[The Swing] ... What? (Amelia)

[Savis Maren]

XX of Winter, 518 AV

Traversing the peaks was, for the most part, a chore for Savis Maren. The Nuit's travels in the Autumn (for Summer hardly gave her the capacity to do so) were made out of necessity. However, the turn of the seasons brought with them a compulsion within the Nuit to understand her home to a greater extent. What Savis came to realize was that Lhavit wasn't merely limited to the shops and the culture, but also the grand parks and the lush environment that was contained within its bounds. Wheels, Savis' automated servant, strolled just a few paces behind the Nuit, carrying her possessions and rendered silent, reverting to the commands of its base programming until the Nuit had a purpose for it.

The Nuit understood the appeals of solitude and walking to the boundaries of Lhavit provided her with a means of focus, to consider her callings and her purpose. Levity was a lesson learned well in the Autumn, but taking it to a new meaning was the Nuit's hope. The Winter chill encased the Nuit like a shroud, seeping through her clothing but she remained detached from it. Rather than suffering as a mortal might from the frigid atmosphere, she relished it. Grayish skin tightened with the temperature, and silver eyes leaped from sight to sight as the undead woman traveled up Sharai Peak and past the boundaries of it all. The Okomo Estates were in the path of her travel, the quaint cottages relatively unknown to her.

Perhaps it was best that I lived in the Solar Wind Apartments, she mused, assuring herself of the sound reasoning of her slightly younger self before passing the Estates by. She ascended until the paved passageways of Shlarai surrendered to a grassy gnoll. Curious to notice the change, Savis continued on, but she kept herself on guard. While the Nuit knew the Shinya protected Lhavit from harm, she'd long garnered a sense of paranoia, knowing that there were things that even the great Shinya couldn't anticipate or stop. Immediately, Savis Maren heard a loud wail and creaking, a strange noise that she couldn't quite understand the source of. She moved quicker, up until her silver eyes caught the sight of an empty seat, moving wildly back and forth as the screaming continued. Uncertainty gripped the Nuit as she continued, willing djed from the depths of her soul. It rose from her wrists and slithered along the length of her arm until it stretched to her elbow. She pulled her astral limbs, freeing them from the bounds of her decaying flesh and freeing them for her use. The Nuit reached forward, catching the thin rope that suspended the seat, which faltered the continued back and forth, pendulum motion of the swing. It shook from the unnatural cessation, struggling against the Nuit's hand and sttempting to pry it back with the motion. Savis' astral arm stretched with the motion until the swing stopped in its entirety.

As the Swing ceased, Savis Maren felt a chill roll down her spine. There was a scream, a chilling wail that she'd heard from a distance, only for it to cease. The Nuit stepped forward, pulling back her astral limb and allowing it to regress, re-attaching to her arm and allowing her movement of her physical limb. Savis looked over the edge of the cliff she'd come to, looking for a macrabre sight as she realized just what might have happened. The voice was a child's, probably playing on this thing and falling to their doom. But... there's nothing, she assured herself, looking down without being able to see the ground. The face of the cliff was nearly fully vertical, and she found uncertainy crease her expression as she sought to figure out what had happened. And more importantly, where she'd come to.

Such a dangerous seat. What purpose does it serve here? Do people just not come about and it's been there for ages? What happened to the child? The Nuit's questions were aplenty, and she found the likelihood of her finding an answer to them to be nil. Rather than retreat, Savis Maren stepped just a few paces from the edge, allowing her djed to well once more, but to her eyes and the ears rather than the arm she'd assigned the flow to just moments ago. She allowed the djed to flare within, and the sound of her automaton rolling in the grasses behind her grew louder before she tuned them out entirely. She sought to extend her sight beneath the cliff, feeling for an aura of a sentient creature, alive or dead. To her dismay, she found nothing, and her confusion overruled her reason. Savis Maren allowed the Sight to dissipate, and she fell to the floor, allowing her whirling thoughts to entirely encompass dominion of her reason as confusion ruled over her psyche.

... What just happened?

[Amelia]

The best thing about this time of year was the winter accessories. Scarves, gloves, muffs (for both the ears and hands), hats… it was all so thrilling. Nothing quite set Amelia’s pulse racing like the turn of the seasons and weather, when she knew she would have even more to look at than usual. The fashion in Lhavit was of course already beautiful. But when the weather took on a chill, the denizens protected themselves in the most fabulous of ways. It whilst leaving her bed.

This year had not disappointed. She had been utterly enthralled by the pieces of fashion – no, artwork - that she had seen donned by her fellow citizens. Only yesterday had she seen a scarf so gorgeous she had had to sit down due to a sudden onset of breathlessness.

