Tricks of Crude Glass [Vylira]

[VANESSA FERRE]

† Take my Eyes

She was never good at asking questions -- sight had always given her enough answers to satisfy pressing matters, the only sorts of matters that she ever acted on. Scout one area, recapture another, establish a foothold in some other. Vanessa provided answers, facts that were unquestionable, things that provided no room for blurry lines and bleeding twilit colors, and she was satisfied with that. But as of the moment, a question came to mind, though she was not a particularly curious creature: what, in all the hells, was she doing in this goddess-forsaken wasteland? Not only was she stumbling about, pores long dried of sweat, in this hell hole, but she was completely alone...at night.

She forgot. It wasn’t like her to forget. Perhaps it was the heat now turned cold, or perhaps the swirling miasma of ghouls and wandering spirits, she couldn’t tell. And that wasn’t like her either. Dulled senses, muted colors of sand, a plastic wrap to trap the air of her mind -- suffocation. But the place was familiar, the pits of hell, something about the scorching particles of crude glass against the skin of her cheeks, something about how her chausses sunk into the sand, something about the howls of wind through dried bone, something about how the faint clink of poe lanterns against the fainter rays of moonlight through winded sand.

Vanessa brought a dusty hand to wipe the sand from her eyes; the sting had long been dulled and the sound of clicking metal had long vanished along with her senses. Delusion was a nice feeling. No need for water, no need for food, not even the slightest sensation of cracked lips and sand-scratched eyes. Amazing.... Quiet musings were her only companion -- no doubt she would get out of this situation, three days, or was it five. No matter. Her usual gait was now marred by a broken march. It was east: if she kept eastwards, she should make it. What was eastwards --

The unfamiliar lightening upon her back cut the haze from her eyes. Claymore

[/color]. Strength from somewhere, speed from something, she whirled to snatch at the hilt of her sword. Too slow; the blade was already lifted from her back, mythril glinting against shards of moonlight, barely captured by the edges of her silvery eyes. She blinked. Floating...floating claymore. Her knees buckled and her hand gripped her temples in a bought of dizziness at the uncanny sight. That was it; she had finally gone mad.[/blockquote][/blockquote][/size][/justify]

tags: vylira, vanessa
word count: 416
notes: madness ensues

[Vylira]

x x

Vylira had a tendency to be wherever she would be most effective. It wasn't always a place where she was needed, nor a place where she wanted to be, but rather wherever she would be of most import. For example the Haunted Wasteland, at that very moment, seemed like such a horrible place to be. The only inhabitants were those who haunted the wasteland, and poes very rarely needed anything that she could supply, so they were terrible for business. Furthermore even to a keaton the are was rather hostile; if it weren't for her home not too far with the Gerudo she mightn't have come prepared.

But as it were she was quite prepared with a stalk of canteens and rations in her nospace. Granted the reason why she was there in the first place was still the question at large. Vylira's mind held a constant flow of information on the world around her, the goings-on of each and every person aside from those scant few who knew how to block out a keaton's eye, each living thing's whereabouts, everything that could be known. This constant feed would be overwhelming to most, even to Vylira had she not had a keaton's natural instinct, the type that immediately filters this information into manageable chunks and feeds her what's necessary.

This still leaves the question unanswered. And to be frank the real answer would involve a lot of psychology and biology and chemistry, a bit of philosophy, some philology, even some etymology. It's remarkably complicated, but to put it simply, her subconscious has more of a direct feed into this flow of information and learns to read it and direct her to these places where she would be the most efficient. Which was why she was in the Haunted Wasteland at that moment, exactly where she needed to be to see the Knight stumbling through the desert and become the unwanted playtoy of some mischievous poes.

And then Vylira was there near her, closing the distance in a blink of an eye and looking down. "Poor Vanessa, lost in unfamiliar territory, unready for the dangers that lurk this land," she cooed as she watched the floating Claymore. Her eyes were able to see the poe holding it, though she doubted the hylian who ebbed at the edges of madness would even have the sense to look. Granted Vylira showing up like this would do much good for that madness either, as casual and nonchalant as she was dressed with no apparent supplies to sustain her, she might easily be thought of as a mirage.

