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 Posted: Thu Nov 01, 2012 4:16 pm
Having Tracey back was like a drug. Power that coursed and crackled in his veins. Power he felt in his every single muscle, he could break a normal person with his bare hands he reckoned. He'd been feeble and weak, reduced to that pitiable normal human being who had been powerless all his life, not able to save his mother - unable to steer his own addictions. Now he was more. He was a ******** predator and this was his territory, a territory full of cocky bitches who thought because they stuck the boot in when you were vulnerable they were somehow superior to you.
The hate was a twisting, writhing thing in him, practically alive, slithering into his thoughts.
<>
A spike of anger from the fallen angel, a shift in his patient thrum of thoughts. Both of them were vengeful, Sasha had injured what was his, left undeterred she might well try it again. The buzz of emotions receded, sharp like talons in the darkness.
He wasn't his conscience, he was there to keep him alive.
He intended to keep it legitimate, getting himself killed over her would be exactly what she would want him to do. No, he was going to be a calculating b*****d about this, she'd come to him on his ******** terms. To find her he'd come looking in her domain, the life labs, moving through the flow of life hunters and lab techs, out of place but bristling with confidence.
Checking various rooms along the way, he finally found her, his deadly serious expression twisting into something much darker with a lot more teeth. His pace slowed, careful and quiet, slipping behind her, hardly daring to so much as breathe. Tracey stilled in his thoughts, as tense and alert as he was, both of them intent on their target, instincts mingling together effortlessly.
When he was near enough he pounced, closing the distance between them.
It took all of his self restraint but he didn't attack her. Instead he slunk his arms around her in a mockery of intimacy, hands pinning her upper arms to her sides with all the physical strength Tracey afforded him - closing the distance behind her to press up against her and snarl, voice heavy with unspoken threat and promise into her ear.
"Hey b***h. Look who's ******** back." His chuckle was low and deep like a growl. "How about you and me take a walk on the training fields?" He let his voice drop even lower. "And I'll teach you where you belong."
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Posted: Thu Nov 01, 2012 4:40 pm
Time and time again Sasha found herself distracted by thoughts that she could not afford to think. Jerry and his instability were a constant trouble - oftentimes overwhelmed by thoughts of Wash. Wash with his easy smile and trustworthiness, his just being there without want or need to change anything about her. He seemed to thrive on her straightforwardness, her requests and outright demands. It was a little unsettling, but she wasn't afraid. She enjoyed his body and the way it pressed to hers --
--and suddenly there was another body there, one that excited her in completely different ways. This voice - and the impossibly strong press of arms that came with it - had Sasha closing her eyes. A shiver went up her spine at the very nearness of him. She felt almost suffocated but refused to let that feeling spread, instead tamping it down so that she could focus on the adrenaline that picked up, coursing through her veins like a thick, sluggish high.
She'd known he'd come for her. In this way, Rep was predictable.
It was the only predictable thing about him.
She couldn't move, couldn't pull away - so instead she merely leaned her head back and bared her teeth in a horrible, terrible smile that showed far too many teeth, that gleamed with deadly intent. Sasha wanted to snap her teeth at the lobe of his ear, drag them down the side of his face. She wanted to watch the skin there turn white from the impact before turning red and angry.
Instead, she purred out a rough, "Shall we?"
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Posted: Thu Nov 01, 2012 5:51 pm
She didn't even try to fight him. What was at first surprise curled into a vicious and dark satisfaction.
Of course she didn't.
He held his ground as she leaned back, a flash of something feral in his blue eyes, daring her to push him, wanting her to give him cause to tighten his grip. He hoped he left bruises, even with the shields to mend them, he hoped it hurt.
This close he could feel the slightness of her body, the weak fragility inherent to all women everywhere. To be female was to be defective, flaws that ran into the blood. Capricious, emotional and cruel. An inconvenient necessity for reproduction - and here redundant even for that. Anything he could do to her would be a mercy.
She simultaneously repulsed him and drew him, existence without meaning, an exquisite mistake, the nearness making goosebumps rise across his skin as his instincts screamed simultaneously at him to release her from his grip in revulsion and at the same time to push forward, to press for a taste of fear, a crack in that toxic façade of hers. He loathed the shields, he wanted to make her bleed, wanted to sink in his teeth, Tracey's blades, his nails, anything - wanted to rend her asunder and see how black her heart really was.
