Rain. Torrents fell over the DuCouteau estate, making mud-puddles in the twisting drive. Statues carved of marble arced above the path to the mansion's steps--upon which few feet had trodden in recent days. The hedges were trimmed; the stairs, swept; the orchard, harvested. Not a leaf out of place.
And there, high above the lush springtime perfection, a female form stood silhouetted in the window, her eyes alight, azure. She sighed over the pitter-patter of the rain. Alone, she frowned. Forgotten. She slithered from the window to her dresser and drew her slender hand over its surface.
Just before a picture frame, she paused in her advance. Her graceful fingers clasped around the photo; she tilted her head, pursed her luscious lips. "Kitty," she crooned, talon-like nails now gliding over the glass, pausing upon her sister's face. The picture was old, faded, the image of a military ball, where both girls stood beside their father clad in fancy dancing gowns. They were young then, barely budding.
A forked tongue flickered over her lips. Her nails scraped against the glass, leaving white-scratch trails behind them, emitting the cacophony of her discontent. They lingered on her father. Her brows contracted. Her distinguished features drew down in a scowl. "Daddy always loved you best." She slammed the picture face-down on the dresser--just beside a wooden box, which lay open, lined with purple silk. There, upon its cushion, sat a crystal: black, in the shape of a rose.
Cassiopeia clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. Slowly, graceful fingers stretched for the stone. Free, even from the potential of being summoned, wealthy beyond words, with servants to tend to her every need, there was little need to even leave the manor. Yet, she must. She must do something. Her hand paused in mid-air as a servant rapped upon the door.
"What do you want," Cassiopeia hissed.
"Milady," came the servant girl's muffled reply, cautious of her mistress' wrath. "The linens for your bed."
"Go. Away," the words dripped like venom from her lips. She waited until the obedient footsteps of her maid had died away before she took the crystal in her palm. Slender fingers curled around the token, embracing its chill. A corner of parchment stuck out from beneath the purple cushion. Cassiopeia sunk her teeth into her lip. With her free finger and thumb, she lifted the note from its hiding place and held it up before her.
In that flowery, distinctive script, the matron's words were writ:
Don't ever garden uninformed, worry can quickly ensue! I think you should know a little or all you possibly can about anything you do. These tactics can save petty costs or prevent threats from ruining everything. There, in many instances, are a couple or several tricks to help factions who garden frequently, intent on consistency. Books on the subject say eliminating pests is paramount. Our gardeners focus on organization, seeds in place, but it is important we remember our roots: remain, above all else, informed.
Thank you for your thoughts. With plants, loyalty, or rather devotion, will yield best results. Be attentive, loving, and rewarded you will be. When we have trouble, we adhere to the rule: look at it all and decide which of your options works. Noxus thrives this way.
Pests. She pursed her lips and spread the paper on her dresser. Slowly she slithered over to her chaise lounge and reclined upon it, the crystal rose still clasped tight in her fingers. "Garden," she cooed to it. No. "Gardening," she corrected. She watched the rose in silence, wondering, waiting.
Post by The Deceiver on Apr 4, 2013 18:07:11 GMT -5
The crystal rose did not react right away. One minute. Two minutes. Three. Three minutes, and thirty three seconds later, a whisper drifted out from the the crystal in an all too familiar voice. "What flower does the gardener bring?"
Last Edit: Apr 8, 2013 14:10:13 GMT -5 by The Deceiver
Her nails caressed her trinket's onyx petals. Surely She would deign to chat--or, perhaps! Cassiopeia shifted her weight on the chaise, her shoulders cocked in sultry asymmetry. Perhaps she'd pay a visit. But one minute passed. Two. The serpent woman's face drew down in an affected pout.
At her shoulder, coiled neatly on a cushion, the sheen of its scales like an oil slick, a black viper trilled its contentment. Snakes flocked to her, always found her, slithered through the sludge of the underground city to be with her, emerged in the hedges and drain pipes. This had frightened her at first, a bitter reminder of her condition, but of late she found some comfort in their presence--only, now her viper's gentle hiss offered no solace against the silence.
Two minutes. Three. She clenched the crystal in her fist. The matron wouldn't show. She would leave Cassiopeia to rot. Like. Everyone. Else. In her rage, she spat a splatter of poison at the floor, where it burned through the lush Ionian carpet. Her viper reared its head, perturbed by her sudden display. She was but a moment from hurling the rose across the room when a voice like the tinkling of bells rang in her ears. What flower does the gardener bring?
