|
|
Post by Vespyr on Apr 1, 2013 1:22:49 GMT -8
"But I'm not dead. Am I? I'm not..." the man trailed off, quite obviously having difficulty coping with the dissonance between being dead but still alive. The confusion in his red eyes was as palpable as fear, but it wasn't fear. This complete lack of understanding was frustrating.
Cain pushed off the bed and stood up, fixing his pants and pulling his shirt off to stare down where the puncture wound should have been, but was no more.
"Was I dead?
"I was dead... but now I'm not dead.
"Should be dead. Not dead." he rambled, coming to terms though the realization was obviously taking its toll on his mind at the moment. When he finally lifted his eyes from inspecting his impossibly wound-free chest, his voice had quieted, the manic look in his eyes somewhat glazed over. He sat down at the edge of the bed and looked over his shoulder at Delilah.
"How am I not dead?" |
|
|
|
Post by Delilah A. Black on Apr 1, 2013 20:20:17 GMT -8
She watched him passionlessly as he jumped off the bed and seemed to panic for a moment. Part of her vaguely wondered if he would flip out all over again. Her hand wasn't near her knife at the moment, but she would use it if she had to.
Fortunately, he seemed to calm down as he sat down on the bed. She turned to face him more, wincing at the pain in her lower lip and neck. As for his question, she only had a few options. He was secretly some sort of demon, or alien or whatever....or, more plausibly....
"Qi," she said softly, quieting for a moment as she looked across at him. She would lift her chin at the open door, wincing again at her injuries.
"And you didn't just lie there and bleed, either."
|
|
|
|
Post by Vespyr on Apr 1, 2013 21:40:38 GMT -8
This is not my idea of a good time
Cain quietly stared at the wounds on Delilah's neck, but when his disquieted eyes alighted on her blood-encrusted bottom lip, his jaw dropped a little bit. The jagged little scar wasn't unique. It wasn't from a knife or a punch to the face. Like the brutal marks on her neck, it could only have been put there by someone's teeth.
After a painstakingly long moment just staring with his mouth slightly agape, grave understanding sternly seized Cain by his slack jaw, shut his mouth tight, and made him face forward again. He sat still with his shoulders slightly tense and looked down, then away again.
A restless hand went up to brush through his hair but his fingers touched something... strange. The pointed nub under his fingertips was hot to the touch and sensitive like a blister. His other hand slowly raised to gingerly feel out the other one, then both his hands lowered to his lap. That didn't feel right at all, but it was oddly familiar somehow. Didn't he always have horns in his dreams?
Cain glanced over his shoulder again, looking a little disturbed.
Delilah. What a striking woman she was; clever, passionate, stubborn. She reminded him of his mom. Here was a woman--a human being--whom he could actually respect, despite his efforts to tear her off her cloud of goodness. She looked so much better covered in blood, he'd thought yesterday after they'd maimed the innocent civilians. He had wanted to ruin her, to dip her white wings in blood until they were red and black.
Somehow it wasn't as satisfying when she wasn't smiling, and when the blood on her face was hers, and when the scar on her lip was his fault.
Cain's gaze flicked over to the door. He stood up and walked toward it with his bloody shirt crushed in his fist.
|
|
|
|
Post by Delilah A. Black on Apr 1, 2013 22:03:12 GMT -8
Blue eyes remained calmly fixed on the man in front of her as he twisted back and forth, seeming to realize that it was he who had done this to her, touching his new horns (she hadn't really found the words to tell him about them). As he turned back to look at her, she blinked, long and slow. He almost looked...concerned. Not quite regretful, but certainly not happy.
He didn't remember?
As he got to his feet, Delilah would as well, though a bit more slowly. Following him silently out the door, grimly understanding what he would find in the rest of the apartment.
|
|
|
|
Post by Vespyr on Apr 1, 2013 22:42:13 GMT -8
Cain only paused a moment to shoot a glance at the maimed corpse of the man who'd shot him. The lower half of the stranger's face was missing and his chest had multiple stab-wounds, but Cain just looked away as if he wasn't surprised at all and headed for the door. He could hear Delilah behind him but didn't turn back or say anything to the woman as he left the apartment to solemnly walk away down the empty street. |
|
|
|
Post by Delilah A. Black on Apr 3, 2013 15:10:57 GMT -8
She followed him out of the building and stopped on the steps, watching him turn and hurry down the street. She stared after him, conflicted.
Part of her wanted to go after him, talk to him and tell him it was alright, that she knew he didn't mean it (she DID know that) and that it had been her fault. But it wasn't alright. It was not okay. She didn't want to console him and she was pretty sure he wouldn't like that anyway. He needed time to process all of that, and in truth, so did she.
But she couldn't let him leave like this.
Nodding firmly to herself, Delilah began to run.
. . .
When Cain returned to the truck, if he did at all, he might find trapped beneath the windshield wiper of the truck a small shred of paper. If he bothered to look at the paper, he would see five words scrawled on the parchment:
I'm not afraid of you.
|
|
