Home Invasion (Tock)

by **Wrenmae** on August 28th, 2012, 12:53 am

Catching the waterskin, Shroud poured it into his mouth and over his face, wiping away the crusting blood and wincing at the cold on his forming bruises. “It’s adorable that you think I’d willingly pick a fight for a boardgame…but I’m not so honorbound.” He placed the skin down on the table and massaged his temples, “Getting jumped in an alley wasn’t exactly my plan.”

It wasn’t? Are you sure? I distinctly remember you mentioning something about getting punched.

Let me handle this, Zan.

Are you sure you're not just forgetful? I DISTINCTLY remember you saying you needed to find someone to punch you. I do not recall being agreeable.

That’s the point, Zan.

It is? Err…ok then, not really sure what the whole end goal is.

To make an influential ally, one that will allow me to return to Zeltiva.

Ok. I just heard you, and this is crazy. But I’m confused now. So explain it maybe?

What?

Sounded better in my thoughts than when I said it.

I’ll explain later.

There was a pause before Shroud spoke again, staring off into nothing as the interior debate with Zan waged. Finally, he blinked, leaned back and hooked his arms over the back of the chair. “I spoke to a contact who knows a thing or two about crime on East Street. Turns out people are taking notice of you and your work, enough so that some of your more unique pieces sell for higher than they might normally in the case you become famous.” Sighing, he poked at the gash on his forehead, “I was lucky enough to hear that a unique gameboard was being sold near mid East Street. Originally it was my intention to just buy it and return it, but I neglected to think about the fact I was wearing Waveguard colors. The seller smelled trouble, I was alone, he felt he might be able to rob me as well.”

Throwing up his arms again, the hypnotist chuckled, shaking his head in a cascade of brown hair. “Obviously, I got the upper hand…somehow, and returned with your board. He’s still unconscious in an alley, I think, but I wanted to return this to you first. Honestly, I have his face. I’ll track him down tomorrow.”

He raised his eyes to meet Tock’s, frowning, “But I’m here because I want to give you an explanation for my actions, something I’d prefer didn’t leave this room.” Sitting back on the chair, Shroud beat a rat-tat on the pommel of his dagger, nervous for the first time in awhile. He could just hypnotize her, place false memories. But something about her volatile nature didn’t convince him he could deceive her fully, not really. He’d have to rely on the truth for now, and that alone was dangerous.

Zan, I need to ask you a favor.

That’s a first.

When Wren wakes up, make sure you tell him that he is to say nothing of Hypnotism or the Blight, no matter what the circumstances.

Wait. What?

Don’t question me. Can you do it?

I mean. I guess, sure.

Good.

“Last summer, I was the sole survivor of a shipwreck off the coast of Sylira. The Wretched Sprite out of Alvadas, if you’re curious check the record for due ships in Syliras. Monsters from the deep destroyed the boat and left me floating on driftwood for the better part of several days.” It was a nightmare to remember that time, a nightmare. “Lucky for me that it rained, or I would have perished of thirst. Regardless, I washed up on the coast of Sylira with no direction and no guide. I wandered the woods till the middle of summer when I came upon Sunberth at a distance.” He paused here, folding his hands together, a scowl deepening at the corners of his mouth. “Before I’d entered the gates, the Daggerhand sent thugs to incapacitate me. I don’t know how they knew I was coming, I don’t know what they wanted. I awoke in darkness, some sort of dungeon beneath the streets.” He looked up at her again, cold honesty mixing with the glisten of blood on his forehead. “I don’t expect you to understand, but I spent all of the remainder of Summer and Fall beneath the earth without light or reason.” Picking up the skin again, he took another swig. It was always uncomfortable to talk about the darkness, that sense of complete and utter helplessness. He would never let himself be that way again, he couldn’t. “At the end of Fall, I was taken by a man named Breaker to a room of torture devices. He asked me questions I couldn’t answer, he tore at me, he mutilated me. All for something I couldn’t tell him.” A convenient lie, but not altogether untruthful. Unbuttoning his shirt, Shroud revealed the skin beneath his uniform, crossed with deliberate and vicious lines, scars that crossed his body like eerie brands. “I am a mage, as you would know from class. I practice Reimancy in addition to Malediction, Voiding, Glyphing, and Alchemy. I took a chance, I overgave to kill my torturer and free myself from that accursed dungeon…but the effects lingered.”

Biting his bottom lip, Shroud considered the next part. She would need proof, of course, she would need to know. This, and this alone was the most risky move he could make. For precious moments, he would have no control, no visibility. He’d have to give his throne of control to the other…to the coward. Was it worth it?

