It was the first time he’d step foot out into the ‘real’ world since his corruption. His life had been secluded to his loft and where ever he needed to go to get his new life completely set up and ‘legalized’. It was an odd sensation, being out in the business district but not being included in the hustle and bustle. Instead he was skulking in the shadows of a dark alley, avoiding any wandering eyes.
Then there was his Captain who stood beside him and Faustite was far from being anything any normal person would find as the typical visitor of this part of Destiny City. Actually, Heliodor wasn’t sure that Faustite would pass in any part of Destiny City. Maybe during Halloween, but that may even be a stretch. Golden eyes flickered over the smoking pipes on his Commanding officer.
They were here for a reason. Much to Heliodor’s dislike, his training as a corrupt senshi in the Negaverse was to fully start. It had been a trying day so far, but there was little more that the senshi could do to convince himself that being insolent and headstrong was going to get him anywhere, especially once he realized what his choices were. What else was he supposed to do?
Arms crossed across his chest, hands tucked in the gaping sleeves of his black fuku, Helio looked at Faustite. He opened his mouth to ask a question and hesitated a moment. He could hear the Captains chastising words about questions. Bottom teeth met his top lip as he hesitated a moment before throwing caution to the wind once again. “So, how are we supposed to do this? There are so many people.”
Multi-stop teleportation left Faustite weary, quite to the point of faint when they reached the coveted interstices of the business district. With a hand pressed to a grimy brick wall for balance, the captain drew a pair of saved energy orbs from pocket to absorb back into his being. And while they filled out his form with foreign vibrance and borrowed life, they failed to banish all exhaustion fettering his bones. He still felt its tiredness pulling down his lids.
Faustite waved his leaden fingers to direct attention out the alley. There, in the distance, a host of people shuffled by with bags, conversations, and expectations holding their feet to the ground. Each found reason to direct their attention inward, or to the grandiose shop displays, or to a cherished friend at their side. And while some peered down the alleyway, their numbers remained few. The poor lighting in the area was a matter of risen walls, an overcast sky, and floodlights long left to languish. Most parking in the area made do with their headlights or cell phone screens and nothing more. For this, Faustite found it the perfect spot to begin their transgressions.
"Can you believe that there's still heroes in this city? People who look out for strangers, who rush headlong into danger at the first sign of an altercation? Those are the easiest targets. A false cry lures them out of a crowd like a starving fish on fat bait. Some of them are smart about it, but most have no idea what they've walked into -- that we hold magic in our hands." Black nails traced their way down brick, the haptic feedback scratching a weary itch. "Sometimes they come with company. Your magic should do for that." Whatever it is.
The unknown is enough to put fear in a man's heart.
"You'll practice draining first." He turned to Heliodor in full, his shoulder resting flush against the guarding brick. Arms folded over themselves in front of his chest. "Listen carefully.
"Negaverse magic is visual. Teleporting requires that you know a place intimately -- that you recall every angle, texture, detail. Nothing should be lost to falsehood. Fail, and you're not going anywhere. Most agents learn to visualize well enough that they can teleport mid-battle, under the pressure of injury.
"Draining isn't any different. You touch your target, then you visualize the flow of their energy into your hands. Into your body. You use yourself as a chaotic conduit, and in your other hand forms a sphere. That's your reward." Pushing off from the wall, he struck up a pace. "But that sphere necessitates concentration. Lose focus, and it bursts into nothing -- it recedes back into the body of your victim." And they are victims. I wonder if you'll rebrand them for your own edification?
"Try it." Faustite's pace stopped with the bid, and he held out a hand toward his mediocre recruit. He half-expected a balk.
The orbs of energy were fascinating to see as Faustite pulled them out and utilized them for himself. A strain had made the half-youma obviously weary but he seemed to regain some of his gusto back with the absorption of the purple orbs. It was strangely fascinating to Heliodor that they could use energy harvested from other people to bolster themselves.
The way Faustite spoke about luring people in made them sound as if the citizens of Destiny City were nothing more than animals. Find the weakest ones and utilize their weaknesses against them to pick them off. As much as it bothered Heliodor to think of it that way it was....in all actuality, a very sound plan. It was also a good way to ensure not too many people were harmed. And...really...how bad was draining energy, right? They’d recover and be able to go about their normal business. He had after his near encounter with Faustite so many months ago.
