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 Posted: Sat Apr 13, 2013 2:40 am
Total WC: 2244
He was on the move before his eyes even adjusted to the darkness of the hall. He paid no mind to the beings in the walls, having made this walk too many times in the past months to care. His boots echoed through the hall with each firm and quick step, a steady beat fueled by rage and anger. Jarosite did not run; he wanted to waste nothing of the emotion held with in his chest. Why waste it on running when he could turn it into muscle and strength and vengeance?
He dropped into the Rift proper, not bothering with the usual way into the youma-infested labyrinth. The more time he wasted, the more he thought. The more he thought, the more he threatened to shatter like a starseed. It would not do to shatter now. Too much was at stack now. Too much mattered now.
He could sense the youma of the area, attracted to him simply by his presence but paid it no mind. He'd long since gotten over his instinct to run away from the beasts. They usually paid him no mind, either, though on a few occasions he almost gotten into altercations. Today he truly hoped they would know better, and stay the hell away from him.
Jarosite's training area was a good fifteen-minute walk of the normal "path", tucked between two particularly tall spires. The ring of stone and rock was roughly circular, with one or two outlier rocks. Four of the stone formations were beaten into a pile of rubble. Two others barely stood together, littered with cracks and fractures. The other fourteen rocks still held most of their shape. Hanging from one of the spires was a sandbag he'd stolen from his old high school's equipment room. The area looked undisturbed and just how he'd left it the day before. As it should be.
He reached up into one of the tall spires and pulled out a roll of wrestler's tape. He taped his hands and fingers, paying particular attention to his knuckles and his wrists. His first few trials of trying to strengthen his upper body strength had ended up in several bloody knuckles, a sprained wrist, and almost a fractured hand. He'd spent six weeks wearing a brace and learning why boxers used sandbags and not giant rock formations. The tape also helped him keep from spraining his wrists while trying tricks in his training that involved him spinning in his hands.
His boots did enough to help support his feet and ankles, and the steel toes protected everything that needed to be. Having steel plates for heel strikes would be nice too, but ah, couldn't ask for everything now could he?
Jarosite cracked his knuckles, music still blaring in his ears. The more time he stood around the antsier he was getting. If he didn't let out his emotions soon, he'd find himself on top of some senshi or knight, ripping their starseed from their bloody chests. While to most of the Negaverse, that would be the best idea, Jarosite forever lived by the idea that if he pulled starseeds of senshi and knights, their would be nothing to stop him from pulling starseeds of his family or friends, who weren't even involved. He'd be no better than the Senshi.
And he did his damnest to be better than the Senshi.
His foot connected with the rock closest to him with a clang of sound. The sound echoed through the Rift, and faded out. Another kick hit and sound echoed out. Slowly, as Jarosite worked up his speed and his energy, the sound echoing from his attacks began to match the beat of the song echoing in his ears. They resonated and grew off each other. Low kicks added bass, high ones added tenor voices. Each breath, each pause heightened the sound, the resonance. The orchestra of rock music and training melded and became something more than the parts. He lost himself to it, involving every inch of his concentration and attention to turning all the hatred and rage in his heart into music. Idly he wondered if this was how his ex felt like when she danced and became completely enraptured by the music.
A new measure started, bringing a new higher sound. Daggers hit rocks and the rocks themselves vibrated and resonated with sound. A bass beat kept time, while higher octaves flowed and resonated with each other. Dagger strike. C#. Low kick. G minor.
The music told a story, a story of a boy tortured by his duty, his loss, and his love. His stupidity and his intelligence. It was a song of rage and hate, of kindness and love. It swelled and lulled, it grew and drifted off. It was everything and nothing at all; part of a greater symphonic movement, it had no beginning, no end. It was just a constant flow of sound and notes and measures, of attacks and pants and exertion.
He continued to attack the rocks, but nothing would sate his hunger. He needed something to fight back, he needed something he could kill. Jarosite snarled, a sharp sudden sound among the music, and changed directions. The music halted for but a moment before it started up again, faster and more intensive than before.
Nothing less than the destruction of everything the White Mooners held dear would sate his hunger. Mercury filled eyes snapped up and he spun, slamming his heel into the sandbag. It shook on its chain, and he kept moving. He never stopped moving, the sound echoing out throughout the Rift.
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Posted: Sat Apr 13, 2013 2:41 am
It wasn't long until someone, nay something caught wind of the sound.
Wings flapped almost soundlessly through the air, grey eyes trying to find the cause of the sound. It's head tilted from side to side, a tongue flicking out to taste the air for sound. It banked and glided until it circled high above the place where the human was training. It landed on a spire to watch, the sound of it's landing lost among the sound of the human's training. It - no he, really - cocked his head to the side and watched. His eyes clocked onto the ever-moving place of power, a small device in one of his pockets. The energy was tantalizing, but not near enough to warrant attacking him for.
Yet.
All around the human's location, more of his kind gathered in the shadows. Energy brought them to attention, but so did something like this. The creature tilted his head again and fluffed his wings, ever watching. The others grew close the human, and he opened his mouth in a screeched that echoed off the Rift.
What was his would never be anyone else's. They best learn that.
