|
|
Post by alcanderbain on Oct 9, 2011 22:50:55 GMT -8
the beast howls in my veins  my blood is singing with your voice TAG: OPEN
WORDS: ONE THOUSAND FOUR HUNDRED AND FIFTY-SIX
NOTES: SET IN NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK; PRESENT DAY
"Ya know, for a guy what loves death so much, you aint lookin so bright right now."
Footsteps took the dark haired male back another foot or so before they threatened to fumble and send him ass first to the ground. He luckily found his footing as his eyes grew wider to take in the scene before him. One of the few benefits that came with being an animator, or rather one of the few benefits that didn't come with some kind of catch was the ability to see in the dark with nearly perfect detail. Apparently, there was something about zombies predominantly coming out at night that meant their natural summoners were also tied to the caliginous dregs of the eve. The sight was frankly more shocking than anything else, if only because Alcander knew the man speaking to him very well. His mind fled back to the past, to that ridiculously red on red zoot suit, and the overzealous application of aftershave, to the pervasive scent of smoke as it threatened to invade every little nook and cranny of that dusky office. Yes. Alcander knew the man very well; it had been the first person he'd ever killed.
Well no. Mick Bocelli had died once before sometime during the 1920's, and had come back as a vampire with a vengeance. He'd been smart about it at first, getting involved with the local gangs of New York, and he soon created his own little world of organized crime. He was a portly man, somewhat squat with a barrel chest. He was short with a mustache that would have looked perfect on a rat, and greasy hair that was generally covered by a hat in the same colour as whatever suit he was wearing for the evening. His eyes were the one aspect that Alcander had never bothered to really take into account; he didn't like the idea of looking into them and falling under the spell of a vampire he could do nothing but detest, however in the glancing moments he let his gaze fleet across Mick's he knew that they were some kind of hazel. He had thick lips and lines under his eyes as if he hadn't slept in days. Smoke curled up from those porky petals like incense making its way towards the heavens, something that automatically drew the Animator's eyes towards a hand. There was a cigar wedged between gaudy ring-clad fingers.
He was exactly as he'd been before he died. Before Alcander had taken his head.
"What's wrong, baby. Look like ya seen a ghost." He sneered then. Leave it to Mick to use cliche lines in order to get his point across.
"You're dead." The pale fleshed youth said past clenched teeth. He had different weapons stored throughout his home, and if he could just get to the door, he could grab up the vial of holy water he'd left dangling from one of the key hooks. The thing looked harmless enough, had even been placed in a replica of Rasputin's reliquary from that Anastasia movie that'd been released in the 90's. There were probably a million of them in the world, and he thanked god in that very moment he'd had the foresight to be somewhat obsessive about keychains.
"Well I ain't that dead I don't think." The laughter that came afterwards revolted Alcander. His day had already been just about the shittiest it could get. He'd woken up with no coffee in the house, been late to the NYU campus grounds, where the professor he'd been assigned to had been so kind as to ream him a new hole. He'd been called out early because there had been a 'suspicious murder' which generally meant that the RPIT had to get involved to be sure that no supernaturals had been involved. The drive had taken him nearly an hour, and by then, the crime scene had been closed. Apparently the murdered woman's husband had confessed to the whole thing and comitted suicide or some such nonsense. Naturally, Alcander had been stuck with the paperwork regardless, and his trip home hadn't been nearly short enough to make up for the strain that the day had put on him.
"Clearly." The Animator bit out as he took his final step back and reached for the Rasputin keychain.
It was gone. Shit.
"Lookin for this?" More of those violent cliched words were thrown at Alcander as the vampire tossed the holy water vial out onto the table in front of him. He'd been sitting there, all smug; like some kind of fat cat who had canary feathers sticking out of his maw. Naturally, the younger male didn't answer him, and instead gripped at the door, twisting the knob. He knew that the other man could get to him faster than he could be out. By all rights, he probably should have been dead by now, but he wasn't going to question a good thing. He would however, question the obvious.
"How in the hell are you in my home? I never invited you." The tone was even and neutral, devoid of the rage he felt building in him. He could tell from an objective point of view that it was fear creasing his psyche, and that the anger was just a preventative measure to ensure that he didn't curl into himself when he was potentially facing danger. He knew that he was experiencing a classic case of fight or flight, but the mind and the body were two different creatures and his body was on overdrive while his mind was receding into the background.