An eyebrow quirked up at the mention of their powers being reliant on visualization. He hadn’t expected that and found it mildly amusing. Visualization was something he was used to. Visualizing a routine or specific movement of ballet when standing to the side or just rest was a very useful way to practice without putting strain on the body. The only real question was, how does one visualize energy?
Helio had expected Faustite to show him how to effectively pick someone and lure them into their little trap but instead was shocked to find the teen hold a hand out to him. “On you?” He questioned dubiously. His eyes flitted from the hand to black eyes and back again. A part of Helio didn’t trust Faustite. Was this some sort of trick? Another ‘lesson’ to be had? Payback for his earlier actions at the citadel?
But...it also made sense. Practicing on Faustite meant Helio could try and get a gauge for it without having to worry about someone fighting back.
Licking his lips, Helio took the proffered hand. Black fingers sat starkly in Helio’s pale hand, but the senshi took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Closing eyes he fumbled internally as he worked on his envisioning of energy. What it was and what it felt like. Would he even feel it or would it just be a knowing sense that he was doing what he was supposed to be doing?
Eventually, after several moments, he settled on the visualization of a stream. A stream made of intertwining threads and an astral glow. Mentally he tugged, envisioning that thread channeling from Faustite’s hand into his own, down his arm, his chest where he fumbled again. Using himself as the conduit to change the energy into something tangible as an orb caused Helio to lose focus as he panicked that it was taking too long to figure out. The energy ‘snapped’ from him and dispersed back into its original host, leaving a frustrated Helio standing there, eyes now open.
“How do we change it?” He questioned bluntly. “Am I overthinking it? Does it just…happen naturally? If I had just kept going would the energy just do what I want or is envisioning it turning into the orb the trick?” The latter sounded like it might be the right answer. Maybe while envisioning it as a ball in his hand, his chaotic energy did what it needed to achieve the results wanted.
Now he was determined. “Can I try it again?” He questioned, his hand still holding Faustite’s, but he dare not pull energy unless the Captain was ready for it.
Faustite watched with interest. He'd not been the victim of draining, himself -- nor of starseeding. He never knew firsthand the damages he inflicted on unknowable strangers, on people that could have been his friends if Elex Yorke was anything more than a myth. What did it mean to be hurt in such a manner? To be stolen from?
It meant obscenely little, he found, as his recruit first started the process. He recognized the pull -- somewhere between a trickling tiredness and a great gout of it crept in, sometimes one right after the other, as Heliodor's unpracticed hand drew his energy out. He wove it poorly, and the thread snapped long before he first spun a ball in hand. At once, his vigor returned to him perfect and unmolested. Not once did he suffer pains of draining, though the residual thrumming hurt in his wrists and back came through at lower thresholds. Something to bear in mind when draining the already injured, he decided.
Through his questions, while pertinent, Faustite felt the familiar lilts of laughter welling up. Nothing we do is natural, Heliodor. Teleporting isn't natural. Stealing energy isn't natural. Taking souls isn't natural. We consume societies to grow a vast, unknowable entity that grants us these unnatural abilities.
But you've been adamant in refusing your training. Strange how you miss out on these peculiar nuances when you refuse to pay attention.
"No. It isn't natural. None of it is natural. You're dominating the flow of their energy with your will and chaos. Chaos will help you form the conduit, the sphere, but your will determines the pull and shape. You control the situation.
"Chaos doesn't care how you visualize it, only that you visualize. When I started learning, I used something interconnected. I thought of energy as threads pulled out of their skin, woven across my body, raveled into a ball. I was the loom that knit together a neat theft. It worked -- the more your metaphor connects, the easier it is to use in the heat of the moment.
"One day your victim will be screaming. Thrashing. Trying to retreat. That day might be today. Ask yourself: can my metaphor hold up to that? Can I hold the sphere in my mind when someone is trying to hurt me?
"If you can't answer it, keep practicing. Add a meditative hour into your training, after your workout regimen and before your mile runs. Now try again." Faustite kept his hand splayed for use.
