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 Posted: Tue Aug 13, 2013 10:58 pm
Oh, the calm of ravening nerves.
Always seething just below the surface, permitting little solace while impressing their imperative need for satisfaction.
And he couldn't
wouldn't
quell the teething
just between his skin.
Somewhere in the flesh.
His whole body was wrong.
Wholly wrong.
This looming destruction crept into his peripherals several days ago, but no amount of distraction silenced the mounting realization that it would stalk him to his end. Something chased him: a rotten, thousand-mouthed ideal consuming all the nuances of life. It shook the ground and rattled the windows and stormed all the doors with utter, unmitigated rage
and he felt cold.
Tonight he couldn't let it fester any longer. It was time to bleed the sore, free the skin from its malaise. Bischofite desperately needed some catharsis, some remedy to his plagued mind, rattling with innumerable justifications for his need to transcend humanity. He scathed for some measure of compensation. He needed a method of coping with the roiling, turbulent emotions behind his desperation.
The night afforded little empathy. In roaming the streets often combed, he found no signatures worth recognizing. A few stray senshi scraped their wake across his skin, but he discovered nothing of merit from his faction. In fact, only a single lieutenant danced across the edges of his mind before returning to darkness, forgotten and forsaken. Familiar roads bleed to foreign paths, and he trekked the city in a burning search for some solution to his beleaguered state. And he would raze anything in his path if it meant some inkling of relief for his fractured mind. Did he even eat anymore?
No - eating was such a human task.
He neared civilization - the groaning streets of Destiny City bowing under the weight of so many listless faces. Why avoid them anymore? Why care what they thought of his macabre uniform? It wouldn't matter anymore if he could
just
find
some
solace
in the act of staying human. But with the advent of a power equal to his own, his feverish hunt spurred him into a popular bar, where he might find the origin of such a signature. Surely the world remained too enthralled with itself to notice the skulls, the paint, the uncommon choice of uniform. Surely it didn't matter. Surely he might free himself of the need to power up altogether.
And that burden would be shouldered by...
Buddingtonite.ChibiGingi let me know if this is enough!
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Posted: Wed Aug 14, 2013 9:49 am
Buddingtonite needed a quick fix, and there was always some place in Destiny City that could offer that. Nightclubs, bars, the more juke and jive places that were always alive with energy once the streetlamps turned on. There, he could remain in uniform and move about as he pleased, yoinking away a little, but still precious energy without anyone batting an eye. Most of the energy he was collecting for the Negaverse, as ordered, but there was some being put to the side, for his own personal use.
There he was, sitting on the rooftop of one of his favorite little dive bars, fully suited up though the sleeve on his chest unbuttoned and loose, exposing a little of his chest to combat the ridiculous heat that this summer brought. He was about to indulge in such a treat when he felt the ping of an approaching Chaos energy signature, and he quickly hid away the energy orb. He was warned not to consume such a thing unless it was an emergency, and truthfully he didn't feel like explaining his actions should someone else catch him sucking orbs on the job (especially when all of that was suppose to go to the glory of the Negaverse.)
He quickly buttoned his shirt and straightened up, wanting to look his best for whoever arrived in his presence. Had he known who it was before hand, he might have been a tad bit more laxed, and some of that might have reflected with his little sigh, as he spotted Bischofite when he peered over the edge. Had he known what was going on in that head of his, maybe his voice would have been a little kinder, and his snark was unmistakable as he called down to his... he wasn't quite sure what the word to use for their little relationship. "Bischy, you had me all worked up for a second there. Here I just spent a good minute preening, thinking it was someone more formal approaching when it's only you."
He certainly didn't mean it in a bad way, but he couldn't get a good read on him from his angle, and he sought to correct that by motioning him to join him. "Come. There's plenty of room up here for the two of us, egos included."Strickenized This is perfect, thank you!
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Posted: Wed Aug 14, 2013 11:02 am
Only you.
A marked lack of absolution. A vulture half-burnt by its own machinations. A crow bereft of its caw. A bloody kitchen sink affair.
All these things described him to a T. Buddingtonite recognized that.
Hate tastes unmistakeable, he thought upon approach. Wordlessly he lit on the edge of the rooftop, remaining perched a solid ten feet from the redhead. Hate tastes like the human body, charred beyond recognition. It's a form of transcendence. Death or monstrosity, it doesn't matter. Anything is better than this.
"Buddingtonite." Bischofite's voice lacked the vibrance of a man wholly submerged in his own ideas. For tonight, there were no ideals. His world collapsed in on itself, breaking bones and knotting flesh and paring fat until it reduced itself to a simpler form, one easier to digest - only the rooftop, only Buddingtonite, and only himself. Nothing else threatened to infringe on their encounter. Not even the breeze threatened to intervene, to tease their hair and whisper across their uniforms in an attempt to disturb the scene. Even the air lay still, heavy, hot. It crushed like a vice in his lungs, yet such torturous heat felt fitting. Maybe even necessary.
To suffer was to break down the baser blocks of oneself, to destroy and reshape the remaining mulch of a person, and pray that the shape might take for a better, newer purpose. Breaking a leg. Breaking down muscle. It didn't matter - over time, all faced the same arduous process. Surely the mind was no different, but his body would pay the price.
