Author Topic: From the Same Stone.  (Read 781 times)

Val

  • Young Wyrm
  • *
  • Posts: 120
    • View Profile
From the Same Stone.
« on: April 26, 2013, 02:41:54 AM »
( From play between my baby and I. Mature content within.)







"I'm thinking... Mexican?" Strangely he speaks this, and eyes that don't believe these words shuffle and sift through the high clouds; red, orange and gold. "Egh," pensively returning to the subject. Walking along the boulevard, his Martyr aside, Val draws on his cigarette and minds the various signposts and dining kiosks. "Well... what do you think?" He looks to her for affirmation. " 'Cause really, I'll eat anything."



Dressed to impress, Martyr walked next to him. She wore a collared little yellow and white plaid dress that nearly stretched to her knees. The sleves stopped at her shoulders and left her arms bare and pale for the world to see. Her legs were a different story; visions of white stockings tucked in at the feet beneath a pair of black Mary Janes that were worn in the middle from her constantly being on the tips of toes. Her hair was down, mocha stretching toward her rear and trembling within the wind; pulled back with a yellow head band leaving chunks of coffee bean bangs to mingle with the only thing on her ensemble that didn't match--those violet eyes which were surrounded by copious amounts of lash. She wore make-up today, a subtle amount of foundation, cinnamon blush, and light brown eye shadow. Her lashes were painted in a thick black mascara curling them up and out. "O-oh... I c-could eat j-just about anything right n-now." Martyr whispered, her voice trailing just above a whisper.



Fresh from an afternoon at the office, Val is sharply assembled and astutely aired. The tones of his fabrics are outlandish in comparison to the blank and severe colors worn most often. His slacks are crisp and a light gray and buckle-bound by a black belt with a silver clasp. His shirt is black and clean and evenly pressed and tucked below a grey, four-button vest. What's new is the tie; it's blue and happy and doesn't quite fit his strict assembly. He tugs on the knot uncomfortably, filing up the avenue with his young fiance.

"Yeah... the same. There's an Italian place a few blocks out. It's a-ways from downtown, but it's worth it." Val looks down and keeps eyes on the rhythm of his steps.




Martyr's eyes trailed up to Valcroix, and the corners of her mouth were manipulated into something of a childish smile. "Y-you lead, V-val.. I will f-follow." Then, in some amount of playfulness she attempted to bump her boney hip against his. This, of course, resulted in the off-balance immortal stumbling. She grasped his forearm to keep herself upright and allowed a little gasp to fill her lungs. "I d-don't care w-what we eat. As long as y-you're across that t-table, and looking at m-me." As if they were highschool kids, she trailed that same hand that was grasping for balance down his wrist to tuck it into his palm and attempted to lace her fingers within his. Mocha bangs were not long enough to hide that natural glow of her cheeks, which defined the artificial cinnamon dusting she'd given them. "I l-love you, V-val.. I c-can't w-wait to m-marry y-you." Martyr whispered softly, that voice lost to the soft whisper of the wind.




Tightly, he holds on. It isn't force, it's a link, it's perfection and a simple representation of the complexities of their love. Val lifts his head and a jolly buoyancy refits his cold mouth and a smile appears. "I love you too, Martyr." He appears timid and maybe embarrassed. She held the keys to this version of the ma---but he trusted and understood her above it all. With the violet-eyed darling hitched to his side, they continue until the buildings up-on-high level out and lessen and are no longer glassy and formal. This end of the city isn't a crag or a project, but is certainly a far-cry from the downtown bustle and accredited composure. Soon, Val lifts his eyes questionably. How long had it been since they'd passed another person? He stops ad wheels around in a complete circle like a pup on his tail.

"Hm. Desolate." The sky was low and fiery and the big juicy tangerine sun looks on doubtfully; where had the people gone?

Val pulls a little knife from his pocket. He opens his palm and it rests upon it. It was something he'd crafted from the remnants of Nazareth's blade. It doesn't rattle or relay some ominous energy. But it felt heavily as he solemnly admires it.

