He'd been out around the compound again, patrolling what he thought of as 'his' territory, climbing onto the rooftops of the concrete bunkers here and there using his claws and taking note of any foreign scents he picked up in the snow. Nothing seemed too out of the ordinary - well, as ordinary as you could get with a camp full of mutants - and he was just starting to head back towards the Mess Hall, back into the warmth, when he noticed Ophelia sitting a short distance away.
Shit. The only way back to where he wanted to go was right past her, and there wasn't any way around her. Maybe if he was lucky, she'd be in one of her more vacant moods and he'd be able to slink past un-noticed. He couldn't stand the way she rhymed and grinned when she spoke to him, it was irritating as hell, not to mention pretty un-nerving, although he was loathe to admit that. With a weary sigh, he began to trudge in her direction, hoping she'd not even notice he was there.
"I see you." She called it out the moment his emotional signature brushed her mind. She didn't see him, she just followed the trail back.
She was too open to things right then. Far too open to them. And every move around her just trickled through. "Slick and slide and crawl through the hole. It's one or the other, have to make the goal. Take it or leave it, she can't tell which. Make you burn, scream, burrow or twitch."
It wouldn't make sense, it didn't make sense. But she felt Victor, and she took what she could, what she wanted to. Storing it in the back of her mind and keeping it inside. She was going to burst, but it didn't stop her feeding more off Victor.
Shit. This was exactly what he'd wanted to avoid - her prattling rhymes, the way she seemed to know exactly what was going on inside his head, even if did come out as a garbled, near-nonsensical mess. He hated the way that, no matter how twisted and soiled he tried to make his memories appear, she eagerly fed off of them as if they were candy. And right now, his thoughts and feelings were as ugly as ever. His frustration at still not having made up with Emma yet, at least not physically; his irritation at being repeatedly drawn to Jean, even though he knew such a liaison could only end painfully; his anger at Jean for threatening Rictor and other members of his 'pack', his guilt at having let Emma down so badly, his realisation that he needed to hunt and kill, even if he had been brought to heel over the past few months. The last person he wanted feeling all of those jumbledup emotions was Ophelia. Scowling, he tried to keep his temper and managed to utter the most polite phrase that he could manage, considering the
( ... )
Ophelia smiled sadly at him, "Can't go, got tied, it's a pain to be tried. Won't budge, she's tried, it's only to say she's cried." She wasn't tied, she wasn't crying.
But she wasn't going anywhere, or leaving him be. Anything he felt came with this darkness that Ophelia liked to hold on to. Some could say it was a part of her by then. She liked having it inside her, liked having that strange sort of evil he had.
"Make it less or make it more, you know you'll only be a bore. Can't get out and can't get in, you'll hear her over all the din. Make a bet or hold them close, beware in case her heart has froze. It's yours to break or take away, but then again, you can always play."
"...beware in case her heart has froze." That pretty much summed up the way he was feeling right now, about Emma at least. He couldn't help but worry that this time, he'd gone too far, and driven her away from him for good. After all, they hadn't slept together again yet, had they? Not in the sexual sense. Maybe she was getting it elsewhere. The mental link was back in place, but that didn't mean he could always tell what she was doing. And then there was "...you can always play..." Jean. She had to mean Jean.
"Get out of my head. Go away."
He moved to walk away from her, but something inside him kept him there. He didn't even know why.
Ophelia shook her head. "Not your head she's in, not a path to be. It's all the things around she can see. It's not the same, but not too off. People say she speaks piff toff." She smirked at Victor, taking more as she felt like her head would burst.
"You can see, you know it's true. But what's a guy like you to do? Take a chance, go and play? You know she'll take herself away. Ruin it all for a little fun, or go back to number one?"
It was strange the insight that Ophelia had. And she didn't really realise she had it. But she knew that she had some hold on Victor's attention. Because he was still there.
Of all the people in the compound, Ophelia was the only one other than Rictor who'd really talked to him about everything that had happened. Logan had glared at him a few times and given his 'be a good boy' speech, as expected, but it had taken Rictor's no-shit approach to make him see sense - and Ophelia's strange way of speaking to make him reflect on it. At least Victor knew she wasn't judging him, or so he thought. She hadn't taken issue with his past; she didn't seem to really judge anyone. Maybe that was what he needed right now.
