Velveteen -- Replay

She most certainly was not kidding when she said the house cried. At least the pizza was good; whoever the cook was, there were compliments in order. When the knock came to his door, he was not hesitant to answer it, opening the threshold to be blasted in the face with the scent of cheese, tomato sauce, and sausages mixed with assorted vegetables.

His gaze fell on a pair of small girls who looked about eight or nine years old, a little smile plastered across both their adoring faces. Transylvanian. The shape of their faces was unmistakable, white blonde hair falling in shining cascades down to the shoulders of the one with the large plate in her hands, the shoulder blades of the one holding an unopened bottle of something (it was unlabeled and so he could not tell the contents, yet hoped they were alcoholic. He really needed a drink about now). The short-haired one had her fine locks pulled back out of her face with a pair of barrettes, the long-haired had hers in a braid. Their eyes shimmered a purple blue, yet when the light hit them just right, they gleamed a dark red if only for a second. They were both clad in black outfit much like that seen on Alice in just about any interpretation of 'Alice in Wonderland'. At the valley of their collarbones, they both had what looked at first to be a black smudge, but closer inspection revealed it to be a black ankh, tattooed into their fair skin.

Both bowed, placing their right feet behind their left and leaning forward in complete synchronicity, no flaw to their movements.

"We bring the requested meal, sir." the short-haired started before her obvious twin continued it.

"Pizza and ginger ale. Spiked with the finest vodka on this planet."

It was hard to keep the grin from surfacing, but he managed it, stepping to the side with not but a smirk on his face. The room beyond was better lit; he had removed the red covers as told he could.

"Well then. Do come in." He also tried to hide the excruciating amounts of enthusiasm unsuccessfully. "Just ... feel free to set those on that table there. That's it. Thank you so much, girls. You've just made my day."

The hunter might be an ass toward those willing to take it, but to children, he tried to keep it to a minimum. After all, he remembered well enough how literally kids took things. That and sometimes there was more power to them than met the eye. If he said the wrong thing, he might find his arm halfway down the hall and he rather liked it attached.

Once the girls were out of the room and had given their exit bow, the door was shut and Dante was back on the lounge, munching the first piece of pizza. He was halfway through it when the first of the house's vocalizations began. It was faint, causing him to stop and question whether or not he had actually heard it. When he did not hear it again, he shrugged it off as either lack of sleep (but he had gotten a full night's sleep beforehand, so that couldn't be it) or one of those twins falling and accidentally scrapping her knee.

Upon dismissing the noise (whatever it may be), he returned to his meal. The house did not take being ignored lightly, but it did not make itself known all that quickly either. In fact, three quarters of the pizza was gone and a little under half the bottle of ginger ale had been consumed by the time the first real cry had echoed throughout the corridors.

Well, technically, it was more of a shriek, like a little girl was getting hit and with each strike from her assailant, she would scream. The first time it happened, Dante shrugged it off as something to do with the mix of sustenance in his system, amplified by the alcohol in his drink. He did not hear another thing for ten minutes and was beginning to drift off when it began again.

It was at its loudest, the sound of the scream-sobs making the candles flicker. The instructions to not leave the room were lost under the film the vodka in the ale had set and he stood up from his resting place on the lounge, set just Ivory to its designated spot on his belt, made his way to the door, and opened it. The moonlit glimmering hall beyond the door greeted him, casting everything in a light silver hue. The entire wall was made of windows, letting the moon's light float through the air. The house gave another screech and cry, then fell into a fit of whimpering.

By that point, Dante had left the confines of his room, wandering down the hall and looking around whenever the walls cried. Twila was correct; the sound was a bit unnerving. It never really occurred to him to check how many floors up he was or take note of any particular landmarks while he was out and about, just to count the doors from his room to the stairwell.

He turned a sharp corner at the stairs and headed down, grumbling something along the lines of how he was going to kill whatever was making the noise. Hell, he was already on Twila's bad side, let's make it worse.

He had finally hit the ground floor after a series of hairpin corners on the stairs, weaving slightly to one side before continuing on his way. He was turning down one corridor to the next before he had come to realize what was happening; the place was a labyrinth, a maze. A very complex one by the looks of things.

A light muttering of some inaudible curses left him before he stopped. Was that the pair of twins from earlier? Indeed, a pair of small children dressed in knee-length black skirts, little black blouses with puffy sleeves, and light hair were standing at the other end of the hall he was currently standing in.

