Dance, Spider! Dance! [Open]

[Alanys Hyacinth]

Fall 29th, 511 AV, Dusk

Zintila’s blanket, woven from Akajia’s heavy cloak, draped across the land as Syna set and Leth began to ascend into his place in the sky. Below the celestial dance of the Moon the city of Alvadas crawled with life. People thrived in a City bent on confusing the shit out of them. A frustrating City that Alanys was starting to question the thoughtfulness of testing. Every day was the beginning of some new frustration. She needed to blow off steam, to relax, and Dancing was the only way.

Under Leth and above Semele on the roof of a non-descript house she was sure she’d been by before, Alanys had her long linen cloth, dyed gold, laid out to be quickly picked up and used. She sat right next to it, however, holding a small red book in her hands and muttering a prayer to her God. She did this every night. She got down and made an offering to Viratas, ocaisionally accompanied by a reading from his Holy Text, the Viratassa. Today was just a prayer day.

As her Symenos whispers slowly faded as her prayer came to a close, Alanys lifted her pale left hand to her mouth and bit herself, mixing venom with blood and burning herself. She offered her blood to Viratas, bringing herself pain for her abandonment of her Web and her duties to procreate purebloods while she was still fertile. Pain lanced itself through her body after the intitial numb of the venom coursing through her body from the twin punctures in her hand. She yearned to cry out in pain, but she bore it in as much silence as she could. The venom would burn itself out in her blood and she would be whole and well again. She always was.

It took a whole bell and a half for Alanys to be well enough to Dance for her God. She never regretted the pain of her sacrifice and she never resented Viratas for requiring blood (at least by her knowledge). Slowly now she rose to her feet, lifting her red book and kissing its cover before tucking it securely in the tightly wound linen around her right thigh. Never did she wish to lose this book. It was precious to her. It was her only connection to her Web far away other than her blood. It was one of the only connections allowed after the way she had left Kalinor.

Taking a deep breath, pushing away the lingering throb of pain in her entire body, Alanys lifted the end of her swath of fabric and began the slow movements of the Aerial Dance before continuing into the slightly more advanced movements, stretching her body with plíes and pirouettes, her cloth following her movements like a vibrant shadow attached only to her spidery hands. Blood dripped down lazily to the roof every so often, but the steady sound of plop was lost in her breathing.

Now she was at ease.

[Laute]

This city was a maze. A curiosity. More, but Laute didn't think in description.

The city was easy enough to navigate if he followed his nose. Locations may change but the smells didn't: the smokey, sharp scent of the tavern, the many-quilted spices of the bizarre. His wings drawn tight around him, giving humans a sense of fake-modesty, he walked through the streets without purpose. The city, the canals, the occasional openings, all of it was still waiting to be discovered.

Laute liked this city very much. It was a puzzle within a puzzle, something that would take time and effort to unravel. His slave--Aditi, her name, something he should remember by now. His voice echoed it sometimes and her own mystery was something Laute had yet to uncover.

(There was nothing special about her, with her nondescript white robe, her scrawny limbs, her earthy scent. Nothing, but why--)

The metallic scent of blood stilled him. It flowed clear through the air, an arrow straight to its owner, and without pause he headed to it. His slav--Aditi followed him. Quietly, a wrath, she trailed after him as he headed up, as he erratically moved back down and up the next building and corrected his path. Where before she was silent, though, she now started to half-mumble, half-mouth words, thoughts that swelled up inside.

He should be happy. Something was changing with her.

Another drop. The red liquid still spilled, laced with something dangerous, and it consumed his thoughts. His slave would have to wait.

He reached the top in time to see the end of her dance, her ashy skin looking lighter in the bright sun. A graceful arc--she moved with ease, the skilled practice of an expert. Beside him, he heard a soft gasp of surprise, of awe.

Her blood littered the ground and ignoring her, he approached one of the drops. Kneeling, he sniffed it carefully--yes, something dangerous was laced in it. Venom, and with what her appearance was, it was only natural.

There was a reason he wouldn't eat a Symenestra.

[Alanys Hyacinth]

Alanys only noticed them as she faced them after her dance, her ruby eyes drifting between the Human and the... man sniffing at the droplets of blood that had splashed on the hard surface of the roof. Her ruby eyes disregarded the Human. She had seen too many Humans to even pay attention to the presence of yet another unless they were doing something interesting. This Human was not.

