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Oh, horror! Another! They're all staring... The shadow's dismay grew at the appearance of yet another figure, and through his heightening tenseness, he either missed or chose to ignore the first question. Always questions... But it was the offer of friendship that made him freeze.

The eyes laughed, laughed a low, cold laugh that chilled the blood.

"You are lying. You lied from the moment you set your abominable stare on me! You are mocking me, madamoiselle..."

Before Menai there lay the dagger, and practically under her nose shone dried blood upon elegantly braided catgut in the hangman's loop...

Cierra thought for a moment. The prisoner's response startled her - she hardly ever reached her hand out in friendship to anyone, and yet... she had been knocked back. The prisoner, sorrowful as he was, contained as he was, alone as he was, he thought she was mocking him.

Well.

Cierra shook her head. Although she felt she should have been, her body and mind refused to become angry at the prisoner. If that's how he felt, however, it was his prerogative*. She shrugged. "If you say so."

She tucked her hair behind her ears and turned. Lightly, she stepped away from the prisoner. She was not going to stay here if that was how he felt.

She walked lightly towards another figure, a girl, who was standing in front of something that was glinting considerably in the dim light. She bent, and then stood back up.

She looked at Menai searchingly. "Is that yours?" she questioned.

[*-is reminded of Britney Spears- -shudders violently-]

[All right, I'm joining. I'm really attached to the character I made for Twelfth Kingdom that didn't work out, but as this isn't Opal, magic is rare, and a Pledge would seriously screw with people's characters thus far, I'll have to make a few major adjustments.]

Name: Eila Ostia

Age: 16

Gender: Female

Species: Human

Occupation: Servant to Duke Horatio, most powerful aristocrat in Marseil.

Possessions: A stone amulet in the shape of a horse's head is her only possession of any value, but that value is much greater than one would think.

Appearance: Broad-faced yet gaunt. Her ruddy-blonde hair is tied back and bent back up through the tie, to demarcate her status as Horatio's servant. Her clothing is a loose grey woolen dress embroidered with a simplified version of Horatio's crest.

History/Other: Since her father's death when she was fourteen, Eila has wandered about, doing odd jobs, fending for herself, and hoping no one would notice she was parentless. Her luck ran out, though, and the orphanage that took her in has put her into Horatio's service as a maid.

She is an efficient worker and, when her tasks are done, she wanders Marseil, asking questions here and there, searching for something or someone, as she has been since her father died. Horatio's demands make that far more difficult than it was, though, and she is loath to serve Horatio.

[There's a lot more where that came from.]

Eila

There hadn't been a lot to do today. The wealthy drunkards had been very few, and there was much to explore. Eila had long ago given up the wealthy districts - Horatio was in contact with all of the residents in some capacity, and he would know. He would know.

After the first year, Eila began to despair of finding Lucretia's son in Marseil. Not only would her father be mistaken - if she could not trust his words, she could not trust anything - but on top of it, she would be guilty of deserting the Duke.

Not by threat of death, but by your honor.

The waves of shame swept over Eila once more. To serve Horatio...

Though she had scanned much of Marseil, Eila had never dared to venture here, by the gaol. But many in the prison were brought by Horatio's hand - they could help, Eila knew, but they could as easily bring her great harm. But now was time to swallow her fears. She was running out of options.

Eila noticed a cluster of beings by a barred window. Silently, she approached, and watched from the end of the alleyway, peeking from the corner of the gaol.

The trouble was, there was another girl beside her, and someone had left a dagger behind.

It was then that Menai noticed the two things lying on the ground before her. She stared at them, not really thinking, for a few seconds. Then her mind clicked back into place, but before she could even start to think about what she should do, a woman had appeared in front of the items and bent down to look at them.

The woman straightened, and asked, "Is that yours?"

Menai reached up and lowered her hood slowly, revealing her pointed elf ears - and also a pair of intense glittering amber eyes, staring directly up into the woman's.

"No, these do not belong to me." She did not speak loudly, but every syllable was clear, with just the slightest touch of eerie malevolence.

[Yo, Jade, Cierra's about sixteen - she's not a woman yet. =P]

Cierra failed to hear Menai. Although she had asked the question to listen to the answer, she had not predicted that someone else would appear at the end of the alleyway.

She stepped to the left, ignoring Menai, and continued to watch the girl. "Who are you?" she asked the girl at the end of the alleyway, her heart beating a little faster. She had a powerful urge to protect the prisoner, even though he had knocked her back so harshly.

