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 Posted: Fri Jan 10, 2014 12:43 am
It was certainly something that Super Sailor Vespa wasn't expecting to happen tonight, though he knew something like this to be quite common. Life in Destiny City was always full of surprises and not all of it had to involve the war that raged throughout the streets at night between the White Moon Court and the Negaverse. Life was precious and fragile, even without the terrorists that kept putting civilian's lives in danger, or the officers that 'borrowed' energy from them. There were so many things wrong with this city, and yet, something as simple as a car accident still managed to have an astounding affect on someone who's fought alongside youma and against invaders.
It was just another night of patrols, finding neither hide nor hair of the enemy in this ridiculously cold weather though not once complaining about the impromptu downtime. What the scientists called the Polar Vortex was actually working in favor in the sense that there were less White Moon senshi running around the city, and with less of the enemy about, Vespa was hoping that it'd mean less time he'd have to spend in uniform, looking for a fight in this kind of weather.
Unfortunately, it also meant that the pickings would be extremely bare, as he was having trouble finding anyone stupid enough to be wandering the streets at this late of night. It was snowing, it was cold, and Vespa could feel his throat start to get scratchy, and that was a clear sign that he needed to get home. He'd be short on his quota again, but surely his queen would understand?
That was when he heard the sound of screeching tires, followed by a loud CRASH, and Vespa leapt a good foot or two in the air in surprise, spinning around and looking around the iced streets. He couldn't see the car, but he certainly saw the figure that came flying from behind the building less than a block away, and in spite of all of the things he had witnessed as a Senshi of the Negaverse, he froze in place, green eyes wide behind foggy visors.
"Was that...?"Strickenized Hope this is a worthy start! Let me know if I need to change anything!
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Posted: Mon Jan 13, 2014 12:17 am
Windows glazed with frost now faced the streets, refracting lamp light in minute crystals. Occasionally Bischofite broke the perfect layers of frost by sliding his finger across the surface as an anonymous means to mark his route. Each whimsical flick marked another distance crossed without any progress - no energy, no allies to help on an algid night like this. Even the stars grew dim with the chill in the air. And even those dressed in warmer uniforms, like himself, suffered the bite of cold across exposed skin. Face paint proved worthless when the one who wore it shivered visibly.
The sidewalk stretched long beyond him, parting in the distance past the corner of a building. He recognized the street from too many patrols spent with his detestably acute awareness of his surroundings. Someone died back there; he remembered watching it. At the time, Alois guessed attempted thievery gone wrong, given the quick execution. But since his induction into powered life many months ago, Bischofite now wondered if someone discovered that the victim possessed an unsavory alternate identity.
Several long minutes eked by, and no meager scraps of civilians presented themselves for draining. Only a wayward prostitute edged by, heels too tall for legs starved from opiate addiction, complete with straw-like hair and hollow eyes.
Bischofite only watched her in passing. Any energy pulled from that bony husk of a body would hardly be worth the effort.
The lieutenant sneered inwardly; he was starting to sound like Serpentine.
Snow had a way of deadening sound - for every moment Bischofite spent outside, he rendered himself keenly aware of his own movements, from his crunching footfalls to the dwindling hitch in his breath. These sounds soon established a rhythm that he adjusted to, and nearly forgot when an ear-splitting, resounding crash tore him from his thoughts with violent, almost palpable force. His breathing quickened, and he watched a spray of snowflakes sail by his face. One glanced off his cheek uselessly before landing in the thin blanket of unbroken snow.
But they weren't snowflakes, Bischofite realized upon turning the corner. Not snowflakes - broken glass. What stood before him was the twisted wreckage of a Prius and a different car he hadn't recognized. Someone laid in the street, likely thrown from a window. Both cars steamed, as both hoods crumpled from the head-on collision. But something was missing... The misanthrope let out a sigh as he crossed his arms and surveyed the scene in greater scrutiny. Silver paint chipped off one of the cars and dotted the snow. One intact headlight peered out toward his left. The disoriented, badly injured civilian roused to his senses and called weakly for help. So what was missing? Why did his instincts alert him to something off about the scene?
Bischofite's jaw relaxed in an audible click as he realized the absent element. Soon his stoic countenance gave way to a blooming smile. No brakes, he thought. They didn't lock up their brakes. Both drivers were distracted from the road when they hit, else they would've honked and skidded. His interest shifted to what might've distracted both drivers at once, but a jarringly strong grip on his ankle demanded his attention far more than a dwindling mystery.
The misanthrope then scrutinized the source of his disturbance, which he easily identified as a young teen, maybe fifteen at best, who sported unusually vibrant green eyes and a gash deep enough to require stitches. Rivulets of blood poured down his face, into the snow, the dirty snow now broken and stained from the collision, from the injuries, from the torn clothing and scraps of paint. He had blonde hair, curly blonde hair, that matted into his gash and discolored from the ichor. Bischofite thought he must've looked like a Greek sculpture brought to life outside of a car crash - absent the gash and the dirty stains of an accident. He must've looked unreal in his natural beauty. He must've had that perfect personality to complement that perfect face.
