Diva, from Aeons Torn
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Iziz
Aug 30, 2013 12:14:44 GMT -8
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Post by Diva, from Aeons Torn on Aug 30, 2013 12:14:44 GMT -8
By those ancient beings that studied her antics many theories were formed, many things they agreed upon after much watching and waiting. What you put out, she gives back; she cannot act without killing intent to fuel her motions. Stab for stab, slash for slash, gunshot for gunshot, bread for bread, blood for blood, and so and so forth the levels would escalate. Malice Incarnate was like a virus, spreading where you let, because in the end you were the aggressor, though your posture while death throe ridden would leave the living onlookers to gasp in that mixture of pity and fear. What did the Ice Queen have to say to someone who blew up her bloody house? Well, she would point out that upon this field, only one person was currently alive.
Local weather patterns showed that everything was in flux, however.
So there came the missile, mighty and rip roaring. Why even prolong this duel with taking the shot and letting the acids consume her body for the sake of the attacker’s enjoyment? No, not when you just killed the place she always came back to when the days were filled with too much light. No, no performance this time. This time, she would not relent until the target was thoroughly silenced. And so Diva’s arm, the one not currently supporting the bewildered Kuroro, shoots upward in an arc from her side to her space above their heads and lets lose a torrent of icy wind which extends forth form her finger tips and out, one could only wonder what kind of subzero malice could cause the air to submit and crash down into kelvins below absolute zero. Ridiculous! A wide swath of ground and atmosphere alike flash freezes, taking in the missile, which does explode, but is powerless as the freeze gobbles both it and its violent chemicals and suspends it all into something picturesque.
Meanwhile, the terrible parody of High Inquisitor Lord Kryptmann circles about the frozen conflagration and raises his bayonets while blathering a prayer so quickly that it was unintelligible. He continued to babble and sing as he levels a strike aimed to cut Chloro’s head clean off from her shoulders –whilst completely ignoring the minty fresh girl’s new companion.
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Chloro
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Iziz
Aug 31, 2013 4:59:47 GMT -8
Post by Chloro on Aug 31, 2013 4:59:47 GMT -8
The rolling cloud was stopped dead, staining the ice a vivid green. Chloro was still in the dense surreal mist of alkalines, heavy metals and toxins that chewed away at her skin and soft tissues. She couldn't see much beyond the next step she was going to take. She took another rasping breath and pushed on, despite the chemical hell, bent to make her way toward the demon and her mistress. Kuroro. She could see her face in the haze. Their first meeting - the anger of having that special feeling of being unique taken away and the loathing of someone else doing her role badly. Humiliation as she utterly defeated her. And damned her to live, subjected to another's will.
Dispensing. Product.
The lilting voice of Tuulia asked softly, sensing the Inquisitor's approach. As she focused on him, the cloud that contained explosion of the premature explosion of the missile darkened. Red dots formed and fell, littering the ground, pulsing in random intervals. The warning caused Chloro to turn, although slowed by her own chemicals, the seconds that separated her from Kryptman's blades melting away. She caught a fleeting impression of him, his lips curled into a rictus of a man who lived and killed with the righteous intensity of a man bound and filled with purpose. And how the marionettes strings had tied into his soul and perverted him noble cause.
Free yourself!
Toss.
Scant meters away, the overcooked concussion grenade detonated immediately in the space between Chloro and Kryptman, the proximity blasting her back and doubtlessly doing the same to Inquisitior. And into the red proximity mines that now covered the surface of the ground. Freedom.
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Diva, from Aeons Torn
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Iziz
Aug 31, 2013 19:58:18 GMT -8
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Post by Diva, from Aeons Torn on Aug 31, 2013 19:58:18 GMT -8
Could have. Should have. Concussive grenades were always such a torment to the living by causing discomfort of unrivaled proportions. Thankfully, nobody but the viper in a human's skin was truly demystified by its churlish explosion. Like Chloro, the familiar taking the form of the dead inquisitor was launched backwards mid-slash. There was no doubt he, it, was disappointed in failing to kill a victim in one attack, but the young, one eyed woman was remarkable, special. Damaged, yes, but special. It was one of the reasons Diva would have to make sure she would eat every last morsel of the haughty and intelligent combatant —down to sucking the marrow and ivory of each bone. Tombstones were too good for this damnable bitch. Ah, but this was rushing too fast, and even though Glorified Kryptman was in complete agreement with the Ice Queen, he still had to save himself from being blown to bits by the mines. Saved was a relative term, since slavation from this point was impossible, but he could at least enjoy unlife.
The wolf man latches unto those skills that aided him so well until his destruction. In this case, his speed and dexterity. Spinning himself end over end with the blast, he reaches into his sleeves and launches a number of bayonets into the general area he was going to land. Each blade deftly strikes into the turf, some missing mines by mere inches, expertly thrown. Kryptman the Shadow's boots crunch into the hilts of the two more prominent swords, and he balances upon them perfectly, crouched and poised to launch another attack as soon as he could clearly see what had become of his intended target. After all, she might trip a mine herself —resulting in a hilarious death. Meanwhile, Kuroro feels something cold, smooth and hard press into her only hand. Still a bit stupefied from soaring about at the sound barrier, she looks down with her mouth spread in a clumsy gape. The Deagle, it was the old and brash pistol being handed to her grip first by Malice Incarnate. Oh, she was in rare form today: her eyes drawn like snake slits, mouth pursed, and body intent with raw energy and crunched like a fist. It was almost as if Diva wasn't taking pleasure in this. Who could say?