[/justify]

[VANESSA FERRE]

† Take my Eyes

The funnel of space shocked her senses, sending a knife of white through her skull and between the eyes, and for a second, she thought she saw a ghost in form of a woman as a hand shot up as if to tear the pain from her eyes. Wait. Eyes of filmed mercury blinked in rapid succession, and a vambraced arm sought to wipe away the haze but to no avail; the woman was still there, right next to her ... speaking to her? Vanessa...Vanessa?

[/color] That’s right, she was Vanessa. There was some sort of comfort, or at least satisfaction, in gripping a name before it slipped through her fingers, pounding it back into her weak mind until it remembered something.

“Goddesses, at least I’m not dead yet. What --” The desert wind stole what was left of her parched voice as mercuric eyes darted back and forth from mysterious woman to floating sword, both which -- she was positive at this point -- were the consequences of a slightly touched mind; madness was truly a most fascinating state until panic settled back into her chest, quickening her heart, propelling adrenaline -- or what was left of it -- through her legs to scramble a few steps back before she was running on pure nothing. If madness were truly her affliction, she couldn’t be dead: that was a good thing. And if the woman were, in fact, a ghost, there would be slight problems especially since they were in such close proximity, but her biggest concern was Claymore.

It didn’t matter if the woman was an apparition out for blood, it didn’t matter if madness drowned her senses, it didn’t matter if she was a plaything -- Claymore was hers, and as if getting the thing back were the only possible way of regaining whatever shred of dignity she had before, Vanessa clamored forward with little grace to snatch at the swaying sword. Another split-second and the taste of sand slapped her face. Missed. She could’ve sworn it was right there just like she could swear that woman was still there. Hands were empty; Vanessa stared at her hands in bewilderment -- they shouldn’t be so completely alone.

Back to the floating claymore, back to the woman, back to the so, so, so, empty hands. Thump. Somehow, the mythril blade was lodged in the sand a hair too close to her head. It raised itself for another strike. How embarrassing and completely unsightly. Attacked by one’s own weapon. The thought was somehow amusing -- so it finally turned on her, and she laughed, her voice with little mirth and splattered with bitterness. “You -- you asked me!” She scrambled to her feet only to drop to her knees. “I didn’t ask for you -- I never wanted you!”

Color exploded behind her eyes as the windstorm took a bat to the bell of her mind, striking, striking... Gripping her temples, Vanessa say flashes of something -- appearing, disappearing -- holding her claymore. It was gone, fervor clouding her vision in red. “Scorn me now...I bet you would like to taste my blood.” Vanessa rounded to whoever or whatever it was that was appeared so suddenly out of the blue like some goddess of the desert, “And watch if you may, I bet you would enjoy it as well -- so goddamned powerful, knowing everything, everywhere...” Words of nonsense spilled from her blood-cracked lips, her mind falling between teeth, over tongue and out onto the sand in all of her heated murmurs.[/blockquote][/blockquote][/size][/justify]

tags: vylira, vanessa
word count: 579
notes: neurotic

[/size]

[Vylira]

x x

Vylira looked down at the delirious Knight and couldn't help but grin. Most Knights knew something of her. It was hard for her not to be recognized in this day and age with the amount of business she offered. It was interesting how Vanessa was this coherent in all the delirium that she was feeling. The keaton smirked and sat down in the sand, producing a canteen from her nospace and taking a sip of the water. Almost tauntingly. Actually not almost. It was exactly what she was doing: taunting the poor, lost and thirsty Knight.

"You know I've never been fond of Gerudo water. It tastes like minerals. I much prefer the fresh stuff that Castle Town provides, straight from Lake Hylia and filtered to perfection by the Zora. Or something like that. Fortunately I decided to bring some of that along with me," she mocked, taking a long gulp from the container and capping it, letting the strap drape over her shoulder. She was a Fox Minish to those who knew her business; few were privy to the fact that she was actually a keaton. That being said, Fox Minish were still notoriously bad for taunting and teasing and being remarkably cunning.