Martyr

  • Adult Wyrm
  • *
  • Posts: 253
    • View Profile
Re: From the Same Stone.
« Reply #1 on: April 26, 2013, 03:58:49 AM »
With him looking around, Martyr had nothing better to do than to mimic. She span in a slow circle, that still managed to defy the gravity in the hem of her dress. It lifted, and span out like a sheet waving in the wind. Her eyes, violet and true peered around for a sign of life that wasn't their own, beating hearts. "W-where is everyone... Are y-you sure y-you went the right w-way?" Martyr questioned, one eye outgrowing the other as she accused him in all of his glory; much like a good wife would on a road trip. 'I told you to stop and ask for directions!' She refrained from saying, or even thinking such things as the purple eyed beauty stared around. Then he was pulling out the knife, and she recognized it. If the blade had eyes, it would see her mocha head rising from the horizon of his palm, with two orbs--a happy muddle of red and blue--peering down at it. What could she say? 'Do you think Neth will be back for it?' That would only turn their luck dour. 'It's beautiful...' Martyr was truly one to appreciate the beauty and simplicity of it all, but to say it, was unneeded. They both knew it was beautiful, shiny and symbolic.


"I'm not sure. But it feels different."
   
He wanted to say it felt heavy. Wanted to express the new weight--but he wouldn't give the anomaly foundation. For whatever was spoken from the blade's new weight was surely untranslatable at the moment. Val smiles for Martyr and makes certain to drop the curvy knife into his pocket casually. He seeds her eyes with his coppers and shrugs before, "And yes---I'm certain this is the way." He slips away and examines the area. It was residential; town and row houses, neither clean nor haggard. Still piercing the abandoned block thinly, "It's strange. Damn strange. Let's go." Val takes three steps forward. Then, he stops. His shaggy head lifts and is apart. His eyebrows rise and his small eyes separate, for a figure draped in recognizable robes now blocks the street ahead. Though a veil masks the stranger's face, its posture and poise suggests its male. (His) robes are white and too clean and too poignant, they flow tenderly when childish fingers of wind dare to ripple the pristine fabric.
   
   
    "Valcroix," the being speaks and confirms he's male. "Shaper. Valcroix; Shaper. Valcroix; Shaper," it continued awfully, his tone so bland, so autonomous is weighs the air; cultish and ritualistic in its recitation; like a spell that would blink Val into the void.  
   
   
    Val softly places his hand on Martyr's belly and presses to move her to his back while leering back at the striking figure.



Martyr had been looking to his pointed, strong featured face above all else so when he breaks, her thin eyebrows tried to knit together and form an expression of complete misperception. She almost asked him why he?d stopped, but then that baritone voice speaking stories of her lover?s name rings out into her ears. They start to ring, and her shoulders come up to touch her earlobes. ?V-val?? W-who is..?? The girl spoke quietly, her tone screaming tales of fear. These terrors are confirmed as her lover shepherds her out of sight. ?Ah??? A funny little noise came from her mouth as she stumbles lightly to try and keep from moving to his backside, but it?s in vain as he seats her there.

Val might have thought he?d won there, having gotten her to safety with his body shielding her own. However, Martyr peeked over those knotted shoulders, a hand resting on either side, and her chin snuggling against her right hand as she peeked over to snag a better look. Forever on the tips of toes, Martyr fought to balance.



    "Vall....c-....c-c-c..." The strange cloaked figure's head twists rottenly, like its neck was wound on metal fittings; notch-notch-notching to the right until its head was unnaturally corked ninety degrees.
   
   
   
    Val clearly finds the sight grotesque. His eyes eject and his mouth drops and the hand that had tenderly ushered Martyr to his aft now timidly reaches forward, it almost looked as if he would attempt to comfort the apparition. But he sharpens his expression and howls, "Who the hell'er you? I won't stand for games."
   
   
    "C-...croix?" This man is a creature. Though his motions reveal little motive, it speaks Val's name in a variety of ways. The tone cracks and and halves and leaps as if expressing a myriad of complex thoughts through the simple word. "Val...Val!"
   
   
    The aforementioned quickly looks to Martyr and whispers, "I don't know what this is... but it's not going to end well. I'm just going to attack and find out what I can when the dust settles." A sharp method, but with no rivals it stands alone.



