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Post by Dylan & Marv on Apr 21, 2008 15:40:24 GMT
Three times a week Tobian Bathchild Clubfoot III begins the day with a massage by Manfred, who leaves the club ship Dorsia only to administer to the needs of an agoraphobic Slitheen and Tobian himself. Everyone else must wait his or her turn for his universally-renowned light-tissue Shiatsu. Today's session already long gone it is Thony from the orbital Oscar Blondi pamperfleet who arrives prior to TBCs shower. He cuts his hair very slightly, this happens every twelve days like clockwork and as per his routine TBC dicusses the terrible strains of maintaining the appropriate level of putrefaction and squallor upon the Compound floor below, it is a stressful job, he pinches the brow of his nose and regards his trim. Tobain is proud that he never looks as if he needs, or has just had, a haircut.
He then trains according to a selection of videos prepared by the same galactorthopedically trained specialist who tones the bodies of the New New York Giants and "La Cirque du Soleil." (on its 2,000,000th show, though TBC is having difficulty getting tickets). He can't stress enough how important it is to remain limber, so before stepping into his emaculately kept suit he supplements his excercise sessions with a bi-weekly visit from Billy, who, though he now runs "Oscar Blondi" has kept TBC as a private client.
Khan, from "Jiva Mukhti", who tutors TBC in Balhoonian-Yogic practices four times a week. Unlike his many devotees who flock to his Lafayette Street studio, TBC prefers to perfect the "Lying Down Backward Dog" in the privacy of his own office. He too is scheduled in for a quick session before his shower. "Youth is about two things: Optimism, and Moisture." Thinks Tobian as he washes. He believes in taking care of himself, a balanced diet and rigorous exercise routine. In the morning, if his face is a little puffy, he will put on an ice pack while doing stomach crunches. He can do a thousand now. After he removes the ice pack he uses a deep pore cleanser lotion. In the shower he uses a water activated gel cleanser, then a Red bee honey almond body scrub, and on the face an exfoliating gel scrub. He then applies an herb-mint facial mask which he leave on for 10 minutes while he prepares the rest of his routine. He always uses an after shave lotion with little or no alcohol, because alcohol dries out his face out and makes him look older. Then moisturizer, then an anti-aging eye balm followed by a final moisturizing protective lotion. It is the following routine TBC goes through in preparation for his 'big date'.
TBC finds that the Kiehl's men's line currently fulfills the bulk of his grooming needs. Shipments come in bulk thanks to various contacts he has built up over the years, and one particular inmate (he smiles whistfully) has a stock of extraordinary hygiene products from all over the Universe. For cleansing purposes, he conceeds, pouring though the bottles of gels and tonics, nothing beats the various cleansers manufactured by Neutrogena.
His shower automatically turns on at a time preset on the control panel to the right of his desk. Also preset is the temperature and the various water jets designed to stimulate the areas of his body most susceptible to stress. TBC is easily stressed. It's not easy running a high security Intergalactic Prison for the Shawdow Proclaimation, no matter how many years at Shada he has under his belt (down to the last buckle hole, he smiled proudly). A man must enjoy what luxuries he can get.
Exiting the shower he dresses to the song "One Singular Sensation" from "A Chorus Line" as it is the most optimistic song ever written, again, like many of TBCs favorite thing this compact disk album (a human design) is provided by the same inmate, the inmate who 'can get things' and with whom he, this evening, will be dining.
His evening wear fashioned by the maestro Cerrutti and Tino, conveys an aura of quiet superiority. His shoes, by Lobb and when appropriate, New-Gucci, are superior in both quality and fit. He can't allow his time to be intruded upon by the mundane aspects of tailoring. He has maintained both his weight and muscle tone in the exact same proportions for nearly twenty decades. Whatever he desires is sent to him by the vendors already familiar with his tastes, which tend to anticipate trends rather than follow them, though he never seems satisfied by that which they offer. He has a great affinity for watches and complicated timepieces, respecting that beneath the simple beauty of their faces lie complex articulations of machinery that are at the same time both minute and grand.
And, No, TBC is Not Gay, not that there's anything wrong with that.
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HN
crazy axe murderer
She-Doctor
Posts: 3,032
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Post by HN on Apr 21, 2008 17:49:11 GMT
Cold clammy hands bit firmly into her skin. An involuntary shudder snaked it's way down her spine, made worse by the sound of her belt buckle clicking undone. Cow hide slid past fabric, rustling as it pulled free. She was afraid. She did not like it. Squeezing her eyes closed, she held her breath, unable to hear the quiet chatter above the throbbing of her twin hearts. Everything pulsed in time. She could feel every milliliter of blood that surged through her veins, every tiny hair follicle stand on end. Tears burned against her closed eyelids as she bit back a sob.
