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 Posted: Sat May 31, 2014 7:18 pm
YooooumaShe played the word silently in her throat, over her tongue, hearing voice in her head draw it out like a kabuki stage cry. But her lips did not part from sardonic smile as she made her way down to through the Hall of Damned Souls (as far as she cared to consider it) to what may as well amount to some piece of Dante's Inferno. An anti-climactic piece, but one well enough. He wasn't, supposedly, getting out and about much. Disappointing, General. Bad General. Bad....Youma.He was supposed to be treated as a Youma. There were merits to that, as he was proving he didn't know how to be a man. Or a half man. Or half anything other than half wallowing in failure. Youma didn't eat anything but energy, so she'd brought along energy orbs in case it was needed. She'd also brought along a 4up of Boddington's and a Roast n Toast Sandwich from the Block Deli (Shaved boar's head beef, smoked gouda, carmelized onions lettuce and horseradish mayo). Once she was down in the Rift proper, it took a little searching. The other Youma at least knew where he was, and she was feeling generous enough to bribe them instead of commanding. She missed Barbary being able to just point- it was faster. Finding the place was confirmed by the presence of a smell. The rest of the Rift was just Old and Dust, which was present enough, but mixed by the nearby presence of Wound and Boy. A little more footwork and she had found a horizontal heap on a slab. "Rise and shine, Bischofite."
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Posted: Sat May 31, 2014 7:51 pm
He often found that in clarion dreams he found trees more real than those he touched in Saarland, snow colder than the winters in Dresden. He knew every sensation, every breath of wind against his skin and every cloud dotting the sky, every face that passed him by on the street unaware. He knew, now, every angle of every feature on Quenton's face when frozen in horror. He knew the touch of stony hand. And, perhaps most studied, the blackened spire that clamored toward the sky in its wild fury. He knew it most of all, ascribing to it all the folly of fresh psychoanalysis manipulated by the untrained mind.
Grief. Derision. Personal failure.
Ultimately he knew not what it was - it didn't matter, ultimately. In his dreams he found true nihilism, for every change affecting the earth only altered the dreamscape further. Never had he manifested any change on the planet, in the hearts of men, in the youma that now surrounded him as nothing more than a curiosity.
For a time, he lingered in his cell while the worst of grief claimed his mind, but soon he found restlessness settling into his foreign bones. In the Rift he found little more than rock formation and shattered buildings to render company, as he harbored a new aversion to youma possessing the ability to speak. Those who did draw near to him found no warm reception - rather, he waved them away with every hostility manageable in a form he barely knew himself. Though no great balm to his psyche, he found this new location fulfilling enough. He could settle for it. And, he determined, that was all he could hope for in this warped conglomeration of human and youma. He was neither here nor there, always lodged in some lukewarm twilight between times.
For hours, days perhaps, he lay prostrated on the crystal, form curled into a loose fetal position while his wings splayed outward with their vapid sighs. He dreamt of a thousand timelines - infinite tailorings to memories now old and studied. Perhaps he never truly remembered them for what they were anymore. And in the midst of weaving a better fate for himself, a lilting voice shattered what remained of his dreamscape.
So he stirred.
Slowly the creature drew himself upright, feeling weak and dazed from his passive disinterest in food. After affixing a mask to his face, Bischofite turned toward the source of the sound - and felt heart sink when his gaze lighted on a very familiar face. "Schörl," he managed in flat tones. Shoulders sank marginally, amplified by the drop of wings. Why must you drag me back to this wretched place? And when he caught the scent of the sandwich, all such acerbic thought fled from mind in favor of hunger.
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Posted: Sun Jun 01, 2014 9:52 pm
She visibly gave a shiver, smile slow spreading, "It always sounds best when you say it." But onto business. She found a likely nearby perch herself, and held up the sandwich bag like a kill, "You're not being e-ffec-tive. " " Ennui and dust in due dose. But that engine is getting rusty. I don't like crying shames. I expect you still eat. Lady or the Tiger? " She held up an orb on the latter of the two words.
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Posted: Sun Jun 01, 2014 10:16 pm
The shiver passed unnoticed, as his attentions fixated on the sandwich bag held by the taunting captain. Obvious it was, but he didn't care. He hadn't tasted food in some days now - sustained purely through the ambient energy of the Rift. Were he one to meditate on his condition from a more detached standpoint, he would've speculated on his continued survival partially due to the youma side's propensity to take energy.
But none of that mattered now.
