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Rust (Closed)

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Rust (Closed)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Shi-chan on Sun Sep 19, 2010 5:38 am

(This is a private roleplay between Tæfaros and I.)

Her hair fell down in front of her face as she sat there, leaning her head against the cold window. Her eyes were closed, and her slumber was light. It had been a very long trip from the last town she had visited, and she hadn't had the time to sleep properly, and only a few minutes to rest, before it had become necessary for her to move on. Couldn't stay long in one place, not when one led a life like hers. It just wasn't possible.

There was only her and the driver in the bus, and luckily for her, he was just a quiet man who didn't poke his nose in her business. Although he had thought that she looked pretty strange. Her hair was almost completely white, her skin had very little colour, and he had even thought that he could see some of her veins through the almost transparent skin. She had smiled a little, but instead of thinking that she probably just didn't like the sun, he hadn't been able to think other than that there were something terribly off about her. Like the way her red tinged eyes had looked right through him, like the way she was skinnier than what could be healthy for a girl of her age, a girl who was almost a woman.

She looked a little sick. Even now when she was asleep, he didn't feel like she wasn't keeping an eye on his every move.

But, it wasn't his job to worry about her. He was just driving, and she was just a girl who'd gotten on the bus. Sure, she looked strange, and the huge boots and the worn army jacket she wore didn't make her appear any less odd, but there was no reason to judge her based on just that. After all, she'd been polite to him. It wasn't fair that he instantly had deemed her a freak.

---

She then opened her eyes. Shortly, she glanced around, a little confused as to where she were, but then remembered. She moved a little, not enough to sit up properly, but just so that she was still laying halfway down on the seat, almost curled up in a ball. She mumbled a little, still only half awake, and licked her dry lips as it was a habit for her to do each time she woke up. Slowly, she rubbed her eyes, and sat back up properly. The little sleep she had gotten had done her good, but already now she faced her next problem.

"Hungry..." she mumbled, not yet in the mood to construct a full sentence, and especially not when she was just talking to herself. She looked down between her feet, and saw that her bag had remained in place. "Wonderful!" She then said, her thin lips curving in a smile. Looking out of the window, the smile didn't disappear, if anything, it just grew bigger. It looked like they were heading up into the mountains, which almost definitely meant that it wouldn't be a big city she ended up in. That would mean that the number of people who could notice her presence there was limited.

A few minutes passed, in which only the sounds of the engine could be heard. Already now she was dreaming of finding a cosy little diner and eating so many slices of apple pie she'd be on the verge of bursting. And if she was lucky, she might even be able to sniff out a room where she could sleep. It had been weeks since the last time she'd slept in a proper bed.

"'Scuse me!" She called out, raising her voice above the noise that wasn't there. She saw how the driver almost jumped out of his seat as he heard her voice, and for a moment wondered if she shouldn't have shouted like that. She didn't worry about if for more than a second though, as she heard him respond. "Yes?" He said, almost sounding like if he was afraid of her.

"When's the next stop?" She asked, leaning a little forward as she talked. She had tilted her head, and was acting like he could see her, even though she knew that he wouldn't turn his head to talk to her. "There's a village about ten minutes from here. You want me to stop there?" was the answer. She was surprised that he was offering to do that, since it sounded like it wasn't something he usually did.

"That'd be really nice, thank you!" She said, now leaning back again. She turned her head and looked out of the window again, now even more anxious to make time pass faster.

Ten minutes later the bus came to a stop before what looked like an very old train station. To her, it didn't really look like anyone was there, or at least if there were someone, they weren't spending any time on this building. It seemed that it could fall apart any second. Still, she grabbed her bag, and with a wave to the driver, she got off the bus.

The ground was wet, as if it had just rained, and the air smelled fresh and completely clean. Even though it was so silent, she already liked this village.

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Re: Rust (Closed)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Tæfarós on Wed Sep 22, 2010 2:33 am

Sometimes it rained. Poured, even.

Cleansed. Purified.

It swept through souls and dreams amiss, and he would be the last of the townsfolk to acknowledge it. Well, so they said--he hardly cared to listen anymore.

He saw forlorn wisps dance in the coffee smoke like sprites in a drunken waltz. He pictured them mingling with the fumes from the kitchen, courting with apple pies and lusting over apricot jams. Such images were normal for he, being of high imagination and subdued intellect, of hooded eyes and unshaven chin. His body, hunched over in a perpetual daze, was hardly fit for toiling among the reclusive mountain ranges, for it had been softened by the temptations of urban life. Shaggy brown curls sprouted from his head as overgrown weeds sprouted, unwelcomed, during springtime. His expression screamed underachievement; twenty or so odd years of a pathless reign would do that to any guy, riddling his features with lines that came not from laughter, but from pain.

And bitching.

When it rained, he dared look up. The few boarders who had made it a priority to prolong their stay would shift, sending creaks through the wooden floorboards. Torrential rains--yes, now that was a good sign. Of what, he was not sure, never was sure; here he would normally sneak round to the back porch, vying for a signal to bring life to his outdated mobile phone, being perfectly unremarkable. Jalopies would chug through the village’s one street, slow down, pause, then continue along the muddied road. Bad time to be out, he would warn them. All terrible things happened after dark; all creatures of night preyed at this time, so it was told to children to keep them out of trouble. It was the rain that kept them at peace, the elderly said. It was the dew that singed their skin. Ever the cynic, he merely shrugged as a boy. Now as a man (or, at least, the semblance of one), he was old enough to shake his head, to excuse himself, to politely call bullshit on the situation.

All the rain ever did was bust a man’s hip as he fell, dethroned by the wet, unstable ground. He sighed.

The living area was empty. As the storm died, it took the chorus of sounds with it; only the gramophone broke the silence with its aged trumpets, and the occasional clatter of dishes reminded him of Sybil’s cooking duties. An aroma of apples and spices tinged with his black coffee, prompting him to utter words so poignant, so touching that he had not been driven to speak during the evening till now: “Hungry…“

His hand stopped mid-stroke as he lifted the pen, eyes scanning the hastily scribbled letter. As usual, the cuneiform had all matters of “I” and “hate” and something to do with pounding, rocking back and forth, and he set it aside, bringing his fingernails to his mouth. His brow furrowed in disgust.

But what was this? Of all things, a bus came coasting down the way, headlights puncturing the blackness that lay ahead. A rare specimen, that. Uphill terrain had rarely been kind to public shuttles, thus leaving the town in a state of isolation. Piqued interest drove him to bolt upright from the table, pushing the chair from beneath him ever so slightly--surprise was also not a common player in his spectrum, and yet the fascination of seeing something so odd (and so mundane!) brought him out the door, on the street. The air was fresh from the downpour, a fair sign of things to come for the potential stranger who stumbled into this quaint circle of Hell.

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Re: Rust (Closed)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Shi-chan on Wed Sep 22, 2010 3:31 pm

She stood still as she listened to the sounds of the bus leaving. In a short moment, she missed it. Not the noisy machine itself, but the cosy silence that had filled it, along with the occasional remark from the driver to someone outside his little bus. Small words she had picked up on, even in her sleep. She hadn't dreamt, she never really did. Sometimes she was worried that the things that was wrong with her body, had affected her brain too. A few years ago, she had wondered if that was the reason as to why she saw differently than the others. Why she could see those creatures everyone else seemed to be blind to.

She had wondered if that was the reason for her having to fight.

But her mother had said that the pale skin, the white hair, the red eyes and the sensitivity to both the sun, and all other kinds of light was because of her genes. There was just something that wasn't really right, and that was a shame. She couldn't do anything about it, which was lucky. She didn't want to look like the rest anyway. But the reason for the fighting, the unending travel and all that, was another. It was in her blood. It was the legacy of her family, and there was no way around it. Not that she wanted that. She didn't mind leading her life like that, so there was nothing to whine about.

She tilted her head slightly, and sniffed the air. There was a scent of something so very sweet, a smell she recognised right away. "Apple pie. Mmhm. Food for gods." Her thoughts were at once enveloped by the scent, and more than anything, she wanted to move towards it. There was just something that seemed a little off about it. No, it wasn't the scent. She looked around again, her red-like eyes scanning the surrounding area as best as she could. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw something. Them again!

She turned to face it, dropping her bag, so her hands were free. Her fingers were already at her sleeves, ready to pull the shredded fabric aside and prepare her weapons, but before she got that far, she was able to focus on the figure she had seen. It was a human, just a human. Light was shining from the building behind the figure, so all she saw was a silhouette. But it looked different from the others she had seen, although she wasn't able to put her finger on why that was so. This person felt like they did, yet still not completely alike.

She was frozen in that stance, for a moment confused. She shouldn't react like that to someone who was just a human. Perhaps they were close after all. The world was widely populated by them. Most people just didn't know it. She did, and slowly, she stood back up straight, and turned her head. Every detail, every shadow. It there were any creases in space or time, she'd see it. That meant they were on their way. It always did.