But Bischofite thought he looked better this way. He exerted no excess force in freeing his ankle from the youth's grasp, though his words sported more venom than his actions. "You don't want my help," he responded in kind. He looked more real now. The boy had substance now. Stories to tell, latent in the soon-to-be scar on his forehead - if he survived. He was lucky; fate graced him with a climactic event to flavor his experiences. Hadn't he tried his hand at that very idea when he obtained his captaincy? A shame that he never managed quite that much success.
By this time, Bischofite became suddenly and quite jarringly aware of another powered presence, further off from his location. When did he lose his sensitivity to others of his alignment? Was this another crippling effect of his punishment? It didn't matter; the lieutenant soon recognized it as a corrupted senshi of higher rank than he. This bade well; he might have a little fun with a tragic scene like this. Bischofite raised a hand high and snapped his fingers as clearly as possible. Afterward, he beckoned for the senshi to approach. At this newcomer's fingertips was a host of energy, ripe for the gathering. Fear produced overwhelming amounts to harvest, for those who recognized their lack of control over human life. So what might this unknown senshi do with such an opportunity? Seize upon it and sate his quota, or squander it with some ill-placed sense of playing god?ChibiGingi it is an excellent start! i just hope this reply makes sense i might've written it too late
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Posted: Fri Jan 17, 2014 9:52 pm
Of all the things that Vespa had witnessed in his short tenure as a Negaverse senshi, he wasn't expecting it to be a car accident that jarred in in the manner that it did, and yet, once he set eyes upon the carnage, it was quite easy to see why it had such an effect. There were two vehicles involved, one of those fancy hybrid vehicles and another that was well beyond recognition right now, and Vespa had almost forgotten that he was powered up as he approached the scene of the accident. No doubt there'd be other civilians rushing out to see what was going on and the police would be called, but still, he felt compelled to do something.
What also drew him to the accident was the feel of another Chaos energy signature, though he had actually seen the officer before he really felt him. The fact that he even noticed him was amazing, considering the fact that there was broken glass and metallic carnage everywhere. Oh, and blood. There was definitely some blood there. He heard the snapping of fingers from the lieutenant, but he couldn't stop staring at the blood trail until it brought him to its source.
Someone was calling for help, but Vespa hardly noticed him, in lieu of the more eye-catching scene of the bloodied civilian that clung onto the officer's ankle. Despite the chaos that churned within him, it didn't act as a good buffer in blocking out or filtering the very human horror he felt as he knelt down next to the blonde teenager, not present to have heard Bischofite's cold words but feeling the frigidness that seemed to surround him. He seemed familiar in a way, but it was hard to focus on his face or what his name might have been, when he was trying so hard not to vomit or completely lose his head. He didn't know of Bischofite's little game, but he looked to the lieutenant, ignoring rank and addressing him as a senshi should address an officer of the Negaverse. "What should we- I mean, Sailor Vespa, reporting in… do… what do you recommend we do here?"
That was a stupid question! Of course he knew what they needed to do! They needed to get these people to the hospital, and quick!
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Posted: Sun Jan 19, 2014 2:49 am
Bischofite watched in growing disgust as the super senshi lumbered over a blood trail like a curious dog looking to deduce its source. It stood as a testament to the typical shortsightedness of officers these days - for how many looked past their own noses, past the simple, personal battles to the greater picture that might yet end the war? But it mattered little - as Laurelite proved through his demotion, the Negaverse preferred its dutiful, blind officers beyond those who operated independently of their rule, even if the outcome landed in their favor. Bischofite understood it to a superficial degree, for what good could come of an officer that frequented insubordination, but... That line of thinking would imply his efforts were bothersome at most - and that was a blow the lieutenant avoided for now, as he suspected he wouldn't endure it.
Surprisingly the blonde addressed him as a superior, despite his obviously weak energy signature and simplified appearance. The lieutenant smiled unabashedly, more out of welcome surprise than thankfulness toward acknowledging his former position. He understood that corrupted senshi tied into their ranks nearly seamlessly, but if this one was willing to shirk his superiority in hierarchy, who was he to argue?
"Sailor Vespa," he started in his harsh Saarlander accent. With fingers slowly interlaced from a fanning pattern, he began a languid pace around the scout. "Is it not obvious? What we haf' here is a curious wreck, laden wis' civilians zat will eizer lif' or die. Zeir fate is not our business. However..." The lieutenant halted and peered toward his willing audience with a mischievous smile, hinting at a desperate clamor for excitement in the utterly dull act he intended to commit. "What we also haf' are a cluster of captif' individuals. Eizer pinned by ze car itself or srown from it and disabled, none of zem can leaf' ze scene. Consider zem sedentary instead of sentient. Zey're utterly afraid for zeir lives, zey aren't sinking clearly, and zey'll turn to anyone wis' a human face for some scrap of assistance, even if zat very face is painted wis' a deep-seated derision toward humankind.
"Might I remind you, we are Negaverse agents and not gods. We're not here to interfere wis' zeir fate. However, we haf' our own duties to fulfill, and if zat means scavenging among beleaguered civilians, zen who are we to turn down a golden opportunity such as zis?" Finally the lieutenant parted his hands in a welcoming gesture. Cocking his head slightly, he continued. "Are you aware zat fear, basic and primal fear, produces a great deal of energy? Drain zem and find out."