Yes. It had to be. The end result, should any of him exist when the manacle was done putting his mind back together, he would need this in place.

“My mind fractured into four pieces, selves that take control based on different stimuli and situations. I am Shroud, Wrenmae’s protector. It was thanks to me that he survived Sunberth and that dungeon long enough to make it here. I prefer to be in control. I am strong while he is weak. There is Wrenmae, who you met first, the shy storyteller, a coward by all accounts.” He laughed, “There is Weaver, who you met briefly on stage in the Scholar’s Forum. He is unpredictable, a showman, someone obsession with appearances and the delusion that this world is a story. And then there is the child, who I rarely see, captured innocence I imagine.” He chuckled again, “I am triggered by danger, when Wrenmae is put into a situation he cannot handle or control. The violence at the dock, that was when I awoke. I was disoriented, so I apologize for any aberrant behavior. It certainly wasn’t my best moment.”

He followed her face with his eyes, a frown taking his smile and turning it to a soft grimace, “I’m loathe to do so, but I can show you. If I relinquish my control, Wrenmae will come back to the surface. I warn you, he is weak, he is pathetic, he is frightened. I am none of those things. If I show this to you, I need you to promise me you will attack me…”

What?!

“That you will bring me back. Wrenmae has no memory of my actions, convenient, no? But he also has no idea what’s been happening. He cannot survive without me or my guidance. I am trusting you to bring me out again.”

He closed his eyes, sighed, opened them again.

“Can you do that?”

by **Minerva Agatha Zipporah** on August 28th, 2012, 2:38 am

Tock half sat on the edge of the table, listening to the convoluted story without knowing how much of it to believe. She had Handy perched on her shoulder, the little wooden hand stroking her hair, which always soothed her. Her hand strayed down to Grippy on her hip, petting him as if he were a puppy in her lap. She wasn't conscious of the motion, however, and simply focused on Wren's strange words.

First the idea that her chess set would be valuable just because it was hers bothered her a bit. Why was she becoming so famous? She just minded her own business and tried to get her work done. She didn't see what was so special about her. She lived a modest life, working construction, studying magic, and creating life out of metal and wood. She knew people stared at her babies and thought them odd, but she saw that as their problem, and nothing to do with her. It wasn't her fault if people were prejudiced against other types of families.

Then he moved on to tell his tale of woe... If he was trying to garner sympathy from her, he was wasting his time. She'd been through hell in Sunberth in her own time, and she'd been tortured in Ravok by a psychotic Rhysol fanatic. Even had her arm broken over it. She'd endured it. Though she didn't think Wren was as tough as she was. She'd also experienced overgiving, and didn't think it was much of a big deal at all (of course, her experiences had been very mild and never lasted more than a few hours, so she was completely ignorant as to what true, permanent overgiving could do to a person).

She snorted and rolled her eyes when he moved on to talking about his 'fractured mind.' The whole idea seemed preposterous. Sure, she'd heard stories about crazy mages who acted volatile one minute and then timid the next, but the idea that he could have different selves inside of him was just ridiculous. Though her chuckles faded a bit as the story continued...

She thought back to his sudden shift the first day they'd met, changing from quiet and timid to boisterous and showboating. Then in class he'd always been back to timid... and now...

She frowned and looked him over. Earlier she'd thought she had his number, thinking he put on different airs, and was just acting different in order to get something out of her. The Wren sitting before her right now certainly wasn't the quiet, jittery little thing that hadn't been willing to so much as look her in the eye during their class sessions. But was he putting on a show of some kind, or was this really a different person?

While she was pondering this question, he dared her to attack him. Asked her to promise, no less! She stared at him in disbelief for a moment, then laughed out loud, almost falling off the table. "Oy, ya really IS a loon, eh mate?" she said, slapping her knee. Handy waved himself as if in amusement, gesturing from her shoulder as though to say, Oh, this crazy guy...

She looked him dead in the eye, and saw he was serious. Between uncontrolled laughter, she said, "Oy, bloke, yer either one dang good actor, o' ya really is a total loon, aye? Pfft..." Her eyes shone with a mixture of amusement and her own madness. She pulled her dagger off her belt and laughed, "Sure thing, bludger. I's attack ya real good, aye? If'n 'alf whatcha done says been true, it'll be worth it what fer ta see the look on 'is face when 'e sees me comin' at 'im, aye?" She held the dagger up with a casual deadliness, watching Wren to see if there was any sign he was faking this or making it up. But no one could be that good of an actor. If he was telling the truth, she'd know it for sure when she saw the fear and panic enter his eyes.