"You know if you ask he might give you back your sword," she said and held out her hand, giving it a little flick to invite the sword toward her. It was a simple game. By taunting the woman with the water the poe could see that Vylira wasn't going to let Vanessa off easily, that she was going to have her own mischief, so the sword was not falling back into good hands. So when she called the poe over the floating Claymore bobbed and weaved around the struggling Knight to hover just beside the keaton where she sat. Vylira smirked.

"This is Gerudo territory, you do realize that, right? The Knights are sword enemies of the Gerudo, for all that that's worth, so why would one wander this far into the Wasteland without adequate supplies. I'm really curious about that. I'll buy the information off of you for a gulp of this water, or for your sword back, its your call really which way you want to go," Vylira cooed. Her elbows rested against her knees and she leaned forward eagerly, resting her chin on her clasped fingers and waiting for the Knight to make up her mind on the matter.

[/justify]

[VANESSA FERRE]

† Take my Eyes

Oh she knew where the water from the Castle Town came from, and she knew what water tasted like, in fact she could almost taste it upon her lips, so there was no pressing need to know what it tasted it like or where it came from -- no, not at the moment, was there? Give it back? Give what back? Glazed eyes stared upon the thing that was supposedly a mirage. Why is Claymore floating to her of all things?! Particles of insecurity floated to the surface as resignation began to lick at her heels -- focus. The sound of water against the moonlight now -- what happened to that poe lantern -- only the sound of water rubbing against her dried tongue.

Ask me to speak. Yet she couldn’t speak with a withered tongue; with disobedient lips and a dead tongue, it was a miracle that her lips could part for each ragged breath. It was a blessing, or curse, of the Knight, to have such persisting strength, but it was leaving every tendon under skin with every exhale into the sanded night. Bloodied fingers gripped the fickle earth beneath her as silver turned to meet teal, something that wasn’t too hard to find in midst of her delirium.

Lips parted as silence left her tongue. I know, I know, I know. Only facts remained in her mind at this point; things that were malleable -- purpose, shoulds, shouldn’ts, reason -- had left her after the heat and cold had struck her one too many times. Gerudos strike with swift blades in unwasted arcs, they take form others and give only to their own, they...what? Water or sword. Something ate at the edge of her mind -- need. “Toying with me...

Blond brows furrowed as another strike of white impaled her brain -- flashes of another form next to the woman -- so mocking. Snickers that were too loud. “Be quiet...Be quiet!!” Hands clamped down upon her ears as the scream tore from her throat with too much effort, and it hurt. Waves of pain, flowing, ebbing.“Damned sword.” The woman was still speaking. Vanessa lowered her hands -- or dropped them. Might as well listen -- she was already talking to her sword, what was a mirage?

“You...talk a lot.” Water. Sword. Which. Neither. She couldn’t answer. Why was she here? Reconnaissance? Flashes of red, cracked images of grime and stone. No that wasn’t it. Vanessa shook her head. So, her subconscious answered in its purest form. “It told me to.” She glared up at the sword. This wasn’t for the broker. The icy fire within her voice was for Claymore. “I...I want...I want Claymore.” Either way, she felt as though she would die. Without water, she would surely die, and without Claymore, it would take her longer to die. And that thing next to the woman was so, so, irritating.

[/justify][/size]

tags: vylira, vanessa
word count: 480
notes: down the rabbit hole we go

[Vylira]

x x

The answer really caught Vylira by surprise. She was normally a good read on a person, but delirium threw it off and despite everything people believed she couldn't read minds. Just people. To reach for her sword when water was available in the desert . . . the sword wouldn't be able to quench her thirst and surely the woman wouldn't be able to make it to any water source before she collapsed. Vylira knew for certain that there wasn't an oasis for at least four miles and it would be a miracle for Vanessa to even wander in the right direction for that.