Bischofite recognized his limitations from his punishments, as he would've found different use in the crash scene were he still a general. However, with a previously unknown senshi of the Negaverse in front of him, he would respect the no-kill order issued by his direct superior. Loathe as he was to do so, especially in lieu of energy draining, Bischofite tried to demonstrate his ability to follow orders without the proverbial thumb on his neck. Thus far, it left him wondering how he could've possibly obeyed these paltry rules as a youma - perhaps the one advantage to his continued humanity.
The former general approached the twisted wreckage opposite the hybrid and peered inside to deduce its contents. All he found was a slowly rousing girl, perhaps the same age as himself, with carefully applied makeup and hair recently bleached blonde and straightened to an impossible degree. Pretty as she was, a thick dribble of blood from her forehead traversed the entirety of her face and pooled just beneath her chin, where it dripped onto a denim miniskirt. Following the line of her legs, Bischofite realized that the vehicle contorted enough to entrap her foot. Additionally, no airbags pinned her against the seat - someone must've disabled them, for a head-on collision surely deployed them.
Now at least partially conscious of her situation, the blonde started to scream in wordless fear due to pain and rampant confusion.
"Drain her," commanded the lieutenant.ChibiGingi prob should've modeled bisch after a vulture at this point
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Posted: Mon Jan 20, 2014 5:03 pm
The visor that Vespa wore didn't give him kind of advantage, either in battle nor in detective work, though it did cloud his vision and made things all the harder to see, especially when the damned things fogged up. While his view of the world was a little skewed, he still saw the lieutenant before him as his superior officer. Like with Teallite, rank did not necessarily matter to him so long as the one he addressed was an officer. In his mind, they were all superior to him… what made Bischofite any different?
His accent was peculiar but still understandable, and Vespa stood at attention, shoulders stiff and hands at his side as Bischofite circled him. There may have been some condescending tone in hid in that thick accent of his, but Vespa didn't feel insulted or felt it was unjustified, considering it was pretty painfully obvious what he had walked in on. Whatever harsh words or judgement that came his way in the form of Bischofite's report was well-earned and he wouldn't be the first to argue that. What he did have a problem with was the statement that their fate was none of their business, and the Wasp senshi bit his tongue to stop himself from speaking up. Bischofite's curious smile made him nervous, though, as he could only imagine what he could possibly say next or had on his mind. And what he heard… honestly frightened him.
"Sedentary?" Vespa was afraid to admit that he didn't know the word, but he made the assumption that it was likely a synonym for the other word that he spouted. Sentient. Despite his statement, he kept quiet and took in the rest of Bischofite's speech, the more he heard, the less he liked, and he fought the shiver that snaked its way past his spine, as it continued to spiral into such a dark and macabre scene. What Bischofite wanted him to do was take advantage of their misfortune and gather energy, and Vespa, as loyal and diligent as he was, felt himself turning white. Not even his welcoming gesture could ease his discomfort, but could he refuse? No, he couldn't. Because he was right, wasn't he? A Negaverse officer was always right… even if it felt wrong.
"No… No I didn't, sir…" Vespa said in response to his question. He was willing to take his word for it, but he had a distinct feeling that it wasn't a suggestion but an order. He followed Bischofite, thankful not to know what thoughts whirled around inside that man's head, knowing that there'd be no way he could ever wrap his head around such things, even if he tried. He looked over the poor blonde woman, fighting the impulse to storm past the former general and pull her out as he had not given the order. He wished that she could have slipped into unconsciousness or remained unaware, as the moment she began to scream and struggle, Vespa wanted nothing more than to step away from the situation. But he couldn't. All because Bischofite gave him a direct order. He took a step forward, wanting to obey, but he paused, and turning stiffly to Bischofite, he murmured. "S-sir, shouldn't we at least call for an ambulance? Or… or we can call General Mica? She has some EMT training…"
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Posted: Tue Jan 21, 2014 5:21 pm
Bischofite's patience for the blonde senshi waned as the boy second-guessed his decision. Lips pursed knife-slit thin, he tightened his grip on the car's mangled driver door. Due to wayward shards of glass, a thin line of blood bubled up between his first and second knuckles, tracing between his metacarpals before dripping below his wrist. Were he of his sound mind prior to demotion, Vespa's insubordination would've warranted more violent action. He recognized that the greatest changes stemmed from utter pain and suffering, much like the crippling sensation of having rank upon rank sucked out of him, leaving him weak and bare.
But as a lieutenant, he lacked the strength to mete out such potent reprimand. Instead he settled on a decidedly more docile approach - or, more accurately, reproach. "Vespa," he started with a derisive and clipped tone. "Do you really sink an ambulance would saf'e zese people when Metallia's power weakens due to our inability to perform our duties? Do you sink zat zey'll applaud us for our decision to seek out a general wis' EMT training when ze senshi finally win out over us, due to our weakness? Do you sink zat ze Moon Queen would care much for our noble and lofty intentions when she collapses ze Ears' in on itself? As an erstwhile general myself, I will remind you zat ze core function of obtaining energy is to maintain our power, and wis'out it, you will not haf' ze potency required to stand up to ze White Moon Court and its intellectually destitute sycophants. If you don't drain zem, I will take it as an act of insubordination and see zat you are rightfully deprived wis'in our ranks.