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Chloro
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Sept 1, 2013 8:12:27 GMT -8
Post by Chloro on Sept 1, 2013 8:12:27 GMT -8
She was back in the forest. Bleeding profusely and feeling the leaden weight of death closing in. Yes, a soldier's death. It wasn't as comforting as she imagined it to be but it was the path of least resistance and the easiest way out of this hateful cycle.
I. Don't. Hate. You.
Chloro opened her eye and found Tuulia staring into it. They were surrounded by dozens of the angry red glow of active mines, yet she had managed not to activate a single one. The Suitcase held Chloro's forearm, tugging at her, willing her to get to stand once more. As long as there was a conscious will that tied Chloro to her body, she would have a flame that could be kindled once more into an inferno. Tuulia didn't hate her, even though she had all the things that she didn't have - legs, a face and a free will. Instead, she admired her for the tenacity and perseverance she showed in wanting to help those without. Slack fingers curled into fists. Chloro staggered as she came upright, brushing aside several of the mines as she lifted Tuulia again. And as long as Tuulia didn't hate Chloro, she would be safe in the minefield.
The haze shifted.
The Kryptman's amazing skill had saved him from the easy death of a thousand tiny cuts from hundreds of mines. Another worthy monster, fettered. Chloro couldn't quite remember how exactly the doctor had disentangled her from the marionette's snare, but she could clearly see the strings that tied Kryptman as he hung between the two bayonets. He had sunk into a lackadaisical complacency, even enjoying the servitude of unlife. It was unlikely that he would willingly want to cut his bonds to the witch, as the skin had grown over his shackles. But Chloro wouldn't let a little blood stop her. Tuulia drew a circle around the Inquisitor and activated the mines within the arc.
It was a perfect rising sphere of fire and death. The explosion literally opened its maw to swallow him whole.
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Diva, from Aeons Torn
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Iziz
Sept 2, 2013 6:01:27 GMT -8
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Post by Diva, from Aeons Torn on Sept 2, 2013 6:01:27 GMT -8
Undeniable, mines and improvised explosive were the perfect weapon to use in spades against the perverted ranks of undead. They had no killing intent, filled an area with a nigh impossible to avoid attack, and played havoc with regenerating flesh eating ghouls by throwing them some massive damage. Too bad that in order for that to work properly the monster you were fighting had to be distracted and more or less unaware of the device —much like Kuroro's near second death experience in the manor just a little under a day ago. The familiar was a creature of warped mirth, and now, as everyone in the combat area could hear, he was nothing but a paper bag impersonation of happiness. Roaring laughter fills the air up to brim of heaven, and as the explosion rocks the earth, a long figure shoots up from the débris cloud, cackling with inhuman intensity.
"Ah shall not lay dune an' not be set free until th' hearth is red with thee, Foul Heathen. Be admonished, Pagan, for thon shield an' blade shalt be shattered by this gospel! GWAHHH HAH HAH HAH HA HA!"
The Inquistor's arms slash outward at the apex of his leap, manifesting dozens of bayonets which lanced downward to fill the area Chloro and her partner were standing in. They weren't just stabbing down at speed towards them; the ground about them aimed to be saturated, as if it was more of warped shotgun blast.
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Chloro
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Sept 2, 2013 21:51:02 GMT -8
Post by Chloro on Sept 2, 2013 21:51:02 GMT -8
RRRRRAAAAAA---
There was nowhere she could run to escape the hail of knives. She already knew there was nothing on this field that she could hide behind, except Tuulia. But instead of throwing the Briefcase in front of her to soak up the knives, she hugged broken girl close to her and screamed in defiance to her nature and the bayonets, all to protect her. Her shout was cut short as the bayonets descended, obscuring her figure beneath a storm of remorseless pieces of metal.
The ground opened up.
-----AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH
And Chloro descended from the eye of the red clound onto the airborne Inquisitor, grabbing him hold of him as she fell. Chloro found herself face-to-face with laughing Kryptman himself. They would have made a pretty couple - the charred Inquisitor with his mad intensity would be complimentary for Chloro's mutilated form and devil-may-care frenzy. She even had several of his bayonets through his chest, which would have only been a small leap of imagination away to be a token of affection. But Chloro would never settle for someone so stifled as the Inquisitor. She said she would free him. So, she pulled. Impossibly, the nerve fibers, the tendrils that tied him to the witch stretched out beneath her fingers like a tangled mess entrails.
"All you need to do is cut!"
She looked into his eyes, leaving it up to him to make the final choice. Timing would be of the essence here. The fireball that had blasted Kryptman sky-high began to coagulate, the maw spreading and growing a giant set of wedges - a beautiful ring of teeth.
They begun to fall.
