At first, Jill could only look upon the things from afar: the writhing, thrashing things the shade of blackish purple. They filled her with many emotions – disgust, dread and yet the faintest of curiosity. She couldn’t understand why. She has seen them in action, the strange snakelike appendages with both the flexibility of a worm and yet having the firmness of a metal rod at a moment’s notice.
She saw its capacity to switch from both modes as the long thing whipped out from the monster’s hand, coiling fluid slick then stick straight as if speared through Brad’s mouth ramming through like a perverse – no.
She won’t ruin his memory like that. And yet, seeing the tendril coil back to where it originated, she could only stare for that half second as his warm body hit ground. This event despite herself marked the beginnings of her fascination.
That word; she had hissed it at him as if he was to know what it meant. It was accusatory, harsh, and indignant. Her face now reflected more than just the glare of shock like from hours past. Back then, when the blood of that coward pig had spray coated her face, Nemesis recalled wanting despite himself to lick that face clean. Back then, it was a strange impulse but considering the uselessness of it, did not.
But this time, he chose to indulge himself, relishing in the visibly unnerved female’s facial expressions. He had with barely any thought let loose a tentacle into her bare shoulder. The Tyrant could feel everything in reaction to the motion of that one tendril – the way the soft meat of her flesh parted with ease to his, the warmth of her body adding to his as it slowly violated the once pale skin, the scent of her blood now falling to the ground, the taste of her sweat in the air, her harsh breathing – he felt it all.
He willed himself to let a few droplets of virus pulse through that tentacle the action at that moment looking rather familiar, just like that nurse – no. I-I won’t think of her like that. Nemesis pushed that flicker of unease down only to replace it with a stronger impulse. Pervert. The word rolled in his head as her struggling added to the hunger that rose within that he could not explain.
He did it again! How it is a B.O.W. of all things is able to just get under my skin like this! Jill repressed the myriad of emotions that day stirred in her. Their first two-person mission; hell the first mission she’s had in months no doubt from Chris still babying her and this ass is just quietly trying to play games! She thought that the Tyrant had learned something after tossing her thermos at him in the van. But she had thought wrong and he had glared, no leered at her as she sat on the ground shivering clearly drenched in what was nearing freezing weather. He was clearly enjoying it in hindsight, before tossing off his topcoat in an act of mercy, or was it more of pity? She didn’t need a monster’s pity.
Jill was shivering and not from just the cold as she grudgingly hugged that coat coated in blood splatter and the day’s filth. In doing so, she got a full glimpse of his back. Not many could say they were privy to such a thing; small whitish pustules dotted that back, the grotesque things surrounded by the snake-like protrusions swimming under his skin. A few snaked out idly, but most of them were clearly retracted inside of him as there was no discernible threat now to use them against. The strange bubble-like mutations only started near the upper back; the lower aside from the P30 was just a sea of necrotic brownish skin.
And yet in her cot, all she could think of from the day’s events was of that back and the writhing things moving in restless circles found along it. Were they trapped inside him, or was he trapped by them?
Father had once said that we four were special. As unique a creation as a God could make yet each of us as varied as a snowflake. I ...have no idea what a 'snowflake' is. I have never seen the fall of snow or the rise of a sun. But today, I got to. This light, it was the thing Brother Periphas ran for and died for. Stupid male. Was that glance worth it?
I got to see the warm, near blindingly light as it for moments, washed and put into relief the corpses of the past night's horrors. It washed over my face and for a moment I sat in awe. And then, movement caught my eye; that male with the oddly accented voice that near hovers over that female. He is alone, hence so is she.
Last I saw, she was still in the very building he was now leaving from. My tentacles curl in delight at this observation. She's alone; unattended. The things that came to mind were things that the sun was never meant to show. I want to find her, show her what things can only be done in the dark. I want to do more than simply punch her face in. But what, I do not know. But every time now, I feel the need to elongate my tentacles, I want them out to see her face cringe again. But why her, why is she different in causing this reaction from myself? In this again I don't know. I can only lowly purr in excitement, feeling a few tentacles nearly drip fluid in my delight of eventually finding her again.