He pressed his cheek to her throat, again a mirror of where his own scars resided, inhaling deeply, a dark parody of affection. The gesture made him shudder in disgust, stoking the fires of his resentment as he prodded his own aversions as if maintaining an open wound. He hated her so much it strangled everything that was good in him, a suffocating intensity that brought out the darkest rawest edges of his nature.
And there was no guilt at all that he enjoyed it.
"Then walk." he snarled throatily, relaxing his grip, letting his hands fall, fleeting to her sides before shifting to her back to urge her forward.
He refused to walk ahead, after all, he knew too ******** well you didn't turn your back to a monster.
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Posted: Thu Nov 01, 2012 6:36 pm
It hurt.
She could feel the sharp, biting pain of his fingers through her jacket, through her shirt, through her skin. Sasha feasted off of it, focusing on the anticipation that his proximity evoked in her. It was everything vile and disgusting and wrong, but she needed it. She craved it. She knew there would be bruises, but she would bear them - and anything else that followed - as a testament to the fact that she'd been able to drive him to this. The thick, suffocating rage rolled off of him in waves, and Sasha wanted to wallow in it, to soak it in until there was nothing left to do but give in. To him, to the rage, the fear - it didn't matter.
The pain was exquisite. His strength was impressive. He was a toxic poison, and she wanted it. All of the hate he could muster, all of the rage he could bring, all of the vile, putrid things that he wanted to do - she wanted it.
She had brought him to this point, and she was more than willing to pay for it.
Nona writhed uncomfortably in her mind, a series of sharp noises, bright colors, flashes of light. The weapon's worries went ignored. Nona settled, seethed. This would not end well, the weapon knew it - and she was fraught with worry.
<This is a dangerous game.>
It is mine to play.
She was unafraid to walk before him, fearless, rashly so. He wouldn't kill her. To kill her would be to end his life. This was a sick, twisted sort of ritual of give and take. And take. And take. And take.
She wanted to see him go mad. She wanted to see that red hot fury rip him open until he could no longer fight the hate she forced to the surface. They were a tempest, and Sasha was ready for whatever came - or, perhaps, she has merely convinced herself of this.
Nona's blades were summoned the instant her feet hit the hard dirt of the training field, but she didn't turn to face him. She rolled her shoulders back, lifted her chin, and waited.
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Posted: Thu Nov 01, 2012 7:45 pm
Hate was a drug, a drug he'd sworn he'd quit. He'd quit it for his guys, for his survival, for the sake of love, happiness and all the good s**t in the world.
But sometimes you just needed one more hit.
He didn't even pretend that this would be the last time, that somehow he'd be reborn in a blaze of victory if he defeated her. Whoever won here, they were both lost, and somehow, it didn't matter. All that mattered was the struggle, pain and hate and pain and hate until there was no difference, until emotion flatlined. He felt like his insides had been scraped out and replaced with nothing but straining twisting fury that ate away at him. It was her fault. Stress. Violence. Delusion. Fighting his shadow, as if conquering the darkness in her would conquer it in him.
The training field was a sanctuary. Anything goes. It's just a spar. Nothing personal.
Except this was personal, so personal it felt like every beat of his heart, thrumming with adrenaline, was a countdown to when he could toss aside his self restraint and surrender himself to that creature that sometimes looked out through his eyes.
As they stepped onto the dirt, he too summoned his weapon, Tracey sliding into existence like a void crack in the world. Despite the weight of the massive axe, he didn't miss a step and he didn't take his eyes off her. The fallen angel crooned in his thoughts, almost as eager to taste her as his wielder. Hurt her. Stay alive.
She stopped and the world seemed to slow as his own tempo ramped up to meet the impending battle . She wouldn't look at him, it was worse than if she'd attacked. He wanted to seize her hair, twist her back, shove her to her knees and make her look at him, make her look up at him. For now she was in control, it was permissible and amusing. But he would shatter her crown, he would drag her down to where he was, that dark place where there was nothing but instinct and all the things he wanted to do to her, where he hated himself for hating her. Where he was drowning in obsession.
He had everything to lose and she had nothing. It should have stopped him, stayed his hand. He could leave, could keep his winnings. Instead there was simply a twist of jealousy, like the blade of the knife in his hospital bed. Pride made him stay.