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Diva, from Aeons Torn
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Iziz
Sept 5, 2013 8:09:24 GMT -8
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Post by Diva, from Aeons Torn on Sept 5, 2013 8:09:24 GMT -8
For the only person living in the area perception was everything; right now, her perception would be slowing the tumble down enough to really enjoy the ecstasy that came with threading the needle through death. How thrilling it must be! One mistake on this side, and it was eternal torment as you were sent to Chaos to witness the remains of your body reanimate, become hungry, and make more people come to the netherworld to repeat the cycle. Nightmare? That wasn’t even the worse fate to contend with. To be a Familiar, bound by hatred, tempered by spite to be a facsimile of what you were into one focal point: kill, kill, kill, and be killed. Does death of the form equate to eternal bliss? If only the nadir of experience could be so merciful. No, the Dark Side, the negativity of everything, could never let go of its conscripts. Like a playing card, you are shuffled back into the deck, until your ironic presence is needed of again, until your snarling persona was an art form clad in regenerating black spirals. And still, this was not the worst of it. To be a Chevalier, a parody taken even further, a violation so profound and magnified due to the willing compliance of the victim –yes, victim- seduced, tricked, brainwashed; nay, more pitiful: to be twisted end over end until you actually understood the ink that you pretended was blood. Only a psychopath would dare to test and potentially risk being reduced to any of these varied states for the sake of fighting.
It would seem Chloro was that rare breed of living being that would do just that: risk it all for no intelligible reason –just because, because she simply wanted to. If this were a different set of circumstances, the girl might be worth putting in the effort for warping. Nah, she’s even more serious than Mr. Calculator.
If only there were nerve systems and a body that could feel on the Inquisitor’s end. There was no doubt a quarter of his rage stemmed from the fact that he could not even smell the iron taste in the air, or feel his own bayonets drive into his unholy form, nor could he feel cold or heat as wispy contrails of black ink spiraled out like flowing hair at the point of each impact. But there was always trying to cause infinite mischief. Chloro’s sudden jump and stab only saved the warped priest the trouble of closing the gap. Now that they were in hugging range, he intended to do just that. Two daggers extend from his arms, spin into stabbing posture, and are driving inwards towards the woman’s body. Their current path implied they would soon pierce into each of her kidneys, then skewer through and pin the girl to Kyrptman’s body. Falling into ruination with a pretty face –well, that was worth smiling about.
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Chloro
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Iziz
Sept 5, 2013 23:59:55 GMT -8
Post by Chloro on Sept 5, 2013 23:59:55 GMT -8
She had so much left to tell him, how the world comes to colour, each breath was sweeter and every moment a pleasure to relish when you were free to enjoy it. But all that she could manage was a gurgle. There was not an inch of herself that she had spared in protecting Tuulia or trying redeem Kryptman. Now, she had nothing left. Cold began to spread through her, much like the chill she had felt earlier when she had been near to Diva. Was her flame dying? Was she dying? She wasn't able suspend her ravaged body by her force of will. Chloro's last hazy sight was of her hitting Tuulia's soft palate, still locked into the Kryptman's embrace as the teeth closed over them.
Are. You. Still. There?
The disembodied voice of Tuulia called out, like an exhalation. Chloro wasn't sure but if she could still hear, then she was still here. But somehow, it wasn't quite the same. Did she waste her life in the effort to free Kryptman? What would happen to Tuulia? But even the feelings of dread and failure seemed to be like a breeze from very far away.
I couldn't save him.
You. Did. Save. Yourself.
She had failed to save Kryptman, but she did hold onto her own freedom. The warmth begun to flow back. And she hadn't sucuumbed to the methods of the oppressor by forcing her way upon the antipathetic. The flame kindled again, brighter than before. In that last moment, she had almost lost herself. She felt herself come alive. She was whole once more and more than ready to continue her righteous conquest.
Amen.
Blossoming open on the scorched fields of Iziz, Chloro held the briefcase once again and one of the many bayonets that jutted from her back. Today would be Diva's day of retribution.
But first - she really needed to get that taste out of her mouth. Where was toothbrush-kun when she needed him?
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Diva, from Aeons Torn
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Iziz
Sept 7, 2013 13:03:01 GMT -8
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Post by Diva, from Aeons Torn on Sept 7, 2013 13:03:01 GMT -8
Special.
Oh so special.
Take as many pawns as needed, because in the end the one eyed monster clutching unto the briefcase like a lifeline was just that, a monster. The souls of the people she had put down screamed like the tiny hairs on her arms, raging, fuming, angry at losing –and no amount of soap, minty scented or not, could wash away those stains which blared as a demonically inclined chorus.
Hush, little voices. Emancipation awaits.
Somewhere in the quagmire of fire and swirling dirt the redone form of the Inquisitor lord was felled as matter submitted to trauma. Above the chaos of licking flames and hellbound chemicals one could hear his incessant cackling. Fail. Fall. Reshuffle. Resurface. Goodness in a lifesized bundle. Give more and more and more and more. Unlock the layers with more violence.
Things were starting to make sense. How could Chloro withstand these punishments and still stand with such steadfastness?
“Cheater, cheater; liar, liar.”
There stands Diva: impenetrable, unquantifiable, collecting a malice which causes the air to shake like it was nothing more than a beating heart. There stands the Ice Queen: fifteen meters ahead of the one eyed fighter with those black Doc Martens flatly planted into the Onderon dirt.
“Suitcase Girl, Lover. Kindly destroy Suitcase Girl.”
There stands Kuroro: lip quivering as everything sugar and spice contends headlong with everything warped and wicked. There stands the Pink Nightmare: ten meters directly to Chloro’s right, leveling the Desert Eagle at her template basis’ center mass. The silliness here was that she thought,
“Why?”
Her finger squeezes the trigger, squeezing directly without her consent, and this prospect was icy enough to be frightful.
!BA-DAMMMMMM!
It’s not enough. Surprised at her sudden hatred, Kuroro controls the barking recoil and fires two more. Hate. Hate! Kill! Release! Slay! Eat! EAT! EAT!
!BA-DAMMNNNN DAMNNNNNNNNN!
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Chloro
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Iziz
Sept 9, 2013 0:33:43 GMT -8
Post by Chloro on Sept 9, 2013 0:33:43 GMT -8
It was a masterful feat of fine muscle control to be able to brush your teeth with the same hand that held thirty centimetres of really sharp gleaming steel. The bayonet bobbed up and down, dangerously near to her face as she hit the spot in the back of her mouth, enjoying that clean, burning sensation as it seemed to seep into her face. She would have a toothpaste hangover for hours after this but it was totally worth it. “Cheater, cheater; liar, liar.” Of course she was a monster, completely insensate to society and individuals. Like a cancer. She was a force of nature, the explosion that burnt away both trash and art, the deserving and unworthy. She didn't care what it was that she destroyed, as long as she could destroy. This is what she had offered to Kryptman, to break away from his master and become singular force. She couldn't care what he did, but she was willing to fight to the death to give him that freedom. And that was what she cherished above all, to be beholden to none and free to destroy whatever she wanted.
But there was those that tried to fetter her. That sour taste came back again. Her hand squeezed convulsively until the handle of the bayonet creaked and toothbrush-kun's back snapped. Disgustedly, Chloro spat and wiped the foam away with the back of her hand. “Suitcase Girl, Lover. Kindly destroy Suitcase Girl.” Tuulia - the only thing she saw as a friend and the only thing that understood her. Again, they were trying to kill her, trying to take that which she cared for. How would Diva like it if she did the same to her? HIding Tuulia and setting the bayonet straight, she charged toward Kuroro. The only that had been able to break her will. It was only fitting then that she would be the one to kill her. She crossed the minefield, faster and faster. The first bullet took her through her chest, sending her staggering. The second and third bullet went into the grass, looking for her.SnapKA-BOOOOOOOMThe middle finger and thumb commanded. Simultaneously, Kuroro's hands exploded. The explosive force sent ripples through the grass - an impressive explosion for such a small mass. Kuroro's physiology, its impressive volatility had bonded beautifully with the catalyst that Chloro had injected into her hours ago. Then Chloro was running again toward Kuroro...
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Diva, from Aeons Torn
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Iziz
Sept 9, 2013 17:40:54 GMT -8
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Post by Diva, from Aeons Torn on Sept 9, 2013 17:40:54 GMT -8
Pain!
Pain?
Kuroro –that broken mirror of a face– was starting to understand. She was no longer conventional, typical. In accepting these bonds of servitude, in being given no choice, the Pink Nightmare was elevated to mistress of her unlife, freedom, release –rush, rush, attack, attack, take it in, take it in. Suck in pain, face adversity, eat, kill, raise, beckon, rush, dance.
Diva was giving her a chance to dance her own fate. Why? Was it love? Was this truly love? Was love ushering the object of your affection and propelling it forward to walk wherever its shadow truly wanted? Was this ultimate hate in disguise?
Oh, the power that surged within her occult blood with every bit of anger and violence that this living being showcased. Kuroro was beginning to understand: she was beginning to gain strength through adversity.
So the Sithspawn’s hands explode in a gory mess and bloody spray, along with the Deagle bouncing on the floor like a child’s toy. But what is this? Kuroro is completely undaunted. If one didn’t know any better, they might say her expression denoted a sort of disconnect, as if she couldn’t even feel the joints of her hands being shoved upwards into her soft arms.
“Wow, you’re really doing well.”
Ice -that was ice in her usually sickly sweet voice- freezing over the concern with taunting flash baked in a pot of bile.
“It’s almost like you’re trying.”
A smirk begins to spread upon Kuroro’s black lips, and then she flashes in a flourish of bright pink that stabs around about Chloro’s body. In and out does this line go, shimmering the air and filling the dust with ripples of expansive energy that could hardly keep up with her speed. When all is done, the Pink Nightmare has advanced and wrapped herself about the one eyed monster from behind. It appears to be a friendly embrace until your realize –despite the respawned Plant gently resting her terrible white visage upon Chloro’s shoulder- that she was holding the Desert Eagle in one hand, pressing it into the left temple of her unintended target, while using her other hand to gently trace the circumference of the only living being’s chest wound. It’s encircled with a sensual time signature, slowly, round and round it goes, spreading the trickling blood into the fabric. It may have been important to note that Kuroro’s arms and hands were still in the process of regenerating, and were currently no more than ink slicked bone and ligament, boiling as new flesh willed itself to cover the sinews. She whispers:
“Show me some more.”
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The Major
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Iziz
Sept 9, 2013 19:43:10 GMT -8
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Post by The Major on Sept 9, 2013 19:43:10 GMT -8
A day like today had not been seen or felt upon the windswept hills of Onderon in years; it was a beautiful day sans competitor: a cloudless afternoon with the sky brimming with blueness unrivaled, with this particular system’s star high and bright, with the air containing a refreshing chill screeching of the coming autumn, with ambiance so beautiful, so choice, it could be played to the tune of mighty and cheerful orchestra. Was the universe smiling? Indeed, it was, and Time’s canines were displayed proudly, with Purpose and Doom grinning ear to ear right behind their best of friends. How one place could be so calm while another was fraught with peril unparalleled was beyond any one being’s reckoning, save for serving as a display of galactic randomness and overall chaos.
Fight on one front here; fight on another front there.
Why she was unable to control that little switch in her mind that turned on music and kept it playing at the strangest of times continued to be but a passing thought within the precepts of her swirling conscious. Perhaps it was the minutiae of mundane activity or lack thereof. Perhaps it was her crippled state. Perhaps it was her training trying to distract from the absurdity of it all, and the pain that came with the wrong muscle group being used despite the fact that all the lacerated ones were tasked with most of the body’s motion. Whatever the reason, she could hear the threading notes of a Piano Concerto in C Minor supported with clarinets, a symphony that defies all ethereal descriptions, built on victorious triads. Slash; luck, or a lack of it was her savoir against that Maschinengewehr. How a stray round had not entered her gray matter or punctured through her ballistic vest was something best not thought on too deeply. There was nothing worth gaining from it besides an inflated sense of self –as if providence somehow was assisting on her own goals.
Randomness and overall chaos: she could not thank them enough.
Eating naked was completely out of the question. Thus, much to the Major’s rather ebullient brand of vexation, she had to ask Dresden for help, who, looking for anything to distract him from the torpor resulting in thought, was willing to offer assistance. Having a stranger slice you out of a bloodied outfit and treat your bare form while you were mostly knocked out was one thing; having that stranger dress you while conscious was whole other level of strange –one so odd that it probably took beings so socially inept like the Fallanassi and Dresden to be able to undertake them. On her end, she simply attempted to ignore the situation and indignity of it by humming loudly within that mental space. How Dresden handled putting on a loose, white shirt, gym shorts, and even socks on a person who just a day or so ago was probably preparing to slice his throat, adopt his form, and then cast him to a beast capable of dragging him to eternal torment was probably something that even mathematics would struggle to explain. Perhaps it was her dashing, epicene charm. This was the best joke her mind could come up with to rationalize it which meant it still wasn’t completely effective. Troubling. A few minutes later she was sitting at the table, stabbing the food and speed darting it into her maw with the quick, birdlike intensity that would have a rook jealous. After all, what was the point of hiding her nature anymore? He had seen it all already –it was pointless to play with illusions right now. Once finished with most of the meal, and while tentatively pushing about the spinach that was mostly untouched upon the plate, she sighs, and speaks, her voice rising and falling in volume awkwardly as those shot nerves had a field day with her usual “cool,” eyebrow arched self.
“Ennk. Rip. Mein name ist Riplian. Subject Six –Diva, vwas not lyingk. zYou vwouldn’t know it because of differences in culture, but it ist ein combination of insults. fVery unpleasant. I, eh, ah, err. . .”
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Chloro
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Iziz
Sept 10, 2013 7:06:27 GMT -8
Post by Chloro on Sept 10, 2013 7:06:27 GMT -8
Where. Are. You.
The plaintive voice asked. The single glowing red eye was looking where Chloro had disappeared to. She hated to be alone. It made her feel so vunerable. Was she near? Yes, she was. Would she come to fetch her, soon? She strained to touch Chloro's mind to tell her what she felt.
Touch.
There was a collision, but unlike any physical impact. It was that bizzare sensation of two forces repelling each other instead of colliding. One that she had experienced before.
Although Kuroro had taken on her own life, she still remained true to her original's essence and shared her hellbent determination. Everything about Kuroro repulsed Chloro - from her stitchwork charm to her mawkish sweetness. As did Chloro likely sicken Kuroro with her angry, blunt and caustic way, as well as the inexorable destruction she wrought. It had been an interesting experiment to split the atom and watch Chloro divide into two, but doctor behind this had already seen the direction that this peculiar paradox would take. They were tied into a collision course. And the galaxy loathed paradox. As they struck their second set of half-lives, they would likely consume each other and the matter would resolve itself.
Very neat. Very convinent. More coffee please.
EEEEEEEEEIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGGGHHH
The dozens of bayonets that jutted out of Chloro's back exploded through her and burst into Kuroro, freeing her from her other half. She stumbled forward, blinded by the pain. Words failed her at this point and she screamed in rage uncontrollably from the depth of her being, breaking against her own self-restraint. Coming from anyone, even Eralam, her calloused soul could have deflected it. But she couldn't protect herself from herself. It was like being on that table again. Her fingers snapped.
FSW-BOOM!
Left-knee. Again.
FSH-BOOM!
Right-knee.
The fingers curled again.
An outline of a smile rose underfoot, with the barest glint of white.
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Iziz
Sept 10, 2013 8:16:39 GMT -8
Post by Deleted on Sept 10, 2013 8:16:39 GMT -8
If one were to ask how Dresden made it through getting the Major dressed without making things more awkward than necessary, he would probably tell you to fuck right off, because fuck you, that's why. The actual reason had less to do with fucking off and more to do with the fact that the former Shard was properly paranoid at this stage. He could find no obvious signs that anyone had tampered with his mind, but that didn't mean it hadn't happened. He was quite sure that his response to the woman before him had not been a natural one. It couldn't have been, could it?
He was forced to conclude that he had no earthly idea. As a Shard, it had never been a problem. Emotion was something that happened to other people. He had learned to imitate over the centuries, but that wasn't quite the same as dealing with it on a daily basis. Dresden made a note to ask Koko when they got to Dressel. She was a Shard as well, but she had fully embraced humanity. Whereas the old Eralam HRD had only superficially resembled a human, Koko's was more of a biot that a droid. If anyone could bridge the gap between human and Shard and tell him what the hell was happening, it would be her. In the meantime, he would have to be careful.“Ennk. Rip. Mein name ist Riplian. Subject Six –Diva, vwas not lyingk. zYou vwouldn’t know it because of differences in culture, but it ist ein combination of insults. fVery unpleasant. I, eh, ah, err. . .” Well that came out of nowhere."Oh. Um, hi. Riplian, eh?" Dresden rolled the name around in his head a few times, but the etymology escaped him."I confess that I'm not exactly familiar with the Fallanassi. They tended to avoid me like the plague for the most part. Met a woman best described as a raving heretic a few hundred years back who showed me a few tricks with the White Current, but I didn't pick up anything of the language."
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Diva, from Aeons Torn
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If blood is the currency of life, then what's its tax collection service?
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Iziz
Sept 11, 2013 21:16:34 GMT -8
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Post by Diva, from Aeons Torn on Sept 11, 2013 21:16:34 GMT -8
More explosions, more attempts at pain, more posturing, more melodies, more of the same: that hell bent determination the living just couldn’t let go off because it was their definition.
We, the dark matter of the galaxy, the space in between the stars, the gravity in quasars, hear you, see you. We –revelations disguised in black holes– feel you.
We love you.
Once again Kuroro had succeeded in having another pair of her white boots destroyed. How many times? How many times could she, it, Chevalier, procure the same clothes and not even enjoy them for more than a few hours? How noisome. This she thinks as she rolls a few times in the grass before settling on her back with a sort of half sigh. Oh, wow! It was really nice outside, or it would have been, because right now all the sunlight was causing the Sithspawn’s skin to crawl with an itch that didn’t make any sense.
Speaking of tiny irritations and annoyances –her legs have been blown off cleanly from the knees down. Good! The Pink Nightmare lifts her stumps up and aims them in Chloro’s general direction; accuracy wasn’t important when tanks 7 and 8 were pumping the jellied fuel down the tubes running down her thighs in this contingency case.
!SCHPUT! SCHPUT! !CHHHHHOOOOMMMOOOOWSSSSSHHHH!
Gush, and then twin gouts of flaming liquid trace wide arcs that would fill the area in front of Kuroro’s spread legs, right into the path of the One Eyed Devil’s axis of advance.
And the dosage of pain didn’t stop there, because there was nothing to impede Diva, who in the interim had zipped around at a speed that could compete with an age old Space Shard, picked up her choice pistol, and had positioned herself besides the strange being that was empowering Chloro with the tenacity that made it all possible. The Witch does not bother to look directly at the poor excuse of life, for she is transfixed, obsessed, with watching the object of her sordid affections fighting like a parody of life should. Spin, heft, click, level, and the Deagle is now aimed towards the Suitcase’s twisted mouth. Poor thing couldn’t even mask its thoughts properly from a manifestation of the dark side. Cruelly, the Ice Queen preys upon the honesty within this . . . thing.
“No, nope, non. You’re not worth even a moment of her song. She’s left you, left you cast aside among things which, ‘bump in the night,’ go. Into the dirt with yah!”
!BADAAAAMMMMNNNN!
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The Major
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Iziz
Sept 13, 2013 10:50:12 GMT -8
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Post by The Major on Sept 13, 2013 10:50:12 GMT -8
Actung.
The glasses were still attempting to fulfill their primary function: to discreetly appraise the one they called “Major” of anything worth knowing. Knowledge too, was relative, it seems. For at this moment the spidery excuse of a woman with the habit of licking her teeth does not care of the status of the creatures of her creation. Nevertheless, the fired spectacles sadly tried to fill the bottom left of the woman’s field of vision cone with a Veranda font of baby blue inclination.
They were fighting; that meant they were most likely playing their game of murder. Naturally, or rather, unnaturally, neither subjects 67 or 194 had a heart rate to speak of. Any blood they accumulated came with the morbid indication that they had taken it, stolen it, from some poor lot of victims. This the Major could tell –quite doggedly, in this case, since most of the data was scrubbed out in static- from the amount energy that was moving beneath both cases wrapping of skin. An option to give Subject 194 another “kick” highlights. Denied. Let the monsters carve out their own madness. If they were distracted, then it was a perfect chance to put some space. Space in this case would mean a few planetary systems distant.
Even if the Eralam managed to maintain a form of control over the manifestations it didn’t mean it was safe to be around them. Control with dark side was a tenuous thing at best, and something that often left the seeker in deep regret. Why, just look at the poor set of circumstances that the Major was cast down into: caught, weighed, and conscripted into an objective that did not concern her vast desires. No, that was disingenuous. Again, that little voice that states it is okay to look for anything other than use in another person must be stifled. But something in that vast network of spite, phobias, and goals was not letting it drop easily. Damn that voice. If only she could surgically remove the notion of that voice. Nay, she was again being disingenuous: if only she could surgically remove the desire to save that little voice.
“Eine Fallanassi heretic?”
Talsava. It had to be. The timeframe and description solidified the hypothesis. After all, there was only one woman who earned the punishment of exile and labeling as a heretic. That one woman who selfishly betrayed her family, friends, and creed for what? Credits sanctioned by that Emperor of old. And where Isela earned that warped nomenclature, Riplian had not – she had it forced down her throat. Now this was something that inflamed a measure of scientific curiosity within the wounded woman. For the sake of ascertaining historical accuracy, this little factoid was interesting. After all, none of the Adapts of the White Current had ever concretely discovered what became of the Traitor after she left her daughter behind. Considering that now there were no records, no council, and nothing but maybe a meager handful of survivors left –and they were woman traumatized, obsessed with the genocide that was “unjustly” carried out from within- it was a pretty safe bet to say that the cult would be extinct.
Still, it was probably better than the Major not seem too eager about anything in front of this man.
“Hm.”
More data scrolls down upon the left eye lens. Enough! The woman hastily pulls the glasses off and lets them fall unto her lap with an annoyed sniff of the air. A few blinks later, she again speaks.
“Ist it possible to move alongk? zYou mentioned Dressel, ein place I hafe not fvisited in ein decade. It vwill serve as goodt ein rally point as any.”
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Deleted
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Iziz
Sept 13, 2013 21:12:44 GMT -8
Post by Deleted on Sept 13, 2013 21:12:44 GMT -8
Dresden frowned for a moment.
"Maybe heretic was the wrong word. Fucking lunatic seems to cover it nicely. Never met a greedier woman in my life. She wouldn't give away all your secrets, but she was more than willing to show me how to access the White Current for a few credits. I couldn't make illusions myself, you understand. The Shard/droid brain processed data far too differently to create an image that humans would find believable. But she did teach me to recognize when it was being used."
He left unspoken the part that troubled him most: that either Riplian was extraordinarily talented, or that his perceptions were off. True, it took some measure of focus to see through the illusion, but he hadn't even gotten a whiff of the White Current when she had been in the Margot disguise. Even in the room, where everything was shown in its true form, she had maintained the illusion. But that was a problem for another day.
The former Shard had planned to stay on Onderon for a few more days at least, but he could feel the icy chill of the Queen Bitch locked in mortal combat. Riplian was most likely aware of the ongoing brawl as well, and if there was ever one thing that they would both agree on, it was that the best thing to do when Diva got really riled up was to get the hell out of the sector.
"Dressel was indeed the planned RP. Still is, I guess. We'd best get out of here soonest. I'll have my ship meet us here, rather than trying to get your crippled ass to the spaceport."
And with that, Dresden was a blur of activity. A figurative blur, mind. No super speed in the apartment. Either way, he had the place packed up and ready to go in a matter of moments. The commo gear, to include his console and its secure HoloNet router were loaded into a padded case about the size of a footlocker. The weapons were similarly loaded into an identical case. Everything potentially sensitive in nature was either gathered up or prepared for destruction. A series of small baradium charges were placed all around the apartment. When they went off, the entire place would be scooped clean, but the neighboring rooms would be largely undamaged.
Preparations ready, he triggered the slave circuits on his ship, telling the thing to hover outside the balcony and extend its boarding ramp there. The ship acknowledged, bribed the necessary officials automatically, and moved out. It reached the apartment in less than three minutes, and parked as instructed. Even though it was hovering on repulsors, the light freighter that the Shard had converted for his personal use might as well have been sitting on a landing pad for all the motion it betrayed. When Dresden built an autopilot, he did it right, dammit.
It took just a few moments to chuck the crates up the boarding ramp. Once they were secure, he came back and fetched the wounded woman. There was no time for dithering about how to make things less awkward. He put her right arm over the back of his neck, his right arm under her back, and the left under her legs, a few inches above the knees. That should be the least painful way, short of full on Force levitation. He lifted her up with nary a grunt of effort, though she wasn't exactly light. While the Major was extraordinarily fit, she was tall as hell. She could have been on the verge of starvation and still outweighed a healthy woman a foot shorter.