Acting on instinct, she pulled her knees to her chest, going fetal in an attempt to protect herself. She would not cry. She refused to reveal her anguish. She would not give them the pleasure of seeing her fear. In all her years as Doctor, she had never been made to feel a victim. Nor would she today it seemed.
A hand patted her bare buttock, as her trousers were dragged roughly past her knees.
"Nice firm rump." A voice hissed from light years away. She was not in her body, instead sat crossed legged and upside down on the ceiling of the lair. She was watching a movie, and eating popcorn. That is, until that scaly hand squeezed the cheek of her backside just a little too hard.
A tidal wave of rage roared to life, surging from her gut to her muscles before they even reached her brain. In a fit of hysterical anger she span, somehow finding her feet and and backhanding the the nearest creature around the face. Skin split, both hers and the her assailant. Red blood mixed with blue, but her pain receptors did not register. She may be female. She may not have the muscular strength she once did. She may not have the intimidating appearance of her previous self. But she was still the Doctor. She would never go down without a fight.
Fire burned in her eyes as she stalked what had become her prey, scrabbling back along the dusty floor in surprise. Fear was evident in it's eyes. She approached without hesitation, claw like fingers curled into fists, cutting into her own palms, drawing yet more blood. The Doctor remained silent, and she raged. She burned like the sun.
Far off at the other side of the Compound Frankie Grump also raged, for his captive was not taking his transition into the ranks of Frankie's slaves all that well. In fact it would not stop laughing. Frankie did not understand this. The creature was human, and weak and well under his control. Yet it laughed hysterically at him. He felt like he was missing a terribly important piece of the puzzle. As if all the red blocks of his Rubik's cube had got lost. As if he was using metaphor without meaning.
He didn't like not knowing. This made him mad. So Frankie Grump raged, and his girls quivered in terror.
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Sylar
total nut!
Posts: 1,375
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Post by Sylar on Apr 21, 2008 21:30:36 GMT
So Shreck wanted the Doctor. Even if Sylar had the capacity to hand over the now petite blonde woman, he wouldn’t give her up. She was his and his alone, when he found her he would it would be Sylar who made her pay for abandoning him. No other soul would have that pleasure.
Of course he had a great many questions which varied from a simple ‘where am I’ to more detailed investigations into what creatures he had encountered, their history, entomology, geneology, and the exciting possibility that he could perhaps take on something of their specialness. The concept of how great he could become made his mouth water. He suddenly felt confined in his simple human frame, disappointed that there were perhaps changes his body could never undergo, and he sighed outwardly. The troll’s rage instantly ceased, curiosity over his new pet’s reactions disorientating him.
Sylar opened his eyes and fixed the troll-like man with a stare that betrayed a little of his madness and all of his will.
To make a sudden move was not wise, he could feel the spiny nails of the woman sit uncomfortably over his beating heart, the blunt knuckles of the troll wrapped through his hair and pressed against his skull. Taking the brute would be easy enough, but another dose of the paralytic he could not endure. He would enjoy killing Little Miss Porcupine.
His eyes did not waver from the troll’s as with the care of an artist he turned each of her spines back on her own hidden flesh. He had no doubt it hurt her. She screamed.
As did Jani Runcoon as the Doctor’s sharp nails caught her cheek. Her eyes quivered with anger and her sisters set upon the Doctor quickly pinning her against a wall.
“Spoiling our fun.” said Socrassi, “And we were going to be gentle.” Added Loreli, “Not anymore.” Jani pouted, approaching and running her hand across the Doctor’s fresh pink cheek. She slapped it firmly. Then she stroked her cheek softly where it had reddened. “Feral pussy needs to have her nails clipped.” She said, her breath warms and sweet and laced with pheromones and smoke. “It’ll behave won’t it now,” The Doctor struggled, “shhhh, shhhh now.” Jani said, her intoxicating breath swirling with the sweetness of her sister’s as the air the Doctor breathed him turned red and flooded her nostrils, it had the scent of strawberries. “There, there now.”
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HN
crazy axe murderer
She-Doctor
Posts: 3,032
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Post by HN on Apr 21, 2008 21:56:34 GMT
Frankie eyed Sylar warily. His demeanor had changed dramatically, so quickly, that he had barely spotted the transition. From hysterical cackling, to something more docile, yet this was still not the look of out right terror that he had been waiting for.
"Do you not take me seriously?" He asked with a sneer, lifting his new pet off his feet by the ruffled black hair. He could feel strands pulling to their full length, taut, snapping, skin tearing. His smirk widened, as the creature winced, though barely audibly, and raised a hasty hand to protect his scalp.