Still, the silver-eyed woman had made her choice. Vylira reached out her hand toward the Claymore and motioned for the poe to hand it over. There was a moment where nothing happened, but the keaton merely threw the poe a look and he obliged, dropping the weapon into the sand in defiance before floating off with disinterest. Vylira grabbed the hilt of the weapon and gave it a tug to lift it up. It was heavier than it looked, but still not too heavy for the broker. Merely awkward to carry, but she only covered the few feet between her and the parched woman.

And then she dug it in the ground and leaned against it. "You know it's not polite to tell someone to shut up," she teased, resting her elbow on the pommel of the weapon as she looked down. "But you didn't answer my question in a fitting matter. I'm paying you for your answer, not vague clues toward its nature. So I'll ask you again, and until you answer you can still choose water," she chimed, pulling a fresh canteen from her nospace and dangling it from her other arm. Claymore on her right, water on her left.

"So tell me, Knight Sergeant Vanessa Ferre, what're you doing wandering through the Haunted Wasteland without supplies or any discernible destination?" The answer was stashed somewhere in Vylira's memory banks, of course, but sometimes it was easier for her to get her information through legitimate conversation, and frankly she was enjoying this little spectacle. It wasn't often you had a Hylian Knight at your mercy like this. At least not this literally: Vylira had had Knights begging her for information before, but it was always conditional.

[/justify]

[VANESSA FERRE]

† Take my Eyes

Vanessa watched as the sword thudded into the sand -- relief that tasted better than any water washed over her frame. But when the apparition, who seemed quite solid at this point, gripped the hilt of Claymore, silver snapped to attention -- her sword. And what was this possession? And why was the woman still talking? Vanessa wracked what was left of her brain. Not an adequate answer?

Now that the fervor had simmered to a dull throb, the burn of nonsense gave way to a fog of confusion that swirled about her sanity, slowly nibbling, savoring what was left of her coherence. “Oh...apologies,” something that was the polite familiarity upon her tongue, and it didn’t particularly occur to her to apologize, after all why should she have to? But it was a comfort to say in the midst of unfocused eyes and wavering images of blue and cream.

She looked up at the woman, too exhausted to be angry -- oh she could be defiant, she could go in circles all day, but her lips refused to obey and the weight of her body rooted her to the spot. A vague thought crossed her mind: when would desperation finally set in? It wasn’t terrible as of the moment, not that she was aware, but the sword now under the woman’s arm -- how it taunted her so. “What do you want from me,” air-eaten mezzo-soprano with a tinge of resignation sounded unfamiliar to her own ears, and not even she was completely sure who she was addressing. Claymore? or the Woman?

“I told you,” irritation bit at her voice; what was so difficult to understand? “Claymore asked me to -- it was feeding time,” she swallowed -- water

[/color] -- to continue, wetting her lips with sanded air as a wry smile dawned on her broken visage, “Supplies.” What happened to those? Flashes of red, cracked images of grime and stone. Broken snippets here and there with strikes of mythril and steel -- a death trap. “They’re gone now. Mad Gerudo thieves...” She returned to muttering under her breath, something about giant bulls and flaming arrows and then some about civility.

A glint under moonlight. Was it Claymore, or was it the woman’s eyes? It was too hard to discern as images began to blur. Stop taunting me.[/color] What was it to her anyway? “I want Claymore.” Vanessa held out a shaking hand -- it was highly unlikely that she would be able to wield the blade, but having it was comfort enough. [/blockquote][/blockquote][/size][/justify]

tags: vylira D: vanessa
word count: 423
notes: /trollbait T^T

[/size]

[Vylira]

x x

Vylira turned her attention back to the sword for a moment upon Vanessa's answer. The sword had told her to? That was an intriguing answer, considering the sword seemed merely that, a sword. It held a secret, of course, but that was no concern to Vylira. Not at the moment, anyway. She was more intrigued in the Knight who was on bended knee at the moment and begging for her sword over water. Water she needed to survive. The sword wouldn't do her any good, nor would she live long enough to use it again.

Still, a deal was a deal. "You cling to the sword like some kind of safety blanket. If you want it that badly then you've made your choice. Don't crawl to me looking for water when you no longer have the strength to carry it on your back," the keaton murmured, giving the sword a nudge forward. The sand that was supporting it wasn't very sturdy and the hefty weapon fell over onto the ground right beside the desperate Knight. She gave it a little kick with her foot to propel it forward to the woman.

