( OPEN )

[miscreant]

CHARACTERS: Seviilia and you
WHERE: The Station
WHEN: D049
SUMMARY: Downtiiiime
WARNINGS: We've entered "perpetually hungry" mode. Escalating Seviilia's negative emotions could incite violence. PM me if you want a choking thread! (Seviilia will coma before she can do any real damage)

( WARM )

Being at least half of a magical construct, the concept of 'conditioning' was more of a 'warming up' process for Seviilia. Her muscles fed on the magic that kept her walking among the living long after her expiration date. There was nothing to tone when the simple act of feeding was what kept her in fighting form. All of that said, there was nothing to stop the itch in the Station -- nothing but other hosts, which she had already learned twice over were a poor substitute.

Slowly but surely, she is starving.

She's taken a pair of practice swords, as her own runeblades would likely tarnish communal training equipment. Its not very helpful -- they're much lighter than what she is used to. But just hitting something might take her mind of the urge to hunt the heartbeats echoing in the honeycomb chambers of the Station. The succession of the clacks of contact can be heard echoing through the hall --she's not being particularly gentle.

Seviilia doesn't sweat, doesn't tire. Occasionally, ice on her blades cushions her blows to keep from shattering them with her brute force, leaving shards and small melted spatters around the floor. She appears focused, but she does pause after someone stops long enough to make it clear that they are watching her.

"You could make yourself useful and pick up another weapon."

( NEST )

There is no necropolis to watch over, no soldiers to guide, so she continues to find solstice in the silence of the Nesting Pods. The sides of it are frosted, much like everything she touches. In her hands is a journal of sorts, accompanied by an inkwell on the outside of the pod and the quill of a strange alien bird between black fingertips. A few droplets of red run down the side of the pod from where it has dripped on its way back to her.

On the pages is a series of scribbles, notes, and small sketches, all in the same red ink. Some of birds, some of bone constructs, some of faces she remembers -- all are in a hyper realistic style, easily recognizable even from a distance. Occasionally, she pauses to think, her fingers pinching her quill just a bit tighter than she ought to be until--

Snap.

Her sigh echoes off the walls, head lolling back until it hits the wall with a clunk.

[Feel free to wildcard!]

Comments

[miscreant]

[Well that's different. It doesn't have the effect he likely desires -- unsurprising, most likely, given the long glowing circuit of magic that spiderwebs around her fingers across her body up to her collarbone and outward. His suffering is fuel, though not quite so sweet as what she would receive from a living creature. It is something, a morsel on top of the small meal she'd received from cracking Asuka's rib cage.

Seviilia grins to show her bloody teeth when he crushes her throat. That has the desired effect of halting her speech, but what is left of her lungs and muscles move to what should mimic laughter. Choked off and soundless.

It echoes in his mind, ethereal and delighted. What sort of creature was he? He behaved like a san'layn, but so clearly lacked some of the necessary components that she couldn't reasonably compare the two. Her skin remains pale and icy, unyielding to the bite he seeks to inflict.]

( I have always held the opinion that the best part about breaking bone is feeling the heart quiver in fear. It is a shame that your's no longer beats. )

[blooded]

( no, he hadn't imagined that she'd be too put off by the fangs. she's different enough herself that his differences won't mean much. he's angry, though, beyond frustrated, fleeing his own thoughts, and it's fraying his control. hard to keep his fangs out of sight when he wants to murder everything he sees.

stupid, to forget that she could just use the goddamn link to talk to him. the intrusion of her voice in his mind makes him snarl, grip on her neck tightening. whatever her magic is, it feels like ice, and it's gone brittle under his hand — it won't survive another hit. he can't do anything to kill her, not even close, and not since the first few days here has he wanted so viscerally to tear the symbiote out of his goddamn skull, but no matter. if what the symbiote wants is more lasting wounds, so be it.

damon lifts seviilia's head off the ground just to slam it back against the floor again, as hard as he can, hoping to disorient her enough that once he's stood up to grab a blade, she won't be able to follow. )

You know what vivisection is, Seviilia? ( just the word makes his shoulders tighten, his grip as he picks up her swords tighten spasmodically.

this is a bad idea. he knows it. one way or another he's probably going to be knocked out before the night is over.

he's done worse. )

[miscreant]

[Even though,there is no satisfying gasp for air when he releases her neck, she does remain where she is out of curiosity after her head collides with the ground. Thankfully, he answers her question for him, and she chuckles as she pulls herself to her feet.

Oh, she knows. Death by one-thousand cuts was one of her preferred methods of killing -- it gave the most satisfaction to the hungry beast clawing at her stomach.]

We are well acquainted. Did you have a poor experience, Damon?

[It is difficult to tell what is the symbiote's reaction and which is Damon's. The idea of him attempting vivisection with blunt training swords, even more amusing. But she knows better from several aggressive attempts herself that he will likely not get very far.]

Perhaps you will consider staying your hand long enough to allow me to teach you something about that parasite attached to your mind.

[If not, that was just as well. She could make of him what she could, before one of them was knocked unconscious.]