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Post by Garison Graves on Feb 17, 2013 18:22:12 GMT -5
The smile that was flashed appeared and vanished with the relative swiftness of a stiletto just below the ribcage. Garison Graves bowed with his regular dramatic flourish and offered his hand to his host.
"It would be my pleasure, my dear."
The moon was fading at this point, deciding to retreat, as it was, behind the thin veil of fog and film noir towers of the distant skyline.
That was of little concern to Graves. Such fleeting, flippant material things generally were. He had achieved what he had come here for: the lady had lowered her guard and not banished him outright. That was good. More importantly, however, was her evident intrigue with his words. She had not declined his offer outright - that was propitious, at the very least. He should have to see that his charm offensive did not falter, even for an instant.
"Then come, my dear. Let me take you out for an evening. Whatever the lady desires."
And now his eyes glinted - and, behind them, there danced a little flame that wanted to consume the world.
"Consider it my treat."
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Post by Josephine Collins on Feb 18, 2013 9:39:40 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style, width:400px;,bTable]His smile only made her get into an even worse mood. What the hell was up with this guy? Business was business, was he making fun of her or something? This was not amusing at all, yet he kept pushing her around with that ironic politeness, it almost made her angry. But she kept her calm, because that was what she always did, and let go of a small sigh. She'd have given anything just to be home, wrapped up in a blanket and watching TV. "There is the question of what exactly it is that you want from me." She spoke again, the smallest hint of coldness in her voice as she took a step backwards to give him some space for his weird movements. Honestly, what was it with some people in Sternbild, just acting like they were crazy. It would have been really easy to just pull out her gun and shoot him in the face. She'd have liked that. He wasn't that important to anyone anyway. Thrash. "I consider it payment. Now speak up and tell me what you want, you stalker. I don't like wasting time." She crossed her arms against her chest in one last effort of not getting overly annoyed. |
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Post by Garison Graves on Feb 18, 2013 17:00:17 GMT -5
Graves paused for the slightest of seconds. The casual observer would scarcely have noticed it, being that it lasted for a mere sliver of a second and then vanished into the ether.
But it was not indistinct. It had occurred, however briefly, that Graves' otherwise impregnable facade glinted for a fraction of an instant. It did not crack, of course - that would be tantamount to suicide from his perspective - but it did waver, ever so slightly; as though the glass fortress surrounding his glacial core had one window opened a crack so that the outside world could be viewed.
In any event, it was not simply a display of weakness for Graves. Those who knew him - and nobody could rightfully say they did, or wanted to - would have made the tentative suggestion that he was...
Well, pleased.
She was putting up a good front herself. Something in the festering pits of Graves' animal mind felt an almost primal sense of intrigue at this. It had been biding its time up to this point, gradually building up, waiting to see what the girl would do next.
And, finally, she had remained standing against him.
Like a wrathful hound deciding to spare a decidedly courageous little cat for a moment longer, Garison Graves tilted his head back and flashed another wretched smile.
"Well, now. Quite the demanding little minx, aren't we? But, alright, since you're so good at to ask me."
He cleared his throat and raised his arms, as though on the verge of reciting O'Neill verbatim.
"What I desire from you, my silken little femme fatale, is information. And none of your common police corruption nonsense, either. I want, to use popular parlance, the good stuff. I want to know what our beloved police force gets up to in its spare time, when the lights are down and nobody is around to watch. What with all these glorious advertisement-drenched vaudeville clowns flying to and fro, I'm sure there's some reason the police force is allowed to keep itself aright. I want you to dig deep, raid every last of those nooks and crannies as far as they will take you. I want you to dredge up every last shred of incriminating evidence, every last piece of sordid skulduggery, every last scrap of the basest naughtiness our little old boys in blue have been getting up to. And I want it served on a silver platter, please.
Ah, but there is something else. More so than that, my dear: I would like to have you."
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Post by Josephine Collins on Feb 20, 2013 13:01:41 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style, width:400px;,bTable]She'd have laughed. Honestly, under other circumstances, she'd have laughed her ears off at his request. Sternbild was home to many kinds of people, one weirder than the other, but truly, in all her life, she had never met anyone more strange than this unnamed phantom in front of her. He was an anomaly in her usually calm life and she didn't know whether it was a welcome change or not. Leaking information from within the police office had started as a joke and Cashmere Cat simply appeared out of nowhere. It wouldn't be very hard for her to simply disappear just as quickly and silently as it appeared. But that would not have helped anyone except her, and she was such a generous and kind person that often liked to help, mostly herself. Instead of laughing at his words, she simply smiled, in a somewhat amusing adult manner that reflected her amusement. She almost found his naivety endearing. Honestly. "You already have Cashmere Cat's services, stalker. For free. You're the only one who can say something like that. Though, I don't recommend bragging about it, you wouldn't want this little kitty to get skinned alive, huh." Or maybe that was exactly what he wanted. Still, despite her doubts and the slight feeling of anxiety nestled in her chest, she let her smile linger a little longer. |
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Post by Garison Graves on Feb 20, 2013 13:22:40 GMT -5
"Oh, well, don't I just feel ever so privileged! You make me blush, Miss Collins, you really do."
