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Post by Deleted on May 30, 2013 20:06:37 GMT -8
Eralam took a minute to help Diva onto a couch in the common area, take Kuroro's box to her fluffy pink abomination of a room, pop the top, close the door, and return with a medkit.
"Ok, let's see if we can't get that arm patched up."
But first, a bit about the ship. It's a medium-sized yacht, maybe 75 meters in length and half that wide. The exterior is painted an eye-hurting shade of black, one so dark that it just seems to absorb the ambient light. The interior has just recently been overhauled. What had once been shades of red, yellow, and green so bright that they could induce migraines were now a uniform light beige. The brilliant blue shag carpet had been replaced by sensible metal decking with a durable protective rubber coating that was both easy to clean and non-slip. The central common area was located more to the rear of the ship, and each of the 10 cabins opened up directly into it. The cabins had one restroom per every 2 rooms. The front of the common area is connected to a corridor that runs to the bridge.
There were two other levels below the living area. The second level contains the galley, a workshop, an armory, and most of the engineering access for the ship's vital components.
The lowest level was the cargo hold. The ship's previous owner had been a slaver, and the cargo had been fitted accordingly. Eralam had gutted the place and flushed it out into space when he first took over, leaving only a wide-open area with bare metal floors and walls.
"ATC has traffic restricted, but a planet this size can't afford to cut off traffic for more than a few hours."
The medkit had included a combat medical software patch, meant for any medical droids that might need it. Eralam downloaded it and prepared to begin working on the wound.
"Most civilian traffic will be stuck for days, but commercial and priority flights should be able to bug out soon."
She was obviously breathing, and there were no signs of more pressing issues, so on to the shoulder. First step, expose the wound. He took out a set of scissors and carefully cut away enough of the dress to allow him to patch up the gaping hole without compromising modesty. The Shard wasn't sure what the parameters for a personality swap were, so he figured it would be a good idea not to do anything that might trigger a strong emotional response.
"Since my ship has diplomatic registration codes from Dressel, we'll be among the first to leave. I hope."
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Diva, from Aeons Torn
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Post by Diva, from Aeons Torn on May 30, 2013 20:49:29 GMT -8
Yangu, Weakling, Shitstain, Wet Mop. You know, you're the only person in the whole wide universe that I hate. Every time I nap, you come and bantha-block. I would say fear not, but really, you should! I'm gonna wear ya like a blanket!
The process was accelerated this time. The uncontrolled Force Speak should at least take a few weeks. At this rate, the other one wouldn't even exist anymore, and that frightened her beyond the billions that died. She would not be able to stop this. And how could anyone be redeemed with such a ledger? At least Eralam working on her torn up arm could distract her from the horror this realization provided. Should something be said? What could she say? "Hey, I've been alive for a hundred thousand years, or maybe more, not sure, because some kind of form of energy decided to make me its puppet so that it could have a body to play and more brazenly effect the galaxy with." Maybe she should at least appraise him of the ticking time bomb nature of this situation, that as soon as her guard dropped, it would be her end until the next cycle. Worse yet, the cycles were happening faster and faster, as if the beast was on the cusp of breaking through eternally. No, it didn't even make sense, because quite honestly, there was a lack of comprehension on what exactly was happening.
I got one for ya! Tell him how you want to grab a child, and rip it out it's kidneys. Tell him you want to take the intestine of a virgin and strangle their parents with it. No, no, no! I got one. HA! Tell him you want to drink blood. That'll creep him out six-ways to Sunday. Go on, Dirtbag, if I'm stuck watching, at least put on a show for me.
Ice stabbing your brain with every word was just the thing if you were a sociopath. And it wasn't like Diva was hiding her presence, the words ring out in the Force as far as anyone's guess. It's limit? As soon as someone stopped caring to hear it. Otherwise, it echoed outwards to any who had an ear for this kind of thing. As one could imagine, it was not only horrifying, but embarrassing. Quick! Mind trick!
"Do you regret being pulled into this kind of trouble, or is it just a game for you? I don't know what you expect, but I promise you, it won't be good. Not for you, or for others."
The girl who was and wasn't bites down upon her lips, visibly distraught. This was yet another stupid move. Diva's teeth were sharper than shaved Beskar, or so it would seem. The pearly whites cut deeply into those livid lips, and there is the obvious flinching at the new pain. Naturally, there was now more blood streaming down her mouth, giving her a ghoulish charm that was unrivaled in these parts of the galaxy.
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Post by Deleted on May 30, 2013 22:28:59 GMT -8
Frankly, the arm was a lost cause. Had this been a battlefield, Eralam would have used his lightsaber to amputate and cauterize the wound. The only reason he didn't chop the thing off now was because there was still blood going to the limb. It could, in theory, be saved. With the help of a skilled reconstructive surgeon, she might even regain some usage. With that in mind, the Shard took out a vial of his own special battefield cocktail and began to pack the wound. The mixture was a dense foam that would harden to an almost putty-like consistency and was excellent for packing wounds. It contained a highly concentrated form of high grade bacta to promote healing, a clotting agent to stop bleeding, and both an antiseptic and anesthetic. Then anesthetic would also temporarily paralyze the limb, thus aiding in the immobilization thereof. Once healing began, the foam would act as a matrix for the new flesh and muscle to grow through. It was crazy expensive to make, but worth every credit. Many a VIP owed his or her life to a dose of this stuff.
Eralam could, of course, hear the violent one through the Force. She wasn't exactly being subtle. He was an absolute novice when it came to meetings of the minds. There were so few beings that had compatible thought processes that he had never really developed the skill. Still, this one seemed to have a common connection. Age maybe? No matter the species, most minds went a little loose around the edges after a few thousand years. Another mystery to ponder later. Right now though, the Shard thought it best to try to keep the Psycho suppressed. If she emerged before they hit orbit, they'd never make it. Logic would be useless, and self-preservation probably wasn't much of a concern. But maybe he could appeal to her sense of fun.