He sought to speak but there were no words, nothing that could frame his emotions, the absolute black hatred he felt for her strangling them to silence. He let Tracey speak for him, the razor edged serrated blade cutting through the air with an audible whum before it collided with her shield full force. The impact along the blade made him take a shivering breath of delight and anticipation.
The monster was awake.
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Posted: Thu Nov 01, 2012 8:14 pm
This was the beginning of the end.
She could taste it, feel it. Raw energy seemed to crackle between them, and Sasha couldn't fight the bumps that formed along her arms. She couldn't ignore the way the tiny hairs at the back of her neck seemed to stand on end, rise to attention. She could feel him behind her, pulsing black - poisonous pitch that would consume her completely if she allowed it.
When she looked at him, when she really and truly looked at him, she could see herself. They were cut from the same cloth, driven by different purposes, but both filled with that same choking putrefaction that was always there. Lurking. Waiting. Aching. Needing. Bitter on her tongue, rotting in her chest. Sometimes it could be ignored, forced back - but never forgotten.
Control. Power. She needed to see him writhe beneath her feet, beg for mercy. Beg, beg, beg. Beneath her, where he belonged.
She glanced over her shoulder briefly, Tracey's summon an almost tangible presence. There seemed to be far less space to move, less breath to give. He bore the weapon as if it were an extension of himself - deadly, powerful, hungry for the coppery bite of blood and the imperfection of flesh torn asunder.
The axe hit her like a truck, her shield giving way to a frightening degree as she dropped to her knees. She felt a flash - white hot and insistent fear. Sasha took that abhorrence, twisted it, devoured it. Forcing herself upright, Sasha slipped to the side and lashed out with those singing, blood-hungry hooks. The crystalline tips of the weapon surged and flashed with angry violet, shrieking and seeking a vulnerable, meaty spot to bite into. His thighs, his flanks, anything.
It was a malevolent dance. She wanted to own every loathsome inch of him.
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Posted: Fri Nov 02, 2012 7:50 am
Fighting was almost instinctual, a quiet place where he was invincible for a few moments. Just like his machete had been his last gasp at control of a life forever slipping through his fingers, Tracey was his control in this world. With the axe he could command attention, could force people to bend to his will. It didn't matter if they hated him, all that mattered was that they saw him.
And for an instant, as she dropped to her knees under the momentum of the blow, she had no choice but to pay him due attention, it was satisfying, it was a thrill. Look at me.
Nona swung back and he let her, focused only on bringing her down, she could do as she pleased, destroy his shield, leave him scarred and torn the way she always did, sear him to the bone with her own rage, but she was coming down with him, there was no question in his mind, not a fraction of doubt. The hooks connected hard with one leg, but Tracey's shield devoured the lasting bite of the swing, keeping him standing. The pain made his pulse run quicker, she couldn't hurt his outside any more. His body was and had always been expendable, loathsome and weak, he was hatred bound in human flesh - one day he would shed it and spread his wings.
Tracey was silent, at least as far as words went. He'd since moved in close to Rep's thoughts, tangled up, so close that the world seemed to blur and shift before his vision, runes bleeding off into the air as he swung, maintaining the solid momentum he was building up. The axe was part of him, and even as he sought to cleave her again he was sure for an instant, just so ******** sure, that the sound of the air being rent, was the beating of wings instead. He craved to reach out as he passed, to reach out into the darkness in her, to sink his talons into flesh and tear out her darkness like a trophy. In the instant he had forgotten he had none.
He had rehearsed every moment of this battle in the infirmary, considered the weapon she'd so kindly introduced him to the nuances of, suited so perfectly for disarming bladed weapons, reaching into weak spots with a twist. He didn't intend to let her disarm him, Tracey's size was what set him apart from the other weapons she could no doubt wrench from their owners, a reflection of the all consuming momentum of his loathing. She could block him, she could stand in his way, but as far as Rep was concerned in this moment, muscles singing with the steel taut effort of combat, she might as well try to disarm a train.
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Posted: Sat Nov 03, 2012 11:45 am
There was no exchange of words between hunter and weapon. The alkonost seethed deep within Sasha's mind, a rich melodic sound that pulsed with hunger and anticipation. Nona shrieked at the contact of her blades to his flesh, a murderous sound that reverberated with such purpose that Sasha could feel it throughout every inch of her.