Cassiopeia gasped. Her eyes went wide. An answer. Quickly, she composed herself as she'd been taught, a gentle smile drawing up the corners of her luscious lips. She looked down at the crystal in her palm, perhaps expecting to find an image of LeBlanc. She tilted her head, coy. "Not a flower, matron," came her simpering reply. "But a worm."
Post by The Deceiver on Apr 7, 2013 2:41:27 GMT -5
"A worm?" The crystal rose's petals started to unfurl, acting more like the flower than the rock it was. Within moments, from the center of the flower, the soft image of LeBlanc could be seen as the last petals pulled away. Finely polished and smoothed quartz compromised the figure of the Deceiver. She curtsied towards Cassiopeia and lowered her hips until she touched one of the petals. Once she settled herself comfortably in her seat, LeBlanc raised one leg and crossed it over her other, staring at the gorgon woman the entire time.
"One can not ever have too many worms in one's garden, but there are so many to choose from. How is this worm different from its brothers and sisters?"
Last Edit: Apr 8, 2013 14:09:48 GMT -5 by The Deceiver
A sultry smile spread over Cassiopeia's face as the miniature image of LeBlanc emerged from the unfurling petals. She watched the matron situate herself on a petal, daintily cross her legs. The thought crossed her mind to hurl the flower now, to shatter it and watch the tiny image of The Deceiver flail and fall. But it was only that. Just a thought. Punctuated by a flash of her eyes and nothing more.
She feigned offense at the matron's implication, drawing in the sharpest gasp, her eyebrows shooting up in mock woundedness. "But matron!" Cassiopeia exclaimed. "I am not the worm!" She looked theatrically hurt, her slender hand spread like a spider over her cleavage. "I am a delicate flower!" The hurt expression shifted into a smile again, coy. Cassiopeia rose from the couch and slithered across the floor, her would-be-hips swaying as she went in echo of her former form.
"This worm bites and gnaws at the roots. This worm inches up stalks to chew holes in the leaves!" The monstrous form of the youngest DuCouteau daughter paused halfway across the room, before the lavender drapery of her bed. Her voice dropped to a sensuous whisper; she leaned in close to the matron's miniature form. "I know a certain feathered friend of yours who'd like to make a meal of it. And--" She smirked, batting her overlong lashes. "It is coming to pay me a visit."
Post by The Deceiver on Apr 8, 2013 14:09:15 GMT -5
"Darling, you are no more a flower than I am an albatross," LeBlanc laughed. She waggled a tiny finger at Cassiopeia, her tone taking a coy turn. "You are the serpent that lies underneath it. Much more valuable, much more, beautiful, than what your typical rose can achieve. No need to degrade yourself, dear."
A thought ripped through LeBlanc's mind, not disrupting her implacable mask. 'Because you've already worn your knees out from all your hard work, vous putain bite serpent siphonage.'
The Deceiver folded her hands onto her lap, staring at Caassiopeia with a toothy smile. "Oh? And would this...meal, have a name?"
Last Edit: Apr 8, 2013 14:12:00 GMT -5 by The Deceiver
Cassiopeia tittered, slender fingers brought up before her smile in an affected display of flattery. "Oh, you think so!" Her expression flashed with delight. "To hear it from you, matron, that is a gift!" Her eyes welled with touched tears.
Overlong eyelashes fluttered at LeBlanc's final question. Cassiopeia sniffed. "It does; it does." Then she flashed a fang-y grin. "It also has a price."
Post by The Deceiver on Apr 11, 2013 16:28:45 GMT -5
"A price?" LeBlanc pouted her lower lip. "I'm not a wealthy woman, my dear Cassiopeia, but..." She shrugged her shoulders playfully, her tone sounding morose, in the throes of the despair despite her bright demeanor. "I shall try to match your price. What is your price?"
Cassiopeia could not help herself a smirk. "I?" Her eyelashes fluttered again. "I want a pretty suit to wear, when I go here and there. A mask, nondescript. A gown. Fuller lips?" She leaned into the mirror, away from the Deceiver's miniature form, lips pursed as though expecting a kiss from some invisible beau.