Quiet you. You'll not get the chance to rip open any more spleens if we get caught. Be a good girl and I'll take you someplace where you can really let loose once we get out of here.
The Iron Knight tried to direct the speech solely to the Psycho. At the same time, he spoke out loud and addressed the question proffered by the sane one.
"I don't regret any path I have to take. There's no point. Regret doesn't make the dead any less dead and it doesn't make the pain any less painful."
Now that the foam had set, he put a dressing over both sides of the wound to keep out any dirt or dust.
"I don't 'expect' anything either. Good, bad, or ugly, you're here and I'm here. Might as well make the most of it."
Dressing firmly in place, Eralam put the arm in a sling and used a length of muslin bandage of the sort found in most military first aid kits to secure it against Diva's body. In another day or so, the wound would be completely closed. The splinters of bone and shrapnel would still be there, and even with bacta there was no guarantee that the muscles would grow back properly. The range of motion would probably be shitty, but it would beat having no arm at all.
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Diva, from Aeons Torn
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Post by Diva, from Aeons Torn on Jun 1, 2013 8:29:21 GMT -8
Oohohohoho! I see wot you're planning! It's icy, Mr. Math. But worth the wait. You're lucky I respect my elders -for now.
And with that the icy presence withdraws leaving nothing but the lamer, more logical side to things. Twice in the span of ten minutes the roboninja provides some sort of intense relief, whether intended as such or not. Following the age old rules of "nothing ventured, nothing gained," the girl offers her medic a tentative smile. It would have looked quite heartfelt if not for the quantity of blood dribbling down that pale chin or the fact that her smiles tended to invoke too much of the shark like, raper of worlds quality that her brighter side embraced.
" I don't feel I deserve your help, but considering how it feels now. . ." The girl attempts to flex the mended limb, but there is no response. If she would have to trade motor function over constant pain, then so be it.
". . . Well, better than bleeding all over your ship. Eralam, that's your name, right? Thank you. "
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Chloro
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Post by Chloro on Jun 1, 2013 9:06:47 GMT -8
The suitcase wiggled and fell over. There were scratching sounds. Silence. More wiggling. Then 15 centimeters of nasty sharpened obsidian tore through the edges of the case. The jagged glass worked along the edges until Kuroro could flop out of the asbestos hell. Usually she would burn her way out but all she could manage at this point was melting the lining, letting it cool and cutting her way out. Also, the knife would be great for carving Diva into little pink...
Pink. Pink everywhere.
The obsidian dagger tumbled from her fingers, forgotten. She had become better at changing persons with Eralam's help. Her desire to hack Diva to pieces had not changed, but she wanted to look good for Eralam. Picking out a pretty dress, she put it on to preserve her modesty and hide the Sithspawn behind frills. But every moment she spent in the room seemed to turn her mind into mush. And the new voices in her head was not helping her to form a cohesive plan plan of...
Should she wear the bow? Was that too much? Could she ever be good enough for Eralam? She'd wear the bow.
"~Eralam-dono! ~Eralam-dono!?"
Her sugary voice would be enough to give a hardened warrior diabetes. Her shoes clicked anxiously around the ship while she bleated Eralam's honorific. Finally, she found him, almost teary with distress. She wanted to throw her arms around him and know that he was hers, but there was that other girl again. He had just finished applying the final dressing.
She shot her a sulphurous glare. Everyone wanted Eralam for themselves - he was so kind and caring. Maybe that was the reason why she loved him so much. There was just no way she could describe it.
"~Who's she?"
No amount of sugar could cover the veiled threat that even the benign Kuroro could not quite surpress.
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Post by Deleted on Jun 1, 2013 9:27:33 GMT -8
Eralam returned the smile, though he knew it would seem artificial. The HRD had several facial expressions programmed in, and each one was precisely calibrated to be the perfect representation of its type. So the kind, reassuring smile would be perfect, right down to the last muscle. Some found it unnerving, but there really wasn't much he could do about it. The normal chassis didn't really have much of a face, so he never got the chance to practice. If her smile bothered him, it never showed.
"I don't know about that," he said as he opened up a foil packet. Inside was a bacta-infused cloth, useful for cleaning out small wounds. The Shard began wiping the blood from her chin. "If it wasn't for you, your other half would probably still be back there, trying to cause as much trouble as possible."
And then, suddenly, Sithspawn. In a dress. With a bow. Eralam had to disconnect the facial expression module completely for a moment, lest it betray the staggering array of conflicting thoughts that blazed through his mind.
"Ah, Kuroro, there you are. You look, erm, lovely."
And then the reassuring smile was back. Had he been an organic, the expression would have been tinged with desperation, but the mechanical face gave away nothing.
"She's an old friend of ours, remember? She's certainly not Diva. Nope, definitely not. Diva is not here, no way."
Eralam stood and activated a subroutine that would quicken the HRD body's response times to superhuman levels, just in case. His posture wouldn't relay any signs of anything unusual, but there was a definite audible whirring sound from his innards. Faint enough, that you'd have to be close to hear it, but still there.
"This is, um..."
With skill that any ventriloquist would die for, the Shard directed a desperate question to the girl on the couch without so much as moving his lips.
"What the hell am I supposed to call you when the other one is away?"
