Defaced, Defamed (Vespyr)

[Vespyr]

Vespyr’s body convulsed slightly, her open eyes glassy and cold.

Several seconds later, the pupils dilated enormously, nearly blacking out the amethyst irises.

…

A choked gasp broke the silence, and Vespyr’s chest heaved. Her upper body attempted to lift itself from the gurney, but had no luck due to the fractured spine. Her breath was coming in quick gasps. An arm shot out and grabbed one of the men at his collar, yanking him down so that his head split on the edge of the metal bed. The other arm thrashed at her other side in an attempt to grab another one of the men, or whatever it could grab and toss away. She seemed to be trying to get everything away from her since she could not get away herself, due to her injuries.

Her arms were now wrapped tightly around her torso, her breath still coming quickly, shivering slightly. Her eyes wide and not yet fully comprehended her surroundings. For the moment, she had no recollection of the recent events leading up to her predicament… nor did she have any recollection of her life, for that matter.



Qi is activated.

Stats:
STR: 67
DEX: 73
CON: 55
INT: 15
WIS: 15
CHA: 33

[Scene]

Scene stood at her feet, smiling at her as she convulsed and brutalized his minions. Wonderful. A Qi that could actually bring a person back to life... He had suspected for a long time that her abilities were such- for he had damaged her badly many times, yet she seemed to recover quicker than anyone should be able. He could, in translation, FEEL her power through his own, and though he wished it for himself, he would not take her ability from her now. He leaned down, grabbing her face as he did earlier and forcing her to look at him.

"You see now, girl, your power? Feel it, revel in it." He released her face, explaining to the men around. "It was a Qi that needed a current to memorize. In the future, should anyone try what i did, the result will be the same, without the outside shock." He would wait for Vespyr to calm herself, to remember, before he would try anything else. Though he would never admit it to anyone here, or to Vespyr herself, he felt a twinge when he killed her, and a different twinge when she awakened. The first was, almost shockingly, sorrow. The second, relief. He mulled over both reactions in his mind, calculating its strength and possibility for cracking through his wall. Perhaps...perhaps he needed to draw again.

He turned around, tilting his head at Vespyr.

"I made you sing 'im a little teapot. Hahaha...it was funny."

[Vespyr]

She stared at the iron face looming above her. Her eyes were nearly completely black. She stared upward without understanding his words or her surroundings or what the face meant and what it stirred within her or why. Vespyr was still not there; her body had come back, but her mind was still suspended in darkness, at least for the moment.

———Three Days Later - Scene’s Mansion———

Vespyr was sitting on the bed, her feet planted firmly on the ground and her hands in her lap. She was leaning forward slightly, her cold amethyst eyes fixed on the raindrops that clung to the windowpane. There was a slight tension in her frame, a static that was almost too motionless to be relaxed. She had been staring at the window for hours, refusing to look away or acknowledge the others in the room.

There were four strangers leaning against the far wall, watching her. Scene was seated in front of them.

Vespyr’s eyes were rooted to the window still, watching the drops that tumbled down the cold glass. She had not spoken since the incident three days ago. She had begun that time in detached numbness, feeling nothing, understanding little, but it had come to her slowly and so had the pain. It was everywhere; a thick and blinding throb that beat at her skull and through her neck and down her spine and into every part of her. While her body had healed herself rapidly and the injuries themselves were no longer a threat, the process was excruciating. Every breath she took was a wave of burning electricity scorching her raw veins. She had tried to close her eyes but she could not sleep. There was no escaping the pain; 36 agonizing hours of consciousness, but the physical pain was nothing. On the flip side, she would never feel pain again. She felt completely numb.

The pain had stopped, but she kept thinking and that was what hurt the most.

She didn’t have the words to describe it even within her own head. She could not grasp it. It wasn’t confusion or woe or fury, and whatever it was, it wasn’t because she felt betrayed or let down or anything with a name.

