towerofanimus | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

Characters:

dualscars and whoever wants to pester him.
Setting: Floor 10.
Format: Starting off with brackets, but I'll match.
Summary: Dualscar copes with the Condesce's decision of equality. Poorly.
Warnings: R for Raging Douche.

Scenario A ⇨

["equality."

for anyone else, the situation that had arisen wouldn't cause as much distress as this. but this is dualscar: so naturally, it affected him ten times worse than was called for. even if many of his theatrics were intentional, a lot of them... were not.

it wasn't the fact that he was, the signless, but more the fact of how. what did the mutant -- no, monstrosity, the mutation was not favorble to his survival in the least -- think he doing in addressing the empress so forwardly?

but then she'd agreed. put him on the same level, thrown away the heirachy completely, and everything that made him better than the other with what he assumed to be a single syllable. he couldn't fathom that they were to be equals in that regard. he didn't want him to be even within the same room as her, building, land, let alone speaking freely to her, and her seemingly not minding it--

it made him sick. a feeling no amount of slaughter could alleviate, no matter the size of the enemy or the viciousness of it or just how slowly he dictated the creatures' demise, it wouldn't let up. the guns aches his shoulder now, the friction of the cutlass in hand rubbing his hand raw. the water feels heavy, not soothing as he'd hoped it would. he swims on, searching for a new target.

but red.

they all bleed fucking red.]

Scenario B ⇨

[ahab's crosshairs leans against the bench, the sword lies bloodied scarlet upon the floor. it spreads slowly across it, intermingling with the spilled salt water, and there is not only red, but drips of rich violet hues as well.

the orphaner sits at the same bench, hunched over with his elbows on his knees. presumably in rest, his bare chest heaving as he catches his breath, tiny rivulets of seawater running down his scarred face, neck, shoulders, swimshorts, legs-- finally to the floor as well.

but there are a few new gashes that momentarily halt him in his brutal excursions. scratches here and there that look to be more of an irritation than anything, but then the most noticable one along the side of his torso. from below his shoulder blade to just barely missing where his gills begin it runs; the wound itself ideep and jagged, swelling with a little more blood everytime he inhales.

not that it's of any more concern to him than any of his other wounds are; this one just bleeding heavily enough so as to need it to stop before he immersed himself in the water again. no need to attract hoards of the unwelcome, after all.]

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[She's seen them in the tower, rooms with one whose voice grates her ears whenever she talks- Chidori's not a fan of loud people, much less loud aliens. Still, she's never seen one quite like this one- neither this old or in such a state- the way she notes they're built makes that a bit of a surprise. After all, they've claws, sharp teeth- meant to prey, not be preyed upon, so all that she assumes is blood takes her by surprise. She pauses, considering if the course of action she wishes to take is the wisest- but if Minato were with her, he would do it, so she turns, boots scuffing the floor beneath them as she does. She stops just short of him, expression ever-impassive but only the slightest bit curious.]

You're injured.

[She's not the most verbose, and while eloquent, doesn't much see the point in wasting too many words.]

I can fix it.

[he starts slightly, being so absorbed in his ever incessant brooding he hadn't been aware of his immediate surroundings. it's a woman's voice that greets him, and for a moment there'd been a glimmer of hope (yet still dread) that it'd be someone he'd have liked to see, but that's quickly extinguished as he looks round.

another human. what's worse, even her hair echoes that vile color. they probably bleed the same as these useless beasts of this aquarium do, he thinks. why had he even bothered asking before, when the answer had been so obvious?

his hand had instinctively gone to grasp the barrel of his gun. he pulls away from her slightly, baring pointed teeth, his fins flattening and flaring out against the sides of his face. if he'd been in his home world, surely he would've been culled already for his mistake.]

You are?

Not an enemy.

[For the moment at least, though she eyes the rifle with a certain degree of pointedness. His teeth are quite sharp, she notes- though she's not sure if she realizes the fins make his seeming irritation more amusing than threatening to her. Then again, she doesn't have much in the way of things she fears, for a vast number of reasons- and she doesn't think this man will be any different. Still, she makes it a point to keep her stance neutral, the barest of movements keeping the chains of her axes from making their presence known.]

Chidori, otherwise.

[She's not as formal as Minato, or anyone else from their country, so she doesn't bother with her surname or honorifics, and merely inclines her head toward his injuries again.]

Shall I?