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Diva, from Aeons Torn
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Post by Diva, from Aeons Torn on Jun 1, 2013 13:56:52 GMT -8
Calculation. This was one way she could quantify the seemingly random nature of universal probability, and make estimations based off of statistics. How to make this concurrent with the sudden surge in panic? Well, one applies a context. Example: 80 citizens of Foamwander City were killed in the last 40 minutes. Of them all, Diva was in some way responsible though not necessarily the direct cause of their demise. 30 died due to undergoing total organ failure as a result of being melted-slash-burned by Kuroro's magically enhanced fire. 14 were terminated by Eralam, 9 from mercy shots through the brain stem as they burned but before experiencing heart failure, and another 5 were police who either had blasts bounced back into their frontal lobe or heart. That left 36 victims, and 20 of them passed during Diva's pull, decapitated or so otherwise crushed and sent sailing into Chaos. That left 15 who perished because of incoming and rather heavy debris. We'll call them cases of 'wrong place, wrong time.' Finally, we have one human mechanic, whose blood left a tangy type of metal taste in Yangu's mouth, which she could surmise from Diva's vast experience, as AB positive. Rare, but not the rarest. How sad. Someone might need that in an emergency transfusion, and it was difficult to synthesize. Judging from the date that displayed from Eralam's ship, she could also come to the conclusion that it was exactly seven months since the Witch last had say over which living beings were sent to the netherworld. Side note: Yangu could recall and accurately count, that on Diva's last day before hibernation, she had directly or second handedly killed exactly 16,342 humans across three Star Destroyers. One of which crash landed into the surface of Mon Calamari, and now resided in one of the planet's many deep ocean trenches. The other two ships were blasted to government approved scrap metal. The point regarding these vast quantities? These massacres occurred with such frequency that it had severely blunted any negative emotions that a sane being could hold unto for long. Why even truly stop and consider the legions of dead and undead? It only caused Yangu to throw up or end in tears----
---Oh, right. The name of the man who had last taken Diva in during one of her 'lapses' had given her a name. Yangu. He called her Yangu. The man was named Zenchou Piteous. He was a cruel man, who bore a lightsaber hilt made of the bones of fallen Jedi. They called him Sith, and also a number of curse words, and yet he did possess a degree of kindness. Or, at least, he was amoral enough to realize when to keep an apprentice around or not. Manipulative as ever, he eventually sought to "unlock" Yangu, and thus gave the Countess of Blue Roses another chance to work woe into the wonderful universe. This was folly, and resulted in a battle weeping in the dark side, until the Sith Lord had no choice but flee, or literally be eaten alive. Universal probability, no doubt there was some equation somewhere that would explain to Yangu why she must continuously run into amoral weirdos who would no doubt be her final ruin.
It's a second or two, and the thing that is and isn't quick steps off the couch, holding up her working arm in Kuroro's direction in supplication for a parlay before she burned her head off. There is a trace of panic that touches her voice.
"My name is Yangu---"
"More like Shitstain."
"---Guah! Look, Diva thinks you're small fry -a toy. She's playing with you. She wants to push you until you self destruct. It's her game. Don't play into it."
She begins to back away, not sure when the fatal moment would leap upon her.
"And if you kill me, she'll take over. Okay? The moment my brain stops sending signals, it starts again. Right now, I'm harmless, see?"
Yangu points to her arm, secured in Eralam's nicely made sling.
"I can tell you care about Eralam, and that's great! I'm not here to get in the way of that. He's just being nice enough to make sure I don't let the bitch you hate out. "
Nope. You're lying. Hey, you know what's funny about taking your body? I remember your life ohhhh so long ago, Mudlicker. Remember your sister? Remember Saya? Didn't you steal her boyfriend, and then let her commit suicide? I coulda sworn it's right here, on page 314.
The girl begins to knock the side of her head with her fist, adopting an expression of those tormented.
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!"
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Chloro
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Post by Chloro on Jun 1, 2013 18:38:07 GMT -8
Kuroro blushed with pleasure at the compliment. And his smile! She knew the bow was a good idea. Although, she wasn't sure whether she liked him in his human body. But the HRD was softer than his other body. It didn't matter - she always knew who he was. Walking up to Eralam as he reassured her that the other girl was just another girl, she latched onto his arm and smiled back at him. Without required cheeks and lips for a smile, it turned into a grimace with a great view of her maw that was still glowing from radiant heat.
"~oh"
She said in response, placated. Her seething jealousy was put at ease. She giggled as the girl seemed to cringe in her presence. At least she knew that Eralam was off-limits and seemed to have a healthy fear of getting between her and Him. Her name was Yangu. That was cute. She looked quite hurt. That made her even cutier. Although had been upset that Eralam had brought someone else with, how could he leave someone so helpless to die? She was sure that she could hear the voices that arguing with. Whoever she had been with had been a really big meanie. Well, not everyone in the galaxy would shoot a girl in cold-blood and leave her to die - she would prove that to her!
"~can we keep her?"
She secretly whispered to Eralam.
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Post by Deleted on Jun 1, 2013 20:04:33 GMT -8
A small but very vocal part of Eralam's inner monologue wanted nothing more than to reach down, draw the revolver, and blow his brains out. A more sensible part reminded him that he couldn't run away from his problems that easily, and that he didn't have any brains in the first place. The one thing the voices agreed upon was that he was tired. Not in the organic "time to go to sleep sense," but a deep, abiding weariness in the deepest core of his being.
He wasn't cut out for this. Dealing with normal, sane organics is a challenge. Dealing with a crazy woman who veered from saccharine to stabbing in the blink of an eye had been trouble enough. Now he had two, one of whom had an alternate personality that rivaled him in terms of sheer power. And, surprise surprise, Kuroro wasn't just crazy, she was Sithspawn. That was definitely something new. He needed some time to think, to sort out why the Force had brought all this together. The old Shard didn't believe in things like Light or Dark or even fate, but he had been around too long to not suspect that the Force had an agenda.
"Sure, Kuroro, we can keep her."
Eralam was careful to keep his fatigue out of his voice. There were too many predators in the room to risk dropping his guard.
"Tell you what, why don't you help Yangu find a room? While you guys are doing that, I'll see if I can't get us cleared to leave."
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Chloro
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Post by Chloro on Jun 1, 2013 21:16:10 GMT -8
Kuroro's current faceless and bland form versus Yangu's broken bird state and pretty features was a unfair fight for Eralam's affections. Having Eralam out of Yangu's sight made it a little easier Kuroro to breathe. He had left Kuroro her orders. It was perfect - she had a new friend, with his blessing. Judging from Yangu's distressed wailing, she couldn't just cart her around like she did Eralam. But what could she say to help her feel at ease? She hesistated. Without Eralam around, her buoyant self-confidence seemed to wane. Unsure, she did the only thing her mushy brain told her. Walking tentatively forward, she slowly gave Diva a gentle hug, cushioning her.