"I was waitin for ya ta notice that, kiddo." The Italian came to stand, reaching for the vial he'd just discarded onto the wooden surface. "Wouldn't have worked anyway." He said as if changing the topic back to the weapon. His fingers twisted the cap off and he doused himself over the cheek. The water sprinkled there and did...absolutely nothing. His flesh should have been charring as if chemically burned. He should have been screaming in pain. Nothing.
"How is this possibl-- You're human." He wasn't sure why he hadn't noticed it before, probably the panic clouding his normally accute observational abilities. Another of those nifty abilities Animators had; they could tell if someone was alive or dead at all times, made talking to vampires an interesting experience to say the least. Mick nodded as if to accept the words before he rounded the table, obviously intent on moving towards his killer.
"Yeah. Ain't that a bitch? I started one of the biggest 'families' to hit the streets in decades, got myself a nice little thing goin with some human pets and you come along and fuck all my shit up. Next thing I know I'm like this." Hands spread away from him as if to announce his presence, not that Mick needed much in the way of stage performance to get what he wanted. None the less, he'd always been a dramatic dog of a man, so it wasn't out of sorts.
"You're here to kill me." The words were defensive. If the Mick wasn't a vampire, then a gun would take him down, and a gun was precisely what Alcander had strapped to his inner jacket holster. Sure, bullets would have slowed down a vampire, but mainly they would have just pissed them off. Silver bullets were better, but older vampires were usually immune to the effects. His hand slid inwards against his chest, his digits sliding under the black line of his off-brand, designer look alike coat.
"Nah. I ain't got it in me ta kill no more. I just wanna pass a message y'know?" He paused for effect because he couldn't hold a serious conversation to save his life. "Shit's changin, baby. It ain't right, and it's only th'beginnin." And with those words said, he was gone. Alcander hadn't even been blinking. Mick was there one second and then he disappeared, only that heavy scent of smoke and the still billowing streams told the Animator that he'd ever really been there. The man twisted the knob further and pushed himself out of his crumby appartment. He was done. He would go and rent a hotel room for the night and buy some new locks in the morning. He needed to get away from the unclean place, to pretend his home, his one haven, hadn't been invaded by a phantasm from the past. He couldn't even rationalise it; couldn't understand why it had happened. The final words of the once vampire weighed heavily on his mind as he raced towards his car.
"Shit's changin, baby. It ain't right, and it's only th'beginnin."
until i'm in your arms, i cannot rest |
|
|
|
Post by xyrapheriel on Oct 10, 2011 19:38:40 GMT -8
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 400px; background-color: #000000; padding:20px; border-top: 10px #23819C solid; border-bottom: 10px #23819C solid;] No one is saving you How can you find a heaven in this hell?
Falling through the Void was normally a peaceful experience for Xyrapheriel. Having lived there for years with the Kaeyos Vyrm, he was incredibly comfortable with the impossibility of existing in space that was not truly space. He had mastered the art of walking through the Void and utilizing it as efficiently as a certain Doctor would use a sonic screwdriver. To Xyrapheriel, the Void was a tool - but more than that, the Void was also the closest thing to a true home he had ever known. He knew it as the one place he was safe from all things - or perhaps more specifically, where all things were safe from him.
Things were slightly different today, without really being different at all. A core reactor on a level five planet had been compromised and there were only three options available. He could have allowed the reactor to go, taking the world with it. That, alone, was a choice. He could have then used the destroyed matter to return the world to existence, but it would be difficult to do so without the reactor, which was literally the core of the planet, and as long as the reactor existed, the world could not. So he fell on the third option - allow the core reactor to explode, but keep it from harming the inhabitants of the planet.
Which, of course, meant absorbing the explosion. Which, admittedly, had worked rather well, aside from the whole fact that he hadn't completely activated World's End the way he needed to when everything blew up. In order to safely absorb that much energy but not absorb the world as well, he had to maintain a form roughly the size of a polar bear. He had managed to reach the size of a - well, a fat Xyrapheriel when the reactor had gone, which did absorb the blast, because no matter his size, Xyrapherial was World's End. The problem was, it wasn't enough to protect him from harm. Not by a long shot.
Knowing the only way to ensure his body wouldn't release the energy in order to protect itself (rather like a normal person vomiting up food poisoning really) Xyrapheriel had quickly left for the Void, where his body fought the explosion inside of it like a virus and Xyrapheriel struggled to exert the energy for a proper World's End form to contain it without any further damage. The result of this was Xyrapheriel using the Void like a tool as he usually did, but it also had him falling through it like a meteor burning in the atmosphere of a nearby planet.
