May. 1st, 2012 02:16 pm
fractured_white: (Oh really~?)
[personal profile] fractured_white
*This guy wouldn't dare show his face on the network after what he did, right? Well...apparently not, since he's lounging quite comfortably in the hotel lobby as if his conscience was feather light. And maybe it is, this isn't exactly the sort of event to help regret grow in already infertile soil.*

My my, so much outrage over my actions of late. You'd think I murdered the little angel, from the way you're all acting. But no, that award goes to our other pale haired ex-immortal, doesn't it?

*To his credit, he does look honestly angry at the mention of V/V's murder.*

And I don't recall the reactions to Naoya killing her being quite so obvious as this...misplaced priorities, perhaps? What fools these mortals be, indeed...but then, who am I to say? I never did understand your terror of injury or death, but it still seems a bit backwards to be angrier over the former than the latter if you ask me.

*And that's the note he ends it on.*
fractured_white: (Oh really~?)
[personal profile] fractured_white
*Albedo wasn't entirely sure he trusted the phone's claim that he could get things back from home, but he didn't see the harm in trying. So when Dark Hour came, he was pleased and intrigued to find a particularly large Shadow fade away into a pile of ancient books. Except that left him with a couple problems...hence the video post. Said large pile of books is clearly visible in the background.*

Well, I seem to have acquired a few extra books overnight. Yo, Nigredo. I'm certain you realize how much time it would take for a single person to get these properly dealt with.

*A pause, considering.*

And Issei, these include copies of those books I got from you when we met if you've found yourself missing them.
fractured_white: (Perhaps I'm lost as well.)
[personal profile] fractured_white
*Albedo's not turning on video right now. It's noon, his head is throbbing, his stomach is threatening to rebel and the room feels like it's moving. He can't even focus enough to find the right buttons to filter this.*

Nigredo, what's going on here?
fractured_white: (You'd do well not to anger me.)
[personal profile] fractured_white
Nigredo, we seem to be missing someone.

*Short and to the point. That should be enough of a warning flag even without the slight snarl in his voice.*
fractured_white: (Is that the best that you've got?)
[personal profile] fractured_white
*Hey, anybody remember that jerk that went on something of a rampage last week and then disappeared? Or just wondering what happened to that white haired troll that hasn't pestered anyone all week? Well, he's back now, and looking pleased with himself, if tired.*

Ahhh, the sweet reprieve of death is indeed rest for the soul. Yo, Nigredo, I hope I didn't miss anything important while I was out. Care to fill me in?

*After a moment of thought, he adds on.*

And a couple of you might be relieved to know that I'm a fair bit saner than the last time we spoke.
fractured_white: (Is that so?)
[personal profile] fractured_white
*The recording opens showing Albedo sitting at a piano in a music store. From the way the angle gives a perfect view of his gloved hands resting on the keys, it's pretty obvious that he's deliberately set it up to record.*

A pity I can't get my hands on an organ, but I'm partial to these as well.

*Without looking at the phone, he abruptly starts playing, clawed fingertips flying across the keyboard with skilled precision.

When the short piece comes to an end, he looks at the camera with a smirk.*

A suitable warm up, wouldn't you say, Prospero?

*He seems in a good mood. Maybe someone could get him to play a request if they went about it right?*
[identity profile]
*At first, all that greets the camera is a man sleeping in a dark room, looking almost eerily peaceful to anyone who knows him. Then the tossing starts and his expression darkens in fear and anger. He growls in his sleep, then abruptly wakes, sitting up and glaring around.

He's shirtless, though still wearing gloves past his elbows, and his chest has recent burn scars mottling the pale skin. He doesn't seem to be aware of the phone recording, and from the way he's tensed and breathing heavily, he's still recovering from whatever woke him up. Finally, he slams his fist angrily on the bedside table and the phone clicks off.*
[identity profile]
*Albedo's phone is lying discarded on a side table in Albedo's apartment room, recording him sitting with a length of cloth bandage within arm's reach, a knife in his left hand and his right hand unusually bare. He curls his fingers briefly, pressing the tips of his long, pointed nails into the red 667 tattoo on the middle of his palm before opening his hand again and slashing the knife across the number. Instead of reacting in pain, he closes his eyes and lets out a pleased moan.*

Ahhh...that ought to do it. How frail this body is, though, that even this much is the limit of what I can safely inflict.

*The video ends as he reaches for the bandages and starts wrapping his hand, although he clearly has no practice in such things.*


Oct. 20th, 2011 02:05 pm
[identity profile]

*Sometime late in the evening, Albedo clicks on the phone camera with a curious expression.*

Yo, Partner. Manage to find somewhere else to live already? I'm insulted you didn't warn me. Keep it up, and I might just get the impression that you're trying to avoid me.


*Well, by the time Dark Hour rolls around, Albedo still hasn't gotten a response from the person he was after, so he can only assume the worst: one way or the other, Wilhelm is gone. He's feeling a mixture of emotions about this, and the loss isn't doing good things to his emotional stability. So, tonight, he'll be out with a knife in hand and The White Rider trailing behind him, seeking out and slaughtering any shadows he can find. Approach with caution, since in his current state, he might not care that attacking other people comes with consequences he doesn't want to deal with.*
[identity profile]
*Albedo is standing on the roof of his apartment during Dark Hour, looking down at the zombie infested streets below.*

Undead roaming the streets? Are we supposed to fear these meandering corpses, lacking in any form of cognitive function? How pathetic. Even trapped within a mortal shell, I see no reason to fear these empty shells of former men.

Oh, but I'm certain this must be terrifying for those civilians among us, those not conditioned to stomach or even look forward to the devastation of war. I wonder how long that portion of the population will last? Careful now, try not to lose your heads!

*He laughs at his own comment, obviously not sincere, and ends the feed.*


Sep. 26th, 2011 08:54 pm
[identity profile]
*The phone camera is twitching a bit as it focuses on a tired looking face, as if the person holding it was tapping its side. Though he looks mostly exhausted and annoyed, there's a wild look in the back of his eyes that indicates that he's probably not entirely sane.*

Who dares disturb my slumber? Whatever force saw fit to rip me from Rubedo's subconscious in the midst of my well deserved rest would do well to return me to my rightful place. Quaint though this place I've found myself appears, I find my interest in the recreation of the setting of Lost Jerusalem pales when compared to my desire to return to Rubedo's subconscious.


The Velvet Key

March 2013

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