"Zere's a catch in everysing wis' you, Schörl." The delectable smell wafting from the sandwich felt like a godsend compared to the stagnant stench of the Rift. He wondered if the scent wafted for miles, and for a scant moment, the thought paralyzed him - until he remembered that youma have no need for food anymore.
Were I in a better place, I'd say I'd rather eat you. Ignoring the affixed identities to the two 'food groups', Bischofite responded in tired irritation. "What's your price for ze sandwich?"
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Posted: Tue Jun 03, 2014 7:23 pm
Oh is there? I don't think it is I who has a reputation of gameshows. You found door number 3, only it was a trap door someone else pulled underneath you. "You answer my curiosities. Walk with me. Very simple, taking it easy. You're not in much condition for calisthenics. " She set the orb away again, his preference indicated. "Light expectation of a Youma, all in all- " Nothing I couldn't, by right of orders, command of you already.-Of a tiger, I believe. 'Deadly, lovely, unpredictable to a point. Lacking Discipline.' Now you've lost that much more free will in your trying, lying, dying. “Question one- how much passion is left in that broken body?”
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Posted: Tue Jun 03, 2014 11:16 pm
A soft groan issued from the creature as he considered the strain of simple walking. All movement came at a budgetary consideration - mental stock of his energy reserves coupled with the necessity of ambulation coursed through his thoughts before he summoned enough will to obey her demands. He rose slowly, careful to avoid the flood of numbness stemming from low blood pressure. Though the landscape swayed slightly, he managed without too much incident. His tired gaze found her afterward, expecting further command.
The sandwich smelled far too inviting; often he caught his thoughts meandering toward how it might taste, and what manner of meats might be piled between those slices of bread. It proved a suitable challenge for someone who fell all too far from grace.
His attention dropped to the ground at mention of her first question. His hands knitted together and rested atop the sash to apply mild pressure to his stomach; he hoped the added pain might stymie his appetite long enough for him to focus. "Passion. Interesting choice." Passion, not conviction. Not drive, not goals, not usefulness. Passion specifically. "Not much. It is enough to stir the heart and tongue when particular issues are pressed, yet too little to afford debate or rebuke. I suspect zat passion never wholly leaves ze body - mind - until dead."
And have I not died? This existence, it's a bastardization of reincarnation - I died on the floor of that warehouse, at the end of Avalon's blade. I died, and I lost everything. I lost my rights to walk unhindered through Destiny City, to pursue passions in piano, to bait Quenton for fruitful debate. Stroud knows, in part, what I've lost - yet here she is, trading food for answers. Rebirth has one black sense of humor.
Were I still possessed of hubris, I would caution her against labeling me under the same name as the treacherous beasts that claim alliance to us. However, as cited by Avalon, I act much the same. Acted? It's hard to tell now - would inaction qualify as betrayal? There's so much left to question now. With all these assumptions banished... I am hollow. What would you do with me, Schörl? I hope you have a plan.
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Posted: Sun Jun 08, 2014 5:19 pm
"Stir heart and tongue only...well, I supposed you'd still know how to use the latter well enough. It will have to do for now. Those hands will take some doing. And the rest," She gave him a once over, arching a brow high while her mouth turned lopsided smile. If he was so boring to have nothing back anymore. But she highly doubted it. It was more likely it had been buried in the proverbial explosion, and just needed proper excavation. The challenge, she supposed, lay in where to set the new dynamite. "Many things start slow, or grow best slow. You haven't cultured much of a sense of patience, though, for all the crosses you like to nail yourself to. " "You're ....eighteen? Twenty? Maybe all of a year and a half to two years into your service in a war who's begining was at least centuries or more ago judging just by these ruins. " "The Fianchetto tends only to work with you let the pieces know that there's going to be a hole, especially when its kingside. More just opened up as the board crumbled. The good news is that that which does not kill us only makes us stranger. " I'm sure you're going on to yourself that you 'died' there or something equally melodramatic. "You need to play the long game now. You still have your freewill, when you remember how to use it. You are still a General, not a Youma. " The feel of him was enough to answer the Truth of the matter, whatever the punishments and rules were. Or at least it was a truth. There come the days in the dark when versions of truth are the sharpest of all swords. "Even if role-playing has some kicks."
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Posted: Mon Jun 09, 2014 8:11 pm
She has a point: I never knew patience, not beyond a fleeting glance at the top of a precipice, overlooking another precarious game. And chess... A game of war. Perhaps she knows me better than I do. How deplorable.
