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 Posted: Thu Jan 30, 2014 9:02 am
A certain stillness pervaded the earth once a life left, as if it scraped up what dregs of detritus and perception it might find on its way out. As if the infinitesimally insignificant gem lying atop his palm somehow condensed a portion of the universe into its unremarkable existence. Perhaps it was a sense of mourning, some instinctual recognition of loss at the most superficial level. A trite sign, a paltry understanding, a peculiar nod toward the deceased. He liked it. He liked how the silence hung in his ears, oppressive and desperate. He liked the heat on his skin from the brilliant starseed's glow. And he liked that sudden sense of absence in the alley, where life so easily peeled away from its petulant husk.
Bischofite paid little heed to the body. Another hollow corpse, another broken doll for the Dark Mirror Court to reanimate as another spineless fragment of a senshi. Let them cobble their soldiers from his wake. Let them mourn without mourning and exist without existing as they always did, with their strange, wholly wrong auric energies.
But the general found it unnervingly bizarre that the tiered skirt, the tiara, the flamboyant and garish costume simply melted away soon after he ripped the white-hot starseed from the girl's body. It fascinated him to watch the sudden progression, as it struck across her body in a manner of seconds - no longer did she sport the accoutrements denoting her power, as wane and pointless as it was. But she inflicted decent injury on the general, as her powers encompassed unique properties that seemingly reflected his damage. Now heavily lacerated much like the body not far from him, Bischofite straightened up with a groan.
As the Saarlander closed his eyes, a spatial shift left him standing atop black tar paper, a story closer to the stars. Deep gashes burned with the same exhaustion that plagued his muscles and threatened to taint his bones. His body smoldered now where it burnt once before with the intensity of a thousand suns - the gift bestowed by passions so well stoked. But now the Dark Kingdom whittled those away, reduced him to the smoldering ruin of a man inhabiting the same uniform that a true general once more. Were they happy with the change? Were they happy to strip him of all the dream that fueled his frenzy? He wanted to laugh, but the sound that bubbled out of his throat amounted to a guttural crackle.
Finally Bischofite stripped the gloves from his hands, casting them aside to feel the starseed more thoroughly - the impossibly smooth texture, the faint heat, the humming brilliance intrinsic in senshi souls. If anything, it coaxed a small, almost imperceptible smile to the general's lips.
Until he felt someone equal in rank approaching.
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Posted: Mon Feb 03, 2014 6:40 pm
One might call it selfish to proclaim such a large expanse of city as their hunting ground, but Obsidian hadn't clawed his way to the top by thinking of others. There had been the unmistakable trace of a senshi only moments before, but the signal had withered up and and died. They could have powered down, certainly... but he had a different idea, especially with how sharp the cut-off had been. He saw no need to mask his own aura, advancing steadily on the place he'd last felt the trace of energy.
The closer he got, the more aware he was of a strong pulse of chaos, and it was clear that this was not just any agent of the Negaverse, but in fact, a general. He unconsciously bared his teeth, not quite a smile and certainly not a snarl.
A simple thought had him gazing down upon the city from the rooftops, and he continued his approach towards the unknown source of power. His time in the Rift meant that he was out of the loop when it came to new recruits and promoted individuals, and Bischofite was a sight for sore eyes. Obsidian drew up short to study the general with bright, sunken eyes, standing on the edge of the roof. It wasn't out of respect--more like he hadn't quite decided what he wanted to do with the other man just yet. He certainly looked the part of the fabled general, but he had met too many who were weak in mind and morals, compromising with the darkness within themselves.
"What a pretty little trinket you have there." It was a croon, low and rasping, and Obsidian took a deliberate step forward. His head had cocked sharply to the side to better study the pulsing treasure within the man's grasp, and oh, how his teeth ached to feel it hum between them.
"The question is now, what do you intend to do with it? Not something wasteful, I hope."
