Post by oberonfrost on Jun 18, 2012 1:29:19 GMT -5
Ultimate Crimson Fox #9
The Price: A Tale of Double Dare
2012
“You’ve been unconscious for three days,” Zachariah said to Margot as she rubbed at her eyes. “I tried to convince Father that he should use you for spare parts instead of nursing you back to health.”
Margot tried to spit at him, but her mouth was dry. “Aliki,” she croaked?
“Alive. For now,” Zachariah responded. “Father still might decide not to let you live. He’s not happy about this ‘superhero’ you and Poison keep failing to kill.”
“What!?!” Margot gasped, then erupted in a coughing fit.
Zachariah waited for the spasm to pass. “Another hundred years, bitch. Poison’s here to stitch you up. And Father will think of something for your sister. But only if you promise him another hundred years.”
1987
The Cirque de la Lune Noire traveled the French countryside, stopping on the outskirts of small towns and cities alike. They would pitch their yellow and black tents, drive stakes into the hard earth to hold their wagons and carriages in place. Horses were tied behind the tents, except the few stark white mares that appeared inside the big top. Dogs belonging to the performers ran free in the fields surrounding the camp.
The circus might stay in town for three days, or they might remain a week. It all came down to the size of the crowds they were able to draw. The Dark Moon Company had been camped outside the rundown township of Agincourt for two nights already. Business had not been good. Vivaldi, the ringmaster and owner of the circus, couldn’t decide whether the poor ticket sales was due to the overall dour disposition of the town or rough economic times in a dying community. Not even the enticing Double Dare twins, acrobats of growing renown, had been able to draw in more than a handful of revelers.
Vivaldi had declared that this would be their last night on the borders on the Agincourt, but the performers and other members of the circus already knew it to be the case. Yet just like the two nights before they lit the spotlights and pointed them skyward, a call to all those who wished to experience a night of merriment to come out and play. The speakers played light and airy notes, tones that tinkled in the ears of those that came to see the shows and play the games. Clowns painted their faces and donned their outlandish garb. Animal trainers wheeled caged lions and tigers and bears into the big top and led elephants inside the tent on the opposite side. Acrobats and sword-swallowers, jugglers and dancers pulled on their costumes and prepared to demonstrate their art to a mostly empty set of wooden bleachers.
The crowds filtered in and out of the big top as Vivaldi announced one act after another. The sparse audience ooh-ed and ahh-ed at the magician and other performers. They laughed, half-heartedly, at the clowns as they climbed out of their tiny car, sprayed seltzer and threw pies. They watched in mute amazement as savage beasts were made to perform tricks like common house pets.
As the center ring emptied and the stagehands hoisted the white net into their air, a strange trio walked through the tent flaps. A tall man, wearing a dark, hooded cloak was flanked on either side by women of startling appearance. One was dressed in white from head to toe, save for a pair of red-tinted sunglasses. The other wore a scarlet cat-suit, a gaping hole cut in the abdomen, leaving her pierced belly button exposed, a sparkling ruby glinted there.
They took their seats on the end of the bleachers, well away from any other attendees. “This had best be worth my time,” the hooded man whispered to the woman in red.
She smiled at him and replied, “I assure you, sire, that it will be. These girls, you will be able to put them to use, I have no doubt of that.”
Glimmering ropes hung from the ceiling of the tent. It had been painted as a giant replica of Vincent van Gogh’s famous “Starry Night.” On one end of the tent was Margot Marceau, her long red hair trailing behind her, dressed in her yellow and black costume, powdering her hands to make sure they stayed dry and wouldn’t slip as she swung on the trapeze. Across from her, on the other end of the tent, wearing the same leotard, was her twin sister Aliki, her hands already grasping the bar on her own trapeze.
Microphone in hand, Vivaldi took to the center ring, standing under the net that would catch the girls should something go wrong. As he introduced the young acrobats, stagehands stationed out of sight swung spotlights around to illuminate the girls as they waved to audience.
Aliki and Margot launched themselves from their platforms, high in the air. The hooded man watched, intrigued by the beauty of their flight. Margot and Aliki flipped, turning circles and spiraling through the air inside the big top. They flew with such speed that sometimes they appeared as little more than yellow and black blurs flitting among the painted stars.