Grump was faster. Flicking out his spare hand to catch Sylar's wrist firmly between his over sized forefinger and thumb, the spines upon his forearms shot out from under his mottled scales, to full length and pricked the skin of his submissives cheek. A tiny trail of crimson shone in the dim light, a stark contrast to the pale human flesh. He watched with odd fascination as the drop made it's way to the point of Sylar's chin, hesitated as if debating it's jump for freedom, and then fell, offering respite to the parched ground that had not seen rain in weeks.
"How much blood do you have in that fragile body of yours?" He asked, both sets of dark eyes, raising from the red stained floor to meet across an inch of space. They regarded in silence for but a second.
"Enough to feed all the plants on the Compound? Shall we find out?"
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Sylar
total nut!
Posts: 1,375
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Post by Sylar on Apr 22, 2008 7:17:10 GMT
Synapses flared and muscles twitched, Sylar could easily jump three feet sideways out of the monster’s grasp, but he did not.
Sylar had come to the conclusion in his years of forced contemplation, that people, humans, could be defined by the questions they asked. Peter Petrelli, for example, what a ‘what’ kind of guy, a what can he do, what is the matter, what could he fix kind of shmuck. Elle (sweet, flexible Elle) was a ‘who’ person, a who could help her, who was that guy, who was that guy, who who who celeb magazine, want to be popular, wear the best, own the best kind of girl. She was a regular perky blonde Horton. It was a misconception that Sylar was a ‘how’ kind of guy, he knew the ‘how’ to everything, there was little point in asking the question to something you already know the answer to. No, the question ‘why’ was always Sylar’s favourite. Why did he kill all those people? Why did he so desperately want to be special? Why did the world fascinate him so much? Why when people saw beauty did he see failure? Why did nothing ever seem perfect? Why didn’t he eat that tuna sandwich?
And right now, ‘why’ wasn’t he killing the troll. The answer was curiosity, plain and simple, and he didn’t want to throw all of his tricks out of his bag. He was a big fan of the element of surprise.
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Post by Dylan & Marv on Apr 24, 2008 14:52:54 GMT
A timepiece against the wall, which was being TBC regarded carefully as he dressed and fastened his neck-tie with precision, stood tall and important. It had a grand and ancient creak in its movement and it told the time because it was party to that information and willing to provide it, not because of any mechanical imperative.
TBC liked it deeply. He took it from her, to look after it. He was sure she liked to think that she gave it to him, and no doubt in some way she did. But she won't be getting it back. He would never see her again if that happened. He is aware of what it is - a Hyposlip Travel System if ever he saw one. They were banned after The War, the Hop Pyleen were some of the first inmates of the Compound along with their friend. The Hop Pyleen had, of course, not survived more than a week. Their Friend was more resilient.
At least it was acurate, though it tells him he is early. She likes her guests to be on time. His muscles ached. He was over prepared. Parts of him effervesed with the memory of their last encounter, requiring him to adjust the line of his suit.
Though enjoying this particular bout of exstatic memory TBC's face is simple and expresionless. No smile, no sadness. The eyes, bloodshot and half-closed despite having endured more relaxation than any being can be subject to. He knows there are only a few actions he can undertake to truly relieve that pressure and walks to look over the balcony of his office. There he inhales deeply, drawing in the air, which above the Compound floor consists of malevolent gasses poinsonous to all but he and the Judoon.
He enjoys over-seeing the Compound floor below. But it is too silent in his office. It is too silent on the Compound floor. Since he was about to eat well it was only fair he fed the inmates their dinner. He began to hum. He then began to sing. He loved Dinnertime.
"One ... singular sensation Every little step she takes. doodaly doodaly do."
Around them the darkness is subsuming. In this orbit, at this time of the year this part of the planet never receives any daylight. He likes it that way. It inspires fear and edeavour in the inmates. Below small lights dance. They are foolish to highlight their presence, especially since TBC has a quota to fill.
"One... thrilling combination Every move that she makes."
He opened a casket on the balcony which contains a long shafted shotgun.
"One...smile and suddenly nobody else"
He aims at a large Adiposian waddling across the yard.
"Will!"
He shoots.
"Doooo!"
He shoots again. An Avian collapses where it crouched, it's wings twitch in the dust.
"You know you'll never be lonely with yoooooou know whooooo."
The inmates below run about screaming. He now smiles.
"She walks into a room And you know She's un-Commonly rare, very unique, Peripatetic, poetic and chic."
He danced a small step, as Bob returned and watched in a smokey haze from the doorway.
"She walks into a room And you know from her Maddening pose, effortless whirl, She's the special girl."
"Stroooooll-ing,"
He shoots.
