The Abbey

[Vanitypirate]

Florence felt physically ill as she looked on at that empty bowl of chowder in her hands, what she had just polished off.

It was only a logical course of action, however: the corpus initiated the starvation response after the second day of fasting, which she neared after the previous fourty-three hours. The trembling hands and dizzy footing were simple enough things to be powered through, especially so in times of dire need, symptoms of her determinedness that she wore with pride and only reluctantly forsook.

Even still, perhaps it was not so wise to drink it all at once. But she pressed on, wiping her mouth and leaning forward eagerly over her notes, quill in hand.

She had rewritten the notes rather plainly on the parchment, sprawling with a print-perfect hand and cramped at the margins with questions, notes, footnotes, annotations...

The good doctor took a momentary pause to pull that crow's beak back down over her face, fitting back into that comfortable, doctorly visage. She took a breath of the crisp herbs within and found them much more preferable to the dank scent of the abbey's incenses; the lenses provided an excellent protection against the idle candles lit here and there.

She squinted at her notes.

It was almost too good to be true, and she could almost see the answers written plainly across her parchment-- if only she were educated in the nuances and ways of magic instead of the busy intricacies of the mundane world. But a good doctor sought help where she could find it, expertise in the fields she lacked. And so rare was it to have such second opinions readily available at such close reach.

The Crowgazer could almost divine a final goal, more than a treatment: it was rare to find a means to solve the heart issue, rather than to treat the symptoms.

Indeed, it brought joy to her and a surge of motivation to press on, though in her heart of hearts, she cynically expected that the means of finding such a panacea was more difficult and perilous than it appeared at first glance.

But it was not as if she were unused to such things.

[Bloodtrailkiller]

/Lekalis/

With the onset of the Estate seemingly gorging itself upon his only just found delights with Tilly, he managed to enter the Abbey with 'aught but cheerful desire.
Indeed, in his defense, he succumbed to neutrality; his smile fading away to an aged, familiar and tired visage what he wore for narry a year as he'd plagued Florence's company.

He pondered on her, on how he... felt, about her. She was simply beyond him, in a way he couldn't even describe, it was utterly infuriating and utterly alluring. There was a yearning that desired for more than just the time allotted in their precious little lives, more than what Florence's even tinier, finite, mortallity allowed.
Five... Four years? What was to be accomplished in that time... Beyond his present comprehension, at the least.

What he'd give to simply have eternity with Florence, to ponder her curious mind and manner, he chuckled lightly, as he neared the undercroft, as he ruminated on the times they'd spent together. The... Odd reactions of her all, what would be scandalous, lecherous and utterly invading were little more than trivialities to her. Or were they? Perhaps it was nothing more than a shell, after all, it was impossible to wholly lack in sensation.
He supposed he knew the answer... It was simply discipline, control, focus. Things he admired vehemently about Florence since he'd met her, besides her pretty face and shapely frame.
That dogged determination, the religion of work.

Yet, even as he repeated the answer in his mind, he was not satisified. Surely she could... Had to want more than just to work.

But as his mind vainly tried to convince him of elsewise, he only saw more and more her uncouth care. A curious conflict of terms. She cared for him, deeply, he knew... He saw it in her eyes; but only so much to keep him alive, keep him healthy. Sane. Successful.
She was doing it all, as much as for him, as for herself.

It was the worst sensation, to realize this, in his gut. He was little more than another project, another patient. Though they'd spent such cozy nights together, what kept him sane, what kept him alive, even. He couldn't help but ponder their validity, whether they were done out of some passion for him, or for her work.
Whether she lay with him, spake with him, only to keep him so sane and calm. Or if there was more to it, if she felt... something.

There was little hope in this abyss. He wondered, now, as he stared down into the almost foggy breadths of the Undercroft's entrance, if there was any hope at all. Of finding something in her eyes, something that told him she truly, truly loved him as much as he loved her.

