O.D. 2.19.2000 [12:53 p.m.]

(...and, this is where Vittorio challenges Mercedes. He ends up ductus, but he actually lost the challenge. I like this scene a lot. A lotta poetic justice in it (see the mortals scene); also probably the last noble thing Mercedes does for her pack, too - letting Vittorio take over because she knew she was going slowly nuts.

From here on out, it's all downhill for la belladonna di veneto.)

[Mercedes Diveneto]

Fri 17:27 EST ::One of the new havens..One of Buio Virtuoso's

newest acquistions...this one purchased by agents in madrid. Madrid.

The birthplace of the pack..the birth place of so many things.

She stalks the shadowed halls of the structure, so large and

spacious it could well be termed..mansion. Her long steps shattering

the the silence of the building, violent..as she felt. Sounds ripple

through the empty space of nothingness a barren ness..and all around

her was shadow..(damn him) shadow.

[Vittorio DiSperanza]

Fri 17:34 EST Shadow. Did she expect any different? Shadows

wreathed the halls, too black for this moonlit night.

Shadows--living shadows--and far, far above on the balcony

overlooking the entrance, the master of all this darkness.

"Ah," comes the murmured word, sinking from the shadows above,

gently derisive, "she returns. La Donna della Casa. And where have

you been, Donna, these nights of late? We have..." the shadow stirs,

moves away from the railing, and takes a few strides--measured and

even--down the upstairs hall toward the stairs, "...missed you

much."

[Mercedes Diveneto]

Fri 17:46 EST Her eyes dart to the sound, to the buoyant sound of

His.. no his.. voice (weren't they one and the same. Eyes,

needlessly (oh she well knew ~where~ he was..what he was ..in fact

she had his scent down to an exact science..)But there is renewed

bitterness in her voice, renewed venom renewed spite in her reply.

"Did you, Dearest?"

[Vittorio DiSperanza]

Fri 17:51 EST Weren't they one and the same? Shadows know no

boundary; know no difference between self and other. There is never

a shadow that must not touch another, become another, in the end.

Shadows run together; one shadow is every shadow, and every shadow,

one shadow. Who is the say the lords of those shadows, who knew them

so well, wore them so well, used them so well, and loved them so

well--who is to say they are not, indeed, all one and the same? It

only takes the smallest...twist...in the mind, in the belief, to

accept this.

"I always do. Do I not?" It is offered as a question to which these

is not right answer, as the shadows glide again--and he takes one

step down the stairs. Two. "Where have you been?"

[Mercedes Diveneto]

Fri 17:58 EST Her eyes slit as his words catlit like and angry...so

glories in that same anger..that same madness. She has spent 3 days

at the feet of one Shadowtwister..she refused to spend a moment

longer.

Generally she moved with economy, with gliding decisive purpose,

neither flashing her sleek dexterity and lean carriage nor hiding

it. Not tonight (her blood boils) and she turns with inhuman

swiftness and ease. "i do not answer to you..'ViK-Tor'. It seems you

have forgotten you place...as well as your face..I believe YOU were

given a task."

[Vittorio DiSperanza]

Fri 18:09 EST A smile, terrible in its brilliance and beauty,

curves his lips. "Was I now?" He laughs, swings over the banisters

and drops to the floor below. Three strides carries him to her and

he circles her...watches her as a man might watch an exotic animal

(griffin) in a cage...provokes her, taunts her. "Who gave me the

task, hmm? You? Or was it...Moncada..." the name is dropped so

delicately--a fine glass orb of poison--into her ear, "...who gave

you the task to give to me?"

He leans in close behind her--inhales--drags in a breath of her

scent (does he smell Moncada on her still? His blood, his hands,

his...shadows...?). "Mmm. You have been with Moncada. Yes?" "How was

it, Mercedes mio? Did you...enjoy...being his little--ah, what is

the word I am looking for--" --it is no more than a whisper,

venomous and bladed, slid with such deadly humor beneath her skin,

"...his mujerzuela?"

[Mercedes Diveneto]

Fri 18:40 EST The Griffin.

He was well acquainted with such a creature, claws of the lion, head

of the eagle...Such a proud(dangerous) creature...he taunts. He

should know better. He should know much better..

Lessons Will Be taught. As pack priestess, Is was her duty to

instill the lessons of the sect along with the weeekly dose of

ritae..She did not she away from the the teaching no..~lessons will

be taught~ And she would not shy away from the lesson..this packmate

(lover, hater, Foe, friend, brother, torturer)has been long overdue

in the learning.