She tilted her head, and glanced back at the figure in front of building. She couldn't have this person see what he business in the village was. Then, there was a sudden sound from one side, and at once she turned her body towards it, and in the same motion got her sleeves out of the way. She was certain now. The stench of the invisible demons hung in the air, they were close, and apparently getting closer by the second. Hopefully they would sense her, like she sensed them, and know that this would be a horrible time and place to pick a fight.

She held her arms a few centimetres from her body, so that the barbed wire that was attached to the metal braces on them wouldn't cut her. Slowly, she reached to a pocket, and retrieved a pair of gloves. She slid them on, while still keeping an eye out for both the demons and the figure, and to the surroundings, she whispered a coy "C'mon you bastards. Show your ugly faces!"

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Re: Rust (Closed)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Tæfarós on Tue Sep 28, 2010 3:00 am

Welcome, welcome, to the Village With No Name, where we change the moniker every week or so, where there ain't no shame in dyin', and there's twelve fine women with your name on 'em, and you're free to live off the thinning fat of the land.

Should he greet this new soul with recited words, he would force the corners of his mouth to upturn into a smile, showing teeth stained with mocha and overpriced espresso from a hundred miles south. Wouldn't he or she be ever so charmed? As it was his duty to put a face on this hovel (a job tasked to him by the sheer lack of will from others, no less), the dearth of visitors had left him uncaring, and so it was reflected in his gaze as he saw the shadow of the arrival, illuminated slightly by the flickering lights of the old station. He squinted in the darkness as a chilling breeze ventured through the space between them, beckoning him to tighten the scarf round his neck. His right hand lifted, waved, uncertain. The stranger showed hints of recognition in movement, but the gestures were too vague, too stiff to strike him in any manner; however, he did notice the stiffness about him, as if the silence of the road had caught him in a pensive vice.

He went forth. "Looks like you could use a little guidance round here," he called out, and he immediately regretted it. Points for sounding like the town psycho. "You just come in? There's a boarding house--" a flick of the head, a shrug "--that I help in running; you could spend a few nights there, take a load off."

He wondered if the words held any weight. As he spoke, he had taken a few steps closer, attempting to discern the visage of the newcomer. These paces corrected his initial perception: The unfamiliar, a female, looked young, youngish, perhaps a few years behind himself, but those eyes, that hair... A quiet gasp escaped him, he who had been too heavily covered with shades of normality. It was not her outward appearance that startled him, because hey, he could designate odd fashion styling to the scene and the hip--no, it was the raw concentration that solidified her face, a face wrought with stories he couldn't possibly fathom, as she prepped herself into some sort of stance, braces of metal and wire donned on her arms. To her, he more than likely didn't exist; whatever she was readying for, it seemed deadly serious, and a piece of wallpaper like him would simply get in the way.

"You're weirding me out, newbie," he murmured, following where her watchful eye was taking her. For all it was worth, he saw nothing. All his senses caught was the scent of pie, torturing his growing appetite.

But although autumn in the ranges had been annually chilled, tonight was becoming an exception. Through the shears of his sheepskin coat, he shivered at the onslaught on wind that rocked the foundations of the village. Abnormally cold was an understatement. This girl was endlessly more attuned than he ever hoped to be, and for the first time in recent memory, he was disgruntled from being so oblivious.

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Re: Rust (Closed)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Shi-chan on Thu Sep 30, 2010 9:04 am

Their scent faded. It was strange, she had never experienced this before. She knew that they could move away if they did not know she was near, but this was not a part of their usual pattern. They were just as much predators as she were, and she was sure that they had known she was there. Even if she was the exact opposite of a demon, her blood carried the same stench as theirs. Upon hearing his voice, she had an idea of why they had backed off. Even if it was a bit of a stretch. They had never before minded if there was company. Never.

Slowly, she turned her head, and looked at him again. The one who had been in the doorway before, the one who had stood there and stared at her. Why had he approached her like this? And even more important, what was it she could see in his eyes. Was he surprised to see her up close? Possibly.

She listened to what he had to say and loosened up a little. She relaxed her shoulders, and moved her feet a little closer together before turning to face him. She didn't stop looking around for even a second, she was constantly listening, not once forgetting her main objective. "Didn't mean to, old man." She answered him. There was a slight hesitance in her voice, mixed with anxiety, and a fake kindness. It wasn't that she wasn't happy with being near other people, the issue was his timing. Had he kept his distance for twenty seconds longer, he would most likely have witnessed one of the most amazing things to have ever happened. A fight between terrifying demons, and the only crusader left on earth. But no, he had walked closer, unafraid of her. And it seemed that he had chased them away, or at least put some distance between the two of them, and the demons.

She shifted her weight slightly, and stared on through. Her lips felt unusually dry, and the cold wind whipped against the skin on her face and hands. Still, what captivated her most in that moment was the sound of the barbed wire moving across the asphalt, the tiny sounds of metal against road. She could feel how every fibre in her body was screaming for her to either get him away or go after the demons, but now, when he had spoken to her, she couldn't turn around and leave him without a proper answer.

"New, yes. I've never been here before." She said, trying to get a good long look at his face, trying to see him clearly. The light was still in his back, and she squinted her eyes involuntarily as she memorized the details of his face. "I know this is going to sound strange, but this place is infested with demons. Have you ever noticed that? They have a very distinct smell. They were here a moment ago, but I think you made them go away. You should be extra careful... You can't see them if you don't know they're there, but when you know... If you see a shadow moving weirdly, you should probably run."

Anyone who cared too much about anonymity wouldn't ever have uttered such words, but she hadn't even considered to not tell him. It was common courtesy to tell people that they might be in danger, and since she considered herself to have been raised properly, she had informed him of the demons. Whether or not he believed her was a completely different matter.

"But, demons or not, a little guidance... Wouldn't be so bad."

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Re: Rust (Closed)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Tæfarós on Mon Oct 04, 2010 1:46 am

His first reaction: Old!? A blink. A stare. A self-conscious grasp for his premature beard, a quirk of the brow, then a scowl, a snort. Old? his mind echoed. Psh, maybe compared to her, her and that feigned tone to her words, the tension in her stance. Life, with all its nooks, crannies, and glorified bullshit, was starting to dropping a mad deuce on him these days.

"You're not like the others," he wanted to say, till he realized how unwittingly obvious this sounded. Of course she wasn't; she wore this fact, quite literally, on her sleeve, the barbed wire swaying from her braces. This in itself was more than enough to intrigue him, especially given the rather awkward circumstances of this first encounter. He'd forgotten a lantern, for one thing--the station bulbs had been good as dead for some time now, and the minimal lighting of the scattered houses down the way were unreliable at best. Grasping his coat collar, he continued to scan for the invisible disturbance to no avail, feebly shielding himself from the winds as they howled, faded, and howled once more. He might have detected the hint of a smell foreign to these lands, but he had learned not to trust his senses over the years--that is, whatever senses that cared to remain.

And then she spoke again. Well...damn.

Where did he begin? His eyes widened slightly, and his mouth threatened to twitch into a grin. He emitted a forced sound akin to laughter, though it could have possibly been mistaken for a gagging noise or mating call. It was the sign of a man stuck in emotional limbo, a man whose responses rarely tended to take form in the spoken word. Really, mysterious stranger? Really? Was this some crude joke sworn in from a paranoid god? Was this her form of amusement, wandering into podunk towns and scaring the everloving snot out of nonbelievers? Suddenly the elderly folk came clearly in his head; they warned him of those like her, those who would prophetize and propagandize, who would leave naught a trace of themselves upon their departure but imprints in the tarmac. So she wasn't merely a liberal soul, but something much grander. More psychotic, even. Had he noticed the creatures of the netherworld? Hell, he hardly noticed his untied laces on any given day.

He did nothing for an interval, then cleared his throat: "Em, alrighty then. I think you'd have a higher chance of acquainting yourself without speak of the whole demonic shtick. I mean, you've already put yourself in a tight spot based on your looks alone." He urged himself to half smile. "Ask about funny shadows and you'd probably get a story about a trip gone wrong or something."

It was then that he noticed her lack of belongings. Cocking his head, he peered in the dimness, but try as he might, it seemed she had nothing of significance with her. All the more to ease her stay, he supposed.

"But yeah," he added, starting toward the boarding house and beckoning for her to follow, "I can get you settled in. Maybe a little homemade apple pie'll clear your thinking some."

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Re: Rust (Closed)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Shi-chan on Sun Oct 10, 2010 4:24 pm

She had slowly begun to wrap the barbed wire around the braces on her arms again, careful not to cut herself. Her gloves kept her fingers and palms safe, for even if they looked like they were made of thin fabric, that was only so that there would be room for plates of light metal, allowing her to grab onto the wire without losing hands, fingers and whatnot. It had never been a bad idea to be on the safe side when operating with sharp objects and mass murderous invisible things. Well, it hadn't ever been a bad idea to be on the safe side.