"'E 'ear me right now?" she asked, leaning over to try and peer through Wren's ear, into his brain. "O' I need ta pry 'im out...?" She felt around for one of her wood clamps, figuring she could brace him to the table while she cut him open. She'd always wanted to see what brains looked like up close...

by **Wrenmae** on August 28th, 2012, 3:31 am

"Straight to the challenge then," Shroud said with a smile, "I like that." He sat back in the chair, shifting to get comfortable, eyeing the dagger with a sort of detached curiosity. He could break her mind. Here. Now. He could shatter what conciousness she possessed and make her eat the dirt on the floor. What sort of power was that? What sovereignty over mortal minds? It didn't make him better than her, no, quite the opposite, he had too many tricks to reliably have a single defense.

Wrenmae was worse, all innocence and fright, all good intentions and moronic self loathing. He hated him, hated the idea of being him, hated that the cuff around his wrist brought them closer together, touching edges, sinking, melding.

He closed his eyes tighter...and released.

Wrenmae opened his eyes in a place he did not recognize. He was in a house, that was certain, and again that sickening sense of time lapse dropped into the pit of his stomach. Where was he last? The docks, yes, the docks. He had been throwing coins to Laviku, praying for the souls of his family...and then, yes, then the sailors. They had...had they hurt him? Did they...?

But it wasn't terror of the past that brought him swiftly to reality, it was Tock, the woman who'd punched him in the face, sitting with a dagger and a menagerie of animated tools not more than a few feet away.

With a strangled yell, panic overtook the boy as he rocked back in his seat and tumbled to the ground.

The door was closed behind him, but he rant into it anyways, his chest heaving in wild abandon, his hand ripping the long dagger from his belt to set between the gear girl and him. Was she going to kill him? How had he gotten here? What was happening?

ZAN?! ZAN!?

Yes?

What's...What's happening? Why am I here? Oh gods, Oh gods, oh gods, what are those things? Animations? I...gods is she going to kill me? What...What did I do?

I dunno, the familiar remarked, sighing, Shroud says not to mention Vayt or hypnotism.

WHAT?!

I dunno. Delivering a message. Something about plans. Oh right. She's going to attack you.

I...

Shocking right? Totally mindblown right now. Kinda waiting to see how this one shapes out.

"P-Please," he stammered, holding up his other hand, "I...I don't know why I'm here. I'm sorry, please, I'm sorry. I..." He shook, trying desperately to calm down, breathing quickly wasn't helping. "I...I...I sometimes forget myself, memory lapses, I...I don't know. If I did anything I promise I'll repay you, oh gods...gods...please."

He shook, tears curled along the corner of his eyes, fear and sorrow soaring as one within his breast to cripple his resolve. His blade dropped to the ground. It wasn't cowardice that held him here...not anymore. He lost, again. He lost to that darkness inside him. He was a monster...no doubt she was going to repay him for some horrible crime. His fault. He did it. Because he couldn't fix himself.

His fingers left the blade. Both hands rose up so he could stare at them, trembling.

"Please...please just tell me I didn't hurt anyone."

by **Minerva Agatha Zipporah** on August 28th, 2012, 4:54 am

Tock wasn't much of a judge of people, but the change before her was too obvious to ignore.

It wasn't the same person. No way he was this good of an actor. The fear. The confusion. The sense of being lost was just all too real. It spurred a predatory sense within her, urging her to prey on the weak one, establish her dominance over him.

When he headed for the door, a simple flick of her fingers sent Choppy that way, the axe walking over on wobbly legs, blade gleaming in the faint light in the cottage. When he started begging, she just sneered, a mad, murderous look in her eyes.

She could almost have felt sorry for him. If she wasn't enjoying this so much.

Cackling, she drew Grippy and aimed him for Wren's leg, the metal claw twisting around horizontally as the arm extended. She snapped it down over him and yanked back, pulling him to the ground, then pouncing on him before the frightened fool knew what was going on. She straddled his waist, holding him down under her weight, dagger held underhanded above his face, blade pointed down towards his eyes. Maybe she'd pluck one out. "Ya really ain't remember?" she asked with mad amusement, eyes shining with volatile glee. She peered deep into his eyes, wanting to be sure. "Ya don't know 'im? 'Shroud'? 'E knows you..." Her gaze flicked from one frightened, cowering eye to the other, searching for some sign of recognition. She smirked and leaned down until her breath tickled his ear, and whispered, "I ain't know if'n ya 'urt anyone... but yer pal 'ere wants me ta 'urt you..."