He wondered too, if he should even bother; He had Tilly but... she seemed ever fleeting. A star or shadow he'd chase into horizon after horizon. Bliss that would stride her own path, parallel to his... For hours, weeks... days or maybe even months and years. But eventually, one of their paths stopped, and the other kept going.
Florence... She chose to walk on Lekalis' own path, and she'd stuck there, only leaving his side when he left hers. Her crowly nature would follow him anywhere, so long as he needed it... But was it enough? Enough to satisfy, or just enough to keep him alive and walking.

Lekalis' boot clacked softly against the cobblestone stairs that lead to the Undercroft, wherein he rapped twice upon the door;
"Florence..? Are you there?" He asked loudly, kindly, gently...

[Vanitypirate]

Florence looked up from her notes, quirking her head. She gave a glance to his cloak, folded up neatly on the desk beside her notes (and she was thoughtful to keep them well away from the inkpot, clear across the opposite side of the desk.)

"It is I." The Crowgazer answered, standing up partways from her chair-- at a squat, unfortunately, as she had not scooted the chair outwards and away from her.

"You may enter, please." She allowed, monotonously, but perhaps with a twinge of anticipation that could be detected by those who listened-- or it may have just been the chowder.

[Bloodtrailkiller]

/Lekalis/

Hearing her voice felt so... alien, after so long with Tilly. It felt like a sudden betrayal of the senses to feel excitement and desire from another voice besides hers. Even if this dull monotonous one, with a tasteful touch of Itallian, like a fine grating of parmesean, was seemingly ever disinterested in his words.

His hand reflexively, like a machine, went to open the door; before pausing, a sly smile spreading over his face as he kept the door closed, and leant an ear to the door. Perhaps there was a touch of... something there.
Perhaps she'd made way in her research? It was the only logical explanation. Still, it made him happy to imagine it was because of his voice.

"Ah..." He began, a decided playfulness being made in his mind.
"... Yes... Though, I didn't ask to enter. Would you like me to enter?" Lekalis asked in a technical tone, mimicking a touch of an Italian accent, even bringing his hand up to gesticulate to get the full effect. Admittedly, his native Transylvanian accent bled through more than any Italian one.

The Ex-Lord looked up the stairs with a small smile, a bit worriedly, as he expected someone to come across him and his little jest any moment.

//

[Vanitypirate]

"Yes." Florence nodded emphatically, her beaky mask bobbing along with her movements, even if Lekalis couldn't see so behind that door he remained so oddly behind.

"I want you to enter."

There was the cry of the chair's legs against the stones as she stood, in full, pushing that stool behind her in the process. She made a half step to the door before stopping.

"Enter, please. I have important news."

[Bloodtrailkiller]

/Lekalis/

It was enough, he supposed; he shrugged, even if she couldn't see it, or probably even understand if she saw it, he hummed. Though, doubly the mention of important news brought some urgency to the matter, he felt a tad bad for playing her so.
"Is that right..?" He asked, his mind drifting to Tod... Perhaps he should weigh the man's words with more stock next time, if she seemed so different with each visit...

... That was a thought, he supposed, that brought some violent protectiveness to the fore.
"... Does it involve Tod?" He asked forwardly, opening the door swiftly now, his smile gone and his brow furrowed.

He noted the empty bowl, and the stool, her half-way path to the door... Notes on the table, of course. Fresh ink though, he looked to it notably, some tension in him rising as he closed the door quietly, calmly.
"The Amulet..?" He figured, as his features sombered and a hand went to his chest, taking a deep breath, he assumed to approach the table, where his cloak lay folded neatly; that much alone, brought a smile to him, his hand reaching out to feel the silky surface...

//

[Vanitypirate]

"No, it does not involve Tod."

Florence shook her head, standing back from that desk with its notes splayed out to dry, a veritable interweaving of Italian and English, substitutions for substitutions. She stood with her usual stiffness, knees locked and feet shoulder-length apart. Her arms were stuck sticks on either side of her.

"It does involve the amulet. You understand,"

She nodded, almost delighted, breaking her usual, rigid posture to raise an index finger: a clear warning sign of an academic in preparation to lecture.