That was also why so was so careful, and the reason for her moving her fingers so slowly. She listened to him, and wasn't quite pleased with his tone at first, but as he mentioned apple pie, she couldn't have cared less about trivial things such as politeness and good manners. There were just so many other things one should pay more attention to.

"You're god." She said as he signalled for her to follow him. "I've been craving apple pie for... A long, long time now. Damn, old man, you sure know how to make a traveller feel welcome!" She said as she secured the wire on both arms. She couldn't help but to smile at the thought, and knew already now that she would turn into a brutish beast as soon as she got within range of the pie. There was no way around it, it was how things were meant to be. She quickly snatched her bag from the ground, and followed right behind him. "Although I must admit that you're a strange fella. You can't just walk up to me and say I look weird. I'm not wrong, you're all just too colourful. Even when you're wearing all black, you're a rainbow...." She went silent for a little, and then continued, almost as if she was scared of the silence.

"And I really hope that you people aren't like the one's way out in the country. They go crazy as soon as they just catch the scent of something out of the ordinary, and old man, have you ever had to run for your life because you're being chased by an angry mob made up of farmers with pitchforks and torches? I tell ya, it's not just like something taken out of an old b-film, it's pretty damn unpleasant too." She paused shortly as she looked around again, tightening her grip of her bag, holding her free hand on her sleeve, prepared to drop everything and throw herself into the fray, should they decide to return. And if they did, she would just have to prove to him that it wasn't just something she was making up.

"See, when I got there, I warned them about the demons, and then they thought I was just joking, but when they really turned up and made a much bigger fuss about themselves, they thought that I'd brought them along. I mean, how crazy is that?! I didn't bring the friggin' things 'round, I just track 'em down and kill 'em all. But no... 'Burn the witch, burn the witch...' the fuckers shouted after me." She said, just for the sake of saying it. She didn't feel any need to keep it a secret and especially not around this one, for he had already accepted the mention of them, and why shouldn't he also then accept the story? If anything, it was at least more entertaining than so many other stories out there.

She was silent for a few seconds again, and then opened her mouth to speak once more, but no sound made it passed her lips. A chilly wind had stopped her thoughts, as she was sure that it had carried a light scent of demon. They weren't further away than that. Later, she decided. She would lure them out later.

In the dead of night, when humans pass everything off as tricks of shadows, and the last pieces of the dream they had before waking up.

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Re: Rust (Closed)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Tæfarós on Thu Oct 14, 2010 2:07 am

((I love you, kthnx.))

So they went. Her wire-induced clinking provided mechanical rhythms to this unconventional scene, conjuring in his head wild images of skirmishes, beasts, and plasticine dinosaurs at twelve frames per second. He had his hands pocketed and his shoulders curved slightly to brace the sporadic onslaughts of wind, and his face was wrought with hints amusement (along with a healthy dose of confusion) as he listened to her. This strange, strange being--he could only imagine the arousal she would stir among the boarders, whose greatest excitement usually stemmed from whether the corn fields were in fair shape.

Her words were like some New Age debacle. This was how the modern, wayward person spoke, he decided, in that he had not heard such enthusiasm since his early days in college, two or three odd years ago when the earth wasn't crippled on its axis (for all important matters used to revolve around him, you see). In spite of his urge to cringe at every "old man" she dropped--for he was rather young, although his appearance and mannerisms might have said otherwise, young enough to hardly be considered a man--her appreciation for the pie had him smiling. What a weird feeling it was to smile. For a moment, he was ready to deem something wrong with his jaw.

I'm a rainbow. A strange, godly rainbow. Yeah, so was cancer, all sharp grins and tears. "Whatever you say, dude. Also, I'd be the last person to scare away your beasties." The lead-up had been jarring, jarring enough to gain a pause on her part and a misstep on his. He felt as if his feet could tangle as he considered what she had said, and even the beat skipped between them revealed no sense for the remark. Must've been that demonology swamping her brain again.

"Yeah, I hate when I get chased by an angry mob. It sucks," he replied. "Really though, we're pretty chill here, very pacifist. 'Angry' is rarely part of our vocabulary, unless, y'know, you're messing with the geezers at the end of the road. Wouldn't recommend trying them in a game of chess, no matter how desperate they seem."

As she rambled on, another gust brought the down-home scents to his nose again, and his pace quickened involuntarily as the inn was merely steps away. Its aged foundation loomed above them in a mesh of oak boarding and yellow-tinted windows, the dark silhouettes flicking across the glass like ghosts. The end of her story had gotten a good chuckle out of him, which frightened him more than a simple action ever should, and he fidgeted with the door handle only to find that it had been locked during his absence. Made sense.

Fishing for his keys, he turned to her, opened his gob, closed it, grasped for a response that could possibly be as epic as that tale of hers. That was it--there were no words. "That's...pretty crazy." Lame. He was mostly distracted by his failure to multitask as the keys continued to elude him. "Well, maybe you'll have better luck here. We're just a bunch of Jewish mutts in denial; on the chance we get us a Goy in town like yourself, we'd be too fascinated by the fact that you exist to realize how offbeat you are."

Miraculously, he felt the keys brush against his palm, retrieved them, and held open the door for her, his lanky frame nearly grazing the height of the entranceway. His petite Aunt Sybil was one step ahead of him, setting out dishes piled high on the dining table off in the corner of the room. She moved humbly, her faint blonde hair pulled neatly in a bun, as she prepared to serve a meager crowd of three. He noted that the other five or so must have retired early, a common occurrence round the house no doubt.

And, of course, she perked up the instance they stepped through the door. Her brow raised with curiosity, head titled, and her signature smile was hesitant to raise her high cheekbones as she greeted them: "Isa! It's about damn time we got a fresh face around here--I was almost getting tired of looking at yours."

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Re: Rust (Closed)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Shi-chan on Wed Oct 20, 2010 6:42 am

As soon as she had stepped inside with him, the light had forced her to look down. It felt as if it burned her eyes, and at once an image filled her mind. It was that, and only that, and even though the image was absolute beauty, perfection, a memory of the birth of life, she dreaded it. She feared it more than any demon she could ever encounter, for even if it was just a harmless memory, it literally made her heart skip a beat, and it made her forget how to breathe. She lost track of time and space, and perhaps she was quick to regain it, but that didn't mean that it was any easier for her to step into the light.

Looking back up, the light left long lines across everything she could see. She squinted her eyes and turned her head a little. A brief thought crossed her mind, but she pushed it away as soon as she realised what she was thinking, for there was no way she would hide in the shadow that he cast. Then it struck her, had the woman said his name? Was it Isa?

She turned her head from side to side, and took a good long look at everything. The traces of light had faded, and having had a few seconds to get used to it, it was much easier for her to get an overview of the place. She wasn't sure if it was a good idea to attract any attention, or if she should just scream out, and let them all know that she'd hit town, and that she was going to act very crazy the next while, but in the end, she decided that it would be better for all involved if she remained calm and held her head low for a little. Just as he'd told her, no use in getting involved in chess games right away. Especially when she didn't know the rules.

But that was to be saved for another time. Now, she looked to the woman there, and with a smile raised her hand to greet her. She waved almost like a child would, and was almost about to faint. Only now did she really notice how strong the smell of food was. Right away she started fantasizing about the insane amounts of food she felt she could fit in her stomach, and was almost unable to keep herself from drooling.

Finally then, she looked at him again. Having collected herself enough to focus on something other than her hunger, she could get a much better idea of how he looked now. Outside in the darkness she had just about just guessed what his face and expression would be, and now, she could tell that she hadn't been far off at all. Sure, he was very much like the complete opposite of her, but that only served to make him much more interesting. As she stood there, the look in her eyes almost made her look like she was a scientist and he was her experiment, a tiny little creature she examined.

She then decided that she was in need of his attention. She punched his shoulder very lightly, and then spoke. Her voice was a little raspy, but clear in an almost child-like way. "Isa, is that you? You've got a pretty name, old man. I like it. Almost sounds like the name of a fairytale princess, wouldn't you say? I met one of those once, granted, it was only in a dream, but still... She was very pretty. And it was very entertaining to save her from all the bandits and thieves. And guess what, after I'd saved her and her kingdom, her father said that I could marry her, but I didn't, 'cause I had to go somewhere else. But she did give me a kiss before I left."

She did it again, rambling on and on about something that held very little significance to anything. She didn't care much, but talked about whatever came to mind, for, just this once, she felt safe. With these few other people, of which she really didn't know that many, if any, she was comfortable.

But the demons lurking outside still made her feel a little uneasy. Just a little.

Her eyes then widened as she remembered something crucial she had forgotten all about 'till now. She looked up at him once more, and after a short silence, she spoke again.

"My name is See." She told him.