"Moreover," he added with a poised index finger to pause any retort, "I said before zat zeir fate is none of our business, and I meant it. We will not waste time on tending to zeir injuries when we haf' more pressing uses for our time. Obtain what Metallia demands of us and mof'e on - do not let her weaken and fall by ze wayside in terms of importance to a cluster of tunnel-visioned idiots zat possibly found more interest in text messages zan preserving zeir own lives." Despite the woman's hoarse screams, Bischofite passed the blonde senshi with a quick planned shoulder check as he approached the twisted wreckage of the second car.
He might've offered a portion of the collective energy to Vespa, but he was in no way forsaking the lot of it to the boneheaded, bumbling Wasp Senshi.
Bischofite crouched near the injured boy strewn across the street like a broken doll, the very one he chided so readily before. The boy exhibited more fear, likely due to the officer's earlier statements, but an almost intimate brush of bony fingers through his hair seemed to dispel his trepidation - be it through sudden loss of energy or a modicum of relaxation. But as Bischofite recently discovered, he lacked the finesse to drain on a more controlled scale - where he might've intended a small gain, great gouts of energy came in his place. The opposite proved true as well; overall he found this sudden lack of control all too enticing as he waited with bated breath for the outcome of his draining efforts.
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Posted: Thu Jan 23, 2014 4:19 pm
In a way, he knew he was being insubordinate and that he was opening the door to punishment, but he couldn't stop himself from at least trying. While Bischofite was a rank lower than him, he was still a senior officer and likely held more respect than he could ever could within the Negaverse, so second guessing his orders was certainly a first class ticket to a world of punishment. Once the words left his mouth, that was it. Vespa would simply have to hope that the lieutenant could be coerced into taking disciplinary actions after he decided to call for an ambulance or not.
Yet, Vespa still braced himself for a strike that could come at any moment, and while there was no physical strike, Bischofite's words had the same effect. Vespa took a step back, listening to not only his scolding but the logic behind his cold words, and the worst part of all of this was that he knew he couldn't argue against him. Not when he presented the truth in such a manner before him. Periodically, he looked back and forth between the two, seeing the girl's panic and wanting to find a way to comfort her, but he didn't wish to disobey a direct order.
Had he been made of sterner material than what he was given, had he been more articulate he could have tried explaining how helping them could perhaps improve the Negaverse's opinion in the general public by helping them. Had he not been a Senshi and therefor on equal grounds with the officer, he could have countered that order and given his own- after all, he did outrank him.
But no, all he was, all he'd ever be, was Vespa, senshi of Wasp and loyal soldier, and soldiers weren't meant to question orders or offer alternatives. They were there to obey, and what choice did Vespa have? Obey, and take advantage of an opportunity that'd likely never happen again at the cost of adding to someone's misery, or refuse the order and risk the lieutenant reporting him and possible death. "I will obey... forgive me, sir..."
When Bischofite moved to the injured man on the streets, Vespa looked to the woman, and seeing her fear and unable to stop himself from shivering in its wake. He didn't want to do this. He really, really didn't want to do this. But what choice did he have? "I'm sorry... I won't take a lot. I promise, just... please stop screaming?"
She wouldn't stop. Of course she wouldn't. He didn't blame her, and he knew that, but it didn't help him in the least. He rubbed his hands together, taking in deep breaths and forcing himself to approach her, grabbing her flailing wrists and giving a plea, hoping that she'd be the only one to hear him, not wanting Bischofite to hear the hiccup in his voice, nor see the tears that pricked the corners of his eyes. "Please, forgive me..."
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Posted: Sat Jan 25, 2014 10:03 am
"Get on wis' it, Vespa," the lieutenant hissed out of impatience. Bischofite had little patience for babysitting corrupted senshi of decent rank. Hadn't he learned the importance of obeying officers during his tenure in his basic stretch? Or had the blonde simply coasted through the beginning stages of his training with few officers able to guide him? Bischofite suspected the latter, as currently the Negaverse stretched fairly thin, but benefit of the doubt still stood beyond his narrow realm of tolerance for offending individuals, opponent or peer alike. Were he not under express orders against it, the misanthrope considered tearing out the girl's starseed and forcing it down Vespa's throat as a means to taste the pain and misery incurred by simply standing around with his thumbs up his a**.
But what the girl saw was only impending doom. In her desperate confusion, she saw the strange senshi's intents as something far too iniquitous for her to fully articulate. Instead she started to shift away from him, pulling her foot into a wildly bent angle, in her poor attempt to maintain some distance from the man. "No," she began in a wavered objection. "No! No, get away from me! Someone help!" Her voice escalated quickly into a harsh shriek once more, and she fully intended to scream herself hoarse if it meant some wayward pedestrian might save her from a painful demise.
She didn't want to die here, pinned in the twisted wreckage of her car.
Bischofite's target lay prone in the street now, as the officer tucked a sizable orb into the confines of his regrettably shortened jacket. He straightened up soon after, meticulously tugging on the ends of the coat as a means to disperse any hidden wrinkles, and soon approached the car opposite Vespa. It retained a more recognizable shape, though that meant the occupants had a chance of escaping. But Bischofite lacked the chakrams to cut into the airbags blocking his quarry, so he scrounged through the broken glass for a choice weapon. A grin spread across his face when he found a jagged chunk, likely from a windshield, and he wielded the piece with little qualm for his coming actions.