Such aesthetic beauty always had the same effect on Amelia; it made her fingers twitch, her brain buzz and her eyes glint with excitement. She wanted more beauty, more glamour. The need to create something of stunning marvel took over the young woman, and she had shirked off her duties for the day in order to find a quiet place to sketch new designs. She had intended to find somewhere solitary enough so that she could focus, but not so isolated that nobody would see her (Amelia had the sense that she looked her prettiest when working on a project, and this was something she wanted to share with the world, being the selfless kind of woman she was). There were numerous little spots dotted throughout the city that would do the trick, so she had set off from the home she shared with her mother in search of a backdrop suitable to compliment her beauty, but not overshadow it.

She walked for a while, about twenty chimes or so, past the very edges of Okomo Estates, until she found an area near the cliff edge. Thankfully the wind was not so strong it would disturb her hair today, but just the sake of safety, the seamstress found a little boulder to perch on that was relatively well sheltered. She sat down, posture as impeccable as always, and retrieved her sketchpad and charcoal from the satchel bag she had bought with her. She began to draw, her fingers barely gripping the piece of coal as she faintly drew a very basic outline of a woman’s body. Shoulders, chest, a narrow waist, hips and legs appeared on her page. The model had no head because, frankly, she didn’t need one. Her arms disappeared into the page, as did her legs, with no sign of hands or feet. For all intents and purposes, what Amelia had drawn were no more than the very bare bones of a body. And yet that was all she needed.

Applying more pressure to the page now, Amelia began to draw alongside the outline of the woman’s body, only this time she fully, wholly concentrated (though made sure she didn’t frown – no design was worth wrinkles). At the woman’s hips, Amelia nipped her lines inwards, effectively sawing her charcoal assistant into two halves. With her finger, she gently erased the faint outline that, moments ago, had been the woman’s torso. The sketched half-woman now wore a jumper.

“A high neckline” Amelia murmured to herself – for she worked best when she was whispering her ideas out loud. She touched her own delicate neck as she imagined the garment she was creating on paper, “To protect from the chill and to also give a nice and fitted silhouette.”
She continued to sketch more detail into her design, until Amelia’s charcoal model wore a long-sleeved, high-necked top that scooped into the waist and reached just below the hips. She was just writing down notes to accompany her design (Wool? Cashmere? Cableknit?) when a shriek made Amelia flinch so severely, she scarred her design with a dark line of charcoal before released the piece of coal piece into the air, only for it to land on the ground two foot away from her, shattering into several redundant little pieces.

“Shyke.”

Amelia was immediately on her feet, gathering her belongings and angrily stuffing them back into her satchel. Whatever little brat had made that racket, she was going to give them a real reason to scream. She was a petite woman, and it wasn’t uncommon for others to find the extremity of her temper amusing, for it seemed barely contained by her small frame. This was particularly true when Amelia’s hard work had been wrecked some little miscreant playing tricks on her. She marched towards the cliff edge, lips pursed in preparation for battle.

Instead a group of children, Amelia found a lone woman on the edge of a cliff. This did nothing to quell her thirst for revenge, and whilst the seamstress did consider just pushing this stranger off the cliff – that really had been a pretty design the slightly less rational part of her mind told Amelia – she resisted the urge long enough to take stock of the entire scene in front of her. A woman on the ground and a frighteningly precarious swing; the rhythmic movements of which made it seem as if an invisible child was still on it.

“Was there someone on that?” She asked, the fury given way to something more sinister; a cold dread. Despite herself, Amelia frowned.

[Savis Maren]

12th of Season, 51X AV

Savis despised the idea of being out of the know. The Nuit's proclivity for the practice of Auristics stemmed from it. Even her study of Animation was born from the inherent fact of the matter: She craved control. Extraneous circumstances, unknown information and unforeseen occurrences scathed at her sensibilities. Relishing in the known, or the discoverable, that was not to say that she rebuked such circumstances. No, they served to make the thirst stronger. Knowledge, understanding. The two cures for her lack of control were eagerly sought after, and she'd come to know what happened here even if she spent the entire day there. Savis hesitated, the clutch of ignorance loosened about her throat when she heard the voice behind her. There seemed to be something about her tone, as if the child's scream tore the source out of something rather important. The swing before them teetered back and forth, with the Nuit's astral arms only stopping the most extreme of its movements.