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Re: Rust (Closed)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Tæfarós on Mon Nov 15, 2010 1:55 am

Some kids were fortunate enough to, by some glorious stroke of blind stupidity, fall into a well and never be found, or perhaps to be stricken by lightning whilst hidden in an underground bunker. He fancied to imagine that none of these fates were quite as dire as introducing a new face to Aunt Sybil; he fancied to think that merely existing in a void of purgatory was not as dire as existing in the presence of Aunt Sybil. And to pour salt on the wound, she had used his darling name. Ohgodohgodohgod.

His cheeks burned with the white-hot intensity of a thousand drunken cats in heat. "Isaac, remember? I told you to call me Isaac," he said in protest, laughing meekly. The words were stripped of conviction. "And you can kick me out at any time. Just say the word, I'm gone."

"And leave you with no place to go? Please, Isa, I'm not that cruel," Sybil was quick to reply, firing on all fronts as she set the table with ease. Her eyes, however, never left the guest who stood in the doorway. He likened the stains on her apron to ink splotches in a Rorschach test. Oh, what a horrific shrink she'd make.

He found himself tight-lipped, and thus said nothing. How else was there to respond but in failed quips and broken gestures? The Kotchkas glossed over his arrival as usual, both of them shooting him the vilest glares an elderly couple could muster. Then there was the mountain man, whom Isaac and the rest were sure had no proper name, whose preferences lay in a good heaping of pot upstairs rather than a wholesome meal. By these standards, the demon-crazed girl would have absolutely no issue fitting into this band of misfits; in fact, she'd be the shining crown of the boarding house, he bet.

Speaking of her, he had the incentive to finally do as he was tasked when he felt a light nudge upon his shoulder. That was her being proactive, just in time. He was ready to apologize, to say that he normally wasn't this slow or his peers this inane, honest, and that the rich filling of pie would obliterate any doubts she had, but the whole fear of shadows was really quite absurd; yet she seemed to do the talking for him. And what a string of sounds it was. He listened as one listens to a child sing at her first recital (and not a particularly superb child, either)--you can only grin for so long until your teeth start grinding into dust, producing sounds that more than likely end up outperforming the tyke on-stage. Every so often he would glance up at the others in the room, waiting for the scowls to surface, but mashed potatoes proved to be of more worth to them. Exhaling deeply, he piped up as she finished. A lightbulb popped above his head, left pixie dust in his bush.

"All right...See." Was it right to call the name foreign? He blinked as he said it, fighting back the urge to scoop her up, to lock her away on the second floor, and to prevent her from going off another tangent about fantastical things and princesses with hidden agendas. But that would be unwise and so very unlike him, so he settled for hoisting her bag, placing a hand on her back in a subtle effort to get her to join him. Maybe. How awkward. "Uh, yeah. I'm gonna go get your things situated in your room, if you don't mind. Come up if you want, though I'm sure you'd rather bite off more than you can chew. Just don't scare anyone, okay? They're fragile. Oh, and c'mon--I'm Isaac. I-saac. I'm also not old."

With that, he muttered an "okay" under his breath as some sort of reassurance that he'd done this before, had strange fellows before, not as strange as the girl with the red eyes and the white hair and the rambling, but yeah, he could do this. "Everyone," he called to the room with an obligatory sense of duty, though his voice lacked the volume to address them. They barely noticed him. "Give a warm welcome to See. She's awesome and stuff."

And then he died. Well, not really. He did begin his trudge up the creaking stairs, hoping to disappear from sight as quickly as possible.

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Re: Rust (Closed)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Shi-chan on Wed Nov 24, 2010 10:42 am

"I'm awesome and stuff." She repeated with a light giggle, as she took a few trying steps after him. She had found it hilarious how he had changed in behaviour, and for now, it demanded the most of her attention. It was strange how she had almost forgotten why she was there, how she had pushed it out of her mind for a little, as she had stepped into the warmth, and had been introduced to all these new faces. She had no doubt that Isa felt really rather uncomfortable around the woman who had been setting the table, and she had a slight suspicion that they were related somehow. Probably just because they had a few facial features that were slightly reminiscent of the other's. But it seemed that it was more of a spark in the eye, a curve of the lips, and nothing more than that.

"You're old. Older than me, I'm just a kid." She said as she caught up to him on the stairs and slowed down behind him. She wasn't trying to make him feel stressed, and even though her hunger wanted her to not give a shit about him, and focus of the various foodstuffs she could stumble upon in the kitchen, she still chose to follow him. She liked his energy, it was so strange she couldn't help but to feel drawn closer. He was almost like being really close to a demon, the shivers it sent down her spine every time she could feel their breath on her skin, the odd adrenaline rush she felt as she fought for her life and everything that had ever been.

The static she felt, knowing that she was the last crusader, and somewhere, out there, the demons were lurking in the night. If she knew them, and she did, they'd find some poor soul and slaughter it soon, they'd leave it in a public place, and they'd be sure she would find it sooner or later. At least they'd make sure she would hear about it. They had felt her presence, now they knew they were threatened, but rather than fleeing they would fight for their territory.

The worst thing about her life was the fact that she had to run around outside in the middle of the night, and in the winters, it sucked. She hated cold, like she hated snow.

Not that it mattered now anyway, her thoughts always carried her so far away, and for this once, just this once it would be nice if she could keep her focus. She stared at his back and then smiled. "Isaac. Isaac. Isaac. Isaac. Isaac. Isaac. Did you know that your name's Hebrew and means laughter? It's really pretty still, even if you aren't a princess. You don't look like you laugh a lot, do you? Ever smiled? Really been about to laugh your head off, 'cause you're having so much fun? I have. I really love it, but it's been a while since I've met anyone as funny as that guy. He was a comedian in New York, famous and everything, and I met him when he was stumbling around in some back alley, drunker than what should have been humanly possible, and I got him into a corner cafe, got him a cup of coffee, and he started telling jokes, it was amazing!" She said, talking to whomever might listen to her. Her smile was wide, and slightly crooked, but the joyful glimmer in her eyes couldn't be mistaken.

"So, where am I gonna sleep?" She asked, looking around, anxious, awaiting, about to burst out in more stories, more adventures. She couldn't help it, she just felt good, she felt really good!

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Re: Rust (Closed)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Tæfarós on Mon Dec 20, 2010 6:23 pm

"I used to laugh..." And call them names--"them" being me. This is what it must have felt like ride on the chair lift, he reasoned with himself, peeking over his shoulder to catch a glimpse at those excitable red eyes. Had he been shrugging off her quips before, he simply couldn't ignore them now; every story, every smile of hers was the semblance of something different, something new within the aging household and its aging dwellers. None of the other few visitors had managed to free him from his country life stupor. It was just a matter of keeping up with her--as he topped the stairs, she was nearly right there alongside him.

"Give me a reason to laugh, I'll laugh. Tough luck with that around here, kiddo." He played her venture in his head like an old film reel; he saw her laughing with the stranger, who would have been far too inebriated to question her appearance, and who probably forgot about her the morning after. Even if that were the reality of it, he reckoned that their time in that cafe had been more noteworthy than anything he had seen or accomplished in the past five years. Some fiber of him was burning with envy. Had he ever gone to New York, met a magical hobo in an alleyway? A shake of the head. No. Loans came first, and things were too expensive. But, somehow, he straightened his posture. He led her to the second-to-last room at the end of the hallway, and he tried to smile. "Amazing, huh? I'll tell you what, though, I bet he's not as funny as I am. Oh yeah, believe you me, I've got the whole home practically rolling on the floor on a good day."

He didn't.

Did you know that your name is a sense? As in, look at me, I see demons? You can't group that with a language.

The door creaked open against his push, like giving off a warning sign. Dust greeted them from inside, drifting upwards to settle in the warm light fixtures that lined the walls. Hesitating, he questioned whether this room were right, as if it were drastically different from the rooms adjacent. "You, young'un, will be sleeping here."

"Here" was all too familiar. Everything lay just as sickeningly pristine as he had left it; aside from a few additions from Sybil--that golden rocking horse hadn't sat in the corner for over two decades now and only seem to do so out of spite--he couldn't imagine the room in any other state. It smelled of moth and silverfish buffets and also, curiously enough, of olives.The small bed and its wallpaper-like sheets had nary a crease. The only light to speak off came filtering from the windows, reaching eerily past the curtains and across the floorboards to hit the rug, the nightstand, the basket of National Geographics beneath the mattress. If demons lurked here, his surprise would be forgone; the closet was a nice place to start. He found the lamp beside the bed and, turning it on, found himself feeling like a giant with a headache.

Idling there blankly, he let her bag slip from his grasp, and it hit the floor with a sound that didn't give a damn. "So, yeah. Here we are. And before you ask, only the Koshkas have a television for their soaps and game shows. But!" he added, an odd sing-song note twanging in his voice. He scrambled under the bed, clawing at knickknacks for dear life. It was the fastest he had moved since...forever.

