Tricks of Crude Glass [Vylira]

[Vylira]

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Vylira smirked at Vanessa, walking along idly with her hands clasped behind her back, loose palms bouncing with each step as her hips swayed back and forth with a natural grace. "Oh I don't know, it seems pretty convenient," she said with a sing-song tone as she marched alongside the Knight. "I mean if I hadn't come along your sword might've been taken away by that poe, or perhaps you would've died of thirst. I came along and provided you with some water, however small the dosage. But that's only because you're stubborn."

She smirked and patted Vanessa on the head rather abruptly, ruffling her hair with a random sense of intimacy. "And we wouldn't have met had I not followed whatever fancy I had taken, much like if you had not taken to your own random fancy, given to you by your sword. Your very interesting sword. Your marvelous, talking sword. I taken interest in these sorts of things, anomalies, artifacts, the strange and the bizarre. I have a full collection, I'm sure I can trade you something equally as strange for that talking sword of yours."

Just as abruptly as she had pat the Knight on the head she was behind her. It was much easier to move around someone who was struggling their way through the desert when you yourself had all your energy. Her ear pressed up against the warm metal of the blade, heated in the sun of the desert and holding onto that heat. She gave the thing a little flick and listened to the metal vibrate. "Can it talk to me? I'd love to hear it talk. Imagine the kinds of things a sword could say, especially to someone who knew what to ask it," she said with a wide, hopeful grin.

But Vylira was the restless sort, especially when the drugs hit her system, and she was around front of Vanessa again before the Knight could even turn to see what she had been doing. Walking backward while stooped forward, keeping her face an even but close distance from Vanessa's, she smirked. "I'm sure you've hard my name. Vylira, the information broker. Speak my name unto a flame, voice and paper are one the same, and let us begin this clever game." She'd always felt the rhyme was incomplete, but the poet who had composed it refused to finish it. "And hopefully the next time you utter it you'll be looking to trade me that sword."

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[VANESSA FERRE]

† Take My Eyes

Vanessa thought for a moment, tiptoeing hither and tither, wavering off and about and then back onto the path cleaved of mythril. “A good deal for me,” her voice struck a gleeful note, “But not so great for you -- Ah, if you listen closely Claymore might speak to you.” It shouldn’t be too much longer now, or perhaps it was even further away, but she wouldn’t know, she’ll get there when she’ll get there. Another whirl upon her senseless heels and she began walking, tracking, something, there were just so many colors and waves; it was a little difficult to keep track of what was being said.

“Why--” Her face collided into the sand; it seemed that her muscles had decided to be difficult, and she made a little choking noise before sitting back up, a little short of breath, pouting a bit “You have plenty of those things! I’m sure other swords talk too.” Straining, she tried upon her feet again, but with a shudder, those pesky legs cracked under the weight. It was annoying, really, who needs armor? With that, she began stripping the armor from her back, leaving only the chausses for walking, and carried on with the whim of her sword. “Oh, that’s much better”

“Of course Claymore could talk to you!” Vanessa chuckled, “But Claymore doesn’t want to. And besides, it doesn’t have a voice, do you Claymore?” She hugged the sword close as if it were the child of the Princess, herself. “Vylira...Vylira, my, that does sound familiar,” her chest was overtaken by a fit of weak giggles. Almost there. An Oasis of the sword’s knowing. But Vanessa wasn’t there for water, no, it was something of other importance that she had slipped her mind along the bending oranges, and reds, and yellows, and sand.

“But Claymore doesn’t want to be traded!” A look of absolute horror crossed the Knight’s face until another fit of thoughts bounded into her mind and out of her mouth, “Hmmm, maybe you’re following me for the oasis, you know that one. That one that sparkles and sings. Claymore’s voice sounds really wonderful with it -- oops.” Giggles and coughing took her senses once more, “Claymore is mad at me.”

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