pife
2014-10-07, 04:57 PM
You still occasionally put your hand up to your throat, and feel the smooth, unbroken skin that was once chafed and crushed under the constricting pressure of a noose. A noose that you, or rather she, had put there. As a Reaper, you understood what it meant to kill. To cull, and cut threads in order to allow the whole to grow stronger. It made sense, and it is something that is absolutely natural. An animal will kill for sustenance or self-defense. A plant straining for the sun will strangle the roots of it's sibling seedlings. Death is predictable, reasonable, needed. But suicide? You can't contemplate the state of mind that would be necessary to decide to willingly end one's own life!
And yet, that's exactly what you found. After untold millennia trapped in near-nonbeing, after close to infinity trapped with only dim sensations of what was going on outside of your prison, you were caught completely by surprise when, with a ripping sound, and the distant flash of white light, as from lightning hidden by a bank a clouds, tore you from your oubliette, and sent you hurtling away. You had the sensation of great speed, and you were able to sense, rather than see, the souls of the dead clawing at your immaterial form. You felt others of your kind being hurled likewise about, like a piece of flotsam on a raging torrent of water, you were bounced around, until you suddenly felt the world, and time, slow..
And you began to choke.
Your eyes fluttered open, but your vision was dim for a moment. Or was it that the room you were in was dark. All at once, you felt your lungs rising and falling, and you felt immense pain in your head, in your throat, and.. in your heart. You were flooded with sensations, memories, visions, hopes. You felt like pieces of you were falling away, and you struggled to cope with the intensity of feelings, of thoughts that were not originally your own. Feeling around over your head, you were able to grasp the rope that was secured firmly to a rafter, the other end choking off your windpipe. You pulled yourself up a few inches with one arm, and with the other, sent fingers flying to the noose around your neck, prying it away, and allowing sweet air to flow once more into your.. body? What was this? This was a body altogether not your own, and in fact, it belonged to a female. And then the flood truly began, as Amelda Adler's every thought, every nightmare, every triumph and every failure careened about your skull. You may have cried out, you aren't certain. All you know is that you opened your eyes again, and lifted yourself from the floor. You were still Mutsanhia, though you struggled to remember much more than that. Your entire existence was hidden from you, with only the barest nuggets of memory to cling to. The Rebellion. You remember the rebellion, and Lucifer, standing tall and proud in defiance of His word. But you cannot remember why! Or how, or even when, or where! So little remains to you. You spent several days locked in Amelda's decrepit little apartment, a disgusting hovel in Queens, New York. Truth be told, you were fascinated, terrified, curious.. Such a sad life this woman had lived. One by one, all of her dreams, her loves, fell by the wayside. Mistake after mistake after grueling mistake, you could watch through your minds eye all of the decisions that had wracked this once vibrant healer of soldiers. How the end of the war ended their need of her. But that's not exactly true, is it? Men always have 'need' of a woman, if not in the way that mothers admit to their daughters. And so Amelda had provided them what they wanted. And in so doing, she provided herself with some small measure of purpose.
Amelda was ashamed, always ashamed of the path that she had followed. It was hard to maintain dignity when you made your body available to the dregs of humanity for a few coins. Her few short-lived triumphs collapsed around her, and in her weakness, she turned to narcotics, and alcohol, as an escape from the nightmare she found herself surrounded by. One day, one month, one year blended into the next, until she found herself penniless, about to be evicted from her apartment, the one place where she didn't have to fear her own thoughts, where she didn't have to be anything for anyone else. After spending her last few cents on a bottle of bathtub gin, she cast a short length of rope over the exposed rafters, narrowly missing a rat that squeaked and scuttled away. And then, standing on a chair, tears still falling down her face, she kicked the chair she was standing on away.
What is your purpose here? For the time being, you are pursuing at least some of the life that Amelda had found herself trapped in. Until you determined what was going on here, why you had been sent, how you had escaped your eternal purgatory, you were carrying on with Amelda's life. It felt natural. Her instincts, her desires, and preferences, and even her fears permeated your consciousness. You knew, instinctively, that Amelda was gone, never to return, but some part of her lived on in you, coloring your thoughts, and weighting your actions with her ideals. You were still coming to grips with that. For instance, one of your first instincts upon removing the rope was going out and attempting to lure a 'trick' to your room, so that you would have money for another bottle of gin. (You were able to fight off that instinct). Amelda had not succumbed to that particular, excuse the term, demon, lately, but she was so despondent, so utterly lacking in hope, that she was willing to shame herself once more, lower herself once more, just so she would have the means to drown her sorrows in sweet oblivion.