Savis took a moment to respond, composing herself as she drew to her full height. She turned, facing the other woman and revealing the full extent of her ghastly form. Piercing silver eyes set firmly onto Amelia, vivid but starkly contrasted by the dark bags that rested beneath her lips. Blackened lips parted to speak as the plainly-dressed Nuit collected her thought. Her movements were slow, cautious in the position she was in. Several meters from the cliff's edge, it'd be a very long drop if the other woman decided to act irrationally. Mortals, the Nuit thought to herself, her narrowed eyes at last widening, betraying none of the conflict within her before she answered,

"I'm not entirely sure. I've only just arrived here. A scream and a moving swing was all I saw. And yet... it ended abruptly. No sickening end to the sound that would correspond to an impact," she completed. Savis spoke in part to Amelia, but mostly to herself. To her right, the Swing began to move again, flickers of shape gathering at the ropes that held it up. Then, the entire form of a child manifested before the two women, its lips curved into an immediate scowl as he said,

"You're both adults. Why're you here?" the child asked, his materialized lips curved in a scowl before he vanished from the swing to appear at the edge of the cliff. Savis Maren had come to recognize the sight of ghosts, seeing that fetcher, Jomi and Madeira's addled servant, Emma often. The Nuit's living arrangements made her, for the first time in years, one of a number of strange undead creatures living within one house. But still, it surprised her to see others. Particularly when Lhavit had so many mages that surely a Spiritist would've come here to 'save' the child's soul? The confusion only steepened, and Savis looked between the ethereal child and the living woman before she stepped forward. She'd put space between the two of them, her intense silver eyes flickering between their forms. Then, before Savis could answer the boy's question, he withered away. The idea of a ghost coming to and fro irked the Nuit, for the extent of their powers remained, even with her heightened understanding of them, unknown.

She stepped past Amelia, only to turn. The need to be away from the cliff and certainly, to not be the closest one to it propelled her forth. When she was satisfied, at last she addressed Amelia again,

"Whatever just happened... the thing brings up a sound point. Who are you? What brings you here?" the Nuit asked Amelia. She hadn't the faintest reason to be suspicious and yet here she was, her eyes narrowed and her hands drawn over her chest as she considered the options available to her. In the corner of her gaze, she could see the chair moving again, and she kept her guard intact. Jomi had taught her (unwillingly so) that Ghosts couldn't possess her kind, but he neglected to show her the other ways they could wreak havoc.

[Amelia]

Gods, someone desperately needs to learn how to contour.

Perhaps not the average thought process given the circumstances, but Amelia stood by her initial thoughts as she took in the full view of the other woman. Greying skin, dark lips and silver eyes… She was quite the bizarre specimen. For several ticks, Amelia was stunned into silence, which itself was an uncommon thing. Eventually she blinked herself back into consciousness and managed to utter a few words in response to the woman’s taut explanation. “How strange.” She said, her simple, lighter-than-air tone contrasting with Savis’. Amelia shrugged, then peered cautiously towards the edge of the cliff and back towards the swing, but made sure she kept her feet firmly planted on the ground. “I’ve never seen this place before, and I only live a short while away.” She gave a somewhat vague flick of the wrist in the general direction of Okomo Estates, her green eyes still planted on the gently moving swing.

And yet, despite not glancing away from the seat for even a tick, Amelia convinced herself that she must have done, because suddenly a child was there. A young boy, with dark hair and eyes and a sad, sad look about him. She was instantly filled with a deep sense of melancholy, to such an extent that it took her slightly longer than it should have to realise what this boy was.

He was dead.

The realisation struck home, and Amelia stepped back, and back, and back. Away from the swing, the boy, the cliff, and the greying woman. She was suddenly very aware of her own heartbeat, her breath, the hot blood that ran within her veins, and the comparison of her very living-ness to that of the sense of death and decay from the two people (things?)in front of her.

I’m too pretty to die!

And then the boy disappeared, and she realised that the only thing more disturbing than the presence of a ghost child was the very absence of one. She backed away again, and realised that the tall, grey lady did as well, with much of the same sense of concern and self-preservation that drove Amelia to move from the cliff edge. This relaxed the seamstress somewhat; it seemed that both women had both been equally distressed by the swing and the boy, and Amelia’s suspicion that the other two were in cahoots diminished a little.

Nevertheless, the other woman’s questions to Amelia irked the seamstress. She had never appreciated the need to seek permission from others, or indeed to explain herself. And despite the current situation, Amelia noticed that she was more bothered by the interrogation than the presence or absence of a dead child. “I am here because I have every right to be.” She said, her hands landing on her hips in a well-rehearsed act of adolescent-like defiance. This time, her eyes remained fixated on the grey-skinned woman, seeking out any further challenge. “What are you doing here?”