It was jarring being so near her. The voices seemed nearer than ever and she stank to high heaven. But Eralam had laid down a challenge and she wouldn't disappoint him or betray him. Kuroro pulled the hatch down and rode the storm. The universe could be a harsh place, but it could be comforting too. The same process that went into torture and interrogation was the same that people used to become friends. Kuroro had used both to great effect in her past and it was good getting back into practice...
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Diva, from Aeons Torn
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Post by Diva, from Aeons Torn on Jun 2, 2013 15:54:26 GMT -8
Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god. . . Everlasting torment passing the events of three lifetimes unfold, or so she could swear. Everything in her mind said that this was the end, that the Pink Devil would blaze up, and that Yangu would have to burn and die in excruciating pain before the Ice Queen took the puddled remains, wisped left and right, came out of the shadow of a light socket, regenerated, and started making analogies regarding cake, cortosis weave knives, and life. But there was silence, the smell of ozone and lacy fabric, and -oh the humanity- so much pink it could drown the galaxy in woe unmatched. Nothing was happening.
There was only slight pain as Kuroro, demon incarnate, pressed lightly against the .50 caliber busted arm. There was grimace, chagrin, twisted lips and crunched eyelids. Another moment, and Yangu dares to open an eye and gaze at what she was sure was incoming death.
She wasn't about to lie to herself: the Sithspawn looked like a ghoul posed to pull burning chunks of neck meat off and devour them. This was new, or at least hadn't happened in the last 2,500 years. Yup, this definitely was one of the most frightening experiences of Yangu's un-life. Simple, yes, but absolutely terrifying. Somewhere, in the background noise of icy voices, she could hear Diva screaming for her to bite on Kuroro's arteries. She wanted to pour the contents of this little beast's heart into her gullet. And yet, all that howling and blizzard like string of curse words sizzled away in that horrendous embrace.
Using the working arm, the broken remains of logic pushes the pink one away, softly.
"Thank you, but that isn't nessescary. Honestly, I smell like sewer system and antiseptic. Wouldn't want to get any of that over that. . . wonderful dress."
She added that last sentence in as after thought, not quite sure if offending the monster was on her list of priorities.
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Post by Deleted on Jun 2, 2013 22:17:11 GMT -8
Once the relative safety of the cockpit had been reached, the door sealed, and solitude was assured, Eralam collapsed in the captain's chair, sighing heavily on the way down. This was becoming a habit, he thought to himself. Usually, the Shard traveled in solitude, preferring the company of books and music. A bit cliche, perhaps, though the droid, Shard or otherwise, that enjoyed music had always been a rarity. Since Kuroro had stumbled back into the thick of things on Manaan, the cockpit had become his sole respite from her cloying affection and madness. He set the cockpit's extraordinarily high-end music player to shuffle and began to unwind as the chaotic but oddly appropriate song blasted through the cramped space, the volume cranked up far higher than any human would have been able to stand. The cockpit had excellent soundproofing, but all the insulation in the world wouldn't have stopped the music from leaking out into the common area.
Just to make it look like the time spent here was productive, the Shard used his internal commlink, one disconnected from any outside audio input, to contact the planetary ATC and request permission to take off. The controller informed him that, while outgoing traffic was currently suspended, they would be cleared for takeoff within the hour.
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Chloro
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Post by Chloro on Jun 3, 2013 5:55:10 GMT -8
It was funny how Yangu stiffened just like Eralam whenever she touched him. It made Kuroro wonder what about her repulsed people so. She really did try to make herself socially acceptable but the only time that people seemed to be comfortable around her was when she was trying to torch them. Strange galaxy they lived in. Still, Eralam was not particularly affectionate and it was a nice change being able to touch someone who wasn't quite so cold. Although, Yangu came pretty close.
She gave a pat on Yangu's back for good measure before releasing her. It was nice to be away from her miasma that hurt her acute sense of smell. At least she was polite enough to acknowledge she had a problem. Surely then, she would be willing to fix it too.
"C'mon, I'm sure there's a place here that you can go and clean up..."
Helping Diva up, Kuroro pulled her toward the refresher albeit without her exceptional enthusiasm. Her arm seemed to put her in quite a bit of pain. Would Yangu be interested in sampling her wide array of interesting mood-enhancers? She was sure there was something that could even make her forget about whatever it was that seemed to make her quite so unhappy. Ushering her into one of the many refresher stations, she beamed at the broken girl soldier.
"In you go. Take as long as you like - I'll be waiting for you when you're done..."
The smile didn't quite cushion the burning intensity that went with the glow in her eye that she usually reserved during her long sessions of Eralam watching. There was something besides her rigorous routine of burning stuff and stalking Eralam that she enjoyed. It would be fun to do it with someone else...
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Diva, from Aeons Torn
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Post by Diva, from Aeons Torn on Jun 3, 2013 19:07:54 GMT -8
What was that look? Intensity magnetizes all thought into a waterfall centered around the focal point of Lady Pink's irises. Bright was the light, stabbing everything inside with a kind of insanity that comforted like battalions of riot police armed with rubber bullet kisses. A pat on the back, and a smirk: dagger courtesy -service with a smile. Of all the souls that could have stumbled across Yangu, it had to be this demon from a different kind of Hell. Worse was the matter, because retreating to one's mind offered a different kind of gaze: armies of barbed wire sprinting across a blizzard, glowing with happy blue eyes -sticking a knife in your face endlessly with thunderous applause. No where to run, no where to hide, and certainly no where to even breathe. Yangu would have commited suicide. Would have? She had on numerous occasions, and nothing stopped it. Jump off a skyscraper? Now you watched Diva drown a mortician with reanimated intestine, your intestine. Shoot yourself in the head? Now you get to watch her use the same gun you used to off yourself to off as many infants in as short a time as possible. How about jumping into a fire? Come back and she's running into fuel stations. Hang yourself? Prepare to make a bet, the wager being on how many necks it took to break a length of twine. This, that, the other, and it ended the same for her. Trapped, doomed to run in circles, die more and more painfully, and bring it back with more and more gusto. Honestly, the Broken Rose could use a god.
