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 Posted: Mon Sep 02, 2013 1:28 pm
He prepared for this long before he confirmed his arrival.
Everything within behaved the same. The sky lingered as more of a blackened haze, with a ubiquitous, sickly light to illuminate his path. Except, in the Rift, no paths existed. No trails guided errant souls back to Beryl's cathedral, or urged the curious and the dangerous toward the hopeless shells of cities once proud in their own right.
There was a certain solace within the confines of the Rift. Despite its dismal, gritty exterior, Bischofite understood a certain misery within the place. It exuded a nearly imperceptible damnation, one that attracted him without fail. It almost beckoned him to stay without returning to his civilian life, to live out his days as a general of the Negaverse, since he no longer held the possibility to evolve to a greater form. It muted his every action with a disappointment so great that he couldn't vocalize it, couldn't pry it from his bones, if he even had them anymore.
He half-suspected that such utter loss and lament formed the very basis for his form now. No longer was he human, but some ghost, some apparition of misery haunting all that he crossed. Haunting the sandlike slopes. Haunting the jutting, cracked crystals. Haunting the crispy, charred exteriors to all the buildings of the land.
Yes, this was his fate now - for only those half-rendered outside reality could really understand the deep complexities of this place.
With a deep sigh, Bischofite drew to a stop. How long had he been wandering this wasteland of souls and backwashed agents? An hour? Six hours? A day? He couldn't tell; with no sun to rise and set, he had little idea of how long he spent wandering the endless plains. In a moment of accepted humanity, he sat atop one of the bulbous, malformed crystals worn smooth by some breeze long since vacant from the place. This felt closer to a home than any house in the real world, than any forest back in Germany.
He belonged here far more than anywhere else. It was simply a matter of justifying his permanent residence here.
With an exhausted sigh, he prostrated himself against the cool crystal. It hummed gently, as if resonating with his inner thoughts. Could they manage such an endeavor? Probably not - if anything his imagination acted up again. Even out here, in the middle of an endless, ancient desert, not even the youma crept up to greet him. Were they aware of the ceaseless turbulence in his mind? Did they understand, on a basic level, his existential needs?
No - once again he entertained a human notion of personification. These youma, their lives existed outside such petty circumstances. If they approached, it was out of hunger, not some resonance that he imposed upon their actions. He sneered toward the sky, though nothing came of it.
And soon after, he felt someone akin to him approaching. Not in demeanor, not in desperate measures to attain an evolution, but in power. Yes, he'd recognize that signature from the ends of the earth. A welcome one, of sorts, though bittersweet at best. He recalled once loathing it, once railing against its every beck and call, but he had since settled into the powered life accordingly... Though now even that proved not enough. But the power approached him nonetheless, uncertain of all that assailed the misanthrope.
Yes, Benitoite approached.
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Posted: Mon Sep 02, 2013 2:31 pm
Layers of fabric rustled as the General walked along the dark ground. A crystal shard, here or there, crunched or rolled under foot. Blue eyes stared at everything and yet took nothing in. They might as well be sightless eyes which were fixed into his skull and framed with thick, and long, lashes. The few youma that were around him weren't seen nor was the odd sky above; or the crystals which shot up from the ground in a failed attempt to reach the heavens. The blond saw none of this as he let his feet wander him around, just as his mind let his thoughts wander around his head.
He had school starting in only two days time and he was, in part, nervous. This wasn't high school any more where things were easy, where if he wanted he could half a** his work. This was a place where there would be people with more talent, teachers who would surely have a lot to say about his work, and it would be a lot different for him.
Beyond that though was that he hadn't seen Alois in some time and he worried, why would he not? And then there were duties and the fact he had changed divisions. He also had a new job, Alois hadn't been around to know of that, but the house was benefiting from it - in his opinion. With the new job he got a discount on incense and Alexandre took advantage of it, and would for a long time to come (as long as he had the job).
It was while wandering past the delapatated houses, the remains of homes and shops, that he picked up on something. It was something which gained his attention and focused his slate eyes. Someone else was here and they held the same rank as he did. Tilting his head he wondered who it was, it didn't feel like Obsidian. Who could it be though? Who came this far out in the Rift? Headed that way he felt a smile tugging at his lips as he closed the distance between himself and the signature.
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Posted: Sun Sep 15, 2013 11:29 am
So many aimless faces loomed in the horizon.