[take it as a wounded animal would do; nothing but a primitive, puffer-fish like reaction to feeling suddenly threatened. his gaze flicks downward to her hands (weaponless) and back to her visage again. the eyes didn't tell him much, either.

but like her, he's curious. ever so slightly, and more than hesitently, he lifts his arm so that she may have better access to the wound. still he can't shake the feeling shebleedsred shebleedsredshebleedsred, the same as him-- if he knew at this very moment that she did, he wonders if he would refuse her offering.

of course he would. that shouldn't even be a valid question.

and despite his previous misgivings, he has to be sure.]

What color is your blood?

[Her hands rise as his arm does a step taken closer as she pauses to examine the wound.

The blood in it isn't red, so when his question comes, she immediately knows why he asks. Still, she raises her gaze- golden-eyed and only slightly bemused- and stares him down levelly as she settles beside him. Her eyes slide to the sword then, bloodied with a color that isn't his, and she turns her gaze back to the wound, eyes beginning to slide shut as she concentrates on drawing Medea forth.]

Red. The same as all humans.

[For once, there is compliance, and if Dualscar pays attention, there is the faintest flicker of a figure- gangly and imposing- that appears behind her as her hands glow. She holds them above the wound, mindful not to actually touch- she's made that mistake with her teammates before and the result is sometimes enough to break her concentration enough that she can't regain it.]

I see you do not. Is this significant?

[he's too distracted by her actions, later her words, to take notice of the flicker of a figure; and good thing for him too, for he would've reacted quite unfavorably for both. the glowing is more than a little curious; he eyes it for sudden change, ready to jump back if she did anything just a little too suddenly.

and then there's her words. she may notice him tense considerably, hear the grind of his teeth. it takes all his remaining effort not to pull back then and there.

but at least all humans bled that hue, and she wasn't another monstrosity.]

Mine denotes royalty. Yours, absolute filth.

Does my blood bother you?

[The question is offhand- almost as if she's making conversation as the glow from her hands begins to seep into his skin, likely feeling like warmth and comfort even as the inside of the wound begins to close. One would almost think she didn't care what she was called- which she didn't, but she was mulling over his reactions, both physical and verbal, before delivering her retort.

Chidori is relatively fearless, yes, but not stupid, and she phrases her question with an honest sort of indifference. The kind that states that no matter what he thinks, she will not care enough to dwell on the answer.]

Or is it the lack of the inherent social order for us based on it that bothers you more?

It does.

[the answer comes quick, in a hiss. though not from feeling uncomfortable, as the wound has come to feel significantly better-- nonexistent, even. his breaths become deeper as it's no longer bothersome for his rib-cage to expand past a certain point.

and her indifference is for the better, really. no matter how gravely important he believes it to be, he couldn't do much if an entirely different race couldn't give less of a fuck, nor could he hold them to it. not that that's going to stop him from thinking he could, however, but the case still rests. last time he'd asked someone that question, it'd returned a remarkably strong reaction.]

If not through blood, then what is social order based upon?

It varies.

[This is going to take some explaining, since she doesn't know how his world works, so she pauses thoughtfully, concentrating on his would for a moment.]

Earth has many cultures, and they are all quite different.

[She blinks slowly and then looks up at him again, raising her eyebrows the barest bit.]

There are places that still value royalty- though that is more based on parental bloodlines than blood color. [A pause, considering.] It is often based on success- monetary, usually.

[it takes a moment for the orphaner to absorb this, considering how thoroughly different it all was from his own race. well, in theory: generally, the higher up did have much more monetary success (that was a given) and were more successful overall in whatever endeavors they chose to undertake. at least, that was his skewed opinion on it.

and "parental lines" he supposes could be parallel to genetic donors: with, indeed, their lineage determining their value in life. he makes eye contact with her, and holds it.]

I see. And your own status-- are all humans gifted with healing capabilities?

[Were she any of her other companions, Chidori would have snorted at his used of the word 'gifted'. Certainly the S.E.E.S. children, whose Personae were all naturally-occurring, could call it such- but she and the rest of Strega? A curse they would all eventually pay for with their lives. She doesn't let on as much, however, and instead shakes her head slightly- a minute, practiced gesture.]

Hardly. This power is not even truly mine.

[Again the figure flickers on the edges of vision, and she sighs.]

In a manner of speaking, at least.

[this time he's able to take more note of the flickering, considering the lack of wound to distract him. the immediate response is a shifting back from her, then snatching ahab's crosshairs from its resting spot to hold it better aloft. not quite aiming, but not quite unprepared to do so either.]

Explain yourself.

[despite all he'd learned thus far, humans were still largely a mystery. perhaps like the occasional lowblood they too were given... unnatural abilities. the possibility that she'd have his life in her hands, with physical contact unnecessary in doing so, hadn't occurred to him until this very moment.]