And, as he soon realized, stabbing through an airbag felt similar to stabbing a person - a strange, canvas sensation came through the makeshift blade as the jagged seams caught the fabric. The air rushed out with a beleaguered hiss, soon rendering the device crippled and sullen in front of the dashboard. And beyond that useless sack of fabric was another slowly stirring individual, this one already into his thirties and wearing his age in the form of tired creases and five o'clock shadow. That exhaustion reminded him of Buddingtonite - as the man steadily exhibited his slowly brewing stress in his countenance just the same. Bischofite hesitated for a moment; his heartstrings hurt and he wished for the ability to turn the broken glass inward and sever whatever remained of his emotions.
But stabbing himself to death in front of an inept senshi and a host of car crash victims in varying states of consciousness sounded trite and worthless in terms of potential reaction.
Instead he focused on his irritation with Vespa as he set about draining the man. "Are you really so affected by a car crash, Vespa? If it disturbs you so greatly, zen sink of draining zem as a means to grant zem a reprief' from zeir panic. Sink of it as an act of mercy. In unconsciousness, zey don't haf' to worry about how ze leaking gas might hopefully catch light, and set zeir ******** cars on fire." But nothing helped - not even outward hostility.
He missed Buddingtonite.
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Posted: Sun Jan 26, 2014 5:31 pm
Bischofite's chiding didn't help, but Vespa was pretty damn certain that it wasn't meant to be words of encouragement. No, Bischofite wasn't the type to coddle, obviously, and Benitoite's words were never more true in regards to the different styles of the many different officers. There was a time when Vespa thought that General Mica was the worst to work under, but of course, he was proven wrong this evening, and the worst part was that he was the one at fault, for questioning his orders in the first place. He wished that there was a switch to shut off his mind and emotions, so that following orders would have been much easier, but the Wasp senshi came with no off switch, much to his own dismay. At Bischofite's chiding, he swallowed the knot in his throat and called back, hoping he'd hear him over her screams. "Y-yes sir."
Her attempts to distance herself from the Wasp senshi were ultimately in vain, as it took little effort for Vespa to reach over and wrap his gloved fingers around her thigh, perhaps tighter than he intended but anchoring her in place on the off chance that her foot slipped free. She let out a scream and struck at his face, smashing her wrist against his visor and reeling back for another, but the senshi managed to grab that hand before it could strike him again. There was blood trickling through his fingers and a crack in his visor, but the situation had not changed. As desperate as he struggles were, she was nothing more than a poor teen that had made a horrible mistake, and would suffer for it. An attempt to claw his face was thwarted when he released her thigh and now, with both offending appendages in hand, Vespa began to pull as much energy as he could, all the while apologizing and trying to calm her down. "I'm sorry. I'm just following orders... I'm sorry..."
How much could she have possibly have left? Vespa didn't think of how much adrenaline and fear added to her struggle, but with each passing second, her frantic cries and flailing were wearing on his conscious and his nerves. All he wanted her to do was shut up and allow him to take a little energy, but she'd refuse to do so in silence. He wanted her to shut up. He wanted her to stop screaming. He wanted to block out her shouts, but there was nothing he could do. She had every right to fight, to scream and shout and call him a monster. Because he was a monster. An obedient monster. A monster that had no choice but to obey.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, her cries began grow softer and softer. Her motions ceased, and Vespa was rewarded for his efforts by both an orb in his hands and, more importantly, the mercy of his conscious. Soon, she laid limp in the car, foot still pinned and physically drained, and the slow but present rise and fall of her chest spared him from the thought that he had taken too much. It was done. For better or for worse, it was done.
It took some effort to pull himself out of the vehicle, and he approached the other vehicle in his search for the other officer, all the while clutching the young woman's precious energy orb close to his chest. He found Bischofite standing near the other vehicle, glass shard in hand and looking over an older man. From this angle, he couldn't tell what was on his minds or how much more darker the situation could have become in a blink of an eye, and none of this reflected when he approached them. Even when his already bleeding conscious was taking another beating, he couldn't think of a way it could be worse, and while Bischofite's words should have brought him some comfort, it was hard to pretend that none of this effected him. He had no poker face to speak of and wore his heart on his sleeves. That was his curse. "I'm sorry... I'll try to do better from now on. It's just that..." He stopped himself before he could continue. No. No excuses. Simply accept that he was wrong and move on with his life. "I retrieved her energy, as you asked. Is there anything else you'd like me to do, sir?"
He looked at the older man and had a feeling of what might come, but he held his tongue. He already took advantage of a young girl... what could possibly be worse than that?
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Posted: Sun Jan 26, 2014 7:34 pm
Vespa returned to his side with a sizeable energy orb, yet Bischofite never wavered from his seemingly frozen state. Still he stared into the broken man's delirious eyes, watching them with wrenching sentimentality as they lazily scraped over his surroundings. Nothing processed for the soul trapped within the twisted wreckage - he treaded water, much like Buddingtonite did when the misanthrope first knew him. In every movement, the twitch of his hands as he began to check his body, the spasm in the corner of his mouth to just try to smile, the ease by which he sank into the seat - all these imperceptibly small motions reminded him of an officer he tried so desperately to forget.
And the man wasn't even aware of his transgressions - neither the uniformed officer or the barely-conscious civilian who sat so close to a lieutenant with a sizable death toll.
