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 Posted: Fri May 23, 2014 10:27 pm
The room reeked of vomit, of stale sweat, of resignation.
She's festering now. I can feel it. With our worlds reduced to this fetid room, to this wretched, filthy bed and what sustenance our higher-ups see fit to provide, she's dying right along with me. Perhaps that's my only solace now. Bischofite lay in a loose fetal position atop an ancient bed, one hand twisted up into hair while his remaining arm pressed over eyes too sensitive to light. The hole in his chest healed to some marginal extent, allowing for breathing without the sucking, shuddering pains burrowing deep through his lungs.
The room stood silent as always, beyond the ambient noise wrought by the throngs of youma in the Rift beyond. They echoed and seethed among each other in hierarchies established through violence alone. At one time, he sought to join their ranks.
Everything I wanted turned to ash in my grasp. An erasure of our paltry civilian lives, endeavors wrought to end the stagnation, and small measures of normalcy interspersed among my tenure here... Nothing but muddied ash. Everything slipped through my fingers that night - even the last scraps of respect fostered among my peers and subordinates. Can I still call them such? In this monstrous form, could I possibly pass for one worthy of command? Of taking order? Gutter trash christened by betrayal sounds more appropriate. And all those jeopardized by my actions, by my laser focus on trite little red herrings... That they do not beat down the door exacting vengeance in blood price is evidence to my superfluous existence.
Laurelite decreed my punishment as nothing more than a full youma, that I must bend knee to all command stemming from captains and their superiors. It seems closer to a privilege, given my folly. But... Folly is too soft a word. A euphemism. How wretched... Even my speech devolved to half measures.
Or are full measures far exceeding my own reach? I'm so steeped in hubris.
Even Lucifer managed more grace in his fall.
Pain dulled by rumination still pulsed through the closing wound in his chest, the overtaxed muscles surrounding the base of his wings. The hand immersed in his hair slowly searched the nape of his neck until fingertips crawled over thick youma carapace. He felt nothing beyond the minor tremors sent through the tough formation. The fact that they've not yet finished Iscariot's endeavors... It's more damning than breaking through the door to put sword to heart. Even Thraen aborted his execution.
You've finally claimed your suffering, Bischofite.
Faint thumps reached his ears, and a captain's auric energy sent keening pains through his chest.
Someone approached.the_scowling_cat hope this works! sorry about all the emo!
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Posted: Sat May 24, 2014 12:24 am
Oh how he had waited for this. He had waited with baited breath until he was given the clear to see him, the deplorable half youma general confined in this cell. His encounters with the Mars page had kept him from doing what he wanted to do at the time: slam his boots into the sad excuse for a general's side with rib shattering force.
Jarosite walked down the hall towards the room Bischofite was being kept in, purposely making his foot falls heavy and loud. He wanted to let him know he was coming. He wanted him to quake in fear (though that was unlikely).
He came up to the door and opened it with no ceremony. Jarosite slipped inside the door and stared at the half youma general. Rage bubbled in his chest, but he wanted to know why first before he slammed into him.
He deserved that much.
"How you've fallen, General... if I should even call you that," he said, forcing his tone even for the moment. He circled the edge of the room slowly, silver eyes trained on Bischofite. "Tell me why. Why did you try to open a rift in Destiny City? Why did you put all of those innocent civilians in danger?"
He rounded in front of him.
"Where in that broken mind of yours did you think it was okay to everything we are trying to protect?!"
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Posted: Sat May 24, 2014 7:49 pm
The click of the tumblers marked a pit of dread. Fingers curled tightly into hair as an ineffectual attempt to disperse some of the pressure building in his nerves. Nothing helped; no matter how desperately he sought to rebuild some facsimile of the confidence he had before, or how he attempted to assuage himself of these new anxieties, the end result remained the same.
He was nothing more than some fetid soul caught between human and youma - a limbo inescapable.
You shouldn't mention such a phrase around me, he thought bitterly. The title 'General' is reserved for those of merit, those who manage something more than repeatedly crippling our forces in atrociously harebrained plots. I would ask for a demotion, but I fear even that is above me now. Bischofite drew a long breath in the midst of the captain's questioning, though air grit against his lungs in sandpaper strides.
No one is innocent anymore. The creature repositioned his arm just enough to offer a splinter of the man's appearance. Blue hair, silver accents to his uniform... Bishofite remembered him only vaguely. Was he not among the Guard Team? One of Serpentine's soldiers... And a fighter, at that. Yes... It must've been Spec Ops. You are one of our greater officers, are you not? A lofty branch - one far exceeding my abilities. Especially now... Yet you demand answers from me. Why?