"The thing is wandering through the desert like you are, that sword is going to be a burden more than anything. The more you wander, the hotter it gets, the more tempting it will be to drop that weapon and leave it behind. And the more you resist that temptation, the heavier it will get, weighing you down. As your feet sink into the sand with every step you'll realize the reason is the sword, and long after I have left you it will find its way into the sand once more and you'll wish you had picked water," Vylira grinned, crouching down to be at level with the Knight.

"However I am willing to make you another offer. I'm not heartless, after all, and the dying and desperate are very good for business. See, not everything has to be paid for up front; I do give loans. Right now, for example, I have an extra canteen of water that I can give you, at the price of . . . oh, how about your life?" she smirked wickedly. "Not like your soul or anything like that. But you would owe me your life, see, since I gave it back to you when you were looking to squander it for a measly sword. Doesn't that sound fair?"

[/justify]

[VANESSA FERRE]

† Take my Eyes

[/center]

Listening to every murmur of the broker had become too difficult; the words turned to grains of sand and tumbled from her lips becoming lost into the moon-touched dunes. She could try to grasp at them, dig through and infinite pool of unwanted dryness, but there was no point, so Vanessa merely watched as the woman continued to flap her lips. It was mesmerizing in its own way, really -- coherence was something that had become lost awhile back -- and so hypnosis set sleep to half-lidded silver. A break in sound; it took a few moments for the clink of mythril to register as dust whirled around in its wake.

Claymore.

[/color] A half-smile broke the grime upon her face as she reached for the sword. The familiar feel of the hilt against her blistered palms was a relief, a little too much as a wave of dizziness gripped her, her only defense a reflexive palm into the sand to support her weight. Water, water water. Again with the water. Hadn’t she made it clear? Claymore. That is all. Water was fleeting, water was just water, but Claymore was Claymore. Claymore needed her just as she needed Claymore. Without Claymore, there is no Vanessa, without Vanessa there is no Claymore. Or at least, it was the thought that struck against the folds of her mind over and over and over again until she had gotten used to the tinnitus of her mind.

Perhaps she was mad all along. The woman crouched next to her -- another offer? Nonexistent hearing suddenly came into existence as she listened this time. A dry cough, “Heh, again with the water...”. A life? Her life? For a canteen of water that would get her back to civilization. It sounded tempting for a moment, but what if this life wasn’t hers to give? It belonged to the people of Hyrule, it belonged to the Royal Family, it belonged to the Princess, it belonged to Claymore. Vanessa searched the broker’s eyes for something -- why would she want such a life anyway -- and smiled with lips deluded with an unnatural light.

A shift it muscle. It hurt. The sound of mythril against crude glass, Claymore planted into the earth. Vanessa dragged herself onto her feet, muscle memory straining to remember the movement of how she holstered the sword. But it was impossible, and weakened knees gave way to the weight of metal. Thud. That sounded familiar too. Again. Get up.[/color] She began walking. There was somewhere of importance that demanded immediate arrival. “Not yet...” near silent mutterings continued as she moved, each step heavier than the last. There was somewhere to be now. [/blockquote][/blockquote][/size][/justify]

tags: vylira, vanessa
word count: 445
notes: slave contract

[/size]

[Vylira]

x x

She was certainly stubborn. Most might attribute Vanessa's continued defiance to be willpower, that she wasn't giving in to the hidden agenda Vylira teased at having and all that. Those people who would assume that were fools who over-romanticized everything. The moment the woman had taken her sword over the offered water it had become clear that she was too stubborn for her own good. Maybe that was why Vylira was taking a liking to her, however dangerous that might be for Vanessa. It was fun to toy with stubbornness and test its bounds.

