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Mental Link;
DEVOUR beg for mercy and i will deny you | ASSIMILATE the scourge will wash over this world |
LEAD we do what the living cannot | WANDER your kind has no place in this realm |
[Kate and Remus fall away, and something in Murphy writhes. Like an animal caught in the jaws of a pain it can't comprehend, his mind thrashes, a pulsing, blinding ache of fear, isolation, loss. Desperately grasping out for what - who - is left, unrestrained and frantic.]
[The pain of losing limbs is not one Seviilia is entirely unfamiliar with -- her entire body is a network of such a wound, and her panic is only momentary. The rune circuit would not just fall away without someone there to undo it, and the rationality of that has her blinking back the poison of tears.
What she isn't expected is the latch that is Murphy, clinging to the armor that is unused to carrying the emotional weight of others. She staggers briefly, but clasps the presence instinctively -- as if he were always one of her knights.]
( --I am here. )
[It might not be comforting -- but she is there, and like a pillar, she is unmoved.]
What she isn't expected is the latch that is Murphy, clinging to the armor that is unused to carrying the emotional weight of others. She staggers briefly, but clasps the presence instinctively -- as if he were always one of her knights.]
( --I am here. )
[It might not be comforting -- but she is there, and like a pillar, she is unmoved.]
Edited 2017-01-25 22:58 (UTC)
[Conscious thought filters in, belated, quiet in comparison to the unrelenting waves still beating in his head. He's known loss. Worse loss than two near-strangers falling into comas. There hadn't been anyone there for him then, and that was the lesson he'd learnt. How not to need it.
But he needs it now. The thing in his head needs it now, twisting into him, making him into this. He's clutching onto Seviilia with a strength he can't pull back from, and he hates it. The weakness of it. The lack of control. The fact it helps, feeling her there, solid, her voice in his head. It's not enough, but it's better, holding against the tide of pain pulling at him, bearing it in increments.]
But he needs it now. The thing in his head needs it now, twisting into him, making him into this. He's clutching onto Seviilia with a strength he can't pull back from, and he hates it. The weakness of it. The lack of control. The fact it helps, feeling her there, solid, her voice in his head. It's not enough, but it's better, holding against the tide of pain pulling at him, bearing it in increments.]
[She senses that this isn't enough, and feels a tug in her chest that she doesn't know how to identify. It makes her pace her quarters, causes something in the back of her head to itch, and suddenly she needs to find him -- as if he were in danger.
So she tugs on their link, using it to lead her around the Station, trying to locate him. Its her duty -- she doesn't know when it became so important, but it is. She knows it, like she knew the Lich King's voice calling to her back to Icecrown Citadel.]
So she tugs on their link, using it to lead her around the Station, trying to locate him. Its her duty -- she doesn't know when it became so important, but it is. She knows it, like she knew the Lich King's voice calling to her back to Icecrown Citadel.]
[He isn't difficult to find. He'd been walking, when it had happened - maybe heading to the kitchens, he can't remember now - and so he's just in a hallway, unremarkable from the rest of the station's hallways, and thankfully currently empty. He feels her coming and wishes she wasn't, even as he's still clutching onto her, even as the ache in him is glad for her being nearer.
It's still overpowering, throbbing in his head like a fresh wound, and though as he's started to manage to pull his mind together somewhat, he still hasn't been able to get back to his feet. On the floor, curled in against the wall, he's only missing the blood and bruises that would complete the image of the aftermath of a physical beating.
His mouth tugs into a grim, flat smile when he sees her.]
Still feeling like it's a boon?
It's still overpowering, throbbing in his head like a fresh wound, and though as he's started to manage to pull his mind together somewhat, he still hasn't been able to get back to his feet. On the floor, curled in against the wall, he's only missing the blood and bruises that would complete the image of the aftermath of a physical beating.
His mouth tugs into a grim, flat smile when he sees her.]
Still feeling like it's a boon?
[Without hesitation, she drops to one knee to assess his condition. Its clearly an automatic response, born from someone more used to seeing casualties of war than someone reaching for her because there had been no one else.]
It brought me here to you, in your time of suffering.
[And without her brothers, without the Lich King, without her service, she is nothing.
The pain is a loop, his suffering calms the headache always waiting to resurface, but in turn she feels the pain of their lost broodmates just as strongly. Its a different sort of pain, one that might have been welcome if it didn't stay for so long -- or if it didn't clearly stress Murphy.
