*sombra delgadillo
[b]xxlaLOBAxx [/b] ?What loneliness is more lonely than distrust??
Posts: 284
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Post by *sombra delgadillo on Jul 9, 2009 13:17:46 GMT -5
 Cairo. Why Cairo? Sombra thought to herself, having woken curled up and in the nude in a small hut whose interior was filled with the mangled corpses of two children and their mother. Her features were still frozen in shock and horror, obviously having had a worse night than the she-wolf who was responsible. Though the shape the werewolf was in was not the best. There was a black eye forming with a raise cut directly below, her lips both sported lacerations and the sharp pain of inhaling suggested either bruised or cracked ribs. A long night, and as she had reluctantly given in to the wolf's desires she had lost control. It was not truly normal - this angst and hostility that her counterpart illustrated the night before. Clearly the interaction of late had taken a high toll on her. There were vague moments of recollection. Someone had made the mistake of being out at night, wandering around the bank of the Nile. They had also blundered in their stumbling upon her. The wolf had been calm, very nearly at peace when the elderly man had come over the hill, an archaic musket-style rifle aimed directly for the dozing lupine. It took but the crunch of sand beneath his feet to alert the feral being of an unwelcome presence. The next few minutes were filled with snarls, gnashing of teeth, several poor shots and a single keening wail of defeat. Standing over the silent victim, Sombra's indifferent stare wandered the exanimate features of the fallen, nostrils quivering with the rancid scent of his stale breath. Bored with the pristine corpse, the now famished lupine bounded off - towards the scent of the nearest village. It meant humans, blood, flesh and screams.
Cerulean oculi glittered in the moonlight, turning towards a rather secluded hut. And then she was within it, hackles on end and snarls clothing the very air. In a flash of alabaster and crimson the first, the mother, had been slain. A good death, her windpipe had been snapped in half and she suffocated within five minutes. Her children, poor dears had been lucky enough to hide behind a thin sheet that created another area in the room - presumably a bathroom. Staring lazily in the direction of the strangled sobs, the she-wolf moved with unloitered grace and precision - towards dessert. The children, both beneath the age of twelve did not put up much of a fight...the died more quickly, the high pitched screetching of children always had worn on the wolf's nerves. These three she did not devour...though she had every intention of it...
What was not counted on was their immortal sire. Or pimp in this case. A vampire of small stature but large girth around his abdomen - presumably young for the type, perhaps a hundred at best. He presented a problem. It took about five seconds for him to sum up the situation (slow vamp.) and as he turned on her, that dark glitter in his maroon gaze coaxed a click of her incisors. A silent challenge. As he leapt at her the lupine launched herself in the opposite direction - running for something...Scrambling out of the small hut she careened back towards the shore, retracing her steps to find the pack she wore when she changed. Two bounds and she had become human in appearance again. Slender articulations tore at the cotton and peeled open the flap, digging through the contents. Finally, that thin, shining rod came into view. The craning appendage standing out from the main body of the tool. A sneer of satisfaction was shown but too soon...
A yelp spilt past her lips as a boot covered foot was brought to her ribs, sending her sprawling over the sand. The next hit she took in the face, stars dancing around her skull like a crown for the foolish. Being cruel to his subject had clearly got the best of him as he dove at her, easily splaying her legs and smirked leaning down to do what she could only guess. Snarling under her breath she scrambled only to have incisors snag at her lips. This induced a screech and from there it was only brief seconds of memory. She turned again and as the appendages he had been holding onto slimmed he lost grip and traction. Wriggling frantically, jowls fastened on his own jaw - controlling the fangs meant making certain it wouldn't tear her to shreds but that didn't control his hands. A balled fist was repeatedly connecting with her kidneys and ribs and by the fifth or sixth contact she was drowning in blood. Just as her lungs began to scream for more air, she released him and coughed while razor-like claws dug into his abdominals, skirting his intestines.