And so he approached. Buddingtonite even offered an invitation, not that he possessed the restraint to wait for it. Not now. His luck held true for this singular encounter - they met before, the redhead knew of his strange aeons. He exhibited parts of the truth, parts of his absolution, yet failed to meet the criteria for the final step.
Bischofite searched the captain's countenance quickly, then averted his eyes. But... his presence was still there. In his peripheral, the scent lingering in the air, the minute sounds of shuffle and breath. Yes, he remembered these minuscule markers in sharp detail, almost like a smoke cast around his existence. An addiction. No - a vice in his own right. As someone who wore human well, Buddingtonite established himself as a vice.
Bischofite used formality to convey his desperation. "I need your help." Solemn gaze notwithstanding, slumped shoulders disregarded. Oh, the plague of being human ravaged him with symptoms. "But what I will ask is... hard. Maybe not for you, in fact, I suspect you'll find it to your liking." He paused for an indefinite period of time, searching his surroundings for some meager sign of assistance. Everything stared back in enigmas.When he finally spoke again, his words came in spurts and jolts, as if he formulated his careful response while speaking. "I need you to do somesing. For me. Not ze Negaverse, not... Metallia. Zis is more private zan zem. More... It's a form of salvation, almost, if zat makes sense. But I need you to do it."
Only you.
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Posted: Thu Aug 15, 2013 12:13 pm
Whatever problems Buddingtonite might have had seemed relatively insignificant compared to what was vexing his playmate, and with someone else's problems thrusted upon him, it was easy for him to overcome his own problems as minor, or major, they may be. His friend Bischofite sounded so... lifeless, nothing at all like him, and even for the short amount of time they had known one another, Buddingtonite could tell that something was seriously wrong. He arched an eyebrow at his behavior, but waited patiently for him to join him on the rooftop. 'Strange... best get to the bottom of this somehow.'
It might not have been an easy task, or a glorious one, but Buddingtonite too pride in his nickname. Buddy. Pal. Friend. Compadre. Comrade. Whichever term they preferred, he was determined to use that to help is fellow teammates, and Bischofite was no exception. Despite the sullen aura that seemed to linger on him, he gave a sensual purr, hoping to coax him like a child wanting a finicky cat on their lap. "Come on up. I promise, no fighting or tricks today. Cross my black heart."
He made the motion, even as he admitted to wanting his help. Buddingtonite wasn't the type to turn down a request, though he was always the type to get all the details sorted out. While he didn't mind the thrill that came with planning on the fly, as a good salesman, it was always worth noting what the problem was, what the obstacles would be, and, most important, what the final goal was. He offered his assistance, with a reasonable stipulation. "I will do my best for you, mein Lieb. It is, after all, why I'm here. To help and serve my fellow officers and friends, as well as the Negaverse. Come on up, and I'll see what I can do for you."
He had to admit, he was a little concerned when he mentioned his request for help wasn't for the Negaverse or Metallia. Not that everything they did was for the greater good of the Negaverse, but it only made him all the more curious... and concerned. He'd hear him out first... he owed it to his friend and playmate.
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Posted: Thu Aug 15, 2013 10:32 pm
Bischofite stepped onto the rooftop with mild hesitation. Would this end in catastrophe? Would he balk at the idea, or shun the captain for requesting such a heinous activity?
He recalled what Benitoite mentioned, early in their tenure together - the blonde created a youma once before, purely by accident, and thereafter was plagued with thoughts of death via his superiors. Worse yet, he received heavy training with no end in sight. Would the same fate befall Buddingtonite for knowingly partaking in this twisted request, or would he suffer death for his transgressions? They may not have known each other terribly well, but Buddingtonite encouraged the ruthless inspiration within him, and shared passions memorable. Was this fix worth a life? Was it worth his life?
To transcend... Surely one evolved through blood and trial.
The black-haired captain paused adjacent to his comrade, searching the redhead for some sign of warm acceptance. He looked worn, tired - but Bischofite mentioned nothing. Now wasn't the time to discuss self-neglect, or overzealousness.
Few things in the world he recognized with bodily reaction - Buddingtonite's scent was one of them. Standing so close, the tentative smell conjured vivid memories. A tussle, a tryst - it didn't matter. All these things would perish in the wake of evolution, wouldn't they? No longer would they share that equal sense of each other, a measure of skin, a pound of flesh. And what would become of their short and tumultuous relationship, then? No longer acquaintances, or comrades, or anything betwixt the two - for what was a youma to a man? To Buddingtonite? And as surely as Bazzite bonded to Benitoite, Bischofite would become his - in the truest sense of the word.
Property.
Ownership rights.
Slavery.
He would lose all flight and freedom for this act, for a chance to transcend. Bischofite afforded a shaken sigh, no longer entertaining the act of making eye contact. Gaze now downcast past Buddingtonite's shoulder, he turned to the gravel for guidance. The dirt. "... Sometimes ze kitchen sink leaks. Sometimes you can't afford to hire a plumber, or you even try to fix it yourself. You haf' some tools, but eventually you understand you're missing parts. You're missing pieces. Zat kitchen sink is incomplete. But you can't afford ze sings you're missing - you're destitute drivel zat needs zis stupid sink to survif'e, yes? So what do you do wis' it? You fix it in ze only way you know how - you use what you haf'.
