L???? ?o R??
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Post by L???? ?o R?? on Apr 30, 2014 13:30:02 GMT -8
Contrary to expectation, I kept the mask on. Perhaps a glutton for punishment, perhaps eager for a reward that outweighs the suffering, perhaps a little of both. Our DP20 has a class 2.0 hyperdrive, which means that we aren't in hyperspace for very long on our trip from the outer to inner rims. What little time I have is spent enhancing the newest addition to my arsenal.
My plan is to make Crux the younger twin to Crisis, which seems like a pretty good idea considering how Devient made it appear to me. So the first step is to re-form the chassis to appear identical to the LL-30 model. And, as I sit there with it in front of me, unsure of how to proceed, for once I am glad that Devient hasn't left my face yet.
"Dummy! It's not as hard as you think! Transmute!"
Insults aside, she has a point. I used to spend quite a bit of time working around metals, dealing with them as-is. But it is not a demanding task to suggest that I simply transmute them into another, softer metal in order to mold them properly. My alchemy is good enough to do that much, and my craftsmanship isn't bad, either. Armed with fusioncutters and the usual set of tools (pliers, hammer, et cetera), I dismiss myself from the bridge and find a workspace which may have once been used for powerful cleansing chemicals, because there is a heavy odor that lingers in the air here.
And it begins with silencing my mind-- and Devient-- and permitting myself to focus on the Dark Side. Alchemy always requires significant concentration. Bending the Force to my command, I start the arduous process of twisting the very nature of reality itself. The gun metal, cold, firm and unforgiving, will transform atom by atom to a soft, warm, pliable metal alloy that I will be able to mold by hand. Crux sits on the table, Crisis beside. Ripples of energy spill across the tabletop, and surround the target of my efforts with a hazy cloud of vibrant shifting colors which obscure the fact that, within several moments, the color of the gun has begun to change.
I was unprepared for the shrieks.
The white bat-like thing that is the proxy of Crux began to protest violently at my operation. And this would continue until it was over, because how do you sedate a gun? But I fed upon my irritation at the distraction. And loud though they were, its screeches of pain and injury were nothing compared to what it would become. Crisis began to join in the chorus, too; either to soothe his younger brother or to stop me, there I sat with my hands reaching out over the table, a white bat-thing hanging upside down from the ceiling above my left shoulder and a black bat-thing hanging upside down from the ceiling above my right shoulder, both of them harmonizing and de-tuning in a cacophonous symphony of what could be the worst sounds I have ever heard.
Undeterred, I continue the process. The gun's material transforms slowly, all the while with the screaming going on in my mind, but eventually it completes, and I let my hands fall. The ripples fade, and I pick up the warm frame by the hilt with a half smile beneath the mask.
"Devient, do you think you can make them shut up for a bit?"
But she did not answer me, and I think I already knew the answer anyways. As I began to mold the chassis in my hands like putty, the efforts of the two brothers redoubled in intensity, as if I were snapping bones and tearing flesh with every stroke of detail. Blast! It's going to be downright awful when I pull out the fusioncutter to get down to detail work!
With effort, the gun gradually begins to resemble its finished shape. At one instance, it had begun to cool and lost pliability, and I had needed to heat it up again. And there were screams of protest then, too. Soldering one of the spare heatbeams we had obtained to the scope position. Cries of agony. Drilling out the barrel, which had gotten saggy. Howls of suffering. Transmuting the butt and barrel-groove to cortosis to match Crisis. Bawls of horror.
I grew so angry at the two of them that, in order to spite them, I transmuted Crisis once and back again.
At last I finished. As the last waves of Alchemical power finished washing over the table, and the final nanoclusters transformed back to the original material, I stood up from the chair and stepped back in order to observe my handiwork.
And we see that the process of transmutation with Sith Alchemy is not a benign one. I did not make mistakes, but the use of the power itself had indelibly manifested upon the weapons in a lightning-patterned alternation of shading playing across and just beneath the surface of the metals.