I am scared. It is all a blur of confusion; my vision, my sense of self-was nearly gone as the virus took its hold. I fought a hard-won fight before this; fueled with hazy yet foolhardy rage. I underestimated you. I as the chopper fell back down to earth from its orbit realized that you were toying with me. You just hated that I was winning and kicked the card table over in rage.
You took off your kid gloves and showed me how low you would go, impaling me and intentionally leaving me in this state. Everything is a haze. I can barely feel my own skin; everything is so hot. I slept as sleep was better than feeling this agony burning through my veins. Damn you.
Yet, I dreamt of things. Strange things. Profane things. I felt them in me. Nightmares of vicious murderous worms squirming inside me. I felt the virus mutating in me. Would I simply die and become a mindless zombie? Or will those things hatch in me, strangling me? I don’t want them in me! Please, let me die! Why won’t you let me die?
I study your sleeping face; the flames flitting from the nearby twin altar candles give your pale sweat covered flesh a flicker of color. My hand is shaking. I smell you along my fingers. What...what did you make me do?! You're laying there, peacefully sleeping! I see the hole in the wall I left; frustration raging within me. And with but barely a thought my plans for you change; like whips I lash out, lifting your infuriatingly frail body by the arms. Your head leans forward with the grace of a stuffed doll, still unaware, still unresponsive.
The guiding noises in my head have stopped for a moment, but even if they hadn't, I don't care. One tentacle snakes up your skirt, another by your face, another near your chest. I snarl as you start to jerk in odd angles; I have no intention of letting you gain enjoyment from me again. The smell of blood excites me like a shark as with precision one tentacle pierces through the soft meat of your chest pushing through bone and gristle. My breathing hitches. I lick my teeth; maybe, I will finally reach what was denied me. Another slithers through the corner of your right eye before pushing more still up under it ripping though the flesh that keeps the eye to the brain. Soon, I would let that tendril worm through your skull to the other side of that face. I didn't want you to see anyway. And the other? Does it matter what I did with that one?! You owe me!
Why...why aren't you moving. Why does something feel missing...I feel my throat close as my eye rolls upward. The splash of water is all over my face, dripping down my teeth. I feel something on my face, something imprinting along my skin. I look up only to see it's you, your boot pushing me further down into the ground. Taking from me as always, I see. And something in me internally grins; this feeling of relief ...I don't understand.
...please, please Dear God let me die...
please, it hurts!
Head is blurry
“Officially, you are dead, Ms. Valentine. So, this introduction we are taking part in is more of a formality;” a heavily accented voice spoke more at her than to her, that voice having a lilt of both flirtatiousness and haughtiness coating it. Jill could vaguely recall the speaker's face, the curl of full painted lips not hiding her enjoyment. Jill's head could only spin in confusion, only understanding that she was awake in a sea of pain. The sudden sounds of drills made her twitch again-
Time went; did I pass out? Are they done?! She felt her heart nearly trying to escape her rib cage, her body stressed from being again very close to her pain threshold.
“Shhhh, I thought people of your type were more accustomed to such treatment. And he expects you to be of use?!”
Too much. Too...mu-
“I know what he desires in you. But you are a mere bed warmer to a Queen.” The sensation of something not of her was-
snaking inside...make them stop
metal worms pushing in and not letting go
She could only scream anew as the things pushed on through, rubbing the newly made pilot holes raw on their way in-
Jill wakes up near screaming; she could only wrap her arms around herself shaking, her sweat laden fingers trembling over the circle of marks along her chest. A soft touch of something coiling around her arm had her steady her breathing. Breathe. That was then, this is now. She laid her head back next to him as the desert sands twisted and pelted the lone Arizona shack.
Alone. That is the state Nemesis has always been and expected always to be. To have anything other than himself leaves one open to weakness. Doubt. Liability. But she's there, and as much as she shouldn't be she was. Of all things - She. Should. Not. Be. Here.