Bischofite had traversed a great distance within the Rift to remain alone, yet now he was faced with an approaching energy signature. A very familiar energy signature. one he didn't want to face for a great length of time, both due to their tumultuous relationship and Benitoite's views on youmafication.
And it would stand that they're too far apart.
"Benitoite," he greeted, though his eyes were cold and exhausted. His gaze shifted from the blonde's approaching face to the myriad of strange, quiet crystals dotting the horizon. How fitting that they'd meet here - idly he wondered if this was where he youmafied bazzite. Was it in this spot, or did he manage it elsewhere? What were the last great landmarks he remembered from essentially murdering his captain and friend?
Spindly, spider-like feet skittered away. "I didn't expect to see you here." A crystal cracked gently beneath a great weight. "Tell me - why are you out zis far?" His fingers traced the lip of the crystal, looking for imperfections. It didn't matter; that crack resounded far away and drew closer by the moment.
And it would stand that they're too far apart.
Whether Benitoite guessed at his current endeavors or not, it was fairly obvious what he sought due to the amount of time he spent within the rift. He found very little reason to power down lately, even with the plethora of ambushes it entailed. And perhaps that was one of the few perks to existing as he was now - with his signature came stalking senshi, arrogant and primed, and they attacked him in a myriad of different ways.
But in every battle, he lost his thoughts. In the midst of that flurry of chakrams and magic, he never considered his existence as a human, rather than a youma. For that reason, he surmised, he should thank them. The thought induced a chuckle.
A single chuckle to lace the dismal exterior of the rift. To dance between buildings, seep into crystal cracks, smooth the strange, sandy floor. And the cracking sound drew ever closer.
And it would stand that they're too far apart.
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Posted: Sun Sep 15, 2013 9:41 pm
The figure, even the uniform, was familiar and yet the signature was new. The uniform was similar and yet upon closer look it too was new. The smile which had been settled upon his features gained in size as he took pride in seeing Bischofite as a General; the other had done well. "Bischofite." A simple greeting, as simple as the others greeting of him. At least he now knew where the other was; how long had he been here though? Why was Bischofite down here? He knew the other had some fascination with youma, starseeds, and the rift but had he been here this whole time? He liked to think not, if only to comfort himself.
"I come out this far fairly often. I do like to wander the Rift - it's peaceful." And a good place to read, find peace, and think. Bazzite had always known that if he wasn't home and not at work, or powered up on the streets, that the blond could be found down in the Rift somewhere. Bazzite had often come down here searching for him and would often call out loudly and jump him - it was rather adorable in an innocent and child like manner. God - he missed the other. Biting the inside of his cheek as he shoved those thoughts aside, for now at least, and focused back on the other. Would Bazzite come to him, without being called, as he stood down here? Did the other know he was down here? No doubt Bazzite did. Was the other waiting for a summon, to see if he was needed or wanted?
Gazing up at Bischofite he wished and hoped for words to say, something to fill the silence, yet nothing came to him. His head tilted a bit to the right as he kept his eyes focused on the other as if he might miss something - anything. When had it become so hard to speak to the other? Of course there were times, far too many times, when he either said the wrong thing or was misunderstood and the air became thick and speaking was hard. But never did words fail him as they were now. It sounded lame, in his own mine, to congratulate the other or to point out the obvious promotion. But what else could he say? There seemed to be nothing and it hurt, a clenching feeling, as he waited and failed to do or say anything.
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Posted: Tue Oct 01, 2013 10:06 pm
It never rained here, in the Rift.
It never stormed, never changed, never shuddered and writhed and gasped beneath its own tumultuous realizations.
It never damned its residents. It never offered shelter, but never offered neglect.
Bischofite breathed a sigh here, but his breath hardly carried. Leaning against the crystal, this deep violet slab to which he entrusted his weight, he felt the foundation beneath his ideals crumble away. What was he now, but another wayward officer? Another one lost to the stream of ceaseless thoughts, unprovoked by the Negaverse?
They never encouraged their officers to think.
But they all told their trials, traced scars across their bodies like lightning strikes. And most importantly, they survived. They toiled, they suffered, they starved and screamed, but they lived.
And Benitoite, standing before him, of equal rank, was a prime example of that.
But he couldn't match such motivation, such dedication. How could he, when his own skin felt like a curse weighing heavy on his mind? All these feathers, all these skulls, all these ceaseless swaths of fabrics stitched together into some unholy design... And the paint splattered across his face, like a warning to all who approached him.