The hooded man leaned in and whispered to the woman in white, “Escort me home.” The two of them rose and stepped down from the bleachers. He looked back at the woman in red, still sitting obediently. “Bring them to me as soon as they finish up there,” he said to her before turning to go.
Madeline smiled to herself as she watched the other woman escort their master away from the big top. She watched the rest of the show in silence, clapping with the rest of the sheep when the twins dismounted from their trapezes and bowed. They had earned their accolades. “Almost a pity these are the last applause they shall ever receive,” she said to herself as she slipped outside and headed toward the wagon the sisters shared as their home on the road.
The vampire stole inside their wagon before the sisters arrived. They came inside, sweating and laughing together, congratulating themselves on another show well done. Madeline was possessed of strength and speed far beyond those of a normal human. It took next to know effort for her to subdue the twins. Once the girls had regained consciousness she very simply explained that it was in their best interests to take a meeting, tonight, with her master. Otherwise, they would never leave the wagon again.
It was a short trip to the ruins of Agincourt castle. Madeline led the girls downward, into what had once been the palace’s dungeons. They now housed the chambers, both public and private, of Count Marisius of Agincourt, the immortal master of the forbidden art of Flesh Magic.
Aliki and Margot were terrified as they descended the stone steps into the cold medieval halls below. As they entered the central chamber, where Marisius entertained his infrequent guests the girls got their first look at their dark-father, and were scared speechless.
The count no longer wore the long hooded cloak he had donned to attend the circus. The man stood nearly seven feet tall, but he did not stand on the legs of a man. Where Marisius’ legs should have been, instead there were two legs covered in fur and bent backward like those of a goat. They even ended in hooves. One arm ended in a hand with long talons made of hardened skin. The man’s eyes were two different colors, and two different sizes. The face had been peeled away from his lower jaw on the left side, and a sideways seemed permanently affixed to his face because of the missing bottom.
The deal had been simple enough, an offer they couldn’t refuse really. Marisius would grant them immortality, eternal youth and beauty in exchange for one-hundred years of servitude. If they said no, Aliki and Margot both knew they wouldn’t leave the dungeon alive.
Marisius hadn’t told them how he was going to grant them this extended longevity. Not until he’d led them into once of the old torture chambers, converted these days into a surgical suite. A woman dressed in black leather and latex, from head to toe, including a slick mask covering her entire head waited inside.
Both girls were made to strip naked, and they felt the chill of the dungeon air on the uncovered flesh. The shivers that shot up their spines, however, was not from the bitter air. Though they screamed, Marisius still strapped them down to cold metal tables in the center of the room.
Margot tried to focus on the intense iciness of the table pressed against her nipples instead of the pain at the top of her spine as the woman in black began cutting into her flesh with a scalpel. She continued to scream, her cries growing louder and inciting similar shrieks from her sister.
Marisius began to chant the spells that would keep the girls alive even after Doctor Poison had removed their skins. His own creations, the girls would become ‘skinthieves’ able to remove their own pelts and wear the skin of those they had murdered. He enjoyed the screams, smiling as he listened glad of the sound drowning out the sound of his spells.
From the doorway, Madeline watched as Poison peeled Margot’s face down, away from her skull revealing the bloody tissue and bone underneath. It would be a wonder if no one heard the screams, despite the underground location and the lack of neighbors for miles around. It was a torture for the twins, Madeline knew, the likes of which few beings had ever been through.
2012
Margot rubbed at the stitches on her cheek, staring into a mirror. They’d never be able to be removed. Her skin no longer healed, ever since Marisius and Poison had sliced it off a quarter-century ago. Aliki had survived as well, though she was much worse off.
Marisius had stretched the burnt skin over most of her face and her right arm. Poison had carved off most of DeChampes’ upper body, and had sewn the skin from his legs tight at the waist, like a pair of potato sack pants. They’d fashioned a sleeve out of the dead scientist’s left arm. Aliki’s torso was bare, dripping blood and gore, muscles exposed.
They looked horrific. Just the way their dark-father wanted them. “Just a hundred and seventy-five years to go,” she said to herself, letting her hand fall away from the wound that ruined her beautiful face.
