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 Posted: Tue Nov 26, 2013 8:47 pm
Sometimes the algid winter air chased away the dullness that pervaded him after the analgesics let him down gently. It felt good, sometimes, to chase away bad habits into the cold, and forego new ones to taste a little misery. He always knew he liked suffering. And sometimes that suffering granted wondrous changes in those who survived, though they likely didn't last. He knew this, and it already reduced him to his jaded, nearly unresponsive state.
But sometimes slowly freezing his lungs chilled that constant sense of dejectedness, and he could move numbly through the night. And on this particular night, he ventured to a place he considered the hallmark of the strange and vicious traps he enacted for their enemy. It led him to wonder what became of Persephone, of Remarque, and most importantly, of Medea. Did she still chase after Buddingtonite now, or did she resign herself to never powering up again? Or did she merely wake up the morning after as if all were a nightmare, easily dispelled? Perhaps worse, what if she found it a rallying point for the cause of the White Moon? Such machinations would prove his undoing.
Bischofite didn't act on such impulses anymore, largely due to Serpentine. Since the man ruled over him with an iron fist, the general-turned-lieutenant resigned himself to the bare minimum of his duties - and past that, further neglect ensued. often times he elected to remain in bed all day, to smoke in his room despite his roommate's protests, and to sleep with said cancer sticks still lit in his hand.
Danger didn't mean much anymore, because neither did he.
But tonight marked a minor change. He hadn't yet forced himself through the dull task of draining various civilians to match Serpentine's steep quota. Instead he lingered beneath a thick oak tree, one which displayed a gaping gash across its trunk where he marked it for its gallows duty long ago. And beneath that tree he lit a cigarette - perhaps a hallmark addiction now, given his propensity to burn himself from the inside lately - and continued indulging in vices he'd been cautioned against. It didn't matter, anyway; since the once-general hadn't attacked anyone, hadn't enacted any strange devices, hadn't threatened any senshi or allies, what difference did it make if he sat beneath a single goddamn tree?
And as if to mock him, fate responded in kind by peeling away his thoughts with the sudden presence of a super senshi - one who approached him, given the growth of the disturbance. He sneered toward the shadows, toward trees that stared back at him with their gaping sometimes-mouths, and he ground his teeth to silence the seething itch just beneath his skull.
But nothing helped, because nothing would dissuade the senshi.
He didn't bother preparing himself. Instead, Bischofite remained seated against the tree, a single cigarette framed between two bony fingers.
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Posted: Tue Nov 26, 2013 9:16 pm
Persephone spent many evenings wandering without purpose, though she discovered that every time she got near the forest, she wandered unthinkingly to the same grove where she'd helped a General mark gallows trees, and where she'd essentially talked her way out of committing a murder.
She often wondered what her actions had led to - how many had swung from the trees she'd sank that borrowed chakram into. And of course, she though on how utterly, blindingly hypocritical it had been of her to draw the line at direct murder when she'd done it indirectly anyway. She wanted to pretend that she could wash her hands of whatever Bischofite had done, but she couldn't, even if she didn't know what it was.
She found herself walking that way without thinking again, and the aura of a Lieutenant was not enough to dissuade her. At least Lieutenants weren't corrupt Senshi, who could pull out strange attacks that stole the very air out of her lungs and left her desperate and choking. Lieutenants weren't a threat. She could talk her way out of that, perhaps imply she had magic stronger than she did.
She walked to the middle of the clearing, and then she stopped, and her eyes narrowed as she regarded the Lieutenant in front of her. Yes, that was the same dark hair, the warpaint, generally the same uniform (she could see how this would one day become what she was more familiar with) but...
No, it was impossible.
"Bischofite?" Shock and incredulity filled her voice. This was not what she thought of when she thought of him. She thought of a strong, imposing General, someone to fear but also to admire because like all those of Chaos he wore power as easily as he wore his raven cloak... "What happened to you?"
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Posted: Tue Nov 26, 2013 9:47 pm
Maybe he should get used to this.
Enough of the senshi world knew him for his crimes against the populace. And enough of them would recognize him for the admittedly strange and striking visage he wore under the title of general, but for them to see him as a lieutenant now - a regression in every form - would elicit shock from each of those acquainted individuals. And he hated it, for the same reasons he hated catering to Serpentine's will - the fact that it would ultimately mean nothing.
And the senshi that expressed such incredulity that night, under the waning moon and the guise of near-concern, was one who helped him in months prior. One who managed a modicum of surprise when she denied the binary choices offered to her toward the end of their meeting. And he found it bizarre, almost impossible, that he felt so taken aback by the fact that she looked exactly the same. Was he expecting her to morph overnight into some unusual, half-white half-black goddess type to exist beyond both factions? A single broken rule, however inferred, would not amount to such change.