"I'm not stupid." The thought very nearly revolted him; Bischofite's lip curled in a mild snarl. "I'm not blind, eizer. Zis is beyond what I can afford. Zere's no way to simply purchase new pieces and call it finished. So I need you to help apply a fix - ze ductape around ze pipe, so to speak."
After suffering a long pause, one so heavy with contemplation, Bischofite finally voiced his request. "I want you to turn me into a youma."
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Posted: Sat Aug 17, 2013 3:04 pm
If there was one gift that Buddingtonite would have wanted, despite knowing that it would have driven him crazy after a short while, was the ability to read minds. Sure, it was invasive, would break all sorts of laws in regards to personal privacy, but it would at least give him some kind of insight on what was going on in that head of his. Though, perhaps it was best that he didn't know what was going on... Bischofite was a curious fellow and the words that came out of his mouth made him wonder if there was a filter between that brain and those lips. Maybe he was lucky not to be able to read his mind.
He watched his friend curiously, listening to his explanation and trying to fight the anxiety building up within him. He didn't want to rush him through this, but he could hardly wait for him to get to the point. He half wondered if this was how Krishna felt when putting up with him, but he tried to be patient, and towards the end, he made a light hearted laugh. "And let me guess. I'm the 'work with what you have'? Well, seems like a back handed compliment, but I'll certainly take them in whatever form I can take."
He didn't think he was stupid, nor blind, and he held his tongue, allowing him to vent and say what he needed to say. Ducktape to pipe? Buddingtonite had no idea what he was talking about, but that didn't make him any less eager to help him. So, he held his tongue, remaining silent and adding to it, when he finally made his request. And his request...
"I'm sorry, you want me to..." Now Buddingtonite felt stupid, and he couldn't help but find himself struggling with simple words. Maybe it was his accent? Maybe Buddingtonite had a few too many drinks? Or too tired? Because surely he didn't want him to... "Bischofite, I'm sorry, but could you repeat that? In my confusion, I think I heard you say you wanted me to turn you into a youma."
Surely not. Maybe this was a joke and he was waiting for others to pop up around him in laughter. Or maybe it was a test. But he simply couldn't believe he had heard him correctly, or that Bischofite was serious.
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Posted: Sat Aug 17, 2013 5:32 pm
"Zat is exactly what I said." Buddingtonite never had a problem with his speech before; was it really such a difficult concept to grasp? Was he going to say there's something wrong with what the black-haired captain wanted? Was he going to try and talk him out of such a core fundamental value that he'd spent so long cultivating? As he considered the plethora of negative actions that might stem from his question, Bischofite soon regretted even asking.
But surely Buddingtonite was the easiest to trust with such notions. He certainly couldn't bring it up with Benitoite - given the boy's previous experience with accidentally turning one of his officers, he wouldn't even consider the notion now. And that left who else?
No one.
If Buddingtonite wouldn't help him, what would happen then? He had no other choices.
Rather than standing down and dismissing the subject sullenly, Bischofite attempted to dispel any remaining doubts in the redhead's mind. "You heard me. I want you to reach inside my chest and corrupt me into a youma. I don't want to be human. I don't even care how long it takes or how much it hurts - just do it." To prove his point, he opened the top of his coat - though the sash would not allow it to fall fully open, it exposed more of the red wrapping beneath. What more invitation could he possibly want?
Bischofite desperately searched Buddy's eyes for answers - what rejection awaited him? One of utter disdain and disgust, or one of disappointment and misguided sympathy? He couldn't decide which was worse. And on top of that, if Buddingtonite went through with it, what would happen to him? As a youma, would they be bonded?
If so, he could live with that.
"Please, Buddy!" His hopes were quickly fading - maybe he was damned to this.
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Posted: Mon Aug 19, 2013 6:13 pm
"Bischy..."
It wasn't often that Buddingtonite was left speechless, and he liked to think that he was the type to think on his toes, to have such sharp wit that he could always find a good comeback to any predicament. And yet, how did Bischofite manage to do it?
When he found his voice again, he was surprised with just how... angry he sounded, when that was only one emotion he felt, and not even his strongest. "You... you cannot be serious, Bischofite. Turn you into a... a youma? A youma? Why would you want that?"
He tried to hide his anger behind a farce-mocking jest, but he had a feeling it'd fail. Maybe this was a joke. Maybe this was a test. Either way, he couldn't believe Bischofite to be speaking the truth... who would want to be a youma?
When Bischofite pulled the top of his coat down and exposed that chest, he realized that he was being very, very serious, and Buddingtonite was quick to grab that coat with both hands. He didn't plunge his hand within that chest, though, but was merely working the buttons, and despite his attempt to recapture his calm, he knew that whatever control he had was slipping, despite himself. His immediate response was to talk... talking would hide his fears, his concerns, right? Even if he had no control of what came out of that pretty little mouth of his, it would at least distract his friend from his fear and prevent him from using it against him.