<Get close> the weapon sang, her voice rough and hungry, <get close and we will feast, my sweetest dove.>
Tracey was of an impressive size, bloodied runes coming close as he swung at her again. Sasha had nothing to lose. This exertion of her body, the push and pull and bite and give - it wasn't enough. She wanted to bite at him, claw at him, rip him down. And yet she was met with Tracey's impressive breadth at each turn of her body - he was a monster, a machine.
Sasha let out a harsh, animalistic sound of frustration, her eyes wild. She wanted to get close, she wanted to press herself against him, all over him like she had in the infirmary - knock away his defenses, make him beg - but she couldn't get close.
She took a step back, tripping slightly - even though this fight had not gone on long... Rep was surging with power. Intimidation. She was weakening against his relentless assault, but despite it all, she was not afraid. She thrived on the hate that poured off of him, soaked it in, made it her own.
His next attack had her down on her back - and instead of scrambling to her feet, Sasha narrowed her eyes up at him. An unspoken dare thrummed between them.
Break me.
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Posted: Sat Nov 03, 2012 12:20 pm
In his own mind Rep purred with satisfaction, this was his domain, violence a place he understood. It had been his key to controlling his life, it had been the fire in which the flames of his rebirth had been forged. He'd watched men control his mother, control him with violence, and he'd taken their loathsomeness and made it his own. He hadn't learned in time to save her, but he had made certain no one would ever control him again. Sasha had broken through that front of violence once, when he was weak. It was unforgivable. She had pushed him and pushed him and now, axe in hand, it was time to push back.
The grate of metal on metal as their weapons met was music to his ears, a seductive primitive sound that twisted his gut satisfyingly the same way a bite of Tracey into her flesh, or a glimmer of fear did. More. He wanted more. He wanted to overdose on battle, fight until his body gave up, surrendered to the will of the mind.
It was the same as their verbal spars, twined up in one another's hang ups and weaknesses, trying to get traction on the blackness in the other's soul, to rip and rend and chew and destroy. Two dragons of loathing locked in a battle to the death. There was no difference between those interactions and this other than the simple fact that here, the stakes were higher, that here the gratification was more immediate. More physical.
It amused him that here and now, she was beautiful, that only here in this place where the darkest parts of her soul were visible to him did he see past the female skin she inhabited. He wanted to tear it off, wanted to lay her bare, find out exactly what it was in her he saw that reminded him of himself, and then kill it dead.
She faltered and fell and he leapt, on sheer instinct, throwing the flat of the axe against her chest, pinning her with his weight, and most of all letting go of the handle. No longer light in his owner's hands, the weapon's full weight was upon her. He leaned in close, panting with the exertion of the fight and absolutely dripping with mock sensuality. It was his turn to straddle her, determined she wouldn't wriggle out of this, wouldn't get any more cheap shots at his manhood.
"The things I ******** want to do to you." he snarled, setting his palms against the flat of Tracey's blade and pushing setting his own weight alongside it, wanting to feel the shield shatter and give beneath him. There was a silky venomous edge to his tone as he chuckled darkly to himself and whispered, so quiet he wouldn't have been audible if he wasn't so close.
"Look what you've made me."
There was a flash of teeth as he smirked. "This is what women do to men. They bring it all on themselves. Whatever I ******** do to you. Know that you earned it."
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Posted: Sat Nov 03, 2012 1:55 pm
The weight of the axe was impossibly heavy against her chest, crushing and bruising and demanding all of her breath. She didn't push back - doing so would be futile, and while she didn't plan on walking away from this encounter at all, she refused to give him the ******** satisfaction.
Her shield's hold was tenuous at best, and she could feel it slipping away from her with each thudding pump her heart gave. Nona was a frantic, bestial wildcat raging across the chords of Sasha's mind, thudding and thumping against Sasha's skull like a caged, feral monster. She only grew more deranged at each word that dripped from Rep's lips like the most toxic, delicious poison.
"I did this to you," she wheezed, a monstrous smile on her face. "Me. A wo-woman." The weight of the axe pressed down, down, down, crushing, breaking.
Her voice was thick with pride - a sick, twisted thing.