One of them turned around, the short-haired one, and she gave a startled gasp. "Oh my, sir. You shouldn't be out and running around for at least another couple of hours. The house is feeding now; it is dangerous for a mortal to be wandering around like so."

"I'm not a mortal and I don't appreciate being labeled as one."

The girl giggled. "Dearest guest, compared to those who live within these living breathing walls, you are mortal."

"And what exactly is that supposed to mean?"

The long-haired one, not as flighty as her sister, spoke up, her voice calm and collected in its tone. "You will eventually learn the truth. For now, you must not ask such a thing. You could get in trouble."

"And maybe I want to get in trouble. Ever think of that?" he retorted, crossing his arms at his chest.

The long-haired one's eyes narrowed slightly. "It is best not to dabble in that which you cannot possibly fathom." Her eyes were cast to her sister's smiling face, the glare lessening considerably. "Is that not correct, dear sister Marci?"

"Indeed it is, Maci." Marci looked up at the hunter, that same happily deranged smile upon her petite little face. "We had best get you back to your room, should we not? You have quite the long day ahead of you."

Before he had room to reply, the twins had grasped an arm each and began to lead him back down the labyrinth.

Sometime during the trip, Marci was heard to say, "Appearances are quite deceiving. Rising Sun is merely an example."

Maci added in that cool tone of hers, "Indeed. The house looks simply like a marvel of engineering on its outer facade, but deep within, it shows more. All structures have a soul, a life, but few of these actually prove it. Ignore the screams that echo within these halls; the cries are merely the lure on the stalk of the angler fish, the noise its light in the abyss. As the fish draws prey with that light, the cries draw prey to their deaths. Many a life has been lost in these walls, many a soul left to wander..."

For all his tugging to pull free of their grasp, the twins were strong, holding fast to him until they reached a staircase. He wasn't sure if it was the same stairs or a different set, but they went up and that was all that mattered. After all, the girls were starting to freak him out a bit. Such odd children, if that was what they were.

"You simply must return to your room. The house has but one maw and it does not move, so you are safer in your given chamber than you are anywhere else in the house until the cries stop." Marci said as she let him go.

"And when does it stop crying?"

The next answer from Maci was not exactly one he wanted to hear. "When it is fed."

Marci eased the tension in the air a bit by adding, "Or until the sun comes up. The house feeds only at night."

A bow was given from both the girls, accompanied by saying, "Good night and fare thee well on the morning's tide" in unison. They disappeared shortly afterward, leaving Dante looking slightly disgruntled. Between the two of them, he could hardly get a word in. So he simply humored them and trotted up the stairs.

He left the stairs at the fifth floor, assuming he had come from that floor and making his way down the corridor with its dimmed oil lamp sconces. Six doors down, he pushed the door open and walked in.

It wasn't his room, with dark blue carpets and medium blue walls, the high ceiling painted like the night sky. A massive chandelier hung from the center of the ceiling about two or three feet down, the wax candles completely out. On the wall to his left was a vanity and dresser, carved of cherry wood with the feet and corners carved like Asian dragons, looking out into the room with gentle benevolent eyes. Resting upon the vanity was a silver hairbrush with the most uncomfortable looking wire bristles, a hand mirror that obviously was a part of some long forgotten bathroom set alongside the brush, and a ceramic pitcher and washbowl. The pattern on the ceramic was a deep red background with the edges painted in black and made to look like the paint had run down the sides, almost like black tears. The pitcher was on the basin's right side, a white square of linen hanging off the edge of the bowl. On the right wall opposite the vanity was a fairly large four-poster bed, the mattress and linens beyond veiled by nearly opaque curtains made of a fabric the same shade of red as the sunset the previous evening. The framing was made of the same wood as the vanity and dresser, the posts that held the red sheers carved in the likeness of one of the Aztec gods; the plumed serpent, Quetzalcoatl. Centered in the back wall of the room was a pair of dual French doors framed by heavy drapes the color of evergreen. There was a window set on both sides of the doors, showing a patch of soft orange in the sky beyond the property line where the nearest city was. There were still the three doors he remembered, including the one he stood in; one to the bathroom, one to a closet, one an entry and an exit.

Well, any room was better than no room. With a swift look around, he noted only the evidence of someone living in the room, but no person whatsoever. Their loss, his gain. In all honest truth, he couldn't have given a rat's ass who's room it actually was and to prove it, he wandered over to the far side of the bed and pushed the curtains on that side away. Still no sign in the bed of the person who had this room. He flopped onto the mattress and almost fell in; it was that soft. A few moments to set it into his head where he was and he was out like a light.

