|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Mon Apr 17, 2017 11:32 am
Chrysocolla's eyelids flickered slack before she shook herself back to awareness; she had always been tired, as long as she could remember, it only made sense being drained would accentuate that. But she'd learned to be more subtle about it, anyways; no sudden jolts, no spasms as she remembered the world around her was still there.
"It's energy," she said, pleased as punch; like he'd gotten an A+ on a test, like he'd just been appointed president. Like it was the only thing that mattered. "For your first time, that was really good, actually! And you can, um, eat energy orbs as a pick-me-up, it's kind of like an energy drink or coffee, I guess."
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Apr 18, 2017 6:30 pm
Faustite looked from the orb to her, his jaw still locked in quiet consternation. This dark entity perched on the edges of his fingers… He knew of the unnatural, as a child of the 21st century. Technology bothered him little, despite its distinct separation of nature. But the orb in his hands wasn't simply unnatural - Faustite found it malevolent. It manifested within itself a distinct pull that beckoned him to follow suit with what Chrysocolla outlined, and Faustite rejected the idea vehemently. He would not put an energy orb to the taste.
Faustite dallied no longer. "Here," He offered as he held the orb out to her, his elbow locked to place maximum distance between himself and the offending object. Had he any less restraint, he would have thrown it to her. "It's yours anyway." A demonstration was enough, he decided.
Faustite didn't want to know that he was adept at energy draining. He didn't want to please Chrysocolla with a stellar performance in stripping away her very vitality before her eyes and wadding it into a trite little sphere for later consumption. He wasn't interested in drawing away years of life into supernatural espresso shots for his later enjoyment. Invariably now, he wanted to get away form the lot of this - to retreat from his latest lessons, the cold reality of his magical power, the inevitable responsibility to harvest the people of the city like cattle for his superiors.
The people here were broken. Chrysocolla was broken. She failed to see the inextricable value in the very human lives she plucked, in the time she spent powered up and patrolling for the Negaverse. He knew, then, that he couldn't simply ghost his position altogether. The Negaverse housed power and offered it to people like Chrysocolla - and left her to adjust to its nigh limitless possibilities on her own. Would it truly be less damaging to the city for him to willingly resign and turn a blind eye?
"I'm sorry," he added at last. "I need to go back."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Apr 18, 2017 7:09 pm
Chrysocolla's eyes narrowed as Faustite refused the energy, even if he wasn't vehement about it; she accepted it back and cracked it between her teeth in simple procedure, because it really was that easy, in her mind. It was just energy -- there was nothing she found unnatural or uncomfortable about it.
But then again, this was all she knew. She didn't remember having parents, or elementary school, or her first crush -- she had no petty civilian morals like that, nothing to tell her anything was too far.
She only had people to encourage her actions.
"...that's fine," she allowed. "But I'd suggest doing it sooner than later. Umber is -" she bit her lip -
"he'll make you do it, if you want to or not. The only reason I've never had to deal with it from him is because I'm not his subordinate, not really." Chrysocolla pushed herself to her feet, dusting off her fuku from imaginary dirt, offering her hand back to Faustite. "Tell me where you want to go, and I'll teleport you there. I don't exactly want to leave you up here, right...?"
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Apr 19, 2017 5:50 pm
Watching her, Faustite wasn't sure what he expected. Did he think that there might be more pomp and circumstance behind consuming an energy orb? Did he expect some recognizable light in her eyes of having something that was definitively hers returned to her? That she might, somehow, start to recognize basic violations of human decency committed by the act of energy draining? Faustite knew only that she bit into the orb as one does a piece of candy - without great care or contention.
The problem with Umber was one he recognized too, or thought he recognized, though he may not know the extent of the other man's lack of empathy. He acknowledged her insights nonetheless, even if only to placate her. "You're right. He drives people like cattle and tells them all that they should thank him for it." He wondered if he could excise more of the story of Chrysocolla from Umber himself - if inquiries could penetrate the taciturn general's interest in secrecy. It might answer the lingering questions about her broken, morally destitute functionality.
She looked like she slept not at all anymore, and he wanted to think it was related.
Faustite accepted her hand with little second thought. "The corner of Amberwood and Genereaux, if you know where that is." He wasn't sure that she would; the Negaverse uniforms offered very little indication of social class for the civilian behind the officer. Was Poppy Anania-Sedgwick rich? Poor? Forgettably middle-class? More mysteries, he supposed.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Apr 19, 2017 6:31 pm
Chrysocolla extended her hands and clasped one of Faustite's between her own; very quickly the world around them distorted, changed, and they were behind a building in his intended endpoint. Her face had gone pale, drawn -- she took a deep, heaving breath as soon as she dropped his hand, slumping against the wall. "Sorry. Just -- taking someone with me...I don't do it most of the time, so I'm...still not used to it."
She gave him a faltering smile, anyways, trying to be positive. "I'll see you around, okay?" And then, with another deep breath, Sailor Chrysocolla blinked out of existence again -- gone to rest up in Negaspace, in the area she'd made for herself, with only a strand of hair that'd been caught under her heels and tugged out of her ponytail proper to mark her passing. No glitter, barely even a bootprint; she had been there, and then she wasn't.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
