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Post by Delilah A. Black on Feb 15, 2013 13:43:59 GMT -8
Eyes widening a fraction (Fast, too fast,) as the man whose eyes kept changing color appeared before her, instructing her to..hold his yards of bloody thread. She snarled up at him, struggling against the bonds of the threads that were lifting her arms at the elbow for her to take the thread. He acted as if she were obediently accepting the thread from him, slipping the thread over her unwilling arms.
She had no hope of fighting this man...though she would continue to struggle anyway. Damned if she would go down without fighting, not to mention Cain appeared to be rooted in place and susceptible to the Experiments designs...but she wasn't so sure that was this man's aim after all. But then, she wasn't really sure of anything.
The state of his arm. The rapid changing colours of his eyes. His inhuman speed. She shuddered to think of what else he was capable of. Now, her focus was attempting to free Cain; her Qi shifted rapidly over her body, metal jutting out of her arms to make little blades as she tried to free herself.
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Post by The New Student Dean on Feb 16, 2013 1:40:47 GMT -8
Perfect Press  [glow=maroon,2,300]"Thou may feel slight discomfort."[/glow]The man had not killed him.
Leech would realize this as he felt ten needles being pushed down into his left and right trapezius muscles[/size]. The line about Delilah's arms began to whir.~ The man's hands' movements became a blur.~[glow=maroon,2,300]"Hold still."[/glow] |
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Post by Vespyr on Feb 16, 2013 1:45:41 GMT -8
Cain's back tensed and he dropped the knife in his hand, his red eyes going impossibly wide at the sudden stabbing pains in his back. His jaws slammed together, teeth grinding, his whole body cringing.
But he held still.
Because there was nothing else he could do.
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Post by Delilah A. Black on Feb 16, 2013 1:50:55 GMT -8
Delilah attempted to pull away from her bonds as the thread began to unravel from the spool of her arms, seeing the needles (where had they come from?) stab into Cain's back, whose eyes went wide with pain and caused his teeth to clack together. Responsible. She was responsible. They should have ran, should have done something...
But what on EARTH was he doing?
It didn't really matter at this point, because she was fighting tooth and nail to break free, which just didn't seem to be happening.
And though she STILL had no idea of what this man was doing or why, she was VERY much aware that this would not be a good way to die.
fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck
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Post by The New Student Dean on Feb 16, 2013 2:30:42 GMT -8
Rebirth
The Black Pus Blood trailed down in perfect lines over both sides of Leech's shoulders. Twenty precise lines of blood that went down, bleeding into his tanktop. But as Leech bled, the man froze. Staring with his yellow-purple eyes.[/i] [glow=maroon,2,300]"I see it.
"It... the future. Your blood..."[/glow]Mystic entered the man's voice. His fingers trembled over Leech... as he ceremoniously began to raise his arms over and around Leech's head. His left arm was... being unsewn. Unravelled... the skin being loosened, up until the wrist, draping in front of Leech's face. There, Leviticus' right hand continued to be a blur before Leech's face... as he plunged the needle deep into his own forearm...
...Where a black, bubblinb pus began to pour out... unevenly, as though being carried in a fleshy sack inside...
...And then Leviticus brought his tender left arm to Leech's open mouth. The smell would be so pungent that it would literally begin to wretch the man to tears. Its offensiveness would stir the gag reflex, but the sheer thickness would be the very thing to suppress it. A whole ten seconds would pass, where this invasive, black, thick liquid was forced into Leech's arms... and then it would be released.
The man would hold up his arms above him... and then cross them over his own head, his quick hand quickly stitching back on the skin over his own arm. The man's blood would rain down on them both... as he began to sew back on his leather armor back onto his skin, and Delilah would find the bundle around her arms quickly disappear into nothing.
...But Leech would have no oppurtunity to pay attention to this at all. For the black pus would quickly begin its work... and begin to awaken inside him what was inherent. His veins would blacken for a bit, as the liquid would infect him quickly, before returning to a healthier, stronger, red. The man's paralyzing grip over Leech and Delilah would drop, and Leech would feel all of his strength fade away in an instant. A feeling of dying.
