Author Topic: Nails on the Chalkboard [ archive ]  (Read 393 times)

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Offline Blackout

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Nails on the Chalkboard [ archive ]
« on: September 25, 2010, 10:28:05 PM »
Had the mannequin so easily turned into the puppet master? And yet months and months ago the bicolor girl was just the society's equivalent of dirt, the kind of rough you found diamonds in. They weren't kidding about birds having good eyesight, you know. Here she was, King of the Slavers, and all because he had seen a glimmer beneath all the scruffy black and grey fur. As she marveled over this, the yellow eyes stared down at her paws with the sort of wide-eyed, tight lipped expression that was to her another wolf's grin. Smiling was a foreign noting to her; she smirked and nodded and was pleased, but happiness wasn't bearing your teeth. Well, in the Pitts...

Breaking herself from her rapidly diverging train of through by shaking her head, she continued on her beeline path for the familiar dens. Dens with the reek that the timber had grown to love so - dens that had signs of new ones at the edges of them. Loose dirt, organized depressions, overturned grass - two of which showed more progress than the other. Ah, damn those blackbloods. Huge ass brutes, so big, so stupid - it was not Alteronian brainwashing that drove her to these conclusions, but jealousy. A grey ear flicked back as she wound her way toward the largest den.

The Shihan meandered around the area with a sort of purpose she smother deep down, trying to keep the enigmatic cool that made all the bondless shiver in their dens and all the slavers straighten up and walk a touch more hastily. As she searched she let off low growls almost friendly, summoning growls that had a hint of a whimper and hence could be for only one. Giving that up when she had scoured the dens and was now further from the gathering place, she spoke in a hush howled. "Brother... "

Between his slave whore's spawn and her slavers ( ironically, the two overlapped ) she'd barely had a chance to see the raven. Well, alone, that was - she'd give a greeting almost daily amidst the crowd of the Premier House, any emotion of sincerity lost in the cacophony of many bodies. Hence, she wanted to get away; away from the demon litter and away from her naive disciples and away from the hellish slave and looming Jin. Was she not, after all, his most faithful bond? Had she not provided the children the care that the stolen Alteron monster never could? Was she not his Blackout?  

"Brother... " And again. She'd find him. And once she did, she would speak. "There's too many" others, "... it's been a while." She sought affection that he gave in that trademarked, twisted way, sought approval and sought attention. She served and she needed to know he acknowledged that.

Like a puppy needed its mother.

Reflection was the fire that smoldered in sharp yellow eyes, scarcely an emotion predicted of a weapon, but flickering nonetheless in that vicious gaze as he lay brooding on winding, heated stone providing the overpass hanging above the tar pits, a marvelous view if not a precarious one. His relationship with this cauldron of execution and penance alone signaled to a megalomaniacal psyche that he could rule this territory if not for the merciless influence of demigods over masses convinced they were absolute, the Rosa arbitrary save for Enix, the religion they serenaded never in his most delusional moments managing to fool him, but the raven was intelligent enough to pretend, just as he pretended Killiean's murder was an accident that did not involve him, just as he pretended any of them had not been brutally extinguished sans a trial or a chance, but only another meaningless life slipped quietly away.

When the spider ensnares in its meticulously woven web a fly, said fly's entire world will become for a moment in time this poisonous and eight-legged predator alone, whether until its tiny body is eaten or it can summon the fortitude to escape the silky tangles. Fly feels connected to spider in such an all-consuming, jarring experience, bound to the carnivorous intimacy and perhaps even a little enamored even while spider discards them the second their value, their fluid, runs empty, fly a drained husk among many pushed from the web to break. Never could there be a more accurate summary of the static that existed between Crow and his Blackout, a girl potent but lost whose pleas the atmosphere would broadcast to him, eliciting a twitch of tapering ears followed by an apathetic raise of that ragged head. Brother, was the beseeching appeasement, brother, brother... Wanted the mad raven to play more games; she thrived from the terror, he'd decided. How could he say no?

