New world, same old evil (open)
Karolina stood in the doorway of the crypt and sighed. "Crypts, why'd it have to be crypts?" she asked rhetorically, gazing into the dark area before her. In the seconds it took for her eyes to adjust to the dark she seriously considered not going after the vampire. It wasn't like this was her world anyway, surely it had its own protectors. Hell, it probably had its own slayer. What was one vampire in the grand scheme of things? Then she heard a girl's scream echoing, as though off the walls of the crypt. The slayer didn't move, knowing the scream was an echo of things past. Months of captivity had made her familiar with the sound of herself screaming and sometimes, like now, she could still hear the sound inside her mind. At times like these she understood only too well why Rory rarely spoke anymore.
The scream was a sharp reality call to the mind just as a hard pinch reminded the flesh that there was work to be done. She had not been the only one to scream. Karolina had seen the tapes, or at least parts of them. She had watched as Alyson, Jenna and Keiko had faced the nameless demon that still stalked her nightmares. Kari had never met them or the other girls; They had all been dead before the council came to her. Nonetheless she felt as if she knew them all. They were connected through their experience, through terror, just as she was connected to Rory. She fought because the experiments and the torture had held an ultimate purpose, to prevent the encroaching darkness. She fought so that their deaths were not in vein.
Still gazing ahead into the black Karolina felt a tentative hand on her shoulder. She recognised the touch and relaxed into it, knowing Rory's gesture to be one of reassurance. She didn't even need to look at him to know what he was thinking. "It's okay," she told him. His hand reverted back to the pocket it had been stuffed in as she turned to face him. "I'll do it."
It was strange, she reflected as she turned away and took a first hesitant step into the crypt, that Rory hadn't developed the same degree of fear about small spaces as she. Their situation and their bonds, had been identical but Karolina had emerged from the experiments with deep-seeded claustrophobia while Rory handled elevators, crypts and closets without having to hold his breath or trying to ward off old memories. Then again, a little voice reminded her, Rory had other issues to deal with.
"Fear cuts deeper than swords," Karolina told herself firmly as she picked up the pace. She couldn't remember where she'd heard the phrase, although it sounded like an ancient Chinese proverb. The slayer could almost feel her companion's questioning glance but didn't respond. It wasn't important and if they were to have the element of surprise they would have to be silent from now on, not that silence was any difficult task for Rory.
A slayer made, Karolina had never had a watcher but she had taught herself a thing or two and other skills came from slayer instinct. Her steps were purposeful but quiet as she approached the demon. Her right hand gripped the familiar wood of a stake tightly. They were within sight of the creature now but its back was turned and Karolina grew bold, moving closer like an efficient assassin. Then it turned and the game changed.
She dropped and rolled as it lunged towards her. Instead the male creature hit Rory, throwing him off to the side. It licked its lips and smiled at her, fangs showing and eyes flashing golden in the near dark. "Slayer," it breathed, naming her with the cocky anticipation of a vampire who thinks its about to have one good day.
"Dust," she returned, trying to show the same bravado and not focus on the fact that the space had only one exit and was both small and dark. She moved towards it, raising her stake to chest level but it was quick and had the advantage in this unnatural darkness, she felt the cold hand on her arm and then it twisted and she cried out, dropping the stake and hearing it clatter against the concrete ground. Its chest against her back it held her tight and lowered its fangs to her neck, which was why it didn't notice as Rory, having recovered from the blow, shot his crossbow at the vampire's back.
The shot missed but it did cause an exclamation of surprise and a loosening of his grip that allowed Karolina to escape. "You're stronger than you look boy," the vampire snarled, looking at Rory. Although tall, her companion was the definition of lanky and his long lashes and full lips didn't exactly add to the picture of butch masculinity. What Rory had always been was quick, what he was now was mostly human but with a punch of demon strength. He had been the last of the trials before her, the one that had almost succeeded despite being the wrong gender for the slayer job. Rory didn't have slayer instincts or an ability to heal a little faster than the average man but he did have a strength seeded from a brush with the same demon who had infected her with its essence. Karolina had seen the first slayer once before, she supposed she should be thankful that the demon's essence hadn't made her into an animal as it had that first girl long before.
With the vampire temporarily focused on the Irishman Karolina saw her chance and took it. With Rory exchanging blows, his flesh as pale as the vampire itself, she grabbed hold of the stake once more and drove it through the creature’s turned back. This time the blow did not miss and it exploded into dust without another word. “I guess that makes me a back stabber,” Karolina said, attempting to lighten the mood. Rory very nearly rolled his eyes. “I know, I know, not my best line. Also not my best work, I’m totally leaving that off the resume.” The manmade slayer turned back to the entrance and began to walk towards it. Rory’s larger steps brought him quickly to her side and she said casually, as though commenting on the weather, “Brand new world, same old evil.”
