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 Posted: Mon Mar 28, 2011 7:20 pm
The night shift was the worst.
Sure, the Negaversers were taking the worst of it. They never, ever knew what time it was. But Gunn got claustrophobic fairly fast, and besides that she'd been getting less sleep--a lot less sleep--than she might have desired. It meant that the coffee she held in her hands was more valuable to her than her entire left arm. It was the only thing keeping her awake, sitting at the desk in the most uncomfortable chair she could acquire. It was plenty uncomfortable, being of the same variety as Wolframite's chair. Still, every so often her head would drop for a moment.
Probably she could doze off. There was a cot right there, but if she made it known she was there and awake... well, she'd played target practice more than once with Wolframite. And she knew suspense was sometimes two thirds of the threat. So, well.
Still, it was so hard to stay awake...
Her head dipped down one more time, just for a moment, she thought. It was enough that the candle she preferred to use for light had burned down almost half an inch when she picked her head back up--and in the guttering light, she was more than a little disoriented.
It was quiet, almost sweet, like a child looking for an older brother: "Kres?..."
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Posted: Mon Mar 28, 2011 8:00 pm
There was no sense of time for him, which meant he was awake and asleep whenever someone passed or left. Not even the coffee was any indicator of what time of day or night it was, but the smell from the small cup was a welcome note in the stale air. Never had he liked coffee. It was bitter and a taste he never acquired, but his mouth watered for any sort of liquid. Hot. Cold. Luke warm. It didn’t matter. Trying to lip his lips and swallow had become harder to the point that running his tongue against his lips felt like sandpaper on the broken skin.
Wearily, he watched as best he could, wary of her. Frightened of her. Wondering if she’d use the coffee on him or find another box of matches. Instead, she went behind him, and he was put on edge, bent over but waiting for some small talk or the sound of anything that could tell him what would happen next.
An eternity passed, and he head the rustle of the cot behind him. A creak of the stretched canvas as she moved before, slowly, his eyelids started to sag again. When it grew quiet, it was hard not to sleep.
He did not know how long he had rested his eyes before he jerked at a voice, looking up in the dark, flickering light. Panic swam through his foggy mind as he looked about, aching with each turn of his head. “Who…?”
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Posted: Mon Mar 28, 2011 8:30 pm
In the darkness, in the disorientation of just having woken up from sleep, Gunn didn't recognize Wolframite as the enemy--just as Kres. Her cousin. What the hell was he doing there? She wanted to laugh and shove him out of the chair, tell him to stop joking around with her, but...
"It's really not funny, Kres," she said, rubbing her eyes. "You're not supposed to be here, who--" she yawned, covering her mouth with her hands. God, that nap. She wanted to just go back to sleep, but instead she had to solve this damn mystery. "--who let you in here?"
She stood up, and moved to touch Kres's head. It was clear that he'd... shrunk? Had the chair suddenly become smaller since the last time she'd been in here, with Wolframite? Kres should have been much taller--
When she felt the scars on the side of the boy's head, her stomach rebelled. Those were burn scars--she had enough of them herself, she could tell by feel, and those were--on Kres? She grabbed the person in the chair's chin and wrenched his head around, blue eyes narrow and sharp as icepicks.
Her stomach dropped further, because the one eye she could see was a bright, enduring green. Her lips went white, they were pursed so tightly. "Kres," she said, the word weak. A question, more than a statement. "I didn't..." Had she? Was this really Kres? She couldn't tell and wasn't willing to pull him farther--it might hurt him. And if it was Kres, then--then she didn't want to see everything she'd done to him. It would take an act of god to move her now. "Kres..."
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Posted: Mon Mar 28, 2011 9:45 pm
She was awake, and was coming. Coming nearer and nearer in the flickering dark. He wondered what she was going to do, but then she spoke a name. One he never heard. Kres. Who was Kres? Clearly someone she knew, but why was she talking about him now. Then again, was it a girl’s name? He wasn’t sure, but why should he care? She was coming closer!
