NPC Interludes
McCormick sobbed.
There was no other word in the English language, nor any language known to man, to describe as accurately the pain he felt. Lament was a close second, followed closely by keen, but no other words could accurately describe the absolute and utter emotional destruction that McCormick felt but sob. He was curled up in his corner, tearing at his hair in small bloody tufts which began to die his hair red and desperately wishing with his little fragment of a soul that Theodore was lieing but he knew the truth. It was right before his eyes.
He saw the bloodstained hands of Theodore, saw the haunted look in his eyes.
He saw the dried blood on Joanne's blade, knowing in his heart she was the one who committed the act.
And through the explosion of pain that was his emotional spectrum erupting at once, Riley McCormick knew a pain far greater than anyone should ever have to go through.
McCormick sobbed.
He thought back to the day they first laid eyes on each other, she the nurse administering his first official police physical after graduation. He remembered her innocent smile, her silky fingers, and her laughter. Oh, it was the laughter of angels, sent from God Himself to reward Riley for all his hard work. After the awkward exchange, they had their first date going to the last drive-in theater in New York. Their marriage ceremony was simple, only family and a few friends. But it was perfect, the photos were fabulous and the way she glided in that silk white dress made McCormick feel like the luckiest man alive.
McCormick sobbed.
He gazed into his wedding ring, remembering all the failed pregnancies. They decided on no children, but it always left him hollow. Riley slapped himself, attempting to wake himself from the horror that laid at his feet. He remembered their first apartment and those first burned homecooked meals they both attempted. He remembered their first joint car, and their honeymoon to London. He gave a strangled sob, remembering their fascination with Disney and their repeated trips to the parks. And here, now infront of him, was the headless body of his wife. She laid laid out, properly cleaned and adorned for burial.
McCormick sobbed.
Theodore, he tried to convince him of who's fault it was. It was the Gentry who made him...it was the Thief of Breathes for playing this game, or Joanne for wielding the knife. It was Rileys...the real ones...fault for simply living. It was anyone but Theodores fault...but McCormick knew better. Theodore was the one who busted open their door...Theodore was the one who inspired the Thief to make his little army and Theodore was the one who promised to make McCormick and Angela safe...Once this other Riley is dead, you can go back to your life son. I just need your talents. Lies...McCormick knew they were hollow words then but it was the only hope he had left...
McCormick sobbed.
He knew what was next...he knew what Theodore and the Thief had ordered him to do. He did not know what to do, or if he could. I'm a desk jockey, the last time I ever fired a gun was in the academy. I'm a loser and a coward...I couldn't even protect my wife...He clutched her cold corpse, keening loudly into her belly as he clutched her hand. "What am I to do Angela...I'm not as strong as you ever were...How can I go on without you in my life..." Curling up next to her body, he wailed till he had no air left in his lungs.
And in the darkness of his soul, in the deepest parts of his mind where not even he knew what dwelled there, McCormick nestled with his heartache and sorrow. He wrapped it around him, clutching it like a lifeline. He shielded his heart and soul in the permafrost of death and loss as he slipped into sleep.
McCormick said one word before he slept, but all the stone-cold hatred ever spewed by the collective mouth of mankind would barely compare to how he would say this last word
"Theodore..."
----------------
Theodore paced the floor, snarling and slamming his fist into any surface that reflected his hideous form. He could hear McCormick keening from here, 3 floors down form the apartment building they had rented out. He didn't want to order it, but the Thief made him. It wasn't his fault...why didn't they understand...
Theodore couldn't bare to look about him these days. McCormick was bad enough, but now that he had...no, the Thief had, ordered the killing he felt things were just going from bad to worse with their relationship. Theodore felt a pang of guilt in his heart for bringing the kid into this mess...but they needed him. He needed him, and he personally went and collected them both...they were his responsibility. Theodore even promised the kid he'd get his wife out alive. He believed it with all his heart when he said it to them both, but as the days became weeks he began to lose doubt. And Angela was kind to him, she helped him through his...fits...
He snarled, stalking around the corner and pushing one of his fetch copies out of the way. These things he hated the most. The Thief wanted an army of Devourers...and here they were. Each one made him sick inside, each a mockery of himself. He had personally killed every one of them...before the Thief harvested their souls. Theodore shuddered as he watched them, forced to watch them eat, to send them out to bring him fruit. They were a constant reminder of the monster he was....of how he could become...
Theodore flat-out avoided Joanne now. She had all to gleefully removed Angela's head, she was singing that creepy bible song while he did it. He didn't even want to risk eating her, he didn't know if whatever insanity she had deep in twisted soul would be transferred or not...but he wasn't taking any chances. She would serve one last use...but he needed to have that crazy bitch killed before she went for him.