The Price: A Tale of Double Dare
2012
“You’ve been unconscious for three days,” Zachariah said to Margot as she rubbed at her eyes. “I tried to convince Father that he should use you for spare parts instead of nursing you back to health.”
Margot tried to spit at him, but her mouth was dry. “Aliki,” she croaked?
“Alive. For now,” Zachariah responded. “Father still might decide not to let you live. He’s not happy about this ‘superhero’ you and Poison keep failing to kill.”
“What!?!” Margot gasped, then erupted in a coughing fit.
Zachariah waited for the spasm to pass. “Another hundred years, bitch. Poison’s here to stitch you up. And Father will think of something for your sister. But only if you promise him another hundred years.”
1987
The Cirque de la Lune Noire traveled the French countryside, stopping on the outskirts of small towns and cities alike. They would pitch their yellow and black tents, drive stakes into the hard earth to hold their wagons and carriages in place. Horses were tied behind the tents, except the few stark white mares that appeared inside the big top. Dogs belonging to the performers ran free in the fields surrounding the camp.
The circus might stay in town for three days, or they might remain a week. It all came down to the size of the crowds they were able to draw. The Dark Moon Company had been camped outside the rundown township of Agincourt for two nights already. Business had not been good. Vivaldi, the ringmaster and owner of the circus, couldn’t decide whether the poor ticket sales was due to the overall dour disposition of the town or rough economic times in a dying community. Not even the enticing Double Dare twins, acrobats of growing renown, had been able to draw in more than a handful of revelers.
Vivaldi had declared that this would be their last night on the borders on the Agincourt, but the performers and other members of the circus already knew it to be the case. Yet just like the two nights before they lit the spotlights and pointed them skyward, a call to all those who wished to experience a night of merriment to come out and play. The speakers played light and airy notes, tones that tinkled in the ears of those that came to see the shows and play the games. Clowns painted their faces and donned their outlandish garb. Animal trainers wheeled caged lions and tigers and bears into the big top and led elephants inside the tent on the opposite side. Acrobats and sword-swallowers, jugglers and dancers pulled on their costumes and prepared to demonstrate their art to a mostly empty set of wooden bleachers.
The crowds filtered in and out of the big top as Vivaldi announced one act after another. The sparse audience ooh-ed and ahh-ed at the magician and other performers. They laughed, half-heartedly, at the clowns as they climbed out of their tiny car, sprayed seltzer and threw pies. They watched in mute amazement as savage beasts were made to perform tricks like common house pets.
As the center ring emptied and the stagehands hoisted the white net into their air, a strange trio walked through the tent flaps. A tall man, wearing a dark, hooded cloak was flanked on either side by women of startling appearance. One was dressed in white from head to toe, save for a pair of red-tinted sunglasses. The other wore a scarlet cat-suit, a gaping hole cut in the abdomen, leaving her pierced belly button exposed, a sparkling ruby glinted there.
They took their seats on the end of the bleachers, well away from any other attendees. “This had best be worth my time,” the hooded man whispered to the woman in red.
She smiled at him and replied, “I assure you, sire, that it will be. These girls, you will be able to put them to use, I have no doubt of that.”
Glimmering ropes hung from the ceiling of the tent. It had been painted as a giant replica of Vincent van Gogh’s famous “Starry Night.” On one end of the tent was Margot Marceau, her long red hair trailing behind her, dressed in her yellow and black costume, powdering her hands to make sure they stayed dry and wouldn’t slip as she swung on the trapeze. Across from her, on the other end of the tent, wearing the same leotard, was her twin sister Aliki, her hands already grasping the bar on her own trapeze.
Microphone in hand, Vivaldi took to the center ring, standing under the net that would catch the girls should something go wrong. As he introduced the young acrobats, stagehands stationed out of sight swung spotlights around to illuminate the girls as they waved to audience.
Aliki and Margot launched themselves from their platforms, high in the air. The hooded man watched, intrigued by the beauty of their flight. Margot and Aliki flipped, turning circles and spiraling through the air inside the big top. They flew with such speed that sometimes they appeared as little more than yellow and black blurs flitting among the painted stars.
