What to do when you lost your purpose

[culbutiri]

Characters: Nesir, Eva Beatrice, Ivan, Jade and everyone else who wants to meet a sightly crazy angry Nesir
Setting: Starts in the mailroom, floor five, floor fifty nine
Format: Either
Summary: Nesir recieves a gift and then fails at anger management, big time. 13th, 14th and 15th August
Warnings: *deep breath* Blood, gore, murder, torture, death, body parts in jars, shadows, madness, risk of injury, lots of words

[13th: Mailroom: Open] She almost didn't go to her mailbox, she could see others, in various stages of grief and anger and didn't want to know if whoever had decided to torture them had included her in their game.

Curious cats might get made into soup but it does not stop the curious nature of cats. She opened her mailbox and took out the jar.

She would not break down, not here and so she found some dark disused corner and stared at the hearts, she didn't know why or how she knew they were Ral's and Lotte's. All hearts looked the same, and it wasn't like she hadn't seen a human heart before.

But these were Ral, the awkward, infuriatingly kind boy who had befriended her when no one else would, who had taken on bullies for her. Who had gotten through all her defenses she had put up around her and proven that even if she hated the whole world she couldn't make the whole world hate her back.

And Lotte. Lotte who Nesir was sworn to. Her priestess even if they were both still training. Who Nesir would die for, a thousand times instead of letting anything happen to her.

Warriors aren't supposed to outlive their priestess Nesir jumped, she hadn't even noticed the shadow following her. And she hadn't expected it to speak with the old master of the training yards voice.

Warrior acolytes are definitely not supposed to outlive every priest and priestess in existence. His voice was cutting.

[13th: Floor five: Eva Beatrice] It had taken some searching, especially since Nesir didn't know what she was searching for. She was angry though, and wanted to fight. Not monsters, monsters didn't feel. Monsters didn't get angry, or sad. She didn't just want to fight she needed to hurt something.

Emotions were useless, emotions dragged you down but the emptiness held no comfort. Did she deserve comfort?

She spotted the woman at the viewfinder, she knew her, even if she had spoken to her only once she knew her kind. Nesir grinned, "Oh cake witch?" Her voice was mocking, "Do you be wanting a challenge, you do be looking bored."

[14th: Floor fifty nine: Ivan] Dying had not made her any calmer. Her eyes glinted as she lay in wait near the staircase of the torture chamber. She still held to her decision of a month or so ago, she had no body, no name, her friends and world were dead. All she had was her soul and that was not truly hers, it belonged to the god of darkness.

And so it was chaos she served, she watched as people moved up and down the staircase, until she spotted one who she figured she could take. She just had to hope they had no powers.

Maybe she should have chosen a powerless floor. But regardless she jumped up and attempted to grab the man and pull him into the room. Shadows swarmed around her.

[14th: Floor six: Open] A knife flew through the trees, aimed at a dear. Nesir let out a hollow laugh as the monster creature began to charge towards her. Killing had put her in a better mood, though not enough to be able to ignore the shadows that sat up the trees with her.

What kind of protector are you? It's your fault I'm dead, is killing creatures all you're good for? Why did you get to live, you don't deserve to live.

She threw another knife.

What is the use of saving a weapon, whilst letting those that can wield it die

To add insult to injury the glamour glitched showing her for what she was, wire and yellow liquid, she chuckled darkly.

[14th: Room 2-01: Jade] Nesir was covered in blood by the time she returned to her room, most of it was Ivan's. Her side of the room was still a mess from when she had left after the sleep paralysis had worn off that morning. She picked up the jar of hearts from among the covers and put it on the nightstand. Pride of place.

They probably expected her to get rid of it, expected her to hide from the pain. But no, let chaos rule, do what they don't expect. She flopped on her bed, not caring about the blood.

[15th: Beach level: Open] She had managed to sleep, which she was surprised about. But she had woken early, and made her way out, wandering the tower before anyone else woke up.

She ended up on the beach floor, she liked it here. Even if it was fake, but for a fake place for fake people it was a lot nicer than a lot of the floors.

