[10/4] In the Palm of Your Left Black Hand

Located in Chicago's business district, this once-proud giant of commerce is now a blasted disaster area.

[10/4] In the Palm of Your Left Black Hand

Postby Aesthetic Anarchist » Mon Sep 21, 2009 12:15 pm

The world around him was too quiet, reduced to a low roar in his ears as he made his way slowly into downtown. It was like standing by the sea on a foggy night, wind whipping through his hair just as the pulse hit the city and everyone in it froze. Colin's eyes immediately shifted to a slow burning red, two embers barely visible under the brim of his hat. The rest of Chicago wasn't as resourceful, of course, and even his shadow stopped in its tracks.

He didn't bother turning around, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it. The flame was quick and bright in the darkness, purposefully giving away his position. Whoever was following him, someone from before he imagined, would at least know where he was. Could come and do something, maybe. Colin still couldn't see him, of course, though one sense had nothing to do with the other. He'd had his scent for miles and could feel that nagging pressure at the back of his neck sense Elysium. "I know yer there. Might as well come out, give me a bit'a comp'ny."

Chicago was still from the rooftop where they stood, his unknown visitor apparently still hidden in the shadows, but Colin knew it was only a matter of time before they showed themselves. He hadn't known about the bomb, though he'd heard of tactics like it. Cripple the city, have the kine at each other's throats, and strike. All he had to do was watch and wait and-

Colin froze, growl in the back of his throat, when it happened. It was a small thing, barely noticed or understood by the mortals below, but he noticed instantly. The work site for Kross Industries, nothing but a blasted lot and the beginnings of a building, rising steel beams and piles of material, suddenly lit up. It was only the one spot light, pointed towards the top of the metal framework to back light a familiar shape. The cross Ian had insisted on keeping perched as the steeple before the building fell, somehow not completely destroyed in the explosion. There had been plans to add it last, some ceremony in order.

Yet there is was. The only thing illuminated for miles. And he felt a cold hand grip at his chest, fear and rage twisting together.
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Re: [10/4] In the Palm of Your Left Black Hand

Postby Gentle Wind » Mon Sep 21, 2009 8:08 pm

Endure.

Endure the pain.

That was what Father had taught her. One did not cry out in pain. Pain was a test of endurance for Wakan Tanka. If she proved worthy, maybe, her pain would be enough to end the pain of another. That was what Wiwanyag Wachipi, the Sun Dance, was about. She had prayed for a way to help her friends, her former mate; however, she did not choose this. Wankan Tanka must have chosen it for her. The four days of beatings and torture, the fasting, being nailed through her wrists and ankles to this mockery of a religious symbol.

Still, she would endure. She would turn the pain inflected upon her to good use. If she could tear herself free from the giant metal nails driven and healed into her body, then she could complete the ritual of her people. Maybe Wakan Tanka would take pity on them and alleviate the pain of her Shaggy-one, of Ian and Maeve. Her heart cried out as she thought of them. She would give anything to be back in that room where she betrayed Maeve and tore Colin’s heart into confetti.

It was wrong of her to long for him to rush to her rescue like the cowboy on his white steed. A crimson tear escaped from the corner of her dark green eye and traced a path down her purple cheek. After all, cowboys and Indians were never on the same side to begin with. Besides, they did this to get to him. She couldn’t let him see her like this even if he still cared enough to come. There was no point in waiting now. The pain would continue and begin to soften her resolve.

Gentle Wind gathered her energy and forced her to left arm to move it’s bruised mass slowly through the metal nail. Skin and muscle gave way and left dark lubrication behind on the nail as she forced her body through the alien object inch by torturous inch. She didn’t bother trying to stop the crimson tears that fell from her eyes, but she stiffled the urge to scream. After what seemed to be eternity, her wrist hung limply by her side. She let herself hang briefly, her tangled and gnarled hair providing a screen for her to hide behind.

‘Just thrice more.’ she thought as the familiar scent of tobacco drifted through the air. Her eyes shot wide in shock as she recognized the smell. “No,” she whispered in a voice broken from misuse. “Not him, Great Mystery, please don’t bring Colin here.”
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Re: [10/4] In the Palm of Your Left Black Hand

Postby NPC » Sat Sep 26, 2009 5:07 am

It was a beautiful night.

Walter stood at the edge of the roof, wind blowing through his loose and tangled hair, and he smiled. There were some moments that were just perfect, or as close as man could ever come. Some nights that were made for eternity, skylines stretching off towards forever and smoke dancing on the breeze.

The boy was out there. He was always out there, waiting in the darkness and just two steps behind. It had becoming a comforting thought, over the years, knowing that he would walk in every footstep Black made for him. Comforting and fitting and so, so beautiful.

Behind him the other one cried and squirmed and did her part so well, worm writhing on a cross-shaped hook. He laughed, long arms outstretched to either side and head thrown back to let the sound carry. Their shadows blended together for a second, one messiah blending into the other until he couldn't really imagine who was the lion and who was the lamb.

When he turned towards her, his grin had widened, blood staining his lips and making a bright red slash across his chalk-white skin. Normally he would have masked himself but tonight, oh tonight was the exception. Tonight he would see his boy and he wanted to use his own face. To be recognized without a doubt.

He walked forward, letting his arms fall to his sides, seeming to shift from white to blue as he strode through shafts of moonlight. A mirage, a vision through the mists, translucent butterfly wings wearing a black vest and a smiley face button. Walter laughed again, giggled, and shook his head.

"Why the long face, kemosabe?" Even nailed as she was to that gaudy little cross, he had no problem looking her eye to eye. Walter reached over and ran a shockingly gentle finger across her cheek, hand supernaturally cold, to wipe the tears away. "Tonight's the night and you're doing so well."
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Re: [10/4] In the Palm of Your Left Black Hand

Postby Gentle Wind » Sun Sep 27, 2009 12:30 pm

Through the tangled net of pain, Gentle Wind focused on the icy tendril that ran across her skin. She knew of others that would be ashamed of their captors seeing their tears, but she was not one of them. It might have been impractical to waste her precariously low fluids on tears; however, she refused to admit that they had damaged her so much that she was unable to do so.

A snarl and a snap at Walter's hand answered him as she swatted his hand from her, weaker physically then her actions would otherwise suggest. Eyes' burning with a primordial fury continued to drip it's life forces as their met his with out right defiance. This man was the man who stole her Shaggy-one from her, the one who irrevocably broke the soul that she had so laboriously sewn together the first time. Not for the first time since she met him, she contemplated just how good it would feel to rip him inside out, stake him to the ground, and set him aflame.

It would save her mate so much pain to just be rid of him, yet she knew that she would never be able to follow through, not as she was at the moment. But there were others who could, it wouldn't be the first time that hunters killed a monster. If she lived through this then maybe, just maybe she could arrange it so that Colin was free of Walter Black.

"Why?" Gentle Wind asked slowly, carefully choosing and forming each word, biting her overwhelming rage down. "Why do you break what I fix? Why Colin? He is mine! You can no have him. I no stay here for you to break him more."
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