The creature's gaze fixated on the horizon, offering little response or reaction to her words. For a lengthy span of time, he did nothing more than fold his arms across his chest and manage simple strides in time with Schörl. As they started their own trek across the landscape, inhuman howls sounded deep within some of the caverns - greetings, gripes, and guttural threats he knew well from the month spent in these confines. Even in these depths, the monsters dwelling here played their own games, nigh rituals by now, to illustrate superiority and maintain honed senses.
Finally he pulled a hand from its tuck in his side, examining the claws and cracked ruts marring his skin. "I may be a general, but I am not human." And what does that mean to me? I never cared for people, not beyond a select few. And even then, I never felt fully comfortable in my own skin. I never placed much stock in humanity, the humanities, or humane treatment. A human visage only offers a guest pass to stay within the city without incurring frequent attack or projecting an ominous aura across a wide area. It allowed me to visit stores, to interact with others out of necessity, and to know other officers in plainclothes. It forged my ability to stay with Quenton, however short the duration.
And he would surely kick me for this thoughts, now. If only he knew.
"My free will has never been contested, Schörl - even wis' Laurelite's decree, I haf' never felt compulsion to obey - only a lack of inclination to go against ze grain." Living like this, it's... heinously difficult, perhaps even impossible. Were I able to step back from myself now, I would find it a golden opportunity to cut a proper warrior of the cloth. But the Negaverse has no place for idealists, for those often besieged by thought. Do you think, Schörl? I suspect you do, but you have enough sense to keep your head down about it.
Bischofite paused, finally shifting his gaze toward the captain. "I want to play a game."
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Posted: Wed Jun 11, 2014 6:41 pm
" I never said you were human. In fact, who's to say you were ? We could take the scientific approach- spend the thousand dollars and have your DNA sampled. I wonder if you'd still come out human, actually. You might genetically. The magic that protects identities does much. " "Being human matters very little, compared to free will. Because you have not felt the compulsion doesn't mean that it isn't there. Chaos put more strings around you, in you. All of us can be summoned on a whim, the General Queens and Kings able to pull those strings like kites. They can't do that to civilians. Fetters on free will, Bischofite. Being more parts Youma now, you're in more fetters than a regular general, just they have not been pulled. Yet. " Whether any of that was a good thing or a bad thing wasn't in her tone. It was just a matter of fact to the Spec Op Agent. She paused when he did, looking over. A game. Well, that is more encouraging. Want is encouraging. "Do tell."
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Posted: Wed Jun 11, 2014 8:13 pm
"One of ze rare comforts of Chaos." He sighed quietly. "We need not always Choose." Even if I resign myself to absolute death, in mind and body, I know that Chaos may yet override my decision. Laurelite may summon me with another task, Metallia may expel me from the Rift, Zinkenite may order me around with the full force of his will. Additional doses of Chaos only render this corpse more useful.
How strange... Quenton, you sought to rule over your body as a corpse. Yet, somehow, I beat you there - for this body is surely dead inside. Absently the creature traced the outer reaches of the keloid sprawling across his chest.
His gaze still lingered on the horizon. "I want to play chase, Schörl. I'll be ze monster, you be ze prey. Once I catch you, we switch." I need to test the limits of this rotten form - if only to see how much farther I've fallen from the mark. During my time ensconced in morphine, I lost a great portion of my physical capabilities. And now... I'm not even sure I could balance along the lip of a building. I need to know. I need to see if there's still something salvageable in these warped limbs. Stay your bladed tongue for now, Schörl; mine is more than enough.
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Posted: Wed Jun 11, 2014 11:27 pm
You call that a comfort? The comfort of sheep, anyway. "Monsters and prey-" Schörl leapt away at fast clip. Her own accuracy and balance were well-honed, even if her speed and strength couldn't match rank. She wasn't nervous. Assurance that 'prey' didn't become literal when the time came was fool's dreams. Trusting anything of that sort out of any general? Fallen or no, and especially as this was Bischofite- she may be called mad, but she wasn't blazing stupid. The rules of games always change at the whims of those in power. "-...aren't we all~"
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Posted: Fri Jun 13, 2014 11:01 am
Bischofite's gaze followed the olive captain for a time, studying her path and method of approach before attempting his own ventures into Rift landscape. For a long month now, he found little to no exercise in the confines of his rom. His injuries afforded him no leeway in retesting his abilities with a new center of gravity. Now came the test - though inwardly he found it lacking without the presence of a devastating element for loss... Or success.