Fantastic. More to add to a schedule that I can barely bring myself to do each day. Meditation in particular sounded horrible when Heliodor put it in conjunction with stealing someone’s life energy, but he agreed to put in some effort. He couldn’t just waltz away from all of this, that little fact hit his gut like a heavy stone.
Heliodor eyed the black-fingered hand held out in invitation. Determination took hold as he rested his cold hand against the consistent inhuman warmth of Faustite’s. He shuddered as a shiver ran down his spine bringing with it the rise of goose flesh. Recovering from the sudden sensation, Heliodor closed his eyes with a sigh.
Something that can withstand any kind of interruption. A change in vision then. Heliodor envisioned a ttwo inch wide silk ribbon of red, inspired by Faustite’s own metaphor. Heliodor noted the comparison of his red ribbon to blood. The initial pull felt just as odd as his first attempt, but the red silk ribbon kept moving at varying speeds and intervals as he wound and collected it. The motion felt foreign, he a beginner dancer trying to gather his legs and understand what his body was supposed to do.
His fumbling brought some level of success. Like a large ball of yarn, he wound the ribbon over top of itself creating an ever-growing ball in his hand.
Heliodor pulled his hand away from Faustite’s with sudden speed. Opening his eyes he looked straight at Faustite, his brows still knit from his concentration. Did I do it? Faustite had been right when specifying that draining was not natural. Heliodor looked to his other hand -- only then did he realize his success.
A proud grin spread across his face when he saw the purple orb trophy. “So, what exactly would I do with it now?” He questioned while holding the orb towards Faustite, half-expecting the Captain to seize his energy back for himself. “Surely I don’t continue to run around the city making a small collection of these to hide in my fuku?”
Weariness throttled him, its grip spastic yet crushing. Orbs pressed to teeth never prepared him well enough for energy draining. Necessary as it was to teach in such a setting, Faustite disliked it -- both what was done and what was left to do. In the floundering moments, he allowed Heliodor to bask in lukewarm success.
"You will. You'll have a quota every week. How you fill it is up to you. Will you scour the city looking for vagrants? Will you attack the attackers? Or are you the type to slip into clubs and dance until your palms are full of pretty orbs?" He appraised Heliodor then, looking for guilt in all the creases of his skin. In the twitch of lips. The shell of ear. The glance of gaze. Licking his lips, he continued. "You'll turn that energy into me or into Schörl. What you can't carry in a night is sent to a magical place. I'll show you later." You won't be keeping that orb for yourself. Especially if you falter.
How well can you hold your own, Heliodor?
Dark eyes fell to the proffered orb -- to the fingers wrapped about it like possessive roots. He clasped that hand at the wrist, drew it forward, and cut a heavy slap across Heliodor's face.
Brows twitched at the suggested methods of energy gathering. He could admit that none sounded like terrible prospects, and could even be considered useful or at least less invasive on the target’s mental state of the draining. He still questioned his drive to do any of it; Teeth met his bottom lip as he pushed the thoughts from his mind.
Surprise lighted his face as eyes grew wide. Faustite’s strong grip was unmistakable as a twinge of pain roiled up from the abused joint. The orb, gripped tightly within his hand, was pulled towards his own body to protect it. Full brows creased with the effort to keep his trophy well within grasp. Was Faustite attempting to take his energy back? Why not just ask? Or was it…
He reeled back and away from the slap. Hissing a breath he pulled against, and twisted in Faustite’s restraining grip; skin burned underneath the blackened digits. A redness spread across the corrupts face from more than just the location of the slap, his restrained hand bare of the purple orb despite his efforts to retain it. “Fine.” He remarked with a hiss. “I’ll add meditation in.”
Eyes stared down Faustite as he made no further attempt to free himself from his commanding officer’s grip. “You know, a little positive encouragement goes a long way. A ‘Well done for making that orb’, would do and not make me feel like a complete and utter failure. But, no, instead I am sure you’d rather I go prove how useless I am when draining an actual civilian now, right?” He purposely turned his gaze to the people meandering the sidewalks and past Faustite and Heliodor’s little dark alcove.
He could feel the sweat building between his wrist and Faustite’s hand. Finally, Heliodor yanked at his restrained hand to free it from Faustite’s grip.