Her beak swiveled left, and then right, mechanically scanning the premises for any Gunsche-y eavesdropper-- particularly, ones bearing crow's masks, pretending to be doctors.

"Souls are intangible: they cannot be measured. One must have a particular caliber of mind to engage in these abstract matters. And when I have attempted to cure Solomon, it was very straight-forward: my error was mechanical, in that the intended vessel had advanced too greatly in its decomposition."

She steepled her fingers, tapping them together,

"Yours, however, has a different complication to it in that, while your vessel is living, there are other entities that reside in that realm. One such, I believe, is malevolent."

Her lever-like arm pointed, jerking a hand at the notes,

"I have scheduled an appointment for you with a man who is well-experienced in malevolent, incorporeal entities. Not only are his motivations and studies secular, but he has expressed altruistic interest in preserving your life."

She lowered the hand that pointed and looked to him,

"We shall meet with him here, tomorrow morning, in these archives."

[Bloodtrailkiller]

/Lekalis/

He breathed a sigh of relief, as he looked over the notes, Italian was something he had never learned too well... Enough for trades, he spied the basic grammar though... Advanced terminologies were lost to him.
Lekalis let his hand rest on the silk, though refrained from wearing it for now; though he did bring it into the crux of his arm, as he stood by the desk, leaning poignantly gently against it.

He smiled appreciably as he watched her, a veritable, efficient system. It was easy to read her, just as it was easy to over-read her.
Lekalis' inky eyes watched her motions, hopelessly enraptured and listening. In truth, there was 'aught he could interject. All he could do was nod, as his life and fate were read out to him as though they would be next week's assignment.

There was no disposition, in his heart, as he listened. He was happy to be rid of the voices... If not mournful, but malevolent intent was undeniable. As much as he trusted his sweet sister, he knew her penchant for quiet cruelties. And tampering with things beyond her control.

Though, he couldn't help but chuckle, raising his brows, as he rubbed his hands together, mimicking her scan of the environs. Though more so due to discomfort than anything... There was nothing he could say to her, besides...
"... Alright." He spake meekly, nodding with some humbility, as he cast his eyes down. Feeling greedy once again.

"Ah... Tomorrow... Morning." He nodded in quiet understanding.
"Florence..." He began, doing his best to figure out how to word what he was saying,
"... What was the warning... you gave me, some day or so ago, in the Archives; after Roderick's death?" He asked, though he remembered it keenly, as he chewed on his lip; regret wrecking havoc in his heart as he realized how poorly timed his fall had been. If he had just waited for a moment... A day, even.
Lekalis took a breath, and looked to Florence's hands, avoiding her masks' oppressive gaze.

//

[Vanitypirate]

Florence paused, eyeing him curiously; she had expected him to be slightly more enthusiastic, given the weight of her findings. She studied him, as if to glean some disorder or another from it.

"I had warned you that copulating with another individual you are in love with will result in sharing this curse with that individual, or your death."

She let her hands fall limp as she eyed him intense from behind her lenses.

"It is very important to remember. Do not forget it."

[Bloodtrailkiller]

/Lekalis/

He offered a small smile, and rose his brows; the heavy weight of the situation seeming to finally crest upon him as he cowed his head and clutched his head in both his palms. Sighing heavily as he ran both his hands through his dark strands, coiling like vipers as they dried.

One hand drifted back down, wiping his face with that lakewater still yet in his curls. The Ex-Lord looked to Florence's natural corvine state... It was a face she wore more than her real one, she'd wear it alone too, it seemed. A badge, a state of honor. Dedicated more than any chivalrous knight: he could ask for no better guard. Her duty never relenting, unless he asked for it.
And she loved it... It was the one thing he was certain of, in her focused, machinely heart.

For this transgression on her love, he felt he owed it, as he owed any scorn lover, to prepare her for the revelation. How he'd defiled her studies like any bastard to a dame. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, still able to taste, or perhaps imagine, Tilly seemingly so far away, yet so close. And now... Yet again, he put his dearest in the line of fire.
Perhaps Florence truly was his only, the one that wouldn't be put on deaths' door. A miserable curse, that all he could care for would perish... He'd told Tilly he'd come to terms with that much but... Every last one, it seemed. It seemed he would outlast them all, a martyr in this pursuit.