But that did not quell his surprise.
When he found it within himself to gather his stoic visage together, to display it by simply avoiding her gaze altogether and settle on the hideous grin sported by the adjacent ash tree, he answered by means of a song. "'Cause it just does not seem right, feel right - can't be right." After taking a drag, he regarded her dully and exhaled a smoky sigh. "We'f endured ze presence of murderous Doppelgängers, and you balk at my appearance as a lieutenant?" However difficult it was to maintain his normally caustic wit, he kept it to himself.
Persephone didn't need to see much more than she already witnessed. She needn't know of his transgressions, or the outcome of that fateful night long ago. She didn't require knowledge of Medea by proxy, or the tumultuous ties between her, Buddingtonite, and Bischofite - or of the series of events that led to his utterly demoralizing demotion. But he wasn't entirely sure why he would deny her such knowledge - to protect the one who smiled so broadly when his rank was stricken from his body?
Finally he stood, if only to inwardly confirm that he still held height over her, if anything at all - he couldn't quite separate reality from fantasy these days - and regarded her with tepid malcontent. "Are you not going to attack me, rebuke me, do somesing to proof' yourself to your peers in ze White Moon Court? Or do you prefer to stare?" Why not strike him down while she held the power to do so? As a general, she couldn't hope to match him, but now...
Was it pity or something else? Maybe she intended to flaunt the side of truth and justice as a means to reform his iniquitous ways.
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Posted: Tue Nov 26, 2013 10:07 pm
Persephone tilted her head to the side, examining him carefully and silently. Yes, this was him - the familiar voice and accent confirmed it, her eyes weren't lying to her. She took a few steps forward, and reached up to nervously run her fingers through her hair.
"I've never seen you as a Lieutenant before," she pointed out, and it was totally irrational - of course he had been one once, just as every Eternal had once been a first-stage Senshi - but it had been easy to imagine that he hadn't been, that he had come into the Negaverse fully formed and terrifying as all hell. "I didn't even know that could happen," she said, and there was no hint of mockery in her tone, just confusion, "what do you even have to do for them to boot you down two ranks?"
It was almost a relief when he stood - he was still so much taller than her, at least that aspect of his intimidation remained.
"Why the hell would I? Lieutenant or not, you have a foot of height on me and...I don't even want to. I didn't want to when you were actually threatening me, why would I now?" She stepped closer, very seriously considering reaching out to touch him to confirm that this wasn't some weird hallucination.
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Posted: Tue Nov 26, 2013 10:29 pm
Strangely, she still looked nervous. Flighty. Ephemeral. But why? She obviously retained more power than him currently. She wielded a lot of strengths that he did not have - a meekness that lured others into a false sense of security, a beauty that enthralled those weak to physical appearances, and a fiery temper to coat her words in venom when her sweet deception failed to produce adequate results. Her powers outside her sphere held some merit, perhaps more than what was afforded to her by pomegranates alone.
And she looked as though she didn't belong in these woods. She didn't belong among ghosts and husks and severed lifelines. Why linger here now? Why return to a place where she debased herself as a senshi?
"Why are you here?" He did not seek to answer her. Bischofite hadn't yet cultivated the lie that would adequately explain his presence as a lieutenant. "Why come back here, knowing zat you helped to kill seventeen people? Or were you looking for a number in ze trees? Did you want to know how much damage you caused, or were you looking for somesing else?" Was she looking for Medea here? Or did she return as a means to pay homage to those who died? Perhaps, stranger still, she returned to stop any stray Negaverser that might hope to reenact an echo of his sinister deeds?
Maybe she just liked to bask in the realms of death. And he'd created one for her - a nest, so to speak. A nest among the trees, where she might rest her laurels and reflect on the half-world she belonged to for a time. An echo of her myth, she revisited a dead realm, however small. And she found him there, the harbinger of it all, only a whisper of the man he once was. But... he found it hard to believe he amounted to anything at all, even before his demotion. They would've died anyway. They would've died a different way. Remarque would've bruised his knuckles regardless. Persephone would've traipsed away from the woods without his incentive.
In the small span of their conversation, he finally wore the seemingly permanent exhaustion that cursed him like a pall. After taking another drag, he gestured toward her with his cigarette hand. When he spoke, thin plumes of smoke accentuated his words - but they were indistinguishable from the steam present on a freezing night. "What I did was inconsequential. It doesn't affect you. Ze Negaverse punishes its own, unlike your court, which allows treasonous individuals to run rampant. But zat would be to say what I did was wrong."