If he did that, well, Obsidian might have to entertain the thought of beating him within an inch of his life. Another advancing step, his very presence commanding attention.
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Posted: Mon Feb 03, 2014 9:27 pm
Bischofite drew a breath upon heeding the stranger's words, and in a sharp turn, began his slow scrutiny of the general that now stood before him. A blaze of red hair, teeth that saw far too much of the world, a uniform that spoke of practicality... But those eyes. He knew those eyes, those unconscionably bright irises, seeking, wanting... No - needing. Yes, need coursed through those eyes, though Bischofite could not determine the result that fueled such a consuming, wanton hunger. Golden eyes narrowed on the man; internally Bischofite rifled through a number of potentials, ranging from violence to his own personal favorite of morphine. Perhaps his speculations wouldn't matter quite yet.
"What do you sink I intend to do wis' it, General? Do you suspect I'll feed it to a youma? Or perhaps I'll eat it myself? Maybe I'll simply cast it away, into ze storm drains where our posthuman companions lurk diligently." Tossing the starseed over his shoulder, the general teleported backward in time to catch the fragile gem. Still, it hummed all too warmly in his hands - a comfort threatening to boil his skin with addiction of a very different sort. A smile peeled across his face, his deviousness pressing to crack his stoic countenance. But Bischofite found his emotions more a manipulative key than masks alone; he allowed such unkindness to warp his visage with little qualm.
The Saarlander sighed softly while his gaze raked over the man once more, as if expelling the buildup of pain from his injuries. "Of one sing, you can be certain - do not mistake me for ze fool who squanders his experiences. No matter my choice, what comes of it will proof' its expenditure wors'while. Natürlich*, zat is not for you to judge." In a spread of his hands, starseed still perched precariously atop his palm, Bischofite approached his sudden visitor.
"Tell me, general - why ask? Why inquire about some paltry, pas'etic soul rent from ze chest of an enemy? Why such a fascination wis' my 'pretty little trinkets'?" His attempt at a facsimile of the man's natural American accent failed spectacularly, but the misanthrope pressed on nonetheless. "I don't suppose SpecOps finds zeir jobs so oppressively boring zat zey're now policing ze use of starseeds. No, zat gaze tells me you're after somesing - and zat tells me you haf' purpose here, unlike our ambling little brats zat fill our ranks. How curious." But even with limiteless time spent analyzing the man's vibrant green eyes, Bischofite could not discern his motivations in approaching him. The majority of their ranks found the misanthropic general repulsive, abrasive, and utterly deranged.
Maybe this redheaded general hadn't heard of him.Tsunake almost wrote tsu naked*Naturally
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Posted: Wed Feb 12, 2014 4:55 pm
"Why wouldn't you eat it?"
The question oozed incredulity and amusement alike. He didn't bother to bite back his grin, and if this fool thought to rattle him by tossing the starseed aside--well, his eyes snapped to trace the gem's arcing flight, but Obsidian himself made no move to pursue it. It was something new, he realized, to be toyed with in such a way. Most quailed before him, a living legend. The last remaining of the originals. Experience shaped him into a honed weapon with an unquenchable taste for blood.
"I'll judge how I please." A croon, soft and sibilant, and his eyelids lowered so there was a mere glimpse of green peaking out from beneath. "If you had any sense, you'd eat it. Have you even ever tried?" His laughter rang through the alley.
One hand stretched out, rough with callouses and scars, to lightly stroke underneath the other man's chin and throat. "Because if you aren't going to do anything good with it, I want it. And since you keep flapping that pretty, pretty tongue..." A deliberate pause, his eyes searching Bischofite's face as though to glimpse an answer there. "...I might as well take it."
That lazy grin returned, and his teeth practically shone in the darkness. "You're already injured. I could break your neck and take yours, too. Not as good, I'd imagine... but I suppose there's only one way to tell."
