[video] l-lmao, POOR GIRL IS SO CONFUSEDfakeorgansJune 14 2010, 21:19:44 UTC
[ The experience comes while she is waiting, idly switching through the channels.
Chrome recognizes it for what it is at once: Sounds that are not there. A drift of shadows in the water (like the water which houses --), the sensations that are not her own, the deep upswelling of feverish, blood-tinged hunger. Contempt for weakness. The urge to close her teeth on a jugular, to pare down that soft humanity (only, she does not understand, during these times, whether these are her own desires, because her heart is beating very quickly in time with a voice, somewhere distant, as if in faraway mountains: a gasping voice, insisting that to rip the throat out with her teeth will hurtAnd yet she had come away with blood in her mouth. Had known this because of the taste of the chunks of flesh, newly dead (or dying
( ... )
[ ... What is this? A boy? (And no boy that she recognizes; his voice has a strange, clipped sound to it.) The possibility that this is merely another possession does flit across her mind, but she decides otherwise quickly. She would recognize the presence, so familiar is it to her by now, and she feels none of it in the one who addresses her.
Yet there is a distance between them which complicates and confounds matters. The technology reminds her of Byakuran, webs of viewing screens at military bases -- only this is smaller, like a phone, yet the insistent and spying nature of it seems to suggest a subdued hostility, and for a moment, Chrome wonders if she has been placed in the midst of a trap.
(It would not be the first time she had opened her eyes and found herself before an enemy.) ]
. . . I'm sorry.
[ Though there is not much apology in the tone
( ... )
You're new here. Are you in a meadow in a big tree by any chance? You gotten spirited away from whatever you are from to here, which is called Kannagara.
[ voice | private ]ls_rueflectionJune 15 2010, 13:11:07 UTC
[Familiar.
B stares into the dark screen, at his reflection and the faded hues glaring back. That yearning, almost barbaric-even wild-... yet focused, determined and controlled; such power contained, directed, intent on accomplishing one goal. That need coiling like a cobra, tighter and tighter, increasingly forced the breath from him, and then it was charmed by so simple a solution? Merely tearing the source to pieces.
Dimly, waves crashing against the rocks. The cliff. No birds, not at this time. Oh, he's breathing. The breeze is strong, yanking his pastel hair about wildly and camouflaging those huffs and puffs of air. The sand beneath him is quiet as his shifts, an army of harmless tan ants scurrying down his thighs as he draws his knees to his chest.
A copper ghost lingers and, again, provokes that raw, raw need and the struggling urge, the staggering desperation for something-- only, in this case, its his need. He swallows. It won't be so simple, to seek out his target and only rip his flesh from the bone, no. But if they
( ... )
[ voice | private ]guerrilla_morphJune 15 2010, 14:37:33 UTC
[Marco hasn't heard this voice before, which is weird - he thought that he can pretty much recognize everyone by now, even if they don't know their names. But he replied in voice in kind.]
So I guess you go out and swim with the sharks and eat fish the, huh?
[ voice | private ]ls_rueflectionJune 15 2010, 15:16:10 UTC
Mm, I'm sure I've unintentionally swum with sharks, yea... Definitely ate fish.
[He glances to his pile of fish, wrapped in nature's cloak and left to dry. This boy certainly isn't far off, though he's sure the other is making an attempt at clever sarcasm.]
Wasn't too similar to your experience, there. Usually dream of killing?
[Probably the most irrelevant point of the dream but... B is for instigate. Despite the word lacking that letter entirely.]
[ voice | private ]guerrilla_morphJune 15 2010, 16:18:01 UTC
[In Marco's experience when someone start talking to you about killing whether it's rhetorical or not it usually means nothing good is coming out of that person. He narrows his eyes, suddenly grateful that he put it on voice instead of video.]
It leaves his heart pounding, just a little. His body tense with the aftershocks of hunger. Hunger, for fuck's sake. The kid who kept calling him Bob Junior, the fucking dinosaur, is actually insane or something. Sasuke is not even sure that he can call it that. Insane. It is a notch below insanity, with which Sasuke is familiar. It's... mindless.
And familiar, in truth. An old memory, of something which he had brought under control years ago. But once, before he had learned to suppress it. Once, he'd had the same capacity. He had succumb to it, and his last coherent thought had been - who did this to you, Sakura? And after that?
A memory he would prefer to forget for a thousand reasons. He hates to think of how weak he had once been. And Sakura - he hates to think of her as well.
So, forget it. More to the point - what the fuck?]
[Blades. Blades are for cutting. The entire purpose of any blade is to cut. Tear apart an opponent. Cut them, and make them bleed.
Kill.
Cut, tear, kill with blades. Kill, kill, kill.
And then the hunger.
It's not the same, but it reminds him of Zaraki, and his never-ending lust for a good battle. It makes him think of that man's hunger for energy, for the power to kill more. To fight more. The chance to cut something up, something powerful--
--but therein would be the difference, would it not? This blade, this one needs to kill, to eat. And it'll kill whatever it can find. Strong, weak, it doesn't matter.
It just needs to kill.]
Well damn. Felt like I was back in the eleventh for a bit there.
[Renji was just about to ask what 'high school' was before he remembered. Right, that was the thing that Ichigo went to, right? The place with the uniforms?]
No, uh--
[And this, this is where he remembers that he hasn't talked to this kid before. So that means, the kid doesn't know about the Soul Society or the Gotei 13 or anything about his world, really.]
[Reshaping oneself into a weapon. Transformation. It's a process Sasori is intimately familiar with, even if his own transformation entailed the opposite of this. He'd transitioned from the visceral to the remote.