She remembered everything; her spine snapped against the wall, Scene’s hands gripping her skull and knowing full what he was going to do—what he had done. The last thing she remembered before dying was his green gaze. The first thing she remembered waking up was looking up into those green eyes and feeling her heart stop. It wasn’t fear, but it hurt. Every time she looked at him it hurt, emotionally as well as physically, it hurt and she couldn’t look at him anymore.

Now her body was fully healed, and she sat on her bed by the window watching the raindrops slip and fall. She felt rather numb.

Qi deactivated; all stats normal.

[Scene]

Scene stared, unblinking, for what seemed like forever. His friends, if you could call them that, were growing rather bored with this unmoving theatric. Time could heal any wound, as the saying went, but in truth, he could see this cut her deep. For some unfathomable reason to him, she had a...feeling, or something,about what had happened. In truth, at least to himself, so did he. He was a murderer, a sadistic killer with no thought or feeling for the victim. He had gutted, skinned, and cooked everything from a baby, to a grandpa. He had no conscience, as it was called. It was one reason why they called him that. The Conscience. A title long sense bereft of meaning, but still in remembrance. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a pack of chewing gum. He threw it into the hallway, saying "Fetch." The red head ran after it, his strange addiction to the chewing substance a mystery.

"The rest of you too. Get out, close the door."

Not so much as a sigh, externally, but internally, they were all grateful for the chance to get away from the depressing duo. Scene, once the door was closed, would lean forward.

"You can sit there, silent as the wind, for the rest of your life if you want. But you will still hear me." He stood. "I suspected the extent of your powers for a very long time. I had a deep understanding of your energies, of you. You are probably the only person on the face of the earth to achieve literal immortality, a knowledge you had none of before now." He put his hands in his pockets. "When you woke, you thrashed, and damaged things. People. You were not yourself. You didn't know who you were, where you were. What you were. But i had you, safe." He turned to look at her, a strange....unheard of glance of emotion etched into his eyes.

"If you had been in a real fight, a battle for dominance instead of...well, you could have been killed again, and you would not revive a second time." He took a deep breath. "I wanted to show you, to prepare you for it when it happens again. You'll never be able to really control yourself in that state, but your subconscience mind can and probably will order your bersek self to flee, and that is the safest thing for you." He turned his back on her. "Im glad to have given you that...that chance at life. I wont lie- in some ways, im more evil than anyone can fathom. I enjoyed what i did." Scene seemed to strain against what he was trying to say. Another part of him, long repressed, was violently flashing through. It had gained in strength over the forgotten months. "Vespyr, im glad for showing you that. Im not happy for your current pain, regardless of how it may help you."

He took a deep breath, looking over his shoulder, and said something he had never, since his birth, spoken.

"I am sorry. Though forgiveness is not warranted, I'm sorry." And he would walk away, vowing to never again say those words to anyone. Not while he still drew breath.

Unless hindered or, however unlikely, he was spoke to, he would leave the room, and wait for the girl to collect herself.

OOC((Whew...apologies for how long this took))

[Vespyr]

She heard him, but she did not listen. Her eyes were ever-fixed to the window, expressionless as he spoke. Not until he muttered his apology did she seem responsive; she turned her head slowly, barely glancing at his eyes for a second, her cold gaze settling on the door. She rose silently to her feet as he began to leave and slipped swiftly toward the door before him, placed a firm hand on it, and let it slam shut. The noise seemed to shatter something other than the deathly stillness in the air; her eyes, fixed on the floor, were smoldering intensely behind the frosted amethyst exterior.

Her hand slid down to the door handle, and she turned the lock with a precise twitch of her fingers.

No sooner than the lock had emitted a nervous click, Scene would find that fist leaping up to deliver a merciless punch to his throat, Vespyr’s cold knuckles smashing severely into his Adam’s apple. The blow was delivered with chilling ease, not quite thrown, yet still embodied with all of the girl’s fierce strength. Her face remained grave, her eyes burning darkly. If looks could kill, Vespyr would have no need to do what she was about to do.

[Scene]

"Good."

The words came from his mouth as she finished locking the door, her fist rising for his throat with a fury-drunken ferocity. He stumbled backward, laughing and choking in a rather strange, humorous fashion. he rasped out more words.

"Do better."