"Now, now, let's keep our clothes on... the only time we take off our clothes is in the bedroom, but in public, we have an image to keep up!" Buddingtonite said, his silky smooth voice a little lumpy and like taffy that's been pulled too long and too hard, it threatened to snap, but he'd be damned if he didn't fight it. "And that image is of two respectable, completely human Negaverse officers... that is what we are, Bischofite. And that's what we'll remain... do you understand?"
He knew his act would drop, and he feared what would happen if it did... but for the sake of his friend, he'd keep that mask strong. Keep himself tethered, for his good friend...
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Posted: Mon Aug 19, 2013 7:15 pm
Buddingtonite fussed about him as if he were a child, and his meandering speech gave a similar impression. He never admitted it, but he held the redhead in high esteem before - this curious regression did him no favors. Bischofite only sighed, allowing his hands to drop while his friend fiddled with his coat buttons. He couldn't make eye contact with his companion - not right now. Buddingtonite remained so focused on his empty speech and empty actions that eye contact proved an impossibility.
But Bischofite could change that, couldn't he? For the first time, he considered alteration of fate, however small, an option.
"Buddy," he asserted in his attempt to capture the redhead's attention. "Buddy. ... Buddingtonite!" Though his voice was stern, his touch was mild - he reached out toward his peer and secured the man's jaw between his index finger and thumb, manipulating Buddy to face him. "Look at me. Listen to me. You want to know why I sink zis, right? Zat's important, isn't it? So I'll tell you, as long as you let go of my coat and listen to me instead of yourself." He knew he placed his friend in a terribly precarious position - not only with the Negaverse, but with his own conscience and morals. He had to plead his case to the best of his ability. Otherwise, how could he possibly prove to himself he was fit for this undertaking?
"Haf' you ever looked at a youma before? Not just in zeir appearance, but zeir behaviors and personality. Youma are more streamlined zan us. Zey don't suffer wars over ideals, because it's not important. Zey exist eternally in ze Rift where zey're free of all ze stupid s**t we put ourselfs srough. Zey don't haf' to feel like s**t all ze time because zey don't haf' to feel. On top of zat, look at how many sings zey can circumvent.
"As a youma, I wouldn't haf' to take showers, cook dinner, sleep at night. None of zese sings apply to zem. Zere is no familial strife or inner turmoil over how ozzers see zem. Zere's no schooling, no expectations, no pipe dreams. It's all..." He motioned the opening of his hand, as if exposing dust to the air, for the faint breeze to carry away. "Over and done. Zey're truly a better version of ourselfs. Zey don't haf' to power up to jump as high as zey do, or exhibit zat kind of power. And despite having to listen to any respectable officer, zey will always outlif' said officer. Zat is ze life I would razzer haf', not zis muddled bullshit where I can't even make sense of myself.
"And what's wrong wis' zat? If we're meant to be so free, zen I should be able to make zis choice for myself. But I need your help wis' zat, because I don't know of any ozzer way to do it. And I understand ze ramifications. And I understand how my life will be wholly changed, now and forever. And I understand zat I would be your youma, to bend to your beck and call. So why are you so against it? What's wrong wis' what I want? Tell me." Finally he let his fingers slip from Buddingtonite's strong jaw, awaiting an answer beneath well-hidden turbulence.
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Posted: Thu Aug 22, 2013 9:46 am
It was a mistake to address Bischofite like this, but it wouldn't have been Buddingtonite had he not learned it the hard way. He had heard him trying to intervene, but it was too late to stop his own prattle. By the time he was willing to stop, his jaw was captured, and his words fell dead in his own throat, and the only noise he could get out was an incoherent 'yack' noise. It was a comical situation, but no one was laughing.
Once again, Bischofite had his full attention, and regardless of the grip, he kept his eyes firmly on him, even when part of him wanted to pull away. To flee this entire ordeal... pretend it wasn't happening. Yet it was, and he listened to his friend. As requested, he released Bischofite's coat and brought his hands back to his side, curling his fists and waiting for him to explain himself. His questions didn't make him feel any better about this situation, but he held his tongue and listened, waiting for the chance to be released, so that he could talk his friend out of this... strange desire.
He hung onto his words, not wanting to admit that the way that his friend went on made the offer sound so very tempting. It wasn't as though he wasn't bringing up some good points, but to want to travel down that path... he waited until he was finally released, and yet when he was, he was silent. He rubbed his jaw, not because he was in any real pain, but to buy himself some time to think about the predicament, and his friend's dilemma. He knew he couldn't delay him for long, not while he was in this mood, and only when he was certain that his voice wouldn't waver did he finally manage to chuckle. "You know, you're a real salesman, Bischy... if you were in Infiltration, I'd reckon you'd have people flocking to join our ranks."