He continued to stare at her a while longer, absorbing every facet of her graceful form, before turning his attention to his fingers. Long and slender though they were - really just tarpaulin of pale skin stretched over marblesque bone - they were impeccably well kept, his fingernails cut to within microscopic precision and his milky skin as smooth and soft as a newborn kitten.
"You should know I am no stalker," he mused, flexing his digital joints back and forth like tense spiders, "It really is a terribly ugly word. I prefer to think of myself as more of a gentleman of distinct leisure, although in what manner is wholly negligible. But let's not get into that.
"At least, not just yet."
His fastidious smile had never once left his features. It seemed to be as much a part of him as the hair on his head or the malicious gleam in his eye.
"Oh, and if I may be so bold as to make another request, do us both a favour and drop the act. It's ever so embarrassing to see you act all collected and genteel when common sense would suggest that, had you really no fear or concern for your well-being right about now, you would have done more to confront me than just hurl accusations in my direction."
He glanced at his fingernails from a distance and, deeming them satisfactory, returned his gaze to her.
"Although I must admit, I do enjoy it. It's been ever so long since I've had someone this erstwhile stand before me."
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Post by Josephine Collins on Feb 20, 2013 13:57:18 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style, width:400px;,bTable]"So? Kill me, I'm not stopping you." She shrugged a little, seeming almost too calm. He was having quite the nerve, to accuse her of feigning calm. While she was indeed aware of everything that went on between them, she didn't think he was going to hurt her in any way. Though cryptic about what exactly it was that he wanted from her, she came to the conclusion that he either needed her services, thus letting her live, or he was just another insane idiot in Sternbild, in which case he was going to kill her and that would have saved her from a life in prison or worse. It was a win-win situation, really. At least for her. Well, as long as she got over her fear of death. Yeah, that was a pretty nasty thing. "You know, if you wouldn't smell like gasoline, I could kiss you. You're just such a lovable character. A change of pace in good old Sternbild." She let out a forced laugh, just so he wouldn't think she was heartless. She wasn't heartless, of course she wasn't. She was just a cat: independent, moody and needy. She had lots of needsm that she did. "I'm just calling you stalker because I don't know what else to call you." And that was actually the truth. She had no idea what to call him because, quoting him, introductions were overrated. "I am the one hurling accusations? Mildly amusing. I suggest you stop talking in riddles and tell me what the hell you want, in exchange for your little request." A michievous smile barely tugged at the corners of her lips. "Nothing's free." |
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Post by Garison Graves on Feb 20, 2013 15:45:25 GMT -5
Graves peered at her from under veiled eyelids. His slender fingers began to stroke his sharp, angular chin.
"Alright, then. Since I can tell you're tired of my ingenious witticisms."
As though a leaden weight fell from his shoulders, he coughed and spoke in a tone that was decidedly more business-like than his previous one. Somehow, it was even colder than before, yet still iced with toxic honey - like stiletto, silken arsenic, he spoke.
"I'm rather tired of this city, in case you couldn't tell. I've spent some time observing it, watching from the shadows as our dearly beloved heroes pursued their valiant crusade to rid our streets of crime and villainy. I was admiring of them, at least for a while. They were possessed of an almost...mythological valour that I simply adored.
"And then, everything seemed to fall apart. These beloved heroes - what has become of them? Whither hath they gone? Crime is still rampant, let me assure you of that. But it sees that, more so than ever before, we are in need of heroes. And it seems they have abandoned us.
"Of course, perhaps I am merely being cynical about all of this. After all, were there ever any heroes to begin with? Were they really so concerned with the public good, or were they simply operating as agents for this loathsome reality television craze that seems to have captivated this city for goodness only knows how long?
"And then there is the police force. I've already spoken of them, of course, so I shan't bore you with the details once again. Suffice is to say, they seem to exist in a city where they are simultaneously necessary and unwanted. Such a tragic dichotomy!
"What is to be done, then? Has the entire world gone mad, or is it just me? I don't know. You're the lapdog here, you tell me. Ahahah."
He approached Josephine. Without pomp, without bombast, without ceremony, he stepped forward and stared deep into her eyes.
"I shall be brief. I intend to show this city the error of its decadent, hedonistic ways. But even I cannot do it alone. So I will offer you a choice. You can either join me and assist me in my most ignoble crusade, my dear little Cashmere Cat, or you can perish here. The choice remains, as always, yours."