Claws scratched lightly at the stone roof, voices echoed from within, the scuffle enough to catch some attention, a soft cooing answered the echoes, edging to get a better look, a small feathered head tilting as the body inched for a clear view of the speakers. While the ebony bird couldn’t see the bodies shuffling inside, even as its body stretched to peer down from where it stood on the roof, their voices came clearly, drawing closer and closer, soon they will be in view.
"Brand new world, same old evil." Long dark wings spread, a ruffling of feathers heard and a chilling cry screamed from the beak of the feathered creature, a shrieking scream for attention that once caught drove the bird to a moment of silent staring. Clawed feet shifted, head bobbed for a moment as a flight path was quickly assessed, the small body leaping from the crypt and gliding dangerously close to the two figured which had emerged from the belly of the dead mans tomb. The crow’s silhouette cut through the shadows of the area, its body soon gliding upwards to a branch of a tree, the small head turned enough to give the two others a side long glance, one which appeared, should one look carefully enough, to be a rather scrutinized study of them.
A scream echoed, a loud pained scream, lacking the high pitched shrill which hinted towards the male in trouble, the agony of the scream cried out how unbearable it was…whatever it was this man was suffering from. The crow gave another cry, it’s sleek feathered wings once again spreading to take flight, the creatures form drifting towards the howling of the man further off, hidden by a curtain of trees.
The night was cold, but the cold chill never managed to bite into Draven’s flesh, the pale hands tensed their grip against the struggling face within his grasp, cradling the lower jaw and cheeks, likely bruising the skin beneath the tips of his fingers in the fight to hold him still. The other man, the one being held, kicked out legs, striking against who was holding him and yet not seeming to faze the pale man in the slightest, images flickered unbidden through the strugglers mind, his hands grasping both at Draven’s which gripped at his face and at his own face, wanting to scratch away the skin and let all the invading thoughts spill from him. A soft murmur rose from the girl sprawled at Draven’s feet, her pretty yellow dress torn and smeared with dirt from the ground, dirt smothered upon her during her own previous fight. The young pretty face already began to show signs of swelling from the blows that had struck her face, dribbles of blood ran from both her nostrils and the corner of her lip, red tears that had fell in drops to the brightly coloured fabric, now dribbled sideways down her face.
Black markings donned Draven’s features as his eyes, fully of fury, glaring into the contorted face of the other, whose body was lifted effortless from the ground in the grip of the avenging soul. A shuffle of noise alerted Draven, but his anger didn’t dim, and his fury had him remain there, a chocking sound came from the man within his hands, a flurry of wings flew behind, a another cry of the crow, an eerie sound, followed by another whimpering gargle from the young man, no more then twenty-seven years of age, who had tears brim as his squirming form weakened under the cold gaze of his attacker.
"Feel what you have made felt by others," spoke the voice with a disdain easily heard dripping from the words, the cold unwavering voice, which could barely be heard from the screams which echoed in the youths head, the images that flickered. Pain and emotions that made him choke on every struggled breath even more, a feeling of sickness welling up inside of him, another whimpering cry strangled out of his twisting body, a pleading snivelling cowardice whimper that fell ignored by Draven. Feel the pain. The words echoed, every instant felt drawn out, seconds seemed like minutes, minutes like hours. Feel the pain. But this man deserved it all.
Re: New world, same old evil (open)
With each step closer to the entrance tension seeped from her body and it became easier to breathe. Stepping through the threshold caused the manmade slayer to sigh softly, expressing her gratitute for the fresh air, and she slipped the stake into her black shoulder bag without even looking. It was a movement made effortless by practice. Yet despite the visible release of tension the crypt slaying seemed to have tired the blonde emotionally and she made no more quips. Since her companion was as verbose as a mime, they descended into a comfortable silence.
It was Karolina's belief that silence made one more aware, almost in the way that loss of one sense was rumoured to heighten the others. In the absence of sound she turned her concentration to the graveyeard, fully aware that returning her stake to its usual place in no way assured that the undead would rest in peace.
Watchful eyes found the crow on its perch above them and Karolina contemplated the bird for a moment. She was still comparatively new to the world of demons and vampires, having been thrown unwillingly into a role not chosen for her. She was newer still to this world, to New York and to mutants. The thought crossed her mind that this crow might be some variety of demon because for all she knew there were crow-demons just as common as scaly or three-horned varieties. Another moment passed before Kari told herself she was being paranoid, that sometimes a crow is just a crow as Freud would have assured her. She smiled slightly at the very absurdity of thinking the ordinary bird such a threat and turned her attention back to the footworn path through the graveyard.
