01-06-2018, 04:33 PM
(This post was last modified: 01-07-2018, 03:28 PM by King Ghidorah.)
"I want you to reconsider co-operating with Mothra. King Ghidorah isn't a... I hesitate to call him a person, actually, but whatever he is, it isn't something we should be in league with. I don't want him in our castle."
A flicker of surprise and consternation crossed the Duke's pudgy face. He hadn't realized that Isolda knew about the bug-like Prime's anti-Ghidorah campaign, but he supposed he should have expected it - she had her own ways of receiving information.
He crossed the room, his wool socks rasping silently against the carpet, and pulled the chair out from his desk. Turning it around to face his niece, the Duke sat down and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his bony knees.
"My dear, the situation surrounding Ghidorah is complicated.... but never let it be said that your uncle doesn't appreciate your perspective. Do explain."
Isolda folded her slender arms, chewing nervously on her lower lip. She fiddled with one of the mother-of-pearl clasps on the sleeve of her dress as she assembled her thoughts.
"As you say, it's complicated. Of course you know he is unpleasant, that he's a monster and a killer. That's why he's useful to you. I understand that. But you can't perceive the psychic mass of - of atrocities that he wears like a crown. The sheer poison... uncle William, I've never seen anything as mindlessly vicious as him. Anything. You of all people know what that means. "
The Duke nodded, his face an immobile, attentive mask. "I do."
His niece continued, gathering momentum: "It drives the ghosts crazy. Just having him around makes them agitated, and every time he looks at me, the things they can see in his mind... burning cities, burning skies, burning continents! Entire oceans draining into great steaming rifts in the ground! He imagines the murder of everyone he sees, and its never the same twice. I can't even walk into a room he's visited without receiving an impression of some vividly visualized horror! His presence is polluting the whole castle! It's like... like being back home! "
Isolda's final word produced a single dull echo, muted by the carpet and the room's poor acoustics, but the effect was enough to give her pause. She realized she was shouting, and that frost was creeping across the windows, the wainscoting cracking apart, the carpet moldering beneath her feet. Picture-frames shook, straining against their mountings, and small unsecured objects rattled on the shelves.
The Duke waited patiently while Isolda forced herself to calm down and a faint chorus of angry voices faded back into imperceptibility. Slowly, the spectral signs of decay retreated from the room; the walls and the carpet were restored to pristine luxury, but a scent of mildew lingered, and his breath still misted in the frigid air.
The miniature gallery still quivered, though the pictures no longer threatened to fall. On the bookcase, the little telescope had begun to float.
"If I have to keep being around him, I'm afraid I'm going to start having flashbacks again," the noblewoman said. She was breathing slow and deep, her voice rigidly quiet. "There have been close calls already. Ghidorah makes me feel as though I'm under attack, or will be shortly."
Her uncle sat up, stroking his double-chin and nodding his understanding. He bit the inside of his cheek. Even if he hadn't cared about his niece (which he did) this was a significant problem; Isolda was very powerful, and if she began reliving events from their home-world she might very well destroy the castle.
He steepled his fingers beneath his chins. "I see. Is that the sum of your concerns, then?"
Isolda walked to the bookcase and gently pushed the little bronze spyglass back down onto its mounting. Her other arm remained clasped tightly across her chest. "No," she said, still facing the shelves. "Servants have been disappearing, and you don't seem to care - and the very first task you gave the monster was to destroy the elves in the western forest. That wasn't like you - or at least, I'd thought not."
She looked back over her shoulder, studying the Duke. His dark, scraggly hair was dusted by frost and his doughy face was beginning to turn rosy from the chill. "I don't like how having a thing like him at your disposal is making you act, and I'm afraid of what's going to happen when he stops playing whatever insane game is restraining his blood-lust. "
Isolda's dress rustled as she turned fully away from the bookcase, facing her uncle squarely once again. Her expression was grim. "Mothra presents an opportunity to stop this while you still can, and I think you should take it," she said.
A flicker of surprise and consternation crossed the Duke's pudgy face. He hadn't realized that Isolda knew about the bug-like Prime's anti-Ghidorah campaign, but he supposed he should have expected it - she had her own ways of receiving information.
He crossed the room, his wool socks rasping silently against the carpet, and pulled the chair out from his desk. Turning it around to face his niece, the Duke sat down and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his bony knees.
"My dear, the situation surrounding Ghidorah is complicated.... but never let it be said that your uncle doesn't appreciate your perspective. Do explain."
Isolda folded her slender arms, chewing nervously on her lower lip. She fiddled with one of the mother-of-pearl clasps on the sleeve of her dress as she assembled her thoughts.
"As you say, it's complicated. Of course you know he is unpleasant, that he's a monster and a killer. That's why he's useful to you. I understand that. But you can't perceive the psychic mass of - of atrocities that he wears like a crown. The sheer poison... uncle William, I've never seen anything as mindlessly vicious as him. Anything. You of all people know what that means. "
The Duke nodded, his face an immobile, attentive mask. "I do."
His niece continued, gathering momentum: "It drives the ghosts crazy. Just having him around makes them agitated, and every time he looks at me, the things they can see in his mind... burning cities, burning skies, burning continents! Entire oceans draining into great steaming rifts in the ground! He imagines the murder of everyone he sees, and its never the same twice. I can't even walk into a room he's visited without receiving an impression of some vividly visualized horror! His presence is polluting the whole castle! It's like... like being back home! "
Isolda's final word produced a single dull echo, muted by the carpet and the room's poor acoustics, but the effect was enough to give her pause. She realized she was shouting, and that frost was creeping across the windows, the wainscoting cracking apart, the carpet moldering beneath her feet. Picture-frames shook, straining against their mountings, and small unsecured objects rattled on the shelves.
The Duke waited patiently while Isolda forced herself to calm down and a faint chorus of angry voices faded back into imperceptibility. Slowly, the spectral signs of decay retreated from the room; the walls and the carpet were restored to pristine luxury, but a scent of mildew lingered, and his breath still misted in the frigid air.
The miniature gallery still quivered, though the pictures no longer threatened to fall. On the bookcase, the little telescope had begun to float.
"If I have to keep being around him, I'm afraid I'm going to start having flashbacks again," the noblewoman said. She was breathing slow and deep, her voice rigidly quiet. "There have been close calls already. Ghidorah makes me feel as though I'm under attack, or will be shortly."
Her uncle sat up, stroking his double-chin and nodding his understanding. He bit the inside of his cheek. Even if he hadn't cared about his niece (which he did) this was a significant problem; Isolda was very powerful, and if she began reliving events from their home-world she might very well destroy the castle.
He steepled his fingers beneath his chins. "I see. Is that the sum of your concerns, then?"
Isolda walked to the bookcase and gently pushed the little bronze spyglass back down onto its mounting. Her other arm remained clasped tightly across her chest. "No," she said, still facing the shelves. "Servants have been disappearing, and you don't seem to care - and the very first task you gave the monster was to destroy the elves in the western forest. That wasn't like you - or at least, I'd thought not."
She looked back over her shoulder, studying the Duke. His dark, scraggly hair was dusted by frost and his doughy face was beginning to turn rosy from the chill. "I don't like how having a thing like him at your disposal is making you act, and I'm afraid of what's going to happen when he stops playing whatever insane game is restraining his blood-lust. "
Isolda's dress rustled as she turned fully away from the bookcase, facing her uncle squarely once again. Her expression was grim. "Mothra presents an opportunity to stop this while you still can, and I think you should take it," she said.