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Posted: Sat Apr 13, 2013 2:42 am
Jarosite froze. The screech reached his ears even through the loud music and every muscle in his body instantly froze. It was not painful so much as loud. He suddenly became aware of the youma leaving the areas around him. He jerked his headphones off and looked around, daggers flipping in his hands. He'd been so involved he hadn't realized just how many youma had surrounded him. A hazard of using the Rift to train, but he usually didn't become so involved he didn't notice any power signatures.
Damn, that probably meant he needed to go. He cursed loudly; he still felt agitated and volatile. He'd hoped to get all of that out before going topside again. Damn damn damn da--
Wait.
He turned, eyes scanning the area around him. Why did he feel like he was being watched…? The screech's echo died off and a silence fell over him. Jarosite, you're imagining things. There's nothin--
A screech echoed through the spires again. Jarosite snapped his head around, trying to locate the sound, but the echoes interfered with it. It was as though it was on every side at once, but it was only one distinct screech. He knew that much.
He knew it in his soul.
Something landed behind him, and he spun. A dagger flew from his hand and clattered off the stone beneath the youma sitting there. The youma tilted his head and fluffed his wings ( and yes it was a he). It was a sort of dragon, but Jarosite could only see one pair of legs. What would his ex have called it? Ah… yes a wyvern. It was black and blue, with spots of silver hear and there. The feathery wings seemed a bit out of place though. The youma flicked his tail and curled it around the rock. It - he - looked at Jarosite, as if expecting something.
"I don't have anything for you… unless you really want to suck my iPod dry," he said, waving the little device around. The youma's head followed it, but otherwise focused on Jarosite. The Captain sighed and rubbed his face. Well it wasn't going to attack him.
Yet.
But something was… familiar about this one. Mmm perhaps familiar was the wrong word. Something… resonated within his chest. This youma, this youma was special.
He walked towards the feral youma, who twitched a little like a bird as he sat there. The youma's head bobbed in time with the music flowing from his headphones, opening his mouth to sing an amplified version of the sound.
This youma… this youma was his. This youma his and his alone. Jarosite reached out with a tapped hand and made to rub the youma's head. The creature pushed his head into Jarosite's hand, bright grey eyes staring into Jarosite's own.
Yes, this was his youma. This had been his youma since before he'd stepped into the Rift the first time. He was this youma's master, and the youma had known since the day of his creation that Jarosite was his master… no he was more than that. He was…
His amplifier, in a way.
"Amp." The name rolled off his tongue and hung in the air like a single note. The feral youma nodded his head once. The bond cemented itself within Jarosite, though he was unaware of it. "You are mine," he said, emphasis on the last word. The youma - Amp - nodded again. Jarosite let out a small sigh and rubbed Amp's head before turning back to his training area.
"Make sure I'm not disturbed, Amp," he said, making to pull his headphones back up. A screech answered him, almost like a "yes, sir" sort of deal, and he smiled softly to himself. Behind him, Amp lifted off the rock and found a higher spire to watch from, ever protecting his Captain from distractions.
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Posted: Sat Apr 13, 2013 2:43 am
It was hard to track time in the Rift unless you had some sort of timepiece with you. His iPod flickered to twenty percent battery as he took a rest. His body ached, every muscle reprimanding him for his exertion. Three-thirty in the morning… he’d been down in the Rift for a good six hours now. Jarosite was tired, but relatively satisfied. He was not full sated ( and really wouldn’t be until the next time he encountered a senshi or knight and attacked them ) but he was relaxed. He tilted his head back and watched Amp circle above him for a few moments.
“Amp,” he said, calling the youma to him. The feathered dragon circled downward like a hawk and landed on a rock next to him. Jarosite patted his lap and the youma jumped into it. The feral youma butted heads with his Captain, curling up some. Jarosite watched with mild fascination, a smirk on his face. The youma made a sound like a rolling sort of growl and stared at Jarosite, head tilted to the side.
“Thank you. I was able to train in peace,” he said, rubbing his head scales. “You’re to keep watch over this area when you’re not with me, that clear? Obviously if the General Kings come and try to dismantle the place, you won’t be able to do much, but at least keep the other youma from trying to eat my sandbag, alright?” The youma nodded, or maybe just bobbed his head.
“You know, I really can’t tell if you can understand me, or are simply bobbing your head because it’s what you d—HEY! That hurt!” Amp’s jaws clamped down onto Jarosite’s hand with a snap. The Captain glared at his youma, smacking him on the nose to let go. “Le’go of my hand… Amp.” The inflection of his control of the youma was the only thing that got him to get his – now bleeding – hand back. He found he disliked having to use his authority over the creature, but really, munching on your master’s hand was not the way to go.
Amp was very much like an untrained dog in that respect, he realized.
“If you’re good and don’t bite me next time, I’ll bring you a snack, alright? Keep our area safe, Amp.” The prospect of food made Amp much more agreeable. Clearly, he was a dog in mind. The youma hopped off his lap and took flight back up to his perch. Jarosite watched him for a few moments before leaving the area and making his way back into the hallway that would let him teleport out.
With a yawn, he vanished from existence in the hall, very much ready for a shower and bed.
He’d deal with the issue of Albireo… later.
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