Beside her Rory cocked an eyebrow, asking her silently for understanding of her private joke, but before she could open her mouth another did. The scream sounded male and echoed in the night air. Karolina didn't even think twice. In a moment she was running, slayer speed propelling her petite form toward the source of the scream. Rory had taken off behind her but even the long stride that his lanky form afforded could not match the slayer's pace and he fell behind.
The sound led her off the usual grass and Karolina found herself at yet another threshold, this one the border between trees and graves, the entrance to a small forest that was not dense but nonetheless an oasis in the city. She halted and stared at the curtain of trees, knowing that whoever, or whatever, had made the noise lay behind this veil but momentarily doubting whether she could bring herself to look.
As ever when she found herself in doubt Karolina could see the girls in her head. The research file she had stolen provided photographs of the girls before they had been taken and mutilated. Before they had been murdered. From those photos Karolina had learned what little she knew of her predecessors. Alyson had a boyfriend who she had gone to prom with. Jenna had played soccer. Keiko had a younger sister. She had wondered once if that was why she had been the perfect candidate. Her parents murdered and her uncle under the thrall of her jailers she had no one else. No one until she found Rory.
She heard his harder breathing as he came up behind her and the images vanished from her head, laving behind only the knowledge that they had died so that she could become this slayer. It had not been her calling but she was needed to help anyway and she would do it for them.
Karolina stepped through the trees and immediately tried to make sense of the image before her. A young girl in a torn yellow dress was sprawled at the feet of a creature. Although he looked human there were black marks marring his features and she felt deeply uneasy around the man. However, there was another individual a man in perhaps his mid-twenties whimpering and on the verge of tears as the creature held him off the ground.
Watching the strange scene unfold before her Karolina knew only that the girl was the victim. The rest, was harder to piece together. What made the most sense was that the creature had attacked them both but she wasn't sure and she had to be sure. From the back of her mind came the voice inside, reminding her that monsters weren't always marked. Both Rory and herself had known the human variety of monster only too well.
"Who the Hell are you?" Karolina cried out, hearing the bafflement in her own tone. She might lose the element of surprise but she might gain an answer, some form of moral certainty because she had had enough of morally grey to last a lifetime and she wasn't about to make a mistake here. She owed them certainty.
Re: New world, same old evil (open)
"Who the Hell are you?" The words snapped out in the darkness like tendrils to Draven’s mind, whipping mercilessly at his focus and causing it to slip numbly as the undead’s eyes turned towards that of the young girl. An awkward silence was shattered by the piercing scream of the nearby bird, it’s black feathery wings spread out and the sharp beady eyes pinned towards Draven, almost, one could amuse, as if demanding the unnatural male to answer the girls question. There was a gasping choke, wheezing struggled breaths that barely enabled the man in Draven’s hand to stay conscious, the young woman at his feet still sobbed and clutched at her dirtied dress defensively.
The female on the ground was defenceless and meek… this one standing with demands upon her lips was not as alike as she on the ground, there was something not right with her, something that was unjust, something that called out to him, if not as obvious as that of this nearly rapped girl, it was still just as profound… just as violating… a sense of revenge was screaming out for him to aid it, to be its voice, to be its fists and all. Quietly Draven allowed the male to fall limp to the ground, the human’s gaping breaths deep and panicked, his hands gripping at the throat that will soon be swollen from the bruise left by the undead’s grip. At the man’s release a frightened whimper cried out from the girl, though the male made no attempt to continue his attack, and Draven’s presence seemed to pin the two down as motionless as if he was physically holding them still.
"If you could save only one... which would it be?" Draven replied, an air of distant thoughts seeming to drift across his words, the question seemed like a challenge, and yet the undead’s posture hardly gave off the appearance of threat for the brief moment he stared over at the Slayer. The bird gave another chilling cry, swooping from its branch to land on Draven’s upper arm, the long black talons dug effortlessly into the pale flesh, the pain not seeming to bother the strange creature before them. The man’s crying picked up a he crawled a few meters away, the horrors in his head of the emotional pain and the memories of the pain others had felt who had been raped; it was all too much for the guy.
"Did it hurt?" A lot of people never truly understood Draven, he didn’t always speak in a way one could say made sense, but if people gave Draven the time to learn to understand him, they might pick up easier what he was on about, "Since they hurt you, does it still hurt?" There was a spark of angry swelling in Draven’s eyes, even if he didn’t understand yet who or what caused the pain, usually something so bad was caused by someone, or some monster, some horrible thing, he could only guess, "Will it always hurt? Would you want them to hurt for it?" It was as if her own pain was welling up inside him, as if should she not say to him who had done the damage that he could hurt like that forever, all he needed to know was who they were, where they were, then he could deal with them, then he could make them suffer... then he can make their hurt stop.