Taking a step out into the open air, Theodore took a deep breath, and shivered. He sucked in air, doing his best to keep from crying as he heard McCormick's grief-stricken wails echoing even out here. His hand spazzimed, as he felt a part of his frame consumed just to continue walking. A horrific pain stabbed through his abdomen and Theodore doubled over, clutching his gut in futility. He knew what was to come next, the monster inside, but he fought it with every fiber of his being.
It was a sweet deal, he learned back in Vietnam. He should have died...hell, he did die. But he came back, fresh as new. Several failed death attempts later taught him that he was the man that could never die. At first, this inflated Theodore's ego...he could do whatever he wanted for he could never die. That fueled his own megalomaniacal little trip...and then when he discovered he could make new bodies! Oh, life was very good indeed. But that last death, that last failed death...something broke him. He didn't know, but he remembered what Sable said...Ugarti's fault....that bastard Nick Ugarti's fault.
The same Nick Ugarti who had asked for forgiveness. He could never forgive that man for what he did to him...he could never forgive himself...
Theodore gasped, struggling to suppress his desires...his needs. He remembered this eternal hunger, watching his body actually digest itself. He instinctively knew what to eat...and eat he did. He fattened himself on that first kill, and that's when Theodore discovered he would rtaher die than live this life. Living as a parasite on Changeling society, the eternal desire and hunger...never eating enough...
The Thief promised him final Death, when Rolling Storms was no more. What choice did he have but to listen? But for tonight....tonight his hunger would get the best of him. Tonight his need to feed would override his sense of sanity and morality (what little was left). Tonight he was Theodore Rodgers, monster. And damn if it didn't feel good, no matter how much he screamed NO on the inside.
------------------------
The Tin Man ran through the Hedge, clutching his most precious package close to his chest. Steam jetted out of every joint as he ran, almost a blur down the path as the Shadow Wolves chased him. He could feel their saliva on his metallic back, hear the footpads as they touched down onto the ground and propelled the beast forward, and feel their fangs as the nipped his thighs and feet. They were close, the pack would soon be ontop of him soon. But Tin Man was far to clever.
He sprung up, bringing his huge boot down onto the pack leaders skull. Spinning around, and using his arms to cover his package at his chest, Tin Man summons Metal from the Hedgefloor itself. he sharpens them all with a single thought and propels them forward. They sting into the pack, buying him enough time to spring forward again and dash off into the Hedge. Giving a grinding metallic laugh, he stops by a small stream to rest. He tips back his rhinestone covered cowboy hat and smiles down at his package, gently poking to ensure safety. The small baby laughs, waking from her nap, her tiny hand caught in a tangle of her soft and thin red hair.
-------------------
It wasn't exactly a chessboard. Sure, it had all the similarities to one as in it was vaguely square-like and had black and white tiles. But that's about where they ended, for this was no regular board. On each side were a wide variety of pieces, though none of them represented any chess piece known to any man or woman alive on earth save one.
Sable grinned, extending his arm to the far side of the board. This was a difficult Game, mortals and their free will and all, but he would have it no other way. he had arranged his pieces carefully, having his Lost poked and prodded and allowing the Thief's attacks to push them into the corner. He had lost the Angela piece...but his regain of the Tin Man and The Child was a landslide in his favor for this season. "Your move Counsel, I believe I just put you in Mortal Danger." He cocks a brow, the perfect arch.
An older man, a scholar who looked more like a Vicar from ancient Russia than a grand leader, stroked his scraggly black beard. He sat, piled on his throne of books, and his bony hands tapped the bored as he pondered his next move. The Counsel of Three confided and discussed with himself, speaking to the Thief of Breathes which stood hunched over at his left side. "Well, you are the expert here...and we are the Counsel. What do you recommend? Your last was a disaster..." The Warlord snarls from the right side, the Queen fanning herself and giving a bored sigh from behind the book throne.
The Thief ponders, and reaches forward, pushing the Theodore piece in direct conflict with McCormick. He then triple round-about checked Joanne infront of Durendal and set the chest two levels higher (after creating the upper levels to accommodate his now three dimensional game). He then pitted Monoxide towards Dasia and the image of the castle, sending him towards the chest behind her. The Thief hacked, leaned back on his scythe and giving Sable an odd glance.
Sable laughed, rubbing his hands together. he had set the bait, and the Thief had fallen right for the trap. Just as he knew he would. Taking a sip of his wine (1890's Kenyan, excellent stock though could use a little slowing down) he leans forward and blows life into the pieces, watching them animate and play out the scene in the real world. "You took your gamble Thief...now watch my puppets dance..."