Removing Devient, I inspect the metal structure closely.
"...Well...the structure's not compromised, so..."
Closing one eye, I halfheartedly consider doing a weapon test on some of the crew.
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L???? ?o R??
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Post by L???? ?o R?? on May 5, 2014 13:44:37 GMT -8
If we would but grow in such obvious fashion every time we set ourselves onto the road, voyages would be in my estimation far more tolerable. And valuable. Suddenly: hypermatter prices drop to unthinkable lows as hyperspace becomes "too fast", with people opting for sublight transit for almost every application imaginable. Devoting so much more time to self-improvement, interpersonal communication diminishes rapidly and the vast majority of beings becoming isolationist elites.
Perhaps it's better that breakthroughs are as limited as they seem to be.
Aire sits in a deck chair near the bridge, but her attention is not on the blacked-out transparisteel viewport, but on the Clone wars-era helmet that she has been holding onto since Kamino, and the laboratory datapad that had been kept by the creators. She was currently reading the pages that summarized the early findings of the research. It was demonstrated as early as the second month of experiments that an object's momentum and position were variables that could be altered with Dimension Shift, which is less exciting when you realize that all that amounts to is giving an object a solid push in a given direction. What was far more exciting was when their follow-up experiments demonstrated the disentanglement of the two coordinates.
She wants very much to accelerate their progress. But Ryu is busy with Sith Alchemy right now, and Tal isn't qualified to monitor the test (what if they lose the helmet when they try to make it Dimension Shift, for instance?), and she certainly isn't so eager as to foolishly undergo the experiment alone (what if she is lost when she tries to make the helmet Dimension Shift, for instance?).
So it is left up to her to keep reading the datapad, because Ryu doesn't seem like he's very interested in moving forward with it right now, and Tal hasn't shown any interest in Dimension Shift at all. ...Honestly! It's to her chagrin that she seems to be the only one rooted in a pragmatic sense of what ought to be done next. Why's Corulag on the agenda, exactly? The very fact that they are traveling through hyperspace right now is an annoyance. But rather than dwell on it, she can at least do something productive with her time until events progress to where she feels that she must say something to get everyone back on track. And that something is apparently curl up in this cushy deck chair and read about the first unreal dimension that was stumbled upon by the researchers.
Captain Maddox is feeling a little superfluous. To boost his perceived importance, he looks around and fixates his eyes on Aire. Striding over, he bends down and addresses her directly:
"The estimated time of arrival at Nothar is fifteen minutes." Aire had not noticed his approach, or perhaps she had ignored it; but now, forced to acknowledge him, she does so by prying her eyes from the screen with a furrowing of the brow and skewing of her lips. Wordlessly, staring at him. Intensely cold fire brimming in her eyes. He met her gaze with a weak expression, and then, falteringly, spoke as he backpedaled his way to whence he'd come until his voice trailed off in its entirety. "...Just, uh... thought I'd ...let you-- let someone...know..."
She returns to reading, and gradually her facial muscles relax to their unperturbed state.
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Post by Deleted on Jul 19, 2014 18:45:29 GMT -8
"She's not dead." The words slipped from his lips without a conscious as to what he was saying. He tossed under his sheets for a moment before bringing himself to a seated position on the edge of his bed. An unnerving expression painted itself on his face, before he shook off the memory of one who was little more than a distant childhood memory to him now. His chamber was minimally lit and the room was only adorned with a few items; he was a Jedi and with hadn't gathered many personal possessions.
He closed his eyes and pictured the face again. He'd not really every seen this face before, but it seemed very familiar, much like that of his mother's yet many years younger. It was a face he knew, but couldn't seem to put a name to, at least not until he felt her. She felt as though she was part of him, a distant connection that was strong like a family's love. However, none of that could be cause to his knowledge, all his family had been killed when the Yuuzhan Vong had attacked his homeworld, Rendili, laying Edethor to ruin not more than seven years ago. Gathering his wits about him again, he stood up and collected his lightsaber, clipping it to his belt and retrieving his comlink. The comlink he attached to his wrist on a metallic cuff. Running a hand through his hair, he shook the memory from his conscience and buried the feeling inside him. He stood now and left the room.