It hurt to look at that face. The way his nose curved at the tip, the dark circles eating into the skin beneath his eyes, that sallow, haggard look from too much drinking... The lieutenant closed his eyes. He allowed his shoulders to drop. His head bowed, and his lips slightly parted as if latched into some wordless prayer. Vespa asked for further instruction, so he would receive it. Bischofite once held the power of a general, before it was decided he didn't deserve it. He commanded before, at the convention, on several rooftops through his captaincy.
When Bischofite finally elected to speak, the words came softly, almost soothing. "Close your eyes, Vespa."
The boy proved his ability to follow orders beyond his own screaming conscience. Perhaps Vespa thought him ignorant to it, but he found it swept across the boy's demeanor, whirling about him in a gaze known only to those that have so broken their own ethics that they killed a part of themselves - and maybe he did. Maybe Vespa, in draining that woman, sacrificed a part of himself to the Dark Kingdom. To him. And that was enough - Vespa didn't have to be strong. He didn't need to lead as he did. If only he maintained that devotion, it would carry him through the ranks well enough - and he could settle for that. His grip on the shard of glass tightened.
Vespa exists here as the good soldier. Vespa is what the Negaverse wants. Vespa, in all his insecurities, in his hopelessly pained mannerisms, in all his instinctive need to please everyone but himself, has surpassed me.
No one wants a revolutionary. Not the Negaverse, not the White Moon, not Richard.
The man hadn't fully regained comprehension of his surroundings when the first strike cut into his cheek, tearing through the cheekbone and burying into his gums. He hadn't had time to scream before the first spray of teeth scattered across his tongue and down his throat, where the blood pooled. Half his tongue tore, and the shard lodged just behind his back molars before it withdrew from his mouth. The blood bubbled as a guttural scream, a wordless, tongueless scream, echoed from deep within his body. The man barely shifted his gaze toward his attacker before the second strike shattered the cartilage in the bridge of his nose, and wayward fragments clung to the glass in its viscous, bloody soup. By now he began to panic, lungs and heart pounding in his chest as they worked desperately to prolong what little life he had. By now, he fully realized the urgency of his situation, but the blade already assaulted him yet again - burrowing into his left eye socket. Then the hinge in his lower jaw. Then just above the ear. Then down the temple. Then straight into the upper lip.
Only afterward, when his breath rasped hoarsely through his throat, did Bischofite realize that he had been screaming. And maybe it didn't matter. The blood now coated his hands, the glass, and flecks splattered across his own face. The man groaned desperately, each successive guttural scream rising in volume as the pain pervaded every pore in his body, every fiber, every nerve ending.
There's no place for people like me... for we aren't people at all.
Each respiration came quicker than the last, and his hands clammed up with near-numbness. With each blink, the world blurred before the familiar, harsh clarity replaced it. And the voice he used lacked the abrasive tones he used so well. It felt... ragged, used, desperate and scared. "Tear out his starseed, Vespa. Don't let him suffer like zis. Don't... Don't let him die like zis. I don't want to see it. I don't want to see it, Vespa - tear it ze ******** out!" He clutched the blonde's uniform and threw him toward the wreck of a car, against what once was a door, before he whirled away from the scene entirely.
Facing the darkness he knew too well. Bischofite walked a few paces from the mutilation he committed just moments ago, the heels of his hands rising to his face. He looked ot the sky before forcing his bloody palms into his own eyes, where the sticky cartilage clung to his skin. The last image, fading into the loud, swirling cacophony behind his lids, was the stars.
The stars. The stars he promised to bury in the ground.
Serpentine, you've failed -youma cannot become men again.
I am the monster I always wanted to be.
You've failed.ChibiGingi word count is 911 >_> helluva meet and greet eh?
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Posted: Tue Jan 28, 2014 2:40 am
Admittedly, Vespa brought all of this upon himself. He could have ignored the car accident and went on his merry way. Or he could have gotten a hold of a cell phone and called 911 himself. He could have simply not powered up, stayed home and gotten caught up with his studies. He could have simply taken the energy and left, but instead, he chose to stick around, he chose to remain obedient, and then he chose to directly challenge fate by thinking to himself 'how could it possibly get worse'. All of this was his fault somehow...
He knew nothing of the maelstrom going on in Bischofite's head and if he had heard even a fraction of it, he would have fled the scene in a heart beat. He waited patiently for an order of some kind, even as Bischofite closed his eyes and let out a sigh, his head dropping to his chest ringing all sorts of warning signs to the Wasp senshi but he was too naive to know what would come. He waited patiently for an order, and yet, when he was given one, Vespa wasn't sure what to make of it. Close his eyes? What did he plan to do that wasn't meant for the Corrupted senshi's eyes? He looked at Bischofite, dumbfounded, like a puppy being given simple orders but not knowing what its master wanted him to do, and the way he gripped that shard of glass only made Vespa hesitant to close his eyes. That shard looked dangerous, and there were three places in particular it could end up, and Vespa didn't like any of them...
Had he known his thoughts on the senshi were surprisingly positive, Vespa might have felt better about himself. He wouldn't have understood the context nor would have had realized that it was just as much an insult as it was a compliment, but it would have done his self-esteem wonders if he could have heard those words. Instead, all he received was silence, eerie, terrifying silence, and the energy orb he held threatened to bounce out of his trembling fingers the longer the silence went. But he didn't close his eyes. He added that to a list of his rampant insubordination, because if the lieutenant would make him his target, he wanted to be aware... face his death, as terrifying as it would have been. He would have deserved it for disobeying orders, right?
