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Post by Deleted on Nov 25, 2013 7:54:03 GMT -8
For the record, your current position is your own doing. That bed's big enough that you both could have stayed where we left you and never would have touched.
The voice piping from the speaker sounded smug, at least to Dresden's ear. There was too much static for him to clearly make out who it belonged to, but if it wasn't Koko, he'd eat the Major's musket.
At any rate, you probably have a few questions. First and foremost: yes, you are wearing pants, and shirts too. We were trying to kidnap you, not make it look like you screwed. Hands still ended up in compromising positions, but the less said about that the better. Now, while you are clothed, you'll find certain items conspicuously absent, namely: shoes, socks, weapons, the ability to move anything below the neck, and dignity. Major, dear, you drool an incredible amount in your sleep.
Yup, Dresden thought, that had to be Koko. He was beginning to get the feeling that this was another setup like the conference room. Perhaps she thought a romantic getaway would do them some good. But if that was the case, why here? Judging by the chill and the wind, they were somewhere in the northern latitudes, and by taking away their shoes, they were effectively confined to the cabin. What the hell kind of getaway was that? And why couldn't they move?
Your weapons are being held somewhere safe. They'll be returned to you after the exercise. As for the ability to move, we'll unlock the spinal blocks on the collars in about 15 minutes. That should give you time to come to terms with the situation. It also should give the Boss sufficient time to explain exactly what he's doing with that hand.
The fallen Whill was horrified to realize that his left arm, draped over the Major's body, was perilously close to earning him an ass beating. It seemed his hand had drifted up underneath her untucked shirt to rest on the flat musculature of her stomach. He tried to wrench it away, but this time, he could feel the crackle on the back of his neck. Something was generating an electric current that was interfering with his nervous system. Koko had mentioned collars.
Now, you might have noticed the collars by now. They will stay on for the duration of the exercise. Attempting to remove them will cause them to explode. Oh, and if one explodes, the other will explode at the same time. Other things that might cause them to explode: use of the Force, going more than 5 meters away from each other, dying, or otherwise attempting to undermine the spirit of the exercise. Now, to be fair, they won't just suddenly go boom. A gentle electric shock will be used to notify you that you're coming up on the borderline between cheeky and headless. Are you with me so far?
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The Major
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Post by The Major on Nov 25, 2013 9:26:20 GMT -8
"vWow. I'm trapped in ein cliché unt I don't hafe shoes? Shpeaker, zyou are officially dee vworst person in der universe. I don't understandt, Koko, if zyou vwant zyour boss unt I to be das 'lean, green, fightingk machinen' den tell him to not be such ein horsedick. Because dis ist insanity, unt fvery likely lethal....
"...to me."
She was taking a stab in the dark. After all, it might not be Koko speaking, but if it was, then it could make the Major certainly seem more badass, even when trapped.
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Post by Deleted on Nov 25, 2013 10:53:59 GMT -8
Oh, shut up Chisame. This is as much your fault as his. Funny you should mention dicks, though, because your hands were-
"Koko..."Dresden growled. "You've gone too far this time."
I know, Boss. And for what it's worth, I know there's going to be a reckoning when you get back, and not just for this. But there isn't time for you two to sit in your rooms and sulk. Someone had to do something, and this time it fell to me.
The fallen Whill nodded. Or he tried to, at any rate. He wasn't happy with the situation, but Koko was right. They didn't have time to waste.
"Ok, so clearly you have some sort of plan. What is it?"
That's more like it. You have six hours to prepare. At exactly six hours plus one minute, this cabin will be attacked by bounty hunters. How many of them or what sort of artillery they'll be bringing, I don't know. I can tell you that you will have to work together to survive. If you can't sort out your differences, at least try to set them aside. If you don't...Good luck. Chisame, Era-no, Dad, I love you both. I wish it didn't have to come to this, but my hand has been forced. The collars will release your limbs in ten minutes, and we'll send someone to pick you up after the bounty hunters are taken care of.
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The Major
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Post by The Major on Nov 25, 2013 18:32:24 GMT -8
A training exercise –this was some convoluted live fire training exercise. In many respects the lack of gear and troublesome setting were quite reminiscent of a scout survival test, but the lethality of the coming hunters and the plot twist in the form of symbiotic death collars certainly raised stakes. Oddly enough, the strangest point was Koko’s zeal for forcing these two very different beings, almost contrasting so severely it was not impossible to explain their partnership as a two pronged assault from alternate universes, to somehow feel something they were both quite unaccustomed with. Still, the Shard arm’s dealer did everything in her power to manipulate these two past withering animosities. Hell, if they could surpass their sore afflictions and climb unto a state of peaceful yet reluctant coexistence this test would be a resounding success.