Sihnyad traced his way through the corridors of his YV-666 Light freighter to the cockpit. Laying a hand on the shoulder of the pilot, Sihnyad spoke, "There's been a change of plans; set coordinates for the Rendili System."
"Yes, Master Jedi."
"As you were. I am only a Knight of the Jedi, not a Master. And besides, I am a friend; no need to address me so proper in an informal setting"
"Yes, Sihnyad."
With that, the pilot placed the new coordinates into the navicomputer, setting the new course for the Rendili system. Sihyad was going home for the first time since he'd joined the ranks of the Jedi Order.
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Lord Sinistra
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Post by Lord Sinistra on Jul 25, 2014 18:42:41 GMT -8
Once the ship was out of danger, she jumped out of the pilot seat and ran down the hallway until she found him, scorched and still smoking on the decking. She started to strip him out of the armor plating, her hands starting to shake and her normally pale face looking ghostly white. The adrenaline was coursing through her, numbing her pain, numbing her exhaustion, numbing her to the wounds she had received as well. A burn on the arm, another on her leg. None of them mattered.
She threw his armor away from her, her fingers and eyes looking for his wounds, worry creasing her forehead. She tried to speak but only a hoarse gravely sound emanated from her.
"Where are you hit? How bad is it?"
She was still in the throws of fight or flight but as she tried to calm herself from the rage and anger she felt, a new fear gripped her tightly. He almost bought it out there. That was an eventuality she had not accepted and her doubts of her commitment to him were gone. Her life be damned, some assassin nearly took him. And that was unforgivable. Angry doesn't begin to describe the bile forming in her stomach but all she can see is his face and it hurts deep in her chest.
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Post by Deleted on Jul 25, 2014 19:10:15 GMT -8
Once the plate dropped away, it was clear that the burns weren't nearly as bad as they could have been without Absorb. The front burn was second degree and about an inch and a half across, surrounded by a decent-sized chunk of not-quite-blistered skin. The back had was worse, with the skin scorched away in spots, but was extraordinarily shallow. He had popped his shoulder back into socket while they had made their ascent, so it wasn't a huge problem. It was hard not to notice that she had been grazed as well. She was shaking, she was pale. Shock? Possibly. They'd need to get both their wounds bandaged and bacta applied, and they'd need to change into clothes that weren't nearly so sweaty. Heat loss was definitely a problem if there was danger of going into shock. They'd also both probably need a saline drip, since burns had a way of dehydrating one far more quickly than most people would guess.
All this was processed by the cold, logical portion of Eralam's brain, the part that had been there, done that, and got the T-shirt. It cared little for the hormones and endorphins coursing through his veins. It didn't care that he was simultaneously worried, terrified, furious, and aroused. As it was responsible for self-preservation, it was mildly annoyed that none of these otherwise healthy survival responses were a result of personal harm, but were triggered by the presence of the female that was currently looking at him like a woman possessed. The atavistic caveman that seemed to life in the back of all sentient mammalian brains told it to shove off as he leaned forward and kissed the lips of the woman he had decided he'd be willing to die for.
After then caveman had been given its chance to fully express its glee at Sinistra's survival, the cold, let's say robotic, part of Eralam's brain reasserted control.
"I'm okay, Sin. We'll both need to get patched up, and some dry clothes might help. After that, we can see to our guest."
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Lord Sinistra
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Post by Lord Sinistra on Jul 25, 2014 19:41:46 GMT -8
He kissed her and time stopped for the briefest of moments, but it was over soon. He mentioned both of them needing to be patched up and she argued back, her voice recovered and vehement as she eyed the prisoner.
"I don't need patching, just a good spot to get our guest prepped for questioning."
