Got it! work computer, work!
Jun. 6th, 2003 10:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sparkindarknessTired. I should be asleep. No, I shouldn’t be asleep, because there’s absolutely no reason for me to be tired. Which is why I aren’t asleep - because I refuse to accept I am tired, and I aren’t letting any stubborn body parts tell me differently! I sleep when I want to eyes, so quit itching. Might as well give up on that yawning mouth, I’m not giving in on this!!!
Darren: He’s talking to... body parts...
Rick: Oooookaaay.... put the nice sharp things down, yeah?
Ghost: You’re trying to help his sanity by giving advice, Rick? Yeah, that’ll work, stop listening to body parts - listen to the voices in your head...
Ahrimadan: I agree. It sounds like a most excellent plan... listen to me, mortal...
I’m going to hammer out another episode, and if it’s wacky, blame the seratonin. Bullying sleep hormone, I defy you! D’YOU HEAR ME!!! *shakes fist at sky*
Rick: Um... can we have a sane head to live in? Please?
Don’t fall for his bait! It’s their fault I’m like this! That and the Turkish Coffee...
ummmm... Turkish Coffee...
Rick’s babbling. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like this. I’ve held his life in my hands, his doom beneath my fingers and he wasn’t like this. He was frightened. Terrified. But I have never seen him panic before. Strangely, it’s frightening me, I know what we face, far better than he ever could. I grew up with this power, I know what my family can throw against me. Yet my fear is a dead, faint thing, fanned only by the flames of Rick’s own mindless panic.
Why? Why aren’t I afraid? My family know where I am, it is only a matter of time now. Even if we stop Kat, the others will come, they will follow. Now they know where I am, I will not be able to escape their net of divinations...
Even that worry is distant. How can I stop Kat short of killing her? Can I kill her? My own sister, my childhood joy? Rick runs past, he seems to be playing an oddly shaped flute, filling the flat with a dissonant metallic harmony.
Yes. For him I could. I would slaughter them all, burn the world itself to keep him. I clench my hands, desperate to reach for him, cling him to me. I want to wrap his body round me like a child’s comforting blanket. I want to wallow in his scent, bathe in his presence. It’s so strong, a desperate physical need, just to touch that strong, tanned beautiful body. To hold him for the little time that I have left...
The thought hits me like iced water. I feel no fear, because part of me is broken; accepted. I don’t expect to survive. I have no hope of winning this battle, not against the whole Camaalis clan.
My head sinks to my hands. I have ran for too long, fought too hard, hidden too deeply. Suffered too greatly. I can’t fight this any more, not now. Yet more pain will be leavened against me. I look at Rick and want to cry, love is the ultimate punishment. More loss. More pain.
Let death come. Let this sorry excuse for life end.
There’s a knock at the door. Rick jumps like a startled cat, and warily walks to open it. I can’t find the energy to turn my head to follow his movement. I envy his ignorance. It lets him hope, lets him prepare, lets him fight a doomed conflict.
And gives him a blade with which to cut out my heart.
He opens the door. I hear the over-loud voice of the landlord, rising ever louder in petty complaint. Rick says he’s a good man and rarely gives any trouble. Sounds like he intends to start. I laugh, a harsh, broken sound. My life is being cruelly torn asunder, and we’re being hassled by a land lord!
Rick comes into view and gives me a harried, worried look, before turning back to the land lord to shore up a desperate defence.
Another knock sounds from the door. Has death finally come to call? No, my sister was ever unfailingly polite when the occasion called for it, but I believe it is not necessary etiquette for assassins to announce themselves.
The neighbours from down stairs, here to complain, quite a long list it seems. I have to laugh again, all these pathetic people with such useless little problems assailing us while death stalks ever closer. No doubt they will bitterly moan over our graves about the rent they are no longer collecting. It’s so useless. And so sad. Rick, ever the optimist, is still trying, still fighting. So much energy to waste flailing against the inevitable.
The door explodes inwards this time. My, what interesting guests do join us in our hour of doom. A police SWAT team, original at least. Rick looks like the Loch Ness Monster just burst into the flat. The police race through the flat like a swarm of locusts, and easily as devastating. I find myself idly following their movements, vaguely wondering what they’ll break next, yet utterly failing to care.
They grab us and force us against the kitchen counter, hands securely cuffed behind our backs, shouted orders echoing painfully through the flat. Rick is arguing, fighting, shouting, angry and outraged. He still fights. Like a child, he plays the game that is long since lost, stubbornly refusing to admit defeat, to surrender.
The cuffs are tight, they hurt. I can’t bring myself to care about so little pain. There is a deep bruise across my ribs where they have rammed my chest against the counter. The ache elicits no anger from me, no worry, no response. Rick’s voice is panicked and strident, desperation shading his tone. Even that, the sound of my lover’s anguish, cannot draw more than a sigh from me. It’s too much, let it end.
