Re: Vendetta [S!2 Round 2 ~ So
01-02-2013, 09:39 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by Pharmacy.
"Strange."
Rivia ran a hand over the glass twice. One to test her hypothesis. Another just to make sure. Grime and dust of bygone days flaked under her cat-claw manicure. Her unnaturally tight face wrinkled at the mess that collected under her nails. Judging from the marks she left, the windowpane was in a sore need of a washing, but it was also complete. A few cracks here and there. Maybe a spiderweb at the corner, but complete. Very complete.
"Fucking strange."
But the broken glass was still there. She bowed down and slowly extended a shaky hand to each filthy piece. Anointing each grimy shard with a single tap of the finger. She wrapped her fingers around the largest and most jagged piece she could find. Improvisition came to her like an old friend. She smiled.
She picked one up.
Pleased to have some sort of weaponized weight in her hands, Rivia swung around the wall. She swung around but nothing met her. Only the presence of empty stands, fragile papers, broken pens, and dust. There was a lot of dust. Rivia stared a errant flyer on the ground. “Soñaire Banco: River-to-River Banking Services” it said. She frowned and spitted at it.
And then the voices started again. It seemed quite near.
“ALRIGHT I HAVE ENOUGH OF YOU DISEMBODIED VOICES,” Rivia shouted at no one in particular. Spit-flecks escaping from her lipstick-caked mouth and making dark flecks on the white-dusty floor. “WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU AND WHY DO YOU FUCKING EXIST.”
---
“U-Uh, De-Dee. Double zero three eight six five…”
A couple of chairs away, a voice so small and quiet that Rivia could register barely above a slight murmuring of voices. The voice marveled at how she managed to pronounce the words without skipping on a single syllable, how quick she managed to complete the serial number that was her namesake. She marveled at how clear her mind was. She was marveling because it was better than feeling sad all the time.
“O-or. D-Oh. E-everyone calls me that.”
D-0 shuffled her position on the ground of Banco. She was behind one of the old stands filled with the stench of wood-rot and mothballs. Dustbunnies surrounded her like flowers at a funeral. Their colors darkened by a significant pool of tears. Sniffling, D-0 marveled at that too. Everything was marvelous, especially if you were on some dirty floor of a long-abandoned bank.
“A-and I don’t know why I am h-here.”
D-0 was not quite sure if the nearby woman heard her or not but the former property of Entente Posthuman Training Corps was too tired to care. The old surroundings were completely new to her, overloading her sterile naivety with foreign experiences and sensations, namely how choking the dust was and how weird wallpaper looked from a vertical position. It was not the most comfortable position but it was a lot better than her former location. She could just close her eyes and…
<font color="#0000FF">A chalk-white hand picked her up.
At first, D-0 realized how unpleasant it was to have her cords pulled. It was sort of a dull pain at the base like someone tugged at a handful of hair, but it was a pain she could ignore. On the other hand, the face hovering in the haze of apathy was not something she could shrug off. It was pretty. But also not pretty. It was rather disturbing.
“Oh so, it’s Ladydude,” the woman said as she sneered, showing every single one of her teeth like a demented genderbent manticore.
D-0 shrinked at that moniker and said nothing. It was a nickname coincidentally similar to one given by researchers back in her former living place and he had a tendency to skimp on the anesthetics while doing especially heavy modifications. On a Top Fifty of Most Unpleasant Doctors, he would be a 36th on her list.
“Pathetic,” she tetched as she released her grip, letting D-0 realize how much gravity hurts. D-0 scurried to her knees as fast as her bounds would let her. She looked up and saw the criminal-looking woman as much larger than she expected. It made D-0 feel very small, especially so considering how vicious that glass shard looked.
“So you are one of them competitors, eh.” The lady said. Her face a smudge of white in D-0’s vision.
“W-what,” D-0 was not quite sure what she just said. Competition? It sounded vaguely related to a meeting she went to before. The Lab Rat frowned a bit at that statement. It seemed absolutely silly to have a contest out of the blue especially with no rules, no prizes, nothing in a place of nothing. What is a name to call a competition, she pondered, when there is nothing to win or lose.
“It’s a simple question, dear.” Rivia said but of course, D-0 did not knew her name.
Well, when you have nothing, D-0 thought. You only have your life.
“It’s either a yes…”
Oh my god. Suddenly, it hit D-0 what situation she was in.
“…or a no.”
Oh my god.
Realizing the fate she was in, D-0 froze for a bit. A feeling of a heavy rainstorm played upon the face and like some maudlin love-interest in some sub-par movie, D-0 cried. She cried pretty hard. She did not exactly meant to cry but it was built into her. Crying was part of her and the realization fed into her selfish self-pity and thus she cried even more. </font>
"Strange."