"Each step further into the desert, further away from water. I'll give you a little freebie: there's nothing in the direction you're going, you'll just perish. It is the right direction to go back the way you came, if you want, as this desert can be a little confusing and you may have gotten turned around, but there's no water and no trade routes. Just wasteland that will swallow you whole, sword and all," Vylira said with a coldly whimsical tone. "There is an oasis within your range, though your chances of picking the exact direction you need to go are about . . . oh . . . three hundred and sixty to one, roughly."

Considering the distance it was actually more like one thousand eighty to one, since if Vanessa was off by even a fraction of a degree she could end up overshooting it completely and perishing. But Vylira decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. She was a Hylian Knight, after all, she had to have some ability in that head of hers however delirious it was at the moment. Vylira was well-stocked on water and food, however, so it wouldn't be out of her way to travel alongside Vanessa to see exactly where her stubbornness broke.

Especially since the Knight set a very slow pace. One struggling step in front of the other she persisted, refusing to let the desert take her. Weakness, really, to not give in to your needs when they were healthy needs. It took strength to know humility, and Vylira liked to teach people this sometimes. Her pace was practically a jolly jaunt alongside Vanessa and she smirked. "I have these pills, got them in Castle Town off this stout little human you'd swear was a dwarf. They make everything look so fun. Would you like to give it a try for free?" she offered mockingly, producing a small bag out of the air. "You also get a free mouthful of water to help down the pill. A remarkable deal, really."

[/justify]

[VANESSA FERRE]

† Take My Eyes

More ramblings, more voices eaten by the delusion of her mind, and the never-ending breath of that woman upon her ears. Goddesses, when would she shut up? Without turning, it was too much to turn, she rasped, “I know where I’m going.” It was true, she did know, it was just a very particular and a very meticulous path that must be followed, a path that drove from the sword in her hand, into her very flesh and bone. One foot in front of the other as always -- it was what the sword asked of her, demanded of her.

The thought occurred to give the fox minish what she wished and to be done with it, or to accept the offer and merely end what was asked of her -- after all, in addition to scratching edges of sand, the grating of the woman’s voice was becoming increasingly irritating; it struck against blurred images and crushed the silence of hushing sand into large chunks of yammering. But hold. An answer for a price. Why was this needless following continuing?

It was truly a waste of breath to say it again, but she felt as though this creature should leave -- perhaps it was unclear before? It was difficult to remember, but it was almost certain that she said so before. “You’re still following me...” breathlessness seized her throat before her vocal chords would obey, “I can’t trade with you. I can’t. It isn’t mine.” That was true as well. As much as she wanted or needed the taste of water she had nothing to bargain with. More mutterings under her breath about random nothings, about the number of steps left, number of steps taken, perhaps number of breaths left as well.

More steps, more throbs -- or was it just one excruciatingly long one -- more sand down the throat, more noise. Vanessa was about to slap the woman upon the mouth in a universal gesture of “shut up” when the woman made another offer; it was an offer that would be painful at her expense. But what could be more painful than what was now? She didn’t need anyone to tell her that she would perish without water -- whether it tickled the unconscious rational mind or if it complete physical malfunction, it remained a fact: water was needed.

But she wouldn’t take something for free -- no it was not in her nature to take things for free, not when there were mysterious pills involved. But judgement was an elusive little thing at the moment and completely left her as she fell to the ground with a sharp intake of even sharper air. Resignation. Desperation. Disgusting. Vanessa nodded. Her destination at all cost. “I’ll take it” The little pill dropped unto her dusted hand, and silver fell upon them with some sense of wariness. But water was water.

She took the thing with a gulp of water -- so this was what water tasted like. For a moment, sense returned and she gave the canteen back to the merchant, unwilling to take more than what was offered in a last grasp effort to salvage her dignity -- color cracked her vision as blues turned electric, cream turned ethereal, and...and...the woman became flashes of vibrance and obnoxiousness -- so much so that Vanessa had to grip her head and clutch at her sword to keep from collapsing again from the strikes of colors.