His eyes glittered like emeralds, hard and cold. "Would you fight with me? Would you scream when I dragged my blade across your throat?" SpecOps. Yes, he vaguely recalled that as his specialization. None of that mattered in the big picture.
"I like you." The words were low and breathy. "I could kill you." He sounded dreamy, his eyes still half-lidded even as he pressed himself flush against the other general. Violence hummed through his very being, an erratic sort of energy that suggested a rapidly thinning hold on his restraint. "Do you want me to try?"
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Posted: Wed Feb 12, 2014 8:32 pm
Bischofite spoke in a quiet, lulling tone, bereft of the conviction he harbored at capacity. "I want you to try." After relegating the pretentiously prized gem to the inner pocket of his coat, the Saarlander usurped those same calloused hands that sought to dupe him with feigned intimacy. Upon drawing those very hands to his throat, the general molded their shape to his neck, each too-hot finger blazing imperceptible scars into his skin. Thin hands, well-kept hands, piano hands urged those fingers to bore deeper, until they tasted a sense of breathlessness. "I want you to break my neck. I want you to take my starseed. I want you to eat it, so I might course srough your veins as a vibrant burst of energy, or as a plague so corrosif' and rotten zat you would eviscerate yourself to avoid darker fates... Menschenfresser*." The very feel of the name, the roll of the r, coaxed a muted grin out of him.
Slowly his demeanor shifted, leeching off the very epitome of violence that stood before him, against him, waiting for even a ghost of a chance to steal away another life between those too-white teeth. "But I would fight you. Oh, I would cut away ze hands zat squeezed... But zis should not surprise you. No, if you'f taken to starseeds so readily, zen you're well acquainted wis' survival instincts. It's probably even routine." Parting his hands from the general's, a pair of chakrams precipitated from nonexistence - twin blades sporting nary a fleck of blood. Bischofite directed the weapons inward, poised not far from the offending general's wrists. "You asked if I would scream when you dragged your blade across my sroat. Ze answer is yes - I do not haf' complete control over my body, so ze gurgling, bloody sputum zat coursed out of zat injury would haf' to do for a scream. But as you commit ze act, I sink you'll find zat I cannot quite stop myself from retaliating, no matter my intentions.
"Let me divulge a secret to you, Menschenfresser: I haf' a fondness for deas'. Yours, mine, senshi, knights, agents... No matter ze entity, all sings meander toward entropy. Yet..." His gaze softened; the general's focus fixed far beyond the redheaded offender, and his countenance shifted nearly undetectably to a pensive mixture of nostalgia and bitterness. "Nevermind. Es ist egal." He huffed gently, and the corners of his mouth teased upward in something akin to a smile. Finally his gaze strayed to the general's, taking in its remarkable brightness in stride with a nearly palpable maliciousness.
Bischofite edged backward, forging a few meager inches between the two to assuage his virulent nerves. The pressure against various lacerations distracted him greatly, and his carefully crafted countenance threatened to contort in the slow siege of pain stemming from those injuries. Now with a small semblance of relief at hand, Bischofite finally addressed the inquiries dancing about them. "You asked if I'f eaten a starseed before. My answer is yes, but zat does not mean anysing to you. It's a filler question, isn't it? Somesing to occupy ze mind a while longer. A distraction, meant for yourself more zan I. Secondly, you asked what I might do wis' it. And to zat, I say... it doesn't really matter. Regardless of my intents, it sounds like nossing will compare to your plans for it.
"Now, let me enlighten you furzer: Menschenfresser is a conjoined word of my natif' tongue. Menschen is easy enough for you - humans. But fresser is tricky. You see, in English, zere is no differentiation between how people eat and how animals eat, but in German... We haf' two words to describe ze same action, depending on its source. Humans claim ze word essen, but animals... One does not say der Hund isst, for it is a dog and not a man. For us, der Hund frisst. By eating starseeds, you lose zat claim to essen, and instead you are not so different from... Youma. Fressen suits you better." Bischofite grinned in a slow breath, his dark fascination readily apparent.