There was no other word in the English language, nor any language known to man, to describe as accurately the pain he felt. Lament was a close second, followed closely by keen, but no other words could accurately describe the absolute and utter emotional destruction that McCormick felt but sob. He was curled up in his corner, tearing at his hair in small bloody tufts which began to die his hair red and desperately wishing with his little fragment of a soul that Theodore was lieing but he knew the truth. It was right before his eyes.
He saw the bloodstained hands of Theodore, saw the haunted look in his eyes.
He saw the dried blood on Joanne's blade, knowing in his heart she was the one who committed the act.
And through the explosion of pain that was his emotional spectrum erupting at once, Riley McCormick knew a pain far greater than anyone should ever have to go through.
McCormick sobbed.
He thought back to the day they first laid eyes on each other, she the nurse administering his first official police physical after graduation. He remembered her innocent smile, her silky fingers, and her laughter. Oh, it was the laughter of angels, sent from God Himself to reward Riley for all his hard work. After the awkward exchange, they had their first date going to the last drive-in theater in New York. Their marriage ceremony was simple, only family and a few friends. But it was perfect, the photos were fabulous and the way she glided in that silk white dress made McCormick feel like the luckiest man alive.
McCormick sobbed.
He gazed into his wedding ring, remembering all the failed pregnancies. They decided on no children, but it always left him hollow. Riley slapped himself, attempting to wake himself from the horror that laid at his feet. He remembered their first apartment and those first burned homecooked meals they both attempted. He remembered their first joint car, and their honeymoon to London. He gave a strangled sob, remembering their fascination with Disney and their repeated trips to the parks. And here, now infront of him, was the headless body of his wife. She laid laid out, properly cleaned and adorned for burial.
McCormick sobbed.
Theodore, he tried to convince him of who's fault it was. It was the Gentry who made him...it was the Thief of Breathes for playing this game, or Joanne for wielding the knife. It was Rileys...the real ones...fault for simply living. It was anyone but Theodores fault...but McCormick knew better. Theodore was the one who busted open their door...Theodore was the one who inspired the Thief to make his little army and Theodore was the one who promised to make McCormick and Angela safe...Once this other Riley is dead, you can go back to your life son. I just need your talents. Lies...McCormick knew they were hollow words then but it was the only hope he had left...
McCormick sobbed.
He knew what was next...he knew what Theodore and the Thief had ordered him to do. He did not know what to do, or if he could. I'm a desk jockey, the last time I ever fired a gun was in the academy. I'm a loser and a coward...I couldn't even protect my wife...He clutched her cold corpse, keening loudly into her belly as he clutched her hand. "What am I to do Angela...I'm not as strong as you ever were...How can I go on without you in my life..." Curling up next to her body, he wailed till he had no air left in his lungs.
And in the darkness of his soul, in the deepest parts of his mind where not even he knew what dwelled there, McCormick nestled with his heartache and sorrow. He wrapped it around him, clutching it like a lifeline. He shielded his heart and soul in the permafrost of death and loss as he slipped into sleep.
McCormick said one word before he slept, but all the stone-cold hatred ever spewed by the collective mouth of mankind would barely compare to how he would say this last word
"Theodore..."
----------------
Theodore paced the floor, snarling and slamming his fist into any surface that reflected his hideous form. He could hear McCormick keening from here, 3 floors down form the apartment building they had rented out. He didn't want to order it, but the Thief made him. It wasn't his fault...why didn't they understand...
Theodore couldn't bare to look about him these days. McCormick was bad enough, but now that he had...no, the Thief had, ordered the killing he felt things were just going from bad to worse with their relationship. Theodore felt a pang of guilt in his heart for bringing the kid into this mess...but they needed him. He needed him, and he personally went and collected them both...they were his responsibility. Theodore even promised the kid he'd get his wife out alive. He believed it with all his heart when he said it to them both, but as the days became weeks he began to lose doubt. And Angela was kind to him, she helped him through his...fits...
He snarled, stalking around the corner and pushing one of his fetch copies out of the way. These things he hated the most. The Thief wanted an army of Devourers...and here they were. Each one made him sick inside, each a mockery of himself. He had personally killed every one of them...before the Thief harvested their souls. Theodore shuddered as he watched them, forced to watch them eat, to send them out to bring him fruit. They were a constant reminder of the monster he was....of how he could become...
Theodore flat-out avoided Joanne now. She had all to gleefully removed Angela's head, she was singing that creepy bible song while he did it. He didn't even want to risk eating her, he didn't know if whatever insanity she had deep in twisted soul would be transferred or not...but he wasn't taking any chances. She would serve one last use...but he needed to have that crazy bitch killed before she went for him.
