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 Posted: Fri Jul 25, 2014 10:46 am
'Did you feel that?'
General Buddingtonite took full advantage of his solitude to roll his eyes at the question, cupping his hands around the crystal on the off chance that somehow, somehow the general on the other end couldn't hear the rolling sound and think to scold him for it. It was already going to be challenging enough to stop the sarcasm from dripping from his voice, though was there really any way to word his response without sounding like an a*****e? "Oh yes, I felt it. Hard not to..."
How could he NOT feel it? Suddenly, his senses tingled with multiple Order signatures and a single Chaos, probably surrounded and in desperate need of assistance, and though he was on equal footing with the general on the other end of his crystal, Mica still had the nerve to bark orders at him? Oh it was impossible not to groan!
'Feels like it came from the park. Investigate with caution... if may be a trap from the senshi.'
Buddingtonite wanted to refuse, but what choice did he have in the matter? The rose-clad general was in no position to disobey orders, and truthfully, he couldn't simply abandon a comrade and not eventually face the consequences of that action. Mica knew he was nearby and he was short on excuses for the moment, so off to the park Buddingtonite went, feeling as one by one, the Order signatures left, leaving only the lone, unfortunate Chaos on his radar. From a distance, he could tell that whoever it was had it rough, as they laid on the ground in a crumpled mess, though his concerns were pushed aside when he caught sight of... black feathers, scattered in the area?
Could it be? Is it really?
He found himself laughing, his advance halted at the sight that laid before him. Oh yes, it was him, it was DEFINITELY him, no doubt about it. He tried with all of his might to stiffen his laughter, but he couldn't bring himself to do so, and nor should he, he told himself.
"Bischofite, the ground is no place for someone with such elegant wings! I'm guessing the branch you were perched on simply couldn't handle the weight of your magnificence..." Except there was no branch, no leaves, no further signs of the ones responsible for his sorry state. Only Bischofite. "What happened, old friend?"Aeeth Buddy can be a real jerk sometimes.
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Posted: Tue Jul 29, 2014 4:01 pm
Nightmares shaped of jagged claws loomed sullenly into his vision, each finger gnarled beyond recognition and knuckle displaced somewhere along the length of what he assumed was an arm. They bore feathers, all of them, stunted and dark and foreboding in how they concealed the thick of the beasts that whispered to and fro. He never liked the way they swayed as sinners do when listening to the church choir.
Train tracks rode up the lengths of the beasts, but held no trusses to their ties. He found it strange, disconcerting even, as he tried desperately to focus on the intersecting tracks, how they danced and darted whimsically along the trunks. His head ached no more than his heart, no more than the heart of his arm. And in that thick marsh of pain, he found little reason to watch the creatures surrounding him, slowly blotting out the last pricks of energy dancing along the height of the rift. Instead, his gaze drifted upward, until it found the blacker portions of his eyelids. Everything ached. Everything ached, and these howling creatures offered no solace for the weary.
He knew not how long he stayed there, curled against the ground like an animal waiting to die.
A voice peeled through broken dreams of blackened spires, of old memories warped and wrapped in thick spindles of bitterness until he recognized them no longer. Still half in hell, half in dreams, he struggled to focus on the china fragile words skittering across the surface. Testing the waters. Kneading the cohesion until dropping into the depths.
When finally he opened his eyes, he caught sight of the myriad creatures from before, all looming as before, all whispering as before. And while he struggled to adjust to this moment of wakefulness, he measured the heaviness of his tongue against the stick roof of his mouth and the pounding of his head against the breaking of his soul. And before he was satisfied with the wages, he realized that all creatures present were trees within a forest, and the last lights of the rift were nothing more than a smattering of stars intended to glorify the darkness.
The park.
Slowly he sat up, struggled to a seated position, where he wrenched the hand free of its tarred connection to his wound. Beneath, it still bled. Beneath heralded a black, viscous substance that oozed no less revoltingly than pus. It doesn't matter, he remembered thinking. It's of little import. The attempt failed, my fate is sealed. Metallia will know of my transgressions, and from her the heights of the Negaverse will descend on me like charnel house crows.
In a further moment, his trailing gaze met with Buddingtonite - the source of the voice prior. Still proud, still boisterous and ostentatious. He would've smiled, had the pain not seized better control of his features.
Tell your superiors the reason for your condition is... because you were ambushed... I don't know if it will buy you anything, but... With as many of us as there were, it wouldn't be an entirely impossible scenario...