My reasoning... It's s**t and piss, isn't it? Drowning the city in a second Rift would omit all factors that distract us from our duties: loved ones, familial obligation, occupation and social endeavor. None can exist in a place like this - nothing can, beyond warped shadows of humanity or the officers who seek to control them. No senshi, no man could live among these caverns. To bring such primordial malice to the surface would wipe clean all who oppose us here. We would secure a bastion of sorts, an outpost against our enemy. The tides would turn irrevocably in our favor rather than this festering sore of a stalemate.
Those were my reasons for such drastic measures, but... What if I was wrong? What if all these paltry distractions prove motivational to the cause? What if the presence of friends and family are the very foundation for Negaverse attendance?
While powered by Chaos, they find no want or need of anarchy, of true entropy in their goals. I don't belong here. I never did.
I never will.
"My intentions were... For clarity of mind. I was wrong. This... Rape of life. It wasn't meant for anyone. Only the demented and the damned." He spoke in tones soft, yet marred by pangs of melancholy. He never once shifted in his stunted explanation.
All this time... "I was wrong."
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Posted: Tue May 27, 2014 8:26 pm
He was wrong?
He was wrong?
He was wrong!?
That was his answer?! Jarosite snarled and grabbed him by the wing, pressing down on one of the joints along it. This a*****e was trying to save himself by saying he was wrong? No s**t he was wrong. No s**t. That was a b***h a** answer and Jarosite was not in here for those kinds of answers.
"You endangered a city of non combates and you're sorry!?" he snarled at him, clenching down with his fist over that joint. He shifted his grip further down on the wing and made to lift Bischofite by it.
"What, did you think that if we had no family, we had no possessions, we had no homes we'd somehow be able to defeat the White Mooners?! We fight to protect those around us, not destroy everything!" He jerked the wing and pulled a fist back in preparation to slam it into the half youma general's face.
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Posted: Tue May 27, 2014 8:48 pm
Bischofite winced from grip alone, shoulders and joints far too sore and strained from the new weights taxing them. He uttered a hiss through clenched teeth but offered nothing more. "I'm not sorry," he corrected with a ghost of his former convictions. "I would never regret bearing witness to a collectif' effort toward anarchy. Nossing compares to ze glory of watching ze Negaverse work in tandem wis' one anozzer - no matter ze duplicity involv-"
A scream wrenched free of clenched tongue when the captain pulled the fresh limb taut, effectively suspending him from the bed. Immediately he sprawled hands out beneath himself to relieve the pressure and throbbing agony. It did little good for the latter. "Our non-combatants mean so little in ze scope of sings... Ants milling about in a universe far too vast to regard zeir existence wis' any interest. We all follow entropy. Deas' is our inevitable destination. Why, Jarosite, must we defy ze laws of Chaos itself to prolong lives better left to nature?" Even now, every sentence spoken felt far too devoid of solid logic to apply. What worth is it now to speak such tired phrases? Was I left to the dark all this time?
"Speak for yourself!" Bischofite struggled to right himself in the captain's grasp, yet made no efforts to deter Jarosite's aggressions. Already he resigned himself to what punishments the man chose to mete out. "I may haf' nossing to protect, but I knew ideals. I knew utopias. I knew dreams. I knew what glory zis Dark Kingdom could obtain if we devoted ourselfs to ze cause - and zat is far beyond some meager desire to protect family."
But even my ideals left me.
"I may not know ze desire to protect zose around me, but I know focus. And I know zat all zese small comforts, zese wishes for sameness, zese intents to wrap ze world in a timeless bubble... Zey are naught but distractions. Every moment spent sinking about someone you lof'e is a moment lost on better planning for ze war. We cannot win while our hearts are halved." He's right. These officers... They have no need for utopias or ideals toward the future. They don't look forward to desolation. The Negaverse has no place for your kind, Bischofite. You're only ruining efforts made toward the end result.
You've done more damage than the White Moon.
And then the fist hit.
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Posted: Wed May 28, 2014 12:54 am
They were nothing more than ants?! They were nothing more than ants!? His sister was nothing more than an ant!? His fist slammed into his face again. How dare this a*****e call his family ants, call anyone else family ants?! Call friends, co workers, neighbors, that hoodlum down the street he drained from ants?
"Then what do we have to fight for, Bischofite!? Metallia? A pair of generals locked in crystal!? The 'Dark Kingdom'?! Before we were officers of the Negaverse, most of us were citizens of Destiny City! This is our home! The Rift is not our home! Space is not our home! Destiny City is our home!" He jerked on the wing again, hard. How dare he assume that his way was the only way. How dare he think he think he better than his own Generals and General-Kings?