Taking a step out into the open air, Theodore took a deep breath, and shivered. He sucked in air, doing his best to keep from crying as he heard McCormick's grief-stricken wails echoing even out here. His hand spazzimed, as he felt a part of his frame consumed just to continue walking. A horrific pain stabbed through his abdomen and Theodore doubled over, clutching his gut in futility. He knew what was to come next, the monster inside, but he fought it with every fiber of his being.
It was a sweet deal, he learned back in Vietnam. He should have died...hell, he did die. But he came back, fresh as new. Several failed death attempts later taught him that he was the man that could never die. At first, this inflated Theodore's ego...he could do whatever he wanted for he could never die. That fueled his own megalomaniacal little trip...and then when he discovered he could make new bodies! Oh, life was very good indeed. But that last death, that last failed death...something broke him. He didn't know, but he remembered what Sable said...Ugarti's fault....that bastard Nick Ugarti's fault.
The same Nick Ugarti who had asked for forgiveness. He could never forgive that man for what he did to him...he could never forgive himself...
Theodore gasped, struggling to suppress his desires...his needs. He remembered this eternal hunger, watching his body actually digest itself. He instinctively knew what to eat...and eat he did. He fattened himself on that first kill, and that's when Theodore discovered he would rtaher die than live this life. Living as a parasite on Changeling society, the eternal desire and hunger...never eating enough...
The Thief promised him final Death, when Rolling Storms was no more. What choice did he have but to listen? But for tonight....tonight his hunger would get the best of him. Tonight his need to feed would override his sense of sanity and morality (what little was left). Tonight he was Theodore Rodgers, monster. And damn if it didn't feel good, no matter how much he screamed NO on the inside.
------------------------
The Tin Man ran through the Hedge, clutching his most precious package close to his chest. Steam jetted out of every joint as he ran, almost a blur down the path as the Shadow Wolves chased him. He could feel their saliva on his metallic back, hear the footpads as they touched down onto the ground and propelled the beast forward, and feel their fangs as the nipped his thighs and feet. They were close, the pack would soon be ontop of him soon. But Tin Man was far to clever.
He sprung up, bringing his huge boot down onto the pack leaders skull. Spinning around, and using his arms to cover his package at his chest, Tin Man summons Metal from the Hedgefloor itself. he sharpens them all with a single thought and propels them forward. They sting into the pack, buying him enough time to spring forward again and dash off into the Hedge. Giving a grinding metallic laugh, he stops by a small stream to rest. He tips back his rhinestone covered cowboy hat and smiles down at his package, gently poking to ensure safety. The small baby laughs, waking from her nap, her tiny hand caught in a tangle of her soft and thin red hair.
-------------------
It wasn't exactly a chessboard. Sure, it had all the similarities to one as in it was vaguely square-like and had black and white tiles. But that's about where they ended, for this was no regular board. On each side were a wide variety of pieces, though none of them represented any chess piece known to any man or woman alive on earth save one.
Sable grinned, extending his arm to the far side of the board. This was a difficult Game, mortals and their free will and all, but he would have it no other way. he had arranged his pieces carefully, having his Lost poked and prodded and allowing the Thief's attacks to push them into the corner. He had lost the Angela piece...but his regain of the Tin Man and The Child was a landslide in his favor for this season. "Your move Counsel, I believe I just put you in Mortal Danger." He cocks a brow, the perfect arch.
An older man, a scholar who looked more like a Vicar from ancient Russia than a grand leader, stroked his scraggly black beard. He sat, piled on his throne of books, and his bony hands tapped the bored as he pondered his next move. The Counsel of Three confided and discussed with himself, speaking to the Thief of Breathes which stood hunched over at his left side. "Well, you are the expert here...and we are the Counsel. What do you recommend? Your last was a disaster..." The Warlord snarls from the right side, the Queen fanning herself and giving a bored sigh from behind the book throne.
The Thief ponders, and reaches forward, pushing the Theodore piece in direct conflict with McCormick. He then triple round-about checked Joanne infront of Durendal and set the chest two levels higher (after creating the upper levels to accommodate his now three dimensional game). He then pitted Monoxide towards Dasia and the image of the castle, sending him towards the chest behind her. The Thief hacked, leaned back on his scythe and giving Sable an odd glance.
Sable laughed, rubbing his hands together. he had set the bait, and the Thief had fallen right for the trap. Just as he knew he would. Taking a sip of his wine (1890's Kenyan, excellent stock though could use a little slowing down) he leans forward and blows life into the pieces, watching them animate and play out the scene in the real world. "You took your gamble Thief...now watch my puppets dance..."