"Buddingtonite," he answered finally, voice still rusted from tepid unconsciousness. "I'm bleeding. I'm bleeding, and it's not blood." I can't tell what it is. Pain or misery or motor oil or dirt or tears or hate or tar or cynicism... "You should leaf'... Before zey come back. Zey're waiting... Somewhere in ze forest. Zeir auras - gone, but zey haven't left. Go. Just go."
The blame is... All ours...
So it will be.
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Posted: Wed Jul 30, 2014 12:11 pm
Truth be told, Buddingtonite approached the half youma and spoke to him without ever once realizing, or caring, if he was conscious or not. The cowardly part of him would have preferred Bischofite to remain unconscious, so that he could barrage him with all of his spite and cruel words without fear of repercussions, though then rare, but fueled by Bischofite's and Malice' betrayal, courageous part of him really, really wanted to make the half youma pay for what he had done to him. And in this occasion, surprisingly, his sense of betrayal ran far deeper than self preservation, as the moment he began to stir, Buddingtonite felt a sense of pure, unadulterated glee.
Good. Now you can make him pay and not have to repeat yourself later.
The Negaverse general had no idea what had happened here, and honestly he didn't really care. By the time Bischofite had managed to push himself into a seated position, he was standing over Bischofite and could clearly see that he wasn't in the best of conditions. He shook his head, chuckling softly to himself as he inspected his wounds from a short distance. "I'll be honest, this looks like a job better suited for Mica or Amethyst, though admittedly even they might have to do a double take. After all, they're doctors, not veterinarians..."
And what a surprise, Bischofite spoke! Buddingtonite wasn't sure what to expect when his mouth opened and instead of a caw-caw or crowing noise it was legitimate words, and words tinged with pain. Genuine pain.
Oh, this is rich. What luck that Mica sent you out here!
Buddingtonite's grin deepened, a clear sign that something wasn't quite clicking in that red-head of his. No one in their right mind would look down upon an injured creature and grin as though he just found the perfect gift on the sales rack in Macy's!
Focus, focus, before he loses consciousness and you've missed your change!
"Yes, I can clearly see that. Do we have any scientists in our ranks? I'm sure they'd love to study this unique blood of yours..." Buddingtonite looked at the black, tar like substance and made a face, the only time that his smile had faded since his arrival. It didn't last long though, and Bischofite's words and the warning he carried with him might as well have fallen on deaf ears. His sense of self preservation had been completely overridden by the parasite lodged deep within his soul, and his thirst to get even was simply too great a vice to overcome so easily. So what if the enemy was waiting in the woods? He couldn't feel them, and if they sprung out of the woods, he'd simply teleport away to safety and get back up from Mica. He knew her to be nearby, so what did he have to worry? Had he been in his right mind, he would have felt touched that Bischofite wanted him to be safe, and yet, it was all wasted, because all Buddingtonite could think was how to make the half-youma's life even more miserable... one idea came to kind. "We're going to need a sample to bring back to the Rift. Now hold still!"
He reeled his foot back and swung it forward quickly, seeking to drive the silver tip of his boot right into Bischofite's gut.
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Posted: Fri Aug 01, 2014 9:44 pm
The creature looked toward Buddingtonite, fast enshrouded by stars until only his neck bulged with the thickness of venomed words. A couple slow, rolling blinks offered no remedy to the cloud of growing black that threatened to devour the meager remains of his vision. His words swayed, swirled, and melted into the brisk sounds of the shuddering trees encircling them. "Why... Would it matter? Benitoite said... I am not ze first..." Nor the last. Will you join me, Buddy? Would you swallow whole a youma and lounge at my side? I suspect such a notion would destroy you. To lose what you pride yourself on so thoroughly... Ach, perhaps we won't be so different from one another anymore.
Even talk of claiming a specimen sunk slowly into his mind, like the damned into quicksand. For a moment, he simply swayed in trying to keep himself upright, a warped hand loosely clutched to the still-bleeding puncture wound exuding gouts of sludge. Some felt half-coagulated on his fingers, sticky and black and no different than the rotten thumbs of corpses. His gaze lowered to afford a margin more vision while the stars faded out to their place among the heavens. And for a rare scrap of rest, he closed his eyes momentarily to watch the bleary, beating lids of his eyes.
And then a boot struck him.
Initially the creature howled, unabated, wings echoing the sentiment with the full force of their groans. Instantly Bischofite curled in on himself, bringing knees tucked to the general's achilles tendon to cement the foot in place while hands clawed at the relatively thin ankle to wrench the man's foot away. Tar soon pooled into what gashes the redhead incurred, if any, and the viscous substance hissed into the night air once it left the hot pores of his skin. It soon cemented itself to boot, pant legs, and grass while the creature struggled with its assaulting figure. And in a last action to deter his foe, Bischofite acted on instinct to bite through the soft, meager flesh guarding tibia with as much force as he could muster.