He didn't know how long it took to contain the explosion in the vortex web hidden in his natural form, but he estimated by human measure it was perhaps twenty-four hours. He needed to leave the Void and expose his body to its accustomed atmospheric conditions if he wanted to heal quicker, and since he had decided to start following around the most irresponsible and gray-hair inspiring Gallifreyan alive, he couldn't really afford to be out of commission for the months it would take in stasis within the Void.
Expending a few final reserves of energy, Xyrapheriel managed to stumble out of the Void and collapse unceremoniously upon hot asphalt that was familiar yet not. Without another thought, Xyrapheriel lost consciousness on Earth, 2011, with the Void still pulsing around him. Night and day fell without his body being seen, which was perhaps thanks to the time flux around him as a result of the open Void door. By the time he came to, rested enough to close down the hole with a wave of his hand, but not recuperated enough to contemplate the repercussions of an open Void hole for nearly twenty four hours on Earth, enough havoc had already been wrecked.
Getting to his feet slowly, Xyrapheriel registered the pounding in his head as a dire need for liquid consumption. Walking proved to be immediately difficult, resulting in the brown-haired man grasping at the closest wall for support. His disguise had not been damaged, beyond the fact his once ankle length coat was now little more than a singed vest, his shirt and pants were in scorched tatters and his hair probably resembled a rats nest. The benefits of a biologically based mask was that not even a big boom could tear it off.
Shaking his head to clear it, the traveler of the Void remembered how feet worked and began making his very slow way toward the street, still too groggy to piece together the fact he had waved away the Void time flux, thus literally appearing in this weakened state out of thin air, or that looking this way was a sure fire way to land himself in more trouble still. The only thing that could register now was Earth's atmosphere, which was wonderful to breathe all pollution aside and at this point, included, and the fact that he really badly needed something to drink.
Tag: Alcander Bain
Words: 1134
Lyrics: A Demons Fate - Within Temptation
Notes: Had a terrible time figuring out how to get him there; let me know if you need anything changed. I'm simply assuming that Bain will raise a brow at a very singed and likely wounded man appearing out of nowhere by his place and maybe do something xD |
|
|
|
|
Post by alcanderbain on Oct 11, 2011 10:25:24 GMT -8
the beast howls in my veins my blood is singing with your voice TAG: XYRAPHERIEL
WORDS: NINE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-EIGHT
NOTES: SORRY FOR THE SHORTNESS. <3
Spatially speaking, the distance between the two men upon Xyrapheriel's entry was great enough that the chances of them 'running into' each other was neither assured nor likely, possible but not set into stone. Of course, fate being as comically Eris induced as it usually was for one Alcander Bain, improbability was akin to fate. The chain of events that lead towards their eventual interaction was facilitated by a slippery guard rail, feet that were too anxious to find their way towards a parking lot, and a keen lack of direction that could only be born from someone who was used to having his nose planted in a book rather than on the track field. Losing his footing about half-way down the steps, Ander stumbled down the first few after that, and then hopped down the rest, only to find his feet pedalling towards a figure that had seemingly just emerged. As the proximity between their two bodies began to increase, he found himself thinking one thing on repeat; words echoing like a mantra through his synapses as if he could beg some form of recompense from the Moirae's design. Stop. Stop. Stop. STOP. He didn't. His chest collided with the other male at what was thankfully less than full speed, and Bain found himself standing as if stricken beside the other man. No going back now.
Well shit.
Eyes poured over Xyrapheriel with an expert's skill in the art of analysis. I didn't do that, did I? No. No you didn't, what a stupid thought, what an utterly ludicrous notion. None the less, the other male did seem somewhat worse for the wear, which was to say that he looked like he'd been simultaneously burned and his clothes had been run through some kind of industrial blender. Overall, he just looked like he was in some kind of shambles, and while it would have been nice to have just stumbled on by towards his car, Alcander had a keen sense of responsebility. There was something inside of the Animator's mind that said this was somehow akin to those pesky samaritan laws, and he had to do something for the chap since he'd been the one to run into him. Reeling a step back, his hands automatically shot up as if in some form of defensive posturing. "Hey there. You alright, man?" The question was toned low and with the hints of raspiness that betrayed Ander as a man who liked to abuse his throat with whiskey on the right occasion, and who partook in the frequent smoke (only outside of course, as that type of thing ruined one's home). The steel of his orbs lost some of its distance in an effort to be 'helpful', and softened just a tad as if to account for the lack of genuine concern in his voice.