The movement was swift (as swift as the sizzle of vitae from her

veins--the second time this night)Did he blink..for in the next

instant her rapier was already pressing into the flesh just before

his heart.

"I believe..I told you to change your face...Vittorio..or do mistake

my Words..mio?"

[Vittorio DiSperanza]

Fri 18:50 EST "Ooh. Temper, temper..." His eyes narrow, but in

spite of the growing anger the grin spreads. "Answer my question,

Mercedes. Or was not to your...discerning...taste?"

He wraps his hand around the razor-sharp blade...gingerly...and then

clenches down. Blood--as cold as ice, as black as sin--blood

splatters (...like Moncada's, upon her lips...-Bebida, mi

vida-...does his grating voice ring still in her ears?) upon the

floor as the blade cuts deep. He squeezes...and then he bends the

metal even as it carves long gashes into his hand, twists it,

crumples it with impossible, inhuman strength until it is a useless

toy.

"How," he stresses, ripping the broken rapier from her hands and

casting it aside, "did you like it? Don't deny it. You wanted to

lead your own little pack. This is the price you pay. So tell me,

Mercedes. How did you like being his. Little. Bitch?"

[Mercedes Diveneto]

Fri 19:10 EST The smallest grin pulls at her lips. She knew he was

trying to get at her temper..her anger her rage...to rend her into

what he would.

Shadow-twisters and their shadows. She wouldn't play his games...Yes

she has spent three days, 3 days at the feet of a twister..but HE

was master. His games played at the scale of world itself, her eyes

watch Vittorio with afection (amusement?) rendering Vittorio's

tawdry antics: pale, thin, paper tigers, fluttering in the breeze.

Hands that never touch seek his throat, fingers that never feel dig

now entrenching themselves around the throat of him, around the

callous instrument he abused to thoroughly. Against the vehicle with

which he projected his filth. Her voice has dropped now, low to a

whisper..even as her eyes widen shing pure golden (is it him she

sees at all?)

"Make no Mistake...I am in this position..and I tolerate this no

further either obey me of challenge me."

[Vittorio DiSperanza]

Fri 19:18 EST "Then I challenge you." Strange, how soft his voice

is now, so nearly--so completely--tender. "And here is my

justification. You are no Ductus. You are a madwoman who cannot lead

a Pack herself. Mercedes, tesoro..." bloodied hands curl themselves

about her wrist, bring those fingers which never touched to his

lips, "...you are little without Moncada. You let him make you his

toy. You let him fuck you, for lack of a better word. You drink his

blood and he gives you..." blood oozes so slowly down that strong

hand as it gestures about him at the magnificent surroundings,

"...this. You are his toy. And you make us all his playthings.

"I challenge you. And I will die before I let you lead another day."

[Mercedes Diveneto]

Fri 19:34 EST Her grin spreads across her face slowly..wider and

wider still. Challenge? The little weasel finally grew the balls to

challenge..her? Her smile spead wide indeed ..it spanned oceans. Her

eyes drip to the sword at her feet the crumpled 'toy' he so

carelessly disgarded.

"Challenge accepted..mio..Collect your weapon"

He did not hear her laughter, no did he hears the gears spinning in

the head of the mad woman..all he could see (Do no pity the

sightless, pity the insightless--for they are far worse off than

they know.)Were the smooth (not of this world) steps of a woman

going to her coat..of a woman going for HER sword.

[Vittorio DiSperanza]

Fri 19:50 EST A duel. Rapiers. He might have guessed. (Ambition

kills.) Shadows rise from the floor, smoky-dark, and curl about the

twisted blade, obscuring it. Shadows writhe and coil; shadows part,

and the rapier has assumed a new shape.

He takes his weapon--a loose helix of twisting, bladed edges--and

hefts it for balance before setting its point lightly against the

ground, waiting.

[Mercedes Diveneto]

Fri 20:13 EST Can he feel the seconds slipping away.. the sounds,

the seconds. Count the smooth steps as she crosses the room and back

a gleaming silver rapier in hand, she squares with him. Golden eyes

so hungry , as they lock with his...ravenous.~The Griffin has been

roused..~

[Vittorio DiSperanza]

Fri 22:35 EST Tick. Tock. Thus do the seconds pass. Thus does the pair face one another--the gold and the black, the Griffin and the Shadow. Thus do they lock eyes--thus do they bow to one another in the formal style of (dancers) fencers--thus do they touch (fingertips) sword-tips. Tick. Tock. Do you feel the sands of time slipping away? Do you feel your life draining past? Take a breath. Exhale. Speak--

"...mio cuore."