Moments later, he stood with nearly a dozen records cradled in his arms, and he looked as alive as she. "We do have these, along with a radio. Don't recommend fiddling with it since the nobs are busted, but these are good as new."

Just then, he ceased his babbling. The brief joy had left him staring at her, knuckles white as he grasped the oversized Monkees album. He had the most bizarre interest gnawing at him. "Say, how old is 'just a kid?'"

No wonder she always called him out for being an old fart.

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Re: Rust (Closed)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Shi-chan on Wed Dec 22, 2010 1:15 pm

She had followed him inside, staring at the dust in the air, the light from the window, every little detail had captivated her, entranced her, the scent of the room was old, it ripped at her nostrils as she sniffed it, it filled her head with images of whom might have been there before her, her imagination went wild with ideas, there were so many opportunities, so many things to consider. Maybe there had been an inventor, working on a machine to travel to a mirrorworld, a world filled with strange objects, weird humans and as there always were, a big bad, a great evil. No story would ever be complete without a fiend to take the place as the evil one. Heroes would always have to fight something.

Maybe there had been a writer, a man who wrote stories and poems for his long lost love, dreaming away in his own world, torn apart by hope and longing. Maybe there had been a master chef, more talented than any other, maybe he had cooked for the finest restaurants, maybe there had been a musician who travelled from town to town like her, maybe there had been a magician who could summon dragons and faeries, maybe there had been the young man who now stood in front of her, the look on his face so amazing and somehow... Liberating.

He had looked so alive. Excited, breathing, a flash of a smile that may or may not have been there after all.

Her eyes had widened at the sight, her lips had shaped a wide smile, almost making her look like a maniac. His question caught her off guard, it was odd, no one ever asked her age. No one ever asked questions. Chances were that the answer would be unsatisfying. Still, Isa didn't believe her, to him she was probably just a loon, passing by. It hurt a little to think that it was such, but still, there was no reason to tell lies, and so, she wouldn't try. "It's a bit difficult to explain actually," she started, trying to think of the right words to say. "In this body, I'd say that I'm about seventeen or so. Maybe eighteen, but not much younger. But if you're asking how long I have been conscious, how many years I've been able to think and philosophise and all that bullshit, then we're talking a few thousands of years."

She was aware that it probably didn't make much sense to him, and just like before when she had just babbled on about princesses and drunken comedians, she didn't think much of whatever confusion there might be. "My family's strange, I'm sure you've already guessed that. Besides most of them being dead, the ones who are left aren't worth mentioning. We exist in order to maintain a very delicate balance, the one between crusaders and demons. Now, don't get the impression that I'm like the crusaders of the church, in fact, I have very little to do with that, but think of me as the force that opposes the creatures whom oppose me. Now, the thing is that there's been a lot of generations, and in every second of these, there has been one or more people like me. People who do the same as I."

She took a few steps into the room, and sat down on the bed. She looked up at him, not yet expecting an answer, just wanting to tell more. He didn't know, but by asking her the simple question of her age, he had caused thoughts, memories and knowledge to buzz around inside her head, because of the question she felt like telling him. After all, he was probably the closest thing to a friend she had ever had. It didn't matter that she had only just met him, she had mentally tied herself to him right from the beginning.

"I am See Kerze of the Kerze family from Germany. Our business is killing demons. I'm the only one left alive, the others might show up though. I'd like to introduce you to my older sister, I think you'd like her. She's a bit ghostly, but still... Anyway, when my grandmother died, the power to fight the demons were passed on to the next ones, and the memories and knowledge too. So, in that way, I am the sum of my ancestors, I am their legacy. It's impossible to learn to fight like I do in the short time I've been here, I was born with it. Made to do it."

She finished like that, not sure if he had understood what she was saying, but she only looked at him, blinked once, and smiled. "What about something to eat now?"

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Re: Rust (Closed)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Tæfarós on Mon Jan 03, 2011 9:05 pm

He felt the tattered records slipping from his arms as if they, too, had been stricken with disbelief. "Get on with it," they seemed to say at her invitation. The room creaked without a care. He blinked, laughed with strained, mating call mentality. "Cool. Okay."

Except it wasn't okay. A story that recited and practiced only belonged to the minds of the legally insane--or the criminally nerdy. His ounce of liveliness had given away to slight amusement, then curiosity as her telling turned more outlandish, and his eyes retained that wide-eyed look of anticipation even as the very mention of classic rock grew irrelevant. Thoughts took over for verbal responses. How typical of him.

I figured you to be much younger, his head stated quite obviously. Of course she'd be expecting that; fantastical nonsense bred nonfantastical responses. Oh jaded Isaac, raised within the boundaries of logic, cast away from the enticing ideals of rainbows and unicorns: He would save that for those who had yet to receive a dose of life up the wrong hole. Yet she was so persistent, too damn persistent--she would have to had build one fact upon another til that tower of lies supported her cross-country endeavors, one crazy comedian at a time, one bus fare here, one sleepless night there, before it came crashing, crashing in the face of the shadows that lurked. Perhaps she lacked the right pills. One slip up on the schedule could render ghosts in your peripheral vision. Perhaps those crusaders only fancied themselves to be so, glorified beyond all reason. Perhaps he needed to lighten the hell up.

He wanted to shake it off. Once she left, so would the fantasy. Slowly lowering the records beside her, he placed his hands on his hips, shaking his head. A grin fought to place itself on his face. It could not be helped. "I...well, okay," he said once more, nodding as if her history made perfect sense. And then, "Okay!," throwing his hands up in mock defeat. Staring at her, reading her expression, he found that part of him desired to believe her, if only for the sake of a novelty. Demons bursting through the window, stirring the residents into a frenzy--it was the most sadistically humorous image he had all year. "Seriously, how am I supposed to respond to that?"

At the risk of derailing even further, he set out to put them both back on track. "Well, let's get a little food in you--that should get you sane. I bet those demons of yours have prevented you from eating a good meal. We also exist to maintain a delicate balance here: the order of the hungry and the order of the fed, and you must belong to the former. "

After walking a mere three steps towards the door, he had to stare back at her. He felt daft, small in the larger scheme of things. The agenda, the barbed wire, and everything about her reeked of Japanese kid shenanigans, but the knowing, almost casual way with which she described them was fairly unsettling. "Really, Ms. Kerze, that is the damnedest good backstory I've heard from anyone here. You deserve an extra serving for that. C'mon."

He sensed that his behavior was inching into jerk territory, but he also sensed that she would shrug it off, take it like a true...centuries old Batgirl. She could always convince him--how was anyone's guess, but therein remained the possibility.

Outside the door, he might have glanced over his shoulder, and he might have widened his eyes at the shadow he and the fixtures casted, and he might have lingered there for a few seconds longer than needed. He just might have.

Down the hallway, down the staircase, he trudged over the table and assumed for her to do the same. Those gathered round wouldn't raise their heads until that feeble attempt at engaging in conversation, to which he would promptly stuff his gob to delay speaking. As he set his coat on a nearby hanger, Sybil shot him a wry glance from the end of the table. How typical of her. Tight-lipped Isaac attempted to think nothing of it, blindly scooping slabs of whatever onto his plate. His stomach registered hunger; his expression did not.

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Re: Rust (Closed)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Shi-chan on Fri Jan 28, 2011 1:54 pm

He had left her there, and in the few seconds it took her to follow him, something odd happened, something very strange. It wasn't strange like her, not in the same way, but it was more like something you wouldn't expect. It was even a surprise to her, she really hadn't seen it coming. For a brief moment, a lingering memory of a second, a fragment of time, she felt a heart wrenching stab of pain, and in the same moment, a tear trickled down each her cheeks, leaving burning traces on her skin.

She parted her lips slightly as she noticed it, and slowly moved her hands to her face. As soon as her fingertips came in contact with the tears, it truly dawned upon her what was happening. See was crying. For the first time in many, many years. And even if it was only two tears, it felt devastating. She inhaled and wiped her face in her sleeve at the same time, even though she understood why, she hadn't wanted to let it be a reality. She hadn't wanted to own up to it, for it made her feel weak. She had hoped he would believe her. Just a little, just a tiny bit of her story, but it was obvious that he had either thought it a joke or perhaps that she was just a mad girl. This hadn't happened before, but she had needed him to believe what she was saying. For once she had been completely honest to another being, and even though the daring step had made her feel courageous she was now just reduced to a sad little girl.

She got to her feet then, just mere seconds after he had left the room. She looked like she always had, there was no evidence of her emotional outburst. It wasn't fitting for her, one might get the impression that she was overly sensitive to everything. She wasn't, she just felt with the entire world every now and then, soaking up every feeling around her. Perhaps she really was a little mad, after all, she had already decided that he was her friend. Maybe mostly because he had welcomed her, invited her inside, and then the smile. The childish look of enthusiasm that had lasted only a short moment.