[She blinks slowly, gaze going from him to the rifle and then back, and breathes out another sigh, hands shifting slightly to reposition themselves, intending to continue healing. She closes her eyes and concentrates again, a slightly pained grimace appearing as the sight of the rifle makes Medea significantly less agreeable than she had been before. Her will wins out in the end again though, and her hands take up their glow again.]

Medea is my power.

[She doesn't go into more detail than that- and won't unless very well pressed. She doesn't like discussing the hows or whys of her Persona- others need only know it exists, and that so long as Chidori stays in control, there will be no harm done to anyone... except perhaps herself.]

Lower that please. I have not finished.

[his lip curls: both in befuddlement and irritation at being so easily waved aside; dismissed as not being a threat. but the gun is lowered perhaps a fraction of an inch (more than that) as she answers yet does not elaborate.

but he's going to press her, oh yes. for as far as he could understand the situation, it was definitely unnatural: her abilities were clearly harming her, even as she tried to heal another. perhaps they weren't hers to begin with? or was it the other way around, as far as means of possession went?]

Why are you doin' this?

Because you are hurt.

[Human compassion was an astounding thing- and while Chidori's wasn't exactly the highest out there, she knew when it was right to do something and when it wasn't. And if she wasn't sure, she usually just wondered what Minato would do in her stead. Healing Dualscar was one of the latter instances, and she was sure that Minato, despite this man's appearance, would have at least tried to help. So help she did.]

And because I am able to.

[Because really- if her power was going to be the death of her, why should she care how much of a struggle it was to use it sometimes? Better to do something with it while she had the opportunity, in her opinion.]

I will be done soon.

[being a part of a society such as his would be enough of a reason to think her words ridiculous, let alone having a moral compass as skewed as his own. and it causes more befuddlement, as to just how utterly strange humans are, and yet more annoyance at himself and how little he still knows.

he remains stiller as she finishes her work, arm of the injured side still cocked at an angle for her convenience, and the crosshair's perhaps drooping a bit more in the crook of the other. he looks away from her, forward and towards the aquatic life inhabiting the aquarium.]

"Because I am hurt," isn't a good reason.

Perhaps not to you.

[The glow flares for a moment, and then she presses her hand against his side lightly, testing. He might think her actions foolish, just as he thinks his issue with the color of blood a bit absurd, but it is the way she was taught to behave. Simply because he isn't human doesn't make him any less deserving of some compassion... even if he's not all that grateful.]

But I could not in good conscience have left you. Is that better?

[the muscles under the area of skin she touches tense in response, and he dares to inch away from her once more. she is the first human that has dared to touch him, and he's still surprised that it's been a nonviolent correspondence. quite the contrary, actually.]

So it seems.

[not said without suspicion, and if she somehow expected to get a "thank you" in return? then she was sorely mistaken.]

Good.

[She's not expecting gratitude, and to be honest, considering some of what he's said, she's sure she'd have to be pretty stupid to expect any sort of acknowledgement for the help at all. Still, she gives him a glance over, looking at the smaller cuts idly. ]

Shall I fix the rest as well?

[After all, why leave a job half-done?]

[he bristles. visibly, even. the fins that had settled down? flaring again. those teeth that had hidden themselves? visible again, though only through the weakest of sneers.

he stands suddenly, tossing ahab's crosshairs over his shoulder once more to its resting spot.]

You've done enough, don't you think?

As you wish.

[She stands as well, taking the dismissal for what it is, and smooths out her skirts carefully, mindful to keep away from anything else that might get blood on her pristine dress. She doesn't leave right away though, instead siding her eyes back to him and quirking one eyebrow the slightest bit.]

...I did not get your name.

Orphaner Dualscar.

[the firing back is immediate, although it is not often that someone asks his name of him: usually, he would be instantaneously recognized. and, usually, would not bother asking anyone of their own-- not in the sense that he already knew it, but that it wasn't worth knowing. his fingers curl into fists with a popping of the knuckles.

but so much was different here.]

And nor did I, yours.

You did.

[But she sweeps into a slight curtsy that would have been mocking from someone other than her, eyes never leaving his face.]

Chidori Yoshino. Quite the name you have there, Orphaner.

[he eyes her with distaste, though inwardly pleased with her apparent show of respect. the notion of it being mockery wouldn't even dare to cross his mind.

which is really for the best, all things considered.]

And a well-earned one, at that.

[She gives the barest tilt of her head to show her curiosity, brows giving that slight twinge upward again. She does not know much in the way of troll titles- nothing at all, really- but she suspects it may be in direct correlation to how he earned it. If so, she'll be a bit more wary.]

How so?

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i can remember what's happened in a thread oh yes i can

I have no clue what you're talking about, >.>