Once he released, words came sharp and vitriolic. "Haf' you no sense?! I told you of ze ambush lurking near, and you seek to trick your own ******** peer? Zey tried to purify me, Buddingtonite, so what do you sink zey might do you you?" Despite his deficit in energy stemming from the systemic pain throbbing from his chest outward, he regarded the redhead with seething impatience. "Get out of here!"And if the impetus to leave might never find you, then help me find a better place to die.
I shouldn't have sent him away.
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Posted: Sat Aug 02, 2014 8:53 am
There was once a time that Bischofite's voice invoked a sense of pleasure and terror within him, a strange mingling of the two that shouldn't have gone together and yet merged so coherently. It had taken... months... for him to accept that such a reaction to Bischofite's presence was acceptable, that there wasn't something wrong with him but that everyone felt that way. Even before Bischofite's horrific fate, there was an aura about him. An aura that invoked many feelings and sensations, enough to drive a man mad. Bischofite alone wasn't the cause of this 'state' he found himself in, but he definitely helped get him here! He figured that, of all people, Bischofite would have appreciated the kind of man he had become... after all, he was the one that helped shape him!
Even now, there was a blender filled with emotions and the sight of Bischofite's plight was like hitting the puree button, with no lid on. Venom and disgust spilled over, but there was some hint of compassion left lingering in his heart in regards to the creature at his feet. Yes, he shaped him with fear and pain, but Buddingtonite liked to think that between him and Serpentine, he had become a better person. A stronger general... what the Negaverse needed.
Right?
The feel of his boot hitting something solid was so very, very gratifying, and hearing the pained cry come from Bischofite struck a chord of child-like glee within him, but like before, there was also a sense of terror, and that terror he felt was justified. Was it not always justified when it involved Bischofite? Had it just been a simple scream, it wouldn't have bothered Buddingtonite in the least, but when the mouths on its wings began to screech along with it, there was no denying just how creepy it was and at first he wasn't sure where the additional screaming had come from, but it took him completely off, a bad position to be in when in the company of the half youma. He was hoping to get his kick in and back away, but with Bischofite's grip, there was no way to escape, and it was his turn to scream when he felt fire brush against his offend leg. There were no flames, only that thick, black substance that oozed from his wounds, but it burned! Oh, it BURNED! And not content just to burn him, he watched in horror as Bischofite closed his jaws around his leg, causing his pained cry to increase in both volume and pitch. Before he had the chance to try and break free on his own, the youma released him and down Buddingtonite went, lacking in grace and subtlety that he would have attempted to go for if there were others in the area. He laid on his back now, pulling his leg close and yowling like a soccer player on the field, though it was clear that there was no faking this pain...
"SonofaBITCH that hurt... more... more than it probably hurt you!" Buddingtonite groaned, sucking in pained breaths and resisting the urge to look down at his leg. He didn't want to see if it was as bad as it felt... no, injuries on himself were never a pleasant sight, and he had enough of an imagination to know that it would need someone to look it over. How was he going to explain this to Mica? The thought would have to wait until later, as Bischofite's words cut through the pain and warranted an angered growl from the rose-clad general. "I can just... teleport away, fool... you really think I'm scared of them when I had you condition me? Talk about tricking your own peer... don't think I forgot! How does it feel now, to be lead on and then have the knife twisted in your back at the last minute?"
Had he not been so consumed with revenge, maybe he would have realized just how harsh that sounded and chose his words with more tact. He would have looked down at Bischofite and seen that he had paid the price for his lies already... something caught his mind, and despite his pain, he rolled over to look at the half youma, arching a brow. Did he say something about purification?
"What... did you say? Did you really say they tried to... purify you?"
A memory stirred, but he fought it down.
Focus on Bischofite and your hatred. Focus.
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Posted: Sun Aug 03, 2014 9:12 pm
Breathing shallowly, the creature laid against damp grass trying to collect himself. Such an attack drained more of his meager energy than he initially wagered, evident in the sway of the earth around the pair. He hurt, he ached, he knew prickles of numbness at his extremities and nowhere had he afforded any room for what mirth should've come from watching his companion in such a yowling act. Instead, a gaze in lukewarm brightness settled on the redhead, which bespoke of the pain and exhaustion.
"Shut up, Buddingtonite..." Bischofite groaned, far too tired and breathless to afford a greater insult. Afterward he closed his eyes in a final attempt to forsake consciousness, to entrust himself to the whims of the world should a senshi happen upon this golden opportunity. Knowing his own sleeping patterns and beleaguered condition, he knew he had no way of waking in time to thwart an enemy attack. And if Quenton returned...