The man would quickly pivot to Delilah, staring at him.[glow=maroon,2,300]"The virus spreads rapidly, but he will not die. When he awakens, he will be deathly thirsty."[/glow]...And just as quickly, he turned back Leech... bending over the man who had presumedly fallen over...
Slipping a glass vial pressed into his back pocket. It was uncertain as to when Leviticus had picked it up with his sleight of hand, but a firm hand would be pressed against Leech's back.[glow=maroon,2,300]"The virus will make you yearn to be infected. It will be unbearable.
"When you resist its urges because there is no other source, seek solace in thine graveyard. Enter the cracked tomb. And you will find that you and the boy you slew today may have been the greatest gift of all to you..."[/glow]The man's grip would drop away just as suddenly, and then the man twirled to Delilah... and then twirled past her, disappearing. Leaving the two.
Moderator Note:
- Leech has been promoted to Special PNPC! He retains all his statistics!
- Leech has Qi potential! Qi locked for now, unless for story purposes.
- Leech will be sick for a few days!
- Leech can gain Serpent's Breath!
- Leech gains +1 EXP!
- Delilah gains +2 EXP!
- Loot will not be counted unless IC-collected!
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Post by Vespyr on Feb 16, 2013 3:55:28 GMT -8
Mother, help me
The stinging pain trickling across Cain's shoulders wasn't the worst feeling. Being unable to move, restrained from jamming his knife furiously into the stranger's eyes a thousand times, only able to stare back with fiery hostility in his red eyes, was the worst feeling.
But then, darkness.
With his eyes tightly shut, the involuntary tears streamed from the corners of his eyes as he choked on the sheer repugnance. For ten frustrating seconds the thick liquid stifled every cough and instead of air Cain only swallowed more of the same foul darkness; it was like he had inhaled a whole bottle of fireball whiskey. It oozed poisonously into his throat, and then deeper, until his body begrudgingly consumed it into his very veins. The man paled terribly at that, but a moment later an eerie warmth rushed through his veins and his skin felt hot again. Too hot. Suddenly lightheaded, his eyes opened for an instant only to see a black aura wavering where Leviticus should have been. The man's powerful hold over him had released, and Cain's weak hands groped desperately for something to hold but found nothing as his knees failed him and he tipped, corpselike, toward the warm pavement. Whack went his dizzy head and crack went his broken ribs.
Oooh, hon...
It's not that bad, I swear.
It was like the worst time he'd ever been drunk, when he'd passed out on the living room floor and woke up feeling like his head was going to implode. His mom had padded him with blankets and pillows and it helped, as he opened his groggy eyes to see the familiar silhouette of pale skin and dark hair. But it wasn't like that at all, was it? He was still awake this time with the same feeling, and his crimson eyes could barely stay open as he struggled to move. Only the tips of his fingers responded to his urge and they grazed a few inches across the pavement, but that was all he had left in him. He was so tired… so…
…there's a dark-haired lady and she's real pretty and… she looks… like…
And then there came a firm touch… a strong voice… and suddenly nothing.
Was this sleep or death? Cain hadn't decided yet, but they kind of felt like the same thing. |
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Post by Delilah A. Black on Feb 16, 2013 12:01:32 GMT -8
Delilah could only watch in horror and struggle in vain as the man with the needle and thread performed the most horrible ritual on Cain. At least, it looked like a ritual, and the words he spoke were suitably grave and sage like.
Close as she was to Cain, she could smell the horrible, rotting odour of the pus that seeped out of this man's arm. She gagged on the stench and what he was doing with the fluid. She felt an overwhelming sympathy for him. She fought against her bonds all the more viciously, stopping only when the man had appeared before her again."The virus spreads rapidly, but he will not die. When he awakens, he will be deathly thirsty." Blink.
Had this man known all along she would attend to this man she had only just met? He spoke of reading the future...how much of it could he see? How had they known where they were and what theybhad done...why had he called her Acolyte?