"Can't,"
He shoots.
"help,"
"All of her qualities extooool-ling." He continued. There were now twenty bodies lying on the compound floor to feed those unable to negotiate for food. No need for a clean up operation. The Compound was very efficient.
"Your escort is here Sir." Bob interrupted. TBC almost missed the large Noix he had been aiming at, turned and fixed the soldier with a stern glare. He disliked interruption, but it was a welcome message. He turned to finish off the Noix that he had only skimmed and was tottering around and getting blood into disgusted inmates that were trying to get out of his way, perfectly aware that the killshot might miss and hit them.
When he was done he acknowleged the Juddon, grabbed hold of an exquisite coat made out of very expensive Koahl fur that exaggerated the parts of his body he liked to exagerate, his toned and powerful shoulders and firm upper arms especially, before slipping the shotgun over his shoulder and exiting his office to be met be two beefy looking Judoon.
Bob, the two Judoon and TBC took the 4815 steps to the ground floor.
"Loaded with charisma is my Jauntily sauntering, ambling shambler.... She walks into a room And you know you must Shuffle along, join the parade. She's the quintessence of making the grade. This is whatcha call Trav-ling. Oooooooooooh, strut your stuff! Can't get enough
Oooooooooooof her. Loooooooooove her. I'm a son of a gun, She is one of a Kiiiiiiiii..."
And there she was. Breathtaking. Extraordinary. And waiting for him with a smile.
"Having fun?" She asked. TBC was jelly.
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HN
crazy axe murderer
She-Doctor
Posts: 3,032
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Post by HN on Apr 24, 2008 18:36:18 GMT
The Doctor felt treacle engulf her unsteady hearts, her eyes grew heavy as the paralytic took hold. She had this overwhelming need to sleep, day turning to dusk as her lids fell closed. The eternal characteristic of fight and continuous struggle just seeped from each and every pore, leaving her feeble and vulnerable to her captures. The Doctor's body sagged, her head fell forwards, coming to a rest on the nearest creature's shoulder, her legs of jelly barely supporting her own dead weight.
"This is not..." She tried to protest into clammy flesh, but her voice lacked the demand for respect that each and every Time Lord deserved. Her tongue was swollen and her breath ragged. This was not good at all. She fell boneless to the floor.
She squirmed on the cold stone, goose flesh emerging on her exposed skin, as a shiver ran down her spine. Somewhere in the dense fog the trio cackled maniacally. They had her surrounded. They breathed on her, hot and disgusting. Yet to her, it all seemed utterly preposterous, images of broomsticks and black cats filled her mind and she herself began to laugh in chorus.
"Hubble bubble toil and trouble..." She slurred, fighting to life once again, raising one heavy eyelid to take in the spinning plain of her surroundings. Winifred, Sarah and Mary were crouched before her, talons reaching out to touch her, stroke her, examine her. She cared not if they turned her into a small squirmy squiggly thing.
"This is no way to treat a Time Lord." She fell asleep.
***
A flash of red sparked across his vision, anger churning from his stomach and surged straight to his brain. For a moment his breath halted in his lungs. The urge to kill the uncooperative little ape was overwhelming.
Coming back down to Earth from the heady highs of an Adrenaline dump, Frankie began to laugh.
"I am going to kill you slowly."
Impossibly fast, and impossibly strong, Frankie Grump broke both Sylar's arms, and hurled him 12 yards to the nearest wall. But Sylar received no respite. Oh no. Grump was on him in half an instant, arm protrusion pressed deeply into the humans throat. The skin split under the pressure, muscle and gristle alike gave way to the aliens force.
A gurgling sound rose from the humans lips as his lungs and stomach began to fill with blood and sputum. It made Frankie Grump happy.
"Give me the Doctor, and you shall live."
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Sylar
total nut!
Posts: 1,375
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Post by Sylar on Apr 25, 2008 9:37:59 GMT
Lori, Jani and Crassi suddenly stepped back from their now recumbent slave. It was a moment that hung with fear, trepidation and also triumph.
"I thought they were dead." Lori whispered, "Dead and gone." Jani added. "Can't be true." Crassi, ever the sensible, surmised.
They paused again, their breath held in awe and contemplation. And with it the strangest things happened as their will and confidence shuddered. Around the room a number of faces appeared, those they had not sent out working, who lay in the corners and in the darkness waiting to be put to work, their expressionless faces blinked and looked on in silent wonder, some tentatively pushed forward out of the shadows, so that their cheeks hit the light which eminated from a low hanging lantern in the middle of the room. It was uncommon for the Runcoon's flow to be broken. Their constant chatter, joking, planning and conversing was as much a suppressant to those in their thrall as the sweet breath which exuded from their lungs. But in the silence some soulds started fluttering again, only to be once again stunned into the darkness by the sudden turning of Socrassi. She hissed, her dark eyes flashing with menace meeting those of their harboured 'employees', as Lori and Jani stared at the Doctor.