His palm stung with the lightening of his disappointments. Faustite released Heliodor's wrist readily after the fact, without sparing comments on the senshi's obvious dejection. Their earlier conversation never faded from mind; Heliodor marinated in it like a bloated corpse in a bog.
One. Two. Three. Four. There. Brilliance, awareness, wakefulness flooded back into his body. He felt awash once more with his own vibrancy -- each draw on the stagnant city smog tasted of new air. While muted, the feeling nearly compared to starseeds. Had the Negaverse elite embarked on this as a deprivation-stimulation exercise? As a placebo package deal for attaining inner enlightenment? His bones veritably sung with renewed vigor.
But that vigor faded with Heliodor's reignited self-loathing. The reproach begged praise as much as it demanded, in a delirious confusion over where he placed in the hierarchy. Still, he hadn't learned to address a superior properly. Still, he failed to observe Faustite as a superior and not a receptacle for needless sound and fury. Still, he tried to curb the situation to his own misunderstood needs. He wanted to matter. He wanted someone to care about him. He wanted to mean something in the eyes of the Negaverse, to have care lavished upon him by parties inconsequential. It's good to want.
That's what she would say.
But Faustite looked on with more pity than Schörl ever afforded. Hands folded over top of one another, forming a striped lattice of pallor over black over pallor. This knit sat close to his midsection. "Do you think I want you to fail? Do you think I enjoy watching you fail your routines? That I derive some sadistic pleasure out of your downward spiral?" Faustite smirked. "I think you're projecting, my dear senshi.
"I was testing you. You kept that orb for four seconds before your focus lapsed. Four seconds longer than usual. Do you glean pride from that? Do you want to?" No. You expect to be coddled. Held. Coached. You're still so tightly tied to your old life. To never being pushed or tested. Pity for you.
He turned again to face the alley, its television view onto the street showing clip after clip of unrelated lives. Cattle, chaff, victims. People with futures cherished, with juggled responsibilities that could afford no meager interruptions. "It's time. Put on a show, Heliodor. See who comes to watch."
Mouth opened to say something before closing again. Heliodor studied Faustite for a moment as a pang of guilt washed over him, only to be replaced by a headstrong anger. Would it kill you to offer some praise that doesn’t hold a bite to it? A hand rose to wipe at his offended cheek as he huffed and looked away from the half youma. He looked in the direction of the busy street. You say you don’t want to see my fail yet you are determined to throw me into deep waters to watch me flail about or sink.
What else was there to do? Refuse? Go back on his word to try? Teeth met his bottom lip. A bite too hard pulled a small well of blood from dried lips but he ignored it with a swipe of a tongue. A deep breath as he steeled himself, Heliodor mentally and physically steeled himself for what he was about to do. Make an idiot of myself, more likely.
Moving himself further into shadows so he wasn’t so easily seen, Heliodor lifted a hand to the side of his mouth. “Someone! Anyway! Help!!!” He paused a moment in grimace as he spotted a few people pause at the edge of the alley. “Get OFF of me! I am Not giving you anything!” Another pause as a man disengaged from his girlfriend or wife to start towards him. “Help!” Heliodor strained his voice for effect.
Golden eyes sought out Faustite as the man hurried down the alley. Surprisingly, another had decided to join in after the first man’s show of bravery. Heliodor hadn’t expected to deal with two people and anxiety over the situation blossomed.
How do I deal with two at once? His eyes tried to relay the silent question as his first victim drew close. Within moments there was no way to avoid not being seen. It left no time for Faustite to respond even if he could.
Rushing forward, Heliodor grabbed hold of the man and used his momentum to shove him up against the far wall. Utilizing his body, Heliodor pressed against the man, an arm across the slightly smaller man’s collarbone while his other hand sought any free skin, eventually settling on the side of the man’s face for lack of any other surface being available.
Eyes closed he began the pull and felt the energy begin to flow out of the man. All of this happened within seconds of each other, giving his poor victim little chance to retaliate
Where is that other guy? Did he run? Hesitation paused his draw of energy as he glanced down the alleyway to see what happened.