Bischofite was worse than Wolframite. The short lolita kid had his personal vendettas, misused the forces of the Negaverse for his own ends, and had the gaol to think himself above everyone else. This... mutant had the stupidity to think himself savior of the whole war without ever considering those around him He preached utopia, dreams, ideals of his own creation and own belief without once thinking of the cost to others. He guided officers of the Negaverse into a folly of a mission, guided by his own desires and needs.
And he knew focus?
"Ideals and utopias will get us no where. We do not want utopias, we want a city free of them, the Senshi, the White Moon! If we do not have something to protect, Bischofite, what point is there in fighting? A thousand year old war we were dragged into because someone shoved Chaos into our starseeds? What reason would we to fight? For Chaos?! That's not enough for most of us!" His voice bounced of the walls as he got louder. Anger surged through his limbs, and he felt the Chaos he spoke up rush with it. How he wanted to end this man right here and now. How he wanted to, and yet could not.
Instead, he settled with slamming his boot into Bischofite's stomach. Jarosite leaned down and snarled in his ear.
"And if you ever call my little sister an ant ever again, I will kill you and it will not be swift when I do."
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Posted: Wed May 28, 2014 7:10 am
Another strike wrenched a strained grunt from the creature. Blood peeled down his face, over lips, over new war paint. "I don't know!" He admitted, pained. "I don't! I know nossing beyond my own damnable aims!" And how often did you solicit other officers to learn what they were fighting for? How often had you studied those around you for something more than a manipulable thread? Never. Perhaps that is your folly, as you would otherwise realize that the Negaverse and its aims do not align with your own. You're afforded no 'home' to cite in their ranks.
The wing jerked in the captain's grasp earned another pained yelp, and whispers slowly filled the room at a volume no greater than lulling wind. Consonants punctuated what sounded like a steady rush of air. "You tell me, Jarosite! Is zat what everyone in ze Negaverse wants? Just a home free of senshi, of knights? Do zey want nossing more beyond zat, even when given zis dark power? And what of our General-Kings and -Queens? Do zey want ze same? What of Metallia?" Am I so far ostracized that the Being of Chaos herself finds no common thread with me? Questions swirled about in a turbulence that left the general utterly lost in their wake. Every operation organized, every detail painstakingly planned amounted to naught. His aims and intents found nothing more than hatred.
"Tell me what I'm supposed to fight for, Jarosite!" I have no home now, no family that will recognize a twisted monstrosity as their own. I have little reason to hate senshi beyond their affront to my philosophies. Without ideals... I don't know what to fight for. Everything's gone. I've lied and manipulated to the point where abandonment is my only comfort.
I can't find answers anymore.
A steel-toed boot thrust into his stomach, finding little resistance in its path. Pain burst forth in tandem with the discomfort in his chest, and the creature attempted to curl further in on himself to mitigate some measure of the pain. With his wing still seized by the captain, though, his actions proved ineffectual. He hissed through clenched teeth, voice and countenance strained from pain.
Looking toward Jarosite, gold eyes found silver in a pleading mix of resignation and need. His voice dropped to little more than a whisper. "We are all. ants." Even murder is a better fate then this. I know who might purge this wretchedness from my thoughts, but... Even Quenton would blanch at my appearance. Death, then, is a better alternative. Let him kill me - no one mourns the wicked.
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Posted: Wed May 28, 2014 3:31 pm
It made him pause, just for a moment. Jarosite knew what he wanted (the eradication of the White Moon and their devistating magic) but the greater wants and needs of the Negaverse were lost on him. He'd once been told that they needed to destroy the White Moon Court to save their planet. He'd been naive then, to how the world actually worked. He'd been around the block now a few years and had seen the lengths both sides went to for their cause. He'd seen the destruction the senshi caused.
But telling this zealot what to fight for? What the Negaverse wanted? He'd have more luck asking the General King and Queens about that.
A utopia it wasn't though. That wasn't what they fought for.
"We fight for a city free to the senshi and knights! We fight for our brothers and sisters who have Chaos in the veins! We fight for our home and our planet. We fight for our lives, Bischofite," he told him, dropping him to the floor unceremoniously. He stared down at him, at the shell of a man who was probably great, once. He held more power than Jarosite did, held a higher rank once, probably did great things with it. Now though...
He was a fitting representation of the phrase "Power corrupts."
"No, Bischofite. You are an ant. You are an ant who thought himself and his ideals better than the entirety of the Negaverse. You are an ant who could not see past his dreams and utopias to the ramifications of his actions. You put the entirety of the Negaverse in jeopardy, and our main source of energy gathering." He looked down on him then, his face nothing but anger and hatred. Killing him would be a sweet release, but perhaps it was better for him to suffer.