Re: New world, same old evil (open)
((I'm assuming its night, but I've been told some interesting things about assumptions, ass out of you and me, and what not. So if my little vamp has no business being out at this hour just let me know and away I will go.
EDIT: I'm also aware that Illidan believes Draven be something akin to a zombie, I realize this is not in fact what Draven is, so don't get upset if you read it.))
Illidan didn't move so much as he slid, or perhaps even as he glided, it wasn't so much that he was moving quickly, as he was not moving save his feet, however to the naked eye his strides were impossibly long. One step carried him as far as he liked, perhaps he'd cross a street before he had even finished a step or perhaps it would take him three to reach a flower not even five feet away. That was not to say that there was no urgency behind his movements, it was just hidden, like the unfathomable strength in his form, the way his seemingly slender body could shatter steel or withstand a gunshot.
However, he did stop to admire the beauty that this time of the day, this time of night, his time of day, his time of night. This was his world, this was his time. The flowers were almost as beautiful as he in the moonlight. They did not glow like he did in the moons pale and silverly light, his marble-esque skin glowed whilst the flowers merely adopted new and more beautiful shades of their natural colors, blues and certain shades of red becoming the most enchanting shades of purple.
Illidan turned his silver eyes to the sky, they shimmered in the light, yet he could feel them quiver, he could feel it rising, not a blood lust, but a fury, a rage that ran deeper than the merely self loathing, or a hatred of the sorry excuse for a life that birthed him as he was now. No, this was a hatred for those that shared his affliction, but reveled in it, loved it, treated themselves like gods. That rage was especially amplified around those he deemed to be trash, weak, or young, or stupid, even the reckless fell under his judgment. It was not so much that he despised all vampires, or demons, or other unsavory beings. It was more that deep inside him was a being, or at the very least a side of his personality that had been birthed of conflict. He had struggled for so long, to live, to eat, to come to turns with what he was, to control the power that went with it. He struggled to become the ultimate deceiver.
Yet since he came to the institute, not only did he no longer have to deceive, but he no longer had to struggle, he didn't even get into arguments anymore. He realized that if he was to reform completely as he had hoped, and as he had promised Michael, then he would need an outlet for this darkness that burned in him, he was also sure to remind himself, and remain acutely aware, that this was not just some rage that needed an outlet. It was a need for conflict, not only to sedate the rage, but also to control his mood. He remembered that night when he first met Michael. During the first duel, the one with real blades and no protection, that side came out. Upon the end of the duel, he felt much more mild, this had not gone unnoticed, despite the emotional nature of the conversation that followed.
He had decided that night too, what it was that he would use as his outlet, but lately there had been a snag. Just too many slayers, he could in fact pass judgment upon his kind and the dark scum they associated with because every time he had decided upon a target they were dead before he could reach them. It seemed tonight was no different. The young vampire he had been trailing had been slain. Yet he stilled smelled death on the air, the kind of living death that his kind reeked of, and yet, at the same time it was different.
He released his grip on the flower that had been the silent companion to his musings. This was an excellent chance to not only investigate this new smell, but if his instincts were right he may even meet the slayer that had been depriving him of his prey. Rather than go off on another mental tangent about his natural need to hunt Illidan began to make his way towards the forest on the edge of the graveyard. It did not take long for him to arrive, he stayed quietly beside a tree, isolated from the scene before him. He stayed unnaturally still, he could have passed off for a marble statue in a brown coat, black tee-shirt, and blue jeans. He did not move, he merely observed, the 'man' had lifted his prey now, Illidan could smell the blood of the girl on the ground, though he ignored both her and her smell. He watched as the woman and shortly thereafter the third man, arrived at the scene.
They conversed for a short time before the fellow undead, though Illidan was sure now he was closer to a zombie than a vampire, said something intriguing. Especially for a man in Illidan's unique position. Illidan was dead, he thusly had a fairly acceptable obsession with the subject, and if death was his major, then pain was his minor, it was a topic that could manifest in so many ways, even beyond just mental and physical. He could not ignore the bounteous question. "Did it hurt? Since they hurt you, does it still hurt? Will it always hurt? Would you want them to hurt for it?" Illidans starting movement was one of the eyes, yet it was a movement so full of emotion that he was sure it was almost audible, the thought of such a loaded question had naturally forced him to consider his own answer and that was what brought about this movement, resignation. He would have, not too long ago, answered that question with a simple word, yes. However now, he was sure the answer was no. There had been enough pain spread around, he had burned his master to death, and even though it was a death too good for that slime he regretted it. Another stepping stone on his path to redemption, one he no doubt would stumble upon when it came time to deal with it.