Stepping out in the hallway, she didn't look back as she closed the door to the room behind her. She caught a glimpse of Isaac's back as he walked down the stairs, and then hurried after him, her steps much quicker than normal. Down the stairs she saw that everything was ready for them to gather at the table and eat. There seemed to be a place for her too, so she silently moved closer, and finally gathered the courage to sit down next to Isaac. Still, he was the only one nearby she had a relation to, it would feel too strange to have chosen any other spot. She glanced at him, her expression clearly showing that she was nervous, that she felt out of place. At first, she hid her arms, she didn't want to cause an uproar because of the barbed wire, at least not if she hadn't already.

As she sat there, she only just realised what was happening around, and therefore accepted everything that was handed to her. She ended up with a plate full of food, and a mind that was set only on eating. It smelled so heavenly, she had to hold herself back from just slamming her face down on her plate and scooping it all up in her mouth at once. Instead she slowly took the fork beside her plate, pushed a mouthful of food onto it, and then almost threw it into her mouth in the inevitable frenzy she fell to, bewitched by the scent of cooking. She repeated that five, six times before she could move her attention back to the world that was not made of flavours and such. She just didn't get to spend much time in that world before a third one fought its way to attention.

It was sudden, she had barely felt anything before it happened. Had she not been so distracted, she would have realised how close they were, how the demons lurked and watched, how they kept an eye on her. She just hadn't paid attention. She turned her head to the windows just a mere moment before something slammed against it. It didn't shatter at first, but almost the entire glass turned white, and a complicated pattern of white lines spread out across it. The sound of what was happening was so loud that it easily made every other noise fade, and as she sat there, her eyes widened in surprise, another thing was slammed into the window, and this time it shattered, sending little pieces of glass flying in the room. It was oddly reminiscent of an explosion, except for the detail that a human body was tossed through the hole in the glass.

In the few seconds in which the body was in the air between the window and the table, she registered an awful lot of things about it. First, it was the body of a middle aged woman, she had blonde hair, and had a chubby figure. Second, she was very very dead. Her body was mangled, torn and shredded to the point where it went from grotesque to downright hellish.

The body landed on the table, and slid along the surface for a very small distance. The dead lady was so kind as to knock a variety of items out of the way, making her landing end in a disturbingly beautiful position. She lay on her back, her feet together and her right arm stretched out from her shoulder. The other arm were no longer attached to the corpse. Several traces of blood was splattered across the nearest walls, the floor and several of the people present. The face of the dead lady was almost gone, as she lay there with only three or four teeth left, all bashed out of place and barely hanging on in the flesh. A stream of pus, drool and blood had mixed, and ran out of the rests of her mouth. There was not much left of the jaw, and that which was had been so severely dislocated that it lay beside the head. The eyes however, were the most interesting. Along with traces of tears all the way down the face, they gave the clear impression that this woman had died while in a state of excruciating pain and fear. Her chest had been ripped open, the ribs poking every which way the found to be the most revealing. At least when taking into account that the intestines that had not fallen out onto the table and floor were completely bared.

See didn't know whether there was silence or noise in the room, but as she in seconds realised what was happening, she turned her head and stared straight at Isaac. "This is not a dream. Do not doubt that your reality has just been fucked from behind and has broken into little pieces. If you are the least bit sensible, you will not reject this." was all she told him as she rolled up her sleeves and zipped down her jacket, onl to reveal that she wore nothing under it. She was not ashamed though, and with a few quick steps, she was by the broken glass, and in a halfway clumsy, halfway hurried jump, she made her way through the man-sized hole in the window.

While in the air, she unclasped the barbed wire from the braces on her arms, and as she landed on the ground, her feet touching down nimbly and far from each other to give the best balance, she screamed with all her might to the creatures in the darkness.

"Get in the ring you motherfuckers! You wanna come here and kill as it suits you?! You come out here so I can gut you bastards!"

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Re: Rust (Closed)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Tæfarós on Tue Mar 08, 2011 3:42 pm

As the food stared back at him, he fancied to think that life, if only for a little while, returned to some state of normalcy. The meats and sauces looked as one looked without dignity. It was sadly appropriate. He was hesitant to take fork and knife in hand, too preoccupied with idle thoughts to satisfy his hunger.

Then See arrived. Pairs of eyes shifted once more to drink in the walking showpiece, but Isaac—Isaac glanced at her with such subtlety that he may not have glanced at her at all. Something caught his feigned attention, however, something that reddened her eyes behind their naturally scarlet tint. His mouth parted slightly in a small fit of panic. No attempts to conceal it could guise the possibility that, his back turned, he had quite literally spilled out her emotions, wrenched forth from an area he dared not tread. His appetite suddenly lost, his lips trembled, words un-cohesive, uncooperative. An apology? They would not form an apology. What would be the purpose of this if he remained disbelieving? At the very least, he could make her feel welcome. Harmless as his intent had been, it was the result that kept him—and the rest of the room—deadly quiet sans the clattering silverware and the aged, spinning record that seemed far too old for the present.

But she was a trooper, that girl, more so than himself. When her plate was filled, she did not let the food bask in the sauces of its forgone dignity. How admirable. She ate. She ate.

She ate some more.

He'd be damned if he wasn't impressed, impulsed into doing the same. After all, life was gradually bedding the normal mistress now. For a while, he watched in awe. Even Sybil, whose face grew quizzically concerned at the sight, smiled in the end. Guests were guests.

And he, too, smiled again, genuinely. What a milestone.

But his heart stopped. Shattering glass—that was new. Patterns formed across like cracking thin ice, movements rendered stiff... It was sadly appropriate. Perhaps he was the only one to notice. Perhaps anxiety had settled in, bringing with it oddities to invade the podunk village. It was okay. Just go back to normalcy. She's already set a fine example of that. It was okay.

It was not okay.

As the window shattered, he could not hear, see, speak. White noise clogged his ears. Static fazed his eyes. Bile clogged his throat, his nostrils assaulted by scents that could not belong to the living, by a feast rendered grotesque and harrowing with the arrival of their informal guest. White noise gave way to heartbeats. Whether they were his own he could not say. All he knew was the hysteria: the screaming from once-calm, passive folk (it was strange, that screaming, which seemed to make no sound for the initial seconds that passed, then grew louder, louder, louder still, fluctuating at different volumes, sporadic); faces contorted into vile shapes of, for a beat, confusion, wild sorrow; and in the midst of this was he, who could not avert his gaze away from the being that plagued his senses. He pained the pain of realization. He stared, and he stared, and what he found was the bloodied shell of a woman who sifted between the corners of his memories, whose voice—"Sleep well, little Isa!"—was so ingrained in his mind that he could hear her, like the once-calm, passive folk, screaming or whispering or sobbing her last words, warning him of things he could not, would not believe, of things that seemed so absurd long ago yet so awfully real in the midst of the blood and the exposed bone. That was—

Aunt Sybil was shouting at him, a plea for help, maybe, a plea for normalcy.

That was—

Aunt Sybil was shouting at him, more violently this time, more than likely crying as well. The food had been thrown from the table, and taking its place was the raw material of the corpse, flung from its person and onto those who had seated—or risen, as it was possible—from the table. Isaac was not one of them. His face was a blank slate. He could not register the emotion to start, to scream, to cry. To flee.

That was—

Aunt Sybil was shouting at him, hands drawn to her face as if to act upon the situation, shaky and frail. But their white-haired visitor was more effective than any of them could prove to be. At the sound of her voice, his head snapped in her direction. He heard, saw only her. He saw her more clearly than he saw the tattered body that sat mere inches away. Each word she spoke struck him like stone; each word widened his eyes, pried them open, rather, with painfully slow force; each word was just real enough to draw paler and paler shades to his skin. God, no, this can't be happening, he thought, but the evidence engulfed him. It tore him apart. See left early and fiercely enough to miss the ghastly fear consume his face. This was not okay.

That was Edith. Well, he corrected himself, that used to be Edith, before she underwent this hideous makeover. She was a great storyteller, always pulling tales from thin air, always quacking at others about the shadows. About the life those shadows lived. They were dangerous, she said.

"Sleep well, little Isa, and don't let the candle burn out!"

He lost it. Isaac rose weakly, as if he might topple over at any moment. The corpse never left his field of vision as he stalked away, the shouting drowned out, and his steps quickened as he neared the door. Sybil's face longed for assistance he could not provide. His pace grew faster until he could escape her glare, until he broke into a run and into the cold, chaotic air.

See. She was nearly bare in the oppressive dark. Her battle cry hung in the still air. Makeshift weapons drawn, stance at the ready—suddenly her line of duty seemed a tad less ridiculous.

"See!" he called to her, histrionic, his voice trailing faintly; "See?" like a question already answered. Trails of blood lined his clothing, flecked on the fabric of his trousers and painted in the sheepskin. He looked about ready to collapse. "See..." Her name was the only word that would pass his lips. He called to her as a lost child called to his mother, and he felt so dumb and helpless as he spoke, so meek and small.

