a day in the life of Katherine Kirschenbaum
8:00 AM While Katherine Kirschenbaum doesn't think she's necessarily the best at chess, she tends to win a lot. Tournament chess she'd be no good at, simply because her main chess strategy has absolutely nothing to do with the game itself. She's well above average at the actual game, able to read five or six moves ahead, but really, the way she
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He doesn't remember much after he stumbled out the club. He remembers the blurry and flashing lights of the city at night and the sounds of the world around him, the roar of cars, the hum of the power wires overhead. He remembers being slumped against a streetlight, eyes squeezed shut as he fights for his balance.
And then he feels something against his lips, against his teeth and he feels even more dizzier. And then it's all black.
When he finally wakes up, he's extremely hungover. He feels like he's been hit by a bus, or two. His head pounds painfully, threatening to break his skull open. A low groan escapes his lips, everything aches. Did he fall asleep in the bath again? No... no wait, it's not cold. It's usually cold in the bathroom. What he also notices is the lack of movement. He can't seem to move his arms and legs. Oh, this can't be good.
"What the..." it's hard to talk, he's trying not to panic, "What the feck's going... Oh, Jesus my head..."
Congrats Kat, you have a very confused and extremely hungover, half-Brachen Demon tied up on your floor. Extra bonus is he's immortal. He just hasn't figured that out yet.
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She pokes him with her foot, wondering how quickly he'll metabolize the sedative. She won't be able to get any decent readings off of him if he's not entirely awake.
"The headache is probably due to the inordinate amount of alcohol you felt the need to consume," she points out. "Of course, the sedative I gave you also tends to have a small side effect of muscle pain. It keeps you from bouncing up and out of my apartment, see?"
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He makes a noise of disproval when she prods him and frowns up at her. "Oi, listen darlin'... I don't know what your game is - but bondage ain't my thing," he complains, his voice thick and a usually light and playful Irish accent now heavy and low.
Doyle's expression turns serious, "So just untie me and I'll be stumbling out and on me merry little way, alright?"
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The pony tails are done, which means her hair is out of her face, and she can get to work without distraction. She turns back to look at Doyle, giving him a smile.
"And right now, hun, you're my work."
There won't be any stumbling out or merry ways. It's time to get down to business. But first, she wants to see a bit of fear in his eyes. Not that her interest is in the torture. It's just the work. But it's still fun to see them afraid.
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His face falls slightly. Oh god, this chick is crazy. He knows he's going to have to fight eventually - but he doesn't want to hurt her. Scaring her might be good though.
Doyle stares at her in slight shock and gulps, "Work?" he asks, his voice breaking slightly. "What.. uh.. kind of work.. dare I ask?" He'll keep her talking. That's usually a good plan. It worked before when his ex-wife's new fiance was about to eat his brain. Just.
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Of course, he isn't about to die, but she doesn't need to know that.
"I'm a chemist," she says, smiling at him. "Well, I've been doing more work in neurochemistry as of late because that's been the biggest trend in chemical warfare as of late, and my employers, well, let's just say they like keeping on top of the business."
As she talks, the smile turns into a pout, and she focuses on one of her cabinets.
"The bonds are there for your own protection," she adds. "In the sedative I gave you, there's a toxin that will very slowly eat away at your brain stem and kill you. Sometimes seizures are involved and I don't want you cracking your skull open on my coffee table. That would just ruin the whole process. However, if you're a good little test subject, maybe I'll feel generous, and give you the antidote."
She pauses, staring up at the ceiling. "Oh right. I forgot to mention that said toxin will kill you within 12 hours, give or take. Do you believe in God?"
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Doyle raises an eyebrow at her, pausing from trying to struggle against his bonds for a moment. His protection, or her's? Well, it's not like he'd intentionally hurt her in his demon form. Brachen demons are a human-friendly race. Or, well - they're supposed to be, anyway. He knows it's not in his nature to hurt people.
His face falls a little at the mention of a toxin. "Ahh, come on love. That's not very nice is it? You treat all your guests like this?" he asks with a nervous laugh. He wants to change into his demon form right now to get the hell out of here. But if he's going to die, it seems pointless in doing so. He's just going to have to sit tight, for now.
"I'm a perfect house guest, of course," he tells her, "Although I could save you a lot of hassle and just tell you about myself and make life a lot easier for you, yeah?"
Doyle blinks at the final question, "Can't say I really have, love. Well not in the big guy himself. You start asking if I believe in 'The Powers That Be' and I might say 'yeah'.."
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"Detach and reattach his body parts, you say?" she asks, leaning against the front of the chair as she stares at him. What does she want to do? How does she want to hurt him? He's not scared enough. Not yet. This really is no fun. Usually people are a little more than put out at hearing about their inevitable doom. "That would definitely be a nifty trick."
Especially considering conventional medicine doesn't work on her.
She's not so sure that he's really the perfect house guest, though. The perfect house guest would be Katja, but she's dead, and at this point, Kat's pretty sure not coming back. She took care of the fucker who did it, though. That was fun. Things are just boring without a revenge plot running, though.