He had no point of reference as to what to do now. They were only four; he held no sense of familial bond outside of that. Nor did the Tyrant know of what worth these urges were that despite himself she sates. Mating isn't the sole reason he keeps her alive. She earned the sparing of his hand fairly. Yes, that is reason enough. He watched the female sleep, coated in both of their scents trying and failing to repress this perplexing feeling she causes.
The monster couldn't help it; it was an overwhelming, near compulsive need to keep her close, to make sure she wont go anywhere, to hear her breathe, to smell her, to let it be known she was his and only his. The Tyrant leaned into the female's shoulder, letting his tentacles softly slink along her skin, not wanting to physically move himself and rouse her. This act was an intimate act for him, more than what he did with her previous as it left him...vulnerable.
Nemesis despises vulnerable. But with her it seemed okay. Every one of his purple black appendages greedily felt along the pale yet toned skin, wanting to enjoy her again, wanting to make her make those noises again, wanting to push into that shoulder again, wanting to make her bleed again...The monster made a small, wanting noise against his female, again repressing the urge to bite into the soft meat of her exposed shoulder.
The increasingly urgent shouts of 'Move! Move! Make him move of we will use the Invidia early!?' filled Jill's hearing, adding to the twin noise of her heart beating painfully against her ribs. Her child was gone. Her home was gone. And Chris also was gone. Barely dead a day and with him the kid gloves the BSAA had treated her with.
The way that life moved on despite the heavy price she had paid for believing in a fairytale wish had Jill make her own move against it; she saw her car near unguarded. She gave a small look out of the corner of her eye towards the still belligerent Tyrant. In doing so she caught the small matching movement in his eye meeting hers before she ran towards the compact and hopefully freedom. She ran, snaking around them as fluidly as a tentacle, pushing and parting through distracted agents like flesh, seeking out a new path while the Tyrant in an odd thing for him held back, using only the barest of force with only his fists.
The things that shine brightest are things to be avoided at all costs. This, Nemesis learned early and well. Harsh pops of silver would be followed with dots in his vision, then sharpness. The ache of things touching, invading, separating skin followed that. Usually it was slow, enough for him to see his reflection in the side of that sharp edge. It moved like a cruel snake, writhing and crossing along his flesh with an unwavering path. He wanted to strike at it to make it go away but his limbs often were bound and heavy doses of sedative made use of his many tentacles impossible. But today was different. Today the silver sharp thing quickly, too quickly cut into his face. Anger and confusion had him lash out and stop the hand that did that despite blood coating the right side of his face.
At least that's what he can vaguely remember now; he could only ponder why he was now encased in the face mask again. Can't move his limbs, can't move a tendril, can't even move his maw. He was effectively restrained and groggy -
The glint of something bright popped into his vision again; he could only squint before seeing the source of it. The light bounced off of what appeared to be a staple, the thing of pure lab grade silver.
I thought I was ready. I had partially recovered from the attack by the Lickers. I had went to see him, partly to confront him on his behavior after that. Such behavior could have cost me my life but more importantly...did he really feel that territorial over me? And when I did face him, even though I had a pocketed syringe of Invidia for backup did not expect him to near leap on to me, eye dilated, his tentacles withdrawn, only one thing on his person writhing and ready with heated eagerness.
Later, I looked at him, sitting there, calmly in the backseat. He would not meet my gaze. I walked in with him into that shack. I leaned on him knowing I was angry, knowing deep down I was scared, more of myself than him. I was prepared for his reaction.
I was not for mine.
Nor for the results of that misjudgment. I was never, truly ready for anything concerning him.
I cannot understand what I do not know. I do not know why I did not die in that city, therefore I do not know death.
I do not know what it's like to be treated with respect, therefore I do not know kindness.
I do not know what makes a human, therefore I do not know empathy.
But I do know what want is in all its painful burning. And so I know what desire is. I feel it along every part of me, trailing along each innumerable outstretched tentacle, coiling like the heads of a hydra, hungry for more. But, I don't use them in that way. I-I can't. I can't bear to lay myself open like that, therefore she cannot know of such meaning.
