milliways_bar | (no subject)

Entry tags:

tool

(no subject)

He's watching the bar's patrons tonight, rather than the view beyond the window, and sipping from a glass of wine. Paid for in cash, of course - money, for him, is not at all hard to come by. The sudden buzz of activity caused by the management's notice intrigues him.

So, another devil in the bar. Have at.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

And he is being watched in turn. A young child at first glance, but empty as a doll, soulless. Mistress had bid her meet people...

He meets her eyes, at first glance nothing more than a handsome middle-aged man, neither particularly kindly nor particularly cruel in appearance.

And then he goes dead still, and his mild gaze sharpens.

Her own empty eyes meet his for a moment, then she sweeps into a deep curtsey as she has been trained. It is graceful and fluid, moving art no matter the childrens clothing Mistress bid her wear.

"Come here a moment, child." His voice is soft, with an edge of music to it. Fallen he might be, but he is still an angel.

Any other may hesitate, perhaps even wonder why? She simply obeys, stoppng before him with her gaze lowered "Yes Master?"

He curls two fingers beneath her chin, exerting gentle pressure to bring her gaze up to meet his. It feels like a human hand, and human strength.

"Now, no need for that. Let me see those pretty eyes."

There's a jarring note to the quiet voice, though the nature of it is not quite discernable.

The eyes are overly large, and blue just this shade of grey. They oddly seem unfocused, while missing nothing.

And the yawn like the void between stars, chillingly so. Few could stand to meet that empty gaze, nor even touch her slightly cool skin...but that was never something she noted.

"As you will" she answered softly, as she was to do when ever complimented.

His own eyes are pure grey, cool and neutral

and for a moment they flare blue-white and oh so bright, like looking into the heart of a star not yet diminished by the belief that it is nothing but burning gas

and ordinary. But he can meet her gaze, though perhaps it is harder than one might think possible.

"That's better."

And there is a flicker, probing for any sense of self in the child.

She knows a word, it is "I" and that is what she is to call herself when speaking.

And her given name is Tool, for that is what she is, what she has been forced to be. Everything else is darkness and submission, beaten into the blood and bone until it shakes through the mind and marrow...

There is no will. No self.

There is obedience.

His hand rises to brush her cheek, before falling back to his side. And it is, perhaps, a little warmer than it had been, as though he is running a mild fever.

He is not, of course.

"What are you?"

As little will as some mortals may have, there is nearly always some there. Some strength of spirit, some thing that they are, within themselves.

This emptiness...it disturbs him.

A point in fact, she has no soul. It's gone,lost, hidden perhaps.

She folded her legs neatly and sank down by his legs, smiling up at him artfully, but as emptily as a doll with a painted face.

"I am Tool, if it pleases"

And she's human, or close kin, horrible as that may seem. Even more sickening peraps is that core of healers ability that flickers deep within that hollow breast.

"Are you, now?"

He has seen others with their souls missing. In most cases, there was something else there. He searches, then, for something lurking within her, and it might not be entirely gentle.

Of course, one questions whether, without a soul, there is anything left in her to hurt.

"That is no proper name for a child."

Healer.

"Yes, Master"

There is nothing. Clean and empty space, if one discounts teh dark sections taht are scarred memory and blasted mind. Smooth as scar tissue within.

Empty.

Waiting perhaps.

And no, she cannot hurt, though she kows, dully, thaht there is pain.

"I am sorry to displease"

"I do not believe it is your fault."

He reaches out, a series of minute, perfectly controlled movements that give the illusion of fluidity, and smoothes her hair.

"Who made you as you are?"

"I amoften to blame, Master"

She is used to being petted, Master had liked her hair, and so it was long and silken, and she knew just how to kneel to make the gesture easy.

"I now belong to Mistress, as Master Gaunt is deceased"

"And is it your dead master who trained you to be such a pliant little creature? Or your current mistress?"

His tone is still soft, mild. Academically curious, and nothing more.

"I am not to displease, it was an early lesson" she admitted.

"I am told I learn well"

She looke dup, letting his fingers brush along her face as she examined his expression for any sign she had failed.

There is no such sign. There is, in fact, no sign of anything, really.

"I imagine you do. You seem to be a bright girl. Now, I have a question for you. What happened to your soul?"

She should have one. So close to human, she should have one. And there's no sense of other there, no sense that she had traded it away.

Stolen, then, or lost, and both are abominations.

Satisfied that she has not failed, she returned her gaze to the floor, the movement so smooth that she doesn't even tangle a single hair on his fingers.

"I am told I lost it Master. It was not necessary for my purposes"

"It is always necessary. Beings such as you are meant to have a soul. Has it been sought?"

He looks down at her, eyes narrowed, seeking any trace of wards, of protection.

"I not know, Master" and she truly doesn't in all honesty.

As ever,there is nothing. No magical tracings to ward others off, or bind within, no hint of magic at all. Nothing.

"They leave you open?"

He can't keep a note of surprise from trickling into his voice. Such a being as she would take so long to mold...

"Unguarded?"

"Open, Master?" she asked, not understanding.

She needs no guarding, in truth. She dare not die, no matter what happens.

And in truth...it took far beyond centuries to craft this doll.

"To passing spirits, child," he replies.

He would like to meet Gaunt, perhaps. That this is not possible can certainly be considered a good thing.

"I do not understand, Master" she admitted honestly.

She truly does not, harm is simply part of her existance, and so is obediance. Whatmatter if it comes from fleshly hand or spiritual?

"No, You wouldn't, would you?" He studies her through narrowed eyes for a long moment. "Return to your mistress, girl."

She rose fluidly, far more graceful than any puppet pulled by strings. She was trained to please in all things.

"As Master wills" she spoke softly, and left.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only