you make us want to die [open / active]

[marssucks]

Characters: Seccom Masada, Mewtwo, Shilo, open
Setting: The Entrance Hall
Time: Night 014
Summary: A badly wounded Seccom Masada is brought into the house and seeks a bit of medical help. Unfortunately, Mewtwo gets to him first, and decides it's interrogation time. But as that would be a bit difficult to do with Masada dead all over the floor,

Comments

[replicat]

Mewtwo drifted through the house, for once without purpose--the night had been inactive, silent and empty... frustratingly, interminably so, and he was bored.

It was a new sensation for Mewtwo, garnered only after months and months of exhausting every possibility within the house and his own head--but now he, Mewtwo, the most powerful Pokémon in the world... was bored. Shilo was sleeping (again), and he patrolled the halls in silent stoicism, his mind running loops of useless activity--he was almost beginning to envy the humans' ability to fear, their peculiar ingenuity, when a voice, venturing and quiet but tinged with pain, reached him distantly. His eyes shifted back and there was a less than a second's consideration before he diverted his course.

...why not.

He veered around the corner and blew into the room in a rush of wind and energy, almost blasting in right over Masada's head--he stopped, pulling back slightly, floating high in the air above the human's head.

...no... not human... his eyes narrowed.

[marssucks]

Masada nearly lost his already precarious balance when the thing-- what was it, what could it be, it was so different and big and fast-- blasted in seemingly out of nowhere, catching himself on the wall and staring up at it. He didn't speak-- he couldn't, the words seemed stuck in his throat. Staring was all he could do.

He did try to speak, made a sound approximating the beginning of a word, but then it failed and broke short with a whimper. He was frightened, very obviously so, by the strange thing. Did it wish him harm...?

[replicat]

Mewtwo stared at the humanesque creature, watching the blood trickle down its abdomenal wound in cold silence. He wasn't particularly interested in its injuries, though if it continued to bleed it would likely die. Its eyes were... faulty was perhaps the best word for it, some sort of muscular disparity or biological failure. More than that, however, he felt something... strange, alien and ariticial and... incomplete. It was also very long, built much different from many humans he'd seen... long and pale, although Mewtwo hardly noticed that in the wake of this feeling... something about this being was off... it was not 'whole.' Hovering, he ignored the whimper utterly, still limmed slightly with blue light that faded almost immediately as he spoke, addressing Masada directly in the being's own mind.

[What are you?] His deep telepathic voice echoed, a natural side effect of his own power.

[marssucks]

The wave of thoughts that rushed up in answer was abstract, at best; an incoherent mix of fractured emotions and confused words, as though he had much to say but wasn't sure quite what order the words went in. He finally shut his eyes and tried to focus, to give a more sure answer, but how was this thing speaking to him like that? It was different, scary, almost maddening somehow to hear the voice of another so strongly in his own head.

Space. He focused on space and his ship, and he tried to form a verbal answer, finally looking back up at the creature.

"... I-I... I am--" What was he? He wasn't quite sure himself. The little dreamer... the one who'd given him form. She had called him something before. "... a-- a figment." He wasn't exactly sure what the word meant, but it made him feel hollow-- yet it was the only way anyone had really described him besides "alien."

[replicat]

[A figment?] Mewtwo echoed, turning his head slightly to stare at it. It spoke haltingly, but looked at him... or so he assumed, for this being's eyes were not given to focus. The blood pooled dark and wet on the marble floor and Mewtwo was given a distinct emanation of distress or perhaps of bewilderment--he cared for neither, and his eyes narrowed again, his tail twitching. [A figment of what? ...of space, of time, of humanity, of consciousness, of memory... or of this place?] His voice took a cold turn, ominous and deadly, implicating exactly what might happen if he were of the latter.

He had seen enough of that and he had no patience for it--he would take no chances.