The shadows had followed her of course, still taunting her, Lotte's voice, Kant's voice, Ral's voice. She sat by the water line, kicking off her shoes and letting the water splash over her feet. She hugged her knees, and tried to pretend she was alone.

Comments

[thinkwisely]

A knot forms in his throat as the knife trails dangerously close to his eye--he doesn't want to look at it, but he can see it in his peripheral vision regardless. He doesn't want to believe what she says. Nobody would hurt someone for fun. Ivan knows that people hurt others--out of greed, out of desperation, out of fear, or out of hate. But...but for the fun of it?

"N-No, I--" His meek reply cuts off as his skin is pierced through and he bites off a cry, his eyes closing shut and his hand tensing in the pain that it's being inflicted with.

[culbutiri]

"Baby." She mocked, taking a good look at the boy she had grabbed. He was about her age she would think, but she couldn't help rolling her eyes when he cried out.

And you would chose these people over us, little one?

"I did no be choosing anything." She snapped at the shadow. She looked at the knife again, and picked up a larger one, more like a cleaver than anything. She positioned it where the boys littlest finger met his hand.

"I never did be." She cut down.

[thinkwisely]

She's right, you know? It was Garet this time--Ivan hadn't heard his voice yet. You were always the first to fall in battle. Isaac had to waste so much psynergy healing you. I guess in the end...it was bad idea to let you come with us.

And then--so suddenly--his finger was gone. Pain shoots up through his arm and it's all he can do not to scream. Ivan looks away, tucks his head into his shoulder so she can't see the tears. No, he wasn't a baby. He wasn't. Ivan might not have been a warrior but that didn't make him something less than a capable fighter.

He had his uses, regardless of his lack of physical strength or his endurance. The girl is talking about choices--and he doesn't understand what she's saying--but he knows now that asking would get him nowhere. So he's going to use his talents.

Because he knows she had a choice in hurting him. And even if she claims it's fun, he won't accept that answer. Breathing through the pain, Ivan squeezes his eyes shut tighter and gathers his focus. Even if he can't manage to summon a whirlwind, he can still do this, he has to.

His mind stretches out while it still can, seeking her own, to hear what she's thinking--to see why.

[culbutiri]

That's because tools don't make the decisions. So why are you alive?

Luckily, or perhaps unluckily for Ivan mind reading, much like mind control was a power reserved for the powers of darkness in Nesir's world, and as such Nesir had never been schooled in how to fight it, indeed she had instead been made susceptible to it, for it could only be used against her by those she served.

It was probably one of the easiest minds Ivan had ever read. Hearts in jars, that was the first image, and memories to go with them. A hand reaching down, a boy in a brown uniform with a kind smile. A woman with eyes so blue they were almost purple pulling Nesir into a dance. Hearts in jars.

Nesir concentrated on the finger, she didn't want the boy to blead to death, that would be no fun at all, this place was well stocked and she had even braved a fire so that she could cauterise such wounds.

He had asked why and so if he pushed, memories and thoughts would come, an attempt to answer. A knife, stained with blood, crouching next to a girl, who looks like his torturer, except younger, on a rooftop. A body, female, strapped to a table much like Ivan was now, small hands pointing, that same other girl stood opposite on a stool, like the one she was stood on, so they could see properly.

"Do you know." She was cutting again, she didn't seem aware of his assault on her mind and was concentrating on cutting around the top of his arm. "That the cruelest of chaos monsters collect the tears of scared children, it gives them power. Power to come in the night and eat you, beginning with your toes." She picked up another dagger and drove it into one of his feet, pinning it to the table, and leaving it there. "They would have a feast here."

She was even smaller in this memory, barely out of babyhood. Sat crossed legged on a table, just her this time, a stern faced woman held her hand and a knife. Cutting the same spiral pattern Nesir had began with, the girl's face screwed up in pain, the woman tutted and touched her hand, healing it completely, before beginning again.

She had gone back to cutting, downwards now, preparing to remove strips of skin. Carefully, it might have been a while since Nesir had done this, but she had not lost her skills. Ivan would not get the luxury of dying accidentally before she was finished.