"Nichts, nur der Schutt soll den Tag überadauern..." Initially he started slow, testing the waters of his abilities without much energy to run on. A faint dizziness pervaded his vision, but nothing more pressing presented itself. He quickened his pace, a simple run accompanied by the drag of wings, in a direct line toward Schörl's bounding approach. We play in wastelands - in the empty cavity of mankind. We are but lilting shadows making use of what was left to us, our inheritance... No one wanted their lives to fall away, their ivory towers to crumble into the sea. Yet here we are, proprietors of anarchy flaunting every right to dance among the dead.
Oh, how far I've led myself astray.
The first leap toward a crystal undershot entirely, either due to withered muscle or weight unaccounted for. A quick twist offered enough adjustment to his momentum to only clip its surface, with a regrettably solid corner clipping his wing. He flinched, the impact pain pooling through his newly minted second fingers, and he faltered in step for a breath before resuming course. The second leap found the crest of crystal meeting feet, a welcome relief, before his momentum carried him clean off the surface and toward the ground once more in a far less painful mistake. Already his legs burned of need for rest or energy.
I am so disgustingly out of practice. Why they don't murder me and repurpose my energy is far beyond me... Or is that why you're here, Schörl? To test if I am still worth something in the schemes of the Negaverse?
While he persisted, he drew no closer to the captain.
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Posted: Sun Jun 15, 2014 8:14 pm
Schörl checked over her shoulder, hearing and feeling no close descent of danger by the time she'd reached even her first mark. You've not fed the fires in too long, Bischofite. You'll definitely need that sandwich when you catch me. I should have brought a few packs of Ensure and this rate. "Have you tried teleporting at all yet? " This was a grim show of the ennui and discentigration of muscle that happened even in the face of the Chaos energy pumped into each of them. If Alois were only a man, he'd be hospitalized or dead. Is a general's strength even enough to make you match muscle to a captain when your natural strength and speed are reduced to that of an invalid. The set of his mouth severe, but I doubt the thought that pulls those strings is useful. " You couldn't hold Quincy down if this is your best. " She flip-perched to a high crop of crystal, "I might even collar you at this rate. "
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Posted: Mon Jun 16, 2014 1:28 pm
Bischofite trotted to a stop momentarily when Schörl questioned his use of teleportation. Panting heavily, he offered no initial explanation. Finally, when he caught breath and swallowed hard, the creature straightened up despite residual pain haunting his stomach to address her. "I'f tried. It's... like I first learned of it. Same symptoms. Dizziness, nausea, vomiting, weakness." Like my body somehow reset itself. Only light food, far more sleep than previous, and growing pains rife through the newest additions to my body.
The world collapsed when she spoke of Quenton. Even if only a light jab, the memory alone proved crippling to his endeavors. She is right. This exercise... it's pointless. I am no more than a decoration to haunt Negaverse trappings at this point, and above that, how can I even dream of Quenton anymore? Slowly my mind will warp his memories, until nothing is left of how I knew him. Everything changes, as is the will of Chaos. I am slave to it here. There. Everywhere. Bischofite leaned against a jutting crystal with the brunt of his weight, one wing curling loosely about its trunk. Hollow eyes stared down into the mix of dirt and crystal fragments. I can't do this anymore.
"Zen collar me!" He shouted back toward the taunting captain. His gaze shifted toward her now, but his countenance offered nothing more than blankness. His cadence spoke more of strain. "I don't haf' ze capacity for zis s**t anymore! I can't even come up wis' a decent game..." My stakes left me when I questioned their worth. For so long I knew that the ineffectuality of my existence lent so much freedom... That I could do as I please with the certainty that all outcomes stood outside my control. Staying with Quenton shifted those certainties around, just enough that I operated on intentions stated long ago, but never fully understood why anymore. I operated on autopilot.
And now I am this... creature.
And now you expect me to catch you.
And now I stand lost.
No... I have to start from scratch. And you're not helping, Schörl. Then again, I doubt you ever had the intention to.
He lingered for a full minute at his location, waiting for the lurching shift of dizziness to subside with the starbursts that dotted his vision. Weakness slowly abated in his limbs, almost a numbness left over from strain. And idly Bischofite considered if he might manage such stunts without the addition of chaotic energy.
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Posted: Sun Jun 22, 2014 12:17 am
"How much is three times zero for your strength?" How long are you going to just let yourself be blind. I do believe that was a direct order. Schörl leapt, rebounded, summoned her knout to hand and lashed out with it at the ailing General as she landed. Collar of leather is as good as lace. "You have all the capacity. You could kill yourself hundreds of ways if you wanted to. Dared to. " " You're still here. You have all the capacity you need, if you stop doing nothing but sleeping and starving. You already learned hurt, trusted pain. Now embrace struggle. "
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