Stay out, these lands are toxic.
Stay out, don't breathe the fumes.
Stay out, don't let him seep beneath.
"Benitoite, I'm going to die here." He spoke with such conviction. It became a fact the moment it left his lips, the moment he made eye contact with his blonde friend and cohort. He would deny it, surely, he would rally against the idea, fight the bonds, pull at the chains.
But absolution was damnation in and of itself.
The fires died to a smolder long ago. All that remained of their presence was smoke - thick, choking rivulets of smoke, that spilled from him in such fervency that all life soon suffocated under the weight of its duress. And soon he would meet the same fate, out of will or out of fate, it didn't matter.
He failed. And for that, he would die.
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Posted: Sun Oct 06, 2013 1:27 pm
Trials were common among the officers of the Negaverse, some worse then others, and scars were to be expected. Benitoite figured everyone had a few, how could they not? These were things he subconsciously knew and thought of on the rare occasion. Surviving...surviving was something they all did to a point, there were things which didn't survive or were damaged, and it seemed something in Bischofite had not survived this war - had just died.
The others words, a simple statement, caused a sudden clenching feeling in his gut. Was the other meaning to end his life? He'd already tried once. How else could his words sound so sure. Bischofite could not know what the future held for them, none of them did, and yet he knew this. It had to mean that the other General meant to claim his own life - right?
"Bischofite...?" Did he need to ask the question; to finish the sentence? Did the other know what he was silently asking? So much weight, question, and concern was put into that simple word. Slate eyes watched the other and conveyed his feelings at that moment.
The other had always been on another level, one above, from him and was never easy to understand. Bischofite thought and operated in ways he didn't always understand, accept, or that were simply different from himself. At times he felt lesser and the rift between them, and there was no doubt that there was a rift between them, seemed large enough to lose the whole of the Rift and Negaspace in. While at other times it was much less daunting. Were this anyone else he would resent them, hate them even, for making him feel lesser as he did with his dark haired general. But Bischofite was a challenge and interesting. He was brilliant and the blond held him close, wished to hold him impossibly close, and not in some intimate manner. He wished to learn from the other by simply being in his presence but now the others words shook him and worried him.
"How can you know such a thing?" He asked finally, the words filling to silence of the Rift. His words soft and questioning, gentle even, as he stood watching the other who was leaned back onto one of the many crystal slabs which occupied and filled the Rift.
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Posted: Sat Oct 26, 2013 5:09 am
The general eyed his hand - the way his fingers curled, the way his glove prevented him from seeing the skin beneath. The human skin. The normal skin. The skin bereft of welt and callous, as one would expect from someone with their nose pressed to the grindstone. Funny how he toiled, yet his hands remained clean and soft. Really, it was detestable.
But when the blonde uttered his name, Bischofite shifted his gaze to him. He breathed a sigh through his nose and watched the wastelands surrounding them. Endless sand, endless crystals, and an almost heavy mist blocking his sight of buildings he'd explored once before. Maybe buildings was too strong a word. But he knew they lay just beyond, just at the fringe, much like his nagging suspicions that he would stay human forever.
Silence hung in the air. It sounded stranger here, more abrupt. Maybe even a little threatening.
"I know because I intend to lif' here." The cliffs stood steep, jutting into the mists with rocky edge. "It may not look like much to you, but it may as well be Germany to me. Whezzer it comes to light zat I sustain grievous injury and retreat here, or I simply spend fifty uneventful years sleeping here, it doesn't matter. Ze end result is ze same: you die where you lif'. You'll see it in people time and again - cancer-stricken hospital patients who demand to go home, to spend zeir last days wis' family. Animals zat retreat to zeir dens, for a bit of solace before departure. I am no different."
He shifted his gaze to his fellow general again, this time sharply. "Don't try to convince me to return." The words were more a warning than a demand.
He knew what would happen, as he'd cycled it through his mind several times before. He'd scrape by for a time, going through the motions he'd memorized long ago, of going to work only to return and power up. And with each passing day, he'd protract that time, until he neglected sleep. Neglected work. And surely at that point Alexandre would step in, or Porsha would show concern, or Richard would find another reason to laugh. And he would curb it because he'd be too tired to fight them.
But did he want to live such a grey life, or did he prefer this bizarre, desolate realm filled with the strange monsters he coveted? The eldritch abominations from stories long past? He already made the choice.