But the dagger like shard was never meant for him. Vespa watched as Bischofite unleashed his fury on the man in the car, and it hadn't dawned on Vespa what was going on until blood and teeth exploded from that severed cheek. Bischofite was stabbing the man with a glass shard. He was stabbing the man, again and again and again, and all Vespa could do was stand there, watching, screaming at the top of his lungs. Was he telling him to stop? Was he asking what he was thinking or doing? He wasn't sure if his own screams were coherent or even if they were his own anymore, but the Wasp senshi screamed, in almost perfect unison with Bischofite...
When did the stabbing stop? Vespa wasn't sure. The orb was no longer in his hands- it might have finally fallen out of his hands and rolled away, or maybe he gripped it so tightly that it shattered and dispersed into the air uselessly, adding to the long list of ******** ups that Vespa was responsible for. At some point, Vespa had stopped screaming and just stared at the gruesome scene, and the next thing he knew, Bischofite was yelling at him. There were so many emotions in that voice, but Vespa couldn't grasp a single one. He heard only the words, the order to take the starseed, not at all realizing the desperation and fear in that thick accent, and Vespa choked. He couldn't say anything. He couldn't think. He didn't want to think. He didn't want to process what he had witnessed. He didn't have to. He was a wasp. He was a senshi. He didn't have to think. He only had to obey. Listen and obey.
The harsh treatment from Bischofite was unnecessary, as he was thrown towards the car. He didn't cry out or object to the action, and he didn't look to see where Bischofite was going. He was ordered to take his starseed, and Vespa... would obey.
He gripped the man's chest and tried to push his hand in, wanting nothing more than to reach in and pluck the seed out, end the poor man's suffering. But a wasp was never meant for the mercy killing. The wasp didn't sting to put someone out of their misery. A wasp didn't wish a quick death upon its enemies. A wasp sought to make life miserable and make their targets suffer. Vespa found himself struggling with keeping the man still, understanding his confusion and pain and desire to lash out, but Vespa had no time for that! He tried to channel General Mica at the moment. He wanted to take her ability to shut off her emotions, to tell herself and others that it wasn't personal, that it was only what duty beckoned... but he couldn't. He wasn't like Mica. He wasn't like Serpentine, or Benitoite, or Bischofite...
Somehow, he managed to pull the starseed out, though the act was clumsy, like everything Vespa did. He used so much force to rip the seed out that he flung himself to the ground, landing on his back and crying out when he felt specks of glass dig into him, despite his hair and fabric that should have shielded. Were the wounds deep? Would be bleed out? Vespa didn't know... all he knew was that he was holding a starseed in his hands, gripping it so tightly that he swore he could feel blood bubbling through his gloves, but the deed was done. Only then could he manage to speak, but it came out in a soft, pathetic, heart broken sob. "I'm... I'm sorry..."
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Posted: Thu Jan 30, 2014 5:33 pm
"You are not sorry," Bischofite contrasted in an equally soft tone. He sighed into the night air, breath spooling out in whispers of vapor, soon carried off into the stagnant atmosphere. Buddingtonite... If you could see me now, how far would you go to stop me? You'll see my mark in this child, and you'll know the outcome you could've had if you let me seep into your life. How much pain will it take, Buddy? How much longer now? "You are not sorry," he repeated again with palpable conviction.
Bischofite's approach echoed in the crunching glass, scrawled against the pavement under his boots like broken chalk from children at play. "You are not sorry because you cannot be sorry, Vespa." The lieutenant halted just behind Vespa's prostrated form, his boots nearly upon the boy's hair. Crouching down, the Saarlander brushed the wayward, disheveled strands that obscured his forehead in an almost intimate fashion. Afterward he plucked the visor from the boy's face and cast it aside, its clattering echoing off the stray glass shards as it scraped to a halt not far from the rear tires. "Do you know why? It's simple. It's so, so simple..." Shaking his head, the misanthrope issued a lost chuckle. Faint, but not quite without unkindness. "I wish I was like you sometimes. I wish I could be like you, Vespa."
One hand curled into a fist against his cheek while he traced minute patterns across Vespa's forehead with the slowly coagulating blood caked to his fingertips. "You are obedient. You are what ze Dark Kingdom wants - I'f realized zat alongside my folly. Even ze one I regarded kindred to myself shows a type of subservience I could not manifest. For zat, you will go far - however far a senshi might travel as one of a doomed, dead planet." A light swipe struck across the boy's face, and in its wake a stripe of dark blood painted his cheek. "But you will not reach ze stars, senshi, not wis obedience - not wis' effort or good intentions or sacrifice. You cannot possess a warm heart and wis'stand ze demands issued by ze Negaverse."