Laughing, she leaned back, raising the dagger. But she paused, tilting her head to the side curiously, studying him. "Hmm..." Her free hand traced fingers across his chest, considering. Handy detached from that wrist and crawled forward, perching on his breastbone, little glass eyes staring Wren down. Tock lowered the dagger for just a moment and asked, "Where's the other one? Hmm?" What had 'Shroud' said he was called? "Weaver? 'E's the one I wanna talk ta, aye? C'mon..." She slid the dagger down his cheek, pausing the tip of the blade at his chin. She'd hurt him later, as he had asked. Bring the mean, smug one back. But not yet. "Bring me Weaver..." she whispered, staring down at him, a cold darkness in her eyes. "I gave ya somethin' what were 'is..." she tapped the tip of her dagger on Wren's nose. The wound was long since healed, but he remembered. He remembered taking the punch his other self was owed.

If there really was more than one person in there, she wanted to make sure the right one got his due...

by **Wrenmae** on August 28th, 2012, 6:37 am

Grippy, a familiar tool, but even if it hadn't grasped his leg, Wrenmae wouldn't chance the moving axe that had paused near the door. It might have seemed comical in a certain sense, a moving tool swaying ever so slightly as it bobbed. But the implications were horrifying. This magical...thing, probably had no conscience. It certainly didn't appear to have emotion, obeying the orders of its creator to perch precariously near his body.

But...that was it wasn't it?

Wremae was a morpher. Innately, no being could truly hold sentience in its shape. It was not the form that made the person, rather the person that made the form. Of course, of course...if he remembered correctly, Djed was a special sort of substance, made from ones very being.

Soul...bits and pieces of soul.

It was a strange thought to pass through his head before she landed on him, along with many others that ricochet'd along the passageway of his mind and escaped like darting gnats.

Few things are as important than a pretty, maniac, armed woman pinning down your waist.

Although he flailed, especially when she leaped down atop him, brazenly poised above his eyes with her dagger. Strangely enough, it didn't trigger Shroud. There wasn't the same sense of threat as on the dock. She waited, too long even, her eyes enjoying his torment.

What had Shroud said? What had he done? Had he gained her alliance? What did she know? Nothing but black frustration bubbled within Wren's chest. Panic was quickly subsiding in the wake of the bile that followed. He was supposed to be him. Damn these other 'selves' that so flippantly dictated his life. He was a monster to more than one person because of Shroud's desires, and he'd earned an enemy of Tock for something...one of his others did.

There was no control, no ability, not even in his own body.

And it infuriated him.

She asked for Weaver, a figure he had seen once, and only once, in a dream. The mad storyteller, was it him who'd kissed Tock and started this whole ruinous encounter? Petch him. Petch Shroud, Petch them all. He was Wrenmae. He was himself. Gods damn it all!

"I can't DO that!" he shouted, thrusting himself up with surprising force. It wasn't enough to dislodge Tock, but her dagger did slice across his cheek, drawing a ribbon of blood. Handy was sent sprawling, clattering to the ground and scurrying back around Tock, glass eyes bobbing madly.

Wrenmae blinked, laid down again, turned his head sideways.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to.." he said to the little hand before turning back to Tock, "Gods...I just...what do you want from me? I can't bring out Weaver or whatever, I can't bring out any of them. I'm me. You think if I could summon them at will I'd also banish them at will as well? I don't LIKE being broken."

His head thumped onto the wood again.

"What are you going to do to me? Cut me up? Scar me? Something someone else hasn't already done? Have your children dice me into pieces?" A range of emotions had been stirring through Wrenmae in all of this. Again and again he tried to stay safe, stay himself. Again and again his unassuming manner and natural shy disposition had him in trouble and then...in silence, gone, giving his body to another fractured...whatever.

Shroud was playing a game, and it wasn't one Wrenmae could guess. Zan wouldn't tell him, his own vow to keep secrets among the personalities was an infuriating reminder that even his familiar had begun to take those names seriously.

"My name is Wrenmae Sek," he said, finally looking up at Tock, "I'm not any of those others, I'm me. I'm tired of not being me. I'm tired of not remembering, of waking up and not knowing what I've done. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for kissing you. I found out after the event from the students...I understand why you had to punch me, just...gods...I didn't mean to."