He understood the type of rage that consumed her soul- for, in a way, part of himself was dead, and the anger he withheld could have moved mountains. He cracked his neck, his throat sore and aching. He didn't even try to block. Why? He should tear her to pieces. He could do it. He could kill her. Yet there he stood, that smile plastered on his face, letting her do as she would with him.

"Come on."

[Vespyr]

She strode toward him, her face unchanging as he spoke. She was not listening; there was nothing he could say to her now.

Several feet away from him, she jumped and kicked harshly, striking his chest with the sole of her boot, most likely knocking him to the floor. If she was successful, she would drop down on top of him, pinning his arms to the ground with her knees. She threw furious punches at his throat, alternating, pounding him until he could not breathe. Her eyes were glazed over and burning within, but her gritted teeth were the extent of visible emotion in her face. All energy was put into her attacks; she was stronger than ever.

After thrashing his throat for awhile, she would grab him by his collar and drag him across the room toward the bed. Halfway there, she grasped him beneath the arms and would hurl him toward it, aiming for the center of his back to crack on the metal bar at the foot of the bed. If he remained there, she would rush forward, dropping all her weight onto him as he lay over the bar by bringing her knee to her chest and crushing it into his gut with her hands on his shoulders. In this way she pinned him, breathless. Her face was directly above his, eyes closed. Her seething breath warmed the mask inches away as she pressed her weight deeper into his gut.

[Scene]

Blow after Blow. Suffocation. Laughter. Scene giggled while blood bubbled from his mouth and nose. His hands hung loose at his sides, every hit to his body causing his torso to twist and wrack with the force. No defense. Not even a dodge. Just watching every blow rain down with a careless glance. As she dragged and threw him onto the bed, pain shot through his back as a rib broke near its base. She jumped and smashed into him the bar and bed snapping beneath them.

Interesting.

So this was what his victims felt like most of the time?

He envied them for having enjoyed such delicacies.

As he waited for it to continue, he closed his eyes, delving into the sounds of the world. He blocked her out, blocked out what she did, not because he was afraid of death or didn't want to feel it, but just to try and get a taste of the world one final time. The way she was going, she probably planned on killing him. It would be wonderful, to continue on another path of existence. He didn't know what lay forward for him after that moment, but it was entertaining to think of everything he wanted to do being for naught. Fascinating. Did other great men think like that, before death? He opened his eyes again, his smile still sticking to his lips.

He didn't bother egging her on now, he could see the devotion in her eyes.

'Come then, finish it.'

[Vespyr]

She could feel the body growing steadily limper beneath her. Vespyr was shocked that Scene’s strength seemed to escape from him so easily as the blood flowed from his feebly smiling mouth, as he had always to her been unbreakable; but now he seemed so fragile, and Vespyr barely knew how to react.

'Come then, finish it.'

Her hand moved slowly toward his throat, fingers curling around the swollen area, gripping as harshly as she could to cut off his air as she had tried to do so many times before. Nothing to stop her now. She could do it—finally put an end to the madness. Her arm tensed and began to shake as the strength was more directed at forcing her hand to clamp tighter, rather that actually clamping her hand tighter around the man’s bruised neck.

But it didn’t work.

With his weakness and pain radiating into the air she breathed, so close to him now as he was so close to death by her hands, she suddenly felt unbearably light as if her crushing knee blows would have no effect. Strangling him wasn’t going to work, for her hands were far too tense now. She felt hollow. Opening her eyes, she rose to her feet with her hand still clutching Scene’s neck, and dragged him with difficulty toward the window where the rain drops were still engulfing each other and falling to their deaths. She kicked in the window, which was brittle and shattered easily. She hoisted the limp body into the sill so that his head and arms would be dangling over, shards of glass digging at his back. The rain would delicately fall on his mask, washing away the blood that trailed from his lips, making the cold metal glisten beautifully. Vespyr glanced at his face and looked away, up at the clouds, at the horizon, anything but his face or his mangled body. She was leaning over him, her hands on either side of his body that hung halfway out the window, halfway between life and death. She should definitely kill him now.

