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Post by Dainn Haskett Vindalfr on Mar 15, 2014 23:25:53 GMT
The clocks of Midgardborg were preparing to herald the turning of the hour.
Having not even turned 3am yet, the city was still lost in slumber, bathed in a blanket of darkness.
Men slept, women slept, children slept. The streets were still, quiet, empty.
The door to the house was open, just slightly, rocking gently on its hinges in the soft tendrils of a breeze that came wafting in. It was a house squashed in between two others, narrow and slight, with peeling paintwork and damp-ridden beams. The windows on both levels were dark, save one at the very top that jutted suddenly from the roof. Somewhere in that room, a candle twinkled, and the light from that tiny flicker reflected onto the glass pane of the window, and the dark red flecks that were splattered against it.
The house belonged to a tailor, his wife and their two sons, one of whom was home on leave. They were a family of little wealth, meager possessions and ill standing in the social hierarchy. But the house they occupied was filled with the warmth of family bonds, with laughter, with compassion.
Now its halls were silent.
The tailor was sitting in his chair, head down, hands on both armrests, feet slightly apart. There was a trickle of red falling from his mouth, but his lips were closed. A deep patch of rouge was forming on his belly. His wife lay loyally at her husband's feet, facing downwards, her light hair tumbling around her entire face, soaking up the liquid that was pooling beneath her. Both wrists were tied with measuring tape behind her back. One son was slumped underneath the window, head upwards this time, eyes open and staring into the ceiling. His mouth hung open, and the handle belonging to a pair of fabric-cutting scissors jutted from his neck.
There was a jagged trail of red leading out of the room and down the twisting staircase.
A gentle creaking sound pierced through the air as the little door opened slowly, and a tall figure appeared from the blackness. A figure dressed in dark, but formal attire. His mouth and neck were adorned in crimson. Behind him, he dragged a motionless young man, dressed in Drakonrhedi attire with streams of red dying the white. The first man hauled the still second into the middle of the street, pulling the body into a large puddle left over from yesterday's rainfall. There he dropped him, and the boy hit the ground with a gentle splash.
Dainn withdrew for a moment and stood to his full height.
The night had been long, and Dainn had worked hard. After resting for a few days, there was a great need to hunt and expend energy. He didn't like doing so every single night, although it was possible. No, his actions were sporadic, random, and whenever he damn well pleased.
Midgardborg was his toybox after all.
The playthings he'd amused himself with tonight had been so fragile, too easily broken and nowhere near worthy of him expending anymore energy. His earlier game a few nights before - with his beautiful hanging Tiro - had been more a challenge; the young man had actually put up a decent struggle. But this family had broken like porcelain dolls, too delicately built for Dainn's rough play. The young man at his feet, now damp with both rainwater and scarlet, had been a little more fun, but Dainn expected no less from a Drakonrhedi. His body was painted with bloody welts and cuts and bruises, his neck twisted into a peculiar angle and his right eye severely gashed. He looked beautiful.
He cast an eye back over to the house, musing to himself for a few moments. He turned briefly back to the Tiro, "Stay there." he commanded, with the slight undertones of a chuckle, before striding over to the door, lifting a finger heavily coated in dripping red and marking a large, crimson 'X' on the woodwork. He stood back, admiring his handiwork.
The sign of the plague.
His plague.
He turned back to the Tiro with a soft expression plastered across his features. How still and serene the young boy looked, how untroubled. Dainn came back over towards the body, and stood over it with both feet either side of the young man's hips. He tilted his head to the side slightly, taking in his work. Definitely not his best, but admittedly this play-date had been performed in a frenzy, there had been no time to plan or to calculate. Even so, Dainn was silently satisfied with how well he worked under spontaneous circumstances. He dipped his body lower, so that he was now resting on his haunches, hovering above the young man's abdomen. Dainn stretched out a bony finger and ran it through the gash on the boy's face, brought the freshly damp finger back up to his face and popped it into his starving mouth, sucking all the red from it. A sweet taste.