It began with his eyes, they spoke before only of intrigue and amusement, but now, now they spoke of the pain of not only resignation, but of realization, a realization that years, decades, maybe even a century of carefully planned revenge was never going to see completion. The uncomfortable shift started only in his, then moved through his whole body, starting with a stiffening of the neck, and then a shifting of the shoulders. It stopped there for one merciful moment, before changing his stance and posture completely, from relaxed to angry, to his resting place of confused. He did not speak for a final moment, shaking himself free of control of pure emotion and back into his own control. He tried his best to look in control again and as smug as always and finally spoke out, "You should be careful with a question like that. It is awfully loaded. And besides, you didn't answer her question, kind of rude, but that is just my opinion." Illidan didn't like how this game was starting, but then again the power was in no one's court just yet, with enough finesse Illidan could take control of the game and find some enjoyment in this night.
((So that was a pretty impressive first post back. I'm pretty proud of, so proud that I would love to make it even better and I am aware of the fact that the vast majority of it, is pretty unusable for a reply, so if you want me to I can find a way to make it more reply-able, just let me know.))
Edited by: Illidan Ryer at: 4/27/08 4:36 am
Re: New world, same old evil (open)
She watched the man fall to the ground and listened as the girl let out a pathetic whimper, slowly building the big picture with the few puzzle pieces she had available. Keen hearing noted the whimper of the girl and she noticed that the sound came in fear not of the marked man but of the other, the outwardly human one.
"If you could save only one... which would it be?" Karolina raised her brown eyes to him with an expression of surprise. There was no reason for it but she hadn't expected him to speak, and certainly not to answer her query with another question. The unexpected question shocked her into silence and the manmade slayer's gaze fell, resting once more on the pitiful tableau of the girl in the torn dress and the man still gasping for breath. There had been something of a challenge buried in that deceptively simple question but despite herself Karolina didn't believe him to be a threat... or at least not presently.
The silence that had fallen with her failure to respond was broken first by the cry of the bird, whose talons sliced into the marked man's pale skin, then by a different sort of cry. The other man was crawling away but the sounds he made carried easily across the distance. She didn't answer aloud but she had made her decision, a decision supported by slayer instinct as well as a deeper knowledge, the wisdom that came from her own experience. The man was hurting true but she wasn't entirely convinced he hadn't brought it on himself whereas the girl, she was innocent. Like Karolina had been herself.
"Did it hurt?" Brown eyes snapped up to fix on his monochromatic face, their depths a mix of shock, guilt and pain. This was the second question he had asked her and the second that she had been unprepared for. Slicing through the whirlpool of emotions fighting for dominance within her was the reassuring touch of Rory's hand on her shoulder. The only person who understood what she had been through because he had been there first.
"Since they hurt you, does it still hurt?"
Her mouth fell open and she was rendered every bit as speechless as Rory despite the temptation to snap at him, to demand an answer out of this being of questions. How did he know? How could he possibly know? They had barely arrived in this dimension and Kari had been careful about being followed and about letting on too much.
"Will it always hurt? Would you want them to hurt for it?" Two affirmative responses resounded in her head. The pain of betrayal was worse than the actual pain of the experiments and had scarred her in a similar fashion. Would she ever truly trust again? Kari had always been an optimist but she thought the glass was far below half empty. It had been drained by the man who was supposed to be her protector, the man who had helped arrange the deaths of her parents.
The other hurt was regret and the burden of success. She had been the company's crowning achievement, a slayer not called supernaturally one in each generation but made with a precise mix of science and magic. It would have been marvelous had it been done in any other way. Two slayers could do so much more good than one had been the rationalization behind all of the experiments. Yet what she had become was an unwanted gift wrapped in the blood of those who had died in agony. Karolina hadn't known and had been an unwilling participant in the company's actions yet all the same she felt the guilt for their deaths as a constant and weighty burden. They had died for her. She had to do right by them.
She carried resentment in a box inside that threatened to open and consume her at any moment. Yes Karolina wished pain on her captors but she was also still human, if no longer so innocent. She had been given the chance for revenge and been unable to take it. Instead the new slayer had destroyed the facilities and the remaining records, ensuring that others would not be taken advantage of in such a manner.
As dark as her feelings were, Rory's were darker. The victim before Karolina had been infected by the demon used in a ceremony that would infuse the beast's essence into a human being and the ceremony had not quite been successful. Instead of a slayer the human boy was strong but also waged a war against the wisps of evil left behind inside his soul. Karolina couldn't kill a human, despite his crimes. Rory thought he might perhaps be better suited to the task. In the silence of his mind he had often wondered what he might say or do when faced with the man who had condemned him. Dark fantasies played out in darker dreams. Although the spiral of these vengeful thoughts would have been easily intercepted by a telepath they remained secret from his one companion and friend and, as Rory no longer spoke, they would always stay this way. He would not give her further cause to worry.