The male's kind she had seen before. Once when she was younger. It was a terrible thing what that creature had done. It was the first and last foray of the Symenestra into using that particular breed as a surrogate.

For a long chime, Alanys observed the Zith sniffing at her blood, wondering what he was gaining from her scent and what about it that had driven him here with his pet. She held no particular fear of the creature, even after seeing what his sister azo in race had done to her 'mate' and herself. Fear, she knew, was something that fueled these things. They could scent fear.

The Zith didn't seem inclined to speak, and so Alanys decided to be the straightforward one. She crouched down, perhaps to show he was dominant or perhaps to get a good look at him, and her eyes scanned his furred form curiously. A Zith was not something she could look down upon. That one woman Zith that had been caught had earned her race an ounce of respect in Alanys' opinion. Such beautiful, powerful, deadly creatures were as perfect for nature as Symenestra were. Viratas could have a hand in their birthing, however it was that they came to be. Blood seemed to rule these creatures.

It would be wonderful to give his life to her God.

A smile curved Alanys' lips at that thought and she raised her bloodied hand to her mouth to lick it clean absently, tasting the bitter burn of venom strong on her tongue. A sudden surge of curiosity caught her as she lowered her hand again to ask the Zith a question.

"Do you like my blood?" She asked him.

[Laute]

She was observing him, he could tell, but he paid her no heed. At the moment, he could tell she wouldn't harm him and that was enough. His guard up, he continued to observe the red splotches.

Her blood was cool on the ground, its scent strong. The drops were everywhere, small rubies that overpowered even the sweat that ran down her skin. She was breathing deeper, heavier, her previous acrobatic display showing itself. And still, her movements were light, barely a sound as she threaded the roof.

Such strong venom. He was envious of it, of the label it held. A warning to all who tried to attack and it was one of the few he heeded.

As she came closer, crouched, the still healing wounds on her dripped lightly to the ground. Splattering loudly in his hears, there was an instinctual desire to see how deep he could cut her. Burn her. Taste her.

She licked her hand and he reminded himself of where he was. Of who she was. Cities didn't respond well to hunts. And he didn't know how to handle her poison.

"Perhaps," he replied, his voice slow and deep, his words carefully picked. "I haven't tried it."

His slave, noticing the atmosphere, approached the two, keeping a practiced distance. Her eyes never left the girl's form, a small smile still on her face from the earlier sight. At her master's words, though, her smile drooped. Another breach of conduct, he supposed, some other human-based rule he didn't care about.

Watching the Symenestra in front of him, he asked, "Was there a reason for that performance?"

[Alanys Hyacinth]

She could admire him his instincts. His senses. The only heightened awareness a Symenestra had was their sight; their eyes could pierce even the deepest lightless room's gloom. One of this male's kin had so much more, and yet so much less. He lacked venom, she lacked wings. Other than that they had claws and fangs, although she doubted his could extend.

His reply coaxed the barest hint of a smile on to her lips and she tilted her head at him. The Human was ignored. What could a Human know of predators and the ways the priveleged could relate? Humans were azo. They were meat. Food for Zith, food for Symenestra. That was the crux of their existence, their use.

"Do you want to try it, Zith?" She asked him now. She allowed her breathing to settle, to slow, as she crouched their with him. Maybe he wouldn't think of her as anything but a possible source of entertainment, or his next meal, but she could admire him his power that no Symenestra could now have. She had grace, even with her words, while his deep voice rumbled with strength. It was something she could envy, when she never could envy anything else.

Her eyes, dark ruby, then flicked to his Human after she spoke, but returned to the Zith quickly. He had asked why she performed, and she had to smile ever-so-slightly again.

"I performed for my God, for Viratas. Do you know who he is?" Her lips quirked a third time. "I did not expect to meet one of your kind here. Why are you in Alvadas?"

[Laute]

Her blood was alluring. Laute knew he might never get a chance like this, to taste a Symenestra without fear of her bite.

Nodding in response, he took her proffered hand, the beads of blood collecting in her palm. They gathered at the hollow in her hand, forming a small pool, and it was this he carefully lapped. Slowly, drawing it in, he tasted the bitterness of it, the darkness that ran through it. It was frail and it was fleeting and in the end, it was blood. Blood that thickened and clotted as he drank, blood that tasted of iron and water, blood that spilled over and ran down her arms.

The entire time, he had one arm poised beside him, ready to strike if necessary. Laute might be a slave to his curiosity but he was never a fool for it. Her generosity might have ulterior motives.