It was just so hard to act sure of himself. Draining. Even the lulling ebb of morphine failed to match the absolutely draining tribulation that was forcing a facsimile of his former self.
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Posted: Tue Nov 26, 2013 11:00 pm
Persephone was wary. She couldn't help but wonder if this was somehow a trap, a trick - certainly Bischofite was a Lieutenant, and there was no way to deny that, but for all she knew there were others near, perhaps in civilian guise, waiting for her to drop her guard - and that was paranoid as anything, but a Corrupt had nearly killed her. Paranoia was appropriate as far as she was concerned.
"Because I keep coming back." She said, simply. "I come here because I failed here. Seventeen people, did you say?" She sighed. "Seventeen murders on my hands, then, as much as on yours. I could've spent my entire life not knowing that." She was halfway to Chaos already, wasn't she? Even if she'd fought him in the end, she had submitted first, done as she always did and rolled over and let him step on her as she let everyone. This time, though, it wasn't just a trip she didn't want to take or a social function she didn't want to attend or a movie she didn't care to see - it was seventeen bodies swinging in the trees.
She was a murderer already. How wonderful. All it took to complete the transformation now was a hand in her chest and pain like nothing she'd ever known, because clearly she belonged in black anyway.
"Do you think what you did was wrong? I can't imagine they punished you for what happened here, unless one of those seventeen was an officer," which seemed so very, very unlikely. Then, she frowned. "Are you alright?" She might not be the most socially cognizant person on Earth, but she could tell when someone was distressed, upset. She wondered, briefly, if the silly trinket she'd brought from her homeworld could calm Bischofite's roiling mind - though that curious thought caught up with her and she realized that it was ridiculous to want to use the thing on him.
She wanted to, though. Enemy or friend, she hated seeing people suffer.
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Posted: Tue Nov 26, 2013 11:18 pm
"It wasn't." He shot her a sharp glance, as sharp as half-glazed eyes could manage, but the intent was almost palpable. He wanted her to cringe for her question, for the very folly of questioning his very opinion over his actions. Surely he didn't take much stock in himself, but he wasn't one to consider his actions altogether wrong. Different, yes, but in this world? Wrong was a delusion, as grand as any. "You're right - zey didn't punish me for what I did here. But... I may as well haf' done nossing at all here, for what I planned had no impact." He hadn't seen the senshi as of yet, bu that aching suspicion that burrowed into his chest hastened his conclusion over it.
Seventeen murders and they would manifest not a single scratch on the girl's resolve. One day she would win Buddy's heart, coax him over to the side that was good and light and full of scoffing naysayers and those far too brainwashed to think for themselves, and Bischofite would resign himself to that fact he should've learned long ago: he was meant to be alone.
Just as those seventeen were meant to die that night.
Smoke peeling down his throat and burning his lungs with poisonous intent did little to calm his nerves, as it had so long ago. Maybe he missed the days when his largest worry was avoiding unnecessary human interaction, rather than constantly looking over his shoulder for sworn enemies touting strange magics. Maybe he hated it now. Maybe he wanted to shirk that responsibility for the remainder of his foreseeable life, to retreat into mainlining a dullness that might finally silence his churning mind.
But that would be too easy. Serpentine would thwart every measure of his intended reprieve, and behind him would stand Buddingtonite, if only to salt old wounds. The two could rejoice in it, with the entirety of the Negaverse condoning the act. Maybe the faction he worked for understood his uselessness. Absently he brushed the butt of the cigarette against his lip and almost scoffed as he considered a different option to escape his seemingly ceaseless toiling - he could defect to their side, as Ida said, and wash away the festering corruption that might've caused this deepening misery.
"I'm fine," he responded in measured tones, even as he fought to decide if he would rather put his cigarette out on her chest or on his metatarsals. Both sounded incredibly appealing. However, he struggled to maintain his lie through manifesting hand gestures and stance changes that were a stilted facsimile of his typical demeanor. It was hard to fake the inspiration that once struck him so easily - the very inspiration that she helped cultivate at an earlier time.
Or he could shake suspicion by turning the tables.
"Are you alright, Persephone?" He ventured, leaning forward to scrutinize her tentative expression. Almost trepidatious. Almost. "You're ze one that killed seventeen people here, even if you weren't ze one to pull ze tripwire. You're ze one who keeps returning to zis place, as if you're waiting to die here. You're ze one who agreed to mark zese trees for a public hanging."
