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 Posted: Thu Jan 30, 2014 11:06 pm
A restlessness pervaded his bones, amplified by the residual bite left by the dead of winter. Snow dusted in the ground in vague drifts, listless like himself, and his eyes raked over every white-stricken precipice for any sign, any semblance of life. Even his practiced reach for auric energies produced no results. The town was dead - effectively the necropolis he sought on a daily basis. And where was he now, that silence so oppressed the city? Writhing in his own thoughts, brought on by the ache of addiction coursing through his veins. It hurt to live, and he lived to hurt. How strange that he found it so... empty now.
Bischofite sat just behind the lip of the building, where his feet propped up against its shelf with a slight bend in his knees. The gaunt general eyed his surroundings restlessly; lately he felt plagued by such rampant paranoia that he couldn't trust his own instincts to deliver him from an ambush. When he regretfully conceded that none might cross his path immediately, Bischofite opened a hand to the night air much like a bloom. Soon after he curled his fingers about a segment of space that seemingly solidified into a dulled, dark crystal. And for several long, sprawling moments afterward, he eyed the device with such weighted intention that he expected it to crack from gaze alone.
Finally the general pulled the crystal near to his lips, nearly brushing its surface. He breathed a long sigh, closing his eyes while he listened to the air rush out of his lungs. Clean. Clear.
"Natron," Bischofite spoke purposefully. In an effort to call upon his older tendencies, ones not yet poisoned by addiction, he feigned a smile. "Can you find my voice? Can you track me across town like a starcrossed lover? If you find me, would you leap into my arms?" The general laughed, a mirthless, wretched sound amplified with the tinny, crackling feedback from the makeshift radio. "If you haven't guessed, zis is Bischofite speaking. I want you to meet me on ze rooftop of Game Over Games - I haf' some business to discuss wis' you.
"It would be prudent to come alone." The Saarlander dismissed his communications crystal immediately afterward. No longer was he in the mood for witty retorts, not from a man who barely exhibited the ability to give commands under duress. No, his addiction seeped into his pitifully meager stores of social patience - tonight entailed business only.
A small, meticulously wrapped package sat atop the lip, precariously close to his feet. It sported a glossy, royal blue paper with light blue Christmas balls caked with snow in a matte finish - one he managed to scrounge out of his roommate's storage closet with great difficulty. Around the paper he wrapped a white ribbon, which he tied in the same persnickety tendencies he exhibited toward any menial task, and used the flat of his switchblade to curl it into ridiculous proportions. He fully intended to neglect the packaging altogether, but his increasingly fragmented state of mind demanded that he focus on something aside from the burning ache for a hit.
Now the package sported an additional layer of misconstrued motives and superimposed emotions. Bischofite laid flat against the office roof; he hoped the captain would show in due time.Die Fluegel der Freiheit hope this works! captain notation was not a typo - he does not know of natron's upgrade
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Posted: Fri Jan 31, 2014 8:16 am
Natron hadn't exactly expected to receive a call from a fellow officer - never mind one from Bischofite, whom he was well aware wasn't particularly fond of him, especially not after his wavering performance during the ambush of Persephone's team. The Lieutenant had made his contempt clear as day - and he had been right, inaction was inexcusable. He saw that now, and hated that it had taken a Senshi murdering his parents and very nearly getting him arrested for it (thank goodness for fellow officers in the department, the Negaverse's reach had been his saving grace) for him to see that.
Surprise or not, he wasn't exactly one to ignore another officer's call, especially since he was certain that borderline-flirtatious opening aside Bischofite wouldn't be reaching out to him unless it was something serious. He was familiar with the place mentioned, and so it was both simpler and quicker to teleport to the roof rather than messing around with walking and climbing and probably making a moron of himself in the process since despite his promotion, that seemed to be a theme of his existence.
Another surprise - Bischofite's aura, that of a proper General. A slight grin appeared on his face - even if the German made him eternally uncomfortable, he was always happy to see those who well deserved it promoted.
"Congratulations, General," he said, as a form of greeting, taking a few steps closer. "Was there something you needed from me?" No need to dance around with social niceties; it would be a waste of both their evenings.
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Posted: Fri Jan 31, 2014 9:45 am
"Saf'e it for yourself, Natron. Zis rank is not new to me." Bischofite finally rose to his feet and probed the depths of his uniform to produce an ornate, gold and ivory cigarette case. After opening it with a singular clack, he carefully plucked a cigarette from the previously untouched side. After pursing the cancer stick in his mouth, he offered the case toward his (surprisingly) fellow general. "You should try one, Natron. Zey're quite good. As ze original owner told me, one side makes you taller. Ze ozzer, smaller."