The two weeks up to this point have been spent learning your abilities, and your limitations. You have flashes of your former existence, not from the Abyss, but when you existed to uplift, and to inspire. All of Amelda's varied experiences flow through your mind, her instincts influence your actions. You know that whatever caused your escape from the Abyss was no accident. The question that keeps reverberating inside your mind is.. "why"? "who" follows a close second. You have managed to keep your job as a waitress at the Palace Diner in Queens, and were able to hold off the landlord for the time being. You are walking home from work just after midnight, only two blocks from your apartment, when you hear an argument going on down the alley you are about to pass. As you approach to where you can see down the alley, you find that there are two other 'ladies of the night', Stella Clearwater and Audrey Harris. Audrey is shaking her head emphatically, and she appears to be crying. In the dim light of the alleyway, you think you can make out marks on her face. The man who is confronting them has his back to you. He is a large man, perhaps six feet in height, and over 250 pounds. His ill-fitting suit is rumpled and threadbare. He has a rough voice, with a foreign accent that Amelda marks as probably Romanian. Stella tries to intercede, coming between the man and Audrey, but the man flings her away roughly. She slams into the wall hard, and crumples motionless to the ground. Stella's eyes go wide, and she cries out in dismay, starting to bend to check on Audrey. She is halfway crouched when the man helps her the rest of the way down. With a vicious backhand slap, he catches Stella in the side of the face, and she goes to her knees with a cry of pain. No, no, no, please, Marku, it is not what you think, please! Shut up, whoor! His words are harsh, and he draws out his vowels, and he rears back his leg and kicks Stella in the chest. Stunned, she collapses against the wall of the alley, and the large man reaches up and grabs her with both hands, lifting her up and shaking her. Tell me where eet ees, you beetch. . As her head lolls back and forth as he shakes her as easily as a terrier shakes a rat, she catches sight of you at the mouth of the alley.. Unable to articulate words, she reaches a hand out toward you, blood running down her nose..
Stella and Audrey (http://s1294.photobucket.com/user/Pife/media/untitled_zps5c94e494.png.html)
Marku (http://s1294.photobucket.com/user/Pife/media/Marku_zps626b8d6e.jpg.html)
Alley (http://s1294.photobucket.com/user/Pife/media/imagesCYI0MFG5_zps7bf8c8fd.jpg.html)
And yet, that's exactly what you found. After untold millennia trapped in near-nonbeing, after close to infinity trapped with only dim sensations of what was going on outside of your prison, you were caught completely by surprise when, with a ripping sound, and the distant flash of white light, as from lightning hidden by a bank a clouds, tore you from your oubliette, and sent you hurtling away. You had the sensation of great speed, and you were able to sense, rather than see, the souls of the dead clawing at your immaterial form. You felt others of your kind being hurled likewise about, like a piece of flotsam on a raging torrent of water, you were bounced around, until you suddenly felt the world, and time, slow..
And you began to choke.
Your eyes fluttered open, but your vision was dim for a moment. Or was it that the room you were in was dark. All at once, you felt your lungs rising and falling, and you felt immense pain in your head, in your throat, and.. in your heart. You were flooded with sensations, memories, visions, hopes. You felt like pieces of you were falling away, and you struggled to cope with the intensity of feelings, of thoughts that were not originally your own. Feeling around over your head, you were able to grasp the rope that was secured firmly to a rafter, the other end choking off your windpipe. You pulled yourself up a few inches with one arm, and with the other, sent fingers flying to the noose around your neck, prying it away, and allowing sweet air to flow once more into your.. body? What was this? This was a body altogether not your own, and in fact, it belonged to a female. And then the flood truly began, as Amelda Adler's every thought, every nightmare, every triumph and every failure careened about your skull. You may have cried out, you aren't certain. All you know is that you opened your eyes again, and lifted yourself from the floor. You were still Mutsanhia, though you struggled to remember much more than that. Your entire existence was hidden from you, with only the barest nuggets of memory to cling to. The Rebellion. You remember the rebellion, and Lucifer, standing tall and proud in defiance of His word. But you cannot remember why! Or how, or even when, or where! So little remains to you. You spent several days locked in Amelda's decrepit little apartment, a disgusting hovel in Queens, New York. Truth be told, you were fascinated, terrified, curious.. Such a sad life this woman had lived. One by one, all of her dreams, her loves, fell by the wayside. Mistake after mistake after grueling mistake, you could watch through your minds eye all of the decisions that had wracked this once vibrant healer of soldiers. How the end of the war ended their need of her. But that's not exactly true, is it? Men always have 'need' of a woman, if not in the way that mothers admit to their daughters. And so Amelda had provided them what they wanted. And in so doing, she provided herself with some small measure of purpose.