"So quit ******** talking," she hissed, eyes wild and crazed, "and do it. D-do all those ******** horrible things that everyone else i-ignores."
The shield was slipping, cracking.
"Give in."
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Posted: Sat Nov 03, 2012 3:05 pm
He could feel the way her chest fought to rise and fall under the weight of Tracey - felt the way she refused to struggle. He wanted her to. He wanted her to fight, wanted her to crack like the shield, because that would mean fear outweighed pride - it would mean he'd won. But when it came to this, he was patient, the patience of a predator waiting for its prey to falter. And right now she was helpless whether she acknowledged it or not.
The strained defiant words made his anger spike and bristle, kept in check only by Tracey curled up in his thoughts like sleek black death, purring with fear energy, soothing him with assurances of soon.
"If only you could take all the credit b***h. I could take you apart here on the field and be rid of this ******** sickness forever. Cut you out like a ******** tumour. "
His thoughts derailed to the time before the island, a flickering reel of desperate attempts to control the loathing, fight the hatred and cage it - attempts that only made it worse. The more women he found, broken and beaten down by life, the more he sought one who could never be broken.
"No matter what I ******** do to you," he said, seizing the handle in both hands and in a brutal movement shunting the blade up and up. Until he was pressing the edge of one wickedly sharp blade to her throat. He didn't take the pressure and weight off, still pinning her, still restricting her breathing. He didn't give a ******** if her ribs broke, she'd broken his enough. He made a sound like a snarl as he leaned forward. Close, so close, an echo of that intoxicating instant in the infirmary, a moment that had lingered in his thoughts afterwards and become tangled up in the brutality like everything else.
"It will never ******** be enough."
He would lose, but not to her. He would lose to all the human filth he'd been steeped in all his life, all the toxic attitudes he'd absorbed in and built himself out of. He'd be the monster they all thought he was. And he'd ********> enjoy it, because in the end, they were probably right.
He could only pin her so long, it would be hard to breathe, he didn't want to kill her. He wanted her to live to remember this.
To remember what it ******** felt like to lose.
Close, close enough she could feel his breathing, ragged and strangled with the twisted emotions of a lifetime. Something evil flickered in his cold blue gaze and he closed the distance. The kiss was deep, rough and hateful, void of the delicate affection he was capable of. It was a primal and vicious thing, a deliberate violation. He wanted under her skin, wanted to feel her shudder in revulsion at his touch, at his taste.
She felt soft and delicate beneath him, fragile and yet as immovable as an iron bar.
He loathed her.
In a twist of anger as whiplash as a blade striking bone, he drew back, biting down on her lower lip with all the force he could muster, soft flesh giving way in the most satisfying fashion. Let her try and ******** smirk at him after this, let her try. Blood. The rich metallic tang bubbled up and hit the back of his throat. He smirked into the twisted parody of closeness, relenting only as the soft shift of Tracey in his thoughts reminded him that even monsters needed to breathe.
It was only as he leaned back he noticed the force of him yanking back had left the razor sharp blade cutting into her throat, shallow enough not to kill but deep enough to bleed. An eye for an eye.
He dismissed the axe to let the blood flow all the more freely. Let her know how it felt to fear death, to wonder if the sky over a training field would be the last thing you saw, draining away hopelessly with nothing but a tattered history of disaster trailing in your wake.
"Do you want to ******** live?." he panted ferally.
"Then its your turn. BEG ME."
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Posted: Sat Nov 03, 2012 7:58 pm
She swore she could feel the creak of her own bones beneath Tracey's weight. It was a mocking, constant pressure, and Sasha knew her ribs were cracking. She wasn't built for this sort of heft - everything about her was delicate, slender, quick and graceful. She was trapped, couldn't move - and she couldn't deny the fear that surged in the back of her throat, almost suffocating her.
It was exhilarating and terrifying - either emotion twined so tightly with the other that Sasha couldn't separate them, couldn't slaughter one without losing the other.
His words thrilled her in a sick and abhorrent way - and when his lips pressed to hers, Sasha couldn't decide what she wanted. To bite down, to deepen the kiss - if her ribs weren't causing white-hot flashes of pain to sear through her, she would have pressed up against him. She loved that he hated her, loathed her - she thrived on it like a poisonous vine, roughly nurtured by the seething emotions they both harbored for one another.