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Alcohol can play tricks with one's senses and, initially, their mind. Thankfully, Dante was a relatively quiet sleeper, else he would have discovered that very effect the alcohol in his drink had on him. Twila was practically buried under the blankets on the opposite side of the bed and her white face and halo of raven black hair matched the spiderweb patterning of the pillowcases almost perfectly.

Also on the trespassing hunter's side was Twila's method of sleep. Whenever she closed her eyes for an extended amount of time and lost her mind from the waking world to the unknown world of dreams, she died on the mortal plane. Her heart stopped completely and she breathed nothing until either something (or someone) woke her up or the sun rose. The other sharing her bed tossed and turned and mumbled a few times during the night, but none of his actions were strong enough to rouse the original inhabitant.

The guard of Stiltwalkers outside the building had been switched four times before the horizon in the east began to glow gold-pink. It was the sun that woke Twila, the golden rays of light cascading through the windows and the French doors, filtering through the drapes about her bed and coming to rest on her. It was almost like a god had touched her, for as soon as the light fell completely upon her, her chest heaved in breath. The first deep breath was followed by the regular series of shorter shallower breaths and her heart once again began to pump.

A few moments after she began living again, her eyes lifted open slowly, taking in the sunlight, her once wide slit pupils contracting suddenly to the thickness of a line drawn with an impossibly sharp pencil. A few moments more passed before she rolled over to face the other side of the bed ... and stopped dead, a small squeak of surprise held back to a mild 'squirk'. Her face was mere inches from that of the guest hunter's.

Once she regained her composure and had backed up a little more, she decided a wake-up call was in order. After all, one did not crawl into her bed and expect to get to sleep in. She shifted herself a little more toward the edge of the bed, reaching over to snatch up the first object that came to her hand, the tips of her nails brushing over a nasty bit of work, something she knew would either wake him up or knock him out cold on her floor. In her mind, either one was good; either way procured his leaving of her bed.

She wrapped her fingers around one of her rarely-worn 'raver's' boots, a delicious bit of footwear that weighed a good thirty-eight pounds. When worn, it rose to mid-calf on her, made of the traditional black leather with thick laces made of the same material as the boot criss-crossing their way up. The grooved soles were almost six inches thick, raised an inch higher at the heel. The biggest factors in the thing's weight were the insides at the toe and heel; the inside of the boot at those locations was plated in a half inch of steel. Across the sides dangled small lengths of chain, four on each side, and a series of three belts in between the chains wrapping all the way around the footwear.

Twila lifted herself from the beneath the bed covers, letting the emerald green Egyptian cotton linens fall and reveal her body clad in a knee-length robe of palest pink made of the same material as her blankets. She took a stance on her knees for stability, aimed quickly, and threw the thing at him. She did not throw it in her version of the word 'hard'; had she done that, the boot would have probably caved his head in, so she only giving enough force to cause him hurt, if not wake him up. It hit Dante square in the forehead with the tip of the toe, causing him to wake with a start, a bizarre noise rising from his throat as he rolled backward off the far end of the bed, followed swiftly by the boot he had just been hit with.

There was a moment of light moaning from the floor before he sat straight up, holding his forehead at the place where the boot had made contact with the ball of his right hand. "What the fucking hell was that for, you bitch!?"

Twila's eyes were narrowed severely in his direction, masking the mild surprise that the light-colored gun at his side had not been drawn and aimed at her. It took a few moments of trying not to double the attack and smack him straight up, thinking the boot did enough of that for her. Therefore, she answered cooly, "For me waking up and finding you right next to me. Trespassers of my room do not get dhe luxury of actually sleeping."

"Well you didn't have to throw something like that at me, did you!? I mean ... God damn! I swear to fucking God you just broke something!"

She shrugged. "It was dhe first dhing I came across. It obviously taught you a lesson..."

"And you couldn't have looked for something else!? As opposed to trying to maul me with a fucking three-ton shoe? For God's sake, who wears a fucking three-ton shoe!?"

"It taught you not to come flouncing into my room in dhe middle of dhe night, da?"

"Well ... well yeah, but only because I'm afraid that next time, you'll hit me with something bigger! God... It really feels like you broke something. What if it doesn't set right?"