I do not know why her eyes look at me that way; I do not understand why they disturb in their distanced excitement. Yes, that's my words for them – not here but still filled with want. I both understand yet find them as unknowable as ever. But, I want them fixated on me. Only me.
Why does it hurt when I look at him? I feel the familiar grazing of stubble against my cheek, and his earnest blue-grey eyes looking at me in concern. His kisses hold no promise of threat. Yet, I feel like a cold china doll, wanting to curl inside myself.
I fear he will bite my lip; scar me. I still hear his voice calling out my name, begging me to stop as my body twisted and trapped his head between my legs ready to twist, my body moving with softness than sudden sharpness like a weapon of flesh...I...why do I long for that again? I want to feel safe, but I just can't. I feel bound and restrained and a tad resentful. I want to do the same and tell him to stop, that it's too soon but I don't have it in me to do so.
Shouldn't I love this man? I can't see myself feeling any other way, yet this relationship... It's all I have tethering me to this world. I...I'm sorry Chris. I am. Even angry. And yet I can't just let it be. I see the texts. I note the late work hours. The aside glances when you say you have a new mission to take on. They mean nothing.
You run like the wind; running, running, running. Don’t you know the chase is the best part? Like a dog chasing cars I rise; that familiar, bloodthirsty tremble within my very being that feels so, so nice, so right makes me salivate in excitement. The future of my tentacles leaving behind marks of purple, yellow, black – red is too light! - of my hands breaking bones, of my fingers ripping into your flesh – mmmn so nice. I want to, no -will- devour you when I find you. But that is the end. I prefer the period before that - full of breathy running, the trembling uncomfortable fear you think I can't see when you think I'm not watching. I want this to never end.
That is what you deserve. Your running earns you this punishment. So why, when you ran from the White Room was I punished? Why...do I feel deceived?
The shack... I remember that. The wind surrounded it, preventing you from running anymore. Yet, what happened was certainly not the end I expected. The chase became different and I am not certain where your trail leads from here.
Jill was always the one to keep tabs on things and to investigate before running into a new situation. She always had an idea of what to expect. Always, until the Mansion. That terrible event and life afterward had denoted that order had left the building. Disorder had in hindsight crept into her life before even that; its name was Wesker, with his unreadable face, and his rude need to wear sunglasses indoors and his love of knives and...
Even thinking of him makes her throat close and her body feel clammy and wrong. But, that disorder, that man decided to destroy her orderly life with mad science and mad companies and mad people who laughed at the perfectly fine order humanity had set for itself.
Ha. Humanity and order are mutually exclusive these days. In the wake of madness destroying it, Jill realized years late that humanity never held any real order over anything. It was a cynical outlook, she knew that, but it seemed every attempt to fix things, to right things always seemed to fail in the end, to tame things that shouldn't be tamed...Disorder flowed from the end of a tentacle and she decided it was easier to ride it than to fight it anymore. She acknowledged this as she sat staring at her tiny, newly healing ring finger tattoo. 'Trust no one.' Trust is a thing only allowed by order after all.
He was perfectly fine when left to his work. The Tyrant was built for one task, one purpose and that was to kill - or in a more palatable phrase his handlers would give him 'neutralize targets'. Nemesis did not care what his targets were, only that he was allowed unfettered to do his business. It should bristle him that he needed allowance at all; they were all pigs, things born to be lead to the slaughter at the end of a fist or at the end of tentacle if he felt creative that moment.
But anything else, any other tasks and he was lost, unsure, and unbalanced which frustrated him. Nemesis hates this and so chooses the only outlet available to unload his agitation which is to kill, letting him return to the very thing he is good at. So, when the female had pulled him along to help her walking prey bait team kill things, he was at first amused and excited to go, even hoping the situation would allow him to impale one of their hairy dead skin covered faces in.
