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 Posted: Tue Apr 15, 2014 9:51 am
Lawrence wasn't entirely certain of what had been going on on the island lately. With his vision only partially present and still slowly recovering from his ordeal in the snow, he had been on the whole detached and uninterested in the world around him. He had been witness to some of the vague blurs that were his peers behaving oddly and saying strange things, but neither of these factors were particularly different from the normal behavior on the facility.
He'd fallen into inaction again more often, sometimes forgetting for extended periods of time what he was even doing. He had no personas to occupy his time and give him a semblance of normality, routine and structure which he had come to rely on to exist as a normal human being.
Finally he decided that if he was to return to normal he would be best suited having Butch once again. The dog's reminders of when he was awake and asleep and his comments on appropriate responses to other people had become valuable indeed.
He was still alive, and as yet, not particularly ill, which made him suspect that the weapon was perhaps still intact on the island itself. It stood to reason that he wanted it and therefore should pursue it. And the only person who could inform him where it had been taken was also someone he didn't actually want to confront again.
It took quite some time and a lot of concentration to make his way towards the offices which served as Death division's base of operations. He was as hopeful as someone like him got that he wouldn't run into Cael in person but instead some friendlier intermediary.
But he wasn't that much of an optimist.
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Posted: Wed Apr 16, 2014 5:53 pm
There was a strange quietness in the office, one that suggested nobody was home. The door however, was open, and the window was notably open, the smell of the outdoors pervading the cloistering, almost clinical scent of the main headquarters. While there remained the prevalent issue of decay amongst the ranks, the order itself was still oddly, deceptively, maintained. This was something, of the few things perhaps, that Lawrence, that Jan, that any of his personas, could understand about this island.
At the very distantly far end of the room there was a sound of a page turning, of something folding and being placed in a drawer. It was the occupant of the office's way of reinstating his presence, no matter how deceptively quiet or still.
Not a single word was exchanged.
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Posted: Wed Apr 16, 2014 8:34 pm
Brushing the angle of the door with the tips of his fingers and deducing it was open Lawr stood still and blank in the doorway, listening intently, head angled slightly as he focused on his functional senses over the vague unrealized blur of his vision. There was something almost reptillian about the way he lingered, motionless and expressionless there, without his personas having no reason to pretend.
Assuming the room was empty, he turned his head sharply in the direction of the sound of paper when it surfaced and promptly rearranged his perceptions of the room to include someone else, though their identity was still a complete mystery.
"I hope I am not intruding." he said, but his completely flat tone stated just as effectively that he did not care even a little bit if he was.
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Posted: Thu Apr 17, 2014 12:59 am
"You are." came the flat, always blunt reply. "Intruding does not stop anyone from entitlement, and you are here, entitled to I'm sure something that you think you deserve."
There was a sound. Something relatively heavy placed on the table. A weapon, perhaps. Perhaps Lawr's weapon and then the sound of papers shuffling.
"Your personality profile has you labelled as emotionally impaired and unsympathetic. These are dangerous traits to have on the island, they represent a lack of respect and deference. Anyone can be trained to follow and obey rules. Not everyone understands their limits, and your limits are painfully, obviously uninformed. Consider your expedition to the Arctic a lesson about limitations. I allowed you to be saved, I allowed you to be transferred back onto base, I allowed you to recover for very specific reasons. Being emotionally impaired, from my experience, does not prevent someone from thinking. Then, think very carefully my next request. What exactly is it that I expected of you."
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Posted: Thu Apr 17, 2014 10:08 am
Lawr gave the voice an unseeing stare. He did not think he deserved anything short of excellence and that was most certainly not a request he found facilitated often on Deus. There was nothing that the other man could give him which he truly felt he deserved.
There was not a great deal which could reach Lawrence, but as Cael went on he found himself more and more irritated or at least more and more of the restless sensation which was his approximation thereof. He was not emotionally impaired. His state of being was not an impairment, it was not a deficit in any shape or form. It elevated him above the incessant illogical rabble to a place of calm and quiet perfection.