She shouldn't care, and some conscious part of her mind remembers, but -- she does.
Her hand grows colder instinctively, and she starts to move it toward the throbbing she feels in her head, before remembering that it was her broodmate that was suffering so strongly. Her hand hovers there, tentatively, waiting for permission. Even if she finds his outlook on everything short-sighted, she is still attached to him and his well-being directly affects her own.]
It brought me here to you, in your time of suffering.
[And without her brothers, without the Lich King, without her service, she is nothing.
The pain is a loop, his suffering calms the headache always waiting to resurface, but in turn she feels the pain of their lost broodmates just as strongly. Its a different sort of pain, one that might have been welcome if it didn't stay for so long -- or if it didn't clearly stress Murphy.
She shouldn't care, and some conscious part of her mind remembers, but -- she does.
Her hand grows colder instinctively, and she starts to move it toward the throbbing she feels in her head, before remembering that it was her broodmate that was suffering so strongly. Her hand hovers there, tentatively, waiting for permission. Even if she finds his outlook on everything short-sighted, she is still attached to him and his well-being directly affects her own.]
[She's reaching out a hand to touch him, paused, and Murphy can't refuse it, the offer of contact. He doesn't make any move to accept it, either. It isn't like this pain is a physical one. Her hand isn't going to do anything to help.]
I wouldn't be suffering without it.
[Anger and frustration growing thorns around and through the pain. More than just the brood connection, the sharp ache of two parts of it sheering away. People leaving, dying, it didn't bring him to his knees, drop him to the floor like this. Clutching to others, holding onto Seviilia even when he wants to pull back, wants to avoid the knowledge of that hunger in her, the fact it's getting something off the state he's in. He should be able to pull himself together. Walk away. This isn't him.]
I wouldn't be suffering without it.
[Anger and frustration growing thorns around and through the pain. More than just the brood connection, the sharp ache of two parts of it sheering away. People leaving, dying, it didn't bring him to his knees, drop him to the floor like this. Clutching to others, holding onto Seviilia even when he wants to pull back, wants to avoid the knowledge of that hunger in her, the fact it's getting something off the state he's in. He should be able to pull himself together. Walk away. This isn't him.]
[Stubborn -- not that she can blame him. Even without context, she understands the living's resistance to any sort of control, let alone control they must share. The difference is that at her present power level, she can't force him to abandon himself, and that puts a strain on her.
The connection, at the present, is the inconvenience he wants it to be.]
Let me make something clear. I am not here to argue or negotiate this with you.
[Rather than close the distance, knowing that he can't refuse her and that she can't stop wanting to comfort him, she closes her hand to a fist and leaves it hovering there while forcing a light smile. Her tone turns saccharine, false as high fructose corn syrup.]
Nothing in this foul existence gives me more pleasure than a beating heart quivering in agony. You're an astute boy -- you have probably already noticed that. However, as discussed, we are stuck with one another. No matter how much pleasure it might give me, I will not be made to pay the price for your pride.
[She feels something in her shoulders -- a pain, his pain, and her rising temper mixing.]
You can be as stubborn as you like otherwise. But if your refusal to cooperate with me interferes with my functionality, I will be certain to make it as unpleasant as possible for you.
The connection, at the present, is the inconvenience he wants it to be.]
Let me make something clear. I am not here to argue or negotiate this with you.
[Rather than close the distance, knowing that he can't refuse her and that she can't stop wanting to comfort him, she closes her hand to a fist and leaves it hovering there while forcing a light smile. Her tone turns saccharine, false as high fructose corn syrup.]
Nothing in this foul existence gives me more pleasure than a beating heart quivering in agony. You're an astute boy -- you have probably already noticed that. However, as discussed, we are stuck with one another. No matter how much pleasure it might give me, I will not be made to pay the price for your pride.
[She feels something in her shoulders -- a pain, his pain, and her rising temper mixing.]
You can be as stubborn as you like otherwise. But if your refusal to cooperate with me interferes with my functionality, I will be certain to make it as unpleasant as possible for you.
[The pain doesn't dissipate, the anger doesn't drop, but something in Murphy crystallises at her tone, her raised fist, her threats. Like a layer of ice encroaching over the surface of his mind, his expression, his eyes as he continues to look at her, unwavering. Cold, sharp and bitter. It isn't that she doesn't scare him. He isn't interested in her hurting him, and he really isn't interested in the part of her that fucking feeds on it. It's just that he's so used to fear that he knows how to take it as advice. Not rule.]