A hand grabbed hold of the arm pinning the man and Heliodor realized his mistake in turning his attention away from the one he had pinned. Immediately he began to pull again out of desperation to push the man into unconsciousness. “Just stop. It’ll make it easier on both of us.” He murmured to the man as he pushed harder against him. Brows knitted together as he stared at his victims wide brown eyes.
Faustite waited, side flush against the wall through the panic. Heliodor's voice carried well -- it rang clarion through the cheap, narrow alleyway and spread into the streets like a siren song. Normally Faustite had to carry on for several minutes to catch a suitable victim from a strip this busy. Still, he stayed any impressions as footsteps echoed Heliodor's calling voice.
Tap ta-tap ta-tap ta-tap. Faustite frowned.
The first he let pass. He thrust out an arm for the second, resistance stiff against his traveling opponent, and caught the man in a proper clothesline. The man -- no, boy -- raveled out in a sprawl of limbs. Dazed, his glassy eyes rolled like marbles in his head. He stared at the sky, dumbfounded and unseeing, with his consciousness only distantly attached to his body. Faustite sank to his chest quickly, with wrists paired and pinned beneath a heel. A single knee planted into the boy's chest as a promise against future struggles.
Yet the way he looked was unsettling -- like a case of deja vu that blew through his mind unabated. No, he knew the youth beneath him, if distantly. A cousin of an acquaintance who became a friend. A dinner party face from one of the more affluent couples, and at one point, a classmate in a single class. But Azure Valley's memory tarnished like the pipes in his back, and he couldn't recall any further what subject they shared. Should it matter anymore? Faced with training a subordinate in a murderous organization, the softer shades of schooldays felt bitterly distant. Reality slammed into the boy, forcing a great rush of air into his burdened lungs, and he decided his own fate.
"Keep going," Faustite sounded off in the midst of struggle. Jostling about, he shifted his weight further up the boy's body and supplanted knee into his neck. The beginnings of screams met a sufficient jailor. "Drain him unconscious. You'll do this one next." And anyone else who decides to come.
Lucky you, clinching your week's quota in a day. In your first time. What will be your excuse to complain this time?
One of the boy's hands wrenched free to push at Faustite's knee. The youma captain responded by sending a fist to his nose, crushing the cartilage beneath avian knuckles. Gouts of blood dribbled forth to drown him quickly while he increased his struggles. But it didn't matter -- nothing mattered, he realized -- as Faustite just as easily wrenched his hand back into line.
“Right.” He responded to Faustite, his steady gaze not leaving the dark haired man he had pinned. The extra strength afforded to him even as a basic corrupt made restraining the man an easier affair than if he had been powered down.
Easier or not, he physical restraint required effort and Heliodor still fumbled mentally as he pulled at the man’s energy. It was still a foreign feeling, stealing someone’s energy, but the corrupt tugged a bit harder. That ball of red ribbon rolled in and over itself as a ball of energy formed in his free hand. He found maintaining his focus became easier as the man’s struggles became weaker. A kick, a thrown punch, both just missed their mark on Heliodor. “I said, stop.” He shoved the man harder, his skull hitting the brick behind.
It was the final straw as the man finally lost consciousness and sagged against Heliodor’s forearm. The pull of energy stopped and Heliodor shifted his arm across the man’s chest, grabbed hold of an arm, and slowly lowered the stranger to the ground preventing anymore abusive hits or bumps.
Standing back, Heliodor looked from the man to the orb of energy in his left hand. Losing himself in that purple orb, Heliodor nearly forgot about the other person who had come running. He pulled his gaze away from the small swirling storm in his hand to the man...boy, that Faustite was restraining. The bright trickle of red on the boys face was a telling story and Heliodor frowned when he walked over to the pair.
“He’s just a kid.” He commented as he knelt down beside them, reaching out to make contact with the kid’s exposed hand. A pause, and a glance at Faustite. “Can I just...add his energy to this one? Make a new orb?” Uncertainty laced his voice with tension.
Black eyes found him, too sharp, too quick, and Faustite staggered his expression into a thin line. "He's older than me," he pointed out venomously.