Slowly he stood, and beckoned to the blonde. "Follow me. I want to show you somesing." He started toward the mists, where they solidly obscured the horizon.
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Posted: Thu Oct 31, 2013 11:23 pm
He wanted to speak, the words clamored to pass his lips, but the blond held his tongue between his teeth in a literal sense. He did not wish to anger the other, to again feel that rift between them grow, he did not wish to be so far away from the other. Something within him cried out each time the rift grew; and cheered every time it shrunk. Alexandre thus far had chalked it all up to how close of friends they were, or at least he believed them to be friends. Holding his tongue he nodded his head and moved to follow the other. First walking behind Bischofite but then he moved to walk at his side.
Eyes which were, at the moment, more gray than blue turned up toward the other. Biting his lip he shook his head; as if he wanted to speak but had just changed his mind. He even thought to reach out and halt the other, to place a hand on his shoulder, and just make contact with him. But the thought did not become action; died before it made it past brief thought and want.
Finally thought he spoke, gently, with his head down as he thought over everything he said. His words measured and careful, as if afraid to break something, his gaze on his booted feet as he walked at the others side.
"Why not life with me, as you once were, and when it comes to your end I will bring you down here....why live here now? Must you?" His voice nearly cracked; nearly betray too much emotion. But why couldn't Alois remain living with him? Why did he wish to live down here? If all he wished to do was die here then surely he could live above and when it came to his death he would be there to bring Alois down here? Could they both not have what they wished? He almost, for a single moment, wished he could take his words back or that Bischofite had not heard them. He knew the other had though...and so he waited as he walked at the others side.
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Posted: Sat Nov 02, 2013 9:31 am
"Because youma lif' here, not in your house. Bazzite could not stay wis' you after ze fact, could he?" The general shot a pointed glance toward his comrade and friend. "But..." And he hated himself for this. Hated his weakness for games. Hated his incessant need to manipulate where he should stand strong and firm in the midst of his ideals. He wanted to stay here, not capitulate to the blonde's wishes and go home. But on top of that, he knew he had to do it because of its momentum, its childishness to sharpen the weight of his decision, so he capitulated to that desire. "If you can convince me to go home, I will do so and lif' wis' you. But zere are rules you haf' to follow."
Dangerous ones. Always dangerous ones. He smiled, and suddenly the Rift looked like a playground of opportunity.
But he had something to show the blonde before any games commenced. It was a long walk, full of feet trudging in rolling sands, leaving a marred trail amongst an otherwise smooth landscape. He considered it, since the Rift never produced a breeze while he was within its bounds, but somehow the hills remained smooth save for jutting crystals and collapsing buildings. And as they walked, he began to doubt himself. Did he forget the trajectory? Were they, in fact, walking in the opposite direction? Or were they simply overshooting it due to the heavy mists? He never appreciated that labyrinthian quality, but he did not voice those concerns.
But soon the pale grey mist broke beneath the heavy, deteriorated walls of a couple buildings. Obviously in disrepair for years innumerable, they stood lopsided amongst the sand with normally jagged brick walls worn smooth. And on the side, near the roofline (more accurately, what was left of it) stood a nearly imperceptible symbol: a cross with a circle surrounding it, connecting all four corners. He'd seen it somewhere before.
"People used to lif' here, Alex." It was a stretch - he'd heard of highly intelligent youma in passing, and they were more than capable of erecting structures themselves, so to assume humans inhabited the Rift at some time felt shaky at best. Yet there was the cathedral as well, standing tall and bearing architecture of old, so maybe he was right in his assumption. "I could lif' here too. It wouldn't be such a stretch as you had imagined, you see." He kicked the arched doorway at the base. Mortar fell away on his boot, and soon after came several bricks that supported the majority of that wall. Luckily he drew his foot back in time, but that didn't stop the wall from collapsing on itself and barring the doorway.
Bischofite sighed, out of mild disappointment. "Well, s**t." Inadvertently wrecking relics of the past... Maybe he was fated to break everything he touched. That wouldn't be such a bad thing.
So he placed a hand on Benitoite's shoulder. "So, about zat game..." A hint of a smirk tugged at his lips. "I'll stay here, and you go find me somesing of a souvenir from here. You see, people always purchase souvenirs of places zey intend to leaf', and asking me to stay wis' you is a very human affair. It's fitting. Now make it somesing good, somesing you can bullshit a story behind, because I will be expecting a story too. If you do a good job, I will stay wis' you."