Wow. I thiiiiiiiiiink somebodyyyeeeeeeeeeeiiiii is traumatized! If only I'd known the anguish in your poor, poor, poor, useless mind. If only. Well. . . I would have enjoyed it! Laclaclicklackylacklack.
Flash the pain then hide it and attempt a smile only for it to shatter like a cheap mirror.
"Thank you. I...."
The sentence dies right there and her eyes drop down to the rubberized deck, staring at some imaginary hurricane shaped hole.
"I won't be long. "
Step, step. Close a hatch. The Doc Martens were clumsy to unlace and pull off. Oh god, the rank of waterlogged leather and burnt skin warranted their immediate chucking into the nearest star. Next, the dress, which would have been a complete pain with an arm in a sling, comes off with a simple yank and falls to a heap at her feet. Quite frankly, Yangu wasn't convinced if they were anything more than illusion. A blue rose hits the deck, a white ribbon follows, and it is now that she takes a moment to gaze at her body in a large mirror by the shower.
Pale enough to glow, white as snow. Not a single scar or freckle adorned a square centimeter of her skin, despite thousands of years of abuse and various states of disintegration. It was the same body of a 19 year old, exactly how old the Broken One was when these two first met. Ages gone and hope extinguished, and it retained a thin, delicate appearance; still supple, still a smooth curve from torso to calf. Still a lie, bloody feign, unnaturally vivid in the shadow, and cold as a corpse to the touch. She was disgusted, gazing upon the ultimate indignity and knowing it would eventually be desecrated by a force that was not even a living thing.
Repulsion abounds until no more could be tolerated, and Yangu tears away, turning the various knobs to their highest levels, blasting herself with a torrent of cold water. At first it is refreshing and provided a relief so profound the thing could almost forget about the waking nightmare, the relentless grind.
I think I'm drowning, choking. I wanna break the spell you created. But I wanna play the game -I want the friction. Lemme take care of you, Yangu. Lemme bury you. lemme give you up. Lemme squeeze the life outta you.
Ignore it. It's just the water. It'll all go away. It's water. It's water.
You know I'm trapped, and you don't lemme break this fixation.
No. No. No. No, no, no, no no no nonono.
Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhowtime.
Her jaw clenches, only, she realizes that it's not her decision. Force grinds teeth together, and waves of hot pain lash out against her head as teeth splinter, then shatter. Gums press, then rip, blood leaks, and flesh smashes into flesh. Her lips harden, then glisten, and one by one, the atoms turn to ice. Suddenly, icicles stab inside her pressed maw, slicing out from under the throat on one end and out the bridge of her nose on the other. Wave after wave of cold torment causes violent spasms, and she cannot handle it -she falls off the side of the shower and bounces her head off the floor. This only brings momentary respite. However, now Yangu could hear a woman singing a lullaby in her head, then it shifts into a distorted version of that nonsense the Roboninja played in his cockpit.
Hee heee heee hee hee! Squeal!
Try and stand, panic, try for the hatch, slip and fall from the cooled blood trickling from your face. Something tickles around the rest of her pale body, like hundreds of spiders crawling around. Much to her horror she discovers black ink running up and down her veins, pooling in pockets of her flesh. Then her skin begins to boil and pop over the highest concentrations of the ichor, splashing the floor with black spray as the bigger bubbles burst like spores set on fast forward. Hints of blue, red, and white manifest, and then a number of glowing eyeballs, lolling slicked tongues, and gaping rows of teeth gnash and jiggle, in constant flux, falling off or rupturing before spawning in other parts of her body. Tears well up in her horrified eyes as each increases in burning anguish.
Rumba rumba rumba rumba rumba, rumba rumba rummmmmba rummmba RUUMMBA, RUUUMMMBAAAAA rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrumbaaaaaaa RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRUUUUUUUUMMMMAAAAA-ggggoooooo FUCK YOURSELF!
Black, coiling centipedes and large cockroaches burst from the bubbling mass of white, scurrying over the floor, the walls, devouring the body parts that peeled off, jumping unto her face, burrowing into her chest and back, and tracing geometric circles around her gray matter. Then her working arm shoots up, before clasping unto the busted one. It squeezes with power, turning muscle into steel bands of infinite malice. Yangu cries out, a gagged protest, and before you know it one hand is pulling on the other.
Moan! Scream! Louder! MOAN! SCREAM! LEMME HEAR YOU GASPING LIKE A SOW AT A SLAUGHTER-HOUSE!
Blood and medigel spray from the sling as muscle yields like stretched play-doh. Bones creak, ligaments pull taut, flesh makes squishy noises. Now her tears are like rivers, flowing along her mutilated body, and adding to the quagmire pooling beneath. It comes as no surprise that the Broken One screams repeatedly, but since her mouth was wielded shut, it sounds like a perfect impression of cow being branded repeatedly.
"!MMMMM! MMMMMMMMMMMRRRMMMMMMAGGGHHH!"
One final twist, and the offending limb is pulled free with a modest splash of wicked blood. Each glowing eye on the dismembered arm glowers in supreme pleasure, before melting into more black ink. Hush, hush. Another tremble, another symphony, and more wracked screams as the arm regrows, rebuilding at a furious pace, starting with the bones, black as deep space, then shaping out everything else in tendrils. The pain felt before has nothing on this process, and finally results in Yangu vomiting bile and blood. If only it could pass through her own mouth; instead it froths back and expels like torrents from her nose.
Look at you, Shitstain. I'm surprised you didn't soil yourself. Every sack of flesh called a human has about 206 bones, 20 feet of cartilage, 900 ligaments, like, 700 muscles, 50 organs, and almost as many cells as there are years on the meter of time! That's a lotta stuff, and I know each morsel intimately. I know how exactly to light every atom of it into a supernova. Yangu, this is MY body. You are not even worth a memory. You are worse than dead, worse off than in Chaos. You only see the day because I allow it, because I hate you. I loathe you. Hell won't spit on you. Heaven won't piss on you. Say it in every thought you have. And don't EVER forget your place as the dust-mite on my gore slathered boot. What you just felt? Heh. I call it foreplay. Don't make me show you the main course! Eheheheheh! Ha ha! HAHAHAHAHA!