[I told you on MSN Cierra sounds very much like a grand-womanish name xD Oh well, can't be bothered to edit my post.]

Menai turned as Cierra spoke, her eyes flickering towards the figure behind her. Then she looked away again, uninterested. The girl who had previously asked her the question had chosen to ignore her. Just as well, then. She stepped forward and bent down, and picked up the loop and dagger, looking down at them. In her curiosity she had forgotten to put her hood back on.

Eila bit her lip. Discovered again, and she hadn't even noticed the girl at the other end of the alleyway.

"I wanted to see the source of this commotion," she said meekly.

She noticed the elf picking up the dagger and a noose as well. She hadn't noticed that, either. She was slipping.

"But if that isn't yours... well, the owner might be back at any moment. You wouldn't want to be taken for a thief, I don't think."

At once a sharp cry rang through the air, as the dagger and noose cast their morbid shapes unto the dusking light. A faint scrabbling could be heard, and at once the eyes grew large and near to the bars.

"Those are mine!" The voice was high, surprised, yet overjoyed at once to see the tools of murder, and the prisoner seemed to have changed his mind; the yellow star-eyes fixed upon Meiou who he had ignored.

"Free me," sounded forth hurried tones.

Rae couldn't stand it. The needlework was once more thrown onto the ground, the enticing sounds of adventure and danger wafted through her large, and rather (as she had found out) dangerous window. There was only one thing that could be done, well two actually. One: try and get out through her eight-story window or creep down eight staircases and rooms. The rooms one was much safer.

Somehow, Rae managed to escape. The air around her was so strange compared to up in her room. She knew now where the sound was coming from: that barred window. She ran, and stayed at the back of the huddle- wondering what was going on, and half-hoping she'd be noticed, the other half hoping not.

No. There was positively no aid coming from this quarter. That idiotic lapine... what had he done?

Now, if ever, was the time to leave. But somehow, Eila's street sense had worn, and all she could do was stand, her joints frozen with terror.

Awaiting her imminent death by the blade or the loop, she cursed Madam Marke of the orphanage, and she cursed Horatio.

[[*snigger* Eila has the right idea, but fortunately, Erik does have some honour! And YAY for Rae!]]

The thing within the cell wasted no time. At once, two gloved hands like great black talons shot out, grasping the sides of the window tightly. It ought not to have worked, the window could not fit most men or women to that point, but plainly it was no average human that emerged like a mosquito from the muck.

He was covered all in black, from cape to boots, and struck an imposing figure against the blood-red sky of dusk. It seemed a man in shape; but horribly, extraordinarily thin, for his dress-coat hung on a skeleton frame. The glow of yellow eyes had ceased abruptly upon contact with the comparative light, yet all this could have been ignored... but instead of the terrible stars there was now only darkness like two black holes.

And, carved of blackness, the holes rested within a mask.

Cierra watched Menai pick the noose and dagger up, and heard the prisoner say "Those are mine!" in a yearning, longing voice. She'd begun to have doubts about the man - who would carry a bloody noose and dagger around, and then want them back so badly that, even though he had refused to be freed several moments ago, he had completely changed his mind.

Now she saw his whole figure, Cierra noticed that he was taller than her, stronger. What had she gotten herself into?

She seemed to be asking this question a lot, so she thought she might as well make it a hat trick. "Who are you?" Then, she added, "Who are you really?"

[[Who am I? I'm Spider-Man!

Sorry, but that was absolutely irresistible.]]

Slowly, the man-- it seemed to be a man -- turned to face Cierra. "In truth?"

Long, spindly arms crossed, the pale gleam of light from the leather gloves presenting further and unnesscessary unearthly tone. "I am but a poor man, wrongly accused for the atrocities of murder and imprisoned under a name and crime not my own. For many years I was respected as an architect until my cruel and selfish brother, Robespierre, turned jealous and besmirched my name for the world, framing me for murder. The world turned its back on me and now I wander, masked against recognition, a tragic hero -- and so alone." He recited the whole thing as if running boredly over a long-practiced speech for one of little intelligence.

A pause, and once more he spoke in a cold, brusque voice:

"That is what you wanted to hear, is it not? The tale of a tragic hero."
Plainly, the truth would not be obtained easily-- the shadowed one was mocking Cierra, he belived in return.

Once more his tall and skeletal figure turned, towards Eila and Menai... itchingly, longingly, a gloved hand reached out for the weapons.