"They all died. If this one is...?" Jani began, "One. It must be the only one." Lori's words were laced with excitement, she clapped her hands together and ginned wildly at her sisters. "We need to know for certain." Crassi concluded. She ordered her sisters to undress the 'Time Lord' as she went to get her tools and note book. "It will be worth a fortune if it is." She noted. she was drawing up the marketing campaign in her head. "The Last of the Time Lords, services for sale." She took a pencil and licked the nib with ther tip of her tongue. And oh they would teach it such services. With a Time Lord in tow they would usurp Her Ladyship quick enough, they would be out in the real world before next breakfast. They could be famous again.
Socrassi handed Lori a blade, "Crack open it's chest, I want to see those hearts." she requested. Jani was ordered to ascertain if the Doctor had been 'broken in' already, while Socrassi took a long string with knots at regular intervals in order to record the Doctor's vital statistics.
A wave of excitement eminated from the trio, and around the room their slaves shuddered.
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Sylar
total nut!
Posts: 1,375
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Post by Sylar on Apr 25, 2008 11:04:25 GMT
Sylar loved his body. As the troll slammed his body against the wall and became embroiled with cutting through his neck ( of course it hurt, and the pain and surpise on Sylar's face was as real as it could be) Sylar's muscles pulled his arms back into place, the splintered bone in grated amongst the muscle and fused, it had been a long time since he had needed to heal. He had forgotten how painful it could be. He pushed back on the troll telekenetically tossing the monster away, but not before he coughed up a lungfull of his precious blood on to the scowling face of the alien. He had severed Sylar's wind pipe otherwise he would have said something witty, or at least told him that there was no way he could give him the Doctor.
He was bleeding to heavily from his throat, his colour was draining and he wasn't healing quick enough. If he let himself die he would heal quicker, and probably give the monster a good surprise...but to do so he would be vulnerable for a moment. Perhaps longer than a moment. He wondered if he could risk it. Then again, as it turned out Sylar had little choice. He collapsed face forward into a sea of his own blood the sinew of his neck drawing slowly closed.
He was dead. Only for a moment, but long enough, when Sunshine made her move.
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HN
crazy axe murderer
She-Doctor
Posts: 3,032
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Post by HN on Apr 25, 2008 20:55:49 GMT
Horris Fran Grogen was the of the ripe old age of 15, but barely looked a day over 12. It was for this reason, and the smallness of his hands, why the clients liked him and paid him a fair amount. Money was useless in this place, but the goods he received kept him in the sisters favor, and for this reason alone, he worked for them without complaint. They protected him, being stamped as their property kept him reasonably safe from attack, which was important for a child so small. It meant life was good, or as good as it could be growing up on The Compound.
Horris was Humanish and had been born on this planet, in this very prison. His mother had been one of the few remaining Humans left populating Earth, when she had been abducted by aliens. Oh how his parents laughed about it. One kidnap and rectal probe later, and they had fallen hard for each other. His father was of mixed decent, and thus never fitted anywhere. It was because of this that the pair had always traveled, and never settled down. It was because of this they remained permanently in trouble with the authorities.
His Father had been a large man, standing at 6 feet 9 inches and strong like an ox. Unfortunately he had suffered severe injury in the events leading to his imprisonment, and for that he had not lasted long in this complex. With his disability, he had been killed within days of lock up. Horris was left to care for his mother, and did so in the only way he could think how. He made a deal with the sisters, and became a prostitute.
Today was a normal day. He had woken up at dawn, or what passed for dawn at this time of year. The sky was pink as the sun kissed the horizon, but plunged back into darkness before he could finish his morning jog. He liked to run, it kept his body lithe and limber. The punters liked it like that. 5 miles he ran, working up a sweat in the humidity. He dunked his head in the communal water trough, washing away the grease that caked his dirty blond locks as well as cooling his over heated head. As the daily rain began to poor, like clockwork, he knew it was time for work. Plastering on a great fake grin, he shone his pearly whites at all his customers. His smile never faded, his blue eyes always twinkled, he behaved as if he was having a good time. His clients loved it. Each day he died a little inside.
Today had been just another day. Just like any other. A day that would happen again tomorrow. And the next day. Groundhog Day (not that he knew of Groundhog Day). Nothing remarkable, nothing exciting. That is until he approached the entrance to his Masters abode. He heard them speaking. He heard their conversation. He heard words that he had never heard before, yet somehow knew they would bring salvation.