From the corner of her eye, Amelia noticed the swing had started to move again. She fought the urge to glance away from the woman standing opposite her, but failed, and turned her head just in time to see the child again, this time standing on the rocking swing without holding the ropes. His act defied what little laws of the world Amelia understood, and again she found herself frowning. “Stop that!” She said impatiently, frustrated with the child for causing her to be distracted from the other woman and risking her complexion at the same time. Reaching a hand up to her forehead to physically smooth out her brows (and the as yet non-existent lines she believed might be forming), Amelia asked in an exasperated tone, “What did you say your name was?”

[Savis Maren]

Blonde strands were neatly brushed over the Nuit's forehead, falling from her scalp to cover her ears and cascade along her skull in thinning, but maintained waves. Gray skin bore wrinkles, a mark of her shell's age, but hidden beneath scarves and clothing were the heavy cuts and sealed wounds of her undeath. Savis Maren kept what she could of her nature discrete, but nonetheless, to those that knew the signs of the Nuit, it was impossible to hide. It seemed that Amelia was one of those that didn't know, a population of souls who the undead seemed to meet more and more often. She relished that fact, for the life she led, up until very recently, was marred by undeserved loneliness because of it.

Savis listened to Amelia, and immediately, she drew lines of judgment. A curious creature. Reservations about the unknown, perhaps? she mused as silver eyes carefully laid through the young woman. Savis Maren came to rely thoroughly on Auristics. The magic found its foil in the nuit's desperation for knowledge, and her reliance on it certainly materialized in most of the ventures of her existence. Djed suffused into her gaze once again as she breached forth, expanding her awareness. For the moment, the melancholic ghost and its shenanigans escaped the undead's notice.

Amelia at last seemed to recognize what had happened, that the intervention of an ethereal undead was swinging the seat. And the fear that materialized within her bloomed. Drab and wretched was the materialization of it. The calculating caution that seeped within the young woman just moments ago burst into violence. Her breathing accelerated. Savis pulled on her understanding of aura and felt the erratic beat of the human's heart. Arms remained crossed as she looked between Amelia and the Swing, and she continued to keep tabs on the aura as she found curiosity to see how the emotion developed.

Fear is a primal thing. It swells within the soul and locks down the body. While the functions of the mortal seeming double up, racing heart... widened eyes. Larger pupils... What else does it do?

The aura about Amelia seemed to quiver as she did, and she continued to back away further and further. Intent bloomed within her aura, and once Savis reiterated the boy's question, it seemed that Amelia recovered her composure. The nuit, quite displeased at the sudden shift of emotion, let loose her deeper insight into the aura. Rather, she kept only a semblance of connection, allowing herself to listen to her words properly. Laughter, derisive and haughty, poured from Savis' lips, Amelia asked the same self-serving question back to her. The sarcasm within the undead needed to be satisfied.

"I am here because I have every right to be," she repeated, a smirk carved upon her blackened lips. Then, the swing moved again, but the ghost was on it now. He swung back and forth, riding its trajectory without holding onto the ropes. Was he moving himself? Or was the swing doing it? Savis found the queer question embroiling within her, but it was interrupted by the impatient shout that Amelia let forth. Savis turned in time to watch the vanity within her bloom, her hand physically smoothing out her forehead as if afraid that the slightest of outbursts might give rise to accelerating her aging process.

Time gives no breaks. Age and death come as surely for you as it does for the rest of your kind, the nuit thought to herself before the exasperation rose within Amelia again. Then, she asked her question, and the nuit was conflicted. Clearly, the child before her wasn't inherently disrespectful. Her tone spoke of fear and haughtiness that stewed together to form the shaken being before the nuit. But her words were rank with arrogance, the arrogance of believing Savis introduced herself. Or, possibly, the arrogance of speaking in a way meant to demean. Savis understood the latter, if that were the case, for sarcasm and indifference were the crutches she placed beneath her in the conventions of social confrontation.

"I didn't. You can call me Savis, though. And what's yo-"

The ghost didn't seem to want much to do with them, sitting on the swing for several moments longer before it cast from its seat and approached the fearful Amelia. The approach cut off Savis' question, for the ghost stood in front of the young woman and rose into the air, to reach eye level with her.

"Why should I stop, huh? This place is mine! You and you," he seethed, turning to Savis. "Aren't welcome! Leave, now! And tell any children coming this way not to bother while you're at it!" he shouted out. Rage was the immediate first response. The child, like all of his spectral kind, seemed deeply troubled. Unhinged. His words were accompanied by a brutal chill that permeated his presence. His ethereal form grew more and more solid until he could reach forth and pull on Amelia's hair.

"Did you hear me? Get!" he shouted out. Savis, who was several metres away from Amelia, felt her eyes widen. She had no means of stopping the child if he wished to assault her, too. She was inclined to listen to him, and she reached forward towards Amelia. If she was successful, she'd claim the woman's wrist and say, "Let's get out of here."