Please, go ahead. [Utterly derisive, now, like she's met an expectation of absolute disappointment that honestly, few ever avoid. He should already know that brood doesn't make that different. Even if it did, it wouldn't be the walking corpse that managed it.] Show me how you think cooperation is going to make this better.
[It's the symbiote doing this, and it's unfettered. Any control, any walls he'd learnt to sustain, they've been blown away in the face of what it needed. There was no more cooperation for him to give.]
Please, go ahead. [Utterly derisive, now, like she's met an expectation of absolute disappointment that honestly, few ever avoid. He should already know that brood doesn't make that different. Even if it did, it wouldn't be the walking corpse that managed it.] Show me how you think cooperation is going to make this better.
[It's the symbiote doing this, and it's unfettered. Any control, any walls he'd learnt to sustain, they've been blown away in the face of what it needed. There was no more cooperation for him to give.]
I am not here to coddle you, human, no matter what your other half yearns for.
[His challenge is a dangerous one, though its the opposite of the one she wants. He has already made his disdain clear, and disdain is familiar -- easy to embrace, the familiar sensation of loathing and contempt. She is prepared to drag him kicking and screaming with her to the other side, if necessary.
Her fist hovers where she's rested it, a testament to her discipline. Her temper, her mind is a ravenous wolf on a rusted lead, snapping, begging to break free and react to the pain -- their shared paid, her frustration. She feels his fear, and she latches onto it instinctively.
Good.]
Mark me -- I have given you my word. If your fitful attempts at autonomy and other quest for personal fulfillment hinder me in any way, I will make certain to cut you free. I do not suffer dead weight.
[For all "dead weight" might have been a joke, she isn't smiling.]
Do you doubt this?
[His challenge is a dangerous one, though its the opposite of the one she wants. He has already made his disdain clear, and disdain is familiar -- easy to embrace, the familiar sensation of loathing and contempt. She is prepared to drag him kicking and screaming with her to the other side, if necessary.
Her fist hovers where she's rested it, a testament to her discipline. Her temper, her mind is a ravenous wolf on a rusted lead, snapping, begging to break free and react to the pain -- their shared paid, her frustration. She feels his fear, and she latches onto it instinctively.
Good.]
Mark me -- I have given you my word. If your fitful attempts at autonomy and other quest for personal fulfillment hinder me in any way, I will make certain to cut you free. I do not suffer dead weight.
[For all "dead weight" might have been a joke, she isn't smiling.]
Do you doubt this?
Edited 2017-02-20 01:55 (UTC)
[Murphy smiles, sharp, brief and humourless, like she's just told a particularly dark joke.]
You mean like the last time you got close to cutting someone?
[Because he'd felt that. The rise of that twisted appetite in her, satisfaction and pleasure as she glutted herself, pushing higher and higher and then-- cut. Out cold.
He hadn't focussed on it, hadn't gone to find her. Hadn't wanted to acknowledge anything about the whole fucked up thing of it. But if she wants to threaten him, he'll use what he has.]
I know survival's a hard topic for you to wrap your dead mind around, but it's why you're here. [He raises one hand, still shaking and sluggish, and drills a fingertip to the skin behind his ear.] This thing's survival.
[He'd asked Cathaway, when he'd first arrived, if that's all they were for. Just hosts for the symbiotes. She'd denied it, but it still has to be part of it. Survival of a species.]
You really think your other half is ever going to let you kill one of its own?
You mean like the last time you got close to cutting someone?
[Because he'd felt that. The rise of that twisted appetite in her, satisfaction and pleasure as she glutted herself, pushing higher and higher and then-- cut. Out cold.
He hadn't focussed on it, hadn't gone to find her. Hadn't wanted to acknowledge anything about the whole fucked up thing of it. But if she wants to threaten him, he'll use what he has.]
I know survival's a hard topic for you to wrap your dead mind around, but it's why you're here. [He raises one hand, still shaking and sluggish, and drills a fingertip to the skin behind his ear.] This thing's survival.
[He'd asked Cathaway, when he'd first arrived, if that's all they were for. Just hosts for the symbiotes. She'd denied it, but it still has to be part of it. Survival of a species.]