"Time Lord."
Today something changed. Today would not be like any other day. Today he had hope. He ran all the way home. Tonight things would change.
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HN
crazy axe murderer
She-Doctor
Posts: 3,032
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Post by HN on Apr 26, 2008 22:29:54 GMT
The Doctor was out for the count. That was the unfortunate thing about breathing in air born toxins, they entered the system far too quickly. The red gas had been a paralytic. The Doctor was fully conscious, but unable to move her body, including her eyelids. And so she lay there, on the floor, preying to any God that may hear her, that her body would not be used without her consent. It was brand new after all. It was unfair for anyone else to take it for a test drive first.
Unknown to her was the presence of a young boy. She did not know that he heard everything. He heard the sisters plans. He felt hope at the utterance of the term Time Lord. And most importantly of what she did not know, was that he was strong, and brave, and would come back for her.
Something else she did not know, maybe something that she need not know, was that Sylar, the man she had hoped would eventually test drive her new body, was in fact dead. But he was only a little dead. In fact, he would very soon be very undead. The latter of which things, was a thing that Frankie Glump did not know, and he probably ought to know. Unfortunately, he did not know this, and simply watched the body cooling as he reached out for his Sunshine. He wanted to play.
He was felt a mix of emotions, which was surprising, because things usually went his way, and so on the emotion front, he was usually pretty steady. He smirked because he had killed. He liked killing. It gave him a rush of adrenaline, which made him feel giddy inside. He was also angry. The Doctor had slipped through his fingers once again. He would find him eventually though, and when he did, he would make it worthwhile. A third emotion came into play. Anticipation.
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Sylar
total nut!
Posts: 1,375
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Post by Sylar on Apr 26, 2008 23:41:43 GMT
Sunshine pushed Frankie away, she loved him dearly, but she had only a short amount of time to work her particular flavor of voodoo. She had her multiple hands on Sylar's flesh immediately. Her tiny fingers on his head and his back, turning him over with a cold wet slap the coagulating blood from the puddle in which he lay splashed up onto her pale and tatooed cheaks. She wiped it away with one of her free hands and pawed at him. Words were uttered from her lips at such speed that no being could hear or comprehend them. Elbeth looked away, she didn't like the vision. It was such a waste of good meat. And all for Sunshine's benefit, all because Sunshine needed to call home. It was almost as it Sunshine's fingertips merged and melted into Sylar's skin as she delved through him into the void. Her emerald eyes lost their glimmer a while and seemed to swim with darkness. As Death drew him into the void so she would follow as long as they would let her. Time was a secondary construct to her, a playmate that she gave no heed to, because it smelled funny, she had no concept how long now she had been trapped and the attraction of an Ephemeral landing here was small and insignficant to her, nonetheless she could potentially help Frankie get his prize, she did like so to make him happy. But only if she got what she wanted first. They called her Sunshine here, and she liked it, though she had little concept of irony. The name had developed over...over...more of that time stuff. She had been just InSun for a while on some of the planets she had first wandered, and Innosen before that when she had been first trapped by the wordsmiths... but a long while before she had been Innocence. Pure and Simple, and not driven insane by the captivity and restriction of her nature. As an Eternal it was an maddening curse to be locked in this flesh of hers. Trapped inside it, forced by the ancient words etched on her skin to abide by its restictions and limitations, its mortality. She had long forgotten the reason for her imprisonment, and did not believe there was anything in the Universe still alive with the capacity to release her. When she had the opporunity to beg the Eternals that dwelled in the void for their mercy, she took it, though no one ever replied when she called into the darkness, she could not stop tryingt. If any Eternals hid in this Universe they would not listen to her pleas, she wondered if they had all left her behind, run away from the War and forgotten her. The fact that her 'calls' left the unfortunate dead things stuck somewhere between the expansive layers of reality was an accidental torture that was as petty and insignificant to her as the smallest of shudders upon to the atoms of the air her flesh was forced to inhale. Her actions generally ressurected their bodies, though they remained clinically dead, physically decomposing and metaphysically divided. It was of no concern to Sunshine, confused Frankie and caused irritation to Elbeth (the undead generally tasted stringy and got in the way of her business like unfettered cattle - they were also nearly impossible to terminate and had to be just left to rot away in the corners. Too many of them irritated Elbeth's senses). Sunshine had not the capacity for real anger over her captivity any more (the Compound was not captivity for her, it was a playground) it still made her sad, Frankie helped her with that, but there was now something akin to real anger on Sunshine's face. She didn't like it when the Eternals toyed with the little ones. "This one isn't going to die." She sulked. Drawing her suckered fingertips from Sylar's body and dropping him once more on the wet floor. "Life and Death are playing kiss chase with this one." She stared at Frankie. "You're going to have to try harder Daddy." The 'little bit dead' wore off and Sylar woke with a start, as Lori sewed the incisions she had made in the Doctor's chest to ensure the bi-ventricular system and wiped the blood from her fingers, as Jani wiped her tools clean and as Crassi finished noting the Doctor's vital statistics. She wrote the 'Menu' up on sheets of paper and distributed them to the cowering minions in the shadows. "On every wall, in every fist, on every bunk. I want to make your new friend famous." She gleamed. The flyers read the following: "Last of the Time Lords. Proven. Unbroken. Services for sale! Full Menu on request. All services to be rendered. Price witheld for negotiation.