Ahrimadan jumps nimbly onto the counter, his golden eyes piercing into mine. I feel his anger. His disgust. He bares his fangs and hisses, low, soft and heavy with menace.
“You do fear the darkness.” The words are quiet, but resonant with heavy echoes.
“You are right to do so.” The same heavy tone. Even that surprising admission doesn’t make me blink. I’m too numb, too empty.
“For you are not worthy of it. You are no fit vessel for the power, the strength. Of course it will master you, control you, overwhelm you. For you are weak, a disgrace. You can barely control yourself, your own body, your own emotions. How could you ever hope top control the ebon heart of true power? You shame the power you hold. You shame me, that I am bound to one so small as you.”
He stares at me, waiting. What does he want? Anger? Outrage? It is enough to make me laugh again, except I seem unable even to be amused anymore. I care not what you say cat, it’s over, or soon will be. Let me rest.
His golden eyes dull. He sits, heavily on the counter. Shaking his whiskered head in a slow heavy movement.
I close my eyes, mirroring Ahrimadan’s narrowing slits. Among the streaming chaos, I think I finally find peace. The peace of surrender, but peace nevertheless.
Peace...
There is a loud, heavy bang... The counter shakes with it. Ahrimadan hisses in violent outrage. I don’t move. A rough hand tangles in my hair and jerks me upwards, shaking me. I don’t move. I am thrown down again, backwards, I can almost feel my assailant’s rage at my passivity. My eyes open slightly from the force of the impact. I stare numbly, emptily at the large red faced police man glaring down at me. His frustrated rage would terrify many. It means nothing to me.
I see Rick. He is laid on the counter next to me. That was the noise. He has hit his head. A thin line of crimson stains his unruly golden mane. His eyes are dazed, unfocused, pained.
Something breaks.
Something burns upwards in a fury.
Ahrimadan laughs, long and loud, the sound blackening the white walls and leaving the police pale and frightened. Then the police man looks into my eyes. Horror turns his face into a terrified mask. The handcuffs holding my wrists fall to the floor in a rusted mess, my wards glowing like grounded stars
They hurt Rick... defeat, despair and surrender are wiped away - I don’t care if I loose, I don’t care if my death is inevitable and approaching ever closer. Victory and survival mean nothing now.
Now is for vengeance. Now is for the suffering of those who would wrong us. Win or loose, they will know pain.
A snarl curls my lips. Now is for the darkness.
Darren: He’s talking to... body parts...
Rick: Oooookaaay.... put the nice sharp things down, yeah?
Ghost: You’re trying to help his sanity by giving advice, Rick? Yeah, that’ll work, stop listening to body parts - listen to the voices in your head...
Ahrimadan: I agree. It sounds like a most excellent plan... listen to me, mortal...
I’m going to hammer out another episode, and if it’s wacky, blame the seratonin. Bullying sleep hormone, I defy you! D’YOU HEAR ME!!! *shakes fist at sky*
Rick: Um... can we have a sane head to live in? Please?
Don’t fall for his bait! It’s their fault I’m like this! That and the Turkish Coffee...
ummmm... Turkish Coffee...
Rick’s babbling. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like this. I’ve held his life in my hands, his doom beneath my fingers and he wasn’t like this. He was frightened. Terrified. But I have never seen him panic before. Strangely, it’s frightening me, I know what we face, far better than he ever could. I grew up with this power, I know what my family can throw against me. Yet my fear is a dead, faint thing, fanned only by the flames of Rick’s own mindless panic.
Why? Why aren’t I afraid? My family know where I am, it is only a matter of time now. Even if we stop Kat, the others will come, they will follow. Now they know where I am, I will not be able to escape their net of divinations...
Even that worry is distant. How can I stop Kat short of killing her? Can I kill her? My own sister, my childhood joy? Rick runs past, he seems to be playing an oddly shaped flute, filling the flat with a dissonant metallic harmony.
Yes. For him I could. I would slaughter them all, burn the world itself to keep him. I clench my hands, desperate to reach for him, cling him to me. I want to wrap his body round me like a child’s comforting blanket. I want to wallow in his scent, bathe in his presence. It’s so strong, a desperate physical need, just to touch that strong, tanned beautiful body. To hold him for the little time that I have left...
The thought hits me like iced water. I feel no fear, because part of me is broken; accepted. I don’t expect to survive. I have no hope of winning this battle, not against the whole Camaalis clan.
My head sinks to my hands. I have ran for too long, fought too hard, hidden too deeply. Suffered too greatly. I can’t fight this any more, not now. Yet more pain will be leavened against me. I look at Rick and want to cry, love is the ultimate punishment. More loss. More pain.