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Posted: Tue Nov 26, 2013 11:35 pm
Persephone raised her eyebrows. Of course he responded sharply, defensively - it was unfair of her to question his punishment. She had anyway. Of course, at this point continuing to press was probably suicide, because weapons and teleportation or no even Lieutenants could rip starseeds and how many clearly upsetting questions would it take before he went for hers? She had no desire to die tonight.
"Well that's shitty. You murdered seventeen people for nothing?" There was a slight hint of sharpness to her voice. He'd brought her in on his damned scheme - and what an awful waste of life, anyway.
The cigarette smoke was beginning to become choking, frustrating - and far too familiar, because her mother, her biological mother who occasionally reached out and asked for a few hours with her and her brother, chain-smoked and so any afternoon with her was guaranteed to be a mess of hacking and coughing. She very seriously considered asking him to put it out, but arguing over bad memories she wouldn't divulge anyway, not to him (or to anyone, she hated talking about the woman who'd dumped her and her twin and run off and then tried to insert herself back into their lives as if nothing had happened) was pointless and frustrating.
"You're not," she said, and she patted a hand almost thoughtlessly against the pouch at her side - not native to her powered form, something she'd sewn herself and attached to her sash when she powered up so that she could keep that stupid flower with her. It was silly and sentimental, but she liked the thing. "And neither am I, I'm not going to pretend." She laughed dryly. "Not when every two weeks like clockwork I'm running off to a dead planet to chase memories of a civilization that's been dead for a thousand years, or when five nights ago I almost choked to death thanks to one of your Negaverse senshi. Hell, being this honest with you is probably a sign that I'm not okay."
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Posted: Tue Nov 26, 2013 11:50 pm
"I didn't murder zem. Someone else did." Though, his tangential retort did nothing to detract from the flinch of being rebuked so easily - by someone who was only peripherally involved. She marked trees, and he designed the deed, but she was the one to harp on his failures. An echo of his own caustic thoughts, it seemed. He ground his teeth and held his cigarette a little too tightly; the filter crumpled with his wavering resolve. But he had nothing to say in response - instead he wet his lips and shifted his gaze elsewhere. Funny how smoking always dried him out.
No reason to deny her now. "You're right - I'm not. But I haf' my own way of dealing wis' zat. Suffering is important. Wis'out it, we don't change. And I would die before I am stagnant." But that was a lie, wasn't it? Stagnant now, more than he'd ever been, even when he coasted through life as he adjusted to the new and strange surroundings of Destiny City. Almost instantly he recognized that he didn't belong there, that he was a transplant destined to wither and die in soil too basic for his roots. This only prompted him to clench his jaw, as a means to cease grinding his teeth, but both proved pointless in silencing the dull ache in his chest.
That residual reminder that he'd failed. Failed the Negaverse, failed himself, failed Buddy. What a ridiculous coil. What a pointless prospect.
With one last drag, he smoked his cigarette to the filter, and discarded it haphazardly into the grass. It lay smoldering, but nothing came of it. Perhaps it was the perfect foil to his life right now. How depressing. "Tell me what it's like on a dead planet." He approached her, but he eyed her uniform rather than her face. "Let's pretend zis one isn't dead enough. Tell me about your long lost civilization." And slowly he encircled her, examined her with the scrutiny instilled in him via his culture, the very one he resented as easily as his origins.
Plucking at a sleeve, he coiled its soft material around his index finger before forsaking his grip entirely. It fell into place as if he hadn't touched it at all. Fitting. "Does it haf' anysing to do wis' ze fame behind your name? Or is ze place very different? Do you go zere because you're looking for a fitting place to die?" In another time, he would've offered to help - but instead he found himself projecting his personal endeavors onto her. The Rift, the woods, his bedroom... What did it matter?
"Tell me, and I'll tell you why I was stripped of all rank and privilege."
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Posted: Wed Nov 27, 2013 12:08 am
Perspehone just shook her head, a silent denial - whoever he had tricked to setting it off, it had been his trap, and to pretend otherwise was silly. Blood was spread around, certainly - on her hands, on this third party's, but also on his. Her hand shifted to rest properly on her hip, a stance with more power and borderline defiance than she usually carried herself with.
His admission was a surprise, but his request even more of one. Did he really wish to know about her past life, about the civilization that had been destroyed a thousand years ago in the first war between Chaos and Order? Her eyes narrowed for a moment, and then she exhaled. It wasn't as if knowing would somehow put him in a position to harm her, would it? These were people long-dead, a planet long emptied.