Laughter. Laughter as she finishes throwing up. Laughter as she crawls to the shower. Laughter as she fails many times with shaking hands to turn on the water. Laughter as the silent sobbing does not cease. Howling laughter as salty tears patter against her cowering arms, and as those wash away -lost in the flow of water. Laughter as the ice holding her mouth together melts away. Chuckling as the mouth regenerates. Giggling as the teeth set into place. Then the valve is shut, and there is nothing, just silence and moisture sliding off of corpse white skin. There was even no evidence left in the refresher, for everything was as pristine as when Kuroro showed her to the door. The only marker of any event, besides the loud and inchoerrent Force Screech, was the now fully healed and fully functional limb.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Jun 3, 2013 21:06:25 GMT -8
Just when he was starting to relax, an unspeakably foul presence brushed up against Eralam's consciousness. His upper levels of thought knew the source, but deep down on a level so far buried under cold logic and mechanical processing that Eralam had long forgotten, something rebelled against the touch. Instantly, the carefully placed limits on the Shard's sphere of consciousness were gone. Even during combat, a portion of his attention was devoted to maintaining at most maybe 20 meters of influence. The focus allowed him to release his full might without blanketing out every Force sensitive mind in the immediate area. But after a week of near constant stress and this evening's frantic combat, those barriers were weaker than they had ever been. It would still take one hell of a bang to break them, but no one had ever accused Diva of being weak.
Now, for the first time in hundreds of years, since a battle long forgotten by the history books, that focus was gone. His presence didn't gradually swell. It couldn't even be said to have ballooned outward. One moment it was tightly wrapped up, and the next moment it was vast, encompassing the entirety of the star system. Billions upon billions of conscious minds, untold trillions of lesser creatures, swirls of ethereal energy that played throughout the vast reaches of space, all were encompassed in the all-seeing, all knowing mind of Eralam of Tython. It was a force as old and implacable as the mountains, as cold and unforgiving as Hoth. It would be a wonder if every Force sensitive in the whole damn galaxy didn't feel the release. For a brief moment, his power once more rivaled the gods of old that were only remembered in fairy tales and bedtime stories.
It was exhilarating.
Intoxicating.
Wrong.
The temptation here was not one of light or dark. What business does a god have with such pathetic, limited concepts?
What truly tempted the Shard was the chaos. A universe governed by entropy, always sliding towards the inevitable dissolution of all things, that was his plaything. He could send the whole galaxy spiraling down into death and destruction. He could raise it up to new heights, create a society truly united, united in worship of the god that had created it. He could bend the inescapable laws of thermodynamics to his will, and no one, not even the monster in the refresher, could stop him.
But that wasn't his place. That wasn't a choice he had the right to make. And as suddenly as it had appeared, his presence retreated back into its tightly contained shell. After connecting with all those minds and all that possibility, it was so unbearably lonely that for the briefest on instants, Eralam considered opening back up to bask in their glory. But he wouldn't. Couldn't. Mustn't give in. And so he filled the void in his heart with the only emotion that had ever really come naturally: anger.
Anger at himself for the lapse of control.
Anger at the universe for giving him this power and then saddling him with the decency not to use it.
But most of all, anger at Diva for triggering its release.
Not all anger is darkness. It does not always lead to hate, does not always lead to suffering. It does, on occasion, lead to an ass whooping.
The Shard strode from the cockpit, perfectly aware of his target's location. The door to the refresher didn't open so much as it disintegrated. There wasn't even any shrapnel. Shrapnel implies that there are pieces larger than a few molecules across left over. He reached out, not with his physical hand, but with a small portion of his being. Though it had been contained back within the normal limits, the density was still way out of whack. Imagine something the size of a star system being compressed down into something about 2 meters across.
Now imagine that forming a hand and grabbing Diva by the metaphysical face. The sobbing, naked body was left entirely alone. Eralam slammed the being up against the wall with enough force to leave a tangible dent, despite the fact that they were working entirely on the astral plane.
You listen to me, ya little bitch. If you ever, EVER pull a stunt like that again, I will personally rip you out of this body and skull fuck your soul.
The manic grin, quite natural this time, made it perfectly clear that the old Shard was being literal.
I don't care who you are or what you've done. And frankly, I don't give a good goddamn what you and your friend do in the meat suit. Not my FUCKING PROBLEM. But you had best keep that shit away from me, or you will come to regret it. And you best believe I'll take a long time making that happen.
Eralam loosened his grip somewhat before flinging Diva across the small room, once more denting the wall. Reality, it seemed, was looking the other way for this one.
You keep your grubby little mind to yourself, and we can have all kinds of fun. There's a whole galaxy out there, waiting for a bit of my kind of math. You're more than welcome to join in the carnage. But whatever you do, however tempting it may be, do not fuck with me.
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Diva, from Aeons Torn
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Post by Diva, from Aeons Torn on Jun 4, 2013 8:56:47 GMT -8
Violence. Hubris. Take every bit of anger, resentment, disappointment, betrayal, and lust -then lather it with malice. Feed it. Collect it all from the lowest little empty burning from that day you were picked on in school, where you knew you should fight back. Go to the other end -icicle extending from one end of time to the other- sprinkle it with hatred from the multiverse and feel the rage as armies commit genocides, asteroids pulverize civilizations, and embrace the all loving universal heat death provided by the big daddy of black holes, the one the size of eternity, pulling every single thing and unthing into a compassionate spiral and turning it all into one pinhole in infinite blackness. What was one death against it? How about one thousand? Ten million? A trillion?