Let death come. Let this sorry excuse for life end.
There’s a knock at the door. Rick jumps like a startled cat, and warily walks to open it. I can’t find the energy to turn my head to follow his movement. I envy his ignorance. It lets him hope, lets him prepare, lets him fight a doomed conflict.
And gives him a blade with which to cut out my heart.
He opens the door. I hear the over-loud voice of the landlord, rising ever louder in petty complaint. Rick says he’s a good man and rarely gives any trouble. Sounds like he intends to start. I laugh, a harsh, broken sound. My life is being cruelly torn asunder, and we’re being hassled by a land lord!
Rick comes into view and gives me a harried, worried look, before turning back to the land lord to shore up a desperate defence.
Another knock sounds from the door. Has death finally come to call? No, my sister was ever unfailingly polite when the occasion called for it, but I believe it is not necessary etiquette for assassins to announce themselves.
The neighbours from down stairs, here to complain, quite a long list it seems. I have to laugh again, all these pathetic people with such useless little problems assailing us while death stalks ever closer. No doubt they will bitterly moan over our graves about the rent they are no longer collecting. It’s so useless. And so sad. Rick, ever the optimist, is still trying, still fighting. So much energy to waste flailing against the inevitable.
The door explodes inwards this time. My, what interesting guests do join us in our hour of doom. A police SWAT team, original at least. Rick looks like the Loch Ness Monster just burst into the flat. The police race through the flat like a swarm of locusts, and easily as devastating. I find myself idly following their movements, vaguely wondering what they’ll break next, yet utterly failing to care.
They grab us and force us against the kitchen counter, hands securely cuffed behind our backs, shouted orders echoing painfully through the flat. Rick is arguing, fighting, shouting, angry and outraged. He still fights. Like a child, he plays the game that is long since lost, stubbornly refusing to admit defeat, to surrender.
The cuffs are tight, they hurt. I can’t bring myself to care about so little pain. There is a deep bruise across my ribs where they have rammed my chest against the counter. The ache elicits no anger from me, no worry, no response. Rick’s voice is panicked and strident, desperation shading his tone. Even that, the sound of my lover’s anguish, cannot draw more than a sigh from me. It’s too much, let it end.
Ahrimadan jumps nimbly onto the counter, his golden eyes piercing into mine. I feel his anger. His disgust. He bares his fangs and hisses, low, soft and heavy with menace.
“You do fear the darkness.” The words are quiet, but resonant with heavy echoes.
“You are right to do so.” The same heavy tone. Even that surprising admission doesn’t make me blink. I’m too numb, too empty.
“For you are not worthy of it. You are no fit vessel for the power, the strength. Of course it will master you, control you, overwhelm you. For you are weak, a disgrace. You can barely control yourself, your own body, your own emotions. How could you ever hope top control the ebon heart of true power? You shame the power you hold. You shame me, that I am bound to one so small as you.”
He stares at me, waiting. What does he want? Anger? Outrage? It is enough to make me laugh again, except I seem unable even to be amused anymore. I care not what you say cat, it’s over, or soon will be. Let me rest.
His golden eyes dull. He sits, heavily on the counter. Shaking his whiskered head in a slow heavy movement.
I close my eyes, mirroring Ahrimadan’s narrowing slits. Among the streaming chaos, I think I finally find peace. The peace of surrender, but peace nevertheless.
Peace...
There is a loud, heavy bang... The counter shakes with it. Ahrimadan hisses in violent outrage. I don’t move. A rough hand tangles in my hair and jerks me upwards, shaking me. I don’t move. I am thrown down again, backwards, I can almost feel my assailant’s rage at my passivity. My eyes open slightly from the force of the impact. I stare numbly, emptily at the large red faced police man glaring down at me. His frustrated rage would terrify many. It means nothing to me.
I see Rick. He is laid on the counter next to me. That was the noise. He has hit his head. A thin line of crimson stains his unruly golden mane. His eyes are dazed, unfocused, pained.
Something breaks.
Something burns upwards in a fury.
Ahrimadan laughs, long and loud, the sound blackening the white walls and leaving the police pale and frightened. Then the police man looks into my eyes. Horror turns his face into a terrified mask. The handcuffs holding my wrists fall to the floor in a rusted mess, my wards glowing like grounded stars
They hurt Rick... defeat, despair and surrender are wiped away - I don’t care if I loose, I don’t care if my death is inevitable and approaching ever closer. Victory and survival mean nothing now.
Now is for vengeance. Now is for the suffering of those who would wrong us. Win or loose, they will know pain.
A snarl curls my lips. Now is for the darkness.
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Re:
Date: 2003-06-19 01:17 pm (UTC)But - his sister is an illusionist. All you see is definitely not what you get.