Whatever happened during the ten minute countdown was essentially ignored by the last Fallanassi. Perhaps Dresden said something, perhaps Koko expounded upon their trial even more, but no matter what she would not hear it. Her mind was meandering as it searched for exactly why her brain was trying to trick her into thinking she was, or had been, the victim. It may have been a painfully slow process, but there were worse tortures than the Major’s scrutiny: they just haven’t named them yet.
"Koko, if mein musket hast even vone new scratch upon it, zyou better pray dat Dresden unt I fail hier. Dis assumes zyour Vater does not kill me für failingk to, 'Get out of his sight.' Dough he shouldt know mein presence ist ein result of certain traitorous elements beyondt mein control."
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Post by Deleted on Nov 25, 2013 18:51:17 GMT -8
Eralam couldn't help but laugh.
"The speaker exploded 8 minutes ago, dipshit."
The time was up, and true to her word, Koko had deactivated the spinal block. Dresden jumped out of bed as soon possible, somehow managing to get tangled up in the blankets in the process. He hit the ground with a resounding THUD.
"Look, let's just get this over with. I don't want to be here any more than you do. Six hours isn't long. Let's see what we can find."
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The Major
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Post by The Major on Nov 25, 2013 18:59:26 GMT -8
"vWhat do zyou even care? I'm jetzt dee fviper, fickle, fleetingk, unt filled vwith fvenom. vWhy are zyou even pretendingk dis, or unythingk, effects zyou. Use zyour super magic unt solve this now so vwe both can get back to loathingk me: zyou vwith zyour nose pinchingk, unt me staringk into ein punched glass."
As far as getting up was concerned, it didn't seem to be on her agenda. The woman remained in the bed, coiling and waving her arms in the impression of two snakes slithering.
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Post by Deleted on Nov 25, 2013 19:25:49 GMT -8
"Oh, I could get this thing off me, but it would kill you. And tempting though that may be at times, I think we've proven time and time again that I'm not going to. So, unless you have something useful to say, shut up. I'm sick and fucking tired of listening to you whining and playing the victim."
It was all Dresden could do to not to yell at the Major, but his disgust was deeply ingrained into his voice.
"I get it. You were abused, treated like shit. Beaten, spat upon, no doubt called hurtful names, and maybe had gum stuck in your hair. This, of course, leads to a number of interesting neuroses, the most common known as Borderline Personality Disorder. It's actually quite common, often mistaken for full blown sociopathy. It can hinder one's social life to a degree, and leads to a pattern of self destructive behavior. You know what it doesn't do? It doesn't drive people to genocide. It doesn't inspire them to enslave entire species simply because they're not human. That, of course, begs the question: why? You've a mind like no other. You could do so much, but you've been content with run of the mill atrocities and experiments. Mediocrity for despots. So forgive me if I'm feeling less than inclined to listen to your prattle. There's a job to be done."
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The Major
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Post by The Major on Nov 25, 2013 19:52:09 GMT -8
"zYou say somethingk like dat, unt vwot in dehr name of der Devil's vwater am I to say? zYou hafe got it; Doktor, congratulations on zyour psychoanalysis. zYou fuckingk prick, stone, callous vwart. I've shpent mein last day thinkingk about zyou, zyou sack of completely twisted gutshotted, muddy, lice laced history, unt für vot. Der fick are ticks in light of zyour righteous judgments, ja?
"Fuck zyou.
"Fuck you. Fuck you! FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOU!"
And then something snapped, sort of like when you shine a light on a monster. It goes and loses wires in its brain, and either it is silenced, or it destroys the source of radiance. In this case, the Fallen Whill was the perfect rock to break a ship against. And so the Major snarls, leaps up and charges from the bed, rabid rage so profound every sinew of her body is set to cause graceful havoc.
But this was just blunt force faculty in the form of a screaming haymaker aimed directly at his face with a right arm.
As the gods had once said, "All would end in tears."
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Post by Deleted on Nov 25, 2013 20:43:31 GMT -8
Dresden turned his head, taking the blow on his jaw. By turning his head, the blow was softened enough that it broke neither his face nor her fist.