He was not afraid because it was not an emotion he experienced and despite being stood in front of someone who had already once proved entirely capable of killing him, his words were level and indifferent. "You expected me to learn some manner of lesson as you say from the experience. Caution primarily, I should think, to weigh my choices more significantly, cover my tracks. And to learn where the power lies, a reminder that I reside presently at the bottom of whatever ladder you envision."
He sighed and though he did not roll his eyes there was some level of the gesture evident in it. "What I possess is not an impairment. It is an asset, a superior state of being to the average, overly emotional creatures which crawl on the face of this planet. I am a resource to be drawn upon." He shrugged his bony shoulders. "If those in charge of managing resources are not aware of what they have, then that is most certainly not my problem. But allow me to reiterate, whatever impairments I might possess, whatever flaws and fallacies. My emotional state is not one of those things."
Zoobey Such Lawrence, much arrogant.
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Posted: Fri Apr 18, 2014 2:10 am
A long pause. "There is indeed a ladder I envision and it makes your weakness painfully ******** obvious. I don't see your weakness, I control it. I am very well aware of what I have, and it does not apply to any of your assets. The true only emotional deficiency you have is your understanding of power." Lawr could have been arrogant, but the Death lead was confident. If Butch was around, perhaps the weapon could have detected the hostility, a malice that went both directions, but only pushed power one way.
There was a clack. "Your weapon is on the desk. Once you take your weapon, however, you will be reinstated as a Hunter. That means your assets will become your impairments, and everything I say until your miserable ******** death, is exactly what is expected of you including your alleged emotional states." Baneful italics on iphone ...why....
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Posted: Fri Apr 18, 2014 2:44 pm
Lawr listened but did not agree. He saw little function in power, the greater influence one wielded over others the more the resented that power and the more they sought to undermine you. It provoked retaliation and the people who considered themselves ladder climbers tried to remove you from the picture. He saw no reason to climb the ladder when one could always exert unseen influence from far far lower down.
He made no move towards where he estimated the weapon to be.
"Am I to infer from that statement that I have to take my weapon now?" he asked, cautious when the other man had proven so hostile and dangerous in past altercations. "I ask simply that I might follow what you say, what you expect of me, more clearly." It was never really certain if he possessed grasp of sarcasm or not.
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Posted: Fri Apr 18, 2014 5:14 pm
There was the rather slow impression that, in the lapse of silence, Caelius had stopped paying attention and was either deep in thought or work that purely excluded the current sole other occupant of the room. Lawr's reptilian-like patience would be a gift; to anyone else this could have been nothing else but uncomfortable.
"You are to infer there are very specific conditions before you take your weapon. I would not have considered you stupid, Lawrence, but you are treading a very close territory into lackluster. What was the last thing that happened before you and America were called in. I'm sure you know better than anyone else, what was not expected of you, as to what was expected."
A longer pause. "Now. As for the specific conditions. Your hand on the desk."
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Posted: Sat Apr 19, 2014 5:32 am
Lawr waited, the way he always did, without even a sense of boredom to hamper him.
The barbed comments washed over him like water off a duck's back, he knew inherently that he was not stupid, he was simply being facetious in his own way. However, he made no further comment on the matter.
Instead he placed his slender and finely manicured - formerly rather frostbitten - hand on the table.
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Posted: Mon Apr 21, 2014 6:36 pm
Something was placed next to Lawr's hand, with a heavy thunk. It looked like a strange metal bracelet, impractically heavy and noticeable.
"You have a choice," the Death lead began, with that sort of tone he reserved for people who didn't actually have many choices, "you can either put the restrainer on, which will cause your heart to permanently stop if you come within a six foot radius of America Jones outside of approved missions, or, you can choose to cut off your own hand and omit consequence above the rules. The result of your decision is from your decision."
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Posted: Mon Apr 21, 2014 7:40 pm
Lawr eyed the blur that was the bracelet and immediately knew it was not an acceptable solution to his issues. Cutting off any association with America was a ridiculously impractical scenario when she was his sole reason to persist in motion. Once upon a time it had been money, but on the island money was strictly controlled, as was power. The bracelet would restrict his personas and his interactions with America.
He pushed the bracelet with a finger.
"I think I will remove my hand." he said boredly. It was important for various things, playing the piano, personas, other such conveniences. But at the same time he would feel no different about doing those things hindered than he did with complete success. Nothing impacted him and therefore this - the option without consequences - appeared the most favorable option.