You really think your other half is ever going to let you kill one of its own?
[She doesn't expect him to pull out that bit of information, but then, she can't say she doesn't appreciate the fact that he hadn't chosen to simply roll over. After all, he isn't wrong -- she can't kill him, at least not without maiming herself.
The symbiote won't let her -- not now. Possibly not ever.]
Of course, there is that.
[Her fingers unfurl from the fist, each joint cracking as it does. Seviilia leans back and stands to stare down at her broodmate with the same unmoving smile.]
But then...what is it the paladins say? [She snaps her fingers once in an attempt to recall it.] "Death is but a release". There are fates far worse, I think.
[Like her own -- she doesn't say as much, its probably a bit of an insult, though no less true. Still, there's no denying the uncomfortable pull in her chest cavity. It reflects back from Murphy, in pain, and the distance hurts her just the same.
But she needs to find more of it, to maintain her pride.]
You should hope one of them does not find you in its stead.
The symbiote won't let her -- not now. Possibly not ever.]
Of course, there is that.
[Her fingers unfurl from the fist, each joint cracking as it does. Seviilia leans back and stands to stare down at her broodmate with the same unmoving smile.]
But then...what is it the paladins say? [She snaps her fingers once in an attempt to recall it.] "Death is but a release". There are fates far worse, I think.
[Like her own -- she doesn't say as much, its probably a bit of an insult, though no less true. Still, there's no denying the uncomfortable pull in her chest cavity. It reflects back from Murphy, in pain, and the distance hurts her just the same.
But she needs to find more of it, to maintain her pride.]
You should hope one of them does not find you in its stead.
[Murphy could almost roll his eyes. Of course, the old fate worse than death talk, like he hadn't heard that one before. Usually just before being tortured. Were he still feeling belligerent enough for it, he'd point out that he's already in one. Stuck somewhere multiple universes away from the person he cares about with an alien insect taking over his mind. Death might be preferable, except death had always been the absolute last resort for Murphy. The one time he'd willingly looked to it for release, he hadn't been able to go through with it.
Pain always brings out the worse in him. Obstinance. Anger. Cruelty. But he isn't a creature of pride, not anymore. He's a survivor. He adapts. And as much as he hates the idea of asking her to stay, the resurgence of pain as she moves away is enough for him to not be able to just let her go.]
So that's it? Someone doesn't bow down to your so-scary threats, you just walk away? [His head tips, lolling against the wall slightly.] That's a kind of limited idea of cooperation, don't you think.
Pain always brings out the worse in him. Obstinance. Anger. Cruelty. But he isn't a creature of pride, not anymore. He's a survivor. He adapts. And as much as he hates the idea of asking her to stay, the resurgence of pain as she moves away is enough for him to not be able to just let her go.]
So that's it? Someone doesn't bow down to your so-scary threats, you just walk away? [His head tips, lolling against the wall slightly.] That's a kind of limited idea of cooperation, don't you think.
Typically, when one chooses not to take my threats seriously, I make good on them.
[She couldn't kill him, but she can feel his pain worsen when she widens the distance between them and finds herself content with that. It's not the most pure form of torture, but it's enough for now.]
Perhaps in the future, you will be less quick to reject my thinking. That is, if you truly care about cooperation at all.
[For a moment longer, she watches him stew (much to the distress of her own symbiotic link) before she turns to leave. It might be the equivalent of dragging herself away on her stomach, but it was better than being taken for granted.]
[She couldn't kill him, but she can feel his pain worsen when she widens the distance between them and finds herself content with that. It's not the most pure form of torture, but it's enough for now.]
Perhaps in the future, you will be less quick to reject my thinking. That is, if you truly care about cooperation at all.
[For a moment longer, she watches him stew (much to the distress of her own symbiotic link) before she turns to leave. It might be the equivalent of dragging herself away on her stomach, but it was better than being taken for granted.]
[She's doing it to hurt him. Murphy doesn't need the symbiote connection to tell him that. It's just obvious. And there might be something he could say that would change her mind, but the pain's wearing on him too much to muster the effort for it. She clearly wanted him quiet and obedient, and her threats - seriously as he had taken them - weren't enough for her to earn that. Truly, no one's ever had been, made good on or not.]
You know, I'm not the only one around who's going to reject it when you go straight to the "or I'll hurt you."