"How does it feel," he hissed. "How does it feel to be psychoanalyzed, to have your life's work belittled, you twisted little bitch? I put up with it, held my tongue, because it believed you worth it. I believed YOU were worth it. But you just keep proving me wrong. God, I'm a fool. I thought maybe, just maybe, there was something more there, something worth loving. Well, you've done a brilliant job proving me wrong so far. So go ahead, keep punching and breaking. Maybe it'll fill that hole in that twisted little thing you call a soul. I'll just stand here and take it, because it's sure as hell less painful than loving you."
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The Major
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Post by The Major on Nov 26, 2013 5:26:25 GMT -8
It must have been difficult for him to speak while maintaining an even tone considering the barrage of strikes aimed to silence his bramble. Each came in just at the space of comma or period, which implies she was pausing long enough between punches to listen to the high points, and it was making it much worse. Unmoved and seemingly uninjured, he continued his destructive prattle while the expression on his face twisted into a reddened state of superiority. And it wasn't so much about his words, some were true but horrendously oversimplified, but her rage stemmed from the fact that there was absolutely no way to stop him. Plus, from the sound of it, she wasn't exactly respected in his mind -she was more of a parasite of futility. Eventually, indicators that they were both drugged and haven't fully recovered begin to make their mark. Soon those severe elbows and fists become slaps, and then those further retard into strokes. Waning, the Fallanassi hunches over, grabbing on to fistfulls of Dresden's shirt, clutching by his shoulders in order to remain standing. Between gasps, she manages to spout off something, though it is fragmented, as if a continuation of a thought ruining in the mind.
"Haa... Haa... Dere ist... nothingk I can do. Ha... Ha... Gott, dere ist nothingk I can do."
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Post by Deleted on Nov 26, 2013 5:38:28 GMT -8
For a minute, Dresden just stood there. He had taken the beating, moving only to lessen potentially fatal blows, and the damage began to add up. His healing capacity never got a chance to come into play; he had it thoroughly suppressed, lest it trigger the collars.
Shattered nose, cracked ocular orbit, dislocated jaw, split lips, three teeth shattered and another five loose, broken clavicle, and a few bruised ribs. Most of her abuse had been directed towards his head, and it showed. It seemed like he was forgetting something, something important...
Oh yeah, concussion. The former Shard keeled over backwards, completely unconscious.
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Post by The Major on Nov 26, 2013 7:23:22 GMT -8
"?!"
Hitting the floor like a sack of hammers would be putting it nicely, and while Dresden did that, the Major slid back the otherway and landed on her rear end. It takes a moment for her to recover and then realize he is laying there, inert, and then the screeching crash of understanding dawns: the ex-Shard couldn't use the Force to regenerate, and he let her go to town on his face, which meant he was basically a human in exceptional physical condition, which meant he could suffer the adverse and cumulatively lethal effects of repeated blunt force trauma, which meant. . .
Oh no.
"Hey. Hey!"
She scrambles up to his face and snaps her fingers just next to his ear. No response.
Schieße.
Now it sinks in, and now the terror comes, griping and dominating the psyche and mind along with the limbs they both controlled. For exactly two minutes, she kneels there, shocked into immobility with an expression like a child that broke something they cared for very dearly. Which, ironically, reminded her that she did in fact care for this beaten heap spread out upon the floor. How anyone could maintain a look of perpetual surprise is anyone's guess, but the woman was far from normal thus up to the task.
"No, Eralam. Heal. Heal!"
Good luck with getting him to hear that, but that was stupidly stuttered in the heat of childlike horror.
"vWot hafe I done? Gott, dere vwas no point."
Thus, the muttering and just barely contained panic begins, mostly of her repeatedly apologizing in her antiquated tongue, along with pleas and a multitude of oaths if "just this" and "just that." It was incredibly immature, but then again this one never had a childhood to mature from. On the positive side, the rash of regret and fractured utterances stoked the flames of action, and while the Fallanassi sputters nonsense, she activates the alternative spectrum settings of her glasses. Luckily, they were still upon Dressel, and nobody had bothered to stop satellite uplinks or even jam any communications in the form of data packets. It was a small advantage that could still offer them a chance at survival, considering that the only ancient being here was currently bleeding inside himself. To make matters even more fortunate, Callsign Saya was close enough to be tapped into as a resource. She refrains from hailing her compatriots or anyone, for the testers might be monitoring information and signal traffic, and such an action would be a violation of the rules, thus setting off the collars; but piggybacking and hacking into numerous satellite uplinks would probably not be an issue -just an improvisation- which would give the survivors down here accurate terrain maps, sand tables, and even weather pattern information. More importantly, it gave the Major enough juice to run a scan on the fallen Whill.