"You should be careful with a question like that. It is awfully loaded. And besides, you didn't answer her question, kind of rude, but that is just my opinion." A new voice and yet another male. Karolina's dark-eyed gaze fell upon the stranger to the conversation but perhaps she was adjusting to this strange new world because she at last seemed able to find her voice.
"Know what else is rude? Eavesdropping," the blonde informed the other man in a way that suggested she was only half in jest. "Look, we could play 20 questions all night but there's an injured girl who could probably really use a hospital and I'm not all that patient, so let's cut the vague and go for some actual answers this time. What happened here and who-" her gaze shifted to Illidan as she continued " -are both of you?"
The slayer genuinely wanted to help but she had to admit an element of evasion in her take charge manner. By posing a different set of questions, ones she hoped would actually be answered this time, she could avoid the queries posed by the marked stranger. She admitted they hit a little too close for comfort and hoped he'd let the unanswered questions rest like the dead six feet beneath them. Unfortunately, what little she knew of him seemed to suggest to expect the unexpected. Karolina thought that one way or another she'd be answering those questions whether she wanted to or not.
Re: New world, same old evil (open)
Regardless if her answer was not spoken with wors, Draven could feel it in her very essence, her soul, her spirit itself, everything within her still screamed for vegence and an ending to her pain. The torment of her spirit was felt more then seen, as if her soul was screaming for him, her spirit whispering the secrets to a part of him that could not be heard but only felt, the words just out of reach and perhaps too painful to hear. However, movement disturbed Draven's focus, a sense of something vampiric, though this one was unfamiliar, not Spike nor Angel or any of the others the undead Avenger has yet to meet.
"You should be careful with a question like that. It is awfully loaded. And besides, you didn't answer her question, kind of rude, but that is just my opinion." Dark eyes turned and the others apeparence was taken in, Draven's head tilting as his gaze settled over the intruding vampire. Vampires, those unlike the soulled ones known to Draven, were known to feed upon their human prey. Was this one here to feed on the mortals around him? If so, the female on the ground was crawling her way from the clearing, should he go after her? Or should he stay with these?
"Know what else is rude? Eavesdropping," Maybe they knew eachother? Draven closed his eyes, his face still aimed towards the newcomer, though his mind trying to focus on all that was going on around him.. "Look, we could play 20 questions all night but there's an injured girl who could probably really use a hospital and I'm not all that patient, so let's cut the vague and go for some actual answers this time. What happened here and who-" Draven couldn't explain who the new comer was, but soul or not, there was a cry inside of even this being which screamed out in pain and unfair injustice.. " -are both of you?" Who am I? The words repeated, as much as Draven knew, there was so much more he didn't remember, so much more that was left inside of him like an empty hole, filled only with the rage and pain of those around him.
A strained hand raised, held out towards Illidan as if wanting the other to keep his distance, though Draven's eyes were still closed, he didn't need them open to know where they all were. All of them, so many all at once, so angry and hurt! The pain of their inner anguish was almost searing, both hands moved to press firmly against the side on Draven's head, his fingers curled with the palms pressing firmly against his skull, for a moment his contorted features looked pained, only to melt away with a fit of uneasy laughter. "Rain, rain, go away.." There was a shakey chuckled as he whispered seemingly to himself, "..come again another day," Dark eyes opened finally and looked between the gathered bodies, "All the world is waiting for the sun." There was a loud caw from the bird, the crow's cry shrieking, somewhat eerie though what caused its cry to give such a feeling would be difficult to pin down for those unaware of what the spirit guide really was.
She's hurt Draven, The words were soft, a femanine whisper so very distant, unheard by all save Draven himself, who lowered his hands enough to stare towards the tearful woman who seemed to have moved a good few meters away from them all. You have to help them, The former musician turned angered eyes towards Illidan, the intruder, the demon, the kind of monsters who caused the pain of so many humans. "What once was whole is now hallow, your emptiness is fulled with impurity,"
Re: New world, same old evil (open)
((Squee Breaking Benjamin lyrics! Anyway, ahem, Illidan rant time! Wu Tang!))