She jumped to her feet and headed for the medical supplies, pulling out bacta patches, wipes and saline. She still couldn't calm down from the entire ordeal but as she reached for something in the cabinet, she felt a shooting pain in her arm. She sucked in air quickly through her teeth, and fought back the urge to cry out in pain. Instead, she grabbed some extra supplies and dropped them next to Eralam. She checked on the bleeding assassin and hit him with a tranquilizer shot before she turned her attention back to him. She stripped his clothes as she worked, throwing them in a pile. She started with cleaning the affected skin gently, then gingerly applying the cool bacta compresses.
She sat back when he was done, the last bit of primal juices exhausted. She looked at him, shaking. She had taken for granted that he was once a god. He was immortal no longer. He was just as vulnerable as she was. She shook her head, shivering from fear and the crash.
"Don't you ever do that again."
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Post by Deleted on Jul 25, 2014 20:17:04 GMT -8
Eralam smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring manner, because he dared not say what he really thought. If it came down to one of them catching a blaster bolt, he would always be the one to jump in front of it if he could help it. As he saw it, he had way more experience with that sort of thing. That, and he'd rather chew on a bolt than go on knowing he could have saved her but didn't.
Despite her insistence that she was fine, Eralam took the time to bandage Sin's wounds anyway. The argument that finally worked was pointing out that, in the event that the perp had some sort of bloodborne disease or toxin, it was important to have her burns covered. That his blood would be spilled (and likely sprayed) was just a given.
Fifteen minutes later, after a change of clothes, a quick saline/electrolyte drip, and a stabilizer, they were both ready for the interrogation scene. The perp, still out cold at this point, was strapped into something that looked an awful lot like a dentist's chair. Era was a bit nervous, not because of any squeamishness, but because Sin was something of a legend in these circles. He had broken his fair share of fingers and teeth over the years, but the word on the street was that Sin elevated torture to an art form. There were worse fates than looking like an amateur, but he still didn't want to let her down.
"Reckon we ought to go ahead and wake him up?" he asked, hypo in hand. This particular needle contained a powerful amphetamine mixed with an anti narcoleptic drug. Together, the two should make sure the guy stayed awake throughout the whole ordeal.
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Lord Sinistra
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Post by Lord Sinistra on Jul 26, 2014 13:02:32 GMT -8
Sinistra nodded to proceed as she pulled out the last of a handful of metal tools, laying them across a tray. She wore a black body suit, her hair up away from her face. There was no hiding behind a disguise here. Not for this one. Sinistra stepped next to the chair as the assassin woke up, his wounds cleaned and stabilized for the time being. A bright light shone over him. Her voice purred at him, deadly and calm.
"What's your name?"
He moved to block the glare from his eyes but his wrists were bound down to the arms of the chair. He couldn't see anyone around him from the brightness of the light but as his eyes adjusted to the room, he could see the outline of a pair standing a couple feet away. A ridiculously tall man and a short female, who must have been the one who spoke. He looked back into the light. It had to be Dru and her escort. They were the last ones he remembered seeing before knockout gas robbed him of consciousness. He shook his head in disbelief. He never anticipated failure on this magnitude. He refused to answer. He was a professional, conditioned assassin.
Silence met her question. She turned to the tray and picked up a vial of acid. Pulling the bandaging away from his shoulder wound, she poured in a few drops of the caustic liquid into the slug hole. The flesh melted where the acid touched and continued deeper into the injury. She let it go for a minute before she poured a neutralizing agent over it.
"Let's try that again. What is your name?"
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Post by Deleted on Jul 26, 2014 13:43:07 GMT -8
The assassin didn't scream. It was clear he wanted to. Instead, he spasmed about in silence.
"Oh, honey, it looks like we have us a professional," Eralam crooned. He had his own silver tray, this one loaded with what were clearly the tools for extracting bone marrow. There was a sign and everything."I bet you he still thinks there's going to be a happy ending to all this."
The former Shard began to wash down the injection site on the "patient's" hip with disinfectant, more out of habit than anything else.
"Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but that's not how this is going to work. See, she-" he pointed to Sin with his off hand as he plunged the threaded needle into the man's pelvic bone."Oh, stop squirming. Anyway, she is pissed that you tried to kill me, I'm pissed that you tried to kill her, and we're not really the forgive and forget type."
He screwed the needle in until it was firmly seated in the bone.
"It's not a matter of holding out for long enough that we're going to think you're in too much pain to lie before giving us the bare minimum and then promising to keep quiet. You're going to die on this ship, and you're going to do it slowly. What I'm doing right now is collecting some insurance."
Eralam jabbed the first of five large syringes into the needle's bore and sucked out a healthy sample of marrow.
"If you kill yourself, don't feel like talking, or if she just doesn't think you've suffered enough by the time you die, we're going to clone you, stuff your soul into the new body, and start again. If I were you, I'd answer her questions so you can get to screaming like a good boy."
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Lord Sinistra
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Post by Lord Sinistra on Jul 26, 2014 14:42:39 GMT -8
"If he's a professional, he knows there is no happy ending to this. The only thing he has left is to protect his integrity and reputation. Also, he isn't going to be scared by the cloning thing. That stuff is an impossibility to normal people."
She began to cut away his shirt, revealing his chest and arms, the scraps of cloth discarded to the floor.
"He would need to understand the direness of his situation. For example, he would need to know who he was hired to kill. He would need to know who he hit with that shot. But really I just asked an easy question."
The darkside rolled off her in waves of hatred, her eyes lightening to a sulfuric yellow color.
"What. Is. Your. Name?"
Her voice sounded like it was spoken in tricorded dissonance, echoing in the room. It was enough to make her underlings scurry for cover were they back on Kuat.
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Post by Deleted on Jul 26, 2014 15:27:14 GMT -8
Still nothing.
"Maybe you're right. I keep forgetting that not everyone deals with this stuff on a regular basis."
By now, all five vials were filled. Instead of unscrewing the needle, Eralam just yanked it out. The end result was a nearly unimaginable spike of pain, followed by several smaller, more spread out offshoots as bone splinters dug into the surrounding flesh.
"Still, I find it hard to believe he hasn't figured out who you are yet. You're the freaking Emperor. You've been all over the holonet."
Alton's eyes widened just a bit at that little bit of information. Now that he thought about it, she really did bear a strong resemblance, and she had a lightsaber, just like the Emperor was supposed to. He still didn't recognize the tall bumbler that had made a mess of his hip, but if he was telling the truth, things had just got a lot more serious. Suddenly, the idea of being forced into a new body seemed a little less far fetched. Still, there was nothing to be gained by opening up. He knew it was only a matter of time before even he broke, but dammit, they were going to work for it.
"Still nothing? Okay, have it your way."
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Lord Sinistra
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Post by Lord Sinistra on Jul 26, 2014 16:43:44 GMT -8
"Don't worry. He doesn't have to talk. I can get answers another way. But if I do it now, that spoils the fun."
She turned for the tray and picked up a particularly wicked looking implement that looked more suited to a kitchen. She pressed it hard into his upper arm and pushed up his arm towards the shoulder as a wide swatch of bloody skin and tissue came through a slot in the device.
"In fact, if he doesn't want to give his name, I'll just name him myself. His name is Supper."
The skin was dropped on the floor and Sinistra shaved another thin slice of muscle off his arm, this time holding it up to the light as blood poured from the wound. She grabbed his jaw and pressed hard at the TMJ, forcing his mouth open, then shoving his own flesh in his mouth.
"Care for a bite?"
Alton felt like he was going to throw up. The pain in his hip was excrutiating but all he could think of was the woman shaving strips of his arm off and gagging him with it. She looked sadistic, her hands covered in his blood, a demented gleam in her eye. That was the monster he had heard of, the Sith who sat in control of the Empire. A woman known for her brutality and cruelty. Bile forced its way up his throat, but he couldn't choke it out or vomit. She was holding his head back, and he began to drown in the contents of his stomach.