A shift of angled hips and he'd come after her, tempting fate in his casual walk back upon the narrow bridge above the tar, only to evade it upon reaching solid ground once more to pursue the monochrome midget halfway, karma outraged had it existed at all. She wasn't far, their distance apart at the least not enough to mask her calls, and so he'd discover her swiftly enough, prodding and pining. No warning heralded his sudden appearance (and they were all inevitably sudden) from the scenic route of the local needlewood, a frenzied grin all pale gums and plaque-stained teeth cracking grotesquely over his muzzle. How simple it was to believe that only the shell, the body, would smile while the insides remained eternally cold.

"Blackout..." And that shadowy, sinewy form would move to encircle her, close enough so oil-black hairs touched and heat could mingle, before ending up parallel to the smaller canine with neck lowered so he could whisper, still grinning, in her ear. "You were calling me." Affection, some sick and misguided parody of it, derived from atrocity. Even the breathless kiss of flight so distant yet never forgetting him placed him into a hazy, diluted joy.

Something spread out before her like tar thrown onto the ground, a glob of the black mess beginning to expand outward and gnaw at the ground hungrily. Because if there was a single metaphor for his house, it was none other than the black sea where infidels went to die. From the shadows her arrived too silently and flighty to be like tar, ironically avian in nature as he approached. Another wolf might have jumped, been startled or even fled, but his presence - his abuse - was common place for her and so she simply turned. She looked up to him, literally, an action that unfortunately she graced everyone with. Resentment had been bred into her by him; the anger and paranoia bled over into the midget and from there on out she glared daggers at blackbloods and scowled at her reflection. Her shoulder ached in the memory of their first meeting as she turned over insults in her wild-eyed mind, effING GIANTS WHY WON'T YOU STOP SNEERING?


As if he was singing a lullaby to a baby, she calmed and even relaxed as he approached. Blackout's eyelids fluttered down in some kind of wary ecstasy, a soft, rolling growl echoing from her throat. She could feel the tips of her ragged, messy fur brushing against the oily and thinner Alteron bred fur, a texture that mocked their tooth-in-flesh relationship. "Brother..." Love be damned; it would take an outsider to see the sickening corkscrew they traveled.

"You were calling me."

The Shihan bared her teeth, not in the classic Cheshire smile, but with that permanent scowl that she wore. It was a display of affection, perhaps, pleasure that adhered to the way of the White. She let a soft hiss escape through her teeth, just quiet enough for him to hear at this range. Just enough to indicate that she was acknowledging and agreeing to what he said. In a whisper, strained and effortless in the same contradictory moment, she shifted and began to speak. "I brought you... new toys." More monochrome additions to his house of woe. But you already knew that.

Something in the sickly yellow eyes scoring her body made her shrink back into the hesitant yearling in the river-cut packland, trotting because she didn't know better, training because she hadn't been saved... she pressed closer to him, masochistic desire for MORE building. Because, in the end, just was the same yearling bondless letting him rip into her flesh and savoring the smell of blood.

"Am I your favorite?"

Flesh against flesh, each individual stalk of black vibrating through the nerve endings they attached themselves to with the sensation that he was being touched, a paranoid felony the vast majority of these foreign sons of bitches would lose eyes and ears and lives for committing, their grease and recycled breath positively desecrating at its best. Even now, her perverse mockery of snuggling, this squat little body rubbing against his wiry bones, provoked an unseen, visceral shudder of hateful revulsion at his rotten core. All the same, Crow allowed her to perform, his mood fiendishly light, but the compliance was like an instrumental song played one octave off-key; it foreshadowed the ugliness that could in the blink of an eye barrel back through the hatches.