And then an idea struck; a thin smile curled across his face with the smoke from his newly-lit cigarette. Instead of waiting, he tucked the case back into his uniform.
The general disappeared without warning; suddenly, the air rushed behind Natron where a bodily presence invaded its previous nothingness. "General, zere is always somesing I need from someone, be it a starseed or a menial task or a dispensing of punishment. And to me, Natron, you always seemed suited for b***h work - hence ze reason I called you here. It seemed to me at our last meeting zat you were hesitant to stand up and gif' orders, zat you preferred to act as anozzer grunt among ze army... Even if you were ze one to call an assembly of officers zat night. And I was only partially impressed at ze time to hear your orders - mainly because it was an easily predicted outcome for me. Ze captain takes flak for his failures, and ze captain tries to remedy lost confidence by making corrections. Simple, effectif', and utterly boring."
The Saarlander perched one elbow atop each of Natron's shoulders before lacing his fingers together for a makeshift hammock. Resting his chin atop his hands, he continued to torment his peer while watching his hair shift and sway from the misanthrope's harshly projected words. Smoke still peeled out from his neglected cigarette. "So before we begin, I'd like to seek reparations for my previous boredom. If you actually want to hear and partake in my utterly benign and uneventful mission, take one of my cigarettes. You won't haf' to smoke it if you find it beyond your taste - simply press it between your lips and humor me. If not... We can depart from our perches and you can resume your disgustingly predictable life as an officer wis'out my strange machinations."
With one hand slipping from his nest of fingers, Bischofite produced the case again. Balancing his elbow on the redheaded general's shoulder, he extended his arm to its full length and displayed the case before the man. "Go ahead," Bischofite urged, uncomfortably close to Natron's ear (and he hoped the boy had the sense to appreciate the misanthrope's willingness to omit personal space at this point). "Take one."
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Posted: Fri Jan 31, 2014 11:01 am
Natron was really fully prepared to deny Bischofite's cigarettes - quite frankly, he didn't trust the damn things, any more than he trusted their owner. So having Bischofite behind him and very actively within his personal space was not a comfortable place to be. Certainly he admired Bischofite's viciousness, but that didn't necessarily mean he wanted him anywhere near that close.
Perhaps he should've simply left, let Bischofite handle whatever he wanted done on his own - because goddamnit, he was a General in the Negaverse, not somebody's errand b***h - but angling for his pride was always an excellent strategy to manipulate him into doing things that were very dangerous to his health. Never mind "making up" for boring the taller man, he wasn't exactly invested in taking care of Bischofite's feelings. He was, however, thoroughly invested in not being seen as a p***y, because he'd had quite enough of that in high school and during his stint as a Lieutenant who could barely toss his dodgeball with any kind of effectiveness.
"Fine, give me the damn cigarette," he said, "and kindly get off me, there are exactly two people I let invade my space and you aren't one of them." And one of those was more by exhaustive attrition than choice; Clary didn't exactly ask, any more than she had as Cait. He reached out and lifted one of the cigarettes from the carton, towards the middle, nose wrinkling a little as he considered the possibility of actually smoking it. Oh well, it certainly wasn't going to kill him in one stroke, was it? And even if it was something beyond a normal cigarette, surely it couldn't be too dangerous because killing him would also be counterproductive.
He hoped.
He lifted the stick to his lips. "I'm assuming you still have a lighter."
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Posted: Fri Jan 31, 2014 11:31 am
"You assumed correctly." The general probed the depths of his coat once more to produce a single, battered matchbook, sun-bleached and well worn, from which he plucked a match. After striking a light on the front of Natron's belt, he held the flickering flame to the man's chosen cigarette. Afterward he tossed the match to the side without bothering to shake it out. "For as long as I haf' my vices, I should possess ze paraphernalia to indulge in zem, wouldn't you say?" Taking a drag, he blew hot smoke against the boy's ear with a smile.
Bischofite displayed no intentions of removing himself from the shorter general. As if his sole intentions were to exacerbate the boy's mood, Bischofite instead shifted forward so that his biceps now rested on Natron's shoulders, and his bony fingers instead laced against the nape of Natron's neck. Should his body heat shift due to the laced filter, he would feel it readily. "Cut ze s**t, Natron. I may not be one of your two special someones, but you're not exactly exerting much effort to stop me. Discourse aside, we still haf' business to discuss - as you'f agreed to my terms. I sink you'll be pleasantly surprised in regards to how little danger is inherent in zis mission." He smiled, betting Natron could perceive the sudden change in countenance due to the low laugh emanating from his throat.