He drummed the fingers of his left hand on the table thoughtfully. "Would you like me to do it here and now? It might cause significant mess in your office." And they wouldn't want that.
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Posted: Mon Apr 21, 2014 7:45 pm
The Death lead took out a dagger and placed it next to the bracer. The blade was dulled, but sharp enough to require multiple swings, at least.
"You may begin." He didn't move.
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Posted: Mon Apr 21, 2014 8:34 pm
Lawr picked up the dagger in his right hand. It really didn't matter which hand he chose, he was ambidextrous, trained until he could do most tasks effortlessly with either hand. But when he was born, he had been right handed, it was knowledge which still remained subsurface, something which tied him to who he had been over who he was now. When Butch was with him, the watch remained on his right hand likely as a result. The left would have to go.
He was human at present, he was aware. Weaponless, he could potentially kill himself with this, various arteries and other vitals were wired into his hands. And what slight, careful hands they were, perfect and beautiful, or that at least was how he remembered them. Right now they were likely still tainted in places from the frostbite, slowly mending.
But he couldn't see fine details. So he could not be sure.
He set the knife down briefly and tore off a strip of his shirt, tying it tightly around his arm just above the wrist, tying it as tightly and firmly as he could, pulling it taut with brisk efficiency. Dying of blood loss was preferably not on the agenda today, simply retaining his freedom.
Retrieving it, he traced the blade briefly around the circumference of his wrist, feeling out the bones, the grooves and indents with patient efficiency.
Once he found the place he needed to make his first cleave, just at the terminal point of his thumb, he placed his hand on the table, held it still without so much of a shiver of fear, and swung in as hard and brutally as he could at the gap between bones. It would have been simpler if it wasn't blunt.
The pain was immediate and excruciating, and no matter how impassive he was to emotional distress or detached to pain as a sensation, his body was human and his reactions were primal and innate. His first response was to flinch as he registered what was happening, as tendons and muscles contracted, as the animal part of his brain screamed to stop, to hesitate as his faculties resisted, and then as his brain resumed executive control, to chop again and again. He knew chopping through the very solid bone was not an option and instead aimed for the curve of the rotation cuff of the hand itself, the sliver of space with only muscle and tendon. Even with his tourniquet there was a significant amount of blood rapidly pooling on the table, a splash of pulsing and pooling black-red amongst the blurry world which did not matter. It was stark enough against his perfect, pale skin that it was visible to him where little else was.
Agony made muscles convulse, made his hand with the dagger shake and made the world narrow down around him to a tunnel. His knees were weak but he leaned on his good elbow, grit his teeth and cleaved again.
He made no sound other than the involuntary sharp inhalations, the sobs of agony staggered through gritted teeth. But he volunteered no cries of his own, no groans or protests. This was his task he had been set and he was not afraid.
It was with a final twist of the blade heralded with a crunch of gristle bone and sinew and with nerves rent so raw they could scream no louder that he finally detached the hand and tossed the blade back on the table. It was on sheer force of will he remained conscious, shivering all over as he reached to pick up the severed hand. The world seemed to press in in a dizzying nauseous array of colour and scent. The agony for a brief and sparkling moment made him feel truly alive, truly part of the world. He could pretend pain was emotion. He could suffer with the pathetic and firmly ridiculous world for an instant before he returned to the world of absolute silence.
"I will assume that is my debt repaid." he said with rigid composure, even as his body shivered with pain and agony. He tucked the now detached hand under his elbow and held out a bloody palm. "I would be grateful if you would hand me my weapon tablet Sir. I cannot see well and must retire to the infirmary."
He was not entirely certain of his ability to get there before he blacked out. But he had reason to try, which was more than he would have if he permitted them to take his motion, his momentum, his reason away.
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Posted: Wed Apr 23, 2014 10:55 pm
The Death lead didn't hand back Lawr's weapon. He folded the back of his scarf, took off his glasses and cleaned them, a strange devoid calm despite what had just occured. "Second chances do not exist on this island. The next time you will have no option. You are dismissed."
It was that simple and it was done.
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