Of course, this would naturally happen tonight of all nights; he'd run into someone who looked like they had just stamped their way out of hell (probably so, given Alcander's luck). Then again, the whole thing seemed rather peculliar, even for Alcander's line of work, and he found himself quickly rifling through the different possibilities, both supernatural and otherwise. Perhaps the other man had been attacked by a rogue...but no, if a rogue vampire or were creature had attacked him, he wouldn't be singed and there would certainly be less of him to go around. The man didn't appear to be a vampire, and it was the dead of night anyway, so it was unlikely that the sun had caused the issue. Perhaps there had been some form of fire that he'd only just made it out of? But he didn't really smell smoke and a fire wouldn't account for the shreded clothing. Altogether it was an enigma and while part of his senses screamed to just be nice and then be done with the whole affair. Unfortunately; it was the other half of Ander's mind that was predominantly in control, and that part said that there was a puzzle there somewhere which needed to be figured out. The potential for action was a euphoric and addictive issue as well, but one he fairly quashed behind his somber demeanour.
"You look dreadful." There he went, charming the folks again with his blunt, and often overcritical ability to say precisely what he was thinking. Most people had the common sense to keep that type of thing to themselves mind, but Bain wasn't cut from the cloth of common sense. Fortunately, while he was perhaps a bit too honest, one always knew where they stood with him, though the World's End likely had no clue about any of that and so could take the words at face value. "Here, my apartment is just a few flights up, I'll get you a bottle of water or something." Assuming the other man came with him, he'd have to go back into that still vaguely nauseating site, but at least he'd be doing so with someone else; which had the effect of making him believe he wouldn't have another potentially delusional episode. He was possibly giving the other man too much credit in the area of sanity though, and the blind leading the crazy still meant someone was going the wrong way somewhere down the line. Then there was the possibility that if he had suffered some kind of mental lapse, that the other creature was nothing more than a figment of his imagination. It was when he realized he was attempting ot analyze himself that he twisted on a heel and motioned to follow. The last thin he needed to think about was the possibility he was inviting an emotional construct into his home.
until i'm in your arms, i cannot rest |
|
|
|
Post by xyrapheriel on Oct 11, 2011 15:22:43 GMT -8
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 400px; background-color: #000000; padding:20px; border-top: 10px #23819C solid; border-bottom: 10px #23819C solid;] No one is saving you How can you find a heaven in this hell?
Sounds registered in Xyrapheriel's mind slowly, processing with much less comprehension than normal. Cars rolling along the asphalt, voices chattering down the sidewalk, the joyful and drunken shouts of a city at night fell around him like a muffled blanket, but were not enough to mask the sounds of stumbling steps. With the sensory outputs of a Quagquetzal, Xyrapheriel's hearing was exceptional and highly concentrated.
Generally, background noise was dulled to a quiet drone around him, keeping him aware but not deafening him either. The rest of his hearing was within an immediate radius of about eighteen feet, which kept even the most silent steps or the slightest rustle of cloth from coming as any sort of surprise. There was also a distance hearing, more complicated and generally triggered only by sounds of high distress from intelligent young, such as any level 5 child.
Tonight, his radius hearing was a bit malfunctioned and wasn't co-operating correctly with the comprehensive parts of his mind, so although he heard Alcander coming, there was no registered reaction in Xyrapheriel's mind. Generally, he would have moved out of the way and caught the man struggling with his footing, but thanks to his current state of mind, his 'catching' was more of a braindead collision.
The force of Alcander hitting him when his legs were as week as they were resulted in Xyrapheriel's other systems kicking in. Reaching out impossibly quickly, Xyrapheriel steadied himself by gripping the other man by the arms. Concentrating as he was on not falling over, he failed to notice the once over he was being given.
After a moment, Xyrapheriel let go and the man stepped back. At the question, Xyrapheriel had enough presence of mind to respond - just not enough to temper his reply into some sort of believable lie.
"No, I am very much not alright," Xyrapheriel stated with all the frankness of Captain Obvious. Unlike Alcander, his voice had the smooth quality of one who had never partaken in drinks or cigarettes, and the softness of the most cultured librarian imaginable. It was one of those things about himself Xyrapheriel had never realized was unusual, or recognizable. Very few had a voice as naturally sedative and gentle as something mixed of Quagquetzal and Chronyvaesthical. "Not your fault," he added in a quieter tone, as though the fact he was singed and tattered had slipped his mind. "I just couldn't stand by and let people die - "
Cutting himself off as his brain finally caught up on things, Xyrapheriel shook his head slightly and instantly regretted it. With a grimace, Xyrapheriel raised a hand to his head which was giving him the worst dehydration migraine he could remember having in recent years. At Alcander's observation of his state of being, Xyrapheriel gave a slight smile.