"Brother..." was her whisper, a broken record, a broken thing, but he liked them fissured, preferred them damaged, had a sadistic sort of love for the quiet ones so young and lost. Carnivorous teeth pale and tinged with a perpetual layer of plaque would expose themselves in in a curl too primal to be labeled a smile and lacking the aggression to be called a snarl, void of emotion and utterly shark-like. Parting then, reaching for her, white splitting on his dark face, jaws cracking open to seize the side of her throat with surprising gentleness, jugular pulsing in his mouth, urging her to the dusty earth to idle with him. Was more a suggestion than a command, a lover's why don't you get up? on a warm Sunday morning cocooned in blankets.

The monster moved in a brief arc, resting his head and throat on the back of the smaller female's neck almost lovingly, long body wrapping around what inches of hers it could like some terrible oil-colored snake, personal space all but violated and left out in the cold, sickly yellow eyes glittering in speculation.  They'd lay together, the overpowering reek of tar on this scorching day lingering in their nostrils, and he'd listen as she resumed, tapered ears pinning to his narrow skull. This time the grin was sincere, for the satisfaction it brought to hear her mention this, these new unsuspecting slaves, was genuine if not grotesque. "Did you?" arrived the simple inquiry, barely inflected, always monotonous. "Tell me about them." It left his tongue as if he cared.

And then they'd come to the center of the shrubbery maze. Little girl wanted to know if she was his favorite, and while the response was simplistic to the point of being automatic, dry black lips were still pursed in careless thought. Blackout, the very best of his girls? Perhaps it was actually true, this silly romance of an idea, for she brought him playthings and minions, she tended to his psychotic spawn, she would dive from a cliff if it somehow wormed its way into his brain that brother and sister needed to do this. Ink, lethal and savage and beautiful as she was, would prey upon him in an instant if he ever grew powerless to stop her from doing so, and Zashi... Zashi was a prize, a warm body nice to look at and smell and eff. Blackout was more, meant more, and in a profoundly deranged way, Crow cared for her at least marginally.

"A few more of you, love, and I'd rule the world."

Speaking to one another in blasphemy, in words neither could understand, and he'd hiss a hungry sigh from his lounge on her nape, eyes closing as though bored, tone subtly prying and cruel, an innocent question on the surface.

"Are you jealous when I play with them instead of you?"

Any other might have squirmed, might have felt the breathe caught in their throat as they stared down death. For surely to feel the raven's teeth buried in the thick ruff of one's neck was an experience that few went through and lived to tell the tale. But ah, here was the confidence and foolishness that allowed her to simply exhale in some kind of exhiliration and relaxation as the Keroberus pushed her to the ground.  As the oily black serpent of a bond wrapped himself around her, she made herself comfortable by resting on his brightly colored paws, a deep rumbling satisfaction budding in the bottom of her chest and twisting up and out of her throat and escaping as warm air from her nose.

"Did you? Tell me about them."

She wrapped her mind around this, eyes half-closing as she mused under the extra weight of Brother's head on her neck. She thought it to be purely a gesture, the tired housewife's how was your day, honey?, but even so she was bound by code of law and affection to answer it sincerely... if not briskly. "The snake-child." His snake-child, and hers to an extent. "Two others. Black and white and big. Good slavers." Good enough bonds.

"A few more of you, love, and I'd rule the world."

Blackout bared her teeth in a carnal smile, eyes drooping as she gave into the warmth of the moment. She was away, sure; but for once she allowed herself to turn the lights off, to give the electric eyes a break and just linger in the scent and tactile pleasure of dark fur. His words soothed her like a mother's lullaby, and she licked her teeth in some puppyish form of pleasure.

"Are you jealous when I play with them instead of you?"

Her eyes slowly opened, like some blood red sun rising over the sun with a horrible realization. And suddenly she longed to be Red, to be able to spew out clever words to veil herself with at the drop of her hat. She wanted to say something smart, something sarcastic or paradoxical to match his leering cruelty. But she was Blackout, basic and fleeting and emotional at her core. Because anger drove their blood feud, hunger drove her to bond, and the need for comfort drove her closer to him.


Maybe she really hadn't changed at all since then.