The soft pitter-patter is barely noticeable in the streets of Paris, drowned by distant sounds. Many claim this city as holy place, yet the young man- nay, only a boy in appearance, he knows that corruption and crime thrive in Paris' hidden allies and shadows. For every kind citizen in this beautiful city, there are a dozen darkness infested hearts here to counter it. Despite bearing the load of this knowledge, and all the tales of those who wander about in the nighttime, the boy does not seem concerned. His steps are long and confident, and make not even a whisper of noise as he slips through the darkest parts of Paris.
One side of his face is covered by an elegant mask that seems too refined, too imperious for such an event as the Feast of Fools. Covered with simple and elegant gold designs around the eye hole along with feathers sticking out from the side, it almost gives him an angelic appearance. However, there is something cold and sharp in his bright blue eyes, something that doesn't and yet does fit with the almost princely attire that he's garbed in. Occasionally, a stray breeze slips through the brushed back, light gray-blue hair, but not a single strand falls out of place.
Needless to say, such attire is not the most subtle of things. Somehow, however, he's made it this far, halfway across Paris without a soul knowing. It's an impressive record. There are things in the shadows, however, determined to end it. Suddenly something lunges out from a nearby alley as the boy passes and he makes a quick attempt at escape. Unfortunately, the brute has experience in this area of crime. A few skips back are all the boy can manage before one thing arm is grabbed in a crushing grip. To him, the world is a large dark blur as he's spun around, and his back spikes with pain as his assailant slams him against the wall. A sharp hiss snaps from the boy's mouth, and his eyes flicker up to stare at the man's shadow covered face. The stench is terrible for a normal person, and the boy's face slips into a look of heavy disgust. In a flash, the expression is gone, and he simply stares up with empty eyes into the man's own lustful ones.
The vagrant doesn't even have a chance to get a word in. With frost on every word, the boy warns him, "Monsieur, it would be in your best interests to release me, or I'm afraid things will get quite unpleasant." That earns a sneer and the glint of a blade in the moonlight, and the boy sighs. Ah, if only he were to listen...
Zexion does not take kindly to being threatened and tossed about.
The darkness behind him suddenly flairs to life, twisting wisps of purple smoke eagerly reaching forward as if to envelope the two of them. The criminal gives out a yell, stumbles backwards, but Zexion just smirks, remembering dark and twisted amusement as he watches the man and his fear. There shall be time for such 'pleasures' later, however; all it takes is a single step backwards, and he disappears. In his place, only a brick wall stands, covered in shadows. There's a certain irony in the air as the thug finally recovers, pale faced and shaking as he quickly traces a cross over himself.
After that night, the next few days pass, uneventful in their normalcy.
Yet the man, a fellow named Cordell who has never been friends with the law, finds himself glancing at shadows wherever he goes, and would swear to a priest that there are eyes following him.
Scuttling along rooftops and lurking among shadows, creatures with pale spider-like limbs and wings that mock those of the angels diligently keep watch on the man. Their eyes are stitched shut, yet that never stops them, and a mask covers their mouth, although they do not cease their whispers to one another in rapid, carefully worded bursts. They'll make the young master happy, oh yes they will....
------
It is on the sixth day, after that incident in the dark, that something finally happens.
The Feast of Fools is a tumble of color and laughter, and it is at midday that everything is at its loudest, most exciting. Children scream in delight, women teasingly flirt with drunken fools, and a few eager and greedy people take the chance to take what they can. Cordell is quick to forget that night, almost a week ago, in favor of robbing those careless enough to keep their purses with them as they dance and sing. The energy in the air infects his own blood, and he is just about to quit his thieving for today, just about to leap into a circle of wild dancers-
It's only a brief glimpse of white and gold and the blur of a smirk, and Cordell can feel his heart stop. He stumbles to a halt, as if trying to discern whether or not what he saw is illusion or the real thing. It's to no avail, however, because the street is filled to the brim with too much color, too many people. Panic is swelling up inside of him, and he whirls around and around, some twisted spinning top that's looking for a way out. The world seems to melt, as if some one's splashed water onto a still wet painting, and he doesn't know what to do. Suddenly, he bumps into some one, looks at their face, and screams at the sight of the man's face rotting off, blood and flesh hanging out of his mouth. Cordell attempts to stumble backwards, still screaming, and all around him, he can see these monstrosities, things that were once people with their flesh falling off, limbs missing. It's a scene out of hell, and he tries hard to escape, lashing out wildly. Escape, escape, escape, he has to ESCAPE-
From across the square, Zexion smiles, distant and cold as he idly tosses a crimson apple from hand to hand and stays seated on the edge of a stage. The festivities have come to a premature end as the party goers cease their merry making. A few men stumble forward to try and subdue the fool who's probably had too much to drink, yet he's wild and fierce in his delirium. Still giving a blood-curdling scream, he somehow manages to break through the crowd, and runs madly down the street.
While the people of Paris whisper about what happened, their feast ruined, Zexion merely bites down into his apple, aware of a tall presence suddenly standing behind him. As he relishes the taste lingering in his mouth, his eyes flicker up to the taller, more muscular man's face. In a deep yet quiet voice, the other man rumbles, "Was all this truly necessary, Zexion?"