Finally, when the last remnants of Bischofite's grip was gone from his chin, he looked to his friend, and any jest or lightness in his voice, as farce as it may have been, was gone. When he addressed his friend, he was very serious, and he chose his words with care. "But, be as it may, as promising as it might sound to you, you're making a huge mistake. You want to escape from the burdens that all of us have to deal with, and I get that. Trust me, why do you think I drink like I do, or romp around? Between my duties as a Negaverse officer and running my store, I need SOMETHING to escape to, and..." He cut himself short, pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose and giving a frustrated sigh. "Sorry, sorry, this isn't about me. It's hard, you know, to not turn this into my problem, but..."
He looked to Bischofite, lowering his hand and allowing him to see him in full, as he approached him, hoping that by bridging the distance between them that he could somehow get through to him better. Would it work, or would it put him at the end of another tirade? Would he force his hand? Buddingtonite wasn't sure, but it didn't stop him from trying to help him... because he needed help. "Bischofite, being a youma isn't as glorious as you think it'll be. I have seen youma, from the pathetic little ones to Bazzite, and I don't see any of what you see. I've killed one myself! Well... more like assisted, but I didn't see this creature that was free of burdens, or free from ideals or all those things you fear. I see monsters, pawns, tools, relics of the past. They're... they're nothing more than to act as our slaves and serve as a reminder as to why we can't let the Moon Queen rise again."
How he felt himself getting angry, and he wasn't quite sure what it was that got him this way. The thought of him talking ill about those poor, misshapen creatures, or the notion that Bischofite wanted to become them. Of course he knew he could be like Bazzite, be something close to human, but he wouldn't be human. He'd be a youma... his youma. He needed one- he was ordered to obtain one, but this wasn't what he had in mind.
"Even if you found some way to convince me, do you really think I have the power to... to do that? I've never even corrupted someone before, much less tried to promote them," Buddingtonite said, placing a hand to his own chest to emphasis his next point. His playful demeanor was gone, and now, his serious facade was fading, turning into fear and frustration, as he tried to reason with him. "I'm just a Captain, Bischofite. Benitoite was a general, one of the Negaverse's best, and because of what happened with Bazzite, his good name is tarnished. What do you think will happen to me if I tried? I have no cushion, no reputation to keep me safe... if I did this, and succeeded, then what do you think they'll do to me?!"
Once again, he knew he was being selfish. He was bringing all of this back to him, but he felt as though he made a good point. He was willing to do many things for his friends, for the Negaverse, but this? This was too much.
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Posted: Thu Aug 22, 2013 4:53 pm
"It's not just an escape..." He ventured softly, averting his gaze from the redhead. "If I only wanted to escape from being human, zen I would haf' vices just ze same as you. But zis is more zan zat." Buddingtonite likely understood where he was coming from - whether he accepted it was another story. "And it's your problem too, now. I chose you, and I brought you into zis."
But his friend addressed some murky issues that he himself grappled with, in his quest to become something better than he was. The redhead was right - when used by the Negaverse, youma are nothing more than pawns to the grand schemes of their leader, and all ranking officers therein. "You may see monsters when you look at zem, but everyone I'f meet sees a monster when zey look at me. It's no secret what I'f done, and I don't even feel bad about it - so how am I different? Simple: I haf' free will. But what good is free will when only ze means change, and ze ends remain ze same? It doesn't matter what I do - if someone was destined to die, zey would die wis' or wis'out my assistance. All I can do is alter ze mes'od by which zey die. My words mean nossing and my actions mean nossing - we are all just pawns in ze end. How is zat different from a youma's fate?"
Rather than stand and face his friend head on, Bischofite turned around and approached the edge of the precipice. The city appeared eerily quiet on a night like this. With one foot perched on the lip of the building, he crossed his arms atop that leg and leaned over in his survey of the cityscape. Perhaps he was the only one in turmoil that night - along with their volatile friendship, borne from a spark in gasoline. By his words, Buddingtonite was meant to be hurt tonight, regardless of their meeting. What else could've happened? Loss of a loved one, a girlfriend dumped him, his dog died?
Anything seemed more impacting than this, but...
"You're right - I should'f considered zis more carefully before I ambushed you wis' it, and for zat, I apologize." Bischofite straightened up, though he still refrained from making eye contact with his friend. "I know ze circumstances were different for him. I didn't know Benitoite before it happened, but ze aftermas' nearly broke him. I'm aware of all zat, so I know I'm asking a lot. In exchange, I'm willing to gif' a lot."
He lived with disdain for his existence for nineteen years - now that he learned he could change that, each moment pained him more than the last. Buddingtonite sounded adamant against the endeavor, which hurt in its own desperate way. Did he have to resign himself to this lukewarm fate? Would he be known as Alois Scholz, the ornery german bookkeeper, forever? The thought constricted his chest with painful force; he hardly breathed under such duress.
Finally he turned to regard his friend once again, though he made no move to close the distance between them. "You already know of one perk for carrying zis out - you'll haf' a youma. But as you said, we don't know if you're capable of making one out of me. So why don't I help you climb ze ranks? I'll do whatever you sink is necessary - I'll even drain energy for you, and you know how much I hate it. If it takes starseeds, I'll pull zem. If it takes dead senshi, I'll help you kill zem. If it takes persuading someone to our side, I'll do whatever you ask of me to make it happen. What else do you need, Buddy? A reputation like Benitoite's?"