"Take a look at ze box on ze precipice. It's meant for someone in particular - one of our eternal senshi, by ze name of Persephone. Green hair, green eyes, long black dress... Even shorter zan you. Find her, and gif' her zat box. Zere's no need for any message, but make one up if you feel ze need. It might make sings a little more interesting, just like how zat cigarette might make you a little more interesting." Finally the misanthrope pulled away, taking a drag as he walked backwards toward the precipice.
He halted when his heels struck the ledge. "What would you guess is in zat box, Natron? A human heart? A bouquet of flowers? Youma dust? Do you sink it's wors' taking ze chance to gif' it to her? Or are you going to srow it into a river as soon as I am out of sight? Your course of action won't affect much; zis is merely an act of severing ties."
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Posted: Fri Jan 31, 2014 12:24 pm
Natron took a drag of the cigarette - perhaps too long of one, because he ended up hacking a little on the smoke. His inexperience was obvious, but perhaps not surprising. The second was much easier, because he was smarter about it.
"These aren't terrible," he confessed, trying to ignore the odd tingling sensation he was beginning to experience so that he could instead focus on what Bischofite was actually saying. He decided that it would just be easier to ignore the invasion to his personal space, because it obviously wasn't going to stop any time soon.
The rising goosebumps on his arms were a little harder to ignore. "If there's so little danger, why can't you just do it yourself?" He asked, his voice perhaps a little too sharp. Alright, maybe he was still annoyed with the invasion of his space. Though, it was nice and convenient that it was Persephone Bischofite wanted the package delivered to. "I'm familiar with her, I mean, I should be, she's been crashing in my apartment since she corrupted and what the hell is in these." Colors had very definitely started to shift and while he wasn't very familiar with the effects of cigarettes, he knew that was nowhere on the list.
At least Bischofite wasn't on him anymore.
"I'm not sure I wanna know what's in there, to be honest, but it'll get to her - she'll be sad, though, if it's really a cutting of ties, I've known her for as long as I can remember and I can't think of anyone else she speaks as fondly of." Or had spoken as fondly of, she hadn't mentioned Bischofite in a few weeks, which was odd.
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Posted: Fri Jan 31, 2014 1:03 pm
"Oh why, why why can't I just do it myself? General, I must be so weak in ze knees for zis idiotic, patronizing slip of a girl zat I simply can't bring myself to stray in her presence for long. Perhaps I'll melt when she touches me. Does it really matter to you what my reasoning might be for a liaison?" His toothy grin widened further in perception of such vast opportunities. "If you're truly so interested in finding out, I would like to see your curiosity rendered tangible. How might you do zat, you ask? Simple - you expressed disdain for my actions earlier. You must commit an act you find distasteful, uncomfortable, possibly revolting and I will tell you once I perceif' your aversion for it. It is up to you to determine which act zat might be, for I am no mind reader. But bear in mind zat we are in a social situation on a rooftop - don't expect to go on a wanton murder of civilians for ze answer you seek."
Finally Natron's bumbling through his aptitude for the assignment was met with little reaction until his flaunting tapered off into a highly unrelated tangent. The misanthrope approached his willing audience once more, arms spread to gesture their surroundings. "By now you're probably seeing ze world differently. Colors are more vibrant, objects seemingly shimmer and shift but your instincts allow you to interact wis' zem accurately. It might feel like your mind suddenly opened up, like a flower you never knew could bloom... Or a blossomed skull after a gunshot. Your senses are heightened. Maybe you're a little jittery."
Bischofite usurped Natron's hand, and pressed firmly upon the muscles for any perception of a tremor. The skin felt hot, unusually hot - so it seems he chose the proper cigarette after all. Satisfied, he allowed the man's hand to drop from his grasp with no more attachment to it than a dead, dismembered cricket. Hands still parted in letting go, his gaze settled on the general's pupils - could he detect dilations in such low lighting? "If she's sad, it suits her well. She asked for it herself. Srough her you will likely learn why, so zere's little point in my elaborating on it. As for her fondness, it's misplaced. You know zis as well as I do." Natron possessed the sense to understand that trust proved far too easy for the misanthrope to manipulate.
"But, in regards to more important affairs, don't you want to know what's in my Zigaretten? Maybe it's rat poison, maybe it's heroin, maybe it's old, dried mushrooms long expired and possibly les'al. I would sink zat knowing what you just ingested is paramount to your continued heals'." Finally the general knotted his fingers together once again, pulling them taught against his chest as he waited for Natron's next actions.
How far would he go to pursue the truth? How far might Bischofite deconstruct the dumb b*****d before he realized that his questions held little import?
How long would it take to unnerve him into forsaking their conversation?