It's been a long time since he's tasted blood in his mouth. The last memory of it was tasting his own, the day he cut his own heart out and transcended humanity. Another reversal, the blood spilling before and not after.
But oh, the finished product is just as much of a perfect weapon as this is. And the satisfaction of overcoming a powerful opponent is just as satisfying as devouring prey.]
The ability to reshape oneself truly is a fascinating one, I must say.
Do these forms retain an influence upon you, once you return to your human one?
Comments 41
Chrome recognizes it for what it is at once: Sounds that are not there. A drift of shadows in the water (like the water which houses --), the sensations that are not her own, the deep upswelling of feverish, blood-tinged hunger. Contempt for weakness. The urge to close her teeth on a jugular, to pare down that soft humanity (only, she does not understand, during these times, whether these are her own desires, because her heart is beating very quickly in time with a voice, somewhere distant, as if in faraway mountains: a gasping voice, insisting that to rip the throat out with her teeth will hurtAnd yet she had come away with blood in her mouth. Had known this because of the taste of the chunks of flesh, newly dead (or dying ( ... )
Reply
But he's not to sure what the one-eyed babe is on about.]
Done what?
[He's not sure if he wants the answer.]
Reply
Yet there is a distance between them which complicates and confounds matters. The technology reminds her of Byakuran, webs of viewing screens at military bases -- only this is smaller, like a phone, yet the insistent and spying nature of it seems to suggest a subdued hostility, and for a moment, Chrome wonders if she has been placed in the midst of a trap.
(It would not be the first time she had opened her eyes and found herself before an enemy.) ]
. . . I'm sorry.
[ Though there is not much apology in the tone ( ... )
Reply
You're new here. Are you in a meadow in a big tree by any chance? You gotten spirited away from whatever you are from to here, which is called Kannagara.
Reply
B stares into the dark screen, at his reflection and the faded hues glaring back. That yearning, almost barbaric-even wild-... yet focused, determined and controlled; such power contained, directed, intent on accomplishing one goal. That need coiling like a cobra, tighter and tighter, increasingly forced the breath from him, and then it was charmed by so simple a solution? Merely tearing the source to pieces.
Dimly, waves crashing against the rocks. The cliff. No birds, not at this time. Oh, he's breathing. The breeze is strong, yanking his pastel hair about wildly and camouflaging those huffs and puffs of air. The sand beneath him is quiet as his shifts, an army of harmless tan ants scurrying down his thighs as he draws his knees to his chest.
A copper ghost lingers and, again, provokes that raw, raw need and the struggling urge, the staggering desperation for something-- only, in this case, its his need. He swallows. It won't be so simple, to seek out his target and only rip his flesh from the bone, no. But if they ( ... )
Reply
So I guess you go out and swim with the sharks and eat fish the, huh?
Reply
[He glances to his pile of fish, wrapped in nature's cloak and left to dry. This boy certainly isn't far off, though he's sure the other is making an attempt at clever sarcasm.]
Wasn't too similar to your experience, there. Usually dream of killing?
[Probably the most irrelevant point of the dream but... B is for instigate. Despite the word lacking that letter entirely.]
Reply
I dream about a lot of things.
Reply
It leaves his heart pounding, just a little. His body tense with the aftershocks of hunger. Hunger, for fuck's sake. The kid who kept calling him Bob Junior, the fucking dinosaur, is actually insane or something. Sasuke is not even sure that he can call it that. Insane. It is a notch below insanity, with which Sasuke is familiar. It's... mindless.
And familiar, in truth. An old memory, of something which he had brought under control years ago. But once, before he had learned to suppress it. Once, he'd had the same capacity. He had succumb to it, and his last coherent thought had been - who did this to you, Sakura? And after that?
A memory he would prefer to forget for a thousand reasons. He hates to think of how weak he had once been. And Sakura - he hates to think of her as well.
So, forget it. More to the point - what the fuck?]
What the fuck was that.
Reply
[Deadpans.]
Reply
Do you always lose your mind when you turn into... whatever you turn into.
Reply
It depends on what kind of animal I become. Usually I lose control on the first time I become them. Other times it's not an issue.
Reply
Kill.
Cut, tear, kill with blades. Kill, kill, kill.
And then the hunger.
It's not the same, but it reminds him of Zaraki, and his never-ending lust for a good battle. It makes him think of that man's hunger for energy, for the power to kill more. To fight more. The chance to cut something up, something powerful--
--but therein would be the difference, would it not? This blade, this one needs to kill, to eat. And it'll kill whatever it can find. Strong, weak, it doesn't matter.
It just needs to kill.]
Well damn. Felt like I was back in the eleventh for a bit there.
Reply
Eleventh? You mean, like in the eleventh grade? Like in high school?
[Because Marco can actually see the similarities.]
Reply
No, uh--
[And this, this is where he remembers that he hasn't talked to this kid before. So that means, the kid doesn't know about the Soul Society or the Gotei 13 or anything about his world, really.]
Eleventh division.
[...]
'S A combat-focused division, in my world.
Reply
Your division likes to eat the poor fish?
[Sounds mockingly horrified.]
Reply
It's been a long time since he's tasted blood in his mouth. The last memory of it was tasting his own, the day he cut his own heart out and transcended humanity. Another reversal, the blood spilling before and not after.
But oh, the finished product is just as much of a perfect weapon as this is. And the satisfaction of overcoming a powerful opponent is just as satisfying as devouring prey.]
The ability to reshape oneself truly is a fascinating one, I must say.
Do these forms retain an influence upon you, once you return to your human one?
Reply
Reply
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