First blood to be had.
Auction for first touch at the New Light. Closed bids to be delivered.
('Blonde', human female in appearance, 34 24 35 by retro-new-earth human measurements. Ripe by ours!)..
The Runcoon"
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HN
crazy axe murderer
She-Doctor
Posts: 3,032
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Post by HN on Apr 28, 2008 18:23:34 GMT
Gnarled fingers clutched at the arms of a cell chair as she waited patiently with bated breath. The Boy was late, and Mrs Grogen was beside herself with concern. Though they never discussed what it was he did in his days, she knew. She always knew. Of course she had noticed that very day he traded his innocence for for the food on their plates. Some part of his playful exuberant character had been lost forever, replaced by a dark shadow that only grew in intensity with each day. But she never said a word. Her husband was dead, and she badly crippled, so the Boy did what he had to. She would never reprimand him for that, and would be eternally grateful. But it worried her, and this anxiety only intensified with each passing second that he was gone from her side. Tonight it reached new levels of extremity. He had been away too long.
Just as she heaved her aching bones from her creaking seat, a voice that made her frail heart soar flooded her ears.
"Mother! What are you doing?"
Horris, her beautiful son, was by her side within seconds. Strong arms, for a boy so young, encircled her waist, and slid her back into the comfort of her chair.
"Don't move mother," He whispered into her ear, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple, "You know you aren't supposed to move."
Before she could reach out to him, to pull him to her chest and tell him just how relieved she was without uttering a word, he skipped away, and was all too soon busy preparing food for the two. He sung to himself in a joyful tenor that made a warm smile spread across her wrinkled features despite the severity of their situation. It never hurt to smile, and the song lifted her spirit.
No other words were spoken between the pair until he finished his hustle and bustling and sat crossed legged on the floor before her chair, a steaming bowl balanced on both mother and sons lap.
"What is a Time Lord?" He asked, a twinkle in her eyes that had been lost so many years before, and she feared would never witness again.
"Oh Boy." She sighed, her expression wistful, food instantly forgotten. With animation and passion the old woman recounted the stories she had heard as a young girl, care free and running across the baking planes outside of Old Cape Town, parched Earth sandy between her toes. How she missed those days. Her father had spoken them to her, huddled beside a crackling fire of a night time, safe in the camp as hyenas howled in the distance, scouring the decimated city for survivors. She did not fear them, they would not hurt her, and besides, she truly believed, with that child like naivety that the Time Lords would come for them, and save them all.
But now, as an old lady, locked in a prison without means of escape, hope was lost to her. She understood the truth, knew the stories for what they were. Myths. Created in the imagination of a kindly father, designed to help his troubled daughter find some rest.
"But Boy." She ended sadly, reaching out to ruffle the lads long blond locks, "They are but legends."
Tears filled Horris's watery blue eyes, as he shook his head emphatically, and slapped his mothers hand away.
"You're wrong." He all but shouted, standing abruptly, bowl and spoon crashing noisily to the ground. Neither flinched, or even noticed, too busy as they stared off against each other.
Mrs Grogen was the first to crack, dipping her eyes down and away, submitting to her son. She saw the fire in his eyes, and it pained her. He needed something to cling on to, like she once had.
"She's beautiful Ma." He whispered once he was sure he had the response he desired. "And the Runcoon have her. They are going to hurt her Ma. She could help us. We have to do something."
Mrs Grogen said nothing for a long while, her head bowed and eyes closed as if in sleep. For a moment Horris thought she was unaware of his words, asleep and dreaming of a happier time. But then her lids snapped open, and she looked him long and hard in the eyes.
"Then save her." She replied. Her boy was not here by his doing. The pair suffered for the deeds of her husband. If the Doctor was in fact here, her Boy would find the hope he needed to go on.
That night Horris dreamed. He dreamed of a star filled sky, and soft grass green grass, moist with the morning dew, under bare feet. He dreamed of air scented like fruit and spice. He dreamed of steps taken at a run, but with a sense of joy in his hearts instead of fear and ice. For the first time in his life, Horris dreamed of being free.