With impressive speed in the fourth change, she reached for the blow torch, flipped the switch and took it to the hissing immortal's features. Immediately blistering appeared...and then something that resembled melting. Sombra could not recall what he had looked like as she stumbled away from him, dragging the light pack which felt more like a thousand pounds. Blood created a crimson casade past her lips and she snarled low in her throat. This was the problem with allowing the wolf entire sovereignty. It was not always logical. The coupled intellect of the human powered strategy and intellect with the intense agility and speed of the wolf. Otherwise most nights would be as this. Crawling into the previously known tent, she changed with her remaining energy and fed before collapsing against the far side. And that's where she found herself this morning, the first conscious breaths sending lightning strikes of agony around her rib cage. Gasping, she bit down into her lower lip and worked to study her breathing pattern. Turning, she realized she was stark naked and shivered with the idea that she could have been so off and on all night. The wolf had cleaned her features some time during the nightmarish hours she'd spent trying to ease the startling pain in her side. Rising she steadied herself and dress with a painstaking lack of speed. Wrapping her ribs seemed cliche, so she neglected to. Wandering out of the tent - abandoning the mangled carcasses, she made her way to the market place nearby, walking off the pain and soreness that seemed to envelop her entire structure and ignoring the disapproving stares of those who took in her beaten features. |
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Post by 4 8ROK3N M1ND [P.S.I.C.H.I.] on Jul 14, 2009 20:21:03 GMT -5
'What the fuck Ichabod?! You said the map said go straight and take a fucking left, and then I could have all the fucking blood I wanted. All I see is a fucking bazaar or flea market or whatever it's called. Where the fuck is the privacy?!'
‘Paien, be patient… observe.’
The body stands still for a moment as control over the shell is switched. The eyes turn bright blue and the body takes a different stance. Sophisticated and cautious, charming and dangerous, intelligent and powerful. If anyone fully understood the six of them, they could tell that Ichabod was in control. The one who had all the power, and yet refused to abuse it.
He looked around, scanning his surroundings, taking in every little detail that enveloped his shell. Who was where, and what were they doing. Where they were standing and if they were going to move in the next second or so. Most importantly, who was going to be the target.
“Excuse me miss, do you happen to have the time?”
The moment she looked down at her watch, Ichabod pulled a pin out of his bracelet and stuck it into the girl’s neck, putting her in a forced sleep. The woman fell into him, and he supported her with his arm.
’There is an alley way to the right of us. It’s empty, dark, and pretty much secluded from the world we are standing in right now. Take her there and do as you wish you pathetic excuse for a vampire.’
None of them never argued with Ichabod, and for good reason. He was the one who could “erase” them with a thought. As strange as that sounds, he did. Every Personality had something special about them. For Paien, it is his ability to memorize complex things in a blink of an eye. For Hatchet, he couldn’t feel any sensation other than thirst and anger… pain is non-existent to the man who always felt it when craving for blood. For Sager, it is his ability to understand how anything worked just by looking at it. For Ian, it is his ability to see people’s emotions… empathy. For Caden, it is his ability to act normal, blend in, feel emotions, and be human. For Ichabod, it is his leadership. He is the one with all the control. He can shut a personality in and never let it out. He can tap into the abilities of the others. He can make them, and he can break them. Ichabod is the leader, and no one goes against him.
The body shifted again. They eyes turned into a dirty blue red and the body became more of a serial killers. Deceiving, blood thirsty, and extremely dangerous, but as handsome enough to throw them off. Yeah, Paien was a leopard… beautiful on the outside, a killer on the inside…
Paien did as he was instructed, and he did it gladly. It wasn’t everyday he could use his natural “born” gift to hurt people. The thought of it put a smile on his face… and the thought of breaking the fragile and soft skin of a woman as he drains her, feeling the warm flow of blood enter his body made him even more ecstatic. Today wasn’t such a bad day after all… and the breeze was just perfe…
’WAIT!’
Everyone froze. When Ichabod yelled, nothing good could come out of it.
He was tense, alert, and on edge.
This wasn’t going to end well.
No one moved, and everyone kept their senses sharp, trying to sense what Ichabod sensed.
But they couldn’t. Ichabod’s personality rested on the parts of the brain that control rationality and the senses, so he was at the center of it all. Even though all of them had their senses intact, they couldn’t control them as much as Ichabod could.
’Wolf…’
NOTE: By shift, I mean the body changes in very minute ways. Every person has a different body posture, way of walking, talking, moving, and acting, so the body shifts to fit this way of “life.” It’s not him becoming a completely different person. It’s still the same body, just a different mind.
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*sombra delgadillo
[b]xxlaLOBAxx [/b] ?What loneliness is more lonely than distrust??
Posts: 284
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Post by *sombra delgadillo on Jul 14, 2009 21:18:54 GMT -5
The wolf was somewhat removed from the agony of motion as the human formed had taken over, palms clenched within the pockets of her denim shorts. Bronze Amazonian legs propelling her amid the menagerie. The air was filled with the various sounds of the pedestrian life of the Egyptians. Goats sounded their foreign displeasure at being forced to mill about, and the chickens clucked fretfully in their wooden coops situated on the edge of each merchant's hut. Within the tents there were various articles, from clothing and jewelry to weapons. Something she took particular interest in was the adaptations - hybrids of Arabic armaments and American. The mixtures seemed well planned and before the day was out the werewolf would purchase a blade of mixed origins.