"Give that one to me. I'll send it off." Carefully Faustite outstretched a hand, wary of his balance on the thrashing boy. He could not teach Heliodor the way to send such orbs to subspace when he trusted the subordinate so little. Doubtless he would use the self-sustaining method to will away his quota for days to come. What would result, then, when Schörl breathed down both their necks for a report of airtight numbers? Heliodor lacked the scruples to keep an impeccable count, and Faustite would be cut out of the process entirely. A double-show of ineptitude, all for the price of free.
The kid struggled, shifted, and groaned against the offending knee, clawing too-tight hands into material that promised no give. He squared his strength and tried again. Blood spread like open hands down his face, curved into the youthful bow of his lips, pushed its way into his mouth. Faustite knew he had to swallow the lot that ran down to the back of his throat. The longer he stayed on his spine, the greater the risk that he would choke out or swallow too much blood. A pity if Heliodor chose to linger.
"Be quick," he offered as motivation. A quick tilt of the head directed attention toward a far corner of the corner roof, where a hint of deep green fur bristled under the sun. "We're always watched. Schörl's youma doesn't leave her subordinates for long. You're suspect for all your newness, Heliodor. She wants to see what you can do." She'll delight in your wins or your failures. It doesn't matter to her. So long as you don't mope in that stagnant, empty apartment.
Your worst fate comes from boring her.
Eyes shot to Faustite at the toss of information. I never really thought about how old you were. The way the half-youma presented himself and seemed so on the ball with things, Heliodor had assumed Faustite was at least his own age.
Handing over the orb of energy, Heliodor dared to comment. “I thought you were older. It wasn’t meant as a slight.” The corrupt sniffed from the cold of the night. With his hand now free from it’s burden he was able to turn his full attention to the wriggling boy underneath his Commanding Officer. Heliodor had to give it to him, he was putting up quite the fight, but it was a pointless endeavor against a Captains strength. In a way, the kid was nothing more than a worm wriggling on a hook at this point. It was impossible to keep the pity from coming. Heliodor didn’t much enjoy watching the kid in such a state, and with blood running everywhere, he doubted the kid was having a good time of it either.
He grabbed hold of the kids hand again, this time holding tightly so it couldn’t be used in another lackluster attempt to get free, Heliodor began to focus on the kids energy. The ribbon was a bit easier to envision this time as he pulled on it and raveled it into a ball. It was challenging with the fluctuating speed that the energy was drawn at, but he kept up. His envisioned ball wasn’t perfect, just like the last one, but the job was done well enough.
In a short amount of time the kid began to lessen his attempts before they became non-existent. His white-knuckled grip was no longer necessary when the squirming finally stopped. Releasing the teens hand, Heliodor glanced at the bleeding face before turning to Faustite. “We should get him onto his side or something, right?” Heliodor wasn’t a medic of anything, but if the kid was passed out and still bleeding it didn’t take a genius to figure out that he could drown in his own blood.
He held out the ball of energy to Faustite without prompting. Assuming the Captain would want to take that one as well.
Faustite shook his head, banishing the violet orb to the ether for later inspection. "It's easy to underestimate the young, isn't it? It's easy to give him the benefit of the doubt." Energy lifted off the boy, swirling and coiling, rippling and roiling, until it coalesced from brilliant golds into another purple trophy. It grew in patterns unpredictable, sometimes in great bursts and at other times in minuscule increments. Finally Heliodor mastered another orb.
And he kept it from snapping in his hands, from running back into the veins of his victim. "Good," he muttered, wary of how the sound of praise might ring in a hollow head.
Faustite stood at last and accepted the last orb. It sat vibrant in his palm, its obstinate light promising to attract more curious onlookers, until he banished it to join its brethren. At Heliodor's behest, he turned the boy's head using the sole of his boot. Road-weary flecks of water coalesced on a youthful cheek as a reminder of Faustite's unkind care.
"It's brazen to make orbs so large. Once you've practiced enough, I'll teach you to punctuate your obs while draining and send them to a subspace pocket. It curbs your losses." His gaze flickered from the blank faces of their victims to Heliodor's uncertain expression. "Are you proud of yourself, Heliodor?" He left the words to linger, interested in his answer. For a man so sharp to demean himself and seek death over all alternatives, Faustite expected a naysaying sort to emerge. A complaint about the injustice of it, or a wistful pine for perfection that he could never reach.