Swiftly, snakelike, her head snapped back towards the tiny image of the woman in her palm, her mouth twisted upwards in a sultry smile. "A different face to walk behind from place to place. Legs with which to walk." Her eyes widened like a child begging her mother for a pricey toy. "Would you give me such a thing, matron? A special gown I can take on and off at leisure? A look for simple pleasures such as--" Cassiopeia paused, her forked tongue held between her teeth as she feigned deep contemplation. "Enjoying the marketplace? Strolling in the park?"
She bit her lip, coy. "It's not too much to ask, is it? You give me this disguise--a simple thing considering your prowess!--and I give you..." She cocked her head, purring, "information on your pest. Information you can use to prune your garden and guard it against such vermin." She twirled a slender finger in her hair, awaiting the matron's reaction to her affected request.
Post by The Deceiver on Apr 12, 2013 3:17:03 GMT -5
The image of the Deceiver tilted her head. She chuckled, the sound of crystal shards cascading gently wafted into the gorgon's ears. LeBlanc twitchedher eyebrows at Cassiopeia while she asked, "Who could possibly validate such a favor? You make it sound as though you had Jarvan III himself waltzing into your quarters."
Post by cassiopeia on Apr 13, 2013 17:44:50 GMT -5
The briefest flicker of exasperation came over Cassiopeia's exotic features. "He might have done!" she cried, composing herself soon after with a flutter of her eyes. Her forked tongue passed over her fangs as she inhaled: a quiet hiss of reassurance to herself.
"But you want a name before you give a promise." The naga affected a pout. "That is hardly fair, matron. If you find my morsel tasty, I should like my due!" She sounded like a child imploring her mother, her brows furrowed in brattiness. After a moment of silence, she conceded, hissing, "Talon."
Post by The Deceiver on Apr 20, 2013 18:13:51 GMT -5
"Oh ho?" The Deceiver pursed her lips. "I thought you enjoyed him and his array of blades. I had heard that he's quite apt at sticking them on the right tempo in the right places."
LeBlanc rolled her hand motioning to Cassiopeia to speak more. "I had not thought you would try to cut him loose so soon. So this is either a trap, and you have been stringing me along the entire time in a vain effort to try and win my favor which I can assume is not the case, else you would be cured of your ailment...or he has done something to raise your ire. What has he done, my most curvaceous of serpents, to make you cut his strings?"
Post by cassiopeia on Apr 20, 2013 20:34:10 GMT -5
"Enjoy him!" Cassiopeia looked offended. "He is selfish and spiteful!" she nearly shrieked, her voice growing higher as she dramatically decried her father's pet. "He left me alone. He cares only for himself and matron," her eyes flared with affected hatred for her adopted kin. She lowered her voice to merely a hiss concluding, "He is a fool."
She spoke with furious conviction, apparent passion against the subject of her ire. Perhaps it was jealousy that caused her lips to go taut, hatred because her father's sought-after approval had been doted on the son that was not even of his blood. Anger reddened her cheeks. Her expression twisted with spite. "Everyone," she snarled, "left me."
Post by The Deceiver on Apr 21, 2013 1:18:01 GMT -5
LeBlanc rested her chin onto her palm, staring at the gorgon woman, her implacably beautiful features not giving sway to any emotion or tell of her true feelings. "And...What would you have me do with him, dear? What shall I do when he is in your presence? Hm? What do you expect me to do, expel the worm? Trace the worm? If he is coming here now, then does that not mean he is coming back for you? Or is it that you are...missing something. Something you've never had, but always wanted."
Post by cassiopeia on Apr 22, 2013 22:26:30 GMT -5
Cassiopeia clicked her forked tongue against the roof of her mouth in mild irritation. "He will come to bring me news and ask for mine," she said. "I am not leaving Noxus to slink about in sewers like some common outlaw!" The serpent huffed, her nose upturned in apparent disgust at the very thought.
Then, snakelike, her visage snapped back downwards towards the miniature figure of LeBlanc, her blue eyes agleam with nostalgia. Her voice became a dramatic hiss. "I had what I wanted... once. And I want to have it again. Beauty, prestige, influence." A single tear fell upon her pale cheek, rolled down and lingered on her jawline, leaving a glistening streak of regret in its wake. Her full lips trembled--but she managed a sniff of composure.
"I will wear the rose, matron, and you may watch, listen, hear what report he gives me. I know he had affiliated himself with the Exile's cause--and therefore he is a traitor to Noxus. Let me use him for you. Let me be your ears." Her usually sultry expression became serious. "I will prove myself this way."
Last Edit: Apr 22, 2013 22:27:00 GMT -5 by cassiopeia
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