"It's not some creepy charnel house or graveyard, if that's what you're thinking," she began, "though the architecture does speak ancient Greek to me. I think the version of myself I'm seeing is too young to have inspired the goddess that shares my name - I'm seeing back a thousand years, and of course the myth of Persephone is far older than that. Three, four incarnations past, perhaps...but the planet Persephone of...oh, let's say circa 1000 AD was agricultural, primarily." Speaking of her planet warmed her, in a way she didn't expect. She was proud of that place.
"Their religion, as best as I can tell, revolved around the turn of the seasons and nature worship. The Senshi was a central religious figure, a high priestess of sorts, and she presided over a number of rites, which are far less stuffy than that word implies. Festivals might be better; I've had glimpses of a few, marking the turn of the seasons." She opened up her pouch, withdrawing the crystal blossom and holding it gently in her hands. "The last time I was there, I found this in what I think was the main temple. It has some sort of magical property, or it did back then - I saw my past self use it in an assisted suicide ritual, of all things. An old man, dying slowly and in pain - she eased him into his next life. I'm running on half-memories and theories here, of course, but I believe the ancient people of Persephone saw a cycle in all things - life was to be live,d and death embraced when it came." She stopped. This was the most she'd ever spoken of the place, of what she'd seen there.
"I could take you, sometime, if you'd like - though you wouldn't see what I do, I don't think."
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Posted: Wed Nov 27, 2013 12:29 am
Bischofite listened, though there was nothing for the Negaverse in what she cited. She spoke of a long abandoned culture and its accompanying temples, gardens, festivals. She hadn't spoken of its demise or how she managed to obtain her power - the source of it may as well have been the planet itself at this rate, or the long-dead apparition she claimed to have visions from. She was still a slight senshi, meek and squeamish toward violence and unwilling to assert herself over him, as if he might spring into his general form at any second.
"It sounds like ze civilization from whence you came understood more about ze nature of ze universe zan your court does. Sink about it - all of you try to protect everyone, to save all ze pointless civilians who repeat the same damned schedule and tread water until zey happen into some lukewarm complacency zat suits zeir uninspiring lives. But at least your little world knew zat everysing dies." Did he smoke too much too soon? His throat burned.
"So zat sing, your predecessor used it to kill people?" Wouldn't that be useful about now? He could easily convince her to use it, as a last <******** you to Serpentine and his pompous attitude. "It doesn't look like much." However, he'd long since learned that looks are perhaps the most deceptive aspect of the White Moon Court - even those sporting a fuku akin to a hooker's still packed a respectable punch. Perhaps the death-flower she held might actually murder half of Destiny City, if he managed to retain its full power.
Or maybe what she saw was some hallucinogenic-fueled daydream, and she plucked the damned thing off a dead body for safe keeping.
"He sighed, slightly dejected due to shooting down his own thoughts. "I'd likely see ze charnel house you sink it isn't." A thousand years easily crippled manmade buildings, so why would it be any different on some faraway planet named after a dead god? Maybe it'd be a useful venture, or even just another trap. Maybe she'd drop him off on her forsaken planet and leave him to starve to death. It'd be easy enough, if he trusted her.
But he had other plans. "I want to show you somesing," he asserted, and without waiting for a response, he seized the front of her bodice and half-dragged her deeper into the woods. Bischofite led her toward a clearing, one that featured mild grasses and a smattering of flowers long retired from blooming during the day. Leaves bent lazily toward the star-filled sky, and the clearing appeared serene despite its harrowing past. Only a single tripwire remained, somewhere near the center of the grasses, apparently forgotten by one of the previous investigators. He walked past it, crushing it underfoot, as he approached a tree on the far side of the clearing.
And that very tree still wore a plethora of thin scars in its bark like war medals, standing defiantly against the dim shadows. The once-general brushed his fingertips against some of the deeper cuts while he rounded the entirety of the tree. By the time he reached the other side, he began his interpretation of the story, and it wasn't a fabrication. "I was demoted for trying too hard, essentially. I wanted to affect someone in a way zat might change his life. Zat was my goal, and I did so in ze only manner I found was effectif' - srough pain and misery. I sought zat, by forcing him under constant duress..." He paused, and drew a breath. His throat tightened. He hated thinking about it.
"I sought zat if he could just digest ze pain, let it wash over him, it might change him enough to spur some kind of action out of it." But he wasn't very good at what he tried so desperately to inspire. "However, zat didn't quite go as planned, and instead zey sought my downfall srough demotion. Obviously my superiors preferred zeir version of events over mine, or I wouldn't be so... weak."