Bischofite reached for the boy's hands, where he clutched the starseed in a grip that even the dead envied. The lieutenant struggled with prying away the stronger senshi's grip, but managed to free the prize from its coffin. Strangely, he found it flecked with blood. "You are a murderer now, Vespa, if you weren't before. I suspect zat, since you lack ze taste for it, you're new to ze crime. But zis is not a power of your own command, but one granted to you by fate alone. He was fated to die, and you offered ze final stroke. Now you haf' but zis paltry souvenir to remind you of ze life you took tonight. He died for you, Vespa." And Bischofite looked beyond the wasp, beyond the starseed, beyond the car's twisted frame to the owner arched backward in a broken fashion, his entire face agape with grievous, grizzly damage.
But he felt nothing. Richard left the man's visage.
"If you grief' for him, zen cannibalize him. Eat his starseed. Let his energy wash over you in a haze of euphoria, where your regret might melt into ecstasy. Allow him to become a part of you, and feed off his strengs' where you lack your own. Become a walking necropolis, Vespa, and climb ze tiers of ze Negaverse. Let nossing stop you." Let no one stop you like Richard stopped me. Now I'm struck adrift in time like some backwashed bygone. I might be lost, but you're not.
I can live through you. Your obedience is my pathway.
Let me in.
Bischofite straightened up slowly and wrung his hands in the ends of his coat, dirtying it with old ichor. "Should you find yourself starved for direction, call me. Maybe by zen I will be a general again. If not... Neutering my rank does not neuter my experience. In ze mean time, go home - go to sleep, and dream of ze dead. Eat him, and dream his memories. Ingrain zem and better yourself. Consider it an order."
Finally he turned wholly from the scene, though his thoughts never left the man he could've been - now disfigured and repulsive, he once sported a countenance uncannily similar to the confectionist himself. But within the misanthrope festered an emotion so wretched that he felt bile climbing his throat in thick, sickly gouts. With no formal adieu, Bischofite left for the alley like a wraith haunting familiar corridors.
With every labored breath came a splinter of quiet resolution - Vespa would inherit all of his festering sorrows.
And he hoped the boy would break beneath them.
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Posted: Tue Feb 04, 2014 12:44 pm
Bischofite was addressing him but Vespa wasn't completely following. Oh, he heard him, clear as day, telling him that he wasn't sorry, telling him that he couldn't be sorry, but while his ears could ear the man that was speaking to him, his brain... simply wasn't processing. No, it wasn't the lieutenant's speech that caused Vespa's mind to want to completely power down, but everything else he did. The conviction that steeled every word, the vapors that escapes as steam from his mouth, as though his presence was so great that it was threatening to escape his mortal body, the way he loomed over him, like a vulture perched and waiting patiently as its victim drew its last, shuddering breaths. Vespa, who was once so protective of the visor, mistaking it to mask his identity and offer him protection despite obscuring his vision, could do nothing as the vulture reached down and plucked the visor from his face and tossed it aside. That visor was like a security blanket and Vespa almost reached for it, but his body refused to move, too afraid of invoking the officer's wrath to risk such a thing, so he remained still, allowing Bischofite to continue his tirade, even if he couldn't understand it.
He wasn't afraid to ask, even if it meant he'd be admitting that he couldn't understand something so simple. But his voice hung in his throat, too afraid of Bischofite, too terrified of what he had just witnessed, what he himself had done that his own voice retreated back into his esophagus and refused to come out. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out, and his confusion only grew when Bischofite admitted to wanting to be like him.
What was Vespa? What was it about him that the officer admired enough to desire to be like him? There was nothing about Vespa worth liking, was there? He could think of nothing at the moment, and the vulture's touch broke whatever tight control the Wasp senshi had, forcing a strangled whimper from his throat and causing him to tense up into an even tighter ball. Any tighter and he might have found a way to divide into himself, though if it meant escaping this punishment he found himself in he'd gladly erase his own existence... All the while, Bischofite continued to speak, his words heavy, venomous, poisonous, just as terrifying as the blood he was drawing all over his face, and all Vespa could do was stare up at him with bright, hollow green eyes. Yet, as much as he praised him for his obedience, he was quick to stab at him some more, reminding him what he already knew, what others had constantly told him, time and time again.
'You cannot possess a warm heart.'
Would it be easier if he allowed his heart to turn to stone, then? Would it be easier if he shut down his mind and did away with his conscious? Monsters lacked such things... perhaps he should want to become a monster after all? Perhaps it would have been easier... to allow the Negaverse to turn him into a monster.
His train of thought, as pitiful as it was, derailed when Bischofite ripped the starseed from his hand, and the blood that trickled from his freed hand meant nothing to him in lieu of Bischofite's words and the truth he spoke. Yes. Vespa was a murderer now. This man died because he had to. He was ordered to be killed, by Bischofite, by the glory of the Negaverse. Fate meant for him to be with the Negaverse, otherwise he would have never have seen that cat, never would have been led into that alley, never would have became...
This.
He stared at Bischofite when he gave his next order, and just as quickly as he was praised for his obedience, just as he was told to not grieve or feel sorry for what was fated to happen, Vespa found himself objecting. He shook his head, slowly, hearing nothing else of what Bischofite was saying but thinking only of the order he was given, and how every ounce of his body screamed at him to refuse. Yet, he had to obey, didn't he? That's what a grunt did. That's what a mindless soldier did.
They obeyed.
"...y-yes, sir..."
Vespa reached for the starseed, unable to stop his bloodied fingers from trembling before the lieutenant and not even trying at this point. He didn't want to do this. But, he had to obey. It's what a grunt did.
They obeyed.
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