Craning his neck to look upwards into the sky, Dainn reveled in the satisfying afterglow of a successful hunt. But he knew he couldn't savour this feeling forever. While there was enjoyment in experiencing his work firsthand, sometimes you had to stand back to appreciate things to the full. He stood up quickly, tugged at his sleeves so that they were smartly straightened, and strode off into the gloom of a nearby alleyway, shrouding himself in the familiar embrace of shadow.
Suddenly, the clocks began to strike.
One chime. Two chimes. Three chimes.
Silence.
The Witching Hour descended upon Midgardborg.
Tags: Vykhlu the Erudite
Inspiration: say what
Notes: so um yeah usually i'm ok with writing dainn but this kinda sucks and it's short i'm sorry D: I promise a better quality of Dainn-ness in later posts. CROSS MY HEART.
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Post by Vykhlu the Erudite on Mar 16, 2014 0:29:18 GMT
Vykhlu appeared as if he were up to nothing in particular.
Wearing one of his secondary disguises, he seemed to be wandering about the streets of Midgardborg for no apparent reason, as if lost in his own thoughts on the empty thoroughfares.
However, this was incorrect. Vyk was in fact memorizing the lay of the city. As a Hrafnung supposedly raised in Midgardborg, he needed to act the part and know which way to go when he was actually in character.
Besides, he didn't need sleep as often as the humans did, and he enjoyed the solitude. It allowed him to finally relax. So many beings so close to him certainly took a toll on his mood, especially beings who were technically nothing more than his experimental subjects. He was unaccustomed to being among them, but he supposed that a scientist had to take the necessary measures for their studies. This was nothing more than another step in the procedure of analyzing the human race and this little planet.
Deep within thought, he didn't notice what was going on around him until his toe splashed into a puddle.
Vykhlu sighed tiredly. At least it hadn't really gotten his shoe dirty, just a tad wet. But that was alright, even if these shoes were rather expensive.
"Vyk. There's a dead body right there."
The Erudite blinked at the words of his OAI. "What?" he murmured quietly to himself, glancing up and around.
"No, not there-- no-- a little to the-- there."
Indeed, there was a dead body slumped on the ground.
Vykhlu quietly strode over, carefully stepping about the puddle before crouching in front of the body.
"Murdered," he muttered, examining the marks on the man's face.
"Curious."
The word was spoken with a sort of inner thrill, not the terror of someone finding a being murdered, but a scientist recording a most interesting phenomenon.
"Vyk, the trail leads inside that house."
He glanced up, this time locating the building immediately. His tongue flickered out over his lips in an unnervingly reptilian mannerism.
Then he was off, walking swiftly to the house, leaping over the puddle with an absentminded grace. His mind was somewhere else, hands already producing a pencil and research notebook from his pocket.
The door was opened, marked with an X of some red fluid.
"Tsui-"
"Already. That's definitely human blood."
Vykhlu nodded at the mark, then stepped inside, completely lacking in hesitation. There didn't appear to be anyone around, he was probably safe. Besides, what secrets could this place contain?
It was dark inside the building, although he could see the blood, shining black in the moonlight, spattered about.
"What an abominable mess," he muttered distastefully.
Carefully stepping around the blood spatters, he made his way upstairs, and was confronted with the trio of dead bodies. However, instead of reacting in what one might consider a usual manner, his gaze lit up like a boy who had just found a stash of candy.
"Oh, wonderful, wonderful. At last, subjects." He glanced around, locating a table covered in tailoring supplies. Striding over, he cleared the surface with one eager sweep of his arm, plopping down the pencil and notebook in one corner, already open to an empty page.
Poking around, he discovered a bathroom, along with a filled washbasin. "Excellent, I'll have a way to clean up."
After that particular discovery, he bustled over to the bodies themselves. Unfortunately, he had no additional table for dissection. He's simply just have to make do and be careful.
He pulled off his long coat and draped it over the banister of the stairs, rolling up the sleeves of his white button-up shirt.
"Knife, knife, I need a knife," Vyk babbled to himself, then placed his hand on his hip and found his dagger. "Ah. Not a scalpel, but good enough."
Placing it on the table beside his notebook, he turned back to the bodies and glanced over them with a frown before beginning to quietly talk to himself, muttering out his babble.
"Choices, choices. Well, I'll definitely need a female and a male specimen." He tilted his head to the side slightly, then decided on the vacant-eyed younger male by the window. His internal structure seemed less damaged, after all.
Picking his way around the spatters of blood, Vyk carefully pushed up his glasses and yanked out the scissors, throwing them against the wall with a clatter and splatter of blood. Next, he carefully looped one arm underneath the man's legs and the other behind his shoulders, then lifted the cadaver across the room with markedly little effort and deposited him carefully on the table.
He rubbed his hands eagerly, then began to jot down a few quick notes, speaking out loud to facilitate his brain's processes.
"Specimen: male, adolescent to young adult. Fairly well fed? Low-income home, not best diet. Nonetheless healthy. Death by blow of..." he glanced to the scissors "...double-bladed cutting device (note: scissors) to left side of neck. Appears to have hit high-pressure blood vessel, meaning the carotid artery." He sighed. "Note: obtain living specimen to measure actual pressure and distance blood can travel when forcefully expelled from arteries."
His brief description complete, he snatched up the dagger and began to cut the man's clothes off, tossing them to the side until he was entirely exposed on the makeshift dissection table.
Then, with the deliberation of a scientist, Vyk inserted the blade just at the top of the man's sternum, carefully cutting all the way down to his solar plexus, before he slipped the dagger just below the overlaying flesh, then reached in and peeled it off, revealing the left side of the man's ribcage.
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Post by Dainn Haskett Vindalfr on Mar 16, 2014 2:06:12 GMT
Usually, it was Dainn's fashion to slip into the disguise of the Shuck after a successful hunt. Years ago, before his incarceration, the symbol of the jet black Irish Wolfhound-like beast became somewhat of an omen throughout the city, something which pleasantly tickled Dainn. Before each performance, the dog would appear and then, once the incisions were made and the blades soiled, it would reappear once more, sometimes near the bodies, sometimes a little further from the field. But the end was always the same.
A soft tendril of mist lovingly wrapped itself around the furred legs of the Shuck, welcoming him like an old friend. Indeed, the city looked so beautiful in the mist; the thick, blurred air trapped the light from the streetlamps and encased them in a hazy smog, limiting their effect on the streets below, making Dainn's work a lot less complicated. True, the fog dulled his vision, even as the Shuck, but it was hard not to admit that the mist lent itself beautifully to his work.
Suddenly there was a noise. The sound of encroaching footsteps.
The Shuck lowered his head, but stayed tucked away in the shadows. His tail began to wag ever so slightly.
Part of the fun of hunting was having someone to appreciate your efforts.
A man entered his line of sight. A young man, dressed in fine attire.
Dainn usually found that the people adorned in such rich clothing were the most satisfying to break. But nevertheless, he held his distance, and watched the man with increasing curiosity. The gentleman approached the motionless Tiro, seemingly unaware of his presence at first. When he did finally lay eyes upon him, the Shuck's body tensed in anticipation, excited for one of his most favourite parts of the hunt.
Strangely enough....the expected reaction never came.
The man was presently stooping over the body, seemingly to have a better inspection of it. Dainn lifted a canine eyebrow. Most peculiar. In his experience, he'd come to expect a scream, a gasp, a panicked flee, all welcome critique in Dainn's eyes. Morbid curiosity was not unheard of, but it certainly wasn't common.
The Shuck watched, white eyes following the figure of the young man as he made he way over to the house and -as bold as brass- proceeded inside.
Well now, aren't you an interesting little thing, his mind cooed, almost in slight admiration. Almost. Some men were abnormally brave. But then again, most men were commonly stupid. Dainn was interested to decipher which category this fellow would into. Time would be the judge of that.
Deciding to endeavor to find out more about this odd example of a man, the Shuck trotted briskly after him, as silent as the mist that rolled about him. His muzzle hung open, dripping saliva from the rims of his jawline and his lolling tongue. He approached the now fully open door, coming to a halt just before the wooden frame. The man was but a few paces in front of him, but his attention was seemingly on other things.
"What an abominable mess,"
The Shuck almost turned his nose (or snout) up at the young man at his unwarranted comments. This wasn't abominable, this was beautiful. Red was went with everything, it furnished a house so perfectly. Better still, it made the house. The scarlet dripping from the walls, from the tables, from the chairs, the way it seeped into the floorboards, it just looked...marvelous. Despite the harsh critique, Dainn buttoned his muzzle.
Let him review, let him judge.
As the gentleman proceeded upstairs, the Shuck took one last satisfied look around the crimson splattered room and followed slowly behind, paws padding ever so softly against the staircase. They were old and rickety, but thankfully the thumping of the man in front was enough to mask any creaks his own steps were emitting.
They reached the top of the staircase, but Dainn lingered on the last few steps, allowing the man to freely investigate his handiwork. Once again, however, the expected reaction was not received by Dainn's ears, but something entirely different.
"Oh, wonderful, wonderful. At last, subjects."
...subjects?
His playthings? His toys?
Subjects?
Dainn initially found himself a little confused, and then quite insulted. No comment about how beautifully they'd been prepared? No praise of how wonderful they looked in the flickering shadows of candlelight? Nothing? No?
He was beginning to think the Midgardborg outlook on fine art had very much matured since he'd last walked the streets. He wasn't liking it.
Regardless, Dainn had refrained from intervening in that moment. The bustling activities of this newcomer were, a little bothersome to say the least, but interesting nonetheless. He was ferreting about like a busy housewife, moving things out of the way here, putting other things somewhere else, rambling to himself about specimens. While his motives were presently unclear, there was no denying he carried out such activities with a certain...joy? There was a certain look in the young man's eyes, a noticeable glint.
The Shuck's lips pulled back slightly into a smile.
I recognise that look.
Dainn watched, half curious, half slighted, as the man yanked the embedded scissors from the deep gash in the slumped boy's neck and tossed them aside, ears pricking as they clattered roughly to the floor. The motionless body was then hauled up into the air, crimson droplets audibly hitting the ground as the young man proceeded to carry Dainn's broken plaything over to the table, placing the boy carefully down upon it.
Dainn gave a mental indignant grumble.
Well, at least he was gentle about it.
Still, he had to admire the pure nerve of this gentleman, flouncing in and happily desecrating a once beautiful sight. Even so, curiosity was beginning to outweigh the sense of agitation in Dainn's mind, as he began to ponder if he'd found a fellow artist in the field. What was his purpose for tampering? Was he experimenting? Adding his own creative spin?
"Specimen: male, adolescent to young adult. Fairly well fed? Low-income home, not best diet. Nonetheless healthy. Death by blow of...double-bladed cutting device (note: scissors) to left side of neck. Appears to have hit high-pressure blood vessel, meaning the carotid artery. Note: obtain living specimen to measure actual pressure and distance blood can travel when forcefully expelled from arteries."
No...
A scientist.
Or a doctor, but someone with an interest not too distant from Dainn.
He was curious. He was eager to investigate. He thirsted for knowledge.
While Dainn himself purely acted out of a need to be creative, he could understand a more...theoretical perspective to what he did. And this young man was hungrily lapping it up, which bemused Dainn even more.
Suddenly the man took his dagger and cut through the fabric of the young man's clothes, hacking and slicing until the boy lay stripped and bare on the table. The Shuck's ears pricked. The human body looked so beautiful when it was exposed in such a way. It was simple, pure, hiding nothing. Perhaps he'd have to remember such a point in the future. He quite liked the idea of his work taking on a more...natural essence.
All his thoughts of bare skin were interrupted as the sound of an incision was made and oh- how the smell hit his nostrils! It was like a warm wave, washing over his senses, bathing him in the sweet, satisfying aroma. He felt water run from his lips and dampen the fur on his muzzle as he lapped hungrily at the air, desperate for more. It was hard to be angered by the tampering of his masterpiece when such sweet odors filled the air around him. In the form of the Shuck, the sense of smell was stronger, allowing him to ingest the aroma deeper into his being, but in his normal self, his taste buds were more in tune, more adapted to savour the flavour.
In that moment, he shifted, standing now at his full height, nose raised into the air as his mouth hung open slightly, mouth continuing to water. He released a long, loud sigh of contentment, "Normally," he began, voice low with the subtle hint of threat, "I don't take very kindly to people touching my playthings but..." His senses were beginning to crumple with the sheer pleasure, "You cut so beautifully with that knife, I'm almost jealous." A small smirk creased his lips, "Almost."
Tags: Vykhlu the Erudite (it's not tagging again sorry)
Notes: Kinda went overboard describing the smell and now it sounds pornographic whoops.
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Post by Vykhlu the Erudite on Mar 16, 2014 5:19:52 GMT
"Vyk, I think there's someone following you. But I think it's the murderer, so we're alright."
The Promethaen absentmindedly mentally indicated the fact that he noted Tsui's statement, despite the rather preposterous message contained in the last sentence. One normally wouldn't be more alright with the murderer than the police or some other random person, but whoever had done this probably wasn't about to object to Vyk's prodding around.
Besides, Vykhlu could defend himself against some sort of puny human, even one who could kill those of their own kind.
More prevalent in his reasons for his lack of response, however, was the fact that he wasn't really paying attention. His mind was occupied with the dissection at hand, which was far more interesting than--
A loud sigh interrupted his reverie.
Vykhlu looked up with the slightest hint of irritation at being disturbed while he was working. Couldn't this rude intruder understand that he was in the middle of something?
"Vyk, that's the murderer I was talking about."
"Oh."
The Erudite gave the man a once-over. The presumed murderer was drooling, for one. How uncivilized. Regardless, he had given Vyk some subjects, so the Promethaen supposed he was obliged to be slightly grateful towards the rather uncouth figure.
The man spoke, a hint of violence in his voice.
"Normally, I don't take very kindly to people touching my playthings but..."
Vykhlu arched one brow.
"You cut so beautifully with that knife, I'm almost jealous. Almost."
The murderer was smirking at him now.
Vyk glanced down at the knife he held with a bit of distaste. "What, this?" His voice was slightly skeptical. "I suppose I must thank you for your compliment. However, this is a very inexact blade, if sharp. I would much prefer a finer instrument for my current procedure. But in field work, one must deal with what one has on hand, and forego personal preference. Regrettable that I'm ruining this specimen with such an inexact tool, really."
He gave a resigned shrug, currently more inclined to focusing on his work than on the murderer currently slavering at him.
"I assume you're the one to make this fantastical mess." He gestured with the knife at the scene strewn about the home. "Not exactly one to keep things clean, are you?"
Vykhlu gave another shrug, returning to the body in front of him and continuing to speak as he carefully exposed the other side of the man's ribcage. Then, setting down the knife he began to prod at the flesh. There was nothing particularly noteworthy, so he picked up the knife once more and carefully created slits right between the ribs, parallel to them.
Then, setting it down once more, he carefully slipped his fingers in and around the rib and pulled outwards, using his other hand for leverage.
With a sickening crack it broke. Vyk carefully set it down pointing outwards, like a morbid flower petal, then repeated the same action with the remaining ribs to expose the man's lungs and heart.
One eyebrow raised.
"Fascinating."
He glanced about, stooping to pick up part of the man's shirt and wipe his hands before picking up his pencil and jotting down a few quick notes in his "special shorthand"--in actuality, Promethaen runic script.
Prodding at the exposed lungs, he quickly popped the right one, sending his eyebrow upwards. With the tip of the knife, he carefully prodded away the left lung to reveal the heart.
"Ahh, here's what I want a cross-section of." He smiled slightly, then blinked and frowned as he seemed to realize something. "Oh, my apologies. I appear to have forgotten my manners in my eagerness. Please, do come in. I'm certain you're already acquainted with where the chairs are, so feel free to sit down. I'm afraid I won't be terribly interesting company, however."
Vyk took the opportunity to take a closer look at the murderer. The man had a certain dark aspect to him--something that reminded Vykhlu of some of the more feral life forms he'd performed his examinations on. It was not so much unsettling as vaguely curious to find such a comparison among humans, who had never been particularly inclined to feral behaviour after Vyk's own ancestors had vacated the planet.
He was also dressed fairly nicely, but from what Vyk could see he had some odd stains on his coat. Probably blood. The Promethaen felt his spine tingle in distaste at even such a tiny bit of messiness.
Either way, the man had still provided, if accidentally, the Erudite with the knowledge that could make or break the future of this particular murderer's entire race. However, Vyk had a feeling that he might not particularly care if humanity's existence was terminated. "Death reigns supreme in the end," he murmured to himself, seemingly non sequitur but entirely connected in his mind.
He had cut away the tubing securing the heart and carefully followed its curves with the knife. Reaching in with his hand, he grasped the still-lukewarm organ as firmly as he could and ripped it out.
"Such a terrible mess," he fretted as blood squirted and trailed up his forearm.
He placed the heart down on the table in an empty spot far away from his notebook, in case it should desire to explode.
Just as he held the knife poised along the heart, right at the angle he wanted the cross-section, he sighed.
"This is going to explode everywhere, isn't it."
Vyk glanced around. "Mmm, what I do for my job. If you don't mind, there's a basin in the washroom. I'll probably be in need of it in a few moments, and would much appreciate it if you could bring it out."
He didn't particularly care if this odd little murderer assisted him or not, but either way he figured he may as well ask.
If the man decided to get the basin for him, he waited until the murderer had returned before cutting into the heart. After all, the man probably wanted to see it explode. Otherwise, Vyk just got down to business, bisecting it with one swift motion.
The organ ruptured, sending blood out in a gory burst, splattering the body as well as the scientist. Blood now coated all the way up his arms and across his white shirt, as well as a few droplets on his face.
"Oof," Tsui hissed inside his mind. "It'll be okay, Vyk."
He let out a very carefully contained sigh.
"It's on my glasses."
Vykhlu let go of the heart and set down the knife, picking up the rag he'd used before and wiping his hands before reaching into a back pocket and pulling out a silk kerchief, which he used to clean his glasses before replacing it.
"May as well finish this up before I wash," he muttered, retrieving the notebook and quickly sketching a diagram of the heart cross-section. His lines were fairly confident, leaving him with a more or less accurate depiction of the chambers of the organ and the tubes running in and out.
"Next order of business, facial structure." He replaced the notebook and pencil, and picked up the knife, shuffling over on his makeshift dissection table to the man's face and carefully cutting a circle around the fringes of the man's face with the scrape of metal upon bone.
When he'd made a full ring, Vyk carefully began to peel away the skin, setting down the knife in easy reach of the murderer (the Erudite considered him just as much an experiment as the dissection subject, after all).
After a few moments of careful, deliberate motions assisted by very surreptitious and very exact cuts from blades of shadow, Vykhlu pulled away the man's skin to reveal the blood-coated skull and gaping eyeballs. Normally, such a feat would be nearly impossible for a human. But a Promethaen was a much more elegant creation, and his magic served him well.
"Marvelous. Simply marvelous." His voice was thick with the thrill of discovery.
Tags: Dainn Haskett VindalfrInspiration: Same Notes: So at the end I was just like "THIS NEEDS TO BE LONGER i'll just cut off his face." |
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Post by Dainn Haskett Vindalfr on Mar 16, 2014 20:12:39 GMT
"What, this?"
There wasn't much of an agreement in his tone, a perfectionist maybe? Or perhaps awfully critical. Dainn raised a single eyebrow, making it clear that -yes- he was referring to this newcomer's incision. This fellow, peculiar in his actions (even to Dainn) and uncommon in manner, showed no sign of fear or apprehension towards Dainn, greeting his arrival more like a doctor greets a patient; indifferent but entirely composed. To say Dainn wasn't a little...disappointed was untrue; more often than not he fed off the reactions he received from those came to spectate his work. Whether it was anger or dread was irrelevant, but a passionate response was all Dainn required.
This young man was choosing not to humour him.
Most dissatisfying.
"I suppose I must thank you for your compliment. However, this is a very inexact blade, if sharp. I would much prefer a finer instrument for my current procedure. But in field work, one must deal with what one has on hand, and forego personal preference. Regrettable that I'm ruining this specimen with such an inexact tool, really."
Dainn kept his eyebrow raised, but looked from the newcomer to the exposed body on the table with a slow turn of the head. It was no longer his work, but a slab of meat on a butcher's table. His outlook on it dissolved from passion into nonchalance. Such was his perspective when other hands touched his work. From where he stood, the cuts made by the supposedly ineffective blade were just beyond the point where he could make reasonable judgement. But the plethora of smells that emanated from the split skin had been so wonderfully received by his nostrils, he was rather apathetic about how they'd come to reach him. The cuts were unimportant...for now.
"I assume you're the one to make this fantastical mess. Not exactly one to keep things clean, are you?"
The word 'fantastical' was well received by Dainn's starved ego, but the tone of the gentleman's voice was a dull reminder that perhaps it wasn't intended as praise. What was he blabbering about; 'keep things clean'? Such business was never the most sanitary of conditions, even Dainn had to confess to that. But where his and this fellow's opinions clearly divided was that Dainn actually enjoyed it. Such wonderful chaos was the sign of a good job, or at least a satisfactory one. Tonight hadn't been Dainn's best, but he put that down to simply being rusty. There was always time for improvement, after all.
He did a small but spritely turn on the spot, surveying the room with a breezy humming noise, "Better yet to have it on the walls than on your clothes." he chided, in a low but lyrical tone. "But I confess that there is...a little more than I anticipated."
"Oh, my apologies. I appear to have forgotten my manners in my eagerness. Please, do come in. I'm certain you're already acquainted with where the chairs are, so feel free to sit down. I'm afraid I won't be terribly interesting company, however."
That small smirk crept back into Dainn's lips. A polite anatomist, he mentally mused, how wonderfully quaint.
His lack of fear, his complete and utter disinterest to having Dainn present was...oddly refreshing, almost amusing in fact. Being a wanted serial killer didn't hinder from having a sense of curiosity after all. He took slow steps into the room, keeping his eyes on the gentleman, although now his attention were turned back to his cadaver. Dainn watched on in silence and his walked, brow slightly furrowed as the young man busied himself in apparent contentment. As Dainn circled, he began to get a better view of the ripped carcass in front of him and-
He gave a small but visible flinch.
The knife really was dire. Oh- how it hacked at such tender materials! This was not poor technique but poor instruments on which said techniques were carried out. Dainn's hand slowly travelled up his hip, coming to rest on the handle of a small knife that protruded from his belt. A device that -while old and lacking in size- was sharpened to perfection regularly by Dainn's own doