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Iziz
Aug 6, 2013 19:03:42 GMT -8
Post by Deleted on Aug 6, 2013 19:03:42 GMT -8
"I had to ask. You know what they say about that word assume, right?"
That was the big question out of the way, the one that, whether he had realized it or not, had drawn him to this hellhole.
Now for the issue of what to do with the other woman. The smart money still said killing her was a good idea, but Dresden couldn't shake the nagging feeling that she had a role to play in the oncoming drama. So he went and sat down against the wall next to her, enough distance between them that they weren't in danger of touching accidentally, but close enough that she wouldn't likely be getting away. He had the scent of her illusions now, so if she tried to pull anything, well, between him and Diva, it would likely be the galaxy's shortest escape attempt ever.
"Look, I apologize for my earlier behaviour. This whole 'being human' thing is still a bit new to me. That being said, we can't let you leave this manor alive if you're not with us completely. Now, I promised your earlier that I wouldn't let Diva use you as a chew toy. You won't be one of her minions when you die either. That you were deceiving me at the time, while annoying, is irrelevant. I intend to keep my word. If you die, it will be by my hand, and it will be quick and painless. Or hell, if you're the sort that would rather do it yourself, I'll allow that within reason. But it doesn't have to be that way.
"I'm pretty sure you were listening in on that ship. If you were, you know that Diva and I were about to work together towards a common goal. How much do you know about what we had planned?"
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The Major
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Iziz
Aug 8, 2013 8:31:29 GMT -8
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Post by The Major on Aug 8, 2013 8:31:29 GMT -8
What did these monsters expect? Of course she knew of their plans and the horrific implications it meant for the people who did not task into their equations. Bullies. They were the essence she was struggling against, seeking to squelch the influence of the demigods that spent human lives like pocket change. Perhaps working to this has hardened and warped the woman known as the Major to point of blackness even a shadow could not understand, so be it. She was never loved by anyone, not even her family. So if the sacrifices made numbered thousands, millions, or even billions then so be it. If Fascism was the only way to cause hungry humanity to band together to protect themselves against becoming the puppets of the gods, so be it. Self hatred did not concern her, hatred for the fanatism and anger associated with crazed individuality was of no matter. She hated the cancer that was laced jackboots marching and laughing while they scream, "War: for the Reichstag!" Aye, to the bottom of heart she hated those who would embrace destruction for the sake of destruction. But if such was the price to unite the strong and long arm of Man, then such would be paid. Let her soul drown endlessly in torments unfathomable —nay, let her embrace the end in the teeth of jackals. Freedom was the aim, yes, that old Strumpet. Freedom from Fate, from the tyranny of the gods, both old and new, both good and bad. Freedom through slavery; peace through everlasting war. And so let the bombs fall, let the men and women drown in battle lust, let lovers fight for one another, let the dawn of a hundreds planets be choked out in the nuclear winter, let the babies be hung from the rafters, march, march, let the hatred bind them all to point rows and rows of suicide bayonets at the throat of even God, and let every man, woman, and child stare up and say, "NO!"
"Margot," Major, looks down at the space between her knees, as her blue eyes turn a duller and duller shade of gray as the heavy eye lashes provided shade. "Major, Offizier der Allgemeine Schutzstaffel, NSDAP #16667 und SS #13. Shtop. Major, Offizier der Allegme—"
Diva smashes the tip of the musket across the woman's face with a satisfying CRACK. The front sighting post gouges a gash upon the cheek as the Fallanassi is propelled unto her side and into Dreden's lap. Had she not been ridiculously hardy and ironically survivable, her neck would have snapped right there. As it stands, the Major blacks out for roughly two seconds and now has quite a nasty muscle pull upon the left side of her neck. Never mind the hot blood since her cheek had a near hole in it, there was much more confusion to be had. The strike has resulted in the rather haughty woman having her arms, head, and hair spread hapzardly upon his lap. It takes her exactly three seconds to realize this, and then attempts to get her face out from between his thighs —post fucking haste. For those with a sense of humor, her mouth was gaping in horror. Meanwhile, the sordid affair seemed to have the Ice Queen in happier spirits: the air was thick with fear. It was tasty.
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Iziz
Aug 8, 2013 10:01:46 GMT -8
Post by Deleted on Aug 8, 2013 10:01:46 GMT -8
Name, rank, serial number. Under most interplanetary conventions and laws of war, a prisoner is required to give their name, rank, and serial number upon capture. Doing so allows both sides to keep an accurate track of who's dead, captured, or simply missing. Captives may be interrogated if necessary, but those three little facts are all they have to give up. Anything more can, even if provided under coercion or torture, be considered treason.
Dresden didn't try to stop the woman from extricating her head from his lap. He shot Diva a raised eyebrow, hoping she'd get the picture. Beating her to death wouldn't accomplish anything, and he wasn't going to try. If he couldn't convince her in the next five minutes, he'd kill her and they'd be on their way.
"Major, I'm finding it hard to understand your reluctance to cooperate with us. You're obviously terrified. You know that your very existence hinges on your cooperation. I can understand being afraid of Diva. Frankly, she's one scary bitch. But, I need her. I'm running on borrowed time here. There's too much to be done before my clock runs out for me to handle it all myself."
The former Shard took a puff on the pipe, frowned at the distinct lack of smoke, and relit it with a match. Almost as an afterthought, he reached into the pocket of his duster for the crumpled pack of cigarettes he always kept on hand and offered one to the Major.
"But what I don't understand is why you would rather die than offer your assitance in this endeavor. The simple truth is that without my work, and the work of those like me, this galaxy would be a lifeless waste. Society is not a self-sustaining entity. It is a garden. If you don't prune out the overly agressive plants, they begin to choke out the others and the whole thing dies. If you don't remove the plants that have stopped flowering or bearing fruit, then they consume resources that could better be used elsewhere. If too many build up, the whole thing stagnates and then dies. It's a slower death, no doubt, but just as assured.
"So I ask you: why does this offend you? You are being given a chance that no human has been offered for hundreds of thousands of years. Would you rather help us, or would you rather die here in this manor, cold and afraid and alone?"
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The Major
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Iziz
Aug 9, 2013 9:32:02 GMT -8
Post by The Major on Aug 9, 2013 9:32:02 GMT -8
Foul beasts, how could they understand fear, hatred, sorrow, even love? Yes, cut down the weak and chaff and send them into the flames. Ask those very same people how it felt to be called useless, dead weight, unneeded to the grand scheme of things. She had felt that way, every living thing, every human, feels that way. They either react to it or drown in it. The Major was no exception, despite her brilliance. This situation was a perfect metaphor of how the powers that be never care for the humans they so claim to have a charge over. Monsters like Diva were just ideas; monsters like Dresden were the stuff of nightmares: a higher power that didn't care and ultimately would destroy you if you resisted. So was the Huntress to also sacrifice her pride in order to cast lots with this ghastly duo? Could she declare war upon the weak quantities of man in the name of progress?
Of course!
Her goal was no different. But the problem here was who was the head of whom. To bow to these lesser beings who had no inkling of the divine concept known as death seemed. . . beneath her. And yet, they would no doubt kill her where she stood if she did not compromise with her fascination of dominance and admit she was just a soldier. Decisions, decisions. Ah, yes. There it is. These beasts failed to realize the seriousness of their display. That they were even willing to forgive such betrayals and embrace a person such as herself was a testament to their weakness. The Fallanassi was cunning, unlike any other human in ruthlessness. They certainly pretended like their will was divine providence, but if such was the case, why would they be focused on collecting allies? No, it was not out of the goodness of the heart. Subject 67 had no heart besides the ones she parodied, and this Dresden fellow, this Eralam. There was a saying in classical literature: you can determine the color of one by the company they keep. Take for instance, the Major. Who did she surround herself with? People who like slate gray BDUs, test subjects, and reanimated self propelled guns with jaws. The same principle can be applied to anyone who chose to come to this accursed manor.
Fools, prideful to the point of undoing. If they were so divine, they would have not wasted this time in the pursuit of preparation. Their desires would have manifested. They would have reaped the universe already. Obviously, they could not. Not as they were. Oh, the morbid scientist was quite sure Eralam could make short work of a few planets, much like Subject 67, but they could not do it alone, and especially if the rest of power in the galaxy united under one banner to stop them. If humanity could put aside their squabbles, they could even throw down the gods to the point of destruction -nay, even better: servitude. Her perverse mind could begin to perceive them each as a command operations table, similar to the ones used by the remaining Fallschirmjaeger when invading planets and spreading the idea cancer. There was circle representing Major, herself trapped between the larger circles of Diva and Eralam. Away from the battle sector were other sectors, some beyond her influence, others in the palm of her hand. If she could in effect enact a metaphorical retreat away from the gap they were offering, she could potentially pool and band other resources into an effective resistance. After all, there were many scary things hiding in the galaxy. Best of all, the offer to work for them not only put her on the inside, where her knife could stab deepest once they made a mistake, but there was also the potential for exponential scientific progress once more data had been collected on the duo, then quantified. Yes, fight smartly today, come back and make them the most highly esteemed butlers tomorrow. Naturally, she would have to be extremely careful not to sink into the realm of uselessness in their eyes. It was simply a challenge after all; she was a Fallanassi, and altering reality in her favor was her speciality.
The Major begins to stand as her putrid mind begins to already twist with hopes and dreams of conquest, progress, and the eventual perfection of the human spirit. Strength pours into her limbs and she moves away to the other wall, away from the monsters. Smoking? Posh. Lieutenant Margot Mccan smoked; the Major did not. Even the deathsticks were an illusion. After a few deep breaths, Eralam would no doubt detect a new presence standing, tiny, steadfastly while in the midst of a tempest, smiling. Slowly, the Fallanassi turns to stare at them both without fear -for the time of trembling had past. Victory from the ridiculousness, strength through weakness, freedom through servitude.
"Nein, I vwouldt rather not die. I vwould rather serve ein cause vwhich further propels this galaxy into der shtate of perfection. Nein, I vwouldt rather survive -nein, I vwouldt rather thrive!"
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Iziz
Aug 9, 2013 10:25:21 GMT -8
Post by Deleted on Aug 9, 2013 10:25:21 GMT -8
Dresden could feel the shift in the woman, from abject animal terror to uncertainty to hatred, arrogance, and confidence. The exact thought process was still hidden behind a convoluted wall of thoughts and feelings so warped and twisted that he couldn't even begin to make sense of it all. He felt a shiver down his spine. This woman was dangerous on a level that most people could never hope to achieve. Potentially useful? Absolutely. But that wasn't the same as being on their side.
"I'm not convinced."
The time it took for the revolver to leave its holster and come to a stop with the barrel pointing right between the Major's eyes was roughly the span of time it would have taken for a bullet to travel down the barrel and into that smug face if the fallen Whill decided to fire. But that wasn't all that happened. One doesn't live to be as old as Eralam by taking chances.
The entire corridor, less the spots immediately occupied by Eralam, Diva, and where the Major appeared to be standing were lashed by Dresden's blades of thought. While he was sure that he could have seen through the Major's illusions, he wasn't taking chances. If she was so much as a centimeter out of place with what Dresden's eyes told him was the right spot, death would come on the heels of a bright flash of agonizing pain. If she wasn't, then she likely wouldn't notice a thing. He knew Diva would notice, but frankly, he doubted she'd care.
Slowly, deliberately, the former Shard cocked the hammer back with his thumb, the barrel never wavering an inch.
"Major, I want you to understand one thing. Right now, I am not trying to threaten or coerce you, odd as that may seem. I have a gun to your head because I respect you. I've seen more humans over the course of my life than perhaps any other being, and I say to you right now that out of all of them, you are perhaps the most dangerous I've met. Not the most powerful, though your illusions are top notch. Hell, you managed to hold form in the Room, and that has never happened. It shouldn't be possible. But in terms of brute strength or even finesse and skill? I've seen better.
"You're probably not the smartest, though I'd put you in the top three or four. I can feel your mind racing around like mad. Best fighter? Unlikely. It takes great skill to use that musket, I'll give you that. But the best? Hardly. Best commander? You sort of sacrificed an entire company for the sake of baiting a trap. No offense, that's going to cost you some points.
"And yet, right now, I am more certain of anything than I have been in a long time that to let you live could be the single biggest mistake of my long and eventful life. I'm sorry Major, I really am. I respect the hell out of you. Fuck it, I even like you a bit, though that may still be the hormones. Still not used to those. I genuinely do not want to kill you. I'd much rather take you off for a week someplace nice, because, you know, hormones.
"But if I can't trust you, or at least trust that you won't mess with my plans until after I'm dead and gone, I really don't have much of a choise. So convince me. Please."
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The Major
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Iziz
Aug 10, 2013 14:16:12 GMT -8
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Post by The Major on Aug 10, 2013 14:16:12 GMT -8
Dangerous? Dangerous wasn't the way to convey the taste in the air touched by this woman. She managed to always hold herself in postures tilted and leaning when standing, as though she were the Kommandant of Hell itself, always smirking, blue eyes as deep and dark as the turbulence of the ocean at night. Never maintain oneself as cocky, instead be cocksure. All of this violence, the severity of the actions here, was enough to earn most humans a trip to the psychiatric ward. No doubt this practice would be led by Gukky. For this woman, however, the brunt of these assaults leads her to be more introspect. Illusions of highest quality? Why of course! She was the last Fallanassi, the last skilled follower of the White Current. This was a result of her genocide, her betrayal and ultimate consumption of a breed of humans. Their power collected had magnified and raised exponentially with each village or town burnt to the foundations. Now that vast wealth was all hers, and hers alone. Best fighter? No, he misunderstood. She didn't need to be the ultimate Kommando. This Major was the free shooter, the essence of a sniper able to make impossible shots, to kill the eagle flying proudly overhead, and this was even before Subject 67's magic bullets. As a fighter, the Fallanassi was master, mistress, god of neckshot at a kilometer. Aye, she was aware of her limitations. She had augmented her melee capabilities with Krav Maga and a unique form of improvised fighting which utilized her warhammer as a staff, but those were more for hold out purposes. Best commander? Again, he failed to understand the seriousness of this situation. Reawakening the diva was a horrific and highly dangerous objective. She required blood. Did he not himself deal with this damnable nature while upon his ship? Her allegiance comes with a onerous price paid. Of course it was nigh unforgivable for a commanding officer to knowingly sacrifice troops, but there were no other realistic options. It would take too long to collect and transport "volunteers" without attracting attention. Unfortunately, the Einsatzkommandos were the only ones who could manage to fight her and even hold her attention to the manor for any significant time. Damn this life. She knew. She knew their destroyed and ghoulified bodies were on her head. So be it: they were each angry and wretched human beings who knew what they signed up for. Besides, their collective combat logs provided plenty of hard data on numerous fields of research.
Rationalizations were funny, especially when the person in question had taken the time to collect the dog tags of each casualty, before Dresden and Chloro had come here.
She begins to press the palm of her left hand into the left side of her head, perhaps sensing a migrane incoming. Death did scare her, yes; a legacy wiped from the slate of galactic awareness was the worst offense imaginable. Smooth talker, intellectual, politician, all that intelligence and ingenuity, and all of a sudden, when a demigod asked you: why are you worth it? You suddenly have nothing to say. Odd how pertinent an old work of theology could be. Truly, when the judges came, the wicked would be speechless. If the Major could sew up another false front or ruse to escape, a simple phrase to make the gods accept her, then she would say it. She had nothing, was nothing. There was no universe, no reality, where she could honestly say she wouldn't betray and subjugate the creators, the watchers, and the judges. There was a truth in this dagger collective: the realization that she had no control of this treacherous, deceitful, piggybacking, high strung using, ally sacrificing ways. For all the control she sought to excerise, she couldn't stop herself from grinning with the thought of bringing friend or for into a chaotic chorus of death —death taking and giving.
Her mother was right. She shouldn't have been born.
This was the end then. How could she convince a lesser god to trust her if she had no trust in herself? Pained at the thought, Major produces a single dog tag in a bag full of them. The others are pocketed back in a pouch while she shows her judge the piece. It reads as Lt. Margot Mccan, with a serial number, date of birth, and blood type inscribed in tabbed steel.
"Die Frau I impersonated. Hadt vwatched unt talked vwith her at great length before this shtarted, knowingk I vwould needt ein alias für this objective. She confided ein great deal. I daresay mein recital vwas flawless. Nein, she lived again für vforty vfour minutes. There ist nothingk goodt in me; there ist nothing to pity. I hafe played vwith monshters, vwishing I could vfind a vway out. vWas dere ever ein solution to der problem of der human soul? Hafe none to begin vwith. It's such a sadt thing vwhen someone irredeemable dies, ja? Like der sound of a moon setting before dawn: vwe all just vwish they could grasp one piece of morality unt begged unt believed für forgiveness. Shtill, vwe incorrigible, ever suffering souls make great operas, unt great shtories, ja? So, please, endt der badt yjoke dat vwas der tyranny of mein existence unt schootze me in mein heart. Der feelings dat vere my undoingk began hier; thus, endt them hier. . ."
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Iziz
Aug 10, 2013 16:28:14 GMT -8
Post by Deleted on Aug 10, 2013 16:28:14 GMT -8
Well.
That was something to consider.
It had been many a moon since someone, when it was all on the line, had given up. This was not Dresden's first time with a gun in someone's face. Most people would fight, lie, beg, plead. They would offer money, services, bodies, sometimes even their children, anything, just please don't pull that trigger.
If Major had tried that, she would have been dead before she finished speaking. The small pellet of baradium in the bullet would have obliterated her head from the neck up, and her insides would have been thoroughly scrambled by the former Shard's thoughts. And because of their earlier bargain, there would be no Netherworld. That would be it. Done. Finite. A body too wrecked to heal, a spirit too far gone to call back. All the king's horses and all the king's men wouldn't have been able to put her back together again.
But she didn't. She asked for death. And that bought her a few more moments while Dresden considered the situation.
There were two possible options to his mind.
One: she was trying to play in for a fool. Either she thought he was bluffing or she thought she could inspire sympathy. That would take nerves of steel and lightning quick thinking, but it wasn't out of the realm of possibility. The woman had oodles of one and was plenty good at the other. If she really was trying to manipulate him, she would die. And she couldn't even complain, not really. Granted, she asked for a bullet to the heart, not the face, but beggars can't be choosers, especially if they're asking for a bullet. Being dead might also have something to do with that, but that's just splitting hairs.
Two: she was sincere. She really and truly could not think of any real reason why her life should be spared. Or maybe she didn't think it should. That wasn't quite the same as hitting rock bottom, though in the Shard's experience it was all academic. It was a sign that she was at a point in her life that, for whatever reason, she expected and believed she should die. There was a certain beauty inherent in the situation. Life was always sweetest at the edge of death, joy at its purest when yanked from the depth of sorrows.
Someone would probably write an overly wordy and annoyingly dull book on the matter.
That wasn't Dresden's problem.
To spare or kill her was.
There simply wasn't enough information. One more test.
Slowly, with his left hand, Dresden reached up and grabbed the bit of stamped metal. Whatever else happened, he would see to it that Margot was not forgotten. The Margot he had known had been a lie, but if she was anything like the woman he had been shown, he would have liked to call her a friend.
His eyes never left the Major's. Not as he took the dog tag and pocketed it. Not as he slowly lowered his pistol. Not as he stepped forward, his mind ready to unleash a psychic holocaust if needed. And they still held hers as he kissed her, briefly, gently, timidly, like a schoolboy giving a nervous peck to his crush.
"That was for Margot."
They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. If that was truly the case, there was plenty of anger to be found, along with sorrow, and regret. There was sort of steel that would allow a man to push all of that to the side and do what had to be done. Mercy? Forgiveness? Somewhere.
But whether or not the Major could claim any for her own depended on what she did next. That was the final test. There would be no makeup, no revision, and there would be no curve. Either she passed or she failed, and to fail was to die.
A:Enlightenment B:Endarkenment (HINT: There is no C)
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The Major
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Iziz
Aug 10, 2013 20:13:00 GMT -8
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Post by The Major on Aug 10, 2013 20:13:00 GMT -8
The studies you so valued couldn't prepare for these sensations, even the silly novels couldn't capture the magic lost in translation to fiction. There was no charm involved in the act. It was twice as awkward than he could imagine, especially since her eyes exploded into metaphorical —always important to make the distinction with an illusionist— flashlights. Prince Charming? Not even close. His upper lip was salty with sweat, sweat from combat. Dresden's lips weren't the soft embrace of a budding lover, he had some dust stuck here and there, and a thousand minuscule cuts from the explosions as atomized grains scrapped off his skin cells. It wasn't warm, and his mouth wasn't moist. Chapped lips. A twenty five year old experiences her first kiss, and he wasn't a human. It was coarse; it was nearly replusive. Anything and everything was against him, but she was worse. Details: his gesture was not returned, nor did she clasp unto him in some final push of forlorn hope. There was no hope. Eralam, demigod cloaked in a fleshbag, had managed to surprise the one called Major with a heart rate racing off the charts, and no threat of gunshots or tooth related violence could rival this thumping bass pounding in her throat. Thoughts? No, no need for those: she was still that broken girl, that runt, born on that planet with the screwy name with the father who denied her existence and the mother who told her she was an unpardonable mistake.
This might be the time you break down. It starts as a smile, one that spreads from the corners of that mouth that was a little too long and wide, touched up through the black freckled cheeks, moved like arrows as they filled the blue eyes with a somber kind of twinkling happiness, and even moved the whole body to stand up straighter. This might be the time, Child. Because it was her very first kiss that wasn't a pillow in a dark room when she was ten, or an illusion during the most disturbing spans of loneliness when you just dreamed of having a friend. Because this was her very first kiss, and she couldn't hear the angels sing, or the music playing while the Queen of Death watched her with her raping eyes, smiling, enthralled and lusty to see human emotion. This will be the time, because Riplian begins to silently chuckle. Something keeps her from making the noise of laughter in her throat, but her body shakes with silent laughter. This might the time you break down. Because it's the first time she's laughed in her entire life, and it was pitiful that no sound came out. And then she realized what was the only true kiss of her life was not even meant for her. A lie had garnered that respect to a dead soldier currently rotting somewhere in the throne room with the rest of the first ones to die fighting the diva. The Major was so disgusting, so demented, so ruthless, that her one display of affection was a message sent to a person used and abused. She was alone, and she hated herself so badly that she would create Doppelgängers in order to murder them ridiculously. She loathed every atom in her body from the moment she knew what hatred was -laying in a ditch bloodied and with broken fingers looking up into the massive skies. Nothingness incarnate. An empty space. This might be the time you break down, broken girl, because you can hear the dead you've sacrificed wailing from Hell, crying for the oblivion you've always walked the line of. The smile fades, the eyebrows wrinkle and clench into anguish, the laughter in the eyes is forever lost and turn into shining beacons as they clouded. The body slumps and begins to curl into itself, once standing at the same height as Dresden, now sinking into irrelevancy. This is this time you break down, because anything worth anything in your life was somebody else's lie. And so when the tears choke out what remainded of her farsighted viewpoint, she cannot help to sob and shake, and does this for a few moments, blushing scarlet as salt drips down the sides of her face, pounding her fist once into her temple, vile, worthless. End. Embrace the end. Everything gone but the end. End. End. Let it all end, because this is the time Major Shepardt breaks down.
"D-d-hyick. Do it. D-d-do it! E-end me! End this! Beholdt, der most vile collection of atoms amassed to look like some freak of a vwoman! Oh, *said while twisting her hands over her face* Gott, put me d-down into nothingness, unt let mein name be forever forgotten, as if it vwas all ein dream. Do it! Der moon sets. Do it!"
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Aug 11, 2013 7:23:21 GMT -8
Post by Deleted on Aug 11, 2013 7:23:21 GMT -8
Well, that was the sort of reaction that Dresden had been aiming for. He she tried to jump his bones or slap him or anything else that came across as contrived, the fallen Whill would have struck her down on the spot. This was the Major, exposed for the whole world to see, this quivering mass of self-loathing. His plan had been to get a measure of her soul, shock her into revealing her true self. It had worked perfectly.
So why did he feel like such an ass?
If he had still been a Shard, even in his HRD, this would have been just another day at the office, so to speak. Not that he made it a habit to break people down to the very edge of their sanity or anything, but neither would it have bothered the one known as Eralam overmuch. But Dresden, on the other hand, was a different creature.
This bothered him. This bothered him quite a lot.
And he coudln't figure out why.
Surely she deserved it. Nevermind her past crimes; on this day she was responsible for the murder of well over 100 soldiers that had been under her command. That she had fed them to Diva was irrelevant. That was like feeding them to a woodchipper. The machine might have done the work, but the fault still fell firmly on the operator.
On a more personal note, the Major had tried to feed him to that very same woodchipper. She had taken the form of one of her victims to do it too. There was a special sort of perversity in that.
Surely she deserved to be flung into the abyss. Hell, she probably deserved an extra special playdate with Diva, the sort that goes on for a few decades and somehow manages to get more horrific each and every day.
So seeing her in her own personal hell should have been deeply gratifying, and the knowledge that he had sent her there, even with the intent of fishing her back out, should have made Dresden a very happy man.
It didn't.
The revolver went back into its holster; it would not be needed.
Next thing Dresden knew, he had his arms wrapped around the sobbing woman. This likely came a surprise to the both of them. The kiss had been a deliberate, calculated act. This was something else entirely.
"The most vile collection of atoms amassed to look like some freak of a woman," he said softly in her ear, "would still mean more to me than all the wealth in the Core. I've ended more lives in my time than anyone except maybe Diva, and I knew the value of each and every one. Good, bad, young, old, man and woman alike. Every single one represented a spark of potential, and I snuffed them out for the greater good.
"I think you understand a little of what that means, what it feels like. You know what it does to someone. Your soul is also stained black with the blood and the filth of the ones that you sent to their graves. Maybe that's why I'm trying so hard to find a reason to let you live. Lord knows a year ago I wouldn't have even bothered.
"I'm dying, you know. Not in the abstract sense that we all are; I wasn't joking when I said I only have a year left. The Force is keeping my body held together for now, but one day soon it's going to stop. And I'm going to die. What was it you said earlier? 'If I lay there dying, I'd hope someone would watch over me while I go.' Whether that was an act or something you really felt, it's true. Because frankly, I don't want to go. I don't want to die cold and alone, not if I can help it. I want someone there who understands, someone who will hold my hand and lie to me and tell me it's all going to be alright even though they damned well know it isn't. Maybe that's you, maybe it isn't. I don't know. It's stupid and silly and sentimental and selfish. I'm not going to ask you to be that person.
"You've convinced me that I can let you live, even though I might come to regret it down the road. All I'm asking is that you be clever and brutal and dangerous for me, for just one year. If you really want me to kill you, I will. But you are not some vile creature that needs to be destroyed. You're beautiful."
And with that, he pulled back a little and repeated the kiss from earlier. It was more or less the same idea, though perhaps the angle was a little better this time. He didn't particularly care if she returned it so long as it got the point across. If one were to accuse Dresden of not thinking clearly at this point, they would be absolutely correct. He wouldn't care. All he knew is that he wasn't about to kill this woman without letting her know that there was another way.
A small, abstract portion of his mind that still retained some Shard-like tendencies noted that this was probably a bad idea. The rest of his brain yelled at it to shut the fuck up. The mouth continued speaking, heedless of the commotion in that thing that supposedly controlled it.
"That one was for you."
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Diva, from Aeons Torn
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Aug 11, 2013 8:16:58 GMT -8
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Post by Diva, from Aeons Torn on Aug 11, 2013 8:16:58 GMT -8
"!BWUAHHHHHH HAHHHHH HAHHHHH HAHHHHH HAH HAH HAHAHAHAHAHA HAHA HA HA HA HAHHHHH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HAHHHHHHH!"
Oh, yeah. There was something else standing in the darkness, wasn't there, with a laugh so loud it sent the loose stones in the manor shaking, and lashed out with waves of bemusement, mirth, and schadenfreude. Lovely humans! They make it all so very worth it. He made it all worth the planing. She never failed to provide the purest forms of human expression. Her family was the bestest in all the westest.
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The Major
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Aug 11, 2013 10:05:05 GMT -8
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Post by The Major on Aug 11, 2013 10:05:05 GMT -8
Ah, yes. So that's what all the commotion was about. That was better, sweeter, without the hostility, and perhaps even more morbid considering the events and walls surrounding them. She didn't return the gesture —she was far too cowardly, gawky, and awkward for that kind of thing— but she did close her eyes this time, and that had to be the next proper step in what occurred naturally when a judge meets the loneliness, the wretched paragon of the dregs of humanity. But then there was the laughter, like ice knives stabbing downward, decapitating the little tendrils of compassion and softens, burning the forests filled with sweet scents, and the memories of wonderful sunsets and spotting nebula in the sky. Diva was a monster, but in her monstrosity was the truth. This was ridiculous! A person like the Major could not let herself be softened or dare assume that absolution could lay nearby. She did not trust herself. Her violin was always purposefully tuned sharp for a reason. She must prove to herself that she could be worthy of trust. What did he say? One year? If she could last one year without being a traitorous and blood thirsty war monger, then maybe she can admit that even the incorrigible could end their piece with a smile worthy of being called human. This of course if Diva didn't eat her first. Best not deal with her after this: she would love to watch the Fallanassi fail.
The laughter of the Ice Queen has obviously killed any semblance of mood, any indication of embracing the wholesomeness that could exist within the soul. Being frank here: you had two of the most dangerous demigods working in tangent, and now a woman with her entire forces, the most ruthless woman to currently live, joining forces with their scale of math. Somewhere, someone would have to detect the sheer amount of darkness and power bursting from the duo and their new support elements. And so, not trying to offend or give the Eralam a reason to quick shoot her, she pushes away from him gently, wipes off the soreness and spilling tear ducts, bites her lips, and produces her data glasses from a chest pocket on the Kommando tunic. She wipes her cheeks one last time, and then pushes her glasses unto her face. Almost instantly, they light up and cover her eyes, as hundreds of sitreps and requests listed themselves in her field of view. Plus, she did not want either Diva or Dresden to see her eyes: they were puffy and red from crying. Very improper.
"I vwould wvery much like to be excused. I'll prepare ein communications suite für zyou."
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Aug 11, 2013 10:42:41 GMT -8
Post by Deleted on Aug 11, 2013 10:42:41 GMT -8
Dresden offered the Major a nervous smile as she pulled away, not quite able to suppress the giddiness that fluttered through him. It was almost laughable; a nigh indestructable demigod so old that he wouldn't have been able to find his youth with an encyclopedia and a team of archeologists, and here he was with his heart all aflutter like some teenager. Oh, if Kulu could see him now. He'd probably smile and say something cryptic while politely ignoring the fact that his apprentice had kissed a woman that would have made Palpatine look like a saint. Probably wouldn't have expected to see his apprentice as a human, but hey. Shit happens. But the moment had passed. Diva had seen to that. The fallen Whill turned to glare mildly at her for a moment, but only just.
And then it was back to business. Sort of.
"That...won't be necessary. My gear is a few decades ahead of the cutting edge. But, we do need to plan. And I don't know about you two, but I'm fucking starving. And filthy. Probably could do with a drink too. If you ladies would like to join me back at my place, there are facilities to accomodate all those needs. I've even got a snack for Diva, if you can believe it. Dude a few doors down likes his women young and beaten. Was going to launch him into orbit without a ship, but this is much better. So, care to join me?"
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The Major
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Aug 11, 2013 20:58:41 GMT -8
Post by The Major on Aug 11, 2013 20:58:41 GMT -8
Ah, well, that sounded wonderful. A well deserved break would be just the thing the doctor ordered -only it was not the thing she deserved. There was a lot to do, and a lot to clean up. If this was going to be a true effort, then a great deal of effort was required to make any sort of worthy fruit for show, fruit that wasn't simply going to spoil and shoot you in the back with a magical bullet. Besides, the Major was tired of dealing with the demigods, and there was something private she must take care of. So while his aura was one of giddiness and fatigue, the Major's was one of the sorrowful, yet energized like a caffeine addict sucking down on another hit while the hyper cogs of her brain speed to such an incredible speed along numerous fronts that describing such a tangled web of careful consideration would require the brain juices that this narrator sorely lacked. Gott, had Gustav managed to hear or see any of this? It would be too embarrassing to even look him in the face.
Knowing this, but not wanting to trigger them both into a vengeful rage, she carefully constructs the tone and delivery. This was not meant as a deception, as so often used before, but done out of respect for the idea of not being misleading to anyone in the vicinity.
"Nein, danke. Dere ist somethingk I must attend to vfirst before any thoughts of rest enter mein mind."
The Fallanassi's body language denotes the extreme desire to get away from both the demigods immediately.
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Diva, from Aeons Torn
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Aug 12, 2013 5:59:50 GMT -8
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Post by Diva, from Aeons Torn on Aug 12, 2013 5:59:50 GMT -8
"!Bored now! Looky here: the show is almost over, but there's still your other girlfriend, Mr. Math. Leave Riplian, I know what she wants to do. But since she's a two timing bitch —yeah I'm still mad about the burn switch, I mean really, my lovely little Sithspawn should be able to walk now so she'll keep eyes, ears, and teeth glued on the freak. Insurance, so to speak. I'm getting hungry, Eradreswhatever, so let's see this child toucher and touch him."
Such was the connection between Diva and Kuroro that her intent simply had to be thought, and the Pink Nightmare would know what role was expected of her. It was a truck load of convenient and safe for the environment too —safe for the sound environment. Details could be worked on the fly in case of any surprises. Everybody should invest in a Chevalier, they were truly the bee's knees: the perfect mixture of servant, and individuality, without the stinky undead stench that ghouls and sometimes schiff provided. They were also perfect smooch practicing as well. And with that, Diva holds up the musket for the Major to take while smiling like the little devil she truly was.
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Aug 12, 2013 6:24:05 GMT -8
Post by Deleted on Aug 12, 2013 6:24:05 GMT -8
Twitch.
Twitch.
Dresden couldn't help but pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration. Whatever else might have been going on with his poor little brain, there was enough rationality in there to realize that trusting the Major may not be a good idea. He wanted to. Hell, there were a great many things he wanted to do. Dammit, skipping puberty and going straight into adulthood had been a bad idea.
And then Diva offered the services of the Sithspawn. Well, shit. That was a bit like putting the world's most diabolical bunny in a cage with the world's most obedient rabid wolf.
Eh, fuck it.
"If you would like to avoid being stuck with that great big burning ball of saccharine psycho, my offer still stands. If not, take this."
He pulled a small commlink from one of his cavernous jacket pockets and tossed the device over to the Major. It was deceptively heavy, but looked like a standard disposable link one might buy when traveling, at least at a glance. Any sort of close examination would reveal otherwise.
"Secure commlink. And by 'secure,' I mean utterly unsliceable, untraceable, and it has a very impressive self-destruct. Careful not to do anything that would void the warranty. If you survive the next year, I'll give you the plans. Until then, don't. Just...don't."
The former Shard fished out the pipe once more. It was still full, just needed to be relit. How it managed not to light his pocket on fire, or how it got there in the first place are questions best left unanswered.
"I'll contact you tomorrow at 1000 local time. We'll meet up somewhere in town and discuss our next move."
And with that, he turned to Diva. No arm was offered to this one; she'd likely try to rip it off and beat him to death with it.
"Right. Shall we be on our way?"
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Diva, from Aeons Torn
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Aug 13, 2013 4:25:12 GMT -8
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Post by Diva, from Aeons Torn on Aug 13, 2013 4:25:12 GMT -8
"Yeah, yea, yeh, ja, ja, blah, blah-blah. Get on with it! I'm feeling lusty and you promised a snack. Now mush. I won't be able to find him on my own: all food looks the same."
Cute, and the exemplar of subtlety if you were spawned and summoned in the vast bleakness that was the netherworld, where the vampire with the most well kept teeth won the crown of Miss-Mr-miss-it Universe and the latest in intimidating combat boots. Good thing Diva had killed the others -it's what earned her clout with that mysterious council Eralam so adored in the first place. What, you think they didn't know? Why, it was their idea in the first place! This all was of course funny as bunnies eating babies, and so Diva gives Dresden a push in the right direction —literally. She pushes him away from gazing all wonderstruck at the Fallanassi and towards the corridor which led to the Gukky-Chloro juncture.
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Aug 13, 2013 7:18:51 GMT -8
Post by Deleted on Aug 13, 2013 7:18:51 GMT -8
"AHGH- Dammit woman, I'm going, I'm going."
And with that, they left. Dresden kept his senses open, but the manor was deathly quiet. It seemed oddly fitting. There were rotting bodies everywhere, ghoul and Schiff alike, but none so much as twitched. Well, except for that one guy, but that was probably a gas pocket or something. The former Shard severed the spinal column of that one with a passing thought, just to be sure.
It should have sickened him to know that all this death had been nothing more than bait. It should have sickened him to see the twisted bodies contorted by the bullets and blades and blasts that had killed them, that had spilled their innermost secrets across the floor. Hell, the stench of blood and shit and decay alone should have been enough. But it wasn't.
To say that his mind was elsewhere wouldn't be entirely true, but it wouldn't be entirely false either. Sure, a part of him was paying attention to his surroundings, making sure there weren't any nasty traps left behind. And sure, a bit would wander off to think about the woman from earlier. But mostly, it was planning. Wheels within wheels, plots within plots, all whirling about through the brain at well over the legal speed limit. Dozens of potential futures were mapped out, rejected, reconsidered in the span of a few seconds. While the human brain wasn't quite as good at the robotic brain when it came to matters of data storage and retrieval, its ability to make intuitive leaps made up for it. That the wetware had been thoroughly upgraded was a plus.
The basic gist of it all came down to this: Crisis precipates change.
Change is the fuel that keeps the fire of society burning. Too much and you'll choke out the flames, but too little and they can't burn it all. Right now, the galaxy was rapidly sliding towards stagnation. The goal was to add fuel, but in a controlled manner. They only had a year with which to act. On a galactic timescale, a year is barely a blip. By itself, their plan likely wouldn't be enough. But if you'll excuse a bit of metaphor mixing, they could set up the domino that topples the rest of the chain. Fifty, a hundred, even a thousand years from now, the consequences would still be felt, if only Dresden could work out exactly where and how to act.
With the resources at their disposal, the little team could probably destroy a planet. Or at least wipe it clean of any sort of life. But that, by itself, wasn't enough. A planet going missing was a tragedy, but unless you had family or some sort of stake in the place, it was just like any other natural disaster. Oh, those poor people. Pass the gravy?
Hell, look at Alderaan. Whole planet gone boom, and hardly anyone gave a damn.
It's too impersonal. Too clean.
Sometimes, it seems, war IS the answer.
War also has a tendency to be impersonal. Unless it could happen to you. When the jackboots are marching ever closer, when it could be your world, your town, your home, people cared. Then it's dirty and ugly and scary. Then it's not something to debate over coffee at work. Then it's a goddamn crisis.
And crisis precipitates change.
So the question now was how to start a war. Well, their little team consisted of two demigods, one of whom was a semi-immortal vampire thing that could devour planets all by her lonesome, and a genuis-level woman with a talent for illusion. Oh, and also an army. How much control she exerted over said army was unclear at this point. The rank of Major suggests that she's high enough in the organization to bring a company to bear (the events of the evening also supported this theory) but not so high that she could call in the entire force. He'd have to inquire about that later.
It was entirely possible that the sacrifice of the soldiers this evening could be turned to their advantage. This was the Diva's doing. Surely they'd want to hunt down the Ice Queen and make her pay...
The beginnings of a plan. Still too many variables that needed to be nailed down, and way the hell too many unknowns. But it was a start.
Dresden smiled contentedly as he and Diva stepped out into the night air. It was still relatively early, as far as nights go. The whole thing hadn't taken more than an hour, even though it felt like months. A quick glance at his chrono told him that it was roughly 2345, local time.