Sin let him gargle his lunch for a few seconds before she stepped on the switches that would raise the chair and tip it forward allowing him to spit out the puke. He gagged and wheezed. Some of it had gone down into his lungs, and she grinned. He was still trying to recover when she shoved a hose in his mouth and turned on the water at the sink. He struggled against it again, gasping for air until the hose was removed and he continued to try to regain his breath and composure.
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Post by Deleted on Jul 26, 2014 17:17:32 GMT -8
Eralam patted him on the back to help him clear the ejecta from his lungs. It wasn't exactly an act of kindness, not really. Eralam just didn't want him choking to death before the fun was all played out. That it would also plant the first seeds of Stockholm Syndrome was just a bonus. The former Shard was a firm believer in torturing mind and body alike.
"Mmm, the lunch of champions. If it makes you feel any better, it's just your arm. Between you and me, I wouldn't let her anywhere near my junk if I were you. Of course, I'm not you, so I've got nothing to worry about."
Eralam winked roguishly, and then picked up a piece of heavy copper wire and a butane torch.
"There are worse things we could do with it, mind. But hey, that's for later."
The chair went back into its reclined position. Alton's various list of things that hurt was growing rapidly, but aside from a brief moment of panic at the taste of his own flesh, he had yet to break. He took some pride in that, even managing a smile on the way down. It was more a caricature than the real deal, a bloody rictus suffused with agony and defiance in equal measure.
"Careful making faces. Don't want it to freeze that way."
Before he could react, Alton felt two sharp jabs of pain as what he assumed to be either narrow nails or sturdy pins were inserted into his dimples with enough force to pin them back to his cheekbones. He never even saw the source. Was it the Emperor? The tall guy? Neither had moved, as far as he could see.
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Lord Sinistra
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Post by Lord Sinistra on Jul 26, 2014 18:09:34 GMT -8
Eons ago, in Sinistra's past, she had once studied calligraphy. Scrolls and curls, fancy letters that look like delicate artwork. A scalpel in the hands of anyone else would be an instrument of destruction, cutting away to make something less. In her steady hands, it became a paintbrush and his chest canvas as she carved his skin away in thin layers, writing his new name, Supper, in multiple passes. Blood flowed and obscured the lettering, forcing her to clean it up. She took handfuls of salt and rubbed it into the cuts, crusting the wounds over with clotted blood and salt crystals.
His smile was paralyzed on his face, sweat running down in the seeping punctures. She was content with her work, it was taking several minutes to finish what she had begun. It was deep enough that the pinkish red bit of muscle was showing across his flesh. She stood back when it was done and cocked her head over.
"You know, something occurs to me. He isn't afraid of dying. He's a pro. He knows the risks of this game. You know what someone like him fears? Living on. Wanting death but being denied it over and over. He's not going to die. He's going to be my new toy."
She climbed on his lap, straddling his pelvis, her knee digging into the point on his hip where Eralam had ripped out the needle.
"I'm going to take what I need, and find out what I want to know. Then I will turn him loose, ruined and maimed, and I will let everyone know he caved to my touch, that he gave up everything. Or perhaps, he will live forever as my forgotten pet, forever chained to that chair and kept alive to witness the price of his failure. And I will feed him his own unused flesh, because he will not need the muscles of his arms and legs any more."
She looked like a child with a new plaything, so many thoughts and ideas of how to sate her craven tastes.
She meant it. Alton knew it from the look in her eyes. This was not a interrogation anymore. If he wasn't going to talk, she would just use him to exercise her demonic lust for blood. At the mention that she would keep him alive, but tortured like this indefinitely, he whimpered. The pain was overwhelming but far worse than that was the probability that she was telling the truth.
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Post by Deleted on Jul 26, 2014 18:35:02 GMT -8
Eralam frowned for a moment. That hadn't occurred to him.