But, she never told him to go kill. She told him to go help her team. Why? He only kills. That is all he knows! So, he stood, hiding his mirth as these useless pigs die to what were lessers. Eventually, he grew bored and took out the strange targets himself. She did say they were kill targets in the female's infuriating picture game. But, he did not let them kill her. She was his and his alone to kill. He made that clear when he did her a favor and slaughtered that large thing, it thinking it could slam away its better and not be punished!
And then she said it, she ordered him, to kill...
That moment he felt himself straighten to full height, looking upon her with caution as if she was toying with him again. The target was the very pig they came here for. That look of disdain and rage in her eyes – he trembled. He trembled and had he known what he knew now he would have mounted her proper right then.
And when she let him do it again, even calling him by name...thank you for freeing me.
“Momma, why is your hair color different?”
That simple question was all it took to unravel my resolve that day. It wasn't said in rudeness or hate; just childlike curiosity. But that my only child had asked that cut deeper than anything before it. But, as always I covered up my hurt by saying, “It just is, Sia.” I then followed this with a smile as I ruffled the child's auburn strands, the only proof to the world of my original hair color.
In fact if one looked to the child, she was a walking genetic reminder of things I used to be; brighter blue eyes, brown hair, her skin a natural shade that hid bruises more than my now albino shade ever could. Not to imply the impish child carried markers on the level I held; I would be damned if anyone dared to harm my child in any fashion. Sia's skin held the scrapes and bruises of childhood, nothing more. Not even a mutation, or any strange appendages like her father.
I could only look to how the child's life had unfolded so far in my care; I could only pray that it would stay carefree. I look to the window and see an unmarked van; the sight of Chris stepping out and stretching his back while Sheva was on the other side clearly rousing from a nap had me push down my unease from earlier, forcing myself to keep on with the happy front. I will deal with these thoughts later.
“Spring, summer, winter, fall. These are the four seasons.” The rail-thin woman with the pin tight curls in her blonde hair babbled on with her ever bubbly voice with a thick accent. Parisian; we vaguely remember some human calling it. Does it matter; this stupid female is giving older brother stupid ideas again.
Look at brother, glaring at her with such hope! At least youngest knew to not even bother with the nurse's fool lessons as brother Hephaestus had long moved to another area gnawing on a spare plate of meat; what do we four need to know of this! And sitting right under her like a lapdog was middle brother. Of course, middle brother would do anything for a touch. Look at Brother Zeus, pretending to give a damn. We glare at brother, letting that human pet them, even letting a tentacle softly cling to her arm – that isn't her place and -you- know it. Middle brother looks up, sensing our barely checked rage; that faint glimmer of alarm in brother Zeus' eyes amuse us. Brother pulls back from her, those milk-white eyes downcast in our presence.
Like that, we calm. We feel better now. Oldest – we can see brother out of the corner of our right eye; brother Periphas wants to interfere, we can sense it. We lick our teeth. We hope oldest brother does. Better than brother Periphas daydreaming about stupid things like sunlight.
It seemed ages ago to her, when a grotesque thing squirmed in front of her moving like a headless snake, the beast's tentacles thrashing wildly in his blindness. The creature was always repellant in looks, but the bath her stalker had taken in dangerous lab waste and runoff had begun to take its toll on the surprisingly durable B.O.W, causing him to mutate wildly. The Tyrant had despite the lack of a head had in a desperate bid began to eat at the corpse of a T-103, fueling the punishing transformation that doubled the ailing monster in size. It took the lucky find of a rail cannon to even subdue him.
And yet she is now staring at him in this room, looking as if all of that was reset. All of that mutation and rampant growth all reset. When he finally decided to look up to address her, Jill could've sworn the look of slight shock read across his horrid as ever features.
He gets to have a reset button.
Why can't I?
Two people. Only two were able to bring him to his knees. This world was a world of pigs versus him and only two could make him tremble even in his dreams.
Father and this female.