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Posted: Tue Nov 05, 2013 10:11 pm
He didn't like thinking of Bazzite, of what the others life had become, and so nodded his head. Words failed him as they backed up in his throat; unable to pass and be brought to life in a vocal sense. It hurt remembering how much he's stolen from Bazzite, even if so much time had passed, and the others ability to live at home was a thing which he had stolen so easily. It was as easy as it was to corrupt someone, something he had done even after he had altered Bazzite in such a permanent manner. "No - no he couldn't." He wished Bazzite could though; oh how he wished!
Bischofite was giving in? Even if it did have attachments to it. But...why? The dark haired male was known to stick to his guns, normally, so why was he willing to give in on something he seemed rather passionate about? He didn't ask though, for fear of the other taking back those words. It would be like someone taking water, which they had just offered, to a thirsty person who was dying of thirst. He didn't care about the strings which came with this, he could live with them he was sure. As they walked he waited for the other to tell him, to inform him, of those strings but Bischofite seemed occupied with finding the location he wanted to show him. He didn't speak, didn't ask for those rules, and followed as he looked around them. This place was like a maze of broken homes, destroyed lives and pasts, a showing of what had once happened and could again happen. This was why he fought.
"Indeed...a sight to see. It's sort of saddening to see what became of the old Earth Kingdom...of what has come to pass since it's fall." What had happened to these ruins, the damages time had cast upon them. He wanted to point out how unsafe the buildings look, and that sleeping around youma would not be safe, but refrained from it as he watched Bischofite kick at the building. As mortar and bright fell he shook his head and approached the other. "It's unsafe...these buildings are old and worn down from time." His words whispered, not trying to rub the others nose in the fact that his idea had holes in it, but rather to not break the mood he had cast himself in to.
The hand on his shoulder took him by surprise, gained his attention, as he turned his gaze from the old building his gaze turned up to the other. "Something nice of course..." For a moment he thought of ideas, there wasn't much down here, but then an idea hit him. "I think I have an idea..." Oh, he was sure he had an idea. "Would you like to come with me to retrieve it? I wonder if you've seen where I'll be going for your gift." He spoke, offering the other come with him and discover something new. Would he want to see something new? Would it be new for him? His lips pulled back into a smile and slate eyes bright as they looked up at the other as he made his offer.
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Posted: Sun Nov 17, 2013 9:51 am
"I did not know it as ze Ears' Kingdom." This came as a mild surprise to him, but it afforded no discernible history to the place. "But it doesn't matter. Zis is a building slowly reclaimed by Chaos, regardless of its origins. Ze past doesn't matter so much as ze now. But..." He paused and drew an audible breath between his teeth. "Just imagine what strange creatures call zis place home now. How many youma do you sink laid down here to rest for a time? How many officers, wounded and beleaguered, sat against zese walls and nursed zeir injuries until Chaos reclaimed zem in its own way? Zis place is inspiring, Benitoite. Far more so zan our world."
If anything, Destiny City was the precursor to this realm - and he intended for this history to repeat itself. To see the city he knew since April drown in youma and strange violet crystals... It was a goal worth pursuing, in his mind. And perhaps by securing a surface outpost, in the heart of DC, they might seek to drown the rest of the world in seething Chaos.
Oh, and how entropy would reign supreme... It brought goosebumps to his skin.
His companions words dragged him back from his veritable tangent. Bischofite shifted golden eyes toward the boy and watched expectantly for any indication of the blonde's plans, but nothing came of it. Maybe this wasn't so different from how he strung others along in carefully planned words and only a morsel of insight on occasion. Maddening as it was, he gritted his teeth and consented to following the boy into the depths of the Rift. "Fine." It was stunted and without emotional indication, but it would suffice.
Naturally scaling the wall would prove a moot exercise, as simply kicking at the building nearly toppled it. Bischofite's visage flickered out of sight soon after, but his voice came outside the crumbling compound as he waited for his peer to follow. "Hurry up. I don't want to gif' you extra time to come up wis' a story, you know." He much preferred to test the limits of the blonde's creativity, especially since the Rift came enshrouded in its own enigmas.
Bischofite glanced towards the horizons, still muted by the ubiquitous haze. He couldn't see the crystal on which he perched, not anymore, but he figured they wouldn't backtrack. It would do the blonde no good. If he truly wanted to convince Bischofite to retain his place in the real world, then he had to press onward.
He had to keep moving.