Shoving the shining accessory in her back pocket, the clip hanging out the side, she moved through the procession with knowledge of each and every soul who stumbled past, cerulean shades not disclosing the true intensity of those mocha eyes. Their depths glittered with a predatory calculation uncommon for your everyday human, but not so dead as an immortal's. No it was a heated look, one filled with the temperament of a caged beast. Crimson waves hung at the sides of her profile, touched now and again by the gusty, sand drenched winds. The strange thing about Cairo was, while the air was dry, the motion of air was always hot. There was never a cool Northern breeze unless it was night.
The amount of people that they had been able to fit in such close quarters was astounding and Delgadillo found herself baffled by the sheer density of the swarms that wove past her. Of course she stood out. She did not wear the garments that the natives wore, nor did her skin match the sunbaked leather they sported. It was soft, and smelt of Tahitian spices, her hair too was far more impressing, gleaming in the corona light of midday. The beaten eye had swollen slightly, making her appearance far less appealing than it generally was but as usual Sombra didn't care or even acknowledge the impeding mass. Her lips were sore, chapped and cracking with the dry heat of the desert, not to mention the burn that was ellicited by any sweat that trickled into the open lacerations.
Toned appendages swung at her sides, her appearance dripping confidence despite the obvious rough patch she'd recently hit. It was a look in her gaze that very nearly dared anyone to look at her for an extended period of time. Dared them to test her patience and objectify her. There was pride and defiance in the feral gaze of the young adult, not the pedestrian sort but honest threat. Clearly she was seasoned in brawling, the various scars on her shoulders - faint as they were and fading actively - were a testament to that. And they weren't all from vampires. Wolves gave her as much trouble as anyone else. It was the distrust of the wolf that made fighting so common. But in its weakened state sparring seemed less likely. And that was lucky...
She had been roaming for hours...hours upon hours, long enough for the sun to descend and predators to make their debut. Sombra wasn't certain she wanted to be out and about at that point. Another brawl would only irritated the battle wounds she had already acquired and we couldn't have that. There would be simply no escaping that. So she decided it was time to retire for the night...unfortunately..
In that instant that commonplace sensation, the familiar crawling of her skin and the ascendance of her hackles meant that there was someone interloping. Instinctively the beast's gaze turned towards her spectator, a brow ascending as her action diminished altogether - palms limp at her sides, skull tipped lightly to the side and chin tipped back just enough to illustrate something less than dominance but definitely not submission. It was almost a what are you looking at? gaze. Naturally this was probably comical given her condition. Any swift motions would probably send her pain over the charts, and the smirk that would have appeared would surely have stretched her lacerations to bleed. And so this stranger, this vampire, received a muted expression of the everyday Sombra rather than the usual concentrated dose.
He was lucky. Though as a vampire she realized he would have the advantage. Bloody immortals. At this she nearly rolled her eyes but managed to remain honed on this night creature. Her expression was one of silent regard, sizing him up in a cautious, calculated manner though without the obvious glitter of hostility. It was a passive cataloging of his existance, not an invitation as it might have been on an ordinary day. The question was, who was lucky? The beaten wolf or the unstable vampire? |
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Post by 4 8ROK3N M1ND [P.S.I.C.H.I.] on Jul 21, 2009 10:51:18 GMT -5
Ichabod wasn't in the mood for a wolf right now. Wolf always spelled trouble, and trouble had a nasty habit of finding them. They were starving, and Ichabod was not ready for a fight…
'Kill the wolf! KILL IT!!! KILL IT!!!!!'
'Hatchet… refrain from you mindless blabber and make your self useful by shutting up.'
'What are you going to do Ichabod?'
'For now, there isn't much WE can do. If we feast with a wolf watching us, it could be bad. Fighting it in this state isn't exactly the ideal situation, and more over, if there is so much as a hint of blood in the air as we fight, we can unleash Hatchet, and no one wants that. So lets hope this one isn't in a fighting mood.
Ichabod forced his way into control, having the body shift back into the noble and gentleman posture. Eyes become bright blue, and his face became smooth, emotionless, and in deep thought. He walked to the Alley, placing the woman on the wall for a later dinner.