When he awoke, his mother was dead.
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HN
crazy axe murderer
She-Doctor
Posts: 3,032
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Post by HN on Apr 28, 2008 20:30:05 GMT
"What do you mean Sweetheart?" He soothed with tender tones, pulling the pouting Sunshine into his arms, and gently caressing her silken skin with a care he only ever showed her, and no one else. His heart was made of a sharpened piece of flint, and yet it crumbled just for her.
She didn't get a chance to respond however, as the human began to gasp and gurgle, sitting bolt upright as if from a tragic nightmare. That was odd. He thought dead things didn't tend to move. Other than to twitch.
"Impossible." Frankie hissed, tossing Sunshine aside like a rag doll, suddenly all business and rage, the two came hand in hand. He launched himself at the corpse and punched it hard in the face, pressing Sylar's chest roughly back to the ground.
"Humans can not cheat death. Humans are fragile. What are you?"
He was something new. Not the Doctor, or any Time Lord, for he had not changed his face, but yet, indestructible. That sounded like a challenge if ever he heard one.
He pressed a spine back into Sylars throat, piercing the cartridge of the humans vocal chords. He took great manic joy as Sylar's eyes bulged in their sockets, but the sudden spurt of blood from his nose did not wipe the smirk off this humans face.
This only served to enrage Frankie further. He twisted his arm, boring the protrusion deep into Sylars wind pipe. He would have to kille him again, and again and again. His very own human punch bag. All that rage and blood lust could be taken out on this sorry creature. He might even develop into a more well balanced individual, he thought ironically, capable of healthy relationships and jovial skips in the park.
His fantasies were however cut short. A Bottom Feeder arrived at a run, flustered and breathing hard.
"Master." He called, facial tentacles gesturing wildly, green saliva pooling in the corners of both his pursed mouths. "You should see." He stuffed a crumpled piece of paper into Frankie's hands and then scampered backwards. Frankie gave his minion a customary growl, dropping Sylar to the ground once more. The human crawled away, hands grasping at his bleeding throat.
Grump stared at the poster, frowning. He didn't even look up as he strode forwards, stamping hard on puny humans ankle as he tried to escape. It snapped like a dry twig, letting out a satisfactory crack that made Frankie Grump smile for a moment.
The smile turned into a grin as he read the poster aloud.
"Last of the Time Lords. Proven. Unbroken. Services for sale! Full Menu on request. All services to be rendered. Price withheld for negotiation.
First blood to be had.
Auction for first touch at the New Light. Closed bids to be delivered.
('Blonde', human female in appearance, 34 24 35 by retro-new-earth human measurements. Ripe by ours!)..
The Runcoon"
His eyes snapped up and searched along the shadows of the parameter, where had that Bottom Feeder got to?
"Oi!" He shouted, upon realizing that all his slaved looked the same, and he had no way of identifying the man who had brought him this poster. "Where did you get this?"
"They're stuck up all over the Compound." A voice stuttered from the gloom. No face became visible, but the words were clear enough. Grump began to laugh, turning his eyes back to the gasping human.
"It looks like your Doctor ran into some trouble."
Oh but not nearly as much trouble as she would be in, when he bought her from the Runcoon.
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Sylar
total nut!
Posts: 1,375
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Post by Sylar on Apr 29, 2008 12:51:11 GMT
Thought Frankie, though his words fell on an empty puddle. Where Sylar had been gushing there was now a still pool of crimson blood which betrayed not even a ripple of where the man had been. There was not a bloody footprint to show where he had gone. He had in fact, vanished.
Frankie looked around the large cell in wonder clutching at the flyer in his fist. Sunshine giggled. "He's still here." She said, "I can sense him."
Of course Sylar had taken the opportunity for the distraction, everyone had turned to face Frankie as his little grunt entered with news of the Doctor (she hadn't abandoned him) and had driven all his energy into healing the newly sliced wound in his windpipe. it wasn't easy, but all he needed to do was stem the blood. the internal injuries would take a little longer to heal. He just had to endure the mind twisting pain of it. He made himself invisible and then almost immediately flew. Or at least it would have classed as flying if he had space to travel and any control over his body. Had anyone been able to see him the sight would have been more akin to a ballon being released and hitting the ceiling with a thump. He clung to the roof as best he could, trying to concentrate, giving himself the space to see what was happening and heal as best he could. Of course he was still caked in his own blood, as healed as he was he didn't have the energy to stop the drops of blood from falling mid journey.
In hindsight had he not been working purely off adrenaline and instinct he would have stopped time and run far away, he was either very brave or very stupid for not doing either.
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