[He says to her back, shifting on the floor into a position that might hopefully be more comfortable while he's still able. He's clearly going to be stuck here a while.]
Just... [He lifts one arm, lets it drop, talking more to the opposite wall now anyway.] something to think about.
You know, I'm not the only one around who's going to reject it when you go straight to the "or I'll hurt you."
[He says to her back, shifting on the floor into a position that might hopefully be more comfortable while he's still able. He's clearly going to be stuck here a while.]
Just... [He lifts one arm, lets it drop, talking more to the opposite wall now anyway.] something to think about.
[ Ren goes. Ilde drowns.
And the Darkling turns up in Seviilia's quarters, soaking wet and barefoot and heedless of the chill that she brings by merely existing.
He's leaving puddles on her floor, to eventually be frozen. ] Hungry, o'tnika?
[ He's got something NEW for her, and absolutely no desire to hang onto it. ]
And the Darkling turns up in Seviilia's quarters, soaking wet and barefoot and heedless of the chill that she brings by merely existing.
He's leaving puddles on her floor, to eventually be frozen. ] Hungry, o'tnika?
[ He's got something NEW for her, and absolutely no desire to hang onto it. ]
[Seviilia looks up from her task of tooling her runeblades to blink at the Darkling -- it was not as if she had not sensed his coming. She would be hard-pressed to ignore the thunder of his presence so near to her.
She had sensed some far off distress not so long ago that she had forced herself to ignore, unable to track it among all the feedback from Ren and Peter's departure. Something in her head still twists and writhes with the weight of it, in spite of their lack of connection. In spite of how much she had fed since arrival, it was rapidly draining her reserves of tolerance.
As a result, she is unsurprisingly glad to see him, and sets aside her task to stand and greet him -- frozen puddles or not, she will not be seen as weak.]
Always.
She had sensed some far off distress not so long ago that she had forced herself to ignore, unable to track it among all the feedback from Ren and Peter's departure. Something in her head still twists and writhes with the weight of it, in spite of their lack of connection. In spite of how much she had fed since arrival, it was rapidly draining her reserves of tolerance.
As a result, she is unsurprisingly glad to see him, and sets aside her task to stand and greet him -- frozen puddles or not, she will not be seen as weak.]
Always.
[ Rey's loss felt like a limb had been severed, and he had persevered. She was young, short-lived, a candle alight at both ends. Ren had been a brother in arms, in comprehension - his loss is too close, and the Darkling is unable to escape the nest's sway in this moment. It's a weight, dragging him in the undertow as easily as Ilde had brought him below the surface.
He steps towards her and taunts her with it. ]
Come, then.
[ Perhaps unsurprisingly, he turns on his heel and flees. Maybe remembering their last conversation - the one about the thrill of the chase. ]
He steps towards her and taunts her with it. ]
Come, then.
[ Perhaps unsurprisingly, he turns on his heel and flees. Maybe remembering their last conversation - the one about the thrill of the chase. ]
[He approached, so full of pain that she can taste it on the air he breathes. She reaches and doesn't expect him run, until she feels him tense. She swipes and just barely misses, growling with the slightest hint of frustration. How dare he bait her, when her loss was still so fresh in her mind.
The pit in her stomach grows, her shoulders tremor with rage, and she launches herself from where she stands, hitting the wall outside of her door with full force as she gives chase. Whatever thrill of the chase their might be, the end is always the sweetest.
She tracks him as a bloodhound does, following the scent of his pain, pulling the mental link between them taught to remind him that he can't really escape her.]
The pit in her stomach grows, her shoulders tremor with rage, and she launches herself from where she stands, hitting the wall outside of her door with full force as she gives chase. Whatever thrill of the chase their might be, the end is always the sweetest.
She tracks him as a bloodhound does, following the scent of his pain, pulling the mental link between them taught to remind him that he can't really escape her.]
[ It's still fresh upon him, the hurt and the hatred that boils within him because of it. Seviilia's hands reach for him, and he moves from them. Frighteningly nimble for what amounted to human ( witch, abomination ) - and he flees her.
The sound of her body following him allows him to keep his head, and he weaves through the halls. Away from the quarters granted to hosts that remained, passing the open doorways. He moves away from the populated areas of the ship, deeper into the other halls - not to the rooms full of the dead, but anywhere the ship might take him. A hanger bay, foreign to him. A room full of small drawers, begging to be opened. He threads deeper into the station, until the rooms are faceted, strange. He doesn't know their use, but he enters one at random - the one with the largest area within which to move.