He saw them. Reaching out at the edges of the dimness, they materialized into view, from nightmares to reality. He saw them, and he screamed.

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Re: Rust (Closed)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Shi-chan on Mon Mar 21, 2011 11:11 am

The sound of a man screaming is something none of us are used to. Here, in our painfully normal world, ruled by routine, we know that women scream, and men roar. That is if you can even get them to make a sound. When a man gets frightened, or fears for his life, they tend to return to an early state of brute and expect everyone else to rely on them and their muscle to better the situation. These are the men that lie to themselves. Women are much more honest when it comes to fear. They scream and run. Instinct, one might call it.

See had heard many men and women scream in her short life. Many times, she had been the source of the fear. It was a strange position to be in, knowing that she was made to help humans, and they would probably never find out. Most of them would never even think that they were in danger. The dead lady on the dinner table probably hadn't thought she would be dead by now. Life has an odd way of making you realise that everything you believe in is fake. Perhaps the concept of belief is fake in itself?

"No. It's not." See thought as she slowly glanced around to count how many foes she was up against this time. Usually they moved in packs, like wolves, and in many ways, they could be compared to a wide variety of creatures. They just weren't quite like any of them. Knowing their behaviour like they knew hers, See was wide aware that what she was facing was a pack, four or five, she wasn't sure. They were old, these ones, and had grown large from grudges in the past. They kept mostly to the shadows, and she had placed herself in the light that shone from inside Isa's home. She stood there, her pale skin almost reflecting the light, like the moon would. A gentle and cold breeze blew across the area that now officially was a battlefield, and swept her hair from her face.

In that moment, everything came alive.

At once, the demons moved from their safe haven, they jumped from the shadows, ripping loose from their confining chains, and all ran for See. Their bodies no longer obscured, despite them moving swiftly, one couldn't help but to think how in hell they had managed to stay hidden, for they truly looked as tormented as one would think demons should. There was no beauty in the beasts, there was nothing that could trick the mind, they were not magical and mystical. They were monsters, and compared to them, See looked frail and sickly. Much more than she normally did. Her, with her thin limbs and lack of armour, looked like she would be smashed by the demons. Smashed and torn to pieces. No matter how different they looked, it was a fact that the demons had muscle. Their skin looked like someone had tried to burn them and that their wounds hadn't had the time to heal. Around their shoulders and armpits, the neck and their hips, the skin looked as if it had been stolen from something smaller, and that the demon had attempted to fit inside. It was stretched to the point where it almost burst. Their eyes were dark, and lay deep in their skulls, which were deformed like they had been bent out of shape by a giant with large hands. Their bodies were asymmetrical, looking like they were pieced together by a multitude of other things, almost created directly from idea.

But that was not See's biggest concern. Far away, she heard a voice calling her name, and it sounded so faint to her, that she became scared that it might not even have been there. But she knew the voice, and who it belonged to. It was Isa. Isa, who in this moment where the demons bared their fangs at her, them in mid air, and she finally moving. She lifted her hands above her head, the barbed wire following the movement, becoming an extension of what she was. It looked like the embodiment of whiplash, the wire several metres long, obeying her as their master. Lashing out, swirling and moving like she was part of a grotesque ballet, See showed that she was no mere loon. She was the fruit of generation upon generation fighting the same beings that she now was about to massacre.

Being the guardian of "God" doesn't necessarily make you nice.

The first demon now inches away from her, mirrored her motion, and as she lashed out at it, it reached to grab a hold of her. It's claws almost closed around her skull, as her fingers found the end of the wire, and she knew that it had worked, and that it now reached behind and around the demons head. At once, she jumped and placed one foot in the creature's mouth, mashing the wet, lukewarm tongue between the razor sharp teeth. Then she pulled, stretching her body, and pulling her hands above her head. The barbed wire cut into the back of the demon's head, carving the flesh, and with her next pull, damaging the brain enough to kill it. Blood cascaded from the mouth of the demon as she moved from it, ready to find her next victim, which was closer than she would ever feel at ease with.

It was in moment such as these she was happy that her gloves were plated with armour on the inside. Subtle, but fantastic. She stood face to face with the next demon, feeling it's humid breath on her naked skin, and her right arm was still connected by the wire to her earlier kill. The demon roared at her, laying it's head back for a howl, and an odd yapping sound that somehow resembled laughter. But the few seconds it took for the thing to laugh off was enough time for See to whip her left arm at it, and pull her right arm out at the same time. A crease in the shadows caught her attention, and a third fiend jumped at her, it's claws ready. It hung high in the air, but instead of running, See stared it in the face, just for a second, before nimbly jumping up atop the second demon, and then sliding down over it's back, and pushing it forward, just enough.

It was too late for the third demon to alter direction, so it landed heavily upon it's had been flock member. The grisly sound of bones cracking and flesh being squeezed filled the air, but See could waste no time. She had thousands of years of experience, and now was not the time to take breaks and whip out semi-awesome one-liners. Perhaps they had muscle, but she was fastest, and with that in mind, she wrapped the barbed wire around her knuckles as she crawled between the hind legs of the third demon, making a rather effective pair of boxing gloves. Laying on her back under it, she hit it with all the strength she could muster. In the stomach, in the groin, she wasn't picky about how to kill the thing. Or at least make sure that it couldn't breed normally.

As the blood spattered onto her once more, the demon tried to claw at her to remove her. She felt it's claws dig into her skin, cutting and grazing, and so she pushed it, and tried as fast as possible to get a little distance between them. She shouldn't have been stupid like that, she got too close. She had to keep her own safety in mind.

However, she didn't.

With the demon wounded and weakened, her spirits were raised. She was doing good. It stood still, about ten feet away from her, and as their eyes met, they both thought the same.

"Sudden death." See mumbled, drawing upon every ounce of strength she could find in her body, her task in mind. There was just a few seconds of peace until they moved towards each other at the same time. Nothing happened in slow motion, it was not like a film. What it was, was a display of complete and utter determination. See's face as she lit up the night with her pale skin that had been dimmed by blood, the roar of the demon as it tried to reach her, but abruptly was stopped by her fist crushing it's skull, was what became of those who believe in their own way.

Her breathing was laboured and short, every part of her was tensed up, she was ready to burst into a whirlwind of power, but the last enemy, See had trouble spotting. She stood at the centre of the battlefield, but couldn't find it. Her shoulders had been wounded, and there were more rips on her stomach and side, but none of them looked deep enough to be fatal.

The she spotted Isaac. She froze, her eyes widening, and then it dawned upon her what was happening. A crease in the shadows moved towards him, and the only thing she had time to do, was to scream.

"GET OUT OF THE FUCKIN' WAY! HIDE!"

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Re: Rust (Closed)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Tæfarós on Sat Dec 03, 2011 10:56 pm

They were beyond imagination. His cries were to lost to the wind, consumed, quite literally, by hatred born from slack jaws and twisted limbs, and he regained himself knowing that no amount of prepubescent fables, myths, and horror stories could have prepared him for what emerged from the dark. For all the dynamism that played out before him, he was still, stiff, tensed in the grip of cold and pain and the sound of death. Isa let the blood wash over his face; he let family hysterics fade into the distance; he took each blow to the enemy like a blow to his core, each swing from See like a thunderclap that split fissures in the sky.

Lips tightened shut, his eyes could not pry away from the scene at hand. All senses were enraptured by this display of violence. Part of him could still not entirely comprehend what truth this strange girl had prophesied—so innocent before, now evolved into predator and prey. This is not a dream.

She was so... elegant. She frightened him—fascinated him. She gave him life as death spilled from her fingertips. How naive she had appeared, how childlike she had been mere moments before was nearly as mortifying as these walking torments. The pause in their battle only served to terrify him further.

But such creatures could only exist in dreams, he reasoned, even as the gore wrought his frame black and red. The feelings that overwhelmed him he could not tolerate: the fear, of course, that paled his skin a deathly white, and the shame of inferiority, of self-hatred and helplessness, and inane regret, and the anger that perhaps, just perhaps if the savior had not wandered here, then the monsters would forever lay in their shadows, alone and unperturbed. Watching them induced obvious motions, like running away, cowering. And yet he remained unmoving. This was not an act of bravery or defiance—this was not an act so much it was Isaac stripped of all initiative. Standing, staring at the flash of wire and the gnashing of teeth, he felt his stomach lurch, as if suddenly stirred from delay, and his vision blurred. Shudders ran through his body as See cut down the last of her visible foes. His breathing grew erratic. Her wounds sickened him more than the sight of the otherworldly beasts; the concern for her intensified his quivering, his legs weakening, threatening to give out.

For a moment, a grotesque peace stifled the air. Could he move now, go to her? He should tend to her, to everyone. They could restore the home to its former state, death and hysteria aside, and he could be forgiven for ever showing kindness to visitors. He lifted his foot in an attempt to reach her, but the shadows had their plans. As soon as it registered in his mind, See yelled of its presence.