The hooded man leaned in and whispered to the woman in white, “Escort me home.” The two of them rose and stepped down from the bleachers. He looked back at the woman in red, still sitting obediently. “Bring them to me as soon as they finish up there,” he said to her before turning to go.
Madeline smiled to herself as she watched the other woman escort their master away from the big top. She watched the rest of the show in silence, clapping with the rest of the sheep when the twins dismounted from their trapezes and bowed. They had earned their accolades. “Almost a pity these are the last applause they shall ever receive,” she said to herself as she slipped outside and headed toward the wagon the sisters shared as their home on the road.
The vampire stole inside their wagon before the sisters arrived. They came inside, sweating and laughing together, congratulating themselves on another show well done. Madeline was possessed of strength and speed far beyond those of a normal human. It took next to know effort for her to subdue the twins. Once the girls had regained consciousness she very simply explained that it was in their best interests to take a meeting, tonight, with her master. Otherwise, they would never leave the wagon again.
It was a short trip to the ruins of Agincourt castle. Madeline led the girls downward, into what had once been the palace’s dungeons. They now housed the chambers, both public and private, of Count Marisius of Agincourt, the immortal master of the forbidden art of Flesh Magic.
Aliki and Margot were terrified as they descended the stone steps into the cold medieval halls below. As they entered the central chamber, where Marisius entertained his infrequent guests the girls got their first look at their dark-father, and were scared speechless.
The count no longer wore the long hooded cloak he had donned to attend the circus. The man stood nearly seven feet tall, but he did not stand on the legs of a man. Where Marisius’ legs should have been, instead there were two legs covered in fur and bent backward like those of a goat. They even ended in hooves. One arm ended in a hand with long talons made of hardened skin. The man’s eyes were two different colors, and two different sizes. The face had been peeled away from his lower jaw on the left side, and a sideways seemed permanently affixed to his face because of the missing bottom.
The deal had been simple enough, an offer they couldn’t refuse really. Marisius would grant them immortality, eternal youth and beauty in exchange for one-hundred years of servitude. If they said no, Aliki and Margot both knew they wouldn’t leave the dungeon alive.
Marisius hadn’t told them how he was going to grant them this extended longevity. Not until he’d led them into once of the old torture chambers, converted these days into a surgical suite. A woman dressed in black leather and latex, from head to toe, including a slick mask covering her entire head waited inside.
Both girls were made to strip naked, and they felt the chill of the dungeon air on the uncovered flesh. The shivers that shot up their spines, however, was not from the bitter air. Though they screamed, Marisius still strapped them down to cold metal tables in the center of the room.
Margot tried to focus on the intense iciness of the table pressed against her nipples instead of the pain at the top of her spine as the woman in black began cutting into her flesh with a scalpel. She continued to scream, her cries growing louder and inciting similar shrieks from her sister.
Marisius began to chant the spells that would keep the girls alive even after Doctor Poison had removed their skins. His own creations, the girls would become ‘skinthieves’ able to remove their own pelts and wear the skin of those they had murdered. He enjoyed the screams, smiling as he listened glad of the sound drowning out the sound of his spells.
From the doorway, Madeline watched as Poison peeled Margot’s face down, away from her skull revealing the bloody tissue and bone underneath. It would be a wonder if no one heard the screams, despite the underground location and the lack of neighbors for miles around. It was a torture for the twins, Madeline knew, the likes of which few beings had ever been through.
2012
Margot rubbed at the stitches on her cheek, staring into a mirror. They’d never be able to be removed. Her skin no longer healed, ever since Marisius and Poison had sliced it off a quarter-century ago. Aliki had survived as well, though she was much worse off.
Marisius had stretched the burnt skin over most of her face and her right arm. Poison had carved off most of DeChampes’ upper body, and had sewn the skin from his legs tight at the waist, like a pair of potato sack pants. They’d fashioned a sleeve out of the dead scientist’s left arm. Aliki’s torso was bare, dripping blood and gore, muscles exposed.
They looked horrific. Just the way their dark-father wanted them. “Just a hundred and seventy-five years to go,” she said to herself, letting her hand fall away from the wound that ruined her beautiful face.