Still peeking over the shoulder, the self-conscious side of her wondering if whatever that thing was, was making fun of her stutter. Her eyes narrowed for a moment, face contorting with puffed out cheeks in an attempt to shoo away that frightened little girl air she held about her. When Val spoke, she could only nod her head, unable to look at him, incapable of taking those frightened violets from the creature?s creepy, cloaked form. She could feel her arm start to tingle, and knew it would become a metal talon soon. Why keep it from doing what it does best? Closing her eyes, tearing the sight from her mind for a split-second, she allowed the transformation to take place. Except?it didn?t. Her arm was flesh and bone, nothing more and nothing less?unless one would count the fact that it would grow back? ?V-val?? She spoke, wanting to open her mouth and pour the truth out to him?Except? she couldn?t. What would she say? What could she say? ?Val, I can?t protect you??? ?B-be c-careful?? A soft hum of a whisper as her eyes resurfaced.
[img:b227cb0858]https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/5d/38/c7/5d38c70e70c979f69f2543532c307805.jpg[/img:b227cb0858]
My body's covered in teeth marks, your bite's worse than your bark
You ruin everything you touch and destroy everyone you love

Val

  • Young Wyrm
  • *
  • Posts: 120
    • View Profile
Re: From the Same Stone.
« Reply #2 on: April 27, 2013, 05:10:01 AM »
Val retrieves the blade from his pocket. His eyes whirl energetically, like powered dynamos. Red lightning bent into half-circles emblazon these eyes, flash and deaden them. In his hand, the blade glows. This light amplifies until he's no longer holding steel and fiber but instead white, white light. The light expands forward in three curved feet, backwards in a single straight foot and the pulsating sounds of handled energies persist between them. With the blade shaped the process concludes with a sharp, harrowing sound that feels like a high-frequency shriek. And then steam, billowing, rocketing steam from the blade-of-light, as if it had been taken from tempering flames and washed in cooling water. Now perfect steel lays curled in his fingers, a sword like any-other. He steps forward and little threads of smoke peel from the glimmering, manifested weapon.



His steps are dramatic. His opponent's are not. The cloaked figure, who had been intently and crookedly admiring Val's technique, leaps ahead, pulls back his arm and slings it forward. Val's body contorts back and away to avoid the fist. What Val hadn't seen now stands evident. When the creature swung, the fist pulled ahead of the fabric of its sleeve and exposed its weapon; a metal talon. Not nearly as large as Martyrs, but it bore an uncomfortable semblance. Val, now in a low and prowling pose, lifts his body and twists the blade, aiming a fierce slash at the beast's chest, a blow that would rightfully halve him should it land uncontested. The cloaked stranger opens the talon and meets the blade and the horrible outburst of metal-opposing-metal shocks the air with piercing hallows and bursting sparks.






Silent and helpless, Martyr can only watch as the two go at it. Her lip trembled, her back straightened, and her fist came up to her mouth allowing her teeth to sink in and abuse the flesh of her knuckles. Violet orbs expanded, and soon became surrounded with the whites of eyes as she noted that very familiar arm. ?Is that m-my?? The girl?s broken lyrics trailed off into her saliva-moistened fist as she took a step backwards. She?really liked this dress. When Val took her shopping for it last week, she thought to herself, how careful she?d be with it. Now? Now it seemed as helpless a cause as she, and her eyes tucked for only a moment behind lid and lash as the doe-eyed damsel tried to think of a solution.
   
    Martyr could blast him with her soul, it was true. A clear shot might easily take the creature, man, whatever he was, out. Unfortunately a blast like that was hard to concentrate, and risked Val?s body in the process? Not to mention it felt like giving birth all over again. With one more step back, she began to weigh her options.







Val's blade remains locked with the apparition's steel fingers. Because he'd stepped into it, the hilt rattles strenuously inside his white-knuckled grasp and a face just as stressed contorts furiously as it recognizes the stern calm emanating from his becloaked opponent. Val draws his foot behind the right, lessens the applied force and replies with a three-point maneuver; one, he rips his blade away from their contact and forces the being to fall victim to his own inertia; two, he angles the blade so that it's nose faces down and away and concludes with the third; a fearsome strike that appears in the air as naught but a sickle of light, like a fall star's tail, a laser rounding a bend.