Lekalis nodded, raising a brow, as he looked away from Florence's mask; cupping his neck with his hand.
"I have copulated with another individual I am in love with." He stated, looking to her mask now; it was easy to be impersonal behind a mask. Perhaps that was why she wore it... An excuse, instead of a lust. To hide the fact she doesn't need a mask to be impersonal, she simply was.
"Natalie Avers... Tilly, Avers. The woman in the large hat who I held back when you slayed Roderick." He explained.

//

[Kidney]

Tod entered the Abbey with a loud door opening, and hair rustled, dirt inside. His white tunic had been dirtied, and his pants carried the signs of mud splotches, and blood drops. He moved across the foyer quickly, with newfound purpose, rushing down the hallways, and eventually finding his door. He opened it quickly, breathing heavily as he moved toward the bed.
Tod pulled his pillow up, and sitting there, was his uniform.
He looked at the mirror in his room, his arms up high as he covered his torso and arms with his now cool coat.
He rolled the sleeves down, any sign of tattoos now covered by fabric.
Tod felt ready.
He reached for his sphere, placing it into his coat pocket.

Then he looked upon his crucifix. "I'm never leaving you alone again."
Tod picked up the crucifix, it's cast iron make black as night, with a brightly polished brass figurine of Saint Kessiah on it. The thin figure hanging on it, nailed to the crucifix by a nail with three prongs through the throat and neck. But his Saint was not limp. The brass figure was smiling, looking up the sky, to the Light.

Tod kissed the forehead of his Saint. "May your way be brightly lit."
He opened the door to his room, walking through the hallways, and back to the foyer of the Abbey.

[Vanitypirate]

"What."

Florence's already-stony movements froze, and her lenses, asymmetrical, with that spidery crack along the leftern glass, stared with a new intensity, a generous amount of incredulousness.

"Recently? I had warned you not to..."

Her padded shoulders sank, and she appeared almost dejected; indeed, a new burden had been haplessly added to her already growing list of responsibilities and obligations. Naturally, the solution was no longer as simple, but the complexity was ultimately unnecessary addition that could have just as easily been avoided.

The mask stared at him, quiet, as she held her breath. She was so close.

"I am unable to effectively treat her. That woman is intolerant of my presence." Florence's tone was equally as measured and calculated as always: drab and monotone.

She turned slowly on her heels away from him in some way to collect her bearings, a moment to cope with the new surge of alien emotions that sank in, frustration, chiefly: this new information would no doubt severely set them back on an already limited deadline, childishly complicated further by veritable histrionics.

"What if this bonding resulted in a child...? You would risk cursing a child as well?" She brought her hands up, those rigid things, and massaged her temples as she stood at a hunch.

Florence gave a glance over her shoulder, almost hopefully as she probed, "Are you certain that you love her?"

[Bloodtrailkiller]

/Lekalis/

In a queer twist of situation, he was happy Florence kept her mask on. It made the... indifference easier to come to as he managed to keep himself from wilting in face of her words. Though... He'd never rightly heard her ask 'What' before. Not without context, of course; though it had always been a legitimate question as opposed to an exclamation.
The Ex-Lord narrowed his eyes, and pressed the pads of his fingers together as he rested his wrists on his lap. Thinking.

"Just today, yes." He answered dutifully, clearly, with a nod as his eyes flicked across her form: small shifts in movement he was typically, innately, aware of were almost obnoxiously apparent compared to Florence's natural state of fluidity.

He raised a hand, briefly, to stop her as he heard her tone rose; he could almost see her heart pumping beneath those heavy robes, her brain flexing and squirming in mortal thought. Her hands attempting to break up mysofacial buildup, and alleviate tense musculature where the jaw connected to the skull.

