to glance back, it will be gone.

And instead, a woman with white blonde hair will stand across her path ahead, glaring at her with ice blue eyes. ]

Death is death.

[primrosella]

[She skids to a halt, skirt twisting in her legs, and barely remembers to catch herself as she falls to the ground, face white as snow and eyes wide with fear.]

[chases]

[ The woman tilts her head up towards the sky and gives an unnatural shrieking cry, not unlike a howl. In the back of her mind, Rosella hears the call for what it is: ]

The Princess is caught, Sacred Brother.

[primrosella]

[She can't find the breath to speak, but she does mouth words--no, don't--and her fingers scrabble instinctively at the pockets of her skirt, looking for something tucked securely in the folds as her eyes never leave the white woman before her.]

1/2

[portends]

[ Only a howl responds. ]

Caught but not by me. Release her.

[chases]

[ The woman sneers at Rosella and where the Black Dog's glare is an infernal smolder, hers is ice and glacier blue. ]

Why does Brother Death cut you loose from the White Dog's snare?

[primrosella]

[She wrenches it out, just the same--a magic wand, curled tight in her fingers--and raises her chin to stare the woman down, just as she's stared down her own demise so many times before.]

Because...

[How can she answer a question when she hasn't the slightest idea of the answer?

Or does she?]

Because he loves me. Doesn't he?

[chases]

[ The White Dog snarls, much more animal than woman, even moreso than the Black Dog. She does not understand concepts like love, only the thrill of the hunt, the burble of blood between her gnashing teeth, the blessing of her brother the Black Dog, who comes and harvests the souls of those her hunting fells.

Rosella's willfulness does not move her. The White Dog is proud. ]

Lies. Death loves none.

[primrosella]

Then ask him yourself, if you want to know!

[She snaps, and her hand snaps out with her, the wand still clasped in her shaking fingers. She thinks of a sigil she long since memorized, thrumming with magic and darkness, and something clicks--and in an instant she is no longer a trapped princess, but a tiger, all snarling jaws and diamond claws.]

[chases]

[ The White Dog howls and bounds forward, no longer lithe limb and pale skin but a beast of inordinate proportion — white fur, white fangs, white on white on white. ]

Holy Brother does not come from the White, foolish leg-walker. Rend at my flesh, tear me asunder, but the White shall not fold. Never to you.

[primrosella]

[The truth is, she has never fought like this, and never had occasion to until now. But this is dark magic, and she can feel the power coiled within the tiger's frame, and she is no longer afraid, not the way Rosella the girl was. The tiger fears nothing. It only puts forth its claws.

She snarls and swipes--outmatched, outweighed, outclassed, perhaps. But not afraid. Not anymore.]

[chases]

[ Yes, outmatched. Yes, outweight. Arguably outclassed (perhaps). But the tiger who was once a princess fights without fear and that makes the White Dog heal with delight.

Teeth bite and claws scratch. ]

[primrosella]

[She won't stay for long this way; this is battle magic, fast and frantic and meant to dispatch quickly, before the limit runs out. Her fur does well to blunt the wounds she incurs, jaws snapping as she seeks to leave some of her own.

But it doesn't last, and when she feels it fading, she leaps away, putting distance between herself and the white as fur fades to fabric, and she becomes a ragged, panting princess once more.]

1/2

[portends]

[ A familiar voice in the shadows. The smolder of two hooded eyes as they glow in the darkness. ]

Are you two quite finished?

[chases]

[ At the sound of his voice, the White Dog kneels, a woman once more, her face hidden by her white blond hair. ]

Blessed brother.

[ The Black Dog moves and places his hand on her head and only then does the woman straighten, still set upon her knees, attentive. ]

[primrosella]

[Her hands are shaking and she's wobbling on her feet, but she never takes her eyes off the two of them. Using that variety of magic takes it out of her, quite literally straight out of her, and in truth, she doesn't think she could manage that transformation again.

But of course, if she had to, she would. What does she have to lose?]

There you are. You're two of a kind when it comes to manners.

[portends]

[ And then the Black Dog does something he has not done in a very long time. He kneels, heeling the way an obedient dog would to a master. His head bowed: ]

Forgive my sister's intrusion, princess. Her eagerness to see my will done has driven her to act out of turn. [ A glance sideways at the white figure beside him, her sneers, showing his sister his teeth.

She ducks her head low, much lower than his. ]

[primrosella]

I...

[She wobbles again, the color mostly drained from her face, but keeps her feet. She wouldn't know what this means under normal circumstances, in full possession of her senses; as it is, she's still just staring from one to the other.]

You're...you're quite finished, then...?

[portends]

[ There are certain rules by which the Dogs must live, the first and foremost of which is that the eldest, the first, the Black, is always to be abided. When a man or beast or monster must fall then it is to the White to catch it and see that it is felled. And when a man or beast or monster must go free then, by the same rights, they must go free. ]

Her trespass has earned you respite. A day, no longer, then I will come yet again.