"And I'm not entirely sure how telling me about you would help me test these beautiful chemical weapons here," she adds. "I'm sure you don't pee on the carpet often, but I have to test them out on a variety of subjects to know if they work generally across the board."
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To be honest, he's already nearly (well, he thinks nearly, anyway. He was supposed to) died once.
"Oh yeah," he nods eagerly with a nervous smile, his voice breaking again slightly. He's having trouble trying to think of more things to say in order to keep her talking. He's sounding more desperate now. "Although, of all the things he coulda done - he chose to stalk some poor girl. Bit of a waste, yeah?"
Doyle stares at her, he knows she's not joking. He starts yanking at the bonds again. "Oh come on, love.." he pleads, "I'm.. I'm half-Demon?"
It's a long shot. He regrets saying it, actually. "Look, never heard of animal testing before? I thought human guinea pigs used against their will was illegal," His head pounds, he feels sick. "Please..."
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"Even better!" she practically squeals, clapping her hands together. She's done with the story about this doctor now. So done. "And yes, it is illegal to use humans for testing, but didn't you just say that you're not human? But that's not even really the point. One would generally say that manufacturing chemical weapons for terrorists is, in itself, illegal, so really, what's the harm in testing it on people? It's not like I'm submitting my research to peer reviewed journals. Well, I do that sometimes. Just not usually the chemical weapons. Someone also has to solve the energy crisis and cure cancer. Actually, I already did the latter. And let me tell you, the drug companies were sure fast to buy that up and hide it from the consumers! The former I'm sure'll get bought up just as fast."
She nods slowly, her ponytails bouncing.
"You could try begging more. It wouldn't be the first time it's worked."
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"You're crazy.." It's a struggle to get words out now. He doesn't want to die. He doesn't want some crazy chick treating him him like some kind of guinea pig for her crazy fucking chemicals.
"Please.." he tries again more desperately with a pleading look in his eyes. He attempts a different approach this time. "I don't wanna hurt you.."
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She purses her lips, thinking to herself. What does she want to do to play with him? The begging is nice and all, but it isn't conducive to thinking.
"I don't want you to hurt me either," she says, looking down at him. She's not so worried about the accusation of crazy. This isn't the first or the last time anyone will call her crazy. She's rather used to it at this point. It just kind of makes her sad. Because she's not crazy. Everyone else is just stupid. "But that's why I put a toxin in your system that basically shuts down your muscles. You can struggle a bit, but that stuff should even keep a demon -- one of our demons, excuse me -- from breaking free. Do you think you'd rather try the interrogative hallucinogen or the fear serum? I guess you could just have the thing I made that shuts down your ability to make decisions, but that would make our talky time way less fun."
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"What?!" he yells at her furiously, "Anything else you poisoned me with that you wanna tell me?" It's probably a rhetorical question too. He's tired, there's a small sweat on his brow from struggling but he's not giving up yet. "Bite me," he growls darkly, his chest heaving with every breath as he struggles to remain calm.
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"Well, yes, you do exist," she admits. "You'd be a rather useless test subject if you didn't exist, but in the eyes of the law, you have never existed at all. It's one of the problems with being a Wanderer. At least undocumented immigrants have papers of some sort. You -- you're just someone who shouldn't exist. Or something like that. But don't worry! I like people. If you don't die from all of this, I'm sure we could be great friends. Or something."
She shrugs, thinking about his question. "It was a cocktail, see. It's sometimes hard to remember everything I put in it. There's the thing that sucks all your strength, the sedative, the thing that's slowly killing you and... oh! right! I put something in there to help rehydrate you. I'm sure you're rather thirsty after how much you had to drink."
She gives him a happy smile at that -- see? She's taking good care of him. She's such a nice lady.
"But if you don't choose what game you want to play, I'll have to chose the torture drug. Which basically convinces you that you're in excruciating pain for fifty minutes out of every hour. I can promise you it's not nearly as fun."
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It's almost agony to listen to her reel off the list of things she's infected him with. He gives a small groan and lets his head rest against the floor. "I'll believe you when I feel it," he tells her in regards to the last one. Because right now, he just feels like hell.
Nice lady, my arse.
Doyle shakes his head and looks at her, "Not that," he utters quietly with a defeated look. Okay, so hallucinogen or fear serum? Decisions, decisions. "Okay, I pick the first option.. the hallucinogen..." he utters after a long silence. Well, if it's what he thinks it is... he'd rather be tripping than drowning in fear.
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She does wonder how these little people blunder around without hitting their heads on things. How do they work? How do they navigate there little lives? Why can't they see things the way she sees them? Why can't they understand what she's doing is important? Why must they always get caught up on little things like the fact that she's about to kill them?
"And I'm sure the rehydrator'll kick in soon enough," she assures him. "Or maybe you had more to drink than I'd imagined and I didn't give you a large enough dose. Sorry if that's the case. Maybe I'll get you a glass of water later, if you're good. A lot of things depend on how good you are."
She takes a few steps forward, putting down the two canisters she doesn't need.
"For example, right now." She motions to him. "Say ahhh."
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