"Dreadful. Good word." He agreed simply, imagining how he must appear for the first time since gaining consciousness. "My head feels worse than the rest of me looks," Xyrapheriel added quietly, shutting his eyes against the pain and hoping that analogy made it clear to the man what was wrong, forgetting that dehydration migraines due to unexpected explosion containment weren't common in pureblood humans or any of Earth's typical inhabitants.
Thankfully, he did look bad enough that Alcander saw fit to offer him something to drink - which was exactly what Xyrapheriel needed, ironically enough. Though it did leave him under the confused impression Alcander understood him perfectly - which would hopefully clear up once his brain was back in proper working order.
Registering the man's unspoken invitation to follow him back up, Xyrapheriel made his way after Alcander slowly. Everything ached - not as badly as it had when he'd spent a couple years being tortured by some of his genetic donor's distant relatives, but badly enough that the idea of laying down anywhere remotely soft for a good twenty-four hours was to Xyrapheriel what eternal peace was to a self-proclaimed Buddhist. A beautiful and likely unobtainable idea.
Reaching Alcander's apartment, Xyrapheriel followed him inside wordlessly, utterly unaware of what had transpired in this room only moments before. Leaning against the wall by the door, he closed his eyes again and concentrated on breathing and the promise of water, both of which did nothing to distract him from the full body hangover he was currently suffering. The explosion containment had taken about twenty percent of his overall body moisture, which was easy enough to replenish but left Xyrapheriel in a state similar to that of someone who had given a blood donation in one location, then cheated the system and given another donation in the same day. Very weak, very disoriented, and considerably dizzy.
"About that water," Xyrapheriel said slowly, his mouth having a hard time forming words, as doing so required considerable brain function at the moment, "If you have any glucopyranosyl - " He paused, a frown creasing his brow as he realized that was wrong, "Sugar, I mean. If you have any sugar, that would be greatly appreciated as well."
It was an odd request. His mind told him this was an odd request to make, but he was only half certain as to why. He needed a reason - viable to humans - for requesting sugar water. Thinking and standing proved to be too much, so Xyrapheriel slid to the floor of the man's apartment and laid his head against the wall. in so doing, a viable reason appeared in his mind. "Diabetes," he stated, knowing that humans with that condition needed specific amounts of sugar in their systems in order to function properly, and that when the level was too low they became weakened and ill, as Xyrapheriel was.
For his particular bodily structure, the sugar would combine with the water and speed up the process of replenishing his blood supply, thus ensuring a quicker recovery time - but that would take too much time to explain and besides, Xyrapheriel had no intentions of getting into the whole 'alien' concepts right now. his brain was too tired to handle it, and frankly even though Earth would have no idea about what he was, he couldn't afford rumors either. Well, he could - in the end nobody would ever understand - but his mind still said no, even in this state. Diabetes, that was so much easier. A nice, simple reason that was as human as his disguise and would, hopefully, be passable to the man who's floor he now rested on.
Tag: Alcander Bain
Words: 1389
Lyrics: A Demons Fate - Within Temptation
Notes: Spellchecking when I get home love <3 |
|
|
|
|
Post by alcanderbain on Oct 11, 2011 22:49:18 GMT -8
the beast howls in my veins my blood is singing with your voice TAG: XYRAPHERIEL
WORDS: ONE THOUSAND FIVE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-FIVE
NOTES: <3
The steps were easy to take, familliar as the sounds surrounding him because he'd habituated them into what he considered to be the norm. He didn't live in the best part of town by any means, so the screeching of sirens somewhere off in the distance, and the flash of red lights just on the periphery was like the waves of the ocean as it lapped against the shore to anyone who lived on a coast. The cacophany of dissonant noises was like a cascade to him, a gentle breeze that caressed through his core and said that he was home. It wasn't so much soothing to him as it was old - he had grown fond of it with time, and it was likely why he stayed in the city when there were so many options available to him elsewhere. The padding of his feet added to the miestro's symphony. He found that, along the way, he had to ignore certain things, like a comment about not letting people die. He had one of three options that were rationally available to him. He may have misheard the man, or the other male was absolutely stark raving insane, or he had done something to save people. The latter two would have explained the clothing, but they also would denote either the presence of impedning danger or the chance for a good story. Needless to say, Alcander was in a mood to think of something other than himself, and so distracting his mind with the puzzle standing right in front of him was too good of a thing to pass up on.