Amelda was ashamed, always ashamed of the path that she had followed. It was hard to maintain dignity when you made your body available to the dregs of humanity for a few coins. Her few short-lived triumphs collapsed around her, and in her weakness, she turned to narcotics, and alcohol, as an escape from the nightmare she found herself surrounded by. One day, one month, one year blended into the next, until she found herself penniless, about to be evicted from her apartment, the one place where she didn't have to fear her own thoughts, where she didn't have to be anything for anyone else. After spending her last few cents on a bottle of bathtub gin, she cast a short length of rope over the exposed rafters, narrowly missing a rat that squeaked and scuttled away. And then, standing on a chair, tears still falling down her face, she kicked the chair she was standing on away.
What is your purpose here? For the time being, you are pursuing at least some of the life that Amelda had found herself trapped in. Until you determined what was going on here, why you had been sent, how you had escaped your eternal purgatory, you were carrying on with Amelda's life. It felt natural. Her instincts, her desires, and preferences, and even her fears permeated your consciousness. You knew, instinctively, that Amelda was gone, never to return, but some part of her lived on in you, coloring your thoughts, and weighting your actions with her ideals. You were still coming to grips with that. For instance, one of your first instincts upon removing the rope was going out and attempting to lure a 'trick' to your room, so that you would have money for another bottle of gin. (You were able to fight off that instinct). Amelda had not succumbed to that particular, excuse the term, demon, lately, but she was so despondent, so utterly lacking in hope, that she was willing to shame herself once more, lower herself once more, just so she would have the means to drown her sorrows in sweet oblivion.
The two weeks up to this point have been spent learning your abilities, and your limitations. You have flashes of your former existence, not from the Abyss, but when you existed to uplift, and to inspire. All of Amelda's varied experiences flow through your mind, her instincts influence your actions. You know that whatever caused your escape from the Abyss was no accident. The question that keeps reverberating inside your mind is.. "why"? "who" follows a close second. You have managed to keep your job as a waitress at the Palace Diner in Queens, and were able to hold off the landlord for the time being. You are walking home from work just after midnight, only two blocks from your apartment, when you hear an argument going on down the alley you are about to pass. As you approach to where you can see down the alley, you find that there are two other 'ladies of the night', Stella Clearwater and Audrey Harris. Audrey is shaking her head emphatically, and she appears to be crying. In the dim light of the alleyway, you think you can make out marks on her face. The man who is confronting them has his back to you. He is a large man, perhaps six feet in height, and over 250 pounds. His ill-fitting suit is rumpled and threadbare. He has a rough voice, with a foreign accent that Amelda marks as probably Romanian. Stella tries to intercede, coming between the man and Audrey, but the man flings her away roughly. She slams into the wall hard, and crumples motionless to the ground. Stella's eyes go wide, and she cries out in dismay, starting to bend to check on Audrey. She is halfway crouched when the man helps her the rest of the way down. With a vicious backhand slap, he catches Stella in the side of the face, and she goes to her knees with a cry of pain. No, no, no, please, Marku, it is not what you think, please! Shut up, whoor! His words are harsh, and he draws out his vowels, and he rears back his leg and kicks Stella in the chest. Stunned, she collapses against the wall of the alley, and the large man reaches up and grabs her with both hands, lifting her up and shaking her. Tell me where eet ees, you beetch. . As her head lolls back and forth as he shakes her as easily as a terrier shakes a rat, she catches sight of you at the mouth of the alley.. Unable to articulate words, she reaches a hand out toward you, blood running down her nose..
Stella and Audrey (http://s1294.photobucket.com/user/Pife/media/untitled_zps5c94e494.png.html)
Marku (http://s1294.photobucket.com/user/Pife/media/Marku_zps626b8d6e.jpg.html)
Alley (http://s1294.photobucket.com/user/Pife/media/imagesCYI0MFG5_zps7bf8c8fd.jpg.html)