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taxonomites2011-11-17 05:14 pm
the-bluethunder.livejournal.com) wrote in taxonomites2011-11-17 05:14 pm
01 | Holo/Location: The Sanctuary | Shaper of Things
"I wish to do more violence."
Blood. She would drench herself in it. Bathe in it. Wear it like a suit of armor. It would fall from the skies as the rain fell--in torrents.
Wesley was dead. He was just a human, nothing, and yet . . .She felt anger for his death, and his loss was an unfamiliar weight she had no will to bear. Blood was all she thirsted for, and if it would not ease this accursed mortal feeling of despair, then she would pile heads upon heads of these creatures until she could sit upon their mutilated corpses like a king, once again. King.
The half-breeds and the human would die. Only she would live on.
She.
But then the world blinked, and suddenly the air reeked of cold metal and silence. Water dripped from the ends of her hair to the floor, but elsewhere the room was dry. Space was no longer wide but insufferably small, no longer loud with the songs of battle, but utterly without sound. The half-breeds and their human warrior were gone. Illyria was alone.
"What is this magic?"
Her frozen, blue eyes roamed the empty room, taking in its strange accoutrements. Her body remained as it was before the blink--a statue, still and deaf to all who looked upon her. The wolf, The Ram, The Hart. Only they possessed the power to pluck her from time and space. They were fools.
"Treacherous. To think this sorcery will prevent your undoing." Nothing, but silence. Baring her teeth and clenching her jaw, she spoke calmly, lowly, and dangerously. "Speak," she commanded. "And your deaths will be bearable."
Blood. She would drench herself in it. Bathe in it. Wear it like a suit of armor. It would fall from the skies as the rain fell--in torrents.
Wesley was dead. He was just a human, nothing, and yet . . .She felt anger for his death, and his loss was an unfamiliar weight she had no will to bear. Blood was all she thirsted for, and if it would not ease this accursed mortal feeling of despair, then she would pile heads upon heads of these creatures until she could sit upon their mutilated corpses like a king, once again. King.
The half-breeds and the human would die. Only she would live on.
She.
But then the world blinked, and suddenly the air reeked of cold metal and silence. Water dripped from the ends of her hair to the floor, but elsewhere the room was dry. Space was no longer wide but insufferably small, no longer loud with the songs of battle, but utterly without sound. The half-breeds and their human warrior were gone. Illyria was alone.
"What is this magic?"
Her frozen, blue eyes roamed the empty room, taking in its strange accoutrements. Her body remained as it was before the blink--a statue, still and deaf to all who looked upon her. The wolf, The Ram, The Hart. Only they possessed the power to pluck her from time and space. They were fools.
"Treacherous. To think this sorcery will prevent your undoing." Nothing, but silence. Baring her teeth and clenching her jaw, she spoke calmly, lowly, and dangerously. "Speak," she commanded. "And your deaths will be bearable."
[Voice]
But no. The voice that carries on from the tablet is stiffer, colder, emptier than Winifred's.
Long slowly moves over, examines the holo that is being broadcast, a frown appearing between his brows and then over the rest of his face.
After long seconds he taps the buttons to answer, leaving himself sending only his voice to her.
"She... spoke of a fate she did not wish. I hadn't realized how complete it would be. Most... unfortunate."
[holo]
But there is no face. Just words--emitting from the device in her hand. This device that Illyria grows increasingly bothered by...it is useless. Too solid. She has no want or need of it.
"I know not of what you speak. I tire of this bombardment of communications."
[voice] this is the shortest tag he has ever given anyone
[holo]
She cannot see the speaker, cannot search the memories of the shell to confirm familiarity. "Ours are muddled together, memories as fragments to be pieced together, at my command. Broken divisions. There is no memory of this place. Or of you."
A pause. "You hide your face where others do not. Who speaks?"
[holo]
There is a pause on his part as well, then he says distantly, "Someone who was a friend of your shell. And who 'tires' of this communication in turn. Good day, madam."
And he turns off his tablet.