He laid his head down against the wood, thumping it dejectedly. "I can't remember most of my time in Sunberth. From Winter to the end of Spring I spent in those streets and I only remember a handful of days. I don't know what I've done, I don't know...I don't know..."

If only he could summon them, vanquish them one by one.

"You won't find him threatening me," he said at last, the tears starting to dry at the corners of his eyes, "You'll just run into Shroud again. Damage can't be controlled, Tock, otherwise I would have."

His eyes followed the dagger.

"If I've merited death from something I've done, that's one thing. But if this is some scheme Shroud thought up, don't follow it. You'll only play into what he wants...whatever that is."

by **Minerva Agatha Zipporah** on August 28th, 2012, 3:06 pm

Tock frowned as she listened to him ramble. His struggles irritated her, and when he stopped moving she just leaned her hands on his shoulders to pin him down harder. He babbled on like the worthless coward she'd taken him to be, way back when. Allowing his life to be controlled by others... even if those others were part of himself.

Tock had no respect for anyone who wouldn't stand up for himself. Who allowed himself to be used. If this was the real him, he'd have to fight for himself... or else he was nothing. No one.

"Weaver," she whispered, staring him down with deadly intent. "I. Want. Weaver." She didn't care if he said this was 'Shroud's game.' She didn't play other people's games. Didn't play by their rules. She did what SHE wanted, played by her own rules. And right now she had her own game in mind...

She saw it as an experiment. Science. Shroud had said violence would bring him out. Maybe they each had a 'trigger.' Something unique to bring each mind forth. Like different Directives, different command words could change an Automaton from docile to violent.

She just had to find the right commands.

Maybe something familiar would bring him out. She leaned down close, dagger pressed against Wren's neck to enforce compliance. She looked into his eyes wearing am expression now of curious amusement. It had become a game to her. "Weaver," she whispered, her free hand reaching out to lightly tap one finger down his face to bop his nose. Did Weaver like the playful side? "Come out... come out... wherever you are..." Her voice a seductive whisper, she giggled, amused and unbalanced eyes studying his. "Either you come out now... or Wren gets to be the one who tastes what you took..."

One hand slipped into his hair, taking a tight grip to force him to hold still. Her face brushed his, nose lightly nuzzling the nose she'd busted some weeks ago. Her lips found his, softly claiming them whether he liked it or not. He hadn't asked, so why should she? A soft, moist kiss declared the name of the game, with the hope that the familiar sensation and the seductive dance would bring Weaver out to play...

She assumed the tightness in her chest to be mere disgust, not realizing she was on the verge of developing a rather nasty cough...

by **Wrenmae** on August 29th, 2012, 3:39 am

She was insatiable, selfishly rooted in whatever strange fantasies played merry in her mind. His words fell on uncaring ears, crashing against her playful smile like waves along the prow of a boat, knocked aside, distanced, diminished. She wanted Weaver, probably to pay him back for the stolen kiss the night of the performance. Of course, cutting his face, pinning him down, and threatening his life couldn’t possibly be just as bad, no, she had to take this a level too far.

As her fingers found the roots of his hair, entwining, pulling, Wrenmae was quiet, watching her eyes and smile as she crooned for the performer that wouldn’t come. She…she was just as mad as he was. Perhaps worse, however, was that this was her true form. Tock was an enigma Wrenmae could only know by bits and pieces. She was brusque and snappy in class, concentrated and passionate in her work, motherly to her creations, and a psycho to people she refused to care for. Slowly this picture drew itself, inked in paints of situation and stimuli. No wonder Shroud had gone so far with her. He probably liked her. Here was a woman who emulated the qualities he both did and did not have. She was powerful, in control, willful, creative, and didn’t give a petch for anyone else’s opinions. That side of him probably lusted for her…or at least felt he could use her in some sort of scheme. But he was not Shroud, not till the dungeon, not till the light had been taken from him without reason. He was Wrenmae of Alvadas. He murdered his family to live, he lived on the streets, he survived a shipwreck that had claimed all others.

Was he really going to be dominated by some selfish girl with a speech impediment?

Her lips found his, and their softness pressed against the grim slit Wrenmae had forced his own lips into. She was no better than Shroud, a farcry worse than Weaver. And now he was being raped…sorta. What a wonderful way to wake up.

You know, Zan mused, I could always slither into her mouth and kill her.

What?!

Whoa! Whoa! Easy there Captain Jumpy. Just a suggestion.

When did you learn to do that?

A few hours ago.

Did you kill someone?

I can’t say.

I don’t want her dead, Wrenmae asserted, She doesn’t deserve it.