"Menschenfresser... Man-eater."
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Posted: Sat Feb 15, 2014 2:15 pm
The pads of his fingers twitched and ghosted over the soft skin of the stranger's throat, sinking in from time to time to apply sporadic moments of unyielding pressure. No one had ever risen so readily to his taunts, and Obsidian could feel his heart fluttering with a mixture of excitement and eagerness all at once. His eyes rolled to their corners, from one side to the other, to better take in those chakrams with a hint of challenge.
He allowed Bischofite to speak without interruption, a rarity for the normally mercurial general. His expression altered at times, growing more pleased when the dark-haired man described the spasms of death, and outright mirthful whenever his fingers sank into a cut and Bischofite began to show twinges of discomfort.
A language lesson. Very well, he'd play the role of the patient, tolerating student for now--but his hands tightened hard around the younger's throat, threatening to crush his trachea right then and there. The tension drained, the pressure ebbed, and Obsidian resisted the urge to bite.
"A beast, then." Laughter spilled from him no sooner than the words left his lips, and one hand seized the front of Bischofite's throat while the other made to take the man's jaw. "A beast is not bound by the rules that humans are. I like that."
A beast acted upon instinct. A beast ate the weak to grow strong and survive. A beast eventually fell at the jaws of another. His thumb caressed the other general's jawline even as he thought to himself, his lips occasionally pulling back to bare his teeth with mirth. "Unless you're trying to insult me. That'd make me sad."
The blunt, ragged nails of his hand sank into the sides of Bischofite's neck.
"But we've only just met. Surely you'd never."
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Posted: Sun Feb 16, 2014 7:16 pm
With the general's tightening grip, Bischofite's breaths came in strained gouts that yielded a bout of steam into the crisp air. His throat bubbled and clicked with the pressure, working ever harder just t gasp. A cringe spread across his countenance and his eyes narrowed to a half-lidded, acidic stare while he bit back the instincts that urged him to rid the general of his hands. But only when a welling, potent fear festered in his gut, spreading its cold fingers up his esophagus and straight into his spine, did he finally bring the weapons crossways over his chest.
Yet they struck nothing.
The impishly light slap to his cheek echoed his failure to strike, but Bischofite's mind still lingered on the memories still engraved on his throat - the iron grip of the blonde that threatened to end his turpitude abruptly. The ghost grip may fade in time, but the redhead's uncannily similar reminder dredged them anew - like lacerations reopened for the entertainment of the ignorant.
But Bischofite did not linger long. He turned from the general entirely, measuring out a few leisurely paces as trepidation and exhilaration articulated themselves as a coughing, whistling laugh. The younger general held the back of his hand to his lips as the mirth ran its course, delivering from him the terror that his body still suffered from a potential demise. Half-turning to regard his new acquaintance, Bischofite flashed the deemed Menschenfresser a wide grin. "Most would not attempt such a feat. It's... Not commonplace amongst our peers to accommodate such a strange demand, wouldn't you say? Most balk at ze sought of jeopardizing ze life of one of our own. Zere's more to you zan I expected." Shaking his head, the misanthrope brandished his finger toward the older man as he shifted on his heels. "You are infinitely more interesting zan anyone I'f met before, Menschenfresser, and you're free from ze camaraderie zat most officers feel obliged to impress upon ozzers. But..." His demeanor shifted fluidly to a more serious disposition. "I suspect you haf' a great many improvements to undergo."
Moments later, Bischofite adopted another shift into his prior mischievous nature. After rooting around in his inner coat pocket, the general produced an ornate carved ivory case with gold trimming. Upon opening the cigarette case, he displayed its contents toward the opposing general: inside lay one cancer stick per side, with the indented capacity for eight. "Cigarette, General?" He offered slyly.
"If you take one, you will find out if I was insulting you earlier, by equating you to a Monster."
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