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Posted: Wed Nov 27, 2013 12:57 am
Persephone shrugged. "They probably did. I mean, we're all reincarnated warriors from the past - Senshi, Knights, officers, all of us." For a moment, she shifted her grip so she held the flower one-handed, and her other hand went to her chest, above where her starseed was. It sat there for only a moment before she tossed the flower to her other hand, and then tucked it back in its pouch.
"She didn't exactly kill with it, no - it gave off some kind of mist that calmed him down, and I think took away his pain. The actual killing took a knife," she drew a thumb across her throat, a clear demonstration. "Quick and painless, rather than long and drawn-out. A better end, all things considered."
She yelped when he grabbed her bodice, because her first thought was that he'd heard what he wanted and he was going for her starseed and that would be it - but instead it was her fuku he grabbed, and so she stumbled after him, trying to match much longer strides.
She considered, briefly, snarking at him - but there was nothing to be gained at this point, only things to be lost. So instead she waited, listened, leaned against the tree he was examining, and then a sad smile crossed her face.
"Yes, sometimes suffering does inspire us to be greater - but that is not the only way, by any means," she said, and then, softer, "you cared about him, I suppose, if you tried so hard. And suffering inflicted by the people we care about - especially if we can't understand why - certainly it will change us, but it will also make us bitter, and make us hate the one that inflicts it. And before you think I'm talking about something I don't understand, my mother dumped my twin brother and I on our father when we were just babies. From the time I was old enough to understand that the woman raising me wasn't my real mother, I thought it was my fault she'd left. After all, I saw pictures, and their marriage was happy enough before my brother and I - clearly we were the cause." She laughed, briefly, bitterly. "I hated myself, and I hated her so much. And then when we were fourteen, she showed up again, and started pretending she was a real parent for one weekend a month. I don't know why my dad let her have that much, she doesn't deserve it. I hate her more now than I did then." She exhaled.
"It's not exactly the same, but in principle..."
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Posted: Thu Nov 28, 2013 12:16 pm
"In principle ze origin does not matter when suffering is doled out in a similar magnitude." He paused, tongue clicking lightly against the roof of his mouth. Like a lighter. His eyes narrowed in pensiveness as he studied the gouged bark - no, looked past it. Through it. "You want to talk lives as an example, Persephone? FIne - we can talk lives. We can talk lives all srough ze night, until one of each of our factions is drawn to our pitiful signatures and puts a stop to our pointless drivel. Because, you see... History doesn't matter much in ze face of ze present."
But he wasn't done yet. As if suddenly coming to life, or suddenly noticing her, Bischofite angled his gaze toward the senshi and a thin smirk brought a modicum of expression to his lips. "If you suffer from zat, zen what comes of it? What stems from your desire to abhor her so? Did you sink about it, Persephone, or did you simply let it wash over you and bake on like caked tar?" Slowly he began encircling her again, watching her for even the slightest betrayal of thoughts. "Are you going to kill her for how she treated you, or are you going to roll over and capitulate to her desires? Let her into her life, or snuff her out like a dull old candle flame? Somesing has to gif', girl, because life cannot equal stagnation. Zat is deas', and you aren't quite ready for zat yet."
Like a fruit still hanging from the tree. Another low-hanging fruit.
Who died here on that night? Was it a girl who studied desperately for a bar exam that her parents claimed that she would never pass, or was it a senshi by the name of Medea? Was it a young man who stuttered and shook at the thought of finally asking his fiancee to marry him, or the single senshi that stood idly by while he was corrupted? Was it an older woman who finally put to rest the ashes of her husband, or was it a green-haired senshi who sought power in the form of pomegranates?
Bischofite was building a necropolis, because Bischofite was stagnant. Maybe it was a sarcophagus. Maybe it was nothing at all.
"Maybe zis will come as a shock to you, but I was a little boy once." He smiled darkly. What was there to lose anymore? "And when I was zat little boy, I had a friend by ze name of Basti. Basti ze b*****d, his dad would call him, when coherent enough to talk. But he would come over regularly, and we would do ze same sings zat all children do - because I was no different at zat time.
"Why did I say when his dad was coherent, you ask? Because he was addicted to drugs. I did not know why, and I did not ask. I don't sink my parents knew, or if zey even took an interest in it. Sings are different where I'm from, you see - addiction ins weakness. No one cares much for weakness." The once-general looked her over, and then seized her wrist in his hands. He focused on it abruptly - manipulating her digits and pressing against the palm where the swell of her thumb met the life line, as it was often called. "We weren't allowed to stay at his house, because obviously we could get ourselfs into quite a bit of trouble zere. But zat didn't stop us, because all little boys grow up wis' a streak of mischief. Mostly zey grow out of it, but not all."