Hearts in jars, Beatrice's laughing face, a staff, flash of daggers. Angry blue purple eyes, shadows and blood

[thinkwisely]

He could see it. Strings of memories that grew further apart and more scattered, flashes of emotion and glimpses of expression that tore into his own heart and did little to distract or improve the pain she was causing. Ivan couldn't hear himself screaming as she cut him apart. He couldn't see beyond his tears, and her words, though he heard them and though they hurt, didn't stick. They got lost in the tangle of his sweat and blood and rolled off his skin.

Vaguely, Ivan is aware of himself managing a small "please" though it's sure to have been lost among the rest of the noises he's making.

But he saw it. He saw the hurt and the pain and he felt the sorrow. It wasn't something Ivan was personally familiar with: expressing pain through causing pain. But in some dark corner of his mind he could understand it. Not that it made him want this to stop any less. Not that it made him hurt any less. And before long his mind is lost from hers completely. He can't focus even if he wants to because everything feels like it's on fire. Every nerve sparks behind his eyes.

And then Ivan can't sob anymore, though the tears fall down his cheeks of their own accord. The boy becomes a quivering, bloody-wet mess on Nesir's table. Unable to die, but unable to feel alive.

[culbutiri]

Nesir worked almost methodically, letting the screams wash over her as she removed the skin. There was a lot of blood now, soaking the white suit, the one they arrived in. His pain didn't seem to give her any joy, only focus and she felt like the world was slowly righting itself from how it had been, for months now.

And the shadows had fallen silent, as if they were satisfied for the moment in watching this. She forced herself to see the boy on the table, not so much older than her, covered in blood. His tears both fascinated and disgusted her.

Soon the arm was devoid of skin, she ran the flat of her knife over the flesh, watching the nerves dance. After a moment she began on the other arm, but as she cut with her left hand she held up a red petal in the remaining fingers of her right hand. "Do you know what this is?"

It was a poppy leaf, from the poppy field of the tower. She knew he was far past speech, so she just watched for any recognition in his eyes.

[thinkwisely]

Ivan looks at her through the haze, his eyes practically unseeing. But there's effort there, as he struggles to hear her words and look at her through the unrelenting pain. He tries to shake his head in response to whatever it is that she's presenting him with, but only manages a sort of half-roll of his head.

Still, Nesir can probably see the lack of recognition as his eyes manage to focus on the red shape in her hand. The poppy floor wasn't one he was familiar with quite yet.

[culbutiri]

She is silent as she continues removing skin carefully, knowing him incapable of an answer for a moment. She smiled at him as her knife moved away from his arm and onto the soul of the foot that didn't have a dagger through it. She didn't cut as deeply this time, just enough to draw blood, to remind him she was there.

"They are a poison of this tower, one petal kills you. Painlessly, just like falling asleep." She stopped cutting and moved up so she was next to his face, the knife was still there but she didn't cut, just moved it across his cheek, not hurting yet.

"So you get a choice, take it and you owe me a favour. One favour of my choice given when I chose. Or don't. She moved the knife into his vision and grinned.

"If you want it just open your mouth, and it will all be over."

[thinkwisely]

Maybe if Ivan had been in the Tower longer, he could have endured this. Maybe he would have been able to put on a brave face and tell his tormentor that there was nothing she could do to him that would persuade him to put himself in her debt.

But as it was, Ivan wasn't a hardened resident of the Tower. He wasn't a hardened anything, really. His journey with Isaac and the others had hardly begun, back on Weyard. He was still just a boy. Still just a weakling. Still just someone being tormented by shadows.

And as such, he opened his mouth as soon as the words fully processed in his ears. He didn't want to die, but he couldn't take this. He couldn't stand it. Every muscle ached. Please, he thought, unable to speak the word. Please...

[culbutiri]

Nesir's grin was triumphant, but with a hint of disappointment. Still he was a light addled fool and so she couldn't expect much. Couldn't expect strength, and couldn't be surprised he chose to take mercy from his tormenter.

"Remember, you owe me." Her eyes glinted but she kept her part, placing the poppy leaf on his tongue.

"May your gods watch over you." Her voice was almost soft as she stepped back, putting her knife down.