It's there he waits, black against the white surface of the floor, the walls. He tugs on their connection, and taunts her again. She'll find him: he's not making any attempt to hide. ]
The sound of her body following him allows him to keep his head, and he weaves through the halls. Away from the quarters granted to hosts that remained, passing the open doorways. He moves away from the populated areas of the ship, deeper into the other halls - not to the rooms full of the dead, but anywhere the ship might take him. A hanger bay, foreign to him. A room full of small drawers, begging to be opened. He threads deeper into the station, until the rooms are faceted, strange. He doesn't know their use, but he enters one at random - the one with the largest area within which to move.
It's there he waits, black against the white surface of the floor, the walls. He tugs on their connection, and taunts her again. She'll find him: he's not making any attempt to hide. ]
[She feels something slide past gritted teeth and down her jawline, ripping through the air as she continues to give chase. Saliva. She doesn't care to acknowledge or correct it. Its too easy to give into the hunt as she feels her hunger deepen alongside the tearing of her muscles, still screaming from the absence of Peter. The pulse of hatred and anger from the Darkling guides her, hardly a taste of the suffering she needs.
When he tugs at her again, she bucks backwards like an unbroken horse, snarling in indignation and snapping out with mental claws that cut like falling stalactites. And it isn't long before she catches the room he's cornered himself in, hulking around the corner like a behemoth overburdened by the weight of its own shoulders.
Seviilia lacks the presence of mind to understand his intent -- or perhaps she simply doesn't care. It isn't as simple as giving into base instinct anymore. Without the Lich King's mind to press on her own, her Self is loud, reigning the natural beast enough to keep her from trying to pounce him blindly.
But not enough to keep her from circling him. Something electric shocks the fried connection she can no longer feel -- she imagines Murphy writhing in pain, and she is forced to pause to allow shadow magic to once again coalesce at her fingertips.
Her nose wrinkles. Something about his pain, his state of soak, is still puzzling.]
You play dangerous games.
When he tugs at her again, she bucks backwards like an unbroken horse, snarling in indignation and snapping out with mental claws that cut like falling stalactites. And it isn't long before she catches the room he's cornered himself in, hulking around the corner like a behemoth overburdened by the weight of its own shoulders.
Seviilia lacks the presence of mind to understand his intent -- or perhaps she simply doesn't care. It isn't as simple as giving into base instinct anymore. Without the Lich King's mind to press on her own, her Self is loud, reigning the natural beast enough to keep her from trying to pounce him blindly.
But not enough to keep her from circling him. Something electric shocks the fried connection she can no longer feel -- she imagines Murphy writhing in pain, and she is forced to pause to allow shadow magic to once again coalesce at her fingertips.
Her nose wrinkles. Something about his pain, his state of soak, is still puzzling.]
You play dangerous games.
[ He can feel her, a vibrato hovering at the edge of the amassed consciousness. Her prowling, unyielding hunger leaving a pit in his stomach that twists and aches to be filled as he sinks his fingers into her peripheral existence and seeks to pull her closer. If only they could choose brood, he would have chosen all of the beasts within this damned hive and pulled them close enough. To keep them close at hand, with all their unpredictability and fey nuances.
He still hurts for Rey, asleep in a state that may not end. ]
You knew this would happen.
[ He'd suggested as much last time, when she had taken as much from him as she could. He'll have scars from this woman, he knows it. Standing in this void space, watching her encircle him with her form, he's aware that there is no Tailor who's services he can use to pick and choose the scars he wears. ]
At least you won't grow bored.
He still hurts for Rey, asleep in a state that may not end. ]
You knew this would happen.
[ He'd suggested as much last time, when she had taken as much from him as she could. He'll have scars from this woman, he knows it. Standing in this void space, watching her encircle him with her form, he's aware that there is no Tailor who's services he can use to pick and choose the scars he wears. ]
At least you won't grow bored.
[The chuckle that is born from her chest is sardonic and cruel, perhaps a touch unhinged. So close, she's already bonded to the Nest, she could not escape Ilde's screaming, the shred of lost bonds from every brood -- that closes to her, of Peter Parker, Murphy's crippled pain he desperately sought to soothe using the pods.