"Know what else is rude? Eavesdropping. Look, we could play 20 questions all night but there's an injured girl who could probably really use a hospital and I'm not all that patient, so let's cut the vague and go for some actual answers this time. What happened here and who are both of you?" Illidan made a tsk like sound as his tongue rapped against his teeth, he disliked this girl. She had made this far to easy. But the other, he was most intriguing, he appeared empathic, Illidan had noticed it all without an external reaction, but inside he was burning with curiosity. He watched as the other had noticed him, then placed his hands on his head as Illidan's pain echoed out of him, it was almost frightening for Illidan to see what his torment did to another who was not used to it. However, he was frozen, he could not move, as darkness began to cloud over his eyes, it seemed this strange form of empathy had done something most unexpected. Illidan knew he was not unconscious, but he was also aware that even though he perceived himself as moving he was not. He tromped around this strange world of darkness, it was so familiar, yet he couldn't place where he had seen it before.
He wandered for what felt like an eternity, an eternity for a vampire is considerably longer than that of a mortal, so the phrase takes on a whole new meaning, Illidan mused to himself. When he finally stopped moving a single beam of light shined down upon him. As the light hit he became aware of where he was. This was the world of his nightly torment. Now he was frightened. He did not run, he merely waited to see what would happen. He looked around frantically as more time passed without event, why wasn't anything happening? Why was this happening? As he moved to take his first step he heard of a voice that brought him nearly to tears, "I wouldn't do that if I were you, Illidan." He turned, and watched as shadows began to merge and wrap around each other, taking the shape of his sire. "You motherless son of a whore!" Illidan tried to grab him by his throat, but as he made contact with this creature of shadows he became aware that his strength was gone, he was as frail as any other nineteen year old man. He still let his fingers wrap around the creature's throat and grip it firmly. "I killed you. I spread your ashes to the wind, you aren't real." The creature merely smiled back at him, removing his hand easily and giving him a pat on the shoulder that knocked him into the ground. "I am as real as you make me Illidan."
Illidan struggled to his feet, coughing, some blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. His sire, however, showed no interest. He spoke again, "Like this I am all powerful. No amount of strength you will ever posses will equal what I am now. I do not even need to feed. I am...perfect." Illidan laughed as he wiped the blood off his mouth onto his arm. "You? Perfect?! Ahahahahahaha! You could barely even feed when I finally put you out of your misery. If you are perfect then you are truly a figment." Illidan brushed by him and began to walk once more. "Where is the way out of this place hellish place?" As he continued to walk he became acutely aware of the fact that he did not in fact seem to be going anywhere, his sire stayed the same distance behind him without moving. Illidan stopped and turned, "Let me out!" He said, impatiently. His sire turned and looked at him, "I'm here for a reason Illidan, only you can let yourself out."
"Well if its that simple, I'd like a chair and-" Illidan started as a chair bumped into the back of his legs. He sat in it. "-and some real food, human food. How about, a nice big steak, some wine and, because they look so good, a Philly cheeses steak submarine sandwich." They appeared along with a table. Illidan took a sip of the wine, but it turned to blood in his mouth, blood as it had tasted when he was human. He took a bite out of the steak, but it felt and tasted like human flesh. He spit it out disgusted. "So this is some kind of test, right?" Fine, he stood up, his skin regaining its marble tint, he felt his strength swell back into his whole being as he willed his vampiric condition back. "What is the test?"
"You were asked a question early, one you could no answer, and now I stand here, the incarnation of your indecision. I am all powerful as long as you cannot answer that question, and as long as I am here, so are you." Illidan brought both of his arms down on his supposedly all powerful shadowsire's should, sending him to the ground, as he had done to Illidan, but before he hit the ground he caught himself, using what must have been nearly limitless calf strength and returned himself to the upright position with not even a sound of exertion. "You know damn well it is not that kind of test Illidan."
"Fine, if I could I would could kill you again, but this time I would make you suffer. I would pull out your fingers nail, and you hair, one strand at a time, I would gouge out your eyes I would rip off your ears, I would cut off your toes, and then when they had finally healed I'd do it all over again, but I'd leave your tongue so you could scream in agony so you could beg, I'd grate your skin off and then burn it back onto you. I would only kill you when you finally stopped wishing for death. If I could, that is what I would do, but I can't, so there is no point on dwelling on this issue."
"What of Michael, Illidan?" Illidan's look of idignant fury, that had slowly spread across his face as his choices of torture got more and more intense, suddenly vanished and was replaced by surprise. "Michael...I...I don't know. I suppose if he knew how I still harbored this hatred he wouldn't scold me, but he'd want me to let it go, find a way to work past it. And that is what I will do. Now go away, I have no more time for you." The creature of shadow began to vanish, screaming cries of protest and then finally, "You are only prolonging the inevitable Illidan, we will meet face to face again, and next time, I will not be so kind."