A sudden, sharp blinding pain. Warmth coating her chin, her jawline. She could smell the blood, silken and hot as it dampened her skin. It was agony, it was a disgusting pleasure.
The rank coppery taste of blood filled her mouth, and it was at that moment that the game changed for her. Instead of eating his rage, consuming it, owning it - instead of smug taunts and haughty demands - the madness returned. It flashed in her eyes as she choked down a bitter swallow of blood, gagging slightly. She couldn't react, could only feel the bite of Tracey's blade against her neck. Soon after, once Tracey was unsummoned, Sasha could feel the hot wash of her own lifeblood against her neck, soaking into the dry, hard-packed ground beneath her.
Her breath wheezed from her chest, her shield completely spent. It took all of the strength she could muster to form a mouthful of saliva and blood. A mimicry of their last encounter - Sasha spat at him.
"I will never beg y-you."
Sasha's body heaved as she struggled to draw another breath. Her eyes were hot, accusatory, gleamed with defiance. She would not give in. She would not let him own her.
"And you w-will never break me."
A depraved, immoral smile trembled across her bloodied lips.
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Posted: Sat Nov 03, 2012 8:30 pm
He let her spit, let her defy him It changed nothing but the duration of the game. He would have been disappointed if she crumbled, if she folded at this. He didn't want this twisted creature to be a front, he wanted it to run deep, into the bones and the blood he could still taste sharp on his tongue. Of course she would defy him, he would do the same in her position, bravado in the face of agony. They were stupid people. Stupid ******** loathsome people. He barely flinched as the saliva hit him, refusing to let her see the revulsion and fury rise in him like a wave - he was in control. Reaching up with the back of his hand, he wiped it off disdainfully on her clothes.
The toothy smirk was frozen on his features as he said, "I was ******** hoping you'd say that." and let out a raucous and manic barking sort of laugh. There was no humour in it, it rang hollow and wild, the laugh of a man who could hardly believe what he was doing.
Tracey still surged in his thoughts, blurring the line between reality and insanity. As he clenched his hands in the blood tinged fabric of her shirt, digging nails into her skin, into her strained ribs - he could have sworn the talons were back. He leaned in again, this time to her throat, breathing shallow as he trailed his tongue along the fresh and ragged cut there, gloating in his victory. He found himself licking his lips as he moved up to croon in her ear, a low seductive snarl. "Because one day b***h, I'm going to prove you so wrong. And you'll never see it coming. I will rip out your ******** heart, and you'll beg. You'll kneel."
In a lithe arch of his spine, he sat up off of her, leaning his weight onto her hips. For a moment he gave the impression he might get up, but did not, simply eyed her, distant and wild, as if considering how much more she could endure. He could still feel the drying saliva on his cheek, still felt the bile rise in his throat at the thought of it and knew he couldn't simply walk away. Insults deserved to be repaid, and he repaid with interest.
She would beg, but not today.
There was no warning other than the momentary narrowing of his eyes as he brought his fist around to connect with her jaw.
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Posted: Sat Nov 03, 2012 8:40 pm
Everything about him was repulsive, disgusting, foul, noxious. She said not a word, but her thoughts - oh, her thoughts ran rampant. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of hearing her utter one more word - not one more word.
She had little doubt that he'd come after her. Sasha knew that this macabre play of power could only end one way.
As his fist connected with her jaw, as she slipped into unconsciousness, her final, flickering thought was a fleeting promise to herself.
She would see his downfall. It would not be the other way around.
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Posted: Sat Nov 03, 2012 9:10 pm
Harrison stepped out onto the bloody part of the green.
B0nez glowed from his hand and belt, ready in case things got a little too fair, but from the looks of things, he didn't need them. He'd been thinking about it a long time. He knew Sasha's hooks would be hard on swords. If he had a runic pistol, he would have brought it.
But by the time he got there, Sasha was already on the ground.
All because you had to stop by for items-
He desummoned B0nez, privately glad he wasn't going to give Sasha the satisfaction of a few hits on him to give Rep the space to work, and pocketed the flashdrive.
Rep looked red and wild-eyed.
He looked down at Sasha, ripped from her jaw to her throat, splintered and breathing in ragged, wet hiccups. She'd probably drown in her own blood if someone didn't turn her over.
"You hurt?" Harrison asked Rep.
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