She thrives on their suffering, enough to become drunk on it -- but not immune. She stares, confused by the feelings that filter that she'd only known through the experience of others and had never been forced to encounter herself.]
Few are rarely so eager, dinoriel.
[She doesn't understand him -- normally, she wouldn't care to. The living, for all of the future generations they were worth, were still little more than food. Playthings, to the undead. It was rare that she openly desired to understand someone's motives.
The Darkling clearly has another plan sitting somewhere in the tangle of his thoughts.
Understanding might come after she bleeds him again, and she finds herself aching for the return of mindless bliss that she once knew. There's nothing to hint it, other than the quick feral snap as she bucks back his mental pull in favor of the physical rush.
How soon before she would drink until the bug in their skulls silenced her again?]
She thrives on their suffering, enough to become drunk on it -- but not immune. She stares, confused by the feelings that filter that she'd only known through the experience of others and had never been forced to encounter herself.]
Few are rarely so eager, dinoriel.
[She doesn't understand him -- normally, she wouldn't care to. The living, for all of the future generations they were worth, were still little more than food. Playthings, to the undead. It was rare that she openly desired to understand someone's motives.
The Darkling clearly has another plan sitting somewhere in the tangle of his thoughts.
Understanding might come after she bleeds him again, and she finds herself aching for the return of mindless bliss that she once knew. There's nothing to hint it, other than the quick feral snap as she bucks back his mental pull in favor of the physical rush.
How soon before she would drink until the bug in their skulls silenced her again?]
Edited 2017-03-19 04:25 (UTC)
[ It might be unfair, that he goads her into such a state. The edge of her limits, before the symbiote would cast her down into unconsciousness. For how much longer might it allow him to do this to her, to walk this narrow line between giving of himself to the nest's needs and toying with where their limits lie. ]
I'm a simple man. I like to learn.
[ The manner of things that he likes to learn, though, are far from simple.
Her own magic is foreign to him; something more metaphysical than grounded in the manipulation of matter. Or, in his case, the creation of un-matter. Corruption, ripping through reality and fashioning monstrous things from nothingness. A blending of his power and abomination, like some fucked up version of Ekhidna. She throws off his mental reach as it plucks and taunts her, tugging at her ankles and wrists with invisible hands, vibrating along the slender thread that connected them.
He's slipped off the outer layer of his uniform, by the time she comes at him. If she's going to be brought down this time, he has a feeling he'll be taking that fall with her. Only this time, he steps to meet her halfway, hands upon her person and weight counterbalancing to swing her to the floor. It's such a dull, boring room. All white, no visible angles. And briefly, he considers fighting her instead -- but drops down besides her with a dark smile. No doubt that she'd be cross, and back on the offense soon. ]
I'm a simple man. I like to learn.
[ The manner of things that he likes to learn, though, are far from simple.
Her own magic is foreign to him; something more metaphysical than grounded in the manipulation of matter. Or, in his case, the creation of un-matter. Corruption, ripping through reality and fashioning monstrous things from nothingness. A blending of his power and abomination, like some fucked up version of Ekhidna. She throws off his mental reach as it plucks and taunts her, tugging at her ankles and wrists with invisible hands, vibrating along the slender thread that connected them.
He's slipped off the outer layer of his uniform, by the time she comes at him. If she's going to be brought down this time, he has a feeling he'll be taking that fall with her. Only this time, he steps to meet her halfway, hands upon her person and weight counterbalancing to swing her to the floor. It's such a dull, boring room. All white, no visible angles. And briefly, he considers fighting her instead -- but drops down besides her with a dark smile. No doubt that she'd be cross, and back on the offense soon. ]
[Her fall is heavy and full of wild confusion -- down, like a load of metal cut free from a high place. She pants like a wild dog, wrestled into obedience, blinking owlishly as she processes what had just occurred. If he'd chosen to fight, he might have gotten the jump on her. But since instead, he chooses to give in and gloat, he is met with a snarl of frustration.
He must think himself so clever.
Her hand shoots for his throat as she stands, and she intents to lift him high until his feet no longer touch the ground. Only once she has done that, will she throw a fist directly into his stomach with a pleasant smirk to match his own dark smile.]
He must think himself so clever.
Her hand shoots for his throat as she stands, and she intents to lift him high until his feet no longer touch the ground. Only once she has done that, will she throw a fist directly into his stomach with a pleasant smirk to match his own dark smile.]
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