"And dherefore, I win. Now. Out." She clapped her hands and pointed out the door, which had been shut (or shut itself) sometime during the night.

There was no arguement. Just a very pissed off devil hunter and a calmly pissed off ... whatever she was. He went very willingly, but did not turn his back on her until he was out the door with the threshold closed again behind him. By that point, the sharp pain he had felt in his head from the boot had fallen to a dull throb and so he did not need to hold the palm of his hand to the contact point any longer.

Once alone, she waited a few moments more before reaching over the edge of her bed to pick up her boot. Amazingly, he did not claim it as his this time through. Than again, it seemed as though he had ... other things on his mind. She chuckled to herself as she slid back over to her side of the bed and set the boot with its twin, rising to her feet and looking at the door briefly. A click sounded from the knob and though she knew it would not hold Dante for long should he want in for some reason, it would still hold for a long enough time for her to become decent again. She undid the tie at her waist and dropped the robe from her shoulders. Aizl would come pick it up later and clean it for her before putting it back folded on the bed. The Daemoness always did.

There was nothing under the robe, just bare white skin. She moved like air across the floor to the vanity, looking in the larger mirror set at the back of it and sighing.

"Still only twenty-one..." she muttered before taking the cloth from the wash basin and making her way to the bathroom. The door was opened and she disappeared behind it, shutting and locking that door as well.

The tub and counters were made of pink veined marble, the cupboard doors beneath the sink made of a fine oak. The tub, sitting in the back right corner, was more like a hot tub in size with a more elliptical shape and a good sized shelf in the back corner behind the basin. This was covered in books and the occassional dark-loving plant. On the left wall was a door that lead to a small room for the toilet and other necessities of such.

A stack of freshly laundered and folded towels lay on the counter nearest the tub (there were no racks in the bathroom and that spot was within reach of the bather), that day's outfit laid out for her on the other side of the counter by the house's self-proclaimed 'butler'. It was the dress styled after the Middle Age peasants; a dark red ankle long skirt, a couple little white underskirts about the same length to give the top red layer a little bit of body, a white blouse that tied in the front instead of buttoned, a pair of black tight-woven lace underwear, and her corset. It was made to be worn on the outside of the shirt this time, black suede leather with intricate lacings up all four sides and a topline that curved in gently. Resting on the floor in front of the outfit were the shoes that went with it; grey lady's shoes popular at the turn of the century. They rose to right above one's ankles and buttoned up the insides, the toes squared off. The soles were an inch thick, the heels raised in the traditional wide high-heel to about four inches.

A small smirk crossed Twila's face as she thought to herself just how good Aizl really was to her. The Daemoness neither spoke nor understood anything outside Daemonic (it was a good thing the Daemon's mistress could speak the language fluently), but she had a good idea of how to analyze what a person meant by the tone they used. She was just unable to hold a regular conversation with someone. She cooked and cleaned and minded the Rising Sun when Twila was out and about and took care of the twins... She did everything.

A mild stretch was given from Twila, listening to the cracks and cricks in her back and shoulders before leaning forward and turning on the water to the tub. She looked around again and, with a sigh, realized that there was to be no wine this time through. Ah well; she would live...

A wicked laugh rose from her now, her lips actually pulling back to her gumline, revealing her teeth. Nasty pieces of work, her teeth were, and larger than one would expect. All of them were pointed with serrated edges, much like a shark's teeth though in better alignment. The shortest ones were the incisors along her top and bottom jaws at two inches, the longest being the canines on the top at six inches. A set of secondary canines rested behind those, four inches in length, a bottom set of canines that fit neatly between the two above at three inches long. Once fully unveiled, it was amazing to know how well she kept them hidden ... and the fact that there was no speech impediment proved further her skills in keeping them out of mind of others.

A sigh as the laugh subsided escaped her. She muttered, "Assuming I am living..." before chuckling the initial burst of laughter away and sliding into the steaming, steadily climbing water of the bath.

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At first, he thought the thing stalking down the hallway was a hallucination brought about by the blow to his head. He had closed his eyes and shook his head several times as if that would dispell the beast.