The first smash didn't provide the latest fatality in Foamwander's city limits. The second one, the one that left a bigger dent in the refresher's reinforced wall -that was the one that snapped Yangu's brain stem into thirty unequal pieces. The body couldn't even detect the pain, it was too busy being sent sailing into oblivion. All in all, there had been more painful methods of disposal. She couldn't complain even if there was a desire to do so. There was no desire -just ethereal hocus pocus as a soul laid its cards down in the realm of the lost, and then, the black forever more.
"Annnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnd right into my trap. Wow, you're gullible!"
Ice and a rumble deep from the nadir of Chaos, scratching out static like a blown out speaker set at a thousand decibels. Diva's body rises with silent chuckles as the black hair on her head extends and forms around those snow white curves like sensual hands made of accursed magic.
"Such uncouth language for a man to bestow upon a lady! Didn't your Whilly God-father tell you violence just begets more violence?"
Now was the time that forces of nature clashed, with ultimate neutrality against pure darkness. To celebrate the momentous occasion, millions of black, inky arrows made up the Ice Queen's raven hair stab out against every surface, save for touching the Whill and the Fire Demon. Now their world was black. Dac itself began to tremble, and the city shook with what appeared to be a minor Earthquake -one in continuous harmony to the rhythm of the hatred and battle lust between these two things.
"A skull-fucking? See. . . I was just thinking that's exactly what I needed -a good shakin' of my bones. But, you've got too much tension, Robot. You'll pop in a few hours. That's not enough. I wants it endlessly. Calculate this: how does a Whill screw the end of things? How does it satisfy supermassive black holes? You fool, you perceive me as if I'm alive, as if bodies matter and finite is a concept. I'm gravity. Run, run, run, but I'll catch you. All of this, all you see? It's lunch. Eat, and be merry, for gravity beckons you to be one with all the molecules in this toilet."
Shadowy beasts appear in the mire of black, each as cold as the void, prepared for God-wresting. To assist them are hundreds of glowing blue eye balls, each clenched or held in different forms of expression.
"Oh, and Eralam?"
A hand manifests from the black mass, pale and frail. It shows him a middle finger.
"Fuck yo---"
. . .
. . . !
!
Billions of victims assail the dark mass, suddenly competing for a slice of 5 feet, 5 inch real estate. The bastard had taken too much, and trading defenses for pure focus upon him was something the Witch wasn't quite ready to undertake. It needed more power, more souls to use like building blocks. Thoughts fragment. Thousands of dead attempt to take over the body playing the most morbid game of kind of the hill imaginable. Sentences warp. This. And. Quite ready. Escape. Dirigible. Kill. Daddy. Kompany. assmunch loud crap ad no hag yea at yot casamarownamdampdampkdiensakc;w33d9,3e219ek fj94
A sigh, and Yangu's body collapses face down. No magic. No force. No centipedes begging to be loosed upon your colon. Not even the ice remained, but a blank slate. Breathing rattles, but the girl is quite clearly knocked out.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Jun 4, 2013 17:04:14 GMT -8
The Shard blinked.
"well that was unexpected."
The power that had filled him so completely moments before was allowed to bleed away into the ether. He leaned back against the dented wall, slowly sinking to the floor. His body language spoke of weariness, though the concept was foreign to the mechanical warrior. This was the fatigue of the soul, the result of a hard day that had only gotten harder. The void left behind by the sudden severance from the larger world around him still ached, but Eralam was able to resist the temptation to encompass it again.
After a moment, he stood. He was still wearing the long trenchcoat that his HRD chassis was accustomed to. Tattered, ancient, faded, and having been torn apart and repaired so many times that it could hardly be considered the same jacket that he had purchased all those years ago, the garment had been a constant companion during the times that the Robot Space Ninja had masqueraded as a human. It seemed almost profane to take it off, but the shared body of Yangu and Diva was still lying on the floor, utterly exposed. It was almost pitiful to see a being of such awesome power so vulnerable, though he doubted that she really cared. He draped the jacket over her still form and carefully lifted her off the floor.
"Dammit all," he muttered. "Any longer in this damned HRD and I'm going to start writing poetry and picking flowers."
The Shard carried his charge back to the common area, selected a room at random, and set her down on the bed. He left the jacket where it was, on the grounds that the thermal insulation built in was far superior to the rough wool blankets that the ship was stocked with. Eralam turned on his heel and left the room without a word, headed back towards the ship's bridge, and began to prepare for takeoff. The autopilot could handle the actual flying bit, but the preflight checks still required outside intervention. Once they were cleared to leave, the ship would be ready to blast off for parts unknown.
Rarely had he ever felt so drained.
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Diva, from Aeons Torn
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Post by Diva, from Aeons Torn on Jun 4, 2013 20:53:42 GMT -8
Regardless of exactly how that thing called a girl's body worked it appeared to be aware of change from consistent pain to relative safety. Within the cool darkness of the closed room its hands grasp for a greater purchase of wrecked fabric. Pale fingers clasp upon the worn collar, and up it's pulled until it covers up to the tip of her nose. The snow white body curls up into a ball, and a throaty sigh extinguishes like the death rattle of a star. Warm is the coat; deep is the slumber.
However, in the place where all good souls are sent to rest crashes a fiery comet made of blue aetherius. Realms of the long forgotten reverberate from it's impending crash, as if the Netherworld could ever hope to escape what came.
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Chloro
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Post by Chloro on Jun 5, 2013 7:12:17 GMT -8
It was really unhealthy to be so near to Diva. After all the heat-proofing, Kuroro pseudo-brain didn't have much space for a true person. Besides, why did she even need to be? After her core traits, she could pick up and discarded personas like outfits. It was incredibly useful for blending in, sneaking in, infiltrating and blowing up. Diva's uncontrolled screetches were contaminating her current self-awareness. Most would see this as a problem but Kuroro's sensitivity to the social ongoings that rippled through the Force was useful when it came to adopting the most common denominator.
She felt unusually euphoric. It would appear there was a such a happy vibe going through the ship. Kuroro had a skip to step as she burnt off her overflow of incendiaries as sugar. After such a visceral battle earlier, her body seemed to be hungry for another city-wide barbecue in an alarmingly short order. At least Eralam was a good at venting her urges in the right direction.