Still, he got her up the ramp without trouble. At the last second, Dresden remembered to snatch up the bag of spare clothes with his mind, less she be stuck in the same outfit the whole way.
"Right. You've got your choice between the sickbay and a room. You're not in any immediate danger, so the sickbay would purely be for your peace of mind."
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Chloro
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Sparkle and glitter, gleam, glow - SHINE!
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Sept 13, 2013 22:02:07 GMT -8
Post by Chloro on Sept 13, 2013 22:02:07 GMT -8
Oh.
Its. You.
The train-stopping bullet hit Tuulia, the Briefcase, right in the kisser, gob or yapper - whichever you prefer. Because whatever it was, it wasn't just a mouth. The bullet hung suspended between the teeth before it disappeared into the maw without the half-a-monster even flinching. The smile underfoot spread wider, starting from the base of the suitcase and stretching past Diva. Such beautiful gleaming white teeth. Fangs, premolars and incisors, joined end on end. The anticipation is palpable.
I've. Been. Waiting.
They snapped down like a bear trap and would cut Diva neatly in half, just above the waist. Her shifting mass rolled and transformed until she became a monstrous maw of circular jagged teeth, complete with a palate and a bottomless void at the end of it. Tuulia had developed a taste for Diva - Kuroro's hand from earlier had been the taster, Anderson was the appetizer. And now she had the real article.
The grass curled and caught fire. A smouldering Chloro appeared at her side. Her eyes glowed a lurid red, the same as the Briefcase's, as she hefted Tuulia and advanced on Diva.
For. You.
The cloud darkened again and the already weak sunlight failed. In the field, there were hundreds of little glowing red eyes that seemed to hang between the ground and the sky.
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Diva, from Aeons Torn
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If blood is the currency of life, then what's its tax collection service?
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Sept 15, 2013 7:13:38 GMT -8
Post by Diva, from Aeons Torn on Sept 15, 2013 7:13:38 GMT -8
Wonders and sights, oh my, oh joy!
That maw was an impressive sight. It even made a great big 'CHOMP' sound as it crunched the space the self styled Countess of the Blue Roses had just been standing in a moment before. It looked like a good trap though. The teeth even passed through what a appeared to be an image of the Ice Queen as if she let herself get curbstomped by that Hellish, world ending attack. No, Diva was no illusionist. It was just that she moved so fast that atoms affected by light rays had a hard time of keeping up.
And so there she stood, boots sliding in the dying grass as the "girl" adopted a posture that implied she had spun like a ballerina to that current point. With those black sleeved arms raised over her head, she begins to take in all the little details, from the blatant smacking in the face that was Suitcase Girl's power level, to Chloro's intensity, to even the little angry red eyes blaring away.
It was like these two. . . things. . . were putting on a show. If they kept this up, Diva might just starting feeling happy in her inside parts. For now, she offers them both a wolf whistle, as a token of good will, along with a little subdued smirk to go along with it.
"!WHHHEEEEET WHHEEEEEEEE!"
From behind Diva, frothing clouds boil and bubble like the discharge of a hundred rifles. From the midst, two pink points appear: Kuroro grinning, being sucked in with all the violence and bad intent and reveling in it. Again, the Ice Queen taunts the one eyed monster posing as a woman caked in rage.
"I know what you want, I'm gonna take you to midnight show tonight, but only if you can keep a secret: welcome to level two. Kuroro and I are just dying to see what else you two can do. Do you see what I did there? Dying? Get it? DYYYYYYYINNNG?!?!?!?!?!?"
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Deleted
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Sept 15, 2013 9:25:48 GMT -8
Post by Deleted on Sept 15, 2013 9:25:48 GMT -8
The Major gave Dresden another one of those slow blinks, the sort that managed to convey a great many things, none of them flattering.
"Room it is."
There were four cabins on the ship for passenger use. The former Shard placed her in the one closest to the cockpit, where he'd be able to arrive quickly if needed. He put her spare clothes in the room's locker and gave her the controls to the room's various things.
"Try to keep that remote in arm's reach. It controls the aircon, the lights, the bed, and the entertainment system. We don't have a live uplink with the HoloNet while under way for security purposes, but everything from the last day or so has been recorded. I've also got just about all the music ever, so feel free to relax. It'll take a day or so to get there. Oh, and the bed is fully adjustable, so if you want to try to sit up, it can help. If you need anything, I'll be in the cockpit."
Once he was sure she was situated, Dresden headed towards the cockpit and left Riplian to her own devices. ATC was a bit irate, but their bosses had been generously bribed, and had made damn sure that the clearances for this procedure had been in order. The former Shard closed the hatch and had green lights across the board, so without further ado, he tilted the nose skyward and punched it. The inertial dampeners would keep the passenger compartment relatively oblivious to the fact that they were accelerating at about 7gs. They cleared the atmosphere in a matter of minutes, and in just a few more, the ship was gone in a twinkle of pseudomotion.
At that instant, two things happened. One: the apartment was rendered down into its constituent atoms by the baradium charges. Two: Diva received a brief message through the Force.
[redacted] My commlink code. Call me. Bye!
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