Last words…

“I guess we’re even now.”

…that were not last words.

Vespyr ducked back inside, leaving Scene at the window, and exited the room. As she did so, she would give a grave glance to those who were waiting there.

"We'll need a stretcher, first aid, and a very good doctor."

Should her commands be followed, she would direct for him to be taken to a large room with the operating table in the center—the place where all of this had begun, only a year ago, though so long ago it seemed. She stood by, at a distance, a haunted look in her eyes.

[Scene]

Scene, honestly, couldn't recollect the actions she had taken before they started removing him from the sill. He was blind, drunk on the pain that wracked his body. But he wasn't unconscious. As they moved him, his voice came in a rasp.

"Stop."

And they would. His army, however small, gathered around, watching their leader brought to such a state. He remained silent, suspended in the air, until Ron got the idea coming from his master. He ordered the others to lower him to the floor, and as Scene lay with broken bones, bleeding from nearly every orifice in his face. He turned his neck in a violently painful way, looking right at Vespyr. His voice, however soft, however cracked, carried through the dead silent room.

"I force you to do nothing." He would sit up, without help, not even wincing in pain though it tore through his insides like a wildfire. He stood. Pain rocked him, blackness entering his vision. Scene banished it. The fun wasn't over yet. He stared around at the group of people present, blood dribbling from his chin. "This woman is now my second. You will follow her orders as though they were mine. Only this mask shows separation between us." He looked back at her, knowing she would probably take his words as empty, or she would hate him more for them. He walked over to her, leaned down, and whispered softly in her ear.

"You don't quite understand, do you?" He smelled her hair deeply. "You know i love you, right?"

And with that, he would fall left, like a tree, his body crashing into the floor as light left his eyes. Sleep would be dreamless for the masked menace, and it would be long.

Still, the smile remained.

OOC((Scene will remain out of all threads for an OOC week due to physical damages. Vespyr has full control of Movement, any time she should wish to use it.))

[Vespyr]

“Stop.”

At the sound of Scene’s voice, Vespyr stepped back into the room. She stood separate from the group with one arm tucked beneath her chest, supporting the other upright so she could rest her chin on her fist. Her eyes were glassy and her demeanor stern, emotionless. She watched as if from some great distance as they lay the broken man on the ground, but seemed suddenly present when he turned to her. She met his gaze without hesitation this time and held it with mute focus, though she offered nothing in her gaze but her presence; no anger or remorse, sympathy or sadness.

As he sat up, she sighed a little, feeling a chill in her bones, a strange sort of frustration. She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them, Scene was leaning in toward her, whispering to her.

“You know i love you, right?”

The green eyes grew dim as hers widened, and Scene fell like dead weight but never hit the ground. Vespyr’s arms had shot out reflexively as his body swayed, and she embraced it strongly as his knees buckled and he fell limp. She was stunned, a terrible tightness in her chest preventing her from moving or thinking. After several moments she managed to lay him down gently, kneeling beside him with a haunted look in her eyes. She held two fingers to his wrist, assuring herself that he was still alive, her eyes lingering on his smile.

The eyes upon her must have been many, because she suddenly felt them all at once, a frigid draft of stares. She raised a hand, still gazing at Scene, and waved it abruptly to order them out of the room.

Once more alone, Vespyr could return to her thoughts that lay scattered like shot birds. Overwhelmed and barely knowing what to make of the situation, she laid down beside the inert body, drawing her knees to her chest and laying a hand on Scene’s to feel his breathing. It seemed to come with some difficulty, and she was glad for the fact that sleep had the power to take the mind far away from the body’s pain. As Scene was now adrift in some faraway sea of no dreams, he would not feel the soft touch of lips on his own or the quiet muttering of some unspeakable truth before the hand on his chest disappeared and a cold silence settled over the room and his sleeping form. Time passed, and someone would have carefully placed his body on a stretcher and wheeled him away to be tended to.

Meanwhile, an attempt was made to bring the room back to its normal state; the bed was fixed, but the bloodstains would not wash out of the carpet and the room remained chilly despite the window pane having been replaced. Things would never be the same.