The air moved in elusive characters, bending and twitching as it caressed her dirt-laden hair, and she could only wonder with vague sense, what the hell she took. Though, it made walking easier. Or so she thought. Her steps were certainly lighter and Claymore wasn’t too much of a burden. And all of a sudden she felt the need to laugh upon her blade, “Dear Goddesses, Claymore! You’ve lost weight.” The sword seemed to chastise her, so she kept walking. “Oh alright, as you wish, demanding thing.” She turned to Vylira, “You are quite right, it is a tad bit more fun. Claymore has never been this talkative before.” With that she continued on, still never wavering from a set path written in mythril, though things were more amusing than usual.

[/size][/justify]

tags: vylira ;w; vanessa
word count: 700
notes: oh god, candy

[/size]

[Vylira]

x x

Vylira could only grin wickedly as she watched the Knight pop the pill and take a mouthful of water. Just one mouthful, exactly what had been offered. There was some dignity left in that dried up husk that barely clung to life. Or honor, since she was a Knight, though once more Vylira attributed it to stubbornness. The stubborn always thought they were dignified, if only they realized how foolish that illusion made them look. Still, the mouthful would suffice to tie her over, and it made sure the pill got to where it needed to go fast.

And fast it was. The pill took effects very quickly within this one. Clearly she had a weak tolerance for such things if it took effect this quickly. Then again she practically screamed the "virgin Knight" archetype, so she was fairly certain the woman couldn't hold her alcohol, let alone the pill. She watched as the woman's steps came easier and she carried along with an almost jolly hop to it. The keaton followed along beside as Vanessa's words began to come quicker and her tongue was a lot looser. Briefly she considered taking advantage of this state.

But Vylira was a business woman and she would only conduct her business appropriately. Dirty deals only came back to get in the way, inciting foolish ideals such as revenge. Vylira merely shrugged and produced another one of the pills, popping it for herself. No point in letting Vanessa have all the fun. A good long chug from the canteen guided the pill down and she tucked the canteen and pouch away into nospace once more. It would take a little longer with her than it did Vanessa so she took the one last moment of perfect clarity to get her bearings. Being delirious in the desert would be dangerous for her, too, if she weren't careful.

Of course Vylira was always in control, so she knew to be careful. She smirked as she took her bearings. "Oh my this is going to be a delightful little adventure, isn't it?" she cooed, then turned her eyes to the sword Vanessa seemed so attached to. "Alright, I'm deathly curious. What's going on with the sword, why does it talk to you in the first place, let alone when you're high? It's not magic, is it?" she murmured, wondering if Vanessa's loosened tongue would get her some answers.

[/justify]

[VANESSA FERRE]

† Take my Eyes

[/center]

The colors stretched and blurred and undulated like a band of rubber, or maybe it was the horizon inflating and deflating like a tubed balloon. And if she squinted a little it looked like a sort of bloated blue sandworm wriggling back and forth. A giggle broke into her senses in shades of vibrating pink, but she was a little uncertain from where it came, so she darted deluded silver eyes to follow it, curious as to who was the owner of the pretty pink thing -- “Oh,” The Knights began wandering off between attention and holding her companion’s eyes, or she was trying to hold her companion’s eyes. But the ground was littered with little shining bits of stuffs that Vanessa took the liberty of kicking every now and then when she was feeling particularly exuberant.

But most of the times, she would just think of it, her legs wouldn’t obey anyway, always stumbling and tripping over little things like air and imagination. “It would be horrible if you died of curiosity,” a fit of giggles over took her clumsy frame, “So horrible, right? Claymore? -- oh, Claymore doesn’t want to talk to you.” She clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh, though what was really the point of stifling it, it was more amusing to see if she could hold her breath. “I’ll tell you a secret though.”

Her knees buckled and gave as she tumbled into the sand -- what was a few scrapes? The vibrant color of red was enough to keep her entertained as a finger decided to jab itself into the wound of her knee, “Ow. It’s because I’m mad!” Hysterical laughter broke through her lips. She thought it was funny. After all, mad people talked to these things all the time. But she was out of breath, so it was best to stop, or wait until she was out of breath, or stop -- chokes of dry air cut her laughter short. “Just kidding.” It was a funny joke wasn’t it? Vanessa struggled to her feet to follow the gait of the woman who seemed equally as happy -- how the jelly-like limbs shook!