The ache stemming from name alone knotted in his sinuses, adding pressure so great that it teased clear tar from the edges of his vision.
Clear tar? Tears...?
The creature dragged itself to an upright position, even as it clutched the fresh knife wound that still bled from its half-burnt hole. "How do you sink it feels?! Can you even imagine how it is to wake to zis disgusting ******** form every rotten day? To haf' all your peers look down on you, your subordinate spitting on your name behind your back? Can you picture how damning it feels to sleep in caves and share crystals wis' creatures whose minds are so far gone zat zey regard you as nossing more zan a vexation? I can't lif' like zis anymore, Buddingtonite! Two mont's and I am grasping for reasons to continue breaz'ing!" Finally he drew himself toward the general that now lay fallen.
Once in range, the youma general thrust hands at Buddingtonite's face, fully intent on using the last of his tar to seal off his damnable mouth - even for a moment of peace. "Stop talking, you ******** leech of a man! Why couldn't you haf' left me to die of my own accord? I gaf'e you pain zat amounts to a faded glimmer of what now weighs on me, yet you consider it wholesale equal to ze trite measures you sustained when I was human... What folly, what ******** hubris!" As he seethed, his lip curled in quaking anger, he knew the touch of sorrow down his cheekbone, toward the zenith of the bridge of his nose, and finally its movements ceased at the tip.
With angered gaze still lighted on the redhead, Bischofite watched as the tear struck Buddingtonite's forehead in a wholly anticlimactic affair. No starbursts, no realizations, no dawning revelations seized either of them after the fact. Finally Bischofite relinquished his efforts, retreating slightly as he shifted away from the general. "Change is survival. I'm going to die if I don't change. But... I know now zat I can't."
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Posted: Mon Aug 04, 2014 10:15 pm
Was the damn tar eating away at his flesh? Buddingtonite was too afraid, too vain to look down to see the damage. The damage to his clothing would be nothing, as the cosmic tailors would slave away and repair the damage once he powered down again, but would there be a hole in his flesh to reveal the muscle and bone and marrow beneath? He couldn't stand the thought of it and he fought the urge to vomit, almost missing the half-youma's insulting spat, though perhaps it was for the best. He could hear Bischofite moving from where he laid, feeling instinctual terror threatening to consume him as he knew him to be drawing closer, and he feared that one bite into his flesh wasn't enough to appease that lust for blood. Anyone in their right mind would have known to made their escape out of there, but for reasons unknown even to himself, Buddingtonite stayed put. Bischofite was no fool, he wouldn't dare kill him.
Right?
As he continued to nurse his injured leg, he listened to Bischofite carry on, taking some immense pleasure in the genuine pain he heard from the half-youma's rant, and, unfortunately, some pity as well. Buddingtonite was angry at him- obviously so as he had given him a good kick to the chest just moments ago, but that didn't make him completely heartless. Just selfish, as he cared only for his own pain at the moment! "And yet, who's to blame for that, hm?! Me? I tried to talk sense into you, once upon a time, remember? But no... don't listen to the sane one that enjoyed your presence, even when you took great pleasure in tormenting me. You're the one that trusted that youma... Malissa, Melissa or whatever her name was, you were the one with all these lofty ideas of becoming something greater, when you were perfect the way you were! Ugh, how the hell do you live with this burning tar inside of you?"
As pained and angry as he was, he couldn't help but feel some ounce of pity for him, even if this was his own fault. It was clear that Bischofite had much to regret with this new life, and as a friend, he knew he shouldn't have sought to agitate the wound, but what could he have possibly done besides attempt to put an end to his misery? Would his boomerang even be enough or would his blood just cause the damn thing to disintegrate if he even tried? He wasn't going to take that risk, and there was no way in hell he was going to plunge his hand into that bleeding chest of his. One scarred limb was enough!
Somehow in that short amount of time that was spent pitying him, Bischofite had managed to position himself on top of him and those hands reaching for his face snapped Buddingtonite from the small pity party that was going on in his mind. Oh hell no you're not touching me with those disgusting hands! He snarled, taking full advantage of his gloves and reaching to grab those wrists before they could touch his face, and he held nothing back. "And let me guess! If the situation was reversed, you'd just leave me to die? You, who showed me so much mercy in the past would have offered me a sweet reprieve? PLEASE! Why should I ever trust you again, Bischofite? Why should either one of us trust each other now? I think we're both beyond that now, don't you, or have you a sudden change of heart?!"
What do you know... youma can cry after all...