Father did not care of things that affected his 'sons'; just power. He was their God and what He wanted, He gained. Their blood, their sweat, their tears, their all was His. And they could only obey. Until there was only one left to bare it all. Father was right and His lessons were absolute – good boys are rewarded with pain, bad boys are punished with pleasure.
...and Nemesis was a very, very good boy. He was the favorite after all. *heavy panting*...t-too hard, breathing hard please is it over going to liquid in lungs Father we can't!? FATHER PLEASE?!! *trembling from the constant cold of the testing fluid of the darkened testing tubule* Father needed to make us best in the dark, the dark is our salvation, our suffering our freedom-
The Tyrant's body was still twitching from the multiple shocks of the P30 at his back; even his tendrils were tightly coiled from the sudden shock to his system. Drool freely fell from his maw as he trembled still from memories that still lingered. And then, a soft hand, feather-light touched his sweat-laden scalp.
“Stop trying to outwit me. Unless you enjoy getting better acquainted with this floor.” He could only roll his eye upward again at her, her face not showing amusement but ...concern? The Tyrant did not know, but let his eye slit closed as he freely let that hand touch his face.
The lights of an unnatural sunset overwhelm the sunrise that tried to tell Raccoon that all was well; it became nothing but dust.
Laying there, vaguely aware that she was in his lap bleeding out, the sunset was the only clue she was awake for a time.
The beams of sunset coating her face did not shield the unease Jill felt as eyes seemed to be watching her from afar.
The blare of a car radio zipping past her house, unknowing what had just occurred before Chris and Sheva got here: 'Turn up the lights in here, baby/Extra bright, I want y'all to see this' noting things she didn't care to hear now. Not now. Jill could only hug herself as she used yet another first aid spray, the large handprints and tracks that resembled rope burn making pained sunsets on her skin.
Wide-eyed and angry looked best on you. That meant she was still possessing a spine. He could counter that. He could live with that. Be mad. Be angry. He wanted to touch her, but couldn't even trust himself to even graze a tentacle gently along her skin right now.
But, to see her fear...no, no NO. He wanted it before. He pushed her hard to give him that a lifetime past. But...now that he has it, it makes him feel ill. Please, be mad. Please get angry. Please punish me for this, please! The Tyrant could feel himself repress the urge to shrink away from her, this pained expression not like her. But every time he tried to fix it, the noises in his head started to whisper again, showing him the many ways she could die if only he'd make it so.
Please...be mad at me. I want everything you have! B-but this fear you can have it! GET. MAD. DAMN YOU.
A thousand warriors ran across bloodied fields; they ran at his lone stand against them all, swords raised. Her knight stands against them all, wings outstretched his own bloodied sword at the ready. Those once shining bright wings hung at broken angles, attached to a beast of nightmare, maw trailing open with drool and blood launching a harsh and deep battle cry; a devil in stature but a savior in mind-
A thousand littler deaths hit her again and again as she found herself roused from sleep fueled dreams; her hands were pressing down his. Those hands that had meted out cruelty were now put aside from their roaming disturbances of her sleep. He wouldn't dare use those fleshy writhing things on her now as he was caught in the wrong. In punishment she had sat upon him, his face muffled by her thighs. Her knight would give her the death he promised, a thousand more in secession till she felt sated.
The outside was a place where things like suns, and grass, and seas lived; where if one was lucky you could be a king or a builder, or many other things. But, we could not confirm that if anything what the little nurse said was true. Even war was outside; humans killing humans for human trifles and human wants. Those stories; they were of interest. The human woman would tutor us on their history; stacks of books sat open near her chair.
We would point a tentacle faintly at the pictures of broken corpses and military clad humans and wait to see what Nurse Tracey would say. She would pet brother Zeus but would hesitantly glance at us, before smiling again that sunny though false smile, “My silly quiet boy. Why do you keep pointing to such grim things? At least this bear over here,” her giggling softly at brother, “points out things like tales about various world cultures. There's more to us humans than just war.” More? We sure cannot tell. We see through the testing glass your security patting around you as you leave this room to this 'outside'. We lowly growled in response to this admonishment; we didn't need this female’s scolding, nor brother Zeus forgetting who is always right in this.