But he could tell he wasn't making headway. It hurt far more than any damage he ever sustained, like cold shards of glass splintering down his spine and impaling his throat. Something burnt in his chest, incinerating all hope he had for this persuasion. How could he possibly expect his friend and peer to go through with this, knowing it may result in catastrophe for him?
He was beginning to panic. "Just sink about it, okay? I'd be more useful to ze Negaverse as a youma - I never follow ze rules anyway. And wouldn't people be safer? You'f probably heard about ze sings I'f done, and you'd haf' more power wis you too - and, we can even stage it so you'll probably receive congratulations for turning me into one, especially if I just attacked ozzer agents or civilians or anysing I could find..." He trailed off. This wasn't working.
Nothing was working.
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Posted: Mon Aug 26, 2013 5:22 pm
"Well, while I appreciate the sentiment of choosing me over countless other Negaverse officers, some of which would probably be more than happy to have their own personal youma at their beck-n-call, I'm... not sure you made the right choice," Buddingtonite said, remaining firm in his stance, despite the bone-chilling fear within him, and truthfully he was surprised he could even manage to stop himself from quaking. He wasn't quite sure what frightened him, but he did his best to contain it, not wanting his friend to see it and think him weak. Though, he was already weak, wasn't he? Had he been stronger, maybe he could have prevented this entire scenario from the get go? Still, he continued to feed the illusion that he was brave, brave enough to stand up to his friend and the decision he was making. "I've taken energy. I've taken starseeds. But I've never corrupted someone, nor have I tried to promote someone, and the fact that you want me to try my first on you... I can see where I should be honored, but..."
He shook his head, veering away from the subject for now and allowing Bischofite to continue, steeling himself for either his harsh words or even his physical retaliation for when he refused him again. Yes, he would refuse him, and continue to do so, because no one wanted to be a youma. No one! He simply refused to believe someone would want such a thing...
"You're not a monster, Bischofite... a little nutty, but who isn't in this city?" Buddingtonite rose his hands, motioning to the city around them and any means of controlling the volume of his voice was shot now. He was angry, but not really with Bischofite. That would be like getting angry at someone in a manic-depressant state when they really couldn't help it, right? He then pointed to himself, trying his best to keep a firm grip on his emotions and trying so hard not to want to either flee from this situation as he had a desire to do, or simply cry. No, he wouldn't cry. He simply refused! "Look at me? I feed lies to teenagers in sailor suits, lie to the public and use my own shop to siphon energy from innocents. Hell, I've taken energy from my own family when they cam to visit... what kind of a man does -that- to his own flesh and blood? Granted they deserve it, but that's besides the point. If that doesn't make me a monster, then you're no monster either."
He wasn't sure if Bischofite's apology was sincere or if he was simply saying it to shut him up, but Buddingtonite did notice how he was avoiding eye contact. That made him even angrier, and he gave a growl, moving closer to him even when Bischofite seemed pleased to keep the distance between them intact. He grabbed at the fur on Bischofite's shoulders and dug his fingers in deep, grabbing not only the clothing but the man beneath it, and without warning he tried to pull the man close, trying to force that gaze up and let him see just how serious he was. And to anyone that knew Buddingtonite, or even Richard, they knew that he was seldom, if ever, serious. "Bischofite, listen to me. I am your companion. I am your friend... but I'm not your master. I never will be your master, no matter how hard I'd like to think that was possible... I know my limits. Sometimes. But that's not the point."
He tightened his grip when he feared he was losing it, and now, desperation mingled with his angered words. "I will admit, I... don't know about a lot of the things you've done. I've done some pretty terrible things too... that goes beyond just lying and taking advantage of others. I've taken a life... I've taken many lives at the Carnival. And honestly, I... don't regret it."
He wasn't lying. He didn't regret it. He only regret allowing that Senshi to injure him and free himself, and that Hafwen was hurt in the middle of the chaos. It physically hurt him to even think about her, so he forced her out of his mind, to focus on the bigger issue. He had to held Bischofite, even if it was the only good thing he did now. "But that doesn't matter. You're not a monster, and I will not make you one. I can't... even if I physically could, I couldn't. I can't allow you to lose your humanity, even if that's what you think you want. Tell me to do anything else for you and I'll do it with unimaginable glee... anything but this. Please..."
He half wondered if powering down and allowing him to see his identity would help, but then, it would leave him powerless. Defenseless. Against a man he knew capable of killing, and willing to strike against his own officer. But if it would help... He never had to talk a friend down like this and he felt extremely uncomfortable, but he couldn't walk away from this. "Just... step away from that ledge. You're not going to make me have to beg, are you? Because I will, and I warn you... I really suck at it."
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Posted: Tue Aug 27, 2013 1:07 pm
For once in a rare moment, Bischofite's gaze faltered and a shadow of his saturnine countenance escaped him. It only lasted but a second, as his companion and peer spiraled outside of his own restraints. Was he finally coming to grasp the gravity of his situation? Buddingtonite was not a stupid man - given his propensity for manipulation, he had to comprehend what he involved himself in before initiating his schemes. And given the way he now conducted himself, voice quaking and cracking with rage and ceaseless vigor, Bischofite would be a fool to assume he wasn't beginning to understand the breadth of his tribulations. Buddingtonite knew, and he couldn't tolerate it himself.