Not him, he meant to say.
Bischofite pressed both thumbs to her palm, simultaneously forcing the hand back to the ninety degree angle afforded by her wrist, and splaying the metacarpals apart as far as naturally possible. "Of course, one day we snuck over zere. One day we raided his closet, as all little boys do, searching for secrets or monsters or somesing fun and new to invigorate our lives. And we found a gun." He smiled, as if it were a fond memory. However, he learned to disguise a grimace as a smile from years of conditioning.
Long, bony fingers settled on the group of veins just beneath the heel of her hand. "Like all little boys do, we got a terrible idea from our new find. So we went to his room to play a game we'f seen on ze TV before - russian roulette, I belief' you call it. It is ze same for us - russisches Roulette. He was first, and I watched. And I watched.
"And I watched." Dexterously he shaped her fingers into the form of a gun, her index and middle fingers forming the barrel while her thumb established itself as a makeshift hammer. He pressed it toward her temple, and whispered a soft bang.
Afterward he snorted, as if faced with an offensive and ultimately ridiculous retort. "Tell me, Persephone, what could impact me more zan zat? A hug? A pat on ze back for a job well done? An inspirational talk about what good I could do in ze world if I dedicated my warped intellect to it? Don't kid yourself - suffering is ze only lasting impact. And what I did for him could not haf' been more moving in any ozzer way - not if I practically gaf'e him ze victories he needed to unears' himself from his slump!" A slow snarl developed in his features as he continued to speak. "No amount of lof'e and support would change someone so fundamentally, child. And I am bound to zat same enduring cycle - because no amount of coddling or encouragement toward success would change me as greatly as ze Negaverse intends.
"Learn somesing from zat, Persephone - zere is no better way to change. Suffer, until you become somesing greater zan your current stagnant surroundings can afford. Let your real mom piss you off and scandalize you to ze point zat you can tolerate it no longer - until your fingers twitch wis' ze desire to stab a dozen knives into her chest. Maybe zen you'll realize ze extent of ze change zat you'f always desired for your situation." Finally he let go of her hand, as if it burned him suddenly. "You're lost, and you haven't suffered enough to find your way." Weh*.
They were in the same boat.
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Posted: Thu Nov 28, 2013 10:44 pm
Persephone didn't want to say it, but she seriously doubted that it would be an Order-side interruption that ended a conversation between a Super Senshi and a Lieutenant. Perhaps someone on his side would come, concerned that a more powerful Senshi was smacking around someone weaker, but she had no faith that her "comrades" would even consider that she might be in danger. None of them, she suspected, had the sort of respect she had come to develop for the unique destructive capability of even the lowest of Chaos soldiers after a Corrupt had stolen her breath and left her unconscious, to wake up later in an alleyway shocked to still be alive.
As he circled her, she turned, her eyes staying on him the entire time, narrowed and focused and intense. She did not expect an attack - not now, even though that was foolish. If he was going to attack her, he would have done it long ago. She hoped.
So when he began to tell his story, as she had so foolishly told hers, she was silent, taking it in. Taking in more history from someone on the opposite side of this war than she knew about most people on her own. Certainly there were names she knew, but did she know anything of Jude's family life? Of what Mei did on the nights that she wasn't Sidouer? No.
But she was getting to know Bischofite, in a way she knew so few people outside of her family (and the two boys she called "brothers" even if they weren't related by blood.)
Her heart skipped a little when his hand found hers - it was frightening, and something in her was admittedly surprised that his hands felt warm and human. She wasn't sure what she had expected - he was alive, even if he seemed to so despise that, there was no reason for her to have expected the chilling hands of a corpse and yet somehow she almost had.
She gave no resistance as he manipulated her fingers, a demonstration of the awful nightmare he was describing. No wonder his views were so skewed - he called it growing from suffering, but she would see, rather, a break that began in childhood and only got worse as he grew.
It wasn't until he was completely done that she finally spoke.
"You're right," she acknowledged, her voice soft. "There is nothing - nothing that will ever mark you the way watching someone accidentally shoot himself to death in front of your eyes will. Nothing quite imprints itself in our memory like tragedy."
If she had succumbed to his binary in these woods, had let him kill her instead of fighting back, would her death have done that to Alex? Transformed her warm, outgoing brother into someone so full of anger and hatred?
She could believe it. They had spent eighteen years as two - Alex was strong, but she was not sure he would make it unscathed through suddenly becoming one of one.