His own subtle praise would have stoked Rowan's already grandiose ego in the past. But for one so deflated as Aelius, what would come of it?
And what would come of that sympathy if he learned these strangers' unkind fates?
The single syllable word uttered from his Commanding Officer brought a strange sense of accomplishment. Heliodor’s eyes settled on Faustite for several moments as the Captain rose and banished the orb to subspace, before turning away as the lackluster effort was given to relieve the kid of death via drowning in his own blood. There he studied the teens face with curiosity and a small sense of regret for what he needed to do.
But that sense of accomplishment still echoed inside of him. Like a child starving for attention, Heliodor clasped onto that little bit of praise and held it close. It was a ‘very well executed’ given by one of his dance instructors after he nailed a lift or particularly difficult sequence. Praise given when he knew he worked for it tasted that much sweeter. He had forgotten it in a world where negativity felt like it rained supreme.
The sound of Faustite’s voice broke Helio out his reverie as he stared at the boy. Clearing his throat he rose and turned his attention away and to the present. “Right. That makes sense.” He remarked with no lack of interest. In some odd way, this whole energy stealing was a strange dance of sort that the corrupt was just beginning to stretch his legs on.
“I…” He paused, eyes sliding from one victim to the other. How did he feel about this? Sure, he felt accomplished for having done as had been directed, but was it worth it when looking at people slumped unconscious on the ground? Is it that much different when auditioning and stealing that one open slot in a company? The answer was yes and no. Yes because at least the people auditioning knew what they were getting into and weren’t, hopefully, injured, but no since, depending on the person, that may have been their last shot at a career they desired with all of their being.
“I don’t know.” The answer was flat, as he turned back to Faustite. “I was able to do what you wanted and I am pleased that I was able to get a handle on this new skill, but…” He sighed and shrugged. “I just wish it didn’t have to end like this.” He nodded to the kid. “Is draining them until they pass out always necessary or is just the preferred way to go about it?”
"You don't want them remembering your face." Faustite shot him an enigmatic look, caught between vestigial concern and implied imperative. "There's less of a chance if they pass out.
"Say you let one go. Him," he decided as he nudged his foot against the bleeding teen. "He runs out of the alley. Shouts for help. Yells that someone is sucking the life out of his friend. Heads turn. Cell phones call for the police. We have a time limit now: five, ten minutes before we make ourselves scarce. That boy remembers your face, remembers mine. Builds a vendetta. Decides that he won't rest until he settled his friend's score.
"Worse than cops are senshi. They storm in like zealots into a church house. Arm themselves with their misplaced morality. Suddenly we have less time and more need to leave. We'd both be dead if I couldn't teleport. There's no room for catch and release. Not like this." Faustite turned from the prone man to look at his senshi in full.
His gaze searched Heliodor's face for all its sullen objection and melodramatic despair and lukewarm hope. While worry liked to wind its whim into the line of his jaw, into the concave curve of his stomach, he swallowed what he could of it. Helidior seldom listened; Faustite would sooner learn of his obstinance in an obituary than glean any respect for his words. Still, perhaps just as foolishly, he tried. "Do your reading -- you'll understand what I mean."
He drew back from the boy as he gestured toward the low roof lines of their surroundings. "Take a walk. I'll catch up with you." His voice left no room for argument.
He nodded. It was sound reasoning. Reasoning that Heliodor couldn’t argue with even if he didn’t much like it. There was no real reason to let someone remember them if it could be helped. People with vendettas were more likely to cause problems than people who couldn’t remember what exactly had transpired. Still… it bothered him to leave them like this.
“I am not worried about senshi.” He remarked. “They are as involved in all of this as we are.” But that also posed the question of ‘what if this civilian I just drained was a senshi?’ Now that put a different perspective on the whole situation. The necessity to be thorough was punctuated with the thoughts of what they may do if they could remember their attackers.
“You’re right.” He eventually conceded with a heavy sigh.
Shooting Faustite a curious glance at the mention of taking a walk, Helio opened his mouth to retort before teeth met his lower lips.
Turning without giving the two prone civilians another glance, Helio slipped off into the dark and onto the rooftops of the adjacent buildings. For a moment he paused, half tempted to turn and see what was about to go down. He didn’t want to know. Not right now.
kolina