The almost carefree expression that was on the boy's face suddenly disappears, sharpened into a knife-slash of a smile, teeth bared mockingly while his brilliant blue eyes shine unpleasantly.
"You know I don't appreciate being manhandled, Lexaeus."
One side of his face is covered by an elegant mask that seems too refined, too imperious for such an event as the Feast of Fools. Covered with simple and elegant gold designs around the eye hole along with feathers sticking out from the side, it almost gives him an angelic appearance. However, there is something cold and sharp in his bright blue eyes, something that doesn't and yet does fit with the almost princely attire that he's garbed in. Occasionally, a stray breeze slips through the brushed back, light gray-blue hair, but not a single strand falls out of place.
Needless to say, such attire is not the most subtle of things. Somehow, however, he's made it this far, halfway across Paris without a soul knowing. It's an impressive record. There are things in the shadows, however, determined to end it. Suddenly something lunges out from a nearby alley as the boy passes and he makes a quick attempt at escape. Unfortunately, the brute has experience in this area of crime. A few skips back are all the boy can manage before one thing arm is grabbed in a crushing grip. To him, the world is a large dark blur as he's spun around, and his back spikes with pain as his assailant slams him against the wall. A sharp hiss snaps from the boy's mouth, and his eyes flicker up to stare at the man's shadow covered face. The stench is terrible for a normal person, and the boy's face slips into a look of heavy disgust. In a flash, the expression is gone, and he simply stares up with empty eyes into the man's own lustful ones.
The vagrant doesn't even have a chance to get a word in. With frost on every word, the boy warns him, "Monsieur, it would be in your best interests to release me, or I'm afraid things will get quite unpleasant." That earns a sneer and the glint of a blade in the moonlight, and the boy sighs. Ah, if only he were to listen...
Zexion does not take kindly to being threatened and tossed about.
The darkness behind him suddenly flairs to life, twisting wisps of purple smoke eagerly reaching forward as if to envelope the two of them. The criminal gives out a yell, stumbles backwards, but Zexion just smirks, remembering dark and twisted amusement as he watches the man and his fear. There shall be time for such 'pleasures' later, however; all it takes is a single step backwards, and he disappears. In his place, only a brick wall stands, covered in shadows. There's a certain irony in the air as the thug finally recovers, pale faced and shaking as he quickly traces a cross over himself.
After that night, the next few days pass, uneventful in their normalcy.
Yet the man, a fellow named Cordell who has never been friends with the law, finds himself glancing at shadows wherever he goes, and would swear to a priest that there are eyes following him.
Scuttling along rooftops and lurking among shadows, creatures with pale spider-like limbs and wings that mock those of the angels diligently keep watch on the man. Their eyes are stitched shut, yet that never stops them, and a mask covers their mouth, although they do not cease their whispers to one another in rapid, carefully worded bursts. They'll make the young master happy, oh yes they will....
------
It is on the sixth day, after that incident in the dark, that something finally happens.
The Feast of Fools is a tumble of color and laughter, and it is at midday that everything is at its loudest, most exciting. Children scream in delight, women teasingly flirt with drunken fools, and a few eager and greedy people take the chance to take what they can. Cordell is quick to forget that night, almost a week ago, in favor of robbing those careless enough to keep their purses with them as they dance and sing. The energy in the air infects his own blood, and he is just about to quit his thieving for today, just about to leap into a circle of wild dancers-
It's only a brief glimpse of white and gold and the blur of a smirk, and Cordell can feel his heart stop. He stumbles to a halt, as if trying to discern whether or not what he saw is illusion or the real thing. It's to no avail, however, because the street is filled to the brim with too much color, too many people. Panic is swelling up inside of him, and he whirls around and around, some twisted spinning top that's looking for a way out. The world seems to melt, as if some one's splashed water onto a still wet painting, and he doesn't know what to do. Suddenly, he bumps into some one, looks at their face, and screams at the sight of the man's face rotting off, blood and flesh hanging out of his mouth. Cordell attempts to stumble backwards, still screaming, and all around him, he can see these monstrosities, things that were once people with their flesh falling off, limbs missing. It's a scene out of hell, and he tries hard to escape, lashing out wildly. Escape, escape, escape, he has to ESCAPE-
From across the square, Zexion smiles, distant and cold as he idly tosses a crimson apple from hand to hand and stays seated on the edge of a stage. The festivities have come to a premature end as the party goers cease their merry making. A few men stumble forward to try and subdue the fool who's probably had too much to drink, yet he's wild and fierce in his delirium. Still giving a blood-curdling scream, he somehow manages to break through the crowd, and runs madly down the street.
While the people of Paris whisper about what happened, their feast ruined, Zexion merely bites down into his apple, aware of a tall presence suddenly standing behind him. As he relishes the taste lingering in his mouth, his eyes flicker up to the taller, more muscular man's face. In a deep yet quiet voice, the other man rumbles, "Was all this truly necessary, Zexion?"
The almost carefree expression that was on the boy's face suddenly disappears, sharpened into a knife-slash of a smile, teeth bared mockingly while his brilliant blue eyes shine unpleasantly.
"You know I don't appreciate being manhandled, Lexaeus."