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Posted: Sun Nov 17, 2013 1:05 pm
As Bischofite spoke he once more felt himself swept up, and away, by the others words. He was really good with them, like the snake in the garden of Eden, did the other realize that he was so talented with words? He was sure the other knew. But Benitoite thought the other was good enough to change peoples minds, to whisper words into the ears of their enemy and move them to changing sides. It was something he himself had tried and thus far had moderate success at. He felt that the dark haired General would be far more successful at such a task, if he put his mind to it and set out to convert. He also was sure the other would much rather kill their opposition rather than convert them; and that was fine by him.
"There are many strange creatures here. There is one youma..or was..he was in pieces we needed to collect from other youma. We put him back together and rode him into space to deal with the senshi and knights - as ridiculous and made up as it sounds. Those pieces, each of them, gave the person who won them a piece of the great youma's memory." He spoke softly, as if there was some precious, delicate, air about them which he wished not to disturb. Or that the words he spoke he did not wish anyone else to hear. "Where we go now is where we were challenged by the youma for two pieces of the great youma. I did participate to win a piece for us." And he had won. He still retained the memory though it often did not surface to the forefront of his mind, not like it had back then when it had all happened.
He wasn't trying to come up with a story, although he certainly had, but he thought it was information Bischofite might like. Given the others like for youma, and new information, he thought it might be appreciated even as he brought them toward the little bar that the youma had down here. "Where we're going I'd advise to watch what you drink." He said after a moment as they drew closer. He didn't think the other would like vinegar or old rancid beer or dirty water; he knew he hadn't.
It was not easy to navigate the Rift, it never would be, the place was just so vast and with everything looking very much the same it was not easy. But soon enough he did come upon the place he was looking for and his steps hurried up as he reached the door which he paused in front of. "Care to enter first?" A questioning look given to the other.
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Posted: Mon Nov 18, 2013 7:00 pm
Bischofite hadn't heard this story before. Whenever he considered himself well-armed with knowledge about the history of the war and the Negaverse, the blonde always surprised him with some rare tidbit that remained hidden across time. And now he referenced a curious event that, though entirely fantastical by nature, drew the misanthrope's interest regardless. To utilize the evolution of humanity so thoroughly that they were able to penetrate space... He would've liked to see this youma firsthand, but he considered that the beast must've disintegrated long ago.
The air in the Rift always felt cold, he realized, as he walked alongside the blonde. Though he was currently entrenched in his peer's story, Bischofite recognized that needling sensation across his bare skin, almost an algid touch, yet... The temperature wasn't conducive to a chill. Maybe it was just the way the air hung heavy with the perpetual mist. Maybe it had something to do with the energy-charged atmosphere, that it disturbed nerve endings just enough to produce such an effect. Be it from the story or from the Rift alone, it coaxed goosebumps from his skin. He didn't like it, but he tolerated it.
And he tolerated it because he intended to live here despite Benitoite's desperate urgings otherwise.
When the two slowed to a stop, he eyed the building warily. He hadn't seen it before, but he normally didn't travel along these paths within the Rift. Considering that the realm lacked a great deal of landmarks, and often times there were no footprints to mark his travels, he was leery of straying from trails well traveled. Teleportation or not, it did him no good to lose his bearings in a realm not entirely hospitable to those who traversed it.
Bischofite seized the worn knob nonetheless and forced the door free from its sticky frame. "Tell me about ze memory." He requested while he crossed the threshold into the strangest bar he'd ever seen. Considering the variety of bizarre feats, often established and maintained while piss drunk, he never thought he'd be entirely surprised by the interior of a bar. Then again, he hadn't expected youma to quite dabble in an age-old human tradition. But as the black-haired general proceeded further into the establishment, the thought crossed his mind that this was no different than youma revisiting their roots.
As they were human once, it made sense that they would seek out humanoid pleasures once more. So was this bizarre tavern the work of youma who were once officers? Did Bazzite frequent the place? Or was this atmosphere more attractive to the ferals he'd often glimpsed skittering about the rockier precipices in the Rift? "I take it zis bar wasn't constructed for ze officers alone. Ozzerwise you wouldn't warn me against drinking somesing from here." And the more he studied the available seating and accommodations, the more he realized they weren't quite constructed for human proportions.
And once he crossed behind the counter to observe the stored drink, his suspicions were immediately confirmed: a quick whiff of one of the bottles produced a rancid smell very similar to pure vinegar. He wrinkled his nose and coughed to clear his sinuses, but it didn't stop him from tasting the strange concoction therein.