Today was not a day to mess with Ichabod. He turned to the wolf, and saw a female. He looked at her, measuring her, making sure he knew what he was dealing with. Platinum hair, blue eyes, a little short of six feet, and about one hundred and twenty pounds. The wolf seemed to be hurt. Her ribs seemed to be broken. A beating seemed to have befallen the lycan. Black eyes and cut lips seemed to accompany the broken rib.
He flashed so that her back would be facing him, and he pulled a pin and put it against her neck, but didn't put it in her.
"If you feel like having control over your body, you will remain still."
He wasn't going to take any chances. He would rather do this civilized and without incident, but anything can happen, and he wasn't going to take any chances. Too much has happened to them for him to be loose and worry free. He was the guardian of the six. The father so to speak. He wasn't going to let anything happen to them.
"Move towards the alley, slowly and no sudden movements. You know what I am capable of. Don't make me do something that we will both regret."
Note: Sorry it was short. No muse.
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*sombra delgadillo
[b]xxlaLOBAxx [/b] ?What loneliness is more lonely than distrust??
Posts: 284
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Post by *sombra delgadillo on Jul 27, 2009 10:10:31 GMT -5
It was vaguely disconcerting just how elegant she seemed as she silently complied, her features having grown devoid of fervor in the past moments. The crimson waves that hung against her spine swung slightly with each careful step, wandering out of sight of the humans and into the shadows of the enclosed walkway. It was rank, smelling of both garbage, blood and rotting flesh. Sombra naturally enjoyed the smell of carcasses…so long as it was a fresh kill. Stale blood made her nauseous.
Blinking thoughtfully as she entered the designated region, she came to a halt and grew still. Her brows were lightly knit together but tension was in the air. She did not appreciate the alignment of the cosmos. Destined to be beaten like a drum two days in a row was not what she would call favorable. In fact, she’d like to call it a great many four letter words. Somehow, though, she doubted any of these descriptions would serve a purpose beyond filling the air with foul language. And so, she kept her mouth shut for a few moments longer. She was all of a hundred twenty pounds…not enough for her weight to be of help to her in these circumstances.
Frowning mildly, she breathed a slow, meant-to-calm, sigh, her shoulders rolling with the action as she began to work through the hysterical aggression that bubbled furiously beneath the surface. Honestly, she herself was a touchy sort but even she wasn’t so utterly hostile that she’d threaten to paralyze someone for a glance…that is…she’d never paralyze someone. Sombra enjoyed a fight – even if she was on the losing side. It was all fun until she realized how much hurt she had received. ”And why, pray tell, would you regret any harm dealt me?” It was murmured in a soft, oddly curious tone. The wolf too interested in what the retort might be. From one predator to another, regret wasn’t something that came along every day.
A brow had ascended, yes, but otherwise there was no motion that would otherwise disclose the vitality of the she-wolf. Sombra Delgadillo was an intellect, an opportunist and a survivor. Provoking a capable enemy was definitely not an activity she would engage in no matter how pissed off the beast within was at having been “cornered”. Pride was an evil thing, it would kill them if the human allowed the wolf free territory to roam – such things were shown the night before when she had been thoroughly trashed by someone of superior power. However, now that the demon within had been thoroughly sated Sombra took control of her actions and responses – the human clearly of more sound logic. Ah well. Welcome to the jungle.
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Post by 4 8ROK3N M1ND [P.S.I.C.H.I.] on Jul 29, 2009 21:33:21 GMT -5
"I wouldn't regret doing harm to you. It is the harm that would befall that I would regret. In any case, neither one of us if fit for the struggle of a fight at this current moment. The only reason I brought you here was to keep an eye on a threat to me."
Nonetheless, he put a needle in the female whose name is unknown to him, to prevent her from moving. Paralysis tended to be his method of choice for keeping his opponent awake, yet an easy target.
He started to side step his way to the woman he put to sleep earlier. He needed to feed and he needed to do it badly before something should befall them both. A certain personality that had no remorse, logic, emotion, or feeling in his body. Just the lust for the crimson liquid that stated the so called thirst. He placed a finger on her chin and used his vampire strength to his advantage, lifting the woman with his finger. He bared his fangs, and pierced the woman's neck slowly, but drained her quickly… Painless for the most part…
When he was done with her, he removed the pin and put it in his bracelet again. The woman is alive, but to remain alive, she would need food and some water for her body to regenerate the energy to stay awake and to produce blood.
'FINISH HER OFF ICHABOD! DO IT!'
'Calm yourself Hatchet. I am not in the mood for your nonsense.'
'DO IT!'