The beast in white sinks on his springy knees and comfortably evades the wildly swift attack. Val, mindful of his unkempt application of force, steps back and warily eyes the fickle phantom. It hops back on its feet precisely but stands with no pose, no techinique or stance. Its arms hang and rock with the wind.

Val sighs and frustratingly eyes the newly dimmed sky. When he sigh concludes a concert of disdaining motions leave him slumped and defeated and above all else, bored. The specter finds opportunity in this and lunges once more.


Three yards lay measured in tarmac between the pair. One long stride from the white-cloaked being brings him between one and a half and it's here that he rifles his sharp hand at Val; Val, who stands, admiring sky and the one bedamned star that is fussy and spoiled enough to glimmer in a polluted city sky. Between the men, an explosion. It's not mighty, merely a tussle of dust and dirty fragments. When the dust clears the specter's hand is strangely mired in a tall formation of sand. Before his arm escapes the fickle particles, Val snaps a small, small eye on it and the mound flashes white with a light that had likened the shaping of his blade. More smoke, but it clears quickly and his opponent's arm was no longer buried in a wall of stand but instead stone.


"Okay... Now," he perks his brow exasperatedly and lumbers over halfhearted to the beast that didn't bother to struggle. "We get some answers."





There wasn?t much weight in her stare to the ground as her lover and the creature battled. She had faith in Valcroix?s ability, this much was true, but feeling helpless? Unable to do anything but hope for either a woundless battle, or a chance to heal him? It was torture of the worst kind. Martyr wasn?t a fighter, that was for sure?but she had boundaries, and Val, save for Max, was her biggest one. He was one of the few little tripwires to cross and make the immortal insane with rage. Now? What could she do? Bat at him with that rangy, wet noodle of an arm? As the explosions of dust and sand erupted from their settled place on the ground, Martyr would gasp each and every time; her eyes dared the fray for only seconds at a time before she moved back to stare at the space between her separated Mary Janes.
 
A heart would pound in her chest, to the point where she felt as if her ribs were going to bruise from the inside out with the kicking of the muscle that screamed and writhed for her lover to be safe. The beating in her ears told stories of him not coming home, of him abandoning her with Max? Tales of explaining to her too-young daughter, that daddy wouldn?t be coming home today.  His voice alone could pull her from this reverie, and calm that rampant organ which resided in the safety of the bony cage that was her chest. ?O-oh, V-val?? Martyr rushed over to him, wanting to stay by his side for three eternities; ready and willing to block any incoming attacks with her body.





Val boasts to his young lover with brows that waggle and a smile that could rightfully challenge the sharpness of his sword. His opponent's hand and forearm were borne in stone now, the stone that Val had cleverly transmuted from the sand. It was a sharp move, and he wouldn't hesitate to show.

"It's alright, Martyr. This one isn't going anywhere."  He pats the rock formation warmly, like he would upon the back of his best friend; and given his reputation, Martyr could rightfully inform him that it was his best and only friend.

Wasting no more time, Val snags the specter's hood and draws it back. What now stands exposed is a young and formally handsome face of defined cheekbones and tanned, sunwarmed skin. His nose his pronounced and pointy, and his mouth is long, but detached and mindless and uncaring. Though these definitions of flesh now stand, the right of both Val and Martyr's attentions would be starkly paid to his eyes where two carved-out cavities hollowly stare. And in these holes, two brilliant, though crudely cut, amethysts.


"What..." With an open mouth, Val turns to the young Martyr. "The hell is this?"

Martyr

  • Adult Wyrm
  • *
  • Posts: 253
    • View Profile
Re: From the Same Stone.
« Reply #3 on: April 29, 2013, 11:01:16 AM »
     Her own amethysts, though not of stone, that challenged the vibrancy of the violet rocks, widened with horror and dismay. Her mouth opened widely, her nostrils twitched as if to remind the girl to breath, and then all in a single breath, she flattened her expression out lips, though copious, became a thin line of blankness. There was no hiding the horrification in her eyes, though. The metal arm, the violet rocks stuffed into scooped out sockets?? Was this creature supposed to resemble her in some way? ?W-who? W-who would d-do such a thing?? Though it had attacked, part of the girl, who had stood on the sidelines for the entire fight wanted to try and heal the creature if not to ease its pain, then to sate the curiosity of what the eyes would have looked like had they not been carved away and replaced with stone.
   