One ear was carefully listening to her, one eye, despite its weakness in the sun, was watching her intently.

His tongue scratched her hand lightly at the end of it, and with that he withdrew. Now he stood, his wings adjusting around him to match his movements till his "cloak" finally shifted into position.

A smile came from her and he was reminded of the Dhani inexplicably. There was something sly about her, vaguely like a snake.

Her god? He had heard of a handful of these so-called gods of the others and was impressed by none.
"No, who is your God?"

The latter question again. A common one he found, from those who were lost themselves. "Curiousity," he responded, glancing at her frail arms. His hands could so easily snap them. She wouldn't even be able to respond. Just a small twist.

A crowd could hurt her just as well. "And you?" He glanced at her spidery limbs once more.

Perhaps he could rewatch her dance.

[Alanys Hyacinth]

As he took her blood from the cup of her hand, she watched him. To a race that worshiped blood and its connections to all living things, to the heritage of the soul and body, she was making him a sacrifice. From one predator non-Human to yet another stuck by chance in the same city. It is said that the beginning is merely a means to an end, and perhaps this could be brought to fruition. Perhaps she could create an end from what had begun when the Zith had taken notice of her that wouldn't result in a testy farewell or perhaps blood and venom spilled in a city that hungered only for insanity to feed its carefully plotted illusion.

His tongue could have been described as rough on her hand, but Alanys had never allowed anything to lick her and so she had no comparison for it. It could have been velvet for all she'd know. She couldn't have cared less about his hand, poised as it was in readiness to end her life should she even twitch the wrong way. He could send her on the path to Viratas with one good swipe and she would never know the difference between Life and Death. He could eat her and she would be past caring. The end could be a means to a beginning as well.

"Did you enjoy me, Zith?" She asked him as he stood, his wings resettling around his form. Such soft-looking things. Would a bat look like this up close? Wings as silk as velvet?

"My God is Viratas. God of Blood and Connection and Heritage. We all exist because he is strong in us. Stronger than anything else." Her eyes gleamed a brighter red as she reached for the book tucked into the cloth around her leg, removing the small red object so he could look at it. She would let him touch it, even. By all means, he shared her blood now. He deserved to look at it even more than those scrawny half-breeds in their poor mockery of pure-bloods. Of course, he wouldn't understand. "With him, the beginning is but a means to the end."

She noticed his attention to her arms, and she was tempted to dissuade him from any thoughts of hurting her. Her arms were a trait necessary for her race's ability to maneuver walls like they were nothing. Almost as long as her legs, thinner due to their unnatural elongation, they were one large clue to the "spidery" nature Symenestra possessed. Fangs with a venom that numbed, and then brought along a pain like none other as a victim's innards liquefied to a digestible pulp, were another rather obvious hint to the inhuman nature of Symenestra.

He had asked her a question, she remembered. A half smile caught her again as she recalled it. "I am here to Dance and to, hopefully, bring home someone to give me my future child." Would he know the Harvest? Unlikely. She wasn't even really here for the Harvest, as Notok was coming along quickly and she hadn't even bothered with making offers to young women. Dancing was, in all honesty, her main reason to come to Alvadas. Her other reason? She was unsure of.

"Why do you have a Human slave? There are more useful kinds out there. Would Drykas not serve a Zith better than a Human woman? I could find use for her in my home if you wanted to trade up." She spoke in a half-serious tone. She wouldn't use this woman for herself, not at all. The dirty mongrel probably had lice or some other disgusting Human disease. She really did think the Zith should have a stronger Human, however. That was a serious suggestion.

[Laute]

A few stray drops dribbled past his lips, down his chin. With a practiced hand, he wiped it off, licking his fingers as they raised to his mouth once more.

How did he like her? Blood was blood, in the end, no matter who's it was. It was not as satisfying as flesh, not as filling as a corpse.

However, it was still more than he expected from one of her kind, and so for that he was satisfied.

"Well enough," he responded truthfully.

He remained relaxed as she reached for her book. Her heartbeat was calm, composed, and her eyes held no malice. Laute feared no threat from her. If there was a fight to come, it would not be her who started it.

Her god didn't interest him, but the book did. A lovely shade of crimson, a shade darker than her eyes, and for a god of blood. What god knew more than a hunter of the tales of blood?