Having collected whatever she needed for Diva and was waiting outside when she heard a muffled scream. The first of many. Kuroro, ear pressed against the door, listened as meat and bones cracked, melted and reformed. She was frightened, nauseated by the intense stench and at the same time, magnetically drawn to it and unable to stop herself from being as close to it as possible. Kuroro gave a start as the opposite door suddenly vanished in Eralam's hellbent wake. She could feel the weird distortion of reality the Ancient Shard's being filled his god-like persona. If Eralam was the Sun then Diva was a black hole. Both of them featured an irresistible pull, for different reasons.
Her eyes glazed over, her heart swelling over with fanatical obsession that Eralam inspired in her. Putting her hands to her face, she could see him effortlessly striding toward his enemy that barely factored on the universal scale compared to him. Reaching down for the kill. The other tried to laugh off him off but unable to actually fight him. Effortlessly, he had her in the palm of his hand. And stopping at the threshold of actually ending Diva's life.
Kuroro frowned and opened the refresher camera feed. Watched her god sway and stagger. Stopping, where he could have gone forth. It was painful to watch, so to that, she added her own pain, shredding her skin with her razor-sharp fingertips as an obeisance for her master, for his moment of weakness. He had shown his weakness, thinking that no-one one had seen. Except, she always saw. As the god rose to his feet, the Sithspawn promised herself that she would make him better, stronger, powerful...
Eralam affectionately put his coat over the other girl, showing her the compassion and love that he owed only to her. After Diva defied him, challenged him, pushed him to the brink - he could still stoop so low to spare her a thought?!
He.. he cared for her?
Coming to, she realised that she must have blacked out for a while. It had been a blind fury and the pinky room was now an ashy room. There was no fire - that needed air. Motes of blackness swirled around in thermal currents. It was sheer radiant heat that flash burnt everything around her. Kuroro did not even feel the need to cry, because she knew what she had to do. Unlike Eralam, she would not have the compassion to stop.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Jun 5, 2013 11:47:41 GMT -8
The checklist went well. It was mind numbingly routine, exactly the sort of thing that one needs after a day like today. The fuel levels were good. The engines were running well. The hyperdrive checked out, all the controls were in working order, and the hull was in perfect shape. Despite initial concerns, there was enough air, food and water for the additional passenger. As Eralam began to scan the interior of the living compartments, he did notice a few things wrong.
First and foremost, the refresher would need a new door. While he might not have any real need to use the place, the others would probably like some privacy. There weren't any spares in storage, but an empty bedroom could stand to make the sacrifice.
Secondly, the walls would have to be repaired. That would be easy enough. The Force bent them, and it could certainly unbend them.
The ship's onboard aid station was running low on supplies. Or rather, it had been low, but Eralam had never needed to restock it. This could be problematic if Diva/Yangu remained unconscious for more than a few hours. While his own combat kit could patch up most injuries, both it and the aid station lacked anything more complicated than saline IVs or maybe some plasma. Hydration was not an issue, but nutrition eventually would be. He made a note to look into fixing that at the next stop.
There was also a high temperature alarm coming from Kuroro's room. Given all that had gone on, this wasn't terribly surprising. And the rooms themselves were clearly the brainchildren of the former captain's paranoia. Airtight, heavily insulated from both heat and cold, blasterproof doors, individual backup power sources, cripes. These things were practically escape pods. He would have left her to her own fiery devices, but there was also a low oxygen alarm from the compartment. That was bad. That was very bad. The minute those doors were open and fresh air hit the high heat, there would likely be an explosion."This day just keeps getting better and better." At least there was an easy fix. Each room had been fitted with a state of the art fire extinguishing system that was years ahead of pretty much anything on the market. Instead of tradition sprays of water or gas or even fire-retardant foam, this system relied on an appealing mix of high explosives and science. Long story short, a small packet of explosives would detonate, creating a pressure wave that would be sufficient to smother most flame. It also ruptures a tank of a special sort of silica gel that fills the room instantly, and lightly pressurizes the whole area. In another instant, through a complicated bit of science that makes no sense in real life but that can be assumed to be possible with the technology of the Star Wars universe, the liquid evaporates instantly, leaving only the solid silica matrix behind. The substance, known as aerogel, is one of the most heat-resistant substances in the known universe. It's a real thing, but ordinarily takes hours to make properly.
Long story short, the entire room is filled with a rigid, lightweight and utterly flame retardant material with the texture of extruded polystyrene. Once it was safe to do so, the Shard slowly began letting air in via the room's individual supply. It would take a few minutes, and it would probably not be fun to be inside, but the alternative was letting the ship burn down. Definitely not an option."Problem solved, problem staying solved. To celebrate surviving the most exhausting, dangerous and downright weird day to go down in the last few thousand years, Eralam turned down the volume a bit and played something a little more low key than before. Not exactly the cheeriest of songs, but one could hardly describe the Shard as being cheerful.He was utterly drained in a way that would have been fresh and exciting out of sheer novelty if it wasn't so damn exhausting. One passenger was passed the fuck out, Force only knew if she'd ever regain consciousness or what exactly would happen if she did. The other passenger had apparently had something of a meltdown, in more ways than one. It occurred to the Shard that, given her behaviour of late, Kuroro might not be so understanding about what had gone down."Fuck. Fucking fuck fuck FUCK!" Eralam lashed out with his fist in a fit of anger. A more rational part of his awareness noted that he was reacting more strongly to emotional stimuli than he ever had before in the HRD. This logical, rational train of thought suggested that the massive exertion of energy over the last few hours had weakened the mental barriers that normally isolated his mind from that particular aspect of the droid. The new, angry part encouraged the rational part to write that down on a piece of paper, fold it up until it was all sharp corners, and shove it up its arse sideways. The rational part assumed that the angry part wasn't being literal and went about its business, letting the angry part rant and rave for a bit.
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