"Right. Your snack is still going to be out for a little bit, at least another hour. Fuck me, I thought that would take longer. I reckon we can walk back to town, I'll pick up a bite to eat, and then we can catch up over dinner. Sound good?"
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The Major
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Aug 13, 2013 9:06:16 GMT -8
Post by The Major on Aug 13, 2013 9:06:16 GMT -8
Plans. Bleh. To Hell with plans. There was a time and a place to play high return chess/poker with the strength and honor of the universe . . . but this wasn't one of those times. Let the pawns of the makers contrive genocide after genocide, because right something far more simple had to be taken care of. Guilt was a strange thing. You know what you did, you know why you did it, you know you would even do it again if you could go back in time and try again. Why? Because that is what you are. In your core, you know that you'll always be that horrible person. This realization often helped you to fuel those dummy orders, the ones that sent your long arm, your swords and shields, to their demise. Eventually you grew comfortable with issuing such commands. Eventually, you even started trying to make the lives you'd use go out in a way that they would deem fitting. The Major had watched from the rafters as Diva tore through the first platoon like a never ceasing buzz-saw. The forced suicide move, that one was a new mutation, or was it simply a defensive mechanism. The company of kommandos here had all fought against Subject 67 before. Fight was a relative term. Survive was an apt description. Maybe they didn't want to become ghouls or familiars, and knowing that they were about to be consumed, decided to take their own lives. Something about the idea did not ring well with the Fallanassi, however. It was defeatism, and the Major hated people who gave up. No matter how dark the enemy, no matter how powerful, you must fight -you must stand to the very end. Even all you can do is stall their progress, even if you face the horrible fate of being converted into an enslaved familiar, you must fight it with every fiber of your being -because this is how you gain the title of being called human. In that final moment, it would be your determination that would sound like a trumpet as you were killed, if you were killed, if you killed, if you were about to kill.
Even in front of the Eralam, she stood her ground and did not lie. Granted, she was a quivering mess of anguish and self loathing, but she stood with her own feet. Did it mean anything? No. But the Major, it meant everything. And that is exactly why she felt guilty for war crimes that she must continue to commit -because someone had to, because someone MUST fill that role, and if she didn't, others would take her place, and result in even more little white grave posts dotting the tally of Harmony, Chaos, and that Purgatory in between. That reasoning is exactly why she must do this now.
And so the Macabre Scientist enters the Kino, with its seats all removed long ago to make space for whatever crude act must play out. There was a dinner table set up complete with eight seats stationed at the center -perhaps set up as a cruel jest by Subject 67 and her cohorts. Ah! The stink! Who could withstand it? She would; she must. Somewhere on the slate floor laid a single body mixed in with at least a dozen bodies. Slowly, her eyes scan from behind the special spectacles, searching for the person that must be laid to rest. Naturally, a plan never survives contact. And this one didn't without some parody of life ruining it all with it's presence.
"So. We're friends now. Personally I like the whole, 'mysterious mother' thing we could have had goin' if it didn't come to this. But whatever. Friends?"
". . . . . . . . . .No."
"Aw, you see, that's too bad, because something far better than you has said you need a guardian. And a makeover ---no, I lie. She didn't say you need a make over but you REALLY need a makeover. Can I give you one?"
". . .No. Holdt this and shut up."
The Major tosses her musket over to Kuroro, who has still not regenerated one of her arms. No matter, she catches it and begins to inspect the weapon, looking at it like it was stupidest thing imaginable, and she had seen her fair share of stupid weapons, metaphorical or not.
"This is the dumbest thing I've ever seen. Does it turn into a super rocket or something?"
Subject 194 begins to go off on a tangent about weapons and then wood and then scarves and then how fire matches perfectly with some abstract part of her life six years ago. Major just ignores it as she loops a spade unto her back, and picks up the fully drained and thankfully just dead corpse of Lt. Mccan, hefts it over her shoulder, and marches off to find an exit.
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Diva, from Aeons Torn
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Aug 13, 2013 13:36:27 GMT -8
Post by Diva, from Aeons Torn on Aug 13, 2013 13:36:27 GMT -8
As they walk out of audio range of anyone but themselves Diva makes a truly surprised face at Dresden.
"Really? You want to leave me, me, to my own devices for many hours, while hungry? HAH! Oh, fuck yes! Roger, roger -of course, yes, ja, always, forever, more than thou, aye-aye, Cap-eee-tan."
As he continues to march, she stops and curls up into herself, collecting waves of power unto herself while remaining otherwise calm.
"By the way, good job with the little girl. However, you are barking up the wrong tree if you think that affection shtick will work. She will end you, when you least expect it, and when you don't want it the most. Besides, she's a dyke. She ain't munching on jack shit unless she's munching carpet! A-HO HA HA HA HAH!"
And with that, Diva launches herself up into the ceiling, past at least three stone floors and an attic, a roof, and up into the sky, shining with a smiling that would make Hell itself blush. Eventually her trajectory leads her back down into the field somewhere, and she zig zags at a speed to compete with a machine gun bullet, past the hills, and the roads to the main part of the city.
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Aug 13, 2013 13:55:00 GMT -8
Post by Deleted on Aug 13, 2013 13:55:00 GMT -8
Dresden swore violently. This is not simply an expression; his profanity would have skinned a cat at ten paces. Fortunately, there were no cats, or anything living, in the effective range. And then he was gone. His departure wasn't nearly as dramatic as Diva's. One minute he was standing there. The next minute he vanished. It wasn't teleportation or anything like that, he was just really freaking fast. The robot body had been quick, but that was mainly a function of efficient hardware. Since this body was more or less powered by the Force now, it was a whole different game.
The former Whill appeared briefly on the top of the manor to get his bearings. Catching up with Diva by following her exact path was a losing prospect; he might have been faster (emphasis on might) but not so much so that he could catch her before she hit the city. So he plotted a straight-line course that should catch up with her right outside the city and took off, sonic booms trailing in his wake.
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