Reprimand
| Reprimand | |
|---|---|
| Date of Cutscene: | 29 March 2013 |
| Location: | Mullonde |
| Synopsis: | A mission gone wrong. A secret revealed. Ophelia returns to the Church to find herself in for an ugly welcome. |
| Cast of Characters: | Ophelia |
The blow came so fast that even with her ability to sense danger a few moments into the future Ophelia was caught off-guard. Even before her hand slipped off the shiny ornate knob of the door to her personal quarters she felt an impact against the side of her head that sent a burst of pain that muddled her vision into a cloudy mixture of colors and points of light. She staggered sideways, nearly lifted clear off her feet by the surprise attack and slammed into the far wall with a resounding crash.
It took several seconds for the shock to wear off and when her eyes finally focused a dark but familiar figure loomed over her. Alexander Cromwell's ancient weathered face was a mixture of hard lines and craggy features. His hawkish nose jutted out prominently from his face, the bridge swollen and lumpy from being broken dozens of times throughout his life. His skin was pale, almost as pale as her own, and the every crease and wrinkle was magnified by the permanent scowl that seemed to be his only form of expression.
Dressed in the dusty old leather coat and wide-brimmed hat that she had seen him wear since their first encounter so many years ago, he looked like an angel of death come to put her foul existence to an end; a very real possibility, she knew. Despite herself, Ophelia cringed at the piercing glare of his dark green eyes, kicking weakly at the ground to try and push herself into a sitting position against the wall.
"M-master... please! F-forgive me," she said, sounding pathetic enough that even she winced upon hearing it. "It was not my fault! I only went to collect the boy. That... that /man/ interfered!" The way she emphasized the word made it sound like an insult, her voice low and hissing. "He--!"
Her feeble attempts to explain the situation were cut off as the old man's large hand wrapped around her throat, choking her words into a wet gurgling sound. Despite his age Alexander was not a feeble invalid. Spending one's entire life battling the foulest creatures found in the worst nightmares of the world came with the occasional tidbit of forgotten or forbidden knowledge, and he had learned long ago that rules and taboos were only things that got in the way of getting the job done.
The pressure on her throat increased as Ophelia struggled weakly but she knew it was hopeless. She felt herself being lifted into the air, her old mentor holding her aloft with a single arm as if she were little more burden to him than a sack of feathers. It was a favorite trick of his when he wanted her attention without all of the arrogant back-talk and haughty attitude she tended to give; and it worked.
"Three days. You have been here for /three days/ and already I am having to cover up one of your messes." The pressure on her neck increased at his mounting irritation. She had no need for air so the lack of oxygen flowing into her body was not a source of discomfort, unlike the knowledge that despite her constant posturing and pride, she was little more than an ant compared to the hunter.
"You think this is a game, girl? Must I hound your every step to ensure that you maintain control over the beast?" Her answer was little more than muffled whine, which was about all she could manage at this point. She tried to summon up some measure of defiance, some tiny spark of outrage at this treatment of someone of her pedigree but such thoughts scattered like ashes in the face of his burning glare and she slumped loosely once more.
Alexander allowed a pregnant pause to fill the air between them for several moments before he released the young vampire. Ophelia dropped to her feet heavily and a hand went to her neck, rubbing it tenderly even as she felt the bruises beginning to form. She swallowed hard, clearing her the lump in her throat, as she watched the old man turn away and stalk to the other side of the small room. His hands clasped behind his back in military fashion as they always did when he was disappointed with her and he refused to look at the girl even as she spoke to him once more.
"I... forgive me." The tone of her voice was much more respectful and deferential now and she started to feel like she was back in the dirty old cabin that had served as their base of operations for the first few years after her change. He had been just as hard on her then, trying to hammer the importance of maintaining control over the evil curse that she had suffered into her youthful rebellious mind, a task that had taken several decades.
There had been close calls; several of them in fact. It almost seemed like she wanted to let the blood lust take over, to give in to the primal call of the tainted blood flowing through her veins. But Alexander had ensured her in no uncertain terms that he would end her existence the moment he thought she had fallen beyond the ability to be saved. She was useful to him for the special skills and powers that her curse provided and as long as she turned them towards the eradication of the evils that beset mankind then she earned a stay of execution.
"I thought that I had mastered myself but it seems that the call was too strong to resist." Ophelia's eyes widened and she took an instinctive step back as Alexander rounded on her, his eyes alight with rage. "Do you even understand what you have done, girl," Alexander asked. "You let a dozen Templar die right under your nose. They were good men and women. Holy warriors. People you are supposed to /protect/. And you did not even lift a finger to save them."
"It was one man," she protested. "How was I to know he wielded such power?"
"Do not lie to me, girl! I know what talents lie sleeping beneath that pretty mask you wear and do not think for a moment that you can fool me otherwise. You wanted that warrior to kill them. You never could resist a challenge. And any man who could defeat twelve armored knights was just too tempting to pass up."
Ophelia opened her mouth as if to say something but thought better of it and hung her head in shame. "You are correct, master."
Alexander snorted heavily at her and the mental image reminded her of a wild boar. "Damn right, I am. I know you better than you know yourself." A hand reached out and she flinched, expecting another punishing blow to reprimand her foolishness. Instead she felt a firm grip on her shoulder as the man leaned down to look her in the eyes.
"Listen, lass. I know I have drilled these words into that thick skull of yours a hundred times or more but until they sink in I shall say them a hundred more. You cannot let the curse win. I know you have always had a prideful streak to you. You want to be the best, the top dog, the leader of the pack. But sometimes proving you are the strongest is not as important as proving you are the wisest."
Ophelia bowed her head to him like a reprimanded child in school being lectured. "Yes, sir. I promise... I will do better."
His hand clapped against her shoulder harshly but there was no malice behind gesture. He grinned at her but amid all of the scars and age it still looked like a grimace and only the years she had spent in his company allowed her to tell the difference. "Good girl. Now then, gather your things. I hear tell that dark creatures are on the move again. It seems all of our hard work has been unraveled and I will not lie idle whilest evil befouls this land, no matter it be our homeland or not. There is naught but trouble that can come from allowing the darkness to take root without a fight."
Ophelia looked up and smiled back at him, the corner of her lips twisting upwards in a manner that revealed the glistening white fangs hidden beneath. This was a smile that only he ever got to see, a secret that the two of them shared. They would hunt again soon and she relished the thought, a preemptive tingle racing up her spine. What manner of devil would draw her mentor out of the shadows? Or was he simply coming along to ensure that she maintained a proper handle on herself?
A hand swept across her chest and she bowed to him deeply in the intricate and overly showy Ordallian manner, always seeking to impress. Beneath the curtain of her short bangs Ophelia's crimson eyes gleamed with a faint inner light and she whispered words of fealty that she had spoken hundreds of times in the short thirty years since forming the pact with the man who was both her savior and her gaoler.
"Yes, my master."