Your call there. Just wanted to remind you I’m just floating here, at your belt, totally available if you, say, had a red haired human you needed suffocated.

Enough!

Gods…can’t catch a break from either of you two

When she withdrew from him, Wrenmae stared back at her, flat, angry. The terror had fled from his eyes, banished by boiling bile and mounting disgust. He had taken her for someone else, obviously. But there was more of Sunberth in her than he cared to taste.

“Satisfied?” He asked her, coldly, “I don’t know how to bring him out. I wouldn’t if I could.” The blade at his throat prevented his movements, but he began gathering res in his tongue and his hands, slowly seeping, pooling, forming. “Perhaps it’s crowds, cheering, storytelling. He likes to think we’re all characters in some grand story, or so I’m told.” The temptation to slap her mind with hypnotism was almost too much for him to refute. He could convince her to get off him, let him go, anything. That power was there, a tantalizing reminder that he was different from the rest of them, from normal humans. He was a mage, and a powerful one.

“I haven’t done anything at all, have I?” he said at last, almost sadly, “This is a laugh to you, this sort of thing…you’re just enjoying yourself.” The urge rose again, the whispers in his mind to lash out at her with his power, to bend her to his will. He bit his lower lip, hard, drawing blood. He would not. “Tock Zipporah,” he said, using the name he knew, “Is this the kind of person you wanted to be when you left Sunberth? Threatening sick people for your own twisted joy? I’m a person, as real as your own animations…as your friends. If you can’t feel sympathy any more, than I won’t ask you to, but don’t turn my internal struggles into a game. You’re fortunate. Your mind is your own. I traveled to Zeltiva to find a cure, expecting to find help.” Breathing against the blade, a trickle of blood wormed its way across the knife and down his neck. “Instead I find you, the only person to know my story, all of it, and you treat me like a toy.”

Swallowing hard, he curled the res around his tongue, thick in his mouth, pulling the res from his hands around his fists. “Let me go. I’m not afraid of you and I don’t want to hurt you. You aren’t a good person and you can’t help me. All you can do is to let me leave of my own free will…or kill me.”

by **Minerva Agatha Zipporah** on August 29th, 2012, 4:19 am

Tock frowned in dissatisfaction when it didn't work the way she'd wanted. Ahh well... no experiment was without its initial failures. She'd just have to try something else. He was even kind enough to offer her suggestions. How sweet of him...

She listened to his taunts, eyes narrowing when he spoke her last name... how the hell did he know that? Hardly anyone in the city knew... She let him make his pleas, let him beg, like a weak little fool. But she wasn't moved. Just angered... most especially when he claimed she wasn't a good person and that she couldn't help him.

There was NOTHING she couldn't do, if she set her mind to it. Anything was possible...

"First off, bloke," she whispered with deadly intent, sliding the edge of her blade like a razor across his skin, "ain't jus' my game... ain't like yous innocent. What 'less somebody shoved another 'ole person in 'ere wit'cha," she tapped the tip of the blade against his temple, "'en s'jus' YOU, aye? One 'ead, one brain, one soul... oy, but let's jus' check 'at out, aye?" She began channeling her own Djed, focusing hard on him, reading his aura. It was fluctuating a great deal, and hard to read. Far too complex for her to understand everything before her, all the shifting, changing... But it was still just one aura...

Her voice grew a bit distracted as her eyes roamed him, trying to piece out some of this mystery through his aura. "If'n 'ere's jus' you, bloke, 'en 'at means Shroud, Weaver, the kid, whoever 'e is... 'ey's ALL you..." Her eyes rose to his once more, searching there. They said the eyes were the window to the soul... maybe she'd find something special about his aura there...

"An' what 'at means," she whispered, peering into his eyes, through them, studying the wavering lines of his aura, "is yous jus' playin' a game wit' yerself... Shroud, 'e what said he WANTED ta letcha out, aye? Jus' ta show me... Means 'e's the one playin' a game wit'cha, bloke. Means yer jus' playin' some game on yerself..."

She smirked, tilting her head to the side to study him. The fluctuating colors of his aura were too hard to read... he was boiling inside, conflicted, fighting himself. She'd seen such shimmering arrays of color before, on people who had too much going on in their lives, and were overwhelmed by emotions. He was overwhelmed too... maybe not by emotion, strictly speaking. But by whatever his internal conflict was.