--and fight. She thrusts. He leaps back, catches the blade of her sword in the convoluted coils of his. He pulls; she steps forward, following the line of motion--so fluid--she turns, she strikes. He parries--barely. Blade clashes against blade, again and again, ringing high and melodic, laced with her laughter; the darkness is split by that scattering light glancing off rapiers moving so fast that they seemed to distort...and bend...and become not rigid killing tools, but fluid, lovely works of art. They are a work of art, so elegant...so deadly...so bent on murdering one another in this most graceful, most intricate of death-dances that takes them around the room. Thrust. Parry. Sidestep. Sweep. Dodge. Thrust.

Tick. Tock. The seconds pass. The moments pass. Blood spills. Blades flash and weave; bodies weave and dance. Gradually, it becomes apparent who must win, despite the other's greater size and strength. He is darkness, retreating steadily and with increasing speed--desperation--and she is the griffin, whip-fast, ever advancing. A final blow sends his weapon skittering across the floor into, ironically enough, the shadows--and he stands defenseless before her.

[Mercedes Diveneto]

Fri 22:46 EST Softly so softly (the flow of spilt wine against the silence that surround them) does she repeat his words. "....mio cuore.." She is not breathless, she does not breathe. Only the depthless eyes of insanity--golden tinged insight (The wise eyes of the Griffin) Stare into his. Rapier at his heart...

And what goes on behind those eyes..those molten shifting pools of nothingness. What was it that he so feared...(the truth.) That he fell in love with (the truth) that he depised above all else (the truth)...Stare not into the abyss, lest the abyss stare also onto you..~

"Before...You die (Even know she throws his words against him, daggers forged in the fires of bitterness)..Godling..will you accept a challenge from the victor?"

[Vittorio DiSperanza]

Fri 22:53 EST A silence, like that of the crypt--silence, in these darkened halls, in these winging, high ceilinged halls--and then his lips twist, bitterly, and he murmurs one word, "Sempre."

Who is he to deny the Griffin?

[Mercedes Diveneto]

Fri 23:02 EST She lifts the rapier from his heart so easily casting it away, she broadly smiling and yet her words are so simple. "ShadowTwister, Stealer of hearts And seeker of power..I challenge you to monomacy...For the position of Ductus...My challenge..is for a creature such as yourself to show trust to the pack you serve to the Pack Priestess you shall serve...

My challenge Vittorio mio if for you to give....the very core of your loyalty, the very essence of your love....

I ask for.....your heart."

[Vittorio DiSperanza]

Fri 23:05 EST His eyes narrow. Instinctively, one hand drifts to his chest, the fingers barely brushing the cloth over the cold flesh over the unbeating heart. His response is dead simple, "You are mad."

[Mercedes Diveneto]

Fri 23:09 EST Her lips twitch the smallest fraction, the barest line of a smile. "Perhaps, and yet you have neither declined nor accepted...Do you not wish to be ductus..the path is open to you..all I ask is a token..a mere trifle. It is nothing less that what you once had."

[Vittorio DiSperanza]

Fri 23:15 EST Perhaps he was beginning to understand. He studies her through thinned eyes, wary...and then he (actually) laughs--a short, harsh sound. "Once?" Still, still so condescendingly, infuriatingly arrogant. "I have your heart still, Mercedes. Or will you prove me wrong? Take my heart out here and now, without the aid of a Serpent?"

[Mercedes Diveneto]

Fri 23:19 EST She shakes her head ever the cool collected creature. Ever the Goddess before the mortal. Had she called him godling? She gazed down apon his now so easily though they stood eye to eye.

"I would have you give it to me tessoro...Rip it out here if you like..or take in out in Miami..either will suit my purposes. I wonder, will both suit yours?"

[Vittorio DiSperanza]

Fri 23:30 EST "Mm." Darkly amused, he leans close for a moment and offers her a sly, surreptitious half-smile. He whispers in the tone of a man divulging some great secret, "You would miss me, Mercedes, should I reach into my chest and rip my heart out for you."

Then he steps back from her and straightens the lapels of his coat, disheveled in the fight. Smoothing his hair back with one shadowed hand, then, he starts back up the winding staircase, his footsteps echoing in the bereft darkness. "I assume you wish to pack your things for the trip. I will expect you in an hour's time."