"You are a disgrace to the Negaverse, Halfling." Jarosite swung his leg back and made to slam the steel toe into the half youma's chest.
"I hope you suffer for your misguided ideals."
Aeeth He's windin' down. If you have anything specific you'd like him to do, feel free to let me know. :3
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Posted: Thu May 29, 2014 7:04 pm
Bischofite struck the floor with only minor attempts to lessen the impact. Arms partially braced for meeting stony ground, but nothing more. Am I supposed to fight for these things? For prolonging my own life, tawdry now as it is? For Jarosite, who stands over me now? For a city that would balk at my very visage? Could I do so now, when philosophy has been my greatest drive until this point?
Is that what you would have of me, Jarosite? Dutifully marching on and eradicating senshi for the purpose of longevity and a return to status quo? Would you keep the world in this dreamy stasis for another thousand years? Sameness is a form of stagnation - no matter how pretty life is now, it will grow stale in the back of your mind, your throat, an ache behind your eyes... We need change. Of this, I am still sure.
With effort, he roused himself to a seated position at the foot of Captain Jarosite. Leaned toward one side, his legs lay opposite, covered by the tattered fabric of his coat-turned-robe. His gaze remained fixated on his aggressor, the man who reprimanded him in all rights due to his prior actions, and he could offer little more than stoicism in his visage. No energy remained in the depths of his bones to manifest any sort of emotion, any action meant to deter further harm to his already pained frame. His chest still pained him with the slowly-healing wound left behind by Iscariot, wile one of her surmised supporters bore down on him anew. His stomach ached from assault, wings hurt with equal tenderness from both newness and attack alike. Yet still he remained, staring upwards toward a man he knew to obey - if command ever came.
Did I place myself above the Negaverse? I don't remember the touch of megalomania. I made... assumptions. With no one to confer with, I endeavored to start a path that might benefit all who devoted their philosophies to Chaos. Perhaps that number amounts to only one - or my logic is forever flawed. I need a sounding board; I can't be trusted to rebuild my intentions on my own. He is right - I am nothing more than an ant... if that. We are all but chaff. These are times when I need Quenton the most - but could he tolerate this wretched amalgamation that still calls itself Alois?
Perhaps it is better to d-
Bischofite cried out in an unrestrained scream, hands immediately splaying over a broken wound rent anew. The impact sent him reeling backward ,onto wings still sore and yet entirely forgotten beneath the sheer torture of reopening the run left by Iscariot herself. He groaned twice over, legs drawn up in instinctual protection as he struggled to part hands from covering the renewed injury. Blood coated his palm - thick, black and sticky. Perhaps not so unlike tar. It drew new revulsion from the creature, who bit tongue in a pained groan while he endeavored with the last of his power to avoid shedding tears.
A disgrace was putting it lightly.
"I used to seek suffering," he hissed through clenched teeth. "'Pain is ze key to change'. I never cared for better or worse - only continued evolution. Constant deas' of ze old to bring life to ze new. But now..." I don't know my place anymore. I don't know the Negaverse anymore - its wants, its aims, its ideals. I want to believe that what I wanted was right, and that all the officers who turned against me still muddled around in the dark - Plato's Allegory, as Quenton cited once before. But now... "I don't know."
Bischofite made no effort to force himself from the floor. "I need to start over." In everything. I need to wipe the slate clean.
I have to, or I'll die.the_scowling_cat this is perfect, thank you! if you want to assign an order, feel free, otherwise what you've written is just fine!
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Posted: Tue Jun 10, 2014 5:15 pm
It was tempting, to give Bischofite an order. How he wanted to tell Bischofite to pull out one of those pretty feathers everytime he spoke of ideals. But, he reasoned, what would happen when there were no feathers left? Truly unfortunate.
The two officers differed in more ways than rank and percentage of 'human'. Jarosite lived in the here and now, he lived in the moment and applied himself to that moment. The Captain knew, subconsciously, that yes the Negaverse needed to change. Bischofite's change was not the change they needed. A catalyst, perhaps, that something needed to be done. Certainly not the way to go about it, however.
He stood over the pathetic excuse for a life form in front of him and smirked. Jarosite made no move to touch the youma'd officer again, nor did he do much except walk towards the door. Yes, people needed to suffer, but not all people needed to suffer as how Bischofite would have wanted.
Jarosite stopped at the door and turned, briefly. "I hope you do. Or I will rip out your wings." The Captain walked through the door and slammed it behind him, leaving Bischofite alone.
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