    Phoenix, who had resided in the back of her mind throughout the entire fight, spoke up finally. Woah, think we could sell those babies?
   
    Phoenix! Have you been just watching the entire time!? Why didn?t you come out to help Val? He could have been hurt!
   
   Good, Val?s a d?ck?
   
   You?re the most unhelpful person in the world!
   
   Now, did you really expect anything less?





    Enough, you two.
   
   
    Val places his hand on the stone and walks along it, his fingers gliding along the cool, smooth surface. He appears complacent and suspicious and when he approaches the assassin his eyes squint as if their captive's face were radiant like the sun.
   
    Softly, "Hey." He knows the boy has no eyes, but Val looks into the rocks anyway. He didn't feel sorry for him, rather resented and blamed him less. Val purses his lips and props his head off to the side, cattily.
   
    He lifts his hand and snaps his fingers, "Hey! Hey, c'mon. You must be able to say something more than my f'cking name, kid."
   
    Val waits with a frozen pose, fiercely gazing through him. The boy stuck in the stone remains properly poised. He looks finalized and content and ready for whatever judgement is to be cast upon him. Val grows impatient and spins the blade around in his hand. A ferocity strains his face and an unemotive line now runs nihilistically where a scowl once stood.
   
   
   "Martyr... don't look."





    The two obeyed Val?s command. Well, Martyr at least. I just want to know where we stand on selling those... Seriously, I would love a torture chamber! The girl did well to ignore the voice inside her head that often told her to kill. Was she crazy? Did it matter? The good in her outweighed the bad, and that was what truly mattered? Wasn?t it? As he spoke to the creature, Martyr waited patiently. When he said nothing, the girl?s browed furrowed. It was something of disappointment, but no frustrations present in her expression. So when Valcroix turned the blade around, Martyr?s eyes went too wide and upon her command she quickly covered that flawless face.
   
    Between her fingers, her eyes did peek. Martyr couldn?t help it. She wasn?t hoping to spy a glimpse of Val?s ruthlessness, but instead, acquire a taste of his humanity. How she wanted him to put the blade down and let him go. This thing clearly was an abomination?but wasn?t she one, too?  The immortal stayed a silent witness to Val?s defense. This thing was dangerous to him, and her? Which meant it was also a danger to Max.





   The cut is clean and quick. The gleaming curvature of Val's razor divides the apparition's neck. There's the ring of steel through air, the slithering of untethering flesh as it's slit, and then ominous silence. It's a hard silence that punctuates with the plodding of the specter's head. It's a wet sound as the blood runs from it and splashes on the tarmac gruesomely. The blood rushes out from the spigot of severed veins, but stops quickly when the head empties. From the stone, his body loosens favorably. It softly glides to the pavement like the flesh beneath his robes had simply vanished leaving fabric to flutter gently to the ground. Val closes his eyes and the light appears on the stone. The sounds of running grain now as the sand reappears from the stone and cascades over the corpse. Val didn't do this to bury the boy, but it worked out nicely, he thought.
   
    The man's bottom lip stuck forward grotesquely. He didn't like what he had done. He tries to sigh like it was nothing more than a nuisance, like he would do after spilling his drink or punching a cigarette burn into a new shirt. Val crouches near the body, slips his fingers into the creases of the cadaver's robes and searches the body for clues.  

   



   With wide eyes, Martyr witnessed the attack. She winced, and stifled herself from gasping out at the gruesome act of violence. She?d seen worse. She had worse? Didn?t mean she particularly enjoyed watching it. The mocha haired beauty let her hands drop to their sides. She wanted to heal the creature; it was in the girl?s nature? The immortal would refrain; she?d turn her eyes away and wait for the search to be over with so that they could get on with their lives and go out to dinner. Though, she didn?t see herself being anywhere near hungry anymore? Why was it that every time they had a proper date, some jack*ss had to come screw it up? She dreaded their wedding day?
[img:b227cb0858]https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/5d/38/c7/5d38c70e70c979f69f2543532c307805.jpg[/img:b227cb0858]
My body's covered in teeth marks, your bite's worse than your bark
You ruin everything you touch and destroy everyone you love