"What would you do if you were me?"
He wasn't even sure why he'd asked that as he looked away; perhaps because he knew he'd be getting an honest response, one that wasn't coloured by what she thought he'd want to hear. That, and she probably wouldn't tell anyone about this conversation, so it wouldn't get back to anyone. She was too insane to go blabbing about it, or so he thought.
She thought it over, feeling her way through everything he held. Emma was there, love, care, possession. They all lingered around her. Lust, pure and simple lust and want. She got a shiver along her spine from it.
And then there was Jean. It was a darker lust, a powerful kind of draw that even she felt when Jean pressed into her mind. Not that she'd have been anything like what Victor wanted. It was a mix, confusing and strong.
"Weigh it out, figure the best. Ophelia would just ignore the rest. What you want, or what will last, that's the question you need to ask." Jean was fleeting. An infatuation with that feral danger. Emma was surprising, and full of power. Each had their draws. "You take the blond, Ophelia has the other. Or would you prefer she went with your brother?"
There was a kind of jealousy that Ophelia sensed; she wasn't sure where from. But it was there. "You'll make up your mind, and that's what you'll find. What matters more, what's better in kind. The girl with the body, or the one with the mind?"
It surprised him but speaking to the mad girl was actually helping. As he'd hoped, she had a take on the situation that nobody else would have done, a real understanding of exactly how he was feeling about the whole thing, quite literally. What it came down to was a short-term infatuation as opposed to genuine deep affection, lust versus more than just that, his primal instincts against his more logical, sane mind. At the mention of Logan though, he growled, not liking what Ophelia was saying but trying to ignore that part.
"I'd prefer you just shut the hell up."
But there was the ghost of a smile on his lips now, which hadn't been there before. Not that she'd solved his problem for him, but she was basically affirming the decision he'd already made. Which was really why he'd asked her the question in the first place.
She watched him as a sort of uneasy settle descended on him. It was like his feelings just sort of understood his mind, or the other way around. Whichever it was, he didn't seem so conflicted.
Or maybe he was just getting there.
"Growl." One word. A short demand. She had taken what she needed from him, and now she wanted something else. That darkness that really, only he had. Jean was close to it, but her darkness was more organised. Rahne's was more confused. Victor's was a primal, driven instinct of pure darkness.
Ophelia loved it. "Growl." She repeated. Firmer that time. Hopefully he'd understand what she meant.
A more serious look returned to his face as she made her request; he didn't like people asking him for things, especially not freaky little mad girls who sucked on his emotions as if they were eating candy. Still, she'd made him realise a few things and added weight to the decision that had been weighing on his mind. The least he could do would be to throw her a bone.
"Just a bite-sized treat for you. Wouldn't want your poor little mind to grow fat on all the bad things in here."
Snarling, a growl in his throat, he gathered together a pile of memories that he thought she'd like; rape and murder, torture and a slow death, bloodlust and sexual violence all rolled into one. He even threw in a few new ones for her to play with, including a couple of the guards he'd murdered at the facility with Pyro - as well as the blonde he'd killed in St. Petersburg. That one would probably be the centrepiece of his emotional feast. Staring at her, he consciously threw them at her, his own way of thanking her for what she'd done for him. He'd
( ... )
She giggled gleefully, taking everything he offered and storing it. Some of it she just allowed to wash right over her. Loving the way her skin tingled at every single dark desire and emotion he had.
She knew most of them were attached to memories, she knew these were all things he'd done. She didn't care. If it were up to her she'd drape herself across him and take every single thing from him until she was just a happy little empath, full of all the darkness he carried.
But then he'd have none, and she might never get a refill. Best to just leave him with the darkness, and take bitesize chunks.
"Got to get out, got to go play. You know it's the only thing to make them stay. Fight and rut and get a kill. It's the best way to get a fill."
Shit. The only way back to where he wanted to go was right past her, and there wasn't any way around her. Maybe if he was lucky, she'd be in one of her more vacant moods and he'd be able to slink past un-noticed. He couldn't stand the way she rhymed and grinned when she spoke to him, it was irritating as hell, not to mention pretty un-nerving, although he was loathe to admit that. With a weary sigh, he began to trudge in her direction, hoping she'd not even notice he was there.