And when we...no I was tossed into that burning city to do their wet work, I knew that she like the rest of her kind were liars as well. The outside is just as much a box as the lab pen.
It's been 6 months now. The trees have gone brittle and brown, their once thick leaves long gone and replaced by the droves of snow that covered the wild and untamed land. No correspondence or drop money has arrived from Sheva in a few months now; must be moving around again. Jill never expects letters at a certain time as safe houses and safe locations to do such transactions are at a premium when you are fighting against your own. This property Jill and her wards were on was off the record. Her father taught her well on how to disappear.
She sat calmly looking towards the larger figure, sitting almost meditatively in the snow. It had long begun to fall adding more chilly layers to the earth; the blond was glad that she had the foresight to stock more provisions than usual. She glanced at the Tyrant; he had simply stood there, a patch of black amidst a sea of white, his eye closed as if he was taking in the feel of winter. Has he ever seen snow? This thought made her wonder what he hasn't seen in what was, in the end, a rather monitored life. An inkling of pity rose at this – the things she took for granted like the sea, or a rainstorm, or something as ordinary as snow must be wondrous to him.
A soft giggle interrupted Jill's thoughts as the loud pelt of a snowball hit the stoic Tyrant's side, the ball flattening then flaking off of his limiter suit.
“You're supposed to dodge that, Daddy!”
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see her little girl grinning impishly as she wound up another hastily made snowball ready to aim. Jill looked at him, probably out of his element with no way in hell able to hide his large bulk in this weather. Sia launched a snowball at him again. He without even turning towards her or opening his eye quickly shifted letting the ball sail past his head. The monster then shifted, trying out his mobility in the snow. Sia giggled before shrieking in merriment as her father returned fire by curling a tentacle in the snow to form his own snowball before beaning her with it right in her hair done in pigtails, knocking off her loosely placed on knitted winter hat.
Diamonds are the things that drip from her eyes; clear and beautiful. But they are rare in their appearance. Their arrival denotes pain. I want her tears. I want her pain. I want it all for me to devour and savor.
But, I want her to willingly give me these things. I want, no need her to give me these things.
Stealing it from her...feels empty. So that evening when the sky cried as I patrolled, I returned to see her asleep giving a dead man her tears; I was displeased. He doesn’t deserve them. I made her acknowledge me, and look to me. I felt it then, her apprehension. I moved slowly to tell her wordlessly that I was not to hurt her. No. I am past that. I slowly teased her, pinned her down with tentacles, then stopped as I want only what is freely given.
And she gave; she cried as she smiled a little smile right as I claimed her with my mark on her shoulder, her blood on my tongue. I ...felt like joining her then. But tears only are good from her. Mine are worthless.
We live in a world where everything and anything can be reduced to an acronym. Acronyms are a sign of bureaucracy, of bloat, of corruption waiting to happen. I had faith in such letters ..well sans the second one but even Carlos learned that lesson first hand. I wonder what happened to him? I hope he managed to find peace after all these years. Someone trapped in this protracted war has to.
I mull over a letter with that once comforting B.S.A.A. letterhead; Sheva was again on the move. Nothing else written down but a string of numbers; I knew what it was for though. I would find the online site, create yet another online account to take the money from it. She did not question where Sheva got said money, only that she was glad she had it. Hunting and growing things were great, but there was only so many things her off the grid homestead could do. Her current weapons cache was not feasible without money.
Sometimes she wished she knew more about what was going on with her. Even chatting online was a risk neither wanted to take. Even the most backroom hidden IRC channel wasn't safe, and the Dark Web wasn't a place either woman wanted to see to simply chat. Besides, letters and acronyms have their tentacles everywhere.
I promised to not bring her harm. I will stay my hand for her and our child.
I hold her; my female looks startled as if she didn't expect my presence here. Her arms hugged along her sides; she is shaking but I don't think I am the cause. It was rare to see her like this. This was something I'd see of her out of her dreams, but not now. Seeing her so distraught made me feel a deep ache; a terrible thought that sometime long before now I had curled up in this same broken ball.