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Posted: Fri Jan 31, 2014 1:44 pm
Natron frowned a little. "You know what? I'm just gonna ask Cait - Clary, because she'll actually answer me. Probably." He skipped very quickly over his mental hiccup and decided to blame it on whatever Bischofite had added to the cigarettes, even though he found himself accidentally calling her by her old name quite a lot. She was just too damn like the girl he'd known, in the end. "Alternately she'll throw something at me and tell me to mind my own business." Also acceptable because in the end, was it really his problem why they couldn't talk to each other face to face?
He'd stopped smoking, because he'd had quite enough of whatever was in there, thanks - Bischofite was describing what he was experiencing pretty accurately, and he definitely didn't like any of it. Diminished facilities made him uncomfortable, though he supposed there was worse than bizarre colors and an expanded mind, whatever that meant.
And it would be damned helpful to know what exactly Bischofite had laced these with - though it was difficult to think of something that would genuinely disgust him, at least at first.
"You want me to make myself uncomfortable? I'm past being bothered by dead civilians, so that's off the table anyway," but there was one thing he could think of that might just make Bischofite uncomfortable too. Certainly the taller General had been plenty touchy on his own terms - but what of on someone else's? So while the idea was pretty repulsive for a number of reasons, it also seemed appropriate.
He dropped the cigarette, finally, and stepped on it to put it out, and then took a few steps over, placed his hands on the sides of Bischofite's face, and both pulled him down and lifted himself up to close the height difference between them so he could plant a kiss on his lips.
Disgusting, but necessary.
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Posted: Fri Jan 31, 2014 2:25 pm
"I'm waiting, Natron." But the general lacked an idea of what he might be waiting for.
A touch to his face offered the first clue, but he immediately rejected its potential outcome. Natron might be willing to push his limits, to force himself beyond his comfort zone in search for answers, but he certainly wouldn't exacerbate the issue to that point - until he did. And for once, Bischofite froze.
His mind simply locked up.
This didn't happen. This never happened. And it couldn't be happening now.
Bischofite never lost when it came to manipulations, not even when Schörl tempted him so terribly. Heated lips, too hot from LSD, trumped his earlier machinations. The general couldn't even think beyond the mouth pressed against his, the tactile sensations promoting his shock, the unwarranted siege on his personal space. Perhaps most appalling were his reactionary thoughts - and he buried them beneath caustic mountains of derision for the man who threatened to overturn his dominance in the conversation. In their interaction, the one Bischofite solicited himself.
So he bit. He bit the man's lower lip, tasting muted flesh with vague hints of salt and sharpness. The cold fury of gold eyes met green as he snarled into the sudden violence, pushing himself to taste every scrambling sinew as his teeth sunk beneath the surface. Til he tasted blood. And even then, he hadn't let go. Only when the pain registered in Natron's eyes did he relax his jaw, and away he pulled with lips brushing across the fresh holes left behind. Bischofite smiled, but the grin exposed a rough, raw side to the misanthrope that he often left undisclosed.
"Clever, Natron. Clever." A bony hand rose to wipe stray blood from his lips. "Lysergide. LSD. Acid, you might say. But you needn't worry - might wear off by sunrise, perhaps by lunch. Zat bite, however... Even treated, it might take a few days to heal. You're a good kisser, but you haf' bad taste in partners. It takes some talent to stop me like zat." Finally he quashed his own cigarette beneath his boot; it must've fallen out when Natron touched his face. A petty parlor trick - one he wouldn't succumb to twice.
"Run along wis' ze package now, before ze rotting head inside starts to stink. I'd hate for its putrid, viscous juices to leak srough ze packaging and stain your uniform." After crossing to his original position when Natron arrived, he plucked the package from its perch and tossed it toward the general - the telltale jumble of various small trinkets effectively disproved his earlier statement about a severed head. "Leaf', before I get violent."
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Posted: Fri Jan 31, 2014 4:00 pm
Natron admittedly had not been prepared for the sensory overload of kissing under the influence. s**t, he had not thought that through, hadn't properly considered that he was placing himself in something of a vulnerable position. And he had certainly made the wrong choice of partner - he absolutely could not be surprised when Bischofite's teeth sank into his lips. He had meant to agitate, to punish for pressing him into an uncomfortable situation and for drugging him, and he had pretty well succeeded.
Success hurt like hell and tasted like copper and blood, and as soon as Bischofite released him, he took several steps back and spat blood and saliva onto the rooftop. "You asked for disgust, I gave it to you," he said, shaking his head in a desperate attempt to clear it but between the acid in his system and the blood on his tongue there wasn't much clearing to be done. Oh well, at least he knew what he'd been drugged with now.
He caught the box, holding it against his chest. "I wouldn't dare impose on you any longer," he said, and with a very, very sarcastic salute, he vanished off the roof.
He'd make a delivery first, and then see if kisses while high felt as good with a partner that wasn't going to try and chew his face off.
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