When the redhead seized him by the shoulders, Bischofite drew in a breath and sought the man's bright red gaze. Alight with anger, yes, but something else hid within the roiling animosity. He couldn't discern it from this distance - now immersed in the moment, he couldn't see much of anything outside of his friend's unrelenting passion.
"Buddingtonite..." He spoke calmly, a perfect antithesis to his peer's vocal catastrophe. "I know you can't be my master. I still haf' free will. I still make my own decisions, and I still haf' ze inclination to defy anyone else's. But..." He glanced toward Buddingtonite's arms, still poised against his shoulders. "Look at you. Look at us. How can you tell me zat you can't be my master, and zen you try to confine me wis' in your grasp? Look, Buddy, really look at your actions. You're already trying for it. I didn't need to be a youma for zat."
And he wanted to relent, he wanted so painfully to relinquish these sturdy ideals, these abstract concepts toward absolution and perfection and actualization, but even under his friend's normally persuasive nature, he resigned himself to the black, sticky hold of his pensive poisons.
With it came a realization - Bischofite, even Alois, tarnished everything in his path. His fate was to spread blood and death like wedding flowers, to taint the ground he walked on and corrupt the lives of everything within the meager touch of his fingertips. And it started with Buddy - should he continue this self-destructive tirade, Buddy would suffer for his abstract ideals. The Negaverse would mete out its punishment for the redhead's actions, and the man would cease to exist as a functioning individual. For if he couldn't stand beneath the weight of this situation, how could he possibly suffer the unfettered fury of his superiors? He had such livelihood before, and now Bischofite was crushing it out of him without even trying.
Sometimes ideals only paved the way for tragedy to compound into misery.
Rather than expound on his machinations as a Negaverse officer, Bischofite remained silent. Buddy didn't need to burden himself with tales of horrific deaths and violent schemes. From the sound of it, he already grappled with a perplexing situation - he didn't regret killing, and he seemed unnerved by that fact.
With a sigh, Bischofite rested his hands atop his friend's painful grip. His shoulders might've protested the crushing pain, but that sense of discomfort stymied his coil of misery. That was enough for him - for now. "Buddy, one must haf' humanity to lose it. I know you won't do it - I won't push you for it anymore." But he wouldn't promise to stop seeking an answer to his yearnings. Even if Buddy forced a promise out of him, he wouldn't keep it. It wasn't in his nature to cling to empty words and outmoded practices like virtue and honor.
If only he could smoke - perhaps it might burn away the constrictions over his throat. It hurt to let go of his selection, but breaking the man meant to be his owner only damned himself to a darker life - one permanently lodged in the Rift. And Buddingtonite would hate him for it, wouldn't he? Forced into a punishment he didn't deserve, burdened with a youma he didn't want?
So he would relent. And he would have to mourn his failed attempts, but in those muddied ashes were more conniving means to seek his final absolution.
Finally he peeled his friend's hands away from his shoulders. "You won't make me into a monster. You won't kill me, eizer. So ze only sing I haf' left to ask of you is to help me forget.
"If zese sings consume my soughts zen I may as well be dead. I can't enjoy ze life I once had, and I can't go back to ze way sings were, not anymore. I cant forget all zis. So if you actually want to do somesing for me, and not just for ze Negaverse, but for me... Zen help me forget." His tone faded to little more than a whisper, words meant only for a single individual, the one lingering just a staccato breath away.
And he pressed past his companion, if only to conceal the flickering heat that scathed his skin - that peeled down the red paint across his cheek and sizzled in a pinprick on the gritty roof.
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Posted: Thu Aug 29, 2013 4:11 pm
"This... is not the same thing and you know it," Buddingtonite was quick to say, his grip faltering for a second before he tightened it again. "This isn't me trying to dominate you... this is my trying to reach you, as an equal and as a friend. I could never be your master, Bischofite... even if I wanted to."
At one point, he had tried, but even that was a fever dream, an illusion that he wanted to believe once upon a time, but had known deep down inside that he could never think of accomplishing. He had known his limits, especially in comparison to others. After as Negaverse officers went, he was considerable weaker than others, and admittedly so. He was a coward. A braggart that relied on his good looks and sharp wit to save him from a predicament, and even then it sometimes only served to get him in trouble. He was a schemer, a manipulator, not a fighter (though he'd be damned if he didn't at least try). Fighting was to be done by officers like Mica, Serpentine, Bischofite... he was simply there for good PR work and to save his own skin, but today, he was trying to save someone else's skin. Bischofite's.
Shamefully, he was admittedly afraid when Bischofite brought a hand over his own, but besides the initial flinch, he remained firm in his stance. If he wanted to, Bischofite could end his life, but he was banking on his friend not having the will or desire to do so, even if it was a fruitless endeavor. He listened to his words and gave a strangled sigh, unrelenting even when his basic instincts told him to flee this unwinnable fight. "Don't give me that, Bischofite, you're as human as I am. If I cut you, you'll bleed red, just like me. And you'll continue to bleed red... so long as I can help it."