The glasses glow their bright, cool hue, their true nature and cause for the light now revealed as not being an illusion or glare, but a computer hard at work. Up and down she looks, providing what could most simply be described as an MRI on the go. The Morbid Scientist takes note of all his injuries, and decides the concussion itself is the worse of the lot. Carefully, the spidery woman checks his skull for any signs of breakage from the crown down to his spine. There is a ray of mercy to be found: nothing there was damaged besides his nose and left eye socket.
Confident that she could move him, the Major clasps tenderly behind his neck and knees, then lifts -straining only because she was doing it as slowly as her muscles allowed, then carries him over and lays him down as gently as humanly possible. A quick check confirms nothing is further damaged, though if he were awake the pain might be worth hissing at. Medical supplies, he would need it to facilitate effectiveness. The search proves a shocking and shaking experience due to the collars. Testing has shown that the range can be passed as the shock builds up and gets worse until it becomes unbearable. It's enough to check the entire cabin from where Dresden lays, though snarls, gasps, and outright screaming fills the house as she pushes to 10, sometimes 13 meters scouring for supplies.
It would seem Koko expected lots of cuts and bruising due to the number of casual med packs laying about. Rubbing alcohol and half a liter of cheap whiskey would be enough to provide a disinfectant. She lays all the gear out neatly upon a chair, gulps down about half of the bottle in order to force her body to stop shaking, and gets to work.
One hour and some change later, Dresden would find his left eye completely wrapped up and tapped in such a way that light pressure should not disturb the break, along with his lose teeth pulled and fragments meticulously removed. Some gauze was stuffed in there to staunch any more bleeding, and would probably taste like death. Further down, he would find the usual compliments of splints and bandages applied to his upper chest and ribs. As for his nose, it would probably provide the largest source of discomfort. His shirt was removed for the sake of medical attention, but he should be warm enough: blankets were spread across his body. And where would the woman, the cause of his condition, be?
Two hours of their prep time had been wasted, and still he wasn't awake. To make matters worse, he may not be very functional upon awakening, but there was nothing for it: she had to wait and see. And that's exactly what she did: sit on a chair next to the bed, singing softly tip herself while waiting to see.
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Post by Deleted on Nov 26, 2013 8:02:22 GMT -8
Consciousness returned in fits and starts. The Shard could recall moments, mostly weeping oaths and desperate pleas, from his impromptu treatment, but none of it really made sense. His battered brain simply couldn't comprehend the data it was receiving. Why would she go through the effort of dismantling him if only to try to put him back together?
It didn't make sense, but then again, nothing did. He remembered something about collars, and that he wasn't supposed to use the Force, and he knew they didn't have much time.
"Well, let's be about it."
In his own mind, that came out as Basic. In reality, it came out through a shit load of dental trauma and a broken nose. But hey, concussions can do funny things to a guy, like ignore the fact that the act of sitting up can trigger vertigo.
"Hey, are we in a tornado?"
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Post by The Major on Nov 26, 2013 9:02:05 GMT -8
He probably didn't see it; nobody ever would see it, but the face of the macabre sharpshooter as he sat up was elation so profound it would have been well to frame it. Everything in it and on it screamed of relief -relief that Dresden did in fact manage to wake up with four hours to spare. But the moment retreated just as fast as it had splayed, for the man was currently leaning frontwards and backwards caught in the snare of a powerful outbreak of vertigo. The slurred tornado comment was especially troubling, but at least he remembered they were pressed for time, and that he couldn't use the Force to regenerate his conditions away -not yet at least. There was a slight possibility that the humanized space robot couldn't technically remember how to tap into his nearly limitless well that was his power, but that was of no concern to their current predicament. Well, that depended on if he accidentally casted a bout of energy in his current state of confusion. This she wasn't worried about, however, because she would not be in this realm long enough to notice if he did such a thing -which would technically be her fault anyway.
Comical and ironic forms of neck exposing death aside, there was a lot more to be concerned about: was he combat ready? Could he travel? Could they both turn a lopsided set of disadvantages to something resembling victory? They had no weapons besides what they could procure in this cabin. The old rifle over the doorway looked worse than ancient, and those two swords mounted upon that shield would probably serve no better than a glorified baseball bat, but if she can get Dresden up and running again they might be able to directly engage the hunters when they finally arrived.
With a half baked, pained, and mostly worried expression, the white current witch spoke."vWell, it ist drafty in hier, but nein, dere ist no tornado. Can zyou shtand? Can zyou move? Lean on me unt let's try eine few paces before fventuring outside..."