'SILENCE! All you can think about is that ruby liquid that does nothing but tarnish your soul even more than it already is! No! I will not 'finish her off' as you so eloquently put it. I have more pressing matters to deal with. Now, unless you would like have a little black out, I suggest you refrain from speaking again. Do I make myself clear?!'
Nothing more was said between the six, and nothing had to be said.
"Now then… Where was I? Oh yes… the mystery wolf. You must excuse my rude first impression." He took a bow and then stated his alias. "My name is Kruschev. I apologize for your lack of mobility, but you must understand, as a predator and as a human, the 'I' comes first before all else. Does it not?"
He looked at her and noticed her body was very badly injured. "I shall remove the pin that rests at the base of your neck, but in return, you shall have to promise not to harm me. Also, don't think you can have any one remove it. That pin is touching a nerve cluster. One wrong twitch of a hand and you can say farewell to most of your motor skills. Do we have a deal Ms. Wolf?"
He waited for a reply. The wolf had a calculated and poised walk before… he would like to analyze her now…
'This should get very interesting.'
'I don't like what you are doing Ichabod. It's reckless.'
'Reckless is Hatchet…'
'No, reckless is trust a wolf to keep its word.'
'But you aren't looking at the full picture. She had no choice in the matter. She tries to retaliate and she will only end up hurting herself. Also, her broken rib restricts her from shifting. She does, she risks piercing a major organ, like a lung. So in the end, I think it's safe to say she will have to listen to me.'
'Ichabod, you know nothing about this wolf. For all you know, she could be crazy and sadistic like Paien or Hatchet.'
A thank you could be heard from the two personalities mentioned for their atrocious traits.
'No one crazy or sadistic could be that calculating. Every step she took had a purpose and a meaning to it. Hatchet couldn't calculate 1+1 to save his life on the spot…
'HEY!'
'And Paien could calculate to a degree, but to make every step count when it's not to cause pain isn't his style. So I'm sure I am going to be okay Caden.'
'We are putting our single tied life in your hands, and we trust you… but don't let your curiosity and your experimentation get us killed.'
'Who do you think you are talking to?'
'Don't get cocky! Focus.'
'As you wish.'
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*sombra delgadillo
[b]xxlaLOBAxx [/b] ?What loneliness is more lonely than distrust??
Posts: 284
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Post by *sombra delgadillo on Jul 30, 2009 12:02:33 GMT -5
She remained silent as he fed, although for reasons not explainable it ticked her off having to observe the spectacle. Something in their different method of feeding had always disillusioned her to anything romantic or even remotely friendly towards vampires. They were viewed as parasitic to some degree, while she thought herself a butcher among other things. The lazy way he went about devouring the female’s blood was disinteresting – he was cold blood, how fitting it is that he would be cold and emotionless.
It seemed to not take much time at all for him to finish his meal and come back to her. Her stare swung icily back to him, resentment clearly shown in her auburn gaze. Frankly she was tired of these creatures. Dead or not dead they were simply too active in her existence. They were as thick as flies on a horse’s back side and twice as annoying. The name he offered seemed unlikely – he didn’t appear Russian or Czech but that hardly mattered. He’d already paralyzed her, lying wasn’t such a surprising blow. In fact she was almost insulted in that instant – as if she couldn’t tell she was being fed utter crap.
His first inquiry was rhetorical, and if not he would receive a mild bout of disappointment – she was not responding, not verbally anyway. Her oculi had narrowed to slits, calculating like the predator she was once again. It was that pedestrian way she did it. Such ease denoted practice and expertise almost threatening. Then again someone with such intellect would not pose a threat when injured. If he had a brain in his skull he would recognize such logic in the werewolf. Though the only tangible emotion was the calm brooding aura that she practically oozed.
Waiting, that’s what she was doing. For liberty or death, whichever saw fit to surface. And there it was. Conditions like this was some sort of civil suit. Wouldn’t that be nice. ”To what end would harming you serve?” It was growled with a hint of frustration, her dislike for this lack of response by her fingers and toes beginning to bubble over. ”If you immobilize beings just for glancing at you then I have a few souls I’d love to send your way.” It was murmured lazily, her gaze flicking towards the exit of the alley then back towards him with a small smirk.
”Just release me. I’m not fueled by blind hatred often. And even when I am it is ignited by the stupidity of others. Clearly you do not fall under that category.” At that point she was prepared to hunch and release the growing pain that would inevitably sear in her gut from this restriction and inability to relinquish the tight grip of her muscles around her wounds. She worried that her ribs might puncture a lung at this point and had been moving carefully as it was. But this not moving at all would not do.
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