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Post by Josephine Collins on Feb 21, 2013 16:21:39 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style, width:400px;,bTable]There he was, ranting again. Not only did she look away from him, her thoughts wandering to what kind of movie would be waiting for her at home, but for a moment she barely withheld the small snicker that threatened to escape her lips. It was amusing, to tell the truth, that she ended up as a police officer. One would think she'd have hated her parents and their occupation, but she was, in fact, quite independent and uncaring. Unkind and unnatural. He, on the other hand, was merely contradicting himself over and over again and ignoring all her polite requests for a name. She had called him stalker simply because she didn't know what else to call him, but since he so blatantly ignored her request for a name once more, she decided he wasn't worth it. She smiled, however, as he approached her. Aww, so now he wanted to play with the kitty? "Sure. With two small conditions. One, I'm a cat, not a lapdog, there's a pretty big difference here. And two, tell me what to call you already, unless you'd rather have me call you Stalker until the end of time." Thus said, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his cheek in an amusing, chaste-like kiss. The deal was sealed, so to speak. "Now take me out and buy me popcorn and tea." Only she'd know what her real plans were and, this time, she was going to keep them for herself. |
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Post by Garison Graves on Feb 22, 2013 17:13:08 GMT -5
He smiled a tiger's smile and laughed curtly under his breath.
"Alright, then, if m'lady insists. Ordinarily, I would never give my name out to another. I am, after all, just a humble Madman."
He sighed and adjusted the brim of his hat. His smile remained erstwhile as ever.
It was practically impossible to get a read on the Madman, as it was. He had a habit of saying one thing and then utterly disregarding it in the next breath. His talent for duplicity was perhaps his most remarkable and renowned quality - and, at the same time, by virtue of he being who he was, the last thing anyone ever knew about him.
Generally speaking, one does not see the strings unless the puppeteer wants them to.
And, often, the strings were in the eyes of the beholder all along.
All the same, Garison Graves smiled and offered her such a humble obligation as she had requested.
"But since we've become so well acquainted in our time together, I suppose I could grant you that one little liberty. I am Garison Grantham Graves, my dear lady; or merely Graves to my friends, ahahah. I should suggest you do not forget it."
In reply to her flirtatious advance, he took her hand and gave it a genteel kiss. His burnt golden eyes peered out from beneath his hooded eyelids, in spite of his almost unfathomable display of candour.
"But for one as beautiful and refined as yourself, my dear little kitty cat: you may call me Garison. Ahahah."
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Post by Josephine Collins on Feb 23, 2013 11:16:49 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style, width:400px;,bTable]She was used to it, always being second in everything. It used to upset her, make her frustrated at herself and at others around her, but it passed and all the pent up anger was slowly replaced by the need for entertainment. And entertainment she got that night. Wicked. This guys was the real deal, or so it seemed, and she liked it. Whatever she had done until then, it was useless: he was having the real kind of entertainment and she wanted a share of that, even if it meant being on second place. She didn't care, she was used to that. She was used to being used, so to speak. Garison Grantham Graves, huh. "But I want to be your friend, Garry. Can't I just call you whatever I want?" The shadow of an equally wicked smile hung in the corners of her lips. Two could play that game and the prospect of not being a part of this entertaining play was terrible to her at that moment. She wanted some of his entertainment. Cats got bored easily. "I'll be nice and only call you that when we're alone. Promise." Well, that... That actually sounded better in her head. |
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Post by Garison Graves on Mar 6, 2013 17:34:25 GMT -5
Garison shrugged his lean, pale shoulders and adjusted the brim of his hat. He was enjoying himself quite gleefully at this stage, stiletto smile spread across his face like an eager laceration of the jaw and cheeks.
"Garry works just as well, I suppose."
It was all going according to plan. People were so easy to manipulate, once one knew how to work them. They were just like any other animal; albeit less hirsute and capable of rationalising their wanton carnage. It was just a simple matter of laying out the bait in such a manner that all that rationality and neurological advancement that humans prided themselves so much on took a back seat to their more bestial sentiments.
Even the most proud cat will eventually accept food from human hands if it's enticed enough, after all.
In reply to her flirtatious advance, he took her hand and gave it a genteel kiss. His burnt golden eyes peered out from beneath his hooded eyelids, in spite of his almost unfathomable display of candour.
"Well, then, Miss Collins," he drawled, licking his lips with unsettlingly docile gentility, In reply to her flirtatious advance, he took her hand and gave it a genteel kiss. His burnt golden eyes peered out from beneath his hooded eyelids, in spite of his almost unfathomable display of candour. "I suppose we could make an arrangement of that nature. I must admit, I'm not one to make friends very easily, though."
Yes, it was almost too easy. So convenient, so malleable, so desperate. Yes, he would have fun with this one.
This cat would suit him perfectly.
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