"No, there's nothing that will ever impact you the way Batsi's death did. And maybe kindness doesn't imprint like violence and pain and hatred." She exhaled. "Maybe my saving someone's life won't stick as closely to their mind as you murdering their lover before their eyes. But that does not mean that somehow, suffering is better." She laughed softly, faintly.
"There is literally nothing I hate quite so much as seeing someone I care about hurting. When I see it, all I want to do is fix it; try and put them back together, and make them smile again, because suffering might change us but it is still suffering and all it breeds is more pain. As far as I'm concerned, it's not worth it. Whatever benefits there could be will never outweigh the costs."
And then she decided to do something very, very foolish. Something she was fairly certain she would regret in very, very short order.
"Maybe a hug won't stick with you the same way suffering does. But I'm just stupid enough to try anyway." And then she walked over and slid her arms around him, once again reminded of how tiny she was in comparison to him.
This wa either brilliant or incredibly stupid - and knowing her, it was probably more towards the latter.
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Posted: Sat Nov 30, 2013 11:16 pm
When did the strange and surreal world he came to know suddenly morph into the audacious? When did crabs crawl through the sky and worms grow from the trees like apples still unripe? When did Persephone decide that it was a good idea to wrap her arms about his bony form and hold him close? The once-general could not suppress the laugh that boiled up in his throat, and the ensuing raspy mirth quashed all hope of maintaining a straight face. He couldn't wrap his mind around it - he threatened to kill her last they met. Was she simply using his demotion as a means to mock him, to initiate unwarranted contact as if to say that she was so secure in her own abilities?
No - Persephone never attacked him. She didn't do much of anything, aside from try to keep him company or assist in the seemingly disjointed deaths of Destiny City's denizens. "Zis is why I cannot kill you just yet, Persephone - you are too interesting. You make no sense half ze damned time. You operate outside ze boundaries of logic - I often wonder how ze devil you're still alif'e." Placing both hands on her spindly shoulders, Bischofite pushed her away from himself. "You can't hope to change someone srough such half-measures. But maybe you don't want change." Finally he let go of her.
Maybe what she wanted was constancy. Maybe her life held too much change.
"You know I could'f killed you, even as a lieutenant, so why did you do zat? Why do somesing zat might lead to your deas'? Unless - did you want to die, Persephone? Because it might be easier to simply tell me and I could arrange for an interesting and fruitful demise." Then again, he'd be losing the single senshi who actually stopped spewing righteous drivel long enough to listen to his reasoning. And she had enough of a spark to defy him when it mattered most, so in essence, she was one of the few who hadn't failed him just yet. Without a doubt, she might, but...
His expression grew more serious, and he glanced toward the gouges in the tree once more. How long would it take for them to heal? "Maybe it is folly to admit zis to you, but - zere are times when I wonder if it is to my benefit to endure so much pain." The demotion, getting dumped, rediscovering humanity, finally learning to miss his father - all different types of pain and equally potent in their presence - finally weighed heavy on his perseverance. With each passing day, he found it increasingly difficult to drag himself out of bed. If he lacked these paltry responsibilities, he wouldn't have a reason to get out of bed. Persephone was right - too much pain rendered its benefits meager.
Suddenly he felt incredibly tired. Drained. "We can't be war veterans at zis age." Maybe Ida was right - maybe corruption urged him toward such iniquitous acts. Now it pulsed lowly throughout his body, only a fraction of the chaos he once manipulated, and everything appeared far more bleak these days. Almost monochrome. Everything became an insurmountable tribulation, in a way that he'd only known before his tenure as Bischofite. So did chaos separate him from misery or provide him with a profusion of reasons to lament when corruption loosed its grip? Forsake the Negaverse in light of his recent demotion, or endure the humiliating and lengthy punishments to regain that numbness to misery that he'd known in the guise of General Bischofite?
"Let me show you somesing I'f been sinking about." After prodding around his coat pocket, he withdrew his hand and uncurled his fingers much like a bloom. Sitting at the center were a crumble of shards, like small chunks of darkened geode that had clouded over and broken apart long ago. "Zis is - was - a starseed. It is ze fruit of suffering. But what is it good for like zis? It lacks its normal glow and vibrancy. Essentially - it is wertlos. Wors'less. No one can glean energy from it now." And, surprisingly, he hadn't destroyed it himself. After coiling his fingers about the shattered seed once more, he overturned his hand and offered it toward the much smaller senshi.
"Take it - maybe it'll bring more merit to your argument." If nothing else, it was a funeral in its own right.
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