“Claymore speaks, because Claymore chooses to speak!” It was certainly as obvious as the undulating dunes of sand. “Magic! Claymore is magical? Claymore, are you magical, she asks!” The sword close to her lips now, wait those were her ears. “Oh, Claymore just wants to go somewhere right now.” Another chuckle out of an infinite more led her into another hacking cough. “But what are you doing here?” She tripped again, “Damned feet, think their so funny -- But yes! There’s nothing for you here, unless you ask the sand questions -- I’m sure they would answer.” With that, the sparkling moonlight proceeded to distract her with utmost efficiency.

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[Vylira]

x x

Drugs and delirium clearly combined to create a monster. Vylira watched with sardonic amusement as the Knight jabbed herself in the leg and giggled at the pain and the blood. Well she was a Knight, anyway, certainly she was hardier than she looked. Which wasn't very hardy, not to Vylira, just for the record. She didn't make any effort to stop Vanessa from brutalizing herself. Maybe it was the drug in her system, or maybe it was just her, but she didn't really care what Vanessa did to herself.

Though she was curious about the woman who Vylira just couldn't peg. The willingness with which she took the drug, but the recklessness of walking into the desert without supplies, and the sword. Her attachment to that sword was something else. Vylira knew the feelings that were stirring up inside of her: this would become a pet project of hers, which would be a huge problem for Vanessa. Poor soul just happened to be in the wrong place at the right time, it seemed, to get Vylira's attention.

"I'm here because I wanted to go somewhere, and I have an uncanny knack of being exactly where I need to be at any given moment," Vylira cooed as she glided along without any effort whatsoever while Vanessa stumbled about. She left it at that, as well, because it was a phenomenon that really didn't have much of an explanation. Nothing that could be easily reasoned, anyway. Vylira had learned not to question it and accept it as a gift each time she showed up where she needed to be.

"I tell you what," the keaton said with a sudden inspired thought, perhaps induced by the drug. "If you ever want to become rich or retire from the Knights or whatever it is you wish to aspire to, talk to me and I'll take that sword off your back for a hefty price. I could even give you a real magical sword if you want, just saying," she said with a dismissive shrug, deciding she wanted to get her hands on that weapon now.

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[VANESSA FERRE]

† Take my Eyes

An uncanny knack, she says. Well, certainly everyone had an uncanny knack these days, but this one was most interesting, “My, my, that is convenient.” And other things clicked and clacked within the noise of her mind, and Vanessa managed to put something with two together in her delirium; she couldn’t decide where it came from -- the dessert or the happy pills -- or perhaps the source was just a little elusive. Not that it particularly mattered since she was going somewhere.

“Or not so convenient,” the musings floated about her head as she tried to capture them, but they seemed to slip through her fingers and floated about the dessert and flew back, striking her like boomerangs of thought, “Why would one need to be in a dessert?” A chuckle to herself or perhaps it was just funny how the tricks of sand tickled her feet. “Maybe mad people would need something in the dessert.”

Vanessa felt the sudden urge to hum, though it wasn’t exactly effective since her chipper tune was interrupted by either fits of giggles, coughs, or a clumsy stumble. But at the mention of Claymore, she pondered to herself what it would be like to release the sword as she froze, blinking at the woman’s offer. “That would be quite nice. Wandering about day in and out. Or a real magic sword.” It was certainly tempting; who would she be without her sword and without her crest? A curious thing indeed.

Vanessa swayed a little, spinning staggeringly upon her heels at an angle, changing the direction of her jaunt -- there was still somewhere to be after all. “Then I’ll have to remember your name.” She thought again, or was she listening? “But Claymore disagrees.” Her grip tightened upon the faded blue hilt of the sword, “Claymore is mine.” Laughing, Vanessa continued her trot, stealing little glances at her companion. “You really are a strange one, wanting the strangest things, and showing up at the strangest places.” She clutched her sword a little tighter and threw the Vylira a wary glance, “Why do you want my Claymore, anyway? It only talks.”

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