With the way his blood was, Buddingtonite winced when he watched the tear fall and yet, there was nothing painful or weird about the feel of the teardrop hitting him. Finally, Bischofite was granted his wish, as Buddingtonite held his tongue, looking up at him and watching a miracle in the making. Perhaps... he had been too hard on Bischofite? Perhaps he was too cruel? If Bischofite had tried purification to escape this form, and had failed, then was that not enough of an indication of just how deep that suffering was? Had he not attempted the same once?
Bischofite began to retreat, and the general found himself letting out an aggravated sigh. "Come on, it's not... it's not all THAT bad."
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Posted: Fri Aug 08, 2014 12:31 pm
"I know whose fault it is," he seethed back. "Malicious offered me ze long-awaited fruits of my labor, and I fell for zat rotten little scheme." Perfect...? "Does it gif' you joy to hear how I resent my own decisions, Buddy? Does it delight you to know zat I realize, now, zat ze majority of ze Negaverse has goals nigh opposite to what I attempted zat night? Are you happy to hear zat i found a modicum of merit in ze world I tried to destroy, shortly before zat night, and haf' since pined over its loss? Does it placate you to realize zat I genuinely regret zat entire operation and every facet of it, along wis' my initial induction into ze Negaverse? Zis faction offers nossing for zose possessed of potent ideals, Buddingtonite. Our superiors haf' no use for brains, only brawn. And as you can tell now, I am wholly absent of eizer. I am a partially youmafied shell - a warning to zose wis' ze bold dreams of ze Idea."
With a pained hiss, the creature rubbed the wound now exacerbated by the general's kick. "Were our roles reversed, i would drown you in torment so great zat you would eizer succumb to its fervor or overcome it - ever hopeful zat you may become somesing far more zan you are now. But... I'f lost my convictions. I don't know what to belief' anymore. Is pain truly a catalyst to change? Is it a means to measure resolf'e? A lover once told me zat change is survival, but... I am not certain what to call trus' anymore. Maybe it's somesing else entirely.
"All I know is zat my aims no longer align wis' ze Negaverse - zey never did. I value true Chaos abof'e all sings, and yet we, as powered by Chaos, offer nossing of ze sort. Everysing we stand for is rigid and controlled, micromanaged into a state we can easily lif' wis'. I cannot expect to survif'e for long in zis state. A half-youma existence... I am constantly in pain, bos' from adapting to zese new additions to my body as well as ze tar running srough my veins. Society does not adapt to serving monsters, so I must depend on ze goodwill of lieutenants for my daily sustenance. We, as a faction, offer concessions only to officers and youma, yet nossing in-between. Put simply, I must change or die - change is survival."
Reclining slowly, Bischofite laid against the grass on his side. As he watched the landscape act as the ocean, he felt an insurmountable exhaustion creep through his body. "Half of me would razzer die knowing ze glory of Chaos permeating my existence. But... Ze ozzer half urges zat I find a remedy - even in purification. Perhaps ze question is not what I would do in your situation, Buddingtonite, but what you would do in my situation."
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Posted: Mon Aug 11, 2014 3:05 pm
The pain was still there, but it had at least become manageable, and now that Bischofite wasn't trying to straddle on top of him, Buddingtonite finally pushed himself into a seated position, getting a better look at his half youma colleague. For all his regrets, Buddingtonite could not stop himself from scoffing aloud. "Well... your first mistake was trusting a creature's whose name was Malicious. Obviously, her name is fitting... and she tricked everyone, really. Even the great General-Kings and Queens were fooled, so... it's something to brag about, I suppose."
Then, for that next question, nothing could stop Buddingtonite's grin from stretching over his features, and he offered Bischofite the truth. "A little, actually. You must understand, Bischofite, though I care for you, I'm simply not a nice person. Maybe I had a little bit of that end me before we met, but sharing time with you only helped cultivate that evil little seed inside of me. So, yes, I do take some pleasure in your initial punishment, because it's truly what you deserve." Then, when he thought he was going too far, he offered another truth and his tone had taken a more sympathetic tone. "However, your continued suffering? I'm not that cruel."
Not yet. Give it a few weeks. If this bullshit keeps up. What do you owe him? Besides another kick?
It was tempting, but he had learned his lesson. Besides, verbal torment seemed far more effective now. No, his limbs would remain close to him and far away from the half youma that oozed toxic tar for now.
