| From: | Jett <zmjett@*********.COM> |
|---|---|
| Subject: | Death's Dance |
| Date: | Wed, 27 Jan 1999 02:25:33 -0500 |
>>>>>[+++++start: sword21.vid1
The camera comes into focus slowly on the dim room, the light levels
coming up just enough to reveal the outlines of crates and the general
structure of the place: it's a warehouse, sometime in the dead of night.
A figure cloaked all in black creeps through the shadows, only lit by
the faint bluish glow of the gleaming, black-bladed sword in its hands.
Both the figure and the sword seem to absorb light from around them and
give none back, though the weapon focus radiates the faintest, heatless
light.
Judging by the build, the figure is a woman, her black hair bound behind
her in a braid trailing nearly to her waist. Her bare arms are pale
white in contrast to the cut-off sleeves of her top, but the alabaster
flesh doesn't particularly stand out, oddly enough. For once, the figure
isn't wearing the sunglasses one might expect her to wear as she usually
does. Instead, the hollow black pits where her eyes had once been are
exposed, spilling thin, frozen black vapor down her cheeks like smoking
tears.
Jett glances in all directions, moving fluidly and soundlessly across
the concrete floor of the warehouse like quicksilver ink, her pace
inhumanly graceful. A few moments pass. The camera follows her every
move, although occasionally the figure on screen blurs soft black,
nearly indetectable among the other shadows.
She turns a split second before another figure, this one a man clad in
black pants and a very Victorian-looking white shirt, is upon her, a
sword almost identical to hers except gleaming silver crashing down like
lightning from above her. She raises her sword in a two-handed grip, and
the silver blade crashes to a stop, halted by its dark twin. Jett
twists, disengaging and attempting to lever her attacker's sword from
his hands.
The man laughs, a sinister sound, as he dances nimbly aside, casually
deflecting Jett's strike. He turns, and the camera catches a flash of
ivory-white fangs as his smile widens. Then, he's on Jett, pressing the
attack with a flurry of slashes that she skillfully parries, the muscles
in her pale white arms standing out like steel cords. Metal rings on
metal as the two continue their deadly dance, dodging and weaving like
cobras.
There's a thin screech as metal glances off of metal, and then the
vampire scores, a thin, dark line appearing on Jett's pale arm that
wells crimson-black blood. "Touche," he says, smiling enough to flash
fangs again, his voice low, smooth and sensual as silk and almost solid
enough to touch.
Jett hisses, her expression a hard grin. "First blood," she concurs,
showing a line of her own even white teeth.
With a muffled "hah!" Jett returns the attack in earnest, and it's the
vampire's turn to back up under the assault, the ebon blade gleaming as
it slices through the air. Blood is dripping from Jett's arm now,
spattering the vampire's white shirt as she swings. His nose twitches
ever so slightly at the scent, and Jett takes advantage of his
distraction. A neat red slash appears on his shoulder, staining the
white shirt with a crimson line that blurs into drips and she darts
back, out of reach of his counter. "Strike one," she says with a feral
smile.
The vampire backs up, holding a defensive stance, but Jett is one
step ahead, and with a motion too fast to follow, she spins in from the
side. The sword twists, black on black like a living shadow to slash
across the vampire's thigh.
"Strike two."
The vampire laughs, fangs gleaming in the light, as he parries her
next blow. With a deft twist of the wrist, he slashes down, across
Jett's wrist. The sword...passes through her outstretched arm, leaving
it whole as though it had cut through only water. But on the upswing,
his blade catches hers and wrenches it aside, sending it spinning from
her hands to clatter to the pavement in some dark corner, out of reach.
Jett, startled, stumbles back as the vampire moves in with a
lightning-fast kick to the chest that sends the disarmed woman
sprawling. She rolls to come back to her feet, ready to counterattack,
though weaponless...
and finds herself staring through empty eyes at the gleaming,
razor-sharp point of the sword pressed against the soft flesh just above
where her collarbones meet.
"Match, set, and game, my dear," the vampire says as the point of
the blade draws a bead of black blood that trickles slowly down his
defeated opponent's ivory-white throat.
+++++end vid1]<<<<<
-- Jett <02:10:34/01-27-60>