"Think 'bout this, bloke," she said, leaning back a bit and severing the Djed flow. She slid the dagger down his chest, casually holding the tip over his heart. She leaned over it, balancing carefully, so that any attempt he might make to throw her off would likely just make her weight fall on it, plunging the dagger into his heart. "Ya says what I ain't gots no sympathy, but ya ain't asked me fer no 'elp, aye? Yer other you, 'e asked me ta 'urt ya... ain't done 'at yet..." She flicked the fingers of her free hand across the thin layer of blood on his cheek, smirking. "Yet... An' ya ain't done nothin' fer ta deserve no 'elp, neither. Think what as I ain't a good person?" She snorted, sneering at him as she pressed down just a bit on the dagger. "I done a bloody lot fer 'is city. Been 'elpin' out wee sick kids what ain't gots nobody fer ta 'elp 'em. Been buildin' places fer folks ta live. Been keepin' the docks runnin' what fer the boats comin' to an' fro..." She tilted her head the other way, considering him for a moment. "Whatcha done fer others, aye? You's complainin' what 'ow nobody done 'elped ya... but who ya ASKED fer 'elp, an' whatcha done ta EARN it?"

She raised a hand, and Choppy moved closer. She flicked her fingers up, and the simple gesture made him swing his axe back, springs coiling with tension, ready to be released. "Ya ain't 'wants ta 'urt me'?" she asked with a sneer, laughing at the implied threat. "Think ya can kill me faster 'an I can flick me fingers?" She wiggled them, and Choppy shifted, just short of swinging. "Faster 'an I can says the 'magic word'? Nah, bloke, ya ain't gonna 'urt me..."

"An' ya ain't gonna dictate ta me in my own 'ome, neither," she growled, eyes narrowing. "'Ere's what plenty more I can do, 'sides let ya leave, o' kills ya... Maybe I's make a Golem outta ya?" she laughed, madness flickering in her eyes. "Maybe I can figger 'ow ta put jus' one o' ya in a Golem, leave the other be'ind, aye? Didn't think 'bout 'at now, didja? Didn't ask if'n I could 'elp, o' if'n I wanna..."

She sliced just slightly into the fabric of the Wave Guard uniform, considering her many options. "Ya think I ain't good?" she asked, pondering. "I think YOUS ain't good, bloke. Nothin' but a pansy-ass vagik what ain't strong 'nough ta stand up ta YERSELF, let 'lone nobody else. Whatcha done fer others? Whatcha done ta 'elp fix yerself?" she snorted, shaking her head. "Ya jus' wanna make 'xcuses, blame all yer sorrows on ol' Shroud, oh woe is yous...," she said in a taunting tone, mocking him.

Realizing she wasn't coming around to a point just yet, she decided to get right down to it. "'Ere's the deal, bloke," she said. "I ain't fer gots no reason ta done shyke fer ya... Ya ain't what done nothin' fer me, an' I ain't no charity 'ouse. 'Ere's three things in 'is world what I ain't stand fer. One's a man what puts 'is 'ands on a woman..." she leaned down with a vicious sneer, "an' 'at's YOU, whether ya wanna blame 'er on another part o' ya o' not. 'Nother's someone what tries ta take somethin' fer nothin'," she spat right in his face, "you again, whinin' fer 'elp what wit'out offerin' nothin' fer it... An' last," she snorted, "is useless bludgers what laze 'bout an' don't does nothin' fer ta earn 'eir keep, an' try fer ta git others ta does it fer 'em..."

Feeling she'd made her point, she said, "So 'at means, ya either gives me sommat reason fer ta change my mind 'bout ya, on ALL three o' 'ose, o' else I does wit'cha what I wants ta... An' right now, 'at's figgerin' out what 'ow ta make yer diff'rent parts come out. Cause 'at's science..."

She waited. Her fingers were still raised, a flick away from bringing cleaving death down onto him, her other hand still keeping the dagger planted over his heart. If he wouldn't quit whining and feeling sorry for himself, she had no use for him. But one of the others, Weaver for some revenge, or Shroud just because he was more interesting, might just suit her purposes. Satisfy her curiosity. If he wouldn't either entertain her, or else give her good reason to help, then as far as she was concerned it was her game, and her rules.

by **Wrenmae** on August 29th, 2012, 4:57 am

Wrenmae closed his eyes and swallowed again. This was getting nowhere. Everything he said she took the wrong way. If she was looking for a reason to hurt him, she'd need look no farther than whatever imagined offense he'd done. For now, he was the prisoner of some half-mad gadget woman and her penchant to dictate how he'd lived or what he'd done.