He pushed himself back to his feet, wincing at the pain but standing tall regardless of it. The times he had to tower over Bischofite were few and far between, and like hell he was going to let it go to waste! Still, there was still some room in his heart to pity him, because he figured if Bischofite regretted it-- TRULY regretted it-- then it must have been absolutely torture, and so few deserved that. "Technically, you've changed. Maybe not for the better, but you certainly changed. Not just physically too... it's sad to me that you're making a whole lot more sense now when you look as you do than you did when in human flesh. What is that, irony? Poetic justice? I'm not sure... you were always the one with the finer understanding of great literatures."
He tried not to let his mind wonder during Bischofite's speech. He did care about what he had to say- he kind of always did, but perhaps the pain in his leg was too much and made him cranky. Or maybe it was the faint memory of his own failed purification that were clawing their way out from the depths of his mind that made him uneasy, but he kept it suppressed, knowing that the moment he allowed even the tiniest fraction out that Bischofite would jump on him mercilessly. "Perhaps if you had not burned your bridges with your fellow generals and captains, we could have helped? I'm not even talking about Malicious' tricks. Before that, you weren't necessarily making friends, and while you may not enjoy the micromanaging, some of us would whether not throw ourselves into complete and utter chaos, especially on a whim. Is the Negaverse perfect? Hardly, I'll agree with you on that, but wanting everything to fall into chaos isn't a very human behavior. I'm sorry... this may not be what you want to hear, but maybe this fate was meant for you? Or perhaps it would have been better if you had gone full youma instead of this half-breed?"
He was laying down now, and it would have been a perfect time to get a few more kicks in, but Buddingtonite was beyond that. Now, he tried to consider a way to help Bischofite, even when he felt he had no reason to. He heard his question and considered it, and he shook his head. "It wouldn't have been in my hands, I'm afraid. In your situation, Serpentine would have simply killed me to put me out of my misery, and that'd be the end of it. I may have fought back, but I'm sure he would have defeated me easily. You know me- I'm nothing more than a well-dressed marshmallow. Purification's not meant for either of us, I'm afraid, which leads me to wonder... who would you like to have the honor of ending your misery? Say the name and I shall fetch him or her."
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Posted: Sat Aug 16, 2014 5:29 pm
The creature seethed in the grass, thick gouts of hate welling within his core and threatening to spill out in a torrent of acerbic words and hastened slashes at the man who loomed over him. Yet with the glaring wound beneath his shoulder, such measures as sitting up demanded a dangerous amount of energy from his weakened form. Rather, he laid in his well of hate, gold eyes burning into the redhead. It's easy to claim that I deserve what happened to me when you lack even a quark of understanding for the suffering incurred. Rape the rapist, kill the murderer, youmafy the one who tried to build a second Rift. These trite punishments operate on predictability - on Einstein's theory of relativity in its highest praises.
And what does this fate offer but an overwhelming impetus to avoid breaking the stalemate? Don't think too hard, don't plot too much, don't utilize your ranking as a general to manage legitimate missions. Drain and kill and keep your head down and you might find your way to the top where you can don a bloated ego and stew in uselessness. We are broken, we are forfeit.
And you think this fate is perfect for me.
"Irony," he responded curtly. His gaze never wavered from Buddingtonite's face. Lecture me all you want; the Negaverse already enunciated its utter disinterest in my opinions and arguments - what worth is it now to speak my mind to you? Perhaps if I require further torment... Until then, what philosophies I still possess are wholly wasted on the Negaverse. I need to look elsewhere.
A taloned hand curled to the wound, palm flat against drying dregs of tar spattered on his uniform. He squeezed to incite pain while Buddingtonite spoke to suppress the utterly tantalizing thought of tearing his rotten starseed from his body. Not for either of us. It sounds like you've done the same. If nothing else, that's ammunition when I stand before a general-soverign to receive judgment... Though my credibility amounts to nothing anymore. A full youma... Pry from me my mind and the Negaverse will have its dependable soldier. Pry from me my mind and the Negaverse will lose a great deal of potential. But in a faction so hinged on predictability... I suspect that rather suits them.
For a breath Bischofite considered a host of names mutually known, alongside their reaction to an order to murder a superior. Schörl and Serpentine stood at the forefront of possibilities, as SpecOps officers and rather impartial to the affair. Yet to provide a name sealed his fate - damned all intentions to purify alongside future attempts.
Bischofite uttered his last command in a thin, raspy voice. "Just go."
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Posted: Mon Aug 18, 2014 1:41 pm
Buddingtonite watched in silence, crossing his arms and observing the half-youma that seethed before him, wanting to fill a shred of remorse for everything he had put him through this evening and simply unable to come up with any results that weren't tied to the pain he had caused to himself in the process. Maybe Bischofite had created a monster and Buddingtonite was lucky to have kept his splendid appearance... if that was the case, then the general considered himself extremely lucky. He'd thought Bischofite would have been proud of his handy work, and yet, he wasn't surprised to see that he was not satisfied.