He watched it intently, approaching her to take a closer look at the cover. Mesmerizing red, he reached out to touch it. When she showed no sign of protest, he stroked the hard cover with a clawed finger. What god indeed, he mused as he studied it, the book well-worn from use.

He listened quietly. Mating. He would have been fighting for one now, he knew, had he remained. Would have fought and perhaps died, for he wasn't the strongest member of their colony.
He couldn't quite say he regretted his decision to travel first.

His eyes flashed at her words, his words a low hiss. "She can't leave." A guttural growl emerged, his hand clenched. Tensely, Laute repeated himself. "She can't leave."

His promise, his promise: the silver light, the dying gasps, the stripped flesh. And the promise, the promise. His right hand grasped the woman's arm, his grip tightening.

"I can't let her."

(You have to---)

He shouldn't care this much, he had seen death before and accepted it. It was what it was, just another stage.

(Remember...)

Unconsciously, he continued to squeeze her thin wrist, and it was only when Aditi released a sharp intake of air that he let go.

After a few moments, the rage ebbed away and he calmed once more. "Drykas are better slaves. More skilled and useful than her."

He didn't apologize.

[Alanys Hyacinth]

She watched him wipe the blood off his face and felt a stir of amusement at the so familiar sight. It made her miss her home and her friends. They were such clumsy eaters after a sacrifice and usually had droplets of stark red blood running down their white skin. Blood meant so much to them then, and to her it still meant everything. Blood was what made a person a person. It was the past and the future and the very essence of a being’s soul and life. Without blood, there would be nothing, and so it was important and beloved.

”Do you understand the importance of blood, Zith?” She asked this man as he touched the book. She hoped that she could at least bring something into the religion of her God, or of blood itself if possible. Enlightenment for this creature would be useful to report back home if she ever made it. Hopefully the priests would understand her need to explain the religion to a “bloodthirsty beast of the night and sky”. They had as much right to understand blood as Symenestra did, and perhaps they deserved the understanding even more. ”It is what makes you live. It is everything that is a part of you, and without it you would be nothing but a plant or a wall in a city like Alvadas. You would be dirt and dust with no blood, food for the things that truly exist by the grace of Viratas. A Zith should understand more so than a Symenestra.” The ruby eyes narrowed slightly as she watched him.

She stiffened at the guttural sound of his voice after she had suggested he take a better slave. Pain curled around her wrist as he squeezed it. He could break her bones if he continued to do this, and she would instinctively bite him, probably ending her own life as well if he managed to claw her before the numb and pain took him. His grip drew a hiss from between her fangs, which had half-extended at agitation in the last chime. She clenched her free hand, her long fingers tensed to swing with the long, hard claws common for her race. She gasped when he released her wrist, surprised by the sudden return of the flow of blood to the thin hand so deprived of it.

Instinct urged her to take a step back now, and she obeyed. She hoped to Viratas that the Zith wouldn’t try anything further. Any altercation with him would likely result in her untimely demise.

”We don’t use slaves. Not often, anyway. We use women like your Human to give us our children. A Drykas would probably be better though. They tend to be much stronger than other Humans, although an Inarta would give us twins.” She didn’t care about ensuring her words didn’t agitate the Zith. Each race had their own drawbacks, and her race was that infants killed their mothers at birth. They were stronger, yet weaker, than they had been before the Valterrian.

[Laute]

Her words amused him. True as they were, he knew what blood meant at a primordial level. On the more messy hunts, his hands are bathed in the substance, the red liquid dripping off his fangs and claws. If it is a cleaner hunt, the blood pooled slowly below the creature, dying gasps growing weaker, fainter as each drop escaped.

"I know death," he responded. "The raspy rattle, the broken veins, the cooling cadaver. Blood is but a part of it."

Her fangs were still half-extended as she took a step back. He couldn't blame either reaction, it was a matter of safety, and he watched her hand slowly regain feeling. Nothing was broken, he knew, but it too easily could have gone the other way. He was all too aware of how close he threaded with death and how his impulsive rage was to blame.

In order to survive outside his caverns, he'd have to learn to curb that.

"A Drykas should give stronger children." Glancing at his slave, he paused to consider her. Though she was no longer trembling from the violent outburst, she still stood slightly crouched, ready to flee should an incident occur. "If most human females are like her, I don't see why you'd want to mix with their blood."

Used to being talked about as though she weren't there, Aditi slowly straightened as time passed and the danger faded. In her eyes there was a small spark at the insult he gave. A recent event, this 'spark': he was curious to see what it would do given time.