He was never quite sure when it had happened, when he had fallen in love with the dualism of mystery, the way in which it split so cleanly down the middle to fill two of his needs; a craving for excitement and the chance to use his capable deductive skills. More than likely, the seeds had been planted sometime when he was younger, in a softer Alcander. He had been about thirteen when he was gifted with a lethal combination of nightly visitors. The first visitor was expected for his age and wasn't at all undesirable, easily washed away in the laundry the next day; however it was the second that created quite a few problems. When an Animator doesn't contain their magic, it has the potential to run free, and that's exactly what happened to Bain. His grandmother had just died a few months prior; he had been crying and curled up in his bed because she had been one of the few adults that had really understood him. Oh, his father wasn't terrible, but he was the kind of person who lived by expectation and while Ander was skilled in many fields, none of them were the type to make Gregory happy; like baseball, football, or lacross. The young man fell asleep that night, and awoke only a couple of hours later to a commotion downstairs. He'd tiredly stumbled his way into the living room, where he found the corpse of his now partially decayed grandmam trying to break into the house through the front window. She had seemingly crashed full force into the glass, and some of her bones had shattered, leaving them jagged, having punched through her frail epidermis.
It had been the most terrifying thing he'd ever seen.
He had retreated backwards, his heart pounding in his chest, and the zombie had only fled when the youthful light in Ander's eyes had extinguished. He woke up nearly three days later, finding out that he was a natural Animator, and that his untamed tap on his own reserves had nearly killed him. The whole thing had been so different when compared to what he was used to; new rules and rituals, a whole exciting and enegmatic world that he threw himself into just as heartily as he did his other studies. Of course, a few Animator's tricks had turned into a lifetime obsession with the dead, complete with his own tricky relationship with the vampiric society that pulsed strong in New York's life blood. Now he worked for the Regional Preternatural Investigation Taskforce, and found that he had no shortage of his dangerous addictions.
"Dreadful. Good word."
It was strangely comforting in a way. Normally, he would find himself on the recieving end of either a hot glare or an icy stare depending on the proclivity of the owner of said expression. Occasionally, someone would laugh, assuming that he'd been intending to make a joke, and he didn't have the heart to tell them that he was too literal in his expressions to account for that type of behaviour. A smile ended up tugging at his lips as he contemplated how to answer, only to have more dumped onto the last. If the man's head hurt that much, it was very likely that he would require a lot of morphine or vicodin in order to make it better. None the less, Ander took the words to heart as he stepped into his home and towards the small kitchen that was just to one side of his home's narrow entrance. He contemplated grabbing up some over the counter pain meds, but decided to leave it as was. Really, why he had another man in his home (well, without interest in getting his clothes off) when said man was all tatters was beyond his scope of understanding. Oh right, because you're stupid and want to get mugged. Wait. No. Gun. We're good. The brief internal monologue heralded Bain pulling open the fridge to grab up three or so bottles, moving them over towards the black and white checkered tile counter. "I have this distinct feeling that tonight has been adventurous for you. Why don't I set us up a couple of drinks and you can tell me about it if you like." His psychologist mannerisms were taking over in place of his 'cop' persona, and his voice accordingly became more silken; or as silken as it could be when he didn't have to worry about the over-masculinised machismo that came with dealing with his coworkers. The effect wasn't deliberate, but more transitional as he moved away from the spontaneous fear of the moments before and into a forced relaxation.
The request changed some as he was unscrewing the bottle cap, and he found himself almost absently reaching towards his cabinet. Alcander had a long standing love for slightly strange food combinations, most notably being his preference for ketchup on his pancakes rather than syrup. He wasn't quite sure what amount was acceptable, especially not for a diabetic and so he found himself replaying a scene from that Men in Black movie that'd been released in the 90's as he turned around and placed a tray with two full glasses of water on it. He lifted the sugar dispensor and began to pour, his eyes lifting towards the other male's as if to question when he should stop pouring. A spoon had been laid out to one side so that thus far unnamed male could stir the grains in himself. There was a moment of hesitation as Alcander's lips seemed to tighten into a thin line before he spoke. "I should probably also ask your name and if you need a change of clothes or a shower, or anything like that really." An awkward moment of silenced passed. "Oh yes, after this though. Wouldn't want your blood sugar to go out of whack. I'm not really equpit to deal with hypoglycemic seizure, and if you went into a coma; I'd probably end up trying to cart you down to my car myself - which would only worsen your condition, I'd imagine." The words were offered with the tiniest traces of mirth to reveal that there was some humor intentional behind them. Then again, not very many people 'got' Alcander's often morbid or dark jokes.