Such questions would never be asked, though, as the man put his hand on Cain's back, spoke a few words that Delilah still heart accurately enough (though it meant absolutely nothing to her). One last time, the strange man looked at her...and then he was gone.
Delilah stumbled at the sudden release of her invisible bonds, bracing herself against the car to stop herself from falling....while Cain crumpled and hit the pavement with a crack.
"Shit..." She dropped beside him, checking to see if he was still conscious or alive. Breathing, yes, conscious, nope. Possible concussion. She touched the side of his face lightly, only to draw her hand back with a hiss. LORD, he was hot. She looked at her options. Here she was, in the middle of Barker territory with a very sick man with the sun steadily descending from the sky. She could leave him there, head back to the Crows and try to forget about this horrible day. It was the smart thing to do...
She sighed at her sense of nobility, sheathing her knives before she adjusted Cain so that he was sitting upright and hauled him onto her back. With a grunt, she checked her bearings and started off in the direction of the nearest safe house, moving as quickly and quietly as she could, not knowing how long it would be before her charge awoke. She made sure to give Tengu a call as well, asking them to clean up the mess over her blue-tooth as she walked.
*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_* [/b] The amount of light streaming in through the window of the pawn shop would depend on how many hours had passed since Cain had fallen unconscious. The pawn shop was well suited to their needs: the previous owner had closed up early, before the bombs fell. The place was reinforced, as most pawn shops were, with iron bars covering the bullet proof windows. As such, this place was one of the last few treasure troves in Long Beach, a capsule of The Time Before. It had taken Delilah weeks to find a way to break in, and it was invaluable. She didn't even need to lift a finger to ensure no one would break in. Cain would find himself, shirtless, clean, sitting in a leather wing backed chair with a blanket loosely draped over him and a vompress that was now warm on his forehead. His burns were tended to with fresh bandaging, his ribs wrapped in a tensor bandage to keep him from moving too much. Sitting beside him were three stacks of water bottles and an uncooked can of beans sat upon an oak side table. If he was looking for her, he would find Delilah/Anna sitting in the window with her head lightly resting on the glass, her bowtie knife and a rag in her lap, keeping watch until he stirred. She had rid herself of the dried blood on her face and arms, though it still remained splattered on her shirt and in her hair. Not thst she seemed to mind.[/size]
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Post by Vespyr on Feb 16, 2013 15:48:14 GMT -8
Cain would seem to slip in and out of consciousness, but never reach a state of full comprehension. If the tired man spoke, it was only in disjointed mumbles: something about blankets and pillows and furniture that smelled like old cigarette ash and not wanting home-made pancakes for breakfast. At one point his eyes would open narrowly, giving Delilah a faraway skeptical look, as he silently mouthed the word 'mom?' and then slipped back into his unresponsive state. The woman would peel the sweat-and-blood soaked wifebeater from his chest to find--perhaps to her surprise or dismay or amusement, perhaps not--a rather well-muscled display complete with pierced nipples and a tattoo in deutschscript across his pecs that read veni vidi vici. The more concerning matter, however, was still the left side of his ribcage that had already begun to sour with gnarly black and blue bruises over Cain's two cracked ribs. Delilah would have tended to that right and proper with the tensor bandage, as well as bandaging up Cain's hands, and setting the compress on his head while he continued to sleep for about another half-hour or so.
When the man woke, he stirred immediately, opening his eyes to the darkness and furrowing his feverish brow at the sudden change in surroundings… and the horrible taste in his mouth. As he tilted his head forward from the chair-back, the compress slid off his head and into his lap and he stared at it for a moment in confusion, wondering where it came from so suddenly. His curious red eyes then focused on the folds of the blanket that covered him. A disoriented hand shifted about beneath the fabric and pushed it off, revealing his bared and bandaged chest, and his hands.