Gaining control of his limbs was of little use. His legs carried him at a mad dash, yet it took no more than two seconds for the demon to pounce.

Isaac screamed once more, hearing nothing by the muffled ghosts of sound as his skull cracked against the earth. Feeble hands shot up, only to be knocked away by the mangled form above him. Claws raked across his shoulders, shredding gashes along his torso. Its head flailed about on its neck, threatening to loosen entirely at any moment. It peered down at him with soulless eyes. The thing might have let out a victory cackle as he writhed and rocked, kicked, fought, sucked in the shrills of his agony and held them till they were too much to bear; he couldn't tell. Delirium had stricken all too soon. Her name again settled on his tongue, over and over, seeking help.

He was so pathetic. He was so ashamed. The demon seemed to spare him for an interval, dealing a blow to his side that sent him sprawling several feet away among the corpses of the fallen. Face down in the dirt. Chest falling, rising, but just barely. Perhaps it would be preferable to stay here and play dead. He would not have much longer at this rate, after all.

The thought of dying came as frequently to him as those mornings when he could not stand to wake up. A comforting notion, that. And here the death was so close to charming him into its embrace. The scent of his maker assaulted his nostrils, and the taste of copper overwhelmed his mouth. See would accept life, moving onward to wherever her duties would carry her; his peers, too, could rid themselves of their tragedies, like sweeping unwanted things under a rug. He did not regret knowing them, the former especially. But this was for the best. He would only be a burden to her should he possibly survive, and as he had learned up to this point, the world had no time for burdens.

Yet, it was then that he mustered the strength to lift his head from the ground and opened his clenched eyes to see a silhouette in the doorway of the boarding house. Sybil? His parched throat would not allow him to keep her at bay. However, she merely stood as he had done when she had needed his help. This was not a silent betrayal, no; she was more sensible than he, certainly, but not more powerful. He saw others crawling out of the darkness, coming to swallow them whole—so many of them, and how long had they been there? The beast lingered in the corners of his gaze, pacing and circling and taunting. Fear caught him in a vice in spite of his acceptance towards his end. It leapt to deal the final blow.

But the demon did not reach him. A barrier!

A... barrier?

His eyes widened with life.

A pale aura lightened his form, preventing contact with the foe. It stumbled backwards, and the bewildered look perceived to be on its features would be comical in a different scenario. Not now, however. Now granted him the chance to stumble to his feet, but what would come after? He soon knew, as the creature came barreling toward him, claws bared and intent on his death.

What ensued was less of him questioning how any of this made any sense, and more of how long this shield would last. Two came knocking at his door; five, six; a dozen or more, perhaps, all piling atop each other, so wildly desperate to land the final mark. Isaac was on his knees now, then on his feet in a weak stance. See could not be found beyond the ruckus that raved about him--it was simply a world of hysterics, and he was trapped in its center. Inch by inch, limbs flailed closer to their prey. His blood drenched the ground, must've driven them wild. Their noises, inhuman, shook his core. And no amount of screaming could save him now; this brief glimmer of hope was waning, allowing them to break through, to kill him.

The earth, then, was razed. Tremors rocked the single road of the little podunk town. Balance was thrown to the wayside, and the barrier was no longer an aura, but a force of destruction, expanding at frightening speed and tearing the foes in its path. Blind to its cause, it shot upward, lighting the sky in short bursts. Had it not come back down, it might have been beautiful. Yet there it was, taking the village with it. Isa mouthed words, soundless words, over and over again. He was not himself; tears soiled his vision; rage guided his feet past the pain, turning the tides of their battle. The demons were not pleased with this. If this was some prolonged joke, then it was a horrible one.

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Re: Rust (Closed)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Shi-chan on Tue Dec 13, 2011 8:45 am

And it seemed like the world ended and we all died.

In that moment where everything changed, See had, for a second stared up at the sky, and noticed that there were no clouds. There had been stars, millions more than usual. Perhaps they had all flickered back to life to witness what was happening, perhaps they were all born in that moment. Any person who believes in destiny will tell you that when they stand face to face with the key to their fate, they experience a strange feeling of wanting time to turn itself back.

See had wanted that, in the moment Isa had discovered he was more than anyone had ever thought. She had wanted time to reverse to when she had looked out from inside the bus, and wondered if it would really be worth stopping in this town. Needless to say that she had never expected this to happen. She had actually believed that she would die without having accomplished anything of real value, and that she would feel allright about that. Fate had other plans.

Everything had crumbled. Every building had been completely destroyed, as well as the people inside. The only reason See had been spared was that she had been standing in the open, but even so, she had been pushed several metres back. She hadn't been able to remain on her feet, and had been slammed against the wall which not even seconds later had been turned into rubble and dust. She had tried to reach Isa, but hadn't been quick enough. As soon as the demon had jumped at him, another one had jumped at her, and the only difference between her and Isa's battle was that she had been able to kill the damn thing. The problem was that they were everywhere, and that she couldn't ever get to him while he was still alive. She was painfully aware of this, and she called out his name. Tears covered her cheeks, her only friend was about to die, and not only was it because of her, she couldn't even do anything. But he had saved himself.

"Angels don't exist, Isa." she whispered to him as she waited for him to wake up. Several hours had passed since the incident which destroyed the town, and See had been conscious for a few of those hours. She had stretched out Isa's body, and tried her best to stop his wounds from bleeding. She wasn't an expert on such things, but she had done a decent job. She had searched the rubble of his former home, and taken a few of what she assumed were his belongings. The first thing was a toothbrush, or rather a whole bunch of them. The second was an almost clean pair of underpants, and the rest were the vinyl records he had shown her. Some of them were actually still whole. She had put all those next to him, and then went on to try and find his family. They weren't breathing any longer, and judging from the state their bodies were in, it was for the best. She hoped that they had at least died quickly. See had no idea of what to do, and there weren't anyone she could ask. If someone arrived and saw the town in this state, they'd ask what had happened. She couldn't tell them that she was fairly certain that God had destroyed it all because he had been in danger.

She had already patrolled the nearest streets, both looking for demons, but also survivors. She hadn't found much of interest, only her own jacket. It was impossible to tell if she was still crying, or if there were no more tears. The thought of Isa not waking up again was so frightening to her.

Kind of like a lost puppy, she found her way to his side, and sat down by him. Perhaps she was still snivelling a little, after all, the entire world had just been turned upside down, and despite that, her role was the same as it had always been. The wind was very, very cold and it blew relentlessly. "At least it isn't raining." She said to herself, perhaps also to him, just before she became aware of a sound she hadn't noticed until now. It was faint, as if made by something small, and muffled, as if it came from something buried. It didn't sound human, so she cast that thought aside quickly. She got up, and looked around, trying to figure out where to go. She took a few steps in one direction, and the sound got louder! Suddenly she could make out what made that particular noise. Puppy dogs.

She listened for the sound again, and moved closer. There was more than one, she could hear that much. She ended up by another pile of rubble, and she was absolutely sure that they were in there. She moved anything she could get a hold of, while she spoke to them. "Hold out guys, I'm on my way!" she whispered, getting more and more tired with every movement. Minutes passed, and she hadn't found them yet. Had her mind played tricks on her? She couldn't leave before she had either found them of searched everything through. Then she turned over a large piece of rubble, and there they were.

The first thing she saw was those who had survived. Adorable beyond measure, they looked up at her with big brown eyes, their tails wagging, and one of them even letting out a happy bark. They couldn't have been much more than eight or nine weeks old. She was sold at once. They were coming with her, back to Isa.

As soon as she had decided that, she saw the other three puppies and the mother. They hadn't made it. It looked like they had been asleep together, and that the two who had lived only had survived based on chance. She couldn't keep the tears from flooding now, this was simply too heartbreaking. She reached down, and pulled the living dogs free as she cried hysterically. The absurdity of the situation didn't even hit her, as she just sat there for a little, sometimes screaming, other times just crying. In time, she didn't cry any more. She could only look at those dogs, who seemed to be the only survivors beside her and Isa.

And so, with the two puppies wrapped in her embrace, she walked back to him. She was so tired, and her body ached, but she just wanted to be there when he woke up. She had to explain what had happened to him, they had to agree on what to do next, and they needed to agree on names for the dogs. Unless Isa already knew them, that was.

"Hey, Isa! Wake up!" She said, as she once more sat down beside him. Her voice was hoarse from crying, but it was still possible to hear what she was saying. "There ain't no angels around, so we have to take care of ourselves. It doesn't matter though, 'cause I found these cute lil' guys." She looked at his face, having almost forgotten that he was unconscious. "Wake up, man. This is important. I figured that we could find a home for these two, eh?" Like that she talked, asking questions and not waiting for answers. The two puppies soon grew tired, and fell asleep in her lap.

In the end her words only became a few, repeated over and over.

"Wake up, Isa. I won't leave you here."

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