A hand went on his scald and he hissed, shuddering as she pressed her hands against his scarred, burned skull. It hurt. After burning it, she was pulling on it. Touching it. Running her fingers through matted, singed hair. Curling his shoulders up, he braced himself, before being grabbed again to look at her.
Eyes wide, he watched her come closer, and curled back. “Don’t…” He whispered, fearing what she might do next.
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Posted: Tue Mar 29, 2011 6:32 pm
Sorry, she was so sorry, if this was Kres she--she--she'd ask Ares to--what was she going to do if it was Kres? She couldn't get enough air--why wasn't there enough air--
But the figure in the chair spoke, and the illusion broke.
Just like that, her expression shifted entirely to a rictus of anger and hatred. "You--" She wrenched the Negaverser's head a little further to look at the false eye as she became conscious of the way her knees felt like jelly. She hadn't hurt Kres, hadn't touched him. Her cousin was safe. He'd stay safe, there was no way for the Negaverse to hunt him down. Was there? Wolframite couldn't ever report or communicate with anyone.
He had to die. He had to die--any plans to make him her pet were out the window. Now he was a security risk, and he had to die. "Don't what," she asked, the momentary tenderness completely subsumed by hatred. The blue eyes were practically black, they were so narrow and the room so dark. "Don't kill you? I have to, now. I won't let you tell anyone about Kreszant, I won't."
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Posted: Tue Mar 29, 2011 7:21 pm
His breath quickened as she rounded on him, and tore his hair back, pulling at the already matted hair that she had burned and pulling at scabs that tore from his scalp. Eyes tight, he clenched his teeth against it, begging to himself not to make a sound. Every noise he made fueled them. Every sound was torture to the others. He would not wake them up to hear him screaming more than he already had.
Slender fingers gripped together and curled his neck back, making him look up at her as she looked ready to just rip his throat out. What had happened to playing around? What had happened to teasing and just taking the slow route? What had he done? Kres. It was that name that she worried about. Someone she knew and protected just like he protected Bismuthite. He had a name now, and she knew that with a name, there was danger. Was she afraid of him now? Chained. Beaten. Barely alive.
And here she was ready to kill him. Was this how it ended? Would she kill him here, with her bare hands? “No you don’t. Who am I going to tell?” He was stuck in a cell. She seemed sure he would never leave. He had to keep her from killing him. From slicing his throat here and now in some crazy hatred. “I don’t know who you’re talking about!”
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Posted: Sat Apr 02, 2011 6:04 pm
Her nails dug into the side of his throat, along the windpipe; the ice-blue eyes narrowed infinitesimally. Who was he going to tell? There was no one here but other senshi, who knew a lot more than this little brat did. Ugh, she wanted to see him dead, but--
Not today. Ares would be even more pissed than she already was going to be. The pressure on his throat eased up, and she lowered her hands back to her sides like it took her a great effort not to rip out his heart then and there.
"You're right," she said shortly. "There's nothing you can do to him." Still...
She turned on her heel, sharply, and yelled out the door for a substitute. When the new senshi arrived to keep an eye on Wolframite, Gunn was gone.
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Posted: Wed Apr 13, 2011 10:56 am
He gasped hard as his head was thrown aside, released from her crazed grip and moving off to shout for a substitute. He wasn't sure why. She could be going to get a flamethrower and would return, or was asking permission to dice him into pieces. Just because she was leaving in no way meant she wouldn't return, and he feared that return. What she would do once she had time to let that hatred and fear simmer and boil and let her mind throw in horrible ideas like ingredients to a festering stew. As he breathed, he started to rock again, trying to close off his mind and escape, keep himself from muttering or whimpering or anything that would make them happier. The constant idea of just wanting to 'go home' and for all the bad things to go away cycled through his mind like a mantra. Go away. Go away. Go away.
As if it was that easy. As if saying it, like Dorthy, over and over, would send him away from an unreal world and back to a place with familiar faces. That it was all a dream. That it was all a nightmare.
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