"I think you're onto something."
He took a second to admire her handiwork, touching a soldering iron every here and there to cauterize a spot where the coagulated mess of blood and salt didn't quite stop the bleeding.
"You know," he said, addressing Alton directly, "When I do this sort of thing on my own, I like to establish trust. It's good for you to know that when I say something, I mean it, and it's good for me to know that when you say something, I can believe you. I'm afraid Sin's gone and made a liar out of me. Allow me to make it up to you, please."
He picked up the vials of bone marrow and put them into a medical freezer.
"Supper, my boy, I'm gonna make sure you never go hungry. There's enough material in those vials of bone marrow to grow you new arms and legs for the next twenty years. Just imagine! You are going to be the perfect self-sustaining organism. You will never know hunger, or, okay, you'll know pain and probably fear, but there's the hunger problem out of the way. Oooh, we can keep growing you new organs too! As long as we keep your brain ticking, you might just outlive the both of us."
The former Shard's glee was genuine. Once upon a time, this sort of thing would have sickened him, but, well, one would be hard pressed to call his lover a good influence. And given that this little shit had tried to kill said lover...death was too good for him.
"Sin, my dear, you are brilliant!" he shouted gleefully, right before planting a kiss on her cheek. "I was going to save this for later, but this calls for celebration."
While Eralam lacked Sinistra's artistic flair with the cutting instrument, his scalpel hand was just as steady, as he demonstrated by flaying the palm of his right hand, exposing the muscles and nerves without actually damaging them. In the center of the palm, near the wrist, was a special bundle of nerves. Due to the complexity of the hand, it was immensely sensitive. Damage to it was often enough to cause shock all by itself. Eralam caressed it gently with the flat of the blade.
"Do you want to do the honors, or shall I?"
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Lord Sinistra
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Post by Lord Sinistra on Jul 27, 2014 18:13:19 GMT -8
"You go right ahead. My hand is cramped up a little from calligraphy."
She pulled herself off the lap of the prisoner, and looked around for some medical supplies to start patching some of the wounds up with. If he was going to be a permanent addition to their festivities, then he would need to be properly taken care of. She started to clean out the shoulder wound thoroughly, although not gently, rinsing it with a cleaning solvent. She poured a little bacta solution in the wound, a lovely through and through because Eralam would never carry a small bore. Bogan's beard, no.
The knee was an absolute mess, the patella effectively blown off by the shot. It was going to need some serious rebuilding work. They could get him a doctor back on Kuat. Nothing but the best care for Supper. It was going to be glorious. She had not kept a dedicated torture pet in a long time.
Once she was satisfied that his wounds would not be too much of a bother overnight, she set up an IV drip for Supper and prepped a light sedative, something that would allow him to dream, for his subconscious to run with so the morning would bring despair when he woke up still in hell.
"I think he's had enough for tonight. We don't want to have all our fun just yet."
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Post by Deleted on Jul 27, 2014 20:17:23 GMT -8
While Sin patched him up, Eralam implanted the device that would make escape or noncompliance an extremely unattractive prospect for Supper. Direct nerve stimulation was nothing new, but the button sized device took the concept to a whole new level. It was designed to immobilize the subject by completely overloading the nervous system with conflicting signals. Many beings were capable of taking pain and feeding off of it, drawing strength from it. Few, however, were prepared to do the same to pleasure. By tapping directly into the nervous system, the device could alternate between the two seemingly at random. One was just as debilitating as the other, and by preventing the subject from acclimating to either, it was a very effective way to stop them and keep them stopped.
Once they finished up with Supper and knocked him out, they retired to the shower, and then to the sleeping cabin. The sounds of their viciously desperate joining echoed through the ship, adding a soundtrack to the prisoner's hellish dreams.
Later on, as they recovered in the darkness, Eralam murmured what had been going through his mind ever since the first shot rang out.
"I don't think I've ever been quite that scared or angry. That bastard almost got you, love. I'm...I'm not sure what, what would happen if he..."