However, the taste immediately triggered his gag reflex and he dry heaved above the ancient, crumbling floor. After spitting behind the counter, he winced in his accompanying general's direction. "I see what you mean about ze drink."
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Posted: Thu Dec 05, 2013 3:52 pm
The blond General didn't hold information, and stories, from Bischofite but he just never saw the point nor the place to tell him these things. It had been a while ago that he had been in space and helped in bringing back the Great Youma. Now though there was an opening to pass this on to the other and so he was. He liked passing on what he knew, and had experienced, to the other. It may not help in any way but it was still knowledge, it was still what had happened before Alois had become Bischofite.
The Rift wasn't cold, not as one would think it, not with the uniform he wore. But it was perhaps just what was down here, and what this place meant, which always sent a thrill up his spine and caused a shudder or shiver. It was like walking down a long dark hallway in an abandon building at night; the same idea applied.
"The memory..." He whispered trailing off as he stood at the others side. "I found the Great Youma's claw, I suspect that's the first thing I should say. But the memory was of it using one of it's powers, as it had many. Clawing at the ground and turning it into quicksand of sorts. Senshi sinking into the ground. It was brief but clear. It's faded over time, blurred. But when we fought the senshi in space I found myself able to use the power on a senshi, only once however, it was...thrilling. He whispered with a certain reverence and awe to his words. To have the ability to use such a power, something which belonged to a youma such as that one, was intense even if he had not thought of it then. He had been too busy fighting to feel it all then.
"I don't know when this was built nor by who. I was here but once for a drinking contest - to win a piece of the Great Youma. They had two here." Which meant he had won a drinking contest, likely winding up very drunk in order to do so, but he didn't say this exactly. The dark haired General would figure that out on his own easily.
"Indeed. They have dirty water to drink and something else, I do not know what it is. But I believe we were told not to drink too much of it. It is...like ambrosia." He said, trailing off before coming up with a fitting word to use to describe it. "You can ask for it, they can pour some for us..." He spoke while eyeing the glassware with a certain amount of disgust. Stone and skull containers...no different then before but also wood; more tolerable.
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Posted: Tue Dec 10, 2013 10:13 am
"I envy you, Benitoite. To hold a youma's memory... I wish I could see how zey form such trifles - if zey see in color like we do or if zey remember zese events of zeir lives srough touch and taste and hearing alone." And if he became one of them, would he remember by the same means he used to - through pulling trite images associated with bitter feelings? Would it even matter anymore? "I sink zat might be as close as I could get to becoming a youma." His eyes glazed over as he fixated far beyond the walls. "Bazzite became a youma when you tried to promote him, but... As a general, zere's nowhere else to go."
Bischofite drummed his fingers against the worn, blackened counter. His eyes searched the place for some glimpse of a memory, of some stirring revelation, of something to spur him through this darkened rut. He felt stagnant. If he lingered long enough, stayed still enough, forsook thought enough, he could feel his skin and flesh slowly decaying - crawling up his body like shriveled fruit. He tried to focus on the blonde's words, but he felt that his distracted state was painfully obvious to his companion. "Tell me about zis drinking contest."
Tell me so I don't have to concentrate on my own shortcomings for a change.
Suddenly getting drunk seemed like an excellent idea. If he could drown himself in alcohol, then he wouldn't have to suffer through such incessant replays of his own failures. If he could get absolutely plastered, then Benitoite could have his victory and carry him home to his house, his bedroom, his bed and claim any meager rewards he wanted. And Bischofite could wake up as Alois the following morning, as Alois with a pounding headache and nauseatingly strong desire to empty his stomach onto any flat surface, into the blonde's plant pots, onto his damned yapping dog, rather than concentrate on his failure to become a youma.
Because it wouldn't matter in that moment. Steeped in pain and a blisteringly strong lack of alcohol, he wouldn't even consider those collapsed aspirations. And suddenly, being human seemed like such an obvious solution to the existential issue of being human. Partaking in such staples of human nature thus staved off his desire to shirk it altogether - how stupidly simple it was.
Maybe he was just too tired, to exhausted from walking and waiting and thinking and hoping and failing to even consider that he no longer had the capacity to form sound, coherent thought.
Obviously it was time to get drunk. "Why don't you order some of it for us? We can rehearse your little story as you tell it."Sleet Tempest Snape you got rid of the sperm tree
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