It was an unfair position, this indifference... It felt disconnected, more than he'd hoped for; for better or worse, it was easy to admit this fault. He closed his eyes, and let his face sink into his hands for a moment before taking a breath, he shook his head and moved forward; his face fell from its stoic and stagnant manner to a frown, sympathetic... self-loathing, his brows furrowed in frustration as he tried to look at her glassy lens, but his eyes fell away. Leaving him alone in this trial.

But, he took a breath, not realizing he'd held one for so long; and reached out to touch Florence's shoulder, pressing moreso on the core of the trapezius than the deltoid. He pulled lightly, more asking for her to face him than demanding.

"I've told you, I am sterile... There is no child. It is impossible." He pointed out with a reassuring smile, offering a shrug as his eyes drifted up in thought.

Her last question hung for a moment... In truth, he wasn't certain. The moment had him utterly devoted, but was that Love or Obsession? Fanaticism? Was there a difference..?

"... No. I'm not sure how I would gauge that; Love is... just as intangible as souls are." He huffed, voicing his own frustration at the philosophical measurement.
"W-What if it means... What if it's more of a ritual? The bonding: Marriage? That is what is most popularly declared as a proclemation of Love. This is tied with mystical measures: surely it's not a matter of mindset, rather, Ritual." He attempted to reason, tilting his head and keeping a small smile, raising his brows hopefully at her mask.

The crack was like a white stream on a black desert. Something he felt sorry for... He hadn't intended her to get involved, his mind clearly had drifted; as his eyes seemed to trace it, as he reached up with his other hand to run along the edge of the lens he'd bound.

//

[Vanitypirate]

Florence allowed herself to be turned, complacent in that regard; she let her hands fall limp to her sides as she moved to look to him from behind her glass lenses.

"How do you know that?"

She watched him skeptically, with her rigid posture, beak angled downwards so that she could look down the bridge of her corvine nose. Quirking her head, she continued,

"It only took mere skin-to-skin contact between you and I, and we have not married or engaged in other rituals." She pointed out, her tone defaulting back to its monotonous normalcy; her words were no longer short and measured.

"If you love her as you loved me, she is endangered." She informed him, as bland as any diagnosis. Her mask stared at him a moment more before she began meandering to her note,

"Do not engage with Tilly again; she is already cursed, but you must avoid..." She glanced to him, the nose following in that peripheral vision,
"...Fertilizing her, even if you do believe yourself sterile; there still lies a small chance."

She stood between him and the table as she inspected her drying notes. She felt almost mournful,

"Speak to no one of this. It would be disastrous if Doctor Cross knew of this union."

[Bloodtrailkiller]

/Lekalis/

"Surely you've seen the scar..?" He asked, raising a brow in mild surprise, before shaking his head and busying himself with tugging on the woman's cowl what covered her head and shoulders; making sure it was snug.
".... My Uncle had attempted to castrate me, I'd thought I told you. I'd barely escaped with my Life and manhood intact, though it scored a gash along my... well, family jewels, what left a searing scar." He explained, rolling his hand.
"I've also lain with four women before, Lavinia most recently and most frequently, Madeline... Missy, nextmost recently. Both of healthy constitution and age: neither bore my child." Lekalis pressed on, worried more about what this implication could result in... Though, now thinking on it; he doubted if it could truly be the case.

They'd no gauge or count of souls in his Amulet, only guesses.
"We have only assumed that we're bonded. We agreed it was a potential, but not a definite!" He rebutted, furrowing his brows as she seemed to return to her notes, his frown deepened; he searched her mask for something before he shook his head, looking down to those notes she'd made.

"Could you... remove your mask when we speak? I... find it pleasing. I cannot help but see the Gunsche when you wear your mask." He explained, intensely at first, before dwindling to sombriety. Lekalis' hand drifted over and turned one of the notes so he might read it.

"I'll not lay with her again, nor speak to anyone of it..." He chewed on his lip, and looked to Florence's gloved hands,
"... Perhaps I should not have waited, in declaring our own love." The Ex-Lord voiced solemnly...

//