It walked on four legs and had its head bowed. It rose to his eye level in height to its shoulders, pointed ears perked forward. Its dirty black fur was scraggly, showing the body beneath to be thin and malnourished, though it was quite muscular for its diseased appearance, the black skin rippling with the shadowy light produced through the windows of the hallway. A long almost ratlike tail dangled behind it, swinging back and forth limply like a dead snake. The eyes were still wide and bright in brilliant red, its lips pulled up over a long pointed snout lined with yellowing decaying teeth, a low threatening growl emitting from its throat whilst what was left of the creature's hackles rose. The air around it smelled of fresh dirt and rotting flesh, an indication the creature was dead, much like a lot of the inhabitants he had been around within the walls.

The animal stopped dead in its tracks a couple of yards from him, its head lowering further. Its growl deepened, its gaze seeming to narrow at him. Dante lifted an eyebrow, setting his hand on the stock of Ivory more for retaliation should the creature attack suddenly than it was for comfort. Strange beast...

Testing his limits, he took a small step closer to the animal. It reacted, but not in an attack, like what he was expecting. Instead, the jaws opened wider for a moment, the black nose at the end of its muzzle twitching before it snapped its jaws at him in a series of loud barks, its hackles raising a bit further.

"Oh. This is just great." he grumbled as the dog creature backed up half a step and resumed growling at him. "I haven't a fucking clue where they holed me up for the night, but I know their damned Grim's between me and it."

A door somewhere behind him opened and he heard a familiar voice; Kiki. He never thought he would be happy to hear her pop up suddenly.

"Touqel! Keep it down ou' the'e! 'F it's the freak with the red coat, le' 'im be; 'e's ae gues' noo."

The Grim, Touqel, stopped immediately, lifting its head and tilting it to one side, accompanied by a whining noise that indicated mild confusion. Either way, it dropped its threatening facade and lowered its head again, its ears falling back lightly in a relaxed look as it walked forward, swerving its body to walk passed Dante. He watched the dog creature continue on its sulky path for a little bit before continuing on his way.

It took him about an hour and a half, but eventually he finally came across his own room. He caught sight of himself on a small oval-shaped mirror hanging on the wall across the room and thanked whatever god there was out there for giving him speed healing abilities; the bruise was already almost gone. There didn't seem to be any abnormal bumps or divets either. All was good.

For a few minutes, he contemplated on whether it would be safe to leave his room again. Shrugging, he eventually decided it would be good enough to leave. He turned around from the mirror, his startling blue gaze falling immediately upon the table his meal had been set on the night before. There was a box sitting where the pizza had been; the remains of the food and drink had been taken away.

It was a pretty big box a little larger than his head, made of maple wood. The top had a carving of a dragon. If the top was turned rightside up to the veiwer, the panel directly in front had a gryphon holding a sphere carved on it, the right had a unicorn with cloven hooves and a lion's tail in a partial rear, the left a pegasus tossing its head with its wings splayed, and the back a mermaid holding a human skull and combing her hair. There was a latch on all four sides of the lid, holding it shut.

Ever so carefully, Dante threw all the latches and lifted the fitted top off the box. The inside was lined in black velvet and cushioned, holding in its soft confines a sphere that was the size of his head wrapped in dark blue silk. Cautiously, he put his hands under the curve of the thing and lifted it out. It would not hurt to check the merchandise, now would it? The sphere was set onto the table in between him and the box, the silk pulled back to reveal it was again wrapped in light grey silk and once more after that in white. Damn, the thing was concealed beneath so much silk, one would think someone did not want the thing to be seen. The last bit of the cover was being lifted away when a certian whimper reached the hunter's ears from the doorway.

Normally, he would have just ignored the Grim ... except for the fact that the temperature in the room seemed to drop around ten degrees. He dared himself to look up, nearly stumbling backward from the glare that was shot in his direction. It was not from the dog, either; Twila had emerged from her room and had come to retrieve him, Touqel at her side. She was obviously not the happiest person at that moment.

There was something about her in that moment, whether it be her ominously back-lit form in the doorway or the fact that all the candles in the room had gone out simultaneously at her approach, that told him all she needed to say without words; Put it back.

There were a few seconds of him contemplating whether or not he should put the ball back and eventually all the factors showing in the room at that moment weighed against his wanting to see it at that particular spot in time. He wrapped the thing back in its layers of silk and put it back in its box, then closed and latched the lid.

"There. It's done. Happy now?"

"Da." was the only word that left her at that moment, her silhouetted frame turning sharply and walking down the hallway out of sight.

Dante followed her out after attaching Ebony to his waist belt under the cover of his coat, his sword set into its scabbard at his back. Whatever was in that box, he was going to get at the very least a look at it, whether or not the former owner of the thing liked it.