When Xyrapheriel indicated that he had gotten enough of the sugar, the Animator found himself dropping into one of the chairs that surrounded his often unused dining table. His apartment, aside from being absolutely cheap, was tiny. The front entrance faced a hallway which immediately branched off into the kitchen. The kitchen naturally doubled as a dining room, and the only thing of any nominal flair in it were some cow salt and pepper shakers. The rest was horribly beige, even the curtains in front of the sink. The window there looked out onto a vacant lot, but it was surprisingly one of the better views for the complex. Past the kitchen was the master bedroom, which shot off into the master bath. All of the tiles were the same, all of the drapes, carpet, and paint was the same. His furniture was moderately better, but he was rarely at home, so it was also seemingly brand new. He was a 'neat freak' as designated by some of the people who had ventured into his home, because he liked to keep everything neatly organised and had issues with anything falling out of place. He hard learned early on that children would never enter his home. Alcander's jaw worked slowly as he leaned back, eyes intent on the one with him. The World's End had all of his attention, and with a feline's curiousity, his interest was peaked.
until i'm in your arms, i cannot rest |
|
|
|
Post by xyrapheriel on Oct 12, 2011 18:50:58 GMT -8
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 400px; background-color: #000000; padding:20px; border-top: 10px #23819C solid; border-bottom: 10px #23819C solid;] No one is saving you How can you find a heaven in this hell?
It was likely a good thing that Alcander's musings on morphine and vicodin had not gone any further than musings, considering the highly adverse affects both drugs had on Xyrapheriel's systems. While side effects of vicodin for humans did include paranoia and hallucinations, for Xyrapheriel vicodin created a small merging between his memory bank and somatosensory system, resulting in the incredibly vivid physical recollection of his various mutilations at the hands of the Sesuezies.
Although nothing outwardly happened, and although Xyrapheriel was often capable of understanding the sensations to be a psychological manifestation as opposed to physical stimulus, no amount of logic could dull the pain of the blades running down his skin, the burn of an experimental disembowelment or the agony of feeling ones bones twist and break under extreme pressure. Eventually the part of his mind telling him it was the vicodin - the logical part that said it wasn't real - would be silenced by screams Xyrapheriel could not hold back, screams that would silence themselves only when his natural defenses against psychological attack kicked in and knocked him out until the vicodin wore off. If he recognized the signs before his logical self turned off, this tended to happen quickly, but the first two times he'd been introduced to vicodin, Xyrapheriel had not known or understood the danger.
Though they say third time is the charm, more often than not, it really wasn't. Xyrapheriel managed to recognize the effects and shut himself down, but not before crumpling on two shattered shins that were, in actuality, perfectly fine, and experiencing the inelegant sensation of his flesh melting from his chest as a result of the acid test run by a young Sesuezies female. The pain relived due to memory and somatic sensory malfunction had been as unbearable in psychosis as it had been in actuality. His experiences with vicodin since then were rather similar to the Eleventh Doctor faced with bread and butter, sans the biting into it first part.
In comparison, the week long nightmares suffered in a morphine coma were a downright blessing. Thankfully, these days Xyrapheriel was smart enough to not take drugs from anyone for any reason, because it simply wasn't worth it to find out what they might do to him. Then again, the question now would be if he would have had the presence of mind to remember that right at this moment, which he very well may not have. So all in all, it was best that Alcander's thoughts stayed just thoughts.
Words filtered through again as Xyrapheriel struggled to regain his mental capacities from Alcander's floor, and after a moment of translating it through his pounding brain, the World's End gave a small smile.
"Adventurous is one way to word it. An exercise in futility might be more accurate statement." The small smile vanished, and was replaced by an expression that seemed far too old for such a youthful face. For a moment, Xyrapheriel's eyes reflected his true age, tearing the humanity away and leaving behind something that carried an ancient grief.
"There's no garuntee they'll survive, but no matter what happens now things are going to change for them. They'll have to change; it is impossible for them to continue as they once were. So even if they do live, its not as though they'll be the same people."
Xyrapheriel closed his eyes, shutting away pain that on human eyes looked incredibly wrong in a way that couldn't really be pinpointed. A man's eyes should not have been capable of revealing so much, and Xyrapheriel was unaware of how much they had given away. More than that, he was too tired to realize he was saying more than he should.
"But they'll be alive. In the end, that matters, doesn't it? Even if they change - at least they'll be able to continue, be able to do something more for themselves. I saved them. I changed them. Why it has to be synonymous, I don't know. I just hope I didn't make things worse for them, by interfering with their deaths."