I despise weakness. But I promised to keep her well.
I nuzzled along her thin strands of hair, the dead protrusions soothing more than disgusting me. She was my strength; I shall be hers. I began to scent out, letting myself slightly sweat while rocking her in my arms. Her soft nose crinkled then slightly sniffed against my chest. I watched as her eyes glanced up at me as they started to lid. She then slowly opened her eyes to look up at me, a slight glance of confusion on her face.
I promised to be fair to her. I did not promise to be honest with her.
“You smell nice. Showers aren't just for me you know,” my mate murmured against my leathers. I picked her up, letting her nuzzle against the coiled tentacle I was stroking softly against her face, all troubles forgotten. I would take her in our domicile, then mate her. I would then let her rest alone. I had a trespasser to discard. It would stink up the residence with its inevitable human decay.
I promised to not bring her or our kin harm. I didn't promise that to others.
I am his and he is mine. Such a simple statement that is. If only that was how the world worked.
Things that look simple aren’t, but those that don't...are. I learned that during my years fighting bioterror. A simple Mansion becomes a complicated maze of a lab beneath. A cold man wearing shades hiding behind mystery and intrigue is but a simple cartoon villain after all.
But funny, I'd have said the same for Nemesis at one time; his goals seem rather simple too – chase, kill, eat, mate. But sometimes, I'd like to think he isn't just a creature of mindless habit but, someone who needs a place. He hated being trapped in that White Room. But it seemed that when he was put to task, given something to do there was this happiness, this need being sated. Like for all his complaining, he seemed to enjoy being demanded of. Was he a simple creature wanting a more intuitive game than hide and seek or a complicated monster wanting simple attention? Hmm. I'm overthinking him, aren't I? A tentacle is a tentacle. A monster...I don't know anymore what one is.
A television was playing; the squeals of a small blood covered thing blared out from the speakers. It barely was the size of his hand, squalling loudly after being pushed out of a sweaty and exhausted looking female, the female smiling and clambering to hold the little pup to her chest after what seemed an indeterminate time in birthing the thing. It fascinated him; their young came out with hair, that dead mop of cells already there? He leaned towards his mate, sniffing her quietly, the female petting Sia's hair. She smelt oddly of a scent he was unsure of; he had noticed the slight gain in weight on her frame, proof that he was doing his job in keeping his kin fed.
The thing jumped to images of a female pup no more than Sia's age running around the hard to make out front lawn, the tracking on the VHS recording nearly shot, with both this image and the female birthing seeming to have taken place many years prior. A male was seen by the little on the screen; the male had stepped in front of the camera he was recording with to adjust it. Sia giggled before remarking that her mother had the same hair color as she.
Seems that humans are born, then they grow out. What was that like? He was simply made, inserted into something and just existed. He conquered this body, tendril by tendril and aside from improving it, it was now he and that was all he needed to know. What is it like not looking nearly the same forever? Even in observing their pup who was currently staring in awe at these 'home videos', he could tell she was getting taller, slightly fuller in the face, her baby teeth shifting around. That was strange too; humans getting two sets of teeth instead of just regrowing a tooth if it gets lost?
He felt floored as a realization hit him; these things denoted not only the passing of time but that he was to be present for these future events. It was something to look forward to. He never had that expectation before. Despite his female having a stock of weapons in a large box in the main living area, despite him keeping this domicile safe from invasion, despite knowing in the back of his mind that they are still being hunted down, but beyond all that, there was an expectation of a future to be had.
A future that had him watching his child run carefree, and himself leaning up to his mate like a besotted puppy. Had he been told of what he would be doing a lifetime ago in the test labs he would've laughed in the speaker's face at such stupidity. Brother Zeus would say something so insane. But a future was being had, right now. Not a peaceful one - he was no fool – but one at all. In realizing this he internally smiled as he nuzzled Jill's neck.