He was relieved on some level to hear that he would stop asking him, but Buddingtonite was not so desperate that he didn't suspect him of seeking it elsewhere. He should have just accepted this and allowed Bischofite to do as he pleased, and yet what kind of friend would he be if he didn't push him? "Who else are you going to ask? How long are you going to keep at this? What would I have to do to get that idea out of your head? I'm willing to humor the notion... besides my death, that is."
That last part was done with a laugh, but there was no mirth or humor in it. His friend's next request offered him some hope, and he racked his brain for some kind of solution. He wanted to forget, but that was something that Buddingtonite had not mastered himself... but perhaps it wasn't a problem for Buddingtonite to solve. This seemed more like a problem for Richard Moreau, and in response to his friend's soft plea, he cleared his throat, hoping to get his attention before he snapped his fingers. The motion was completely unnecessary, as he could have easily have transformed back into his normal civilian attire with a mere thought, but somehow, it was a subconscious tick, something that made him feel better. Made him feel in control, to let him know that he could turn Buddingtonite off, just as easily as he could turn him on.
Standing where Captain Buddingtonite once stood was Richard Moreau, confectioner and sleazy playboy, and he flashed Biscofite a kind, but pleading smile. "There's one way I know of to help a man forget his problems... if you think you can survive a few rounds?"
It wasn't a permanent solution, and he was taking a huge risk, but... what was Richard Moreau if not a thrill seeker? Life was a risky gamble, and for Bischofite, his friend and companion, it was worth it.
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Posted: Thu Aug 29, 2013 11:55 pm
"It's not your business who I decide to ask. If I am fated to become a youma, zen I will become one. It doesn't matter who I ask or how hard I try. My actions... are pointless." The thought of soliciting someone lesser known to him provoked a sense of apprehension - he knew he'd be received worse than this, and likely threatened with heinous punishment or death for even considering the idea. "But I will rest ze matter when I am dead or crawling around on six legs. In ze mean time, good luck convincing me to stop, if zat's what you really intend - I half suspect you're in it to win somesing, like praise or pointless prizes." He sighed.
"You said it yourself - you're a liar, a conniver. A petty little schemer." And I love you all the more for it.
At the sound of Buddingtonite calling attention to himself, Bischofite half-turned to regard the captain. However, the one that met his gaze wasn't the redheaded peer he spoke with earlier, but Richard Moreau, a man he met what seemed like eons ago. Bischofite couldn't help but laugh, a raspy, rattling, coughing sound more akin to the mirth of the dead than any real enjoyment. But he couldn't stop himself - even out of breath, he simply doubled over and continued. Maybe his deficit finally reached the critical point. Maybe this simple straw of irony let loose the dam and now he - as well as Richard - had to suffer through it.
When Bischofite finally recovered, he straightened up and heaved a breathless sigh. "I don't know why I was laughing - zat wasn't even funny." Richard Moreau... The man with the Irish Wolfhound. The man with the Sugar Shanty. The man with the disarming smile and sinister gleam in his eyes whenever he sets his sights on someone even remotely desirable. The man who would rend the world, one pair of legs at a time.
Yes, to relate Richard and Buddingtonite made complete sense, given how the two behaved. Interesting how that glimmer hid something so painfully obvious from him - the impeccable hair alight like fire, the vivid red eyes to match, the charming smile, too smooth and too practiced. With it, that deep voice just different enough to set himself apart.
In relinquishing his powered identity, Richard clarified a single point, and Bischofite sought to prove that point in kind. He wanted Richard to understand what he was doing, and the risks inherent in them. So Bischofite approached, slowly and deliberately, pausing only when the distance between them shrank to a minimum. He watched the candyman with his unrelenting golden gaze, always studying every crease and dip and corner of his visage, while remaining enigmatic in his own affect. Richard didn't need to know what he was thinking right now. That wasn't the point.
As the teeth at the throat of a challenger, Bischofite had to lay the final claim to this battle - to spell to Buddy so wholly and absolutely that he won this night, and Richard needed to accept that fact or forsake his life.
Perhaps not in the most literal sense, but the consequences didn't matter... yet.
"Do you really trust me, Richard?" He asked evenly. Without taking his eyes off those brilliant red eyes, the captain usurped the exposed flesh of his throat. The grip was firm, but not imposing. Not choking. Not yet, anyway. "You'f chosen to trust me wis' your identity, and you don't even know what I'm capable of. I'f hanged people from buildings, burnt zem alif'e using live wire, and beat someone nearly to deas' as part of a curious little game. But you still trust me wis' your life - your dog, your business, your reputation. A bold idea. A gamble, to be certain." He relinquished his grasp, but not without an iniquitous smile.
"Tell me where we should go, zen. I don't sink it'll matter much, as long as it's private." He couldn't stand to be around people right now, not like this. Even though Buddingtonite managed to dispel some of the misery, he still lacked the capacity to deal with caustic strangers. "Just gif' me your hand when you decide."
And the world was full of caustic strangers.
"And Richard... If you win, I'll give you somesing nice."
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