Rivia ran a hand over the glass twice. One to test her hypothesis. Another just to make sure. Grime and dust of bygone days flaked under her cat-claw manicure. Her unnaturally tight face wrinkled at the mess that collected under her nails. Judging from the marks she left, the windowpane was in a sore need of a washing, but it was also complete. A few cracks here and there. Maybe a spiderweb at the corner, but complete. Very complete.
"Fucking strange."
But the broken glass was still there. She bowed down and slowly extended a shaky hand to each filthy piece. Anointing each grimy shard with a single tap of the finger. She wrapped her fingers around the largest and most jagged piece she could find. Improvisition came to her like an old friend. She smiled.
She picked one up.
Pleased to have some sort of weaponized weight in her hands, Rivia swung around the wall. She swung around but nothing met her. Only the presence of empty stands, fragile papers, broken pens, and dust. There was a lot of dust. Rivia stared a errant flyer on the ground. “Soñaire Banco: River-to-River Banking Services” it said. She frowned and spitted at it.
And then the voices started again. It seemed quite near.
“ALRIGHT I HAVE ENOUGH OF YOU DISEMBODIED VOICES,” Rivia shouted at no one in particular. Spit-flecks escaping from her lipstick-caked mouth and making dark flecks on the white-dusty floor. “WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU AND WHY DO YOU FUCKING EXIST.”
---
“U-Uh, De-Dee. Double zero three eight six five…”
A couple of chairs away, a voice so small and quiet that Rivia could register barely above a slight murmuring of voices. The voice marveled at how she managed to pronounce the words without skipping on a single syllable, how quick she managed to complete the serial number that was her namesake. She marveled at how clear her mind was. She was marveling because it was better than feeling sad all the time.
“O-or. D-Oh. E-everyone calls me that.”
D-0 shuffled her position on the ground of Banco. She was behind one of the old stands filled with the stench of wood-rot and mothballs. Dustbunnies surrounded her like flowers at a funeral. Their colors darkened by a significant pool of tears. Sniffling, D-0 marveled at that too. Everything was marvelous, especially if you were on some dirty floor of a long-abandoned bank.
“A-and I don’t know why I am h-here.”
D-0 was not quite sure if the nearby woman heard her or not but the former property of Entente Posthuman Training Corps was too tired to care. The old surroundings were completely new to her, overloading her sterile naivety with foreign experiences and sensations, namely how choking the dust was and how weird wallpaper looked from a vertical position. It was not the most comfortable position but it was a lot better than her former location. She could just close her eyes and…
<font color="#0000FF">A chalk-white hand picked her up.
At first, D-0 realized how unpleasant it was to have her cords pulled. It was sort of a dull pain at the base like someone tugged at a handful of hair, but it was a pain she could ignore. On the other hand, the face hovering in the haze of apathy was not something she could shrug off. It was pretty. But also not pretty. It was rather disturbing.
“Oh so, it’s Ladydude,” the woman said as she sneered, showing every single one of her teeth like a demented genderbent manticore.
D-0 shrinked at that moniker and said nothing. It was a nickname coincidentally similar to one given by researchers back in her former living place and he had a tendency to skimp on the anesthetics while doing especially heavy modifications. On a Top Fifty of Most Unpleasant Doctors, he would be a 36th on her list.
“Pathetic,” she tetched as she released her grip, letting D-0 realize how much gravity hurts. D-0 scurried to her knees as fast as her bounds would let her. She looked up and saw the criminal-looking woman as much larger than she expected. It made D-0 feel very small, especially so considering how vicious that glass shard looked.
“So you are one of them competitors, eh.” The lady said. Her face a smudge of white in D-0’s vision.
“W-what,” D-0 was not quite sure what she just said. Competition? It sounded vaguely related to a meeting she went to before. The Lab Rat frowned a bit at that statement. It seemed absolutely silly to have a contest out of the blue especially with no rules, no prizes, nothing in a place of nothing. What is a name to call a competition, she pondered, when there is nothing to win or lose.
“It’s a simple question, dear.” Rivia said but of course, D-0 did not knew her name.
Well, when you have nothing, D-0 thought. You only have your life.
“It’s either a yes…”
Oh my god. Suddenly, it hit D-0 what situation she was in.
“…or a no.”
Oh my god.
Realizing the fate she was in, D-0 froze for a bit. A feeling of a heavy rainstorm played upon the face and like some maudlin love-interest in some sub-par movie, D-0 cried. She cried pretty hard. She did not exactly meant to cry but it was built into her. Crying was part of her and the realization fed into her selfish self-pity and thus she cried even more. </font>