"Somebody's been busy," he mumbled, unsure if…
Oh, there she was. Cain glanced up at the woman with his brow raised, the beginnings of a grin creeping at the corners of his mouth. Though, it hardly seemed appropriate to smile when his mouth still tasted like acrid black bile. The man flicked his gaze over to the water bottles and reached for one gratefully. He twisted off the cap and tilting it back to gulp down about half the bottle in one go. Holy shit, he was thirsty. The water helped to rid the vile taste from his tongue, but it just… wasn't satisfying, somehow.
The man frowned a little half-heartedly into the water bottle and took another sip, then set the bottle down, and let his gaze meander back up to Anna, gauging the expression on her face before he added one to his own. He had… questions. But rather than ask them, Cain first lifted a hand to tiredly wave her closer to his chair with the tips of his fingers. The deep, sharp ache in his side and the sickly headache throbbing through his skull could wait; if he felt any pain, he refused to show it, keeping all his discomfort hidden behind gritted teeth, behind his calm grin. |
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Post by Delilah A. Black on Feb 16, 2013 16:20:56 GMT -8
"Somebody's been busy,"
Delilah glanced up at the shifting and the voice in the darkness of the pawn shop. She had no trouble identifying where Cain sat in it's depths, though he was nearly pitched in shadow; she had the earring to thank for that. She could see as well in the night as she could in the day.
She watched as he drank...less than she expected, her gaze level, impassive....if a little curious. She was still very much processing what had just happened between them (trying to ignore the sight of his defined musculature, the tattoos, the peircings God, she loved rough looking men[/i][/s]). There was something sly in the way that she smiled that set off those same alarm bells that had sounded when she met the man. Back then, she was acting as Anna. She decided to drop the charade, now. It was more than obvious that she had been lying. He beckoned to her, subtley and she rose, casting a backward glance at the window just to make sure no one had noticed the movement. She strode towards him, picking her way nimbly around the variety of knick knacks and furniture that littered the floor like so many carcasses of an era long past. She sat near him now on a gaudy faux-marble statue of a panther, hand still on the bowie knife...polishing it with the jewlers rag she found, idly. Her steady blue gaze never left his, though his grin continued to unsettle her slightly. She offered him a weak smile of her own. "How do you feel?" she asked in a soft voice, as if afraid to disturb the quiet that surrounded them, without a hint of a Spanish accent.[/size] |
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Post by Vespyr on Feb 16, 2013 16:37:44 GMT -8
"Great, doll. Jus' fine." Cain chuckled briefly, carefully. The man eyed the way this girl approached and his ruby eyes settled on her knife as she renewed its shine with care. He smiled at that, genuinely. He didn't seem to notice the sudden change in her accent, perhaps a little too groggy still to remember that one enticing little detail.
With his elbow pitted on the armrest of his chair, he lazily grazed his bandaged hand back toward the water bottle without quite noticing just how thirsty he was. Probably because it wasn't water he thirsted for.
"Where's your friend?" Cain quietly asked, assuming this was the place she had mentioned earlier, and her companion… what was his name again? The man's deep red gaze drifted back up to the woman's face. His eyelids blinked languidly at her as if he was about to fall asleep again but his stare wouldn't waver, determined to keep looking at her. It was quite a curious situation, after all… and Cain liked finding himself in curious situations although he certainly wouldn't complain if they didn't entail waking up with an equivalent of the mother of all hangovers. |
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Post by Delilah A. Black on Feb 16, 2013 18:17:03 GMT -8
Funny. He didn't look just fine to her...though with the confidence he exuded, it was pretty easy to believe him. Her unfaltering gaze continued to meet his with as much intensity. She would sit there, calmly, as she polished her knife of the gore flecked on the blade. Remembering how he looked at her with familiarity, mouthing 'mom?' roughly an hour ago. He was likely still feverish...perhaps a little delusional. What had the Experiment done to him?
A lift of her eyebrow would acknowledge his question about the location of...Tanner. She had forgotten his name as well. She set her knife against her thigh and prosper her elbows on her knees. Lacing her fingers together, she peered at him over the bridge they made. No sense in pretending.
"I made him up."
