Welcome to Gaia! ::

At the slight sound of his soft words Vixen shuddered. In her mind she could slowly pick apart everything that mixed to make his voice. A pleasure to torture, inhumane delights, a curiosity for limits, yes, these were all things she knew about him. Recurring themes in her own mind, mostly. Except, well, Vixen did not really become ecstatic when one was tortured. She would rather just kill them. Her breathing stopped. Languidly she saw Skip disappear before her eyes. She held his hand a bit tighter, willing herself to be as invisible as he.

Tentatively she turned her head, peering at where her hand should have been but was not. She silently rejoiced in victory. Nothing was there. Nothing could be seen. She was to be free, and very soon.

The door slid open. The sight of Ellisent almost instictively made her flinch, but she resisted. No movements, she told herself. No breathing. She must be as a statue, for if the air moved around them, if Ellisent accidentally touched skin where skin should not be, well, that would be her doom, she was sure. Yet she secretely smiled. He was here and could properly observe the slaughter of his little beastie.

((Ellisent))

Oh, this was rich. This was too ******** good to be true. She was gone, eh? Well...there's no point in alerting security here...

With a small chuckle, Ellisent walked in the room, to admire her work. The blood was a nice touch, and ooh! She had bested Luna, eh? An "esper"...so much for that. Too bad. Looks like the rest of the Sirens won't be getting that antidote, after all...and it was such a sweet sacrifice, too...

Today was just full of surprises.

He snapped his head quickly to one side and then the other, feeling his bones crack and pop. It felt good. Licking his lips, he started out the door, not in the mood to question how she had escaped...

*sigh* I love my job...

He was halway out the door when he suddenly stopped short. Something in this room...didn't smell like blood...it smelled like...hmm.

Turning, he sniffed the air...

<>

[Core=38]

[A 20 from Lovely would be friggin' rediculous.]

Skip sighed in relief, though due to his current state, no sound came out. He let himself sink back into his normal form and collapsed to the ground in relief. He then let go of Vixen's hand, and said to her, "Okay, now we can leave..."

Skip got up, and brushed himself off. He looked up at Vixen just in time to see the smile. It took him aback. He had rarely ever seen her show true gratitude, especially for him. He smiled as well, blushing just a bit. When she smiled, she could look very pretty.... you know, despite the blood covering her, and her missing thumbs and all those kinda things...

Skip nodded after Vixen spoke. "Um... okay. Yeah. But... I'd kinda look through some more of this floor before leaving it. Maybe Emerald is somewhere around here," he said, a hopeful smile creeping back onto his face. If he could find Emerald, things would be alright again. They'd have to be. Emerald would fix everything.

"Yeah, sure. As long as we don't run into you know who, then we'll be fine. Oh, yeah. Do your leaves work on missing ligaments and other such things?"

Her question was one she was not quite prepared to ask. It was just a fleeting thought, really. After all, the leaves had made her overall well, so why not her thumbs as well? She did not know the extent of their powers, but she might as well try. That would be fun. Slightly comical, she reluctantly admitted to herself, but comical.

[How to be a Skilled McGuyver Murderer

I smile at the prodding of a delightful memory. The very echoes of disbelief ring once more through my mind. The police are baffled thoroughly, which is more than I could hope for. The whole plan had gone smoothly, which is good for me though it takes some fun out of the whole ordeal. I mean, what is a murder if the victim does not put up a fight? Just a murder, really. Not something noble, as I previously held the notion of. Ah, well, I know the things he did. The torturous little schemes he would practice on little children for his own sick pleasures. That’s why he had to die.

Now, my own thinking was very rational. I am not crazy. Which is what all insane people say, but I’m serious where as they are delusional. I’m sure that if you had simply endured what I have, then you would also be in the same predicament, choosing whether to become a cold hearted killer or to become a cold hearted person. I assume that now I am both. As I close my eyes I can see vividly the way things played out that day. He was expecting a little eleven-year-old to visit his home. Stupid man driven by testosterone. He really did deserve what he received. Here I am teasing you with previews, and you’ve no idea what happened other than I killed some one. Perhaps you would like to know how. If I did it, here’s how I did it, which I did. Confusing? Not so much.

The murder weapons were simple. A thermometer and an ink pen. Surely these things are not suspected to be things of a grand murder, right? Yet they were part of it. They were, in fact, the weapons. He was poised at the door, waiting for my arrival. I knew because I had been through it before. How familiar it was! He had not changed one bit. He was waiting for the knock on the door. I simply let myself in through a back window. I had memorized the layout of his house; I knew every knick and turn by heart, because once this was my house, before my mother had died.

He was comfortable, sitting in his chair so smug. A smirk was imprinted upon his sleazy lips. I felt a sickening twist in my stomach. I hit the door with an ink pen. That was the first of a complex and tricky plan. As he got up to get the door, he slipped on the pen. The ceramic tiles broke his fall. He fell head first. Curses rang through the air as he unsteadily rose. I could see a bit of blood trickle down. I know, ordinary ink pens would burst from such pressure. Not this one. It was steel. Strong enough to withstand. The floor was slippery enough to allow minimum friction. Apparently his maid had just mopped. From there he grasped the counter, dizzy I’m sure. Me? Well, I was in a maid outfit. A bit revealing, I’ll admit, but it helped. With a slight concussion and the luxury of alternating cleaners, he would not notice that I’d never actually been hired to clean his house.

“Want some tea, sir?” He nodded his head, his face grimaced in pain. He picked up the phone to call some one, but I had cut the line. In his cup I stirred in the mercury from a thermometer. Easy. I hoped the tea was strong enough to cover any distastes the concoction might have held. I didn’t think mercury would taste like anything, though. I gave it to him. He drank it up. I stayed with him for a few weeks, and for some miraculous reason he never recognized me. However, since the poison was a small concentration and no doubt a bit diluted, he only suffered anorexia, insomnia, and he began to drool a lot. His skin was getting paper thin, and he was becoming weaker. I decided to take advantage of his poor situation before he came to his senses. I stabbed him with a pen, just a normal ink pen. It busted in his blood system. He hit me a couple of times. He tried to stab me with a knife, or some other crazy thing. Needless to say, he suffered from ink poisoning then. He died. I was happy. So maybe I didn’t really plan for him to slip on a pen, suffer slightly from mercury ingestion and then die from ink poisoning. I just used what I had, and it worked. So now you see, I’m not so crazy after all.]