Sighing, Xyrapheriel lifted his head and registered the fact Alcander was pouring sugar into a glass of water for him. The smile found its way back again, just as small and yet, this time, filled with gratitude. At the question, Xyrapheriel wondered mildly what century they were in - guessing from the sounds and his surroundings that they could have been anywhere between the 1980's to the mid 2030s. No matter where he landed in the eras, his name was more than a bit unusual. Not that it mattered - he'd given himself this name at the beginning of his life, it was who he was. He had no intentions of changing it simply because the etymology was odd in a certain era or planet.
"My name is Xyrapheriel," He paused a moment, then said in a somewhat lighter tone, "You can call me Xyra if you wish. Most people find whole thing's a bit of a mouthful."
Not particularly cognitive enough to register the other offers just yet, Xyrapheriel lost track of the conversation briefly as it occurred to him to join Alcander in the dining area. Moving slowly, Xyrapheriel peeled himself from the floor by the door and made his way to the glass of sugar-filled water that would make everything seem so much better. Taking a moment to stir it and wait for some more of the crystals to dissolve, Xyrapheriel wasted no time in tilting the glass to his lips and draining it with all the passion of a man who had just crawled his way out of the desert itself.
Although not all the results would be immediate, the sheer relief he felt after that single glass was momentous. Closing his eyes again, Xyrapheriel took a moment before he sat upon the chair opposite Alcander's, his motions already a bit more graceful then before. As he took his hand from the glass, he noticed with immediate alarm that he had left a rather opalescent smudge upon it. Flipping his hands over, he became aware of the closed over cuts and scrapes on them and remembered having thrown them up to shield his face when the core exploded. Whatever shrapnel there may had been had been absorbed by the same forces that contained the explosion, and closed up the worst of all his wounds, though it appeared a few smaller cuts had been exempt from the rule. Reaching for his scarf, Xyrapheriel blinked when his fingers brushed over his neck. A glance down, and he seemed to suddenly become aware of exactly what he looked like, for his expression went from confused to abashed and mildly horrified. Dreadful was a far better word than he had realized it seemed.
Earlier conversation caught up to him at last, and Xyrapheriel looked over at Alcander with an expression that clearly stated he wasn't particularly used to looking so out of sorts. "I apologize for imposing on you so - but you mentioned a change of clothes, and a shower. If that offer still stands, I'd like to take you up on it. I should be able to compensate you for your time and hospitality," he added, reaching to where his coat pocket usually resided. As his fingers closed on the air that was once a very handy trans-dimensional wallet, Xyrapheriel's expression grew a bit annoyed.
"Merda," he muttered, utterly unimpressed to the point of cussing. This meant he had to return to his cache on Uaesye, the abandoned home world of the Chronyvaesthical, in order to pick up a new coat and another wallet. The one great thing about an empty planet was that all the shopping was free. The other good thing was the likelihood of a few hideouts being located on a forgotten planet were slim to none. That said, the trip was still a complete inconvenience.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Xyrapheriel took a moment to push his headache to the side and return to the art of conversing - which he didn't exactly have the best mastery in. He did know that he was imposing on this man, and that he was lucky in any Earth era to fall upon someone who would be so accommodating not only to a stranger, but to one in such a state as his. He owed it to the man to at least attempt coherency, all states of being aside. Of course, that did mean a few very blunt statements that would make even Captain Obvious cringe.
"My coat is ruined. My wallet was in my pocket - which is apparently lost to the Void." Pocket and wallet both, most likely. That or it had been fried in the blast of the core reactor. Either way, he was never seeing that particular trans-dimensional wallet ever again. It occurred to him belatedly that he had mentioned the Void - a concept to which humans were not yet familiar. Opting not to react to his mistake in the hope it would be passed off as some old proverb of some sort, he continued.
"I will be able to compensate you, but I'll need some time to recuperate before I go on any trips. I shouldn't need to impose on you for that though." He added offhandedly, knowing once he figured out what city and era he was in, he would likely be able to pick out a good park to squirrel away in until the last of his healing took place. After which he could nip off to Uaesye and pick up a spare wallet, come back to Earth and pay back this unusually helpful human.
Money was a primary motivator to humans, he knew that. General kindness was still a somewhat alien concept to him. Like so many other things, it was a nameless thing and therefore he didn't truly understand it. He did understand motivators like compensation and debt; he was used to that. Yet for all his thousands of years of life, kindness for the sake of kindness was not something he had been faced with enough to understand.
Tag: Alcander Bain
Words: 1983
Lyrics: A Demons Fate - Within Temptation
Notes: Spellchecking when I get home love <3 |
|
|