Reply
She was too open to things right then. Far too open to them. And every move around her just trickled through. "Slick and slide and crawl through the hole. It's one or the other, have to make the goal. Take it or leave it, she can't tell which. Make you burn, scream, burrow or twitch."
It wouldn't make sense, it didn't make sense. But she felt Victor, and she took what she could, what she wanted to. Storing it in the back of her mind and keeping it inside. She was going to burst, but it didn't stop her feeding more off Victor.
Reply
Reply
But she wasn't going anywhere, or leaving him be. Anything he felt came with this darkness that Ophelia liked to hold on to. Some could say it was a part of her by then. She liked having it inside her, liked having that strange sort of evil he had.
"Make it less or make it more, you know you'll only be a bore. Can't get out and can't get in, you'll hear her over all the din. Make a bet or hold them close, beware in case her heart has froze. It's yours to break or take away, but then again, you can always play."
Reply
"Get out of my head. Go away."
He moved to walk away from her, but something inside him kept him there. He didn't even know why.
Reply
"You can see, you know it's true. But what's a guy like you to do? Take a chance, go and play? You know she'll take herself away. Ruin it all for a little fun, or go back to number one?"
It was strange the insight that Ophelia had. And she didn't really realise she had it. But she knew that she had some hold on Victor's attention. Because he was still there.
Reply
"What would you do if you were me?"
He wasn't even sure why he'd asked that as he looked away; perhaps because he knew he'd be getting an honest response, one that wasn't coloured by what she thought he'd want to hear. That, and she probably wouldn't tell anyone about this conversation, so it wouldn't get back to anyone. She was too insane to go blabbing about it, or so he thought.
Reply
And then there was Jean. It was a darker lust, a powerful kind of draw that even she felt when Jean pressed into her mind. Not that she'd have been anything like what Victor wanted. It was a mix, confusing and strong.
"Weigh it out, figure the best. Ophelia would just ignore the rest. What you want, or what will last, that's the question you need to ask." Jean was fleeting. An infatuation with that feral danger. Emma was surprising, and full of power. Each had their draws. "You take the blond, Ophelia has the other. Or would you prefer she went with your brother?"
There was a kind of jealousy that Ophelia sensed; she wasn't sure where from. But it was there. "You'll make up your mind, and that's what you'll find. What matters more, what's better in kind. The girl with the body, or the one with the mind?"
Reply
"I'd prefer you just shut the hell up."
But there was the ghost of a smile on his lips now, which hadn't been there before. Not that she'd solved his problem for him, but she was basically affirming the decision he'd already made. Which was really why he'd asked her the question in the first place.
Reply
Or maybe he was just getting there.
"Growl." One word. A short demand. She had taken what she needed from him, and now she wanted something else. That darkness that really, only he had. Jean was close to it, but her darkness was more organised. Rahne's was more confused. Victor's was a primal, driven instinct of pure darkness.
Ophelia loved it. "Growl." She repeated. Firmer that time. Hopefully he'd understand what she meant.
Reply
"Just a bite-sized treat for you. Wouldn't want your poor little mind to grow fat on all the bad things in here."
Snarling, a growl in his throat, he gathered together a pile of memories that he thought she'd like; rape and murder, torture and a slow death, bloodlust and sexual violence all rolled into one. He even threw in a few new ones for her to play with, including a couple of the guards he'd murdered at the facility with Pyro - as well as the blonde he'd killed in St. Petersburg. That one would probably be the centrepiece of his emotional feast. Staring at her, he consciously threw them at her, his own way of thanking her for what she'd done for him. He'd ( ... )
Reply
She knew most of them were attached to memories, she knew these were all things he'd done. She didn't care. If it were up to her she'd drape herself across him and take every single thing from him until she was just a happy little empath, full of all the darkness he carried.
But then he'd have none, and she might never get a refill. Best to just leave him with the darkness, and take bitesize chunks.
"Got to get out, got to go play. You know it's the only thing to make them stay. Fight and rut and get a kill. It's the best way to get a fill."
Reply
Leave a comment