Val

  • Young Wyrm
  • *
  • Posts: 120
    • View Profile
Re: From the Same Stone.
« Reply #4 on: April 29, 2013, 11:13:24 AM »
Val skims through the robes slowly. He pats on his thighs and belly and clasps onto its hardened shoulder for support while the hand delves deeper. There's a sound like paper crunching and Val's eyes' squint suspiciously. A parchment, yellow and aged looking, is pulled from the breach of the dead specter's cloak. Val takes the lines and his face petrifies; flat and dead as the severed head crudely left lopsided near the sidewalk. Val folds the page, stands up, washes some sandgrains from his knees and then peers longingly down the avenue. He walks away in silence and the blade rattles against the bumpy tarmac as he drags it limply like a child would their doll.


Of course Martyr would have heard him read;


Remember him. He was born for martyrdom, my love.


Finally, Val turns and leans his head back and all the sharp bangs spread away from his face. "C'mon, Martyr. Let's just.. go."





Those brilliant violet morsels rise at him as his mind recites the words. ?M-martyrdom?? The girl questioned, scrambling and skipping to his heels. She?d managed to keep herself from being dirtied up from the fight?still wasn?t hungry, though. ?B-born? W-what d-does that m-mean?? The girl asked, thoroughly in the dark to the whole situation. Still, she followed after him like a sad puppy to its master, clinging to his coat tails. ?V-val? Are y-you? Are y-you ok-kay?? The stammering savior asked with a tilt of her head and a frown on her face.
 
Better question! Why aren?t we selling those things!? I seriously had my heart set on a torture chamber.

Shut it, Phoenix!
 
No, you!
 
No, you!

 
And so forth?





After she'd rushed to meet him, Val had turned away and begun to walk aimlessly down the middle of the street. Too many things collide within the boundaries of his mind. It felt like a thick graveyard miasma had settled grimly over his thoughts. He swings the blade over his shoulder so that the unsharpened end rests upon it, casually.


His eyes light up sarcastically but he doesn't smile, "I'm not sure. This is all rotten."


He knew she would ask for his thoughts on the origin of their attacker. He had ideas, but none seemed feasible enough to warrant a conversation. Nazareth was hardly so elaborate, and the adversaries he'd encountered during his new life in business wouldn't go so far. No, they'd hire a sharpshooter. Happened once before.


Val stops and turns his head over the shoulder not housing his blade. Red eyes linger on the sight of the boy's body. They're deadened and prospective. Then, he turns to Martyr. He looked younger and under the influence of emotion. "Should we... do something for him? Because he's dead, there's no residual energy to interrupt my shaping. I could turn him to dust." It sounded cold, but the thought purchased some relief for his knotted belly.





You?re always such an insensitive jerk!
 
Yeah, and you?re an uppity b*tch..
 
Yeah? Well you?re a c
-
 
Her words were left to the imagination as Val cut off her argument with Phoenix, mental in every sense of the word. The girl thought long and hard about what he?d said, before dropping those brilliant violet tales to the ground and kicking up dirt with her left shoe. ?O-oh? I s-suppose? T-turning him t-to d-dust w-would b-be better than l-leaving him on the g-ground.? Not by much, but it?s not like they knew the guy. Martyr finally nodded her answer to him, and puffed out her little cheeks before turning that body away on heels. This one, she couldn?t watch?




Before she'd finished, Val was already jogging over to the restful specter. It bothers him, but he collected the head between his hands just after setting the blade on the ground, then carries it to the body. He doesn't try to fit it where it had once comfortably been attached, but he made a respectable effort. What's strange is the arrangement that follows; he folds the boys arms over his chest, neatly, then pushes onto his eyelids until they mask the pretty jewels. Just from the sight of the rocks pushing and ribbing against the skin of those eyelids, Val cringes internally as he discovers a portion of the pain this boy must have endured daily. He feels no satisfaction for granting it, but Val figures death could be no worse than the poor life he'd lived. He presses his hand against the apex of his chest and then a great two-pronged wind blows opposite of this touch, a wind of grey dust. It's airy and thin like steam, and runs away from Val's hand resentfully. Val stands and steps through the haze that embalms the air where the body had laid.