Bischofite can never be satisfied.
Bischofite had hissed out the word irony, and Buddingtonite simple shook his head. "I think I'd prefer the term poetic justice. But, potato potato. I'm sorry, Bischofite, it's just difficult for me to get over old grudges. I could forgive you for a lot of the physical and mental hell you've put me through, because apparently, your crazy 'break him down' scheme worked."
Still broken, the crazy glue is wearing off.
"But you know what I can't forgive? Ever? The fact that now that you're in this form, I cannot even get the pleasure of enjoying your touch, or your company in my bed. You've denied me the sexual ecstasy that you possessed, and that?" He shook his head, looking as if he was preparing for another kick but had just barely managed to stop himself in time. It still stung like hell, and he rather enjoyed the ability to stand tall and tower over others. "I regret you becoming this misshapen creature before me, Bischofite, if only because it has taken away one of the best sexual partners I've ever had. How's that for hubris?"
Priorities.
He looked down at the half-youma and could not deny the sense of pity within him, and perhaps his guilty conscious would forever get the better of him. He couldn't just leave him here... Mica would kill him if she found out he abandoned an officer in their time of need, and maybe she's want to give him a look over. How did she feel about half youma? Either way, he could not just leave him here.
"No, I don't think I will. At least let me bring you to the Rift... you'll be safer there, and I promise, I won't kick you this time."
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Posted: Thu Aug 21, 2014 8:17 pm
Of course it did. We suffer because that is what makes us whole. We are sons of men before we are children of Metallia - we know strength through suffering before strength through chaos. He watched Buddingtonite, wary of his next moves, of further pain exacted on his form. Already he strayed beyond his typical tolerance for agony, as the wound drove deep near his hear, yet the creature persisted in life.
He persisted, and he hated it.
However, Buddingtonite's next statement struck him so wholly off-guard that initially Bischofite knew not how to react. He stared, blank, before a slow and creeping mirth eked out in a raspy, whistling laugh. It drew all the more pain from his chest, but no amount of mental coaxing wholly halted the act. "You despise me because we can no longer <********> Buddingtonite, do you understand how zat was not of my design? Were you ever aware zat I never intended to subject myself to half of Malicious' taint, or had zat never occurred to you in ze explanation zat I tried to purify? Sex is not somesing I would'f surrendered in exchange for zis body - not after I spent far too long excising zose ideals from my mind. And now..." He scoffed. "Irony or poetic justice... Eizer term fits far too well for how I exist currently."
Still, the compliment inherent in his statement left Bischofite in a peculiar position. He offered no thanks for it, nor a rebuke. He prepared to retaliate for another kick, yet none came - even when the general loomed over him with pain evident in his visage.
"I knew I missed you for a reason," he mumbled under his breath.
For a moment, a thick silence descended between them while Bischofite calculated the myriad thoughts Buddingtonite could be having at the moment. He watched red candied eyes, peering into their depths for some hint of an answer - a solution. At he studied the man before him, Bischofite slowly unfurled from his coiled position, testing the limits of his dearth of strength before legitimately sitting up. The long fingers of his wings trawled the ground, but he paid them little heed.
Yet beyond the surfeit of possibilities that crossed Bischofite's mind during that heavy, sticky silence, Buddingtonite procured a far worse suggestion than any he considered. "No!" The creature objected adamantly, all composure thrown to the wind. He visibly recoiled, drawing back toward the the darkness far from the bench. He managed disappointingly slow progress with what little energy he still possessed, but the impetus to withdraw from their confrontation spurred him on. "I'd razzer die zan go back to zat place, zat prison! Leaf' me for ze White Moon, for deas' to take me while I bleed on zis wretched grass - anysing is a greater fate zan returning to ze bowels of hell!" A veritable snarl creased his features, enunciating his derision for Metallia's meadows.
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Posted: Sun Aug 24, 2014 7:57 pm
There was nothing that could weight down that smile of his now, and somehow, hearing Bischofite confess to missing him, and it only grew in strength the more the half-youma went on. Yes, it actually felt quite good to get that bit of truth off his chest, because for him, Buddingtonite, the worst offense in all of this, in seeing what Bischofite had become, was knowing that he could never drop his own standards and have what he always wanted and always needed from him. That hurt worse than any betrayal, or any other pains either physical or emotional that this man, well, beast now, had ever inflicted upon him, and letting him know this was rather therapeutic for him.