Sometimes he wondered. Maybe Shroud was more of who he should be than this. He didn't want to hurt people, use his powers against them, not really. Shroud used them willfully, even sadistically. She'd like Shroud more, aye, and not because he was a better man, but because he was just as savage as she was.

"I don't want your help." he said quietly, "I never offered you anything, I don't want to offer you anything, I just want to leave. I don't trust your intentions." The axe ticked. "Nothing I say can't be taken as an excuse. I gave of my own funds, my own time to Zeltiva for the rebuilding efforts...a lot of gold mizas, for others." he sighed. "Maybe that isn't following my passion like you do, but I can't story a pillar to stand or weave a tale of a home real enough to make one. I gave what I could and enrolled in the school, where I hoped to learn how to help myself."

A sigh.

"But I was attacked before I could find that answer and this is the first I've been awake since the docks." He glared at her. "I'm telling you the truth, not excuses. I came here looking for answers, paid my own money to find them, and lost consciousness. I'd be at the University working on it now if I hadn't been lost." The Res was thick in his mouth now, ready to be transmuted in a moment. He'd gathered as much as he could there, the rest in his hands. When it came down to it, the moment her fingers moved he'd blow Choppy across the room and channel another windblast directly into her chest. He'd save the third for retaliation. Not hypnotism, not that. As tempting as it was to visit similar agonies on her, he wouldn't.

Where was Shroud?

Was his life not threatened enough?

"You're hardly weak enough not to defend yourself. Weaver put on a show. You took revenge. You kissed me and punched me, is beheading me also part of your intricate and fair vengeance? Maybe all of them are parts of me, but together I wasn't a bad person. I do what I have to in order to survive and hurt as few people as possible. I built with my words, not my hands." He was quiet after that, turning his face to look at Choppy poised above him.

"I'm not going to tell you why I deserve to live, you'll understand it as excuses. I have my reasons for being alive and I won't die until I've met them."

Vayt. I'm coming for you.

by **Minerva Agatha Zipporah** on August 29th, 2012, 5:38 am

The coughing finally erupted from her chest, though it was without cause, so far as she knew. The axe almost swung when she moved her hand to thump her fist against her chest, trying to clear some phlegm out. Meanwhile Wren prattled one, making his meager excuses.

He had come to her house, laying it all out, dictating the terms of this game he was playing with himself. And now he was denying it. Claiming he didn't want anything from her. Well, that was horse shyke, as far as she was concerned. Even if, right now, he couldn't remember it, he HAD asked her to do something. And if this part of him, the weak, pathetic part, refused to dig deep enough into his own mind to remember that, then his useless whining and excuses meant nothing to her.

"Ya wanna work on it?" she asked, smirking, then coughing a few times. She needed some hot tea or something. "Ya wanna go study what's wrong, an' figger 'ow ta 'elp yerself? Fine..." Her lips twisted into a sneer. She wasn't done experimenting on him yet. She started to laugh, a deranged cackle, mixed with a cough here and there. Learning something new always put her in a good mood. "I's gonna 'elp ya, mate!" she cackled, leaning back and pointing the dagger right at his face. "I's gonna bloody TEACH ya 'OW TA SAVE YER DAMN SELF!!!"

Science was so pure. Formulate a theory. Test it. Revise and repeat. She'd call this test number one.

Her hand flicked, just the slightest shift to the side, before her fingers came down. Choppy's blade swung hard and fast, though she had no intention of killing Wren. If he held perfectly still, the blade might still take his ear off (maybe she'd keep it as a souvenir). Otherwise, if he ducked to the side, Wren would simply be getting a close shave, and the blade would dig into the floorboards.

Meanwhile, with a maniacal scream, she raised the dagger high and plunged it towards his chest. She aimed just to the side of the heart... no need to cause any permanent damage. If he didn't block or deflect in some way, he'd end up with a nice, nasty cut. Maybe need stitches, be off his feet for a few days. But nothing lethal.

But it was all a game. A test. For all he knew, she WAS trying to kill him, and the axe and dagger were meant for lethal strikes. She wanted to see what would happen... would Shroud come back out to play, as he'd promised? Or would the pansy defend his own self, without running away and crying for his Big Bad Alternate Personality to save him?

As far as Tock was concerned, she was doing him a favor. Trying to teach him to stand up for himself. If he wouldn't fight back, wouldn't hold on to whatever pathetic excuse for a life he had, then he deserved to get buried in the depths of his own madness. This was his chance, though. His chance to get up, claim his own self back, and show those 'others' who was boss.

Either that, or she could have a good laugh about it with Shroud when he reappeared.