"What once was whole is now hallow, your emptiness is fulled with impurity." Illidan's face did not show it but for a moment he was surprised before realizing he had freed himself from his mind. After a moment of silence he became aware that this comment was directed at him. He looked quizzically at the apparently empathic zombie. "You had best watch how you address me, you assume that the pain you feel is the pain of others, hanging on me like some kind of sickness, but you are wrong, that pain is mine, that anger is mine." He eyed other almost gleefully, and began to advance very slowly on him. "I wonder, if you touch me... Will it enhance the experience? Will you really get a taste, or the whole deal, maybe I can leave it with you." Illidan stopped halfway to the other though, and looked at the girl, bloodied and bruised, trying her best to flee. "She is fine, I doubt she needs hospitalization, but if you'd like, we can take her. After all, may no good deed go unpunished." He directed that last part at Draven. Illidan had a feeling this night was going to be interesting.
((Meh. I'll do more if you guys want, I got really distracted near the end, sorry.))
Re: New world, same old evil (open)"I know… people hurt, it is up to us to deal with the things that hurt them, the things that they cannot or refuse to understand. We have to stay sane for their sakes" The words spoken held little meaning in parts and yet great importance in other parts, especially the first half that caused Draven to ball his fist and draw it towards his mouth in thought. The reference to remaining sane went a little over the spirit’s head at this point, the urge to find out what Smith meant by the last half was like a faint pull inside of him, the ever present instinct to reach out and touch in order to better understand the meaning behind what was said or done.
"I have heard of Illidan, not a lot mind, it seems that he keeps himself to himself" With that, the human moved off, heading towards his collection of books, what he called the library room. One final glance at the pond was given, watching the fish zig and zag from one side to the other, and then turned to follow the dark skinned man quickly. The pages of the books had an odd familiarity to them, not the text or the books themselves, but the words, the meanings, the ability to read was lost to Draven at this point but the skill was still hidden in his memories, waiting to be rediscovered.
The books themselves were a wealth of information, literally all at Draven’s fingertips, all with a touch; he could learn a great deal of what the book had to teach. If anyone had touched it, read it, the history and emotions of the readers just as informative as the words written within.
"Ah, here we are" Smith announced, pulling out a book and examining the front. "this documents my own findings on Vampires and other lesser demons said to be in the city, I compile it from things my sources have told me or I have heard of an evening" As the human spoke he had moved towards the desk, and Draven followed with a silence in his steps. "this Illidan character intrigues me somewhat, I’m sure I have heard *Something* about him and if I have it will be in this book" Half the time Draven offered up a name it seemed somewhere Chris had some form of information, or knew just where to go to get it, and made things easier sometimes, because Draven didn’t have to spend so much time explaining things.
"perhaps we shall pay him a visit anyway, see what it is exactly we are dealing with before we make a full judgement on the situation, he might prove to be a useful source if his activities are not unspeakable" Was it wrong to want the vampire to be doing things that warranted its end? Draven pressed his lips tightly together for a moment, there had been wrongs done against the vampire and that burned deep, but the vampire in turn had done many wrongs to innocents and for Draven that was difficult to ignore, because unlike Spike, Draven did not see the acts of redemption that proved Illidan was trying to repent. And until Draven saw that proof more strongly, he was still spiteful.
" ‘Brand new world, same old evil’…" Draven quoted the words of the mysterious young woman who had stumbled on the scene and was both confused and unsure of what was happening, she was human… but there was something about her, something familiar and powerful that dwelled within the female human… "Her words… so much pain…" There was a distance at that moment with his words, Draven’s head had turned thoughtfully towards the books still lined up, "So much hurt." As if a statement that would make all this suddenly so much more understandable, Draven moved towards the shelves, with a hesitant sense of discovery, a knowing that drove him towards finding a book that would give Smith some help on what Draven was thinking. All Draven had to do, was find a book that had the same images attached to it as he had gotten from the only other person in the world that had the same sense of power about them as that girl had that Draven had ever met… Jennifer. "I know the dreams, I know the hurt… I know," It was a soft whisper, the avenging spirits fingers brushed across the spines of the books, not seeking the brail or reading the titles, waiting for what he needed to jump out at him. "I know the pain," Jennifer had not experienced the nightmares she had herself, but it was a nightmare which apparently haunted every slayer, and when Draven had touched her and seen the memories he had gotten so enraged by the pain of the girl in the vision that Jennifer had to explain there was nothing he could do. There were so many similarities that Draven couldn’t ignore them, even if there were so many things that he didn’t understand at times there were times that things just made sense to him, especially when it came down to these kind of matters.
It was further from the centre, off to the side and almost hidden away with the books barely used, which made sense, because how often did someone encounter a slayer, or need to know how she was created? The book was pulled out, held firmly by Draven’s tanned fingers and quick steps drew him towards Smith, holding it out for him to see.
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