He wasn't sure how Bischofite really felt about it, but he had come to accept that there were things out of his control. Accept the things that I cannot change and all that other stuff, he thought to himself, taking in Bischofite's reaction to his offer to bring him to the Rift and unable to wipe the smile from his face. Oh, he must have looked like such a creeper, a real a*****e, to see the genuine disgust and what he could have interpreted as fear in one such as Bischofite and all he could so was smile like he was. He watched and smiled, as Bischofite had tried to drag himself away, and got no where fast, all the while listening to him go on. Oh, how nice it was to hear such despair from him? He tried to reign himself back in, especially since his crystal was chiming from within his pocket. No doubt Mica calling to check up on them, so he ignore it for the moment. Right now, he needed to calm Bischofite down, before he had the nerve to claw at him or bite him again. "Alright, alright, settle down, friend. I won't take you to the Rift, I promise. I also won't kick you again before that tar hurts and I'd rather not have a chunk bitten out of me, so calm down. How about I take you to Mica's apartment? She can patch you up there, or try to. Maybe that magical box of hers will have something for the youma part of you too... though, that tar's going to eat her carpet and probably ruin her deductible."
That that he cared. He considered it revenge for having to house her for those few months.
"Does that sound fine to you? Because she's calling me now, and I'm sure she won't appreciate it if I just left you here to die. Think of the trouble I could get into!"
As if kicking him wasn't punishable enough.
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Posted: Sun Aug 31, 2014 8:50 pm
For a long moment, he only watched Buddingtonite with a gaze of ice - raw derision stared back toward the man with candied eyes and candied hair. Bright like fresh blood, he thought. During that time he weighed his options, all while studying the bare grin plastered across his peer's face. He considered the ramifications, that his invitation to Mica's apartment and its potential as a bluff or outright lie (as he considered Buddingtonite of as much credibility as himself). He weighed death at Buddy's hands to some heinous repurposing enacted by the Negaverse to dying alone in the dark park stricken with dew and breath.
"... Fine," he answered finally. "Take me to her apartment." As a general herself, she has no powers beyond mine. Unless Buddingtonite tips her off, she lacks knowledge of any treasonous attempts - her goals would essentially amount to repairing what's damaged and restoring enough of my energy to usher me from her apartment as a potential attractant for wayward senshi. However, she cares about Buddy... That places me in a precarious position given his newly-incurred injuries.
I have likely earned some fame credible toward the title of 'Iscariot' as well.
"If you must enlighten her, tell her zat I was ambushed for deeds committed during ze portal operation. In return, I won't contradict you if you insist zat my attack stemmed from pure paranoia - it has its merits..." He paused to struggle for breath; the copious loss of blood left every minor exercise a nigh insurmountable chore. "Considering ze events zat transpired once everyone realized I intended to open a second Rift. A fair trade, is it not? I skirt punishment for treachery, you skirt punishment for attacking a fallen ... ally." Though I doubt I qualify as such anymore. No... Likely a wayward soul, at best.
And that's assuming I survive the night.ChibiGingi we can end here with buddy talking to mica and teleporting the pair to her apartment? in light of the orp, i figure it's best to end this early and leave as-is or open a new rp for patchwork once the orp ends
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Posted: Thu Sep 11, 2014 10:33 am
Bischofite's resignation and his spat of 'fine' made it hard for Buddingtonite not to want to grin in delight, and while he suspected the half-youma to be thinking terrible thoughts about him, he didn't blame him. It was tempting to go back on his word and drop him off in the Rift, where he properly belonged now, but perhaps that would have been too cruel, even for him.
Don't waste your pity on him.
"Alright then, let me just grab a piece of you that isn't oozing with that gooey black death that you apparently bleed, because if you burn me again, or burn Mica, then it's back to the Rift to you." He said that last part as though he was joking, but was he really? He usually said things with a smile and given the broken trust that forever tarnished their relationship, he could have very well meant it. And part of him did... he if wasn't going to send him away for harming Mica, then she certainly would. Hell, bringing him to Mica was punishment enough in his mind. Who was to say she's even look at him? That mystery would simply have to be solved later, however, as he grabbed at his hair, the only part that looked relatively safe to touch, and he didn't try to be gentle.
You're going to regret not leaving him to die.
He knew he would, but what choice did he have? Might as well have done with, in case he survived and tried to spin the blame of his current condition onto him. And that was a headache he wasn't willing to deal with today. So, help the half-youma, and call it a night. He listened to Bischofite's proposition, more like threat, and what choice did he have but to oblige? "Deal, then. That's our story... now, to Mica's."
And seconds later, the world around them changed to that of a small, but barren apartment, and a very aggravated looking Mica staring at them from the chair in the corner. "That better not permanently stain my carpets..."
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