The lump in his throat refused to go away long enough for the former Shard to finish the thought.
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Lord Sinistra
Retired High Councilor
VE Human Capital Management & Talent Acquisition
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Affiliation: The Vegemite Enclave
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Post by Lord Sinistra on Jul 28, 2014 10:13:44 GMT -8
"I would have died, you would have ripped him limb from limb in your grief and then eventually you'd find all the bastards that had a hand in it and killed them too. But the ache would never dull no matter how much blood you spilled. Eventually, you'd grow older and colder and realize that loss is part of being human."
She never lifted her head up from resting on his chest, her fingers tracing a circle along his warm skin. Her answer was pragmatic, it was not flowery or full of devotion and care. That's not what she was thinking. A few hours ago she had been ready to call this off, but when he went down, everything changed. In that instant, she knew she didn't want to be with out him and the fear that he was being taken from her gripped her more tightly than any of the ensuing anger.
The bacta patches were doing a fine job of fixing his burns and had to be reapplied after their interlude. She played with the edge of one for a minute, her nails pressing the burn edges slightly. She finally raised herself up to look at him through the dim light of the room.
"It's not until you are faced with losing something that you realize what it means to you. We're completely stubborn and idiotic. I have not been prioritizing us since Corellia but this has been way worse. I nearly lost you. We can't go on the way we have been. Something has to give."
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Deleted
Deleted Member
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Post by Deleted on Jul 29, 2014 17:54:52 GMT -8
Eralam sighed.
"We've held the fates of planets in our hands, but we haven't the faintest idea how to handle each other."
As he spoke, he began tracing the contours of her body with the tip of his right index finger, his trigger finger. It wasn't something he consciously noticed; the action had become habit over their time together. It was a tell though, a sure sign he was lost in thought.
"You're right though, something has to change. I just don't know what that is."
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Lord Sinistra
Retired High Councilor
VE Human Capital Management & Talent Acquisition
Posts: 1,474
Affiliation: The Vegemite Enclave
Traffic Light: Green
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Post by Lord Sinistra on Jul 31, 2014 17:09:50 GMT -8
Fate, as it would seem, did. Here one moment, and gone the next, Eralam vanished from under his lover without so much as a pop or a whistle to denote that he had managed to move between places as he was wont to do. No, this was different and terrifyingly swift. He wasn't trying to vacate the ship, nor did she think he could sailing through hyperspace as they were. Sinistra found herself jarred by the sudden drop to the mattress as she had been laying on top of him.
A frantic look around and illumination of the room confirmed that she was alone, his clothes still strewn across the decking. She tore out of bed, wrapping herself in the sheet as she searched the hallways and refresher. A frantic fear began to grip her, and she ran back into the bedroom. His gun was still in the holster, his rapier still sheathed and the belt hung over the back of a chair.
No.
He never would have gone anywhere without that old gun.
She grabbed clothes and threw them on, racing to every conceivable part of the freighter, screaming his name. Every room, every hatch, every inch of that antique ship.
Silence.
The whir of the systems as the ship flew on to the preprogrammed jumps.
The quiet fwoosh of the air recycler pushing cooled oxygen through the vents in the corridors.
The ragged breath of the passenger who slept, unaware that the world around him that Sinistra held such tight control over, was unraveling.
Maybe there was an emergency on Dressel. Something that could not wait. Koko? Diva? Forces she didn't quite understand? Then why was his gun still on board?
'Think, Sinistra. When he was immortal, he would blink you across the universe just that quick. Maybe, someone has done that to him.'
She forced the fear back into the depths of her dark heart with logic as she settled into the pilot seat and made the navigation changes necessary to get to Dressel as quickly as possible. She wished for logic, hoped that he was there in his bunker with a crazy story of cosmic forces. Somewhere, deep in her twisted psyche, she suspected that it wasn't so and that lone demented voice whispered doubts the entire way to through hyperspace as she sat in the wash of blue light.
Silent.
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