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Post by Deleted on Nov 26, 2013 10:50:33 GMT -8
The confusion began to recede somewhat, and was accompanied by a rather painful electric shock from the collar. It seemed that his mental blocks were overridden by the possibility of brain damage. Fortunately, there seemed to be a fair bit of slack in the parameters for beheading. His smashed face stayed smashed, and his inner ear was still out of whack, but he could think straight.
"Outside is a bad idea. Aside from the fact that out adversaries are almost certainly watching this place, we're in the permafrost. Without shoes. I'm a glutton for punishment, but that's taking things a bit too far."
Dresden tried to offer the Major a wry smile, but the effect was utterly ruined by the swollen and lacerated lips.
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The Major
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Post by The Major on Nov 26, 2013 13:55:12 GMT -8
"So vwe're shtuck hier, but vwhat if dey use artillery? Unt holdingk out vwithout vweapons vwouldt be ein challenge even für us. Vot....."
Her voice trails off, because none of that is what she felt compelled to say. Tentatively, the Fallanassi clambered unto the bed and kneeled on it, looking as flabbergasted and timid as she ever will. It wasn't in her nature to regret actions undertaken, or even apologize for harm done, but this was good place to start. And so she takes one of his hands in both of hers, which were again gloved and stained with his blood, speaking worriedly: he might and had a right to recoil and be disgusted.
"Dresden, it did not occur to me dat zyou couldt not regenerate. zYou always seem invulnerable unt steady like ein rock. Puh... Please..."
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Post by Deleted on Nov 26, 2013 14:48:21 GMT -8
Dresden sighed and winced as his damaged ribs screamed in protest.
"Major...ugh. Look, I probably had that coming. This mess we're in, it's as much my fault as yours. And...well...yeah."
The fallen Whill's eloquent speech was interrupted as he pinched the bridge of his quite broken nose, habit overcoming memory.
"SON OF A BITCH!!!!"
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Post by The Major on Nov 26, 2013 15:50:11 GMT -8
How odd: she probably would have relished watching this man be destroyed by her plots, but now that her direct abuse was the source of his trouble buyers remorse was kicking double the chagrin. Reason? There was one thing to use snide comments or even coming to blows in a fist fight, but to actually attack a person, him, when he was unable to do so due to his inherent lethality was bonafide abuse. She had literally projected something her own fucked up childhood and splattered Dresden with it. Repulsive doesn't even entail a footnote for such self affected depravity.
"Last vwe checked, zyou didn't break mein face out of petty jealously unt rage.
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Post by Deleted on Nov 26, 2013 16:31:30 GMT -8
Once the white hot ball of holy shit that hurts subsided, Dresden patted Major's hand in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.
"Look, it's okay. I get it. What's done is done."
Honestly, the former Shard was still a little dumbfounded by all this. Major's outburst of violence had been unexpected, but he had been rather harsh. Maybe things would go better now that she had it out of her system.
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The Major
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Post by The Major on Nov 26, 2013 18:26:44 GMT -8
Strange how fates should twist so starkly for someone who was not inclined to say they believed in such delusional precepts. There was something suspect in all of this, something that any normal and humane mind would quickly cast aside in the name of trust or honor. Our particular Major was not such a mind. Dresden's sudden acceptance of the situation, or his reality, contrasted harshly with his attitude up until this point. True, he was forgiving, patient, and willing to look past shortcomings and imperfections in the beings about his center of existence, but he was never one to agree with anything blindly, especially when the thing violated so many of his natural morals he could probably smell the stink of fecal matter perpetually. It was entirely possible that the ex-Shard had just implemented a policy of fastidious and dishonest acceptance as a means of self preservation. In an effort to have as little drama as possible saying yes could avert any other annoyances -and the Morbid Scientist knew Dresden hated annoyances.
Even if it was the case, did she deserve any less? She was the abuser here, and yes, he may have run his mouth with things that hit a little too dearly to the mark, but even she, in her warped perceptions, could not justify attempting to make him feel like she felt. Right now, this Huntress needed her mind to essentially clamp up. Internal debate truly had no place in a survival exercise. She stows any lingering doubts, chalking up that anything he did in the next few hours or after were not his fault but her rampantly idiotic selfishness, and thus her responsibility.
Too ashamed to even fake grimace, the woman looks away and collects the remainder of the whiskey, offering it to him. It probably wasn't safe for a victim of concussion, but it might quench some of the pain.
"Perhaps vwe can discuss vwho did vwhat later if I live dat longk, ja? vWe vwill hafe to shtay together to search any other floors, so vwhenever zyou feel ready unt able. . ."
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