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Post by Vespyr on Feb 16, 2013 18:35:37 GMT -8
At this, Cain tilted his head back to rest on the chair-back again. His sweat-beaded brow raised, eyes narrowed a little… obviously suspicious of her now, but the ever-present hint of a grin suggested that he took this lightly. Or was that just a mask? The red-eyed man languidly raised the bottle to his lips again. And drained it completely.
"What else didya make up?" the man inquired in a low voice, even though it was fairly obvious to him now. The knowing way she stared at him. The slight change of her accent? Yeah, he noticed that now. Not Spanish. Probably not named Anna.
Hopefully not… leaving for Venezuela in the morning? |
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Post by Delilah A. Black on Feb 16, 2013 19:20:31 GMT -8
"What else didya make up?"
Delilah's eyes crinkled at their corners as if she were smiling, though her lips didn't twitch. An interesting reaction from the battered man. Hisexpression didn't change, really, but there was a...stillness about him that she noticed. Like a predator waiting to pounce. She wondered about his next reaction, if he had any to give.
She was enjopying how they were eyeing eachother, one sizing up the other with voracious interest. Like warriors. Like killers.
"I'm not from Northern California, I currently live and work here in Long Beach and I have no intention of going to Venezuela. My name is Delilah Black, First of Crows. As such, I have intimate knowledge of every gang in the area.
"Except yours."
Her voice would drop on these last two words, almost purring. But a knowing, shrewd smile was already tugging at her lips. She wondered. And she waited. |
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Post by Vespyr on Feb 16, 2013 19:41:30 GMT -8
Clever girl.
Cain stared at her, slowly nodding as she re-explained her identity to him, little bits of 'Anna' falling away like flakes of paint. While he didn't like being lied to--people usually got punished for that--he could see exactly why she'd done it: she didn't trust him. He smiled at this, too. After all, what was there to trust?
However, the way he stared at her with his sharp red eyes, slowly nodding… the man was obviously not impressed by the charade, but he was accepting. Fair's fair, he thought, inwardly cringing with amusement as if this were a game. Delilah could give up her little lie, but he'd still have his or a certain icy bitch would have his head...
"Not a gang, sweetheart. Just a dysfunctional little family." he corrected, letting his eyelids sink down for a moment as he shook his head a little tiredly. The man pressed his large hands against the arm rests and shifted himself a little more upright with difficulty. When his eyes opened again, he seemed to mirror her almost coy look, almost challenging. He leaned forward wincing to copy her stance in his own way, leaning one elbow on his knee to prop up his chin on his bandaged knuckles.
"Y'know, Delilah's a much prettier name. I like it." the man purred, hardly even aiming to change the subject.
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Post by Delilah A. Black on Feb 16, 2013 20:47:38 GMT -8
Oooh, she could have some real fun with him here. Delilah found herself tempted, as he nearly matched her posture, to put a few other dizzying notions into his mind. The lie of "Anna" was far easier to believe than the truth of "Delilah". For all he knew, she could be lying right now; perhaps she truly WAS Anna. Perhaps there was a 'Tanner' or the equivalent in this very room, waiting in the darkness. Perhaps she was not the First Crow, but a Dragon, an Experiment, a henchman of Barker himself.
It would be so easy to twist her own words, to compound the simple lies into complex personalities. It might even be interesting to see what he would do with the information...if it would make him angry and cause him to lash out.
She decided not to, in the end. He already had a good knock on the head AND he had protected her (or tried to, for whatever reason) a few times during their fight. Plus, the whole pus/blood ritual thing. Blech. She would leave him alone, in this regard. And in the regard of his family; she had a name now. His. For now, that was enough.
Ah, the high road. Besides, that damn carefully flattery of his was getting her all worked up again; she could feel heat in her cheeks (thank goodness for the dark). She maintained the steadiness of her eyes which were almost defiantly level with his, and in the curvature of her mouth and the stillness of her posture.
God, she was enjoying this.
"Flatterer," she accused smoothly, though if he couldn't see her face he would still hear the smile and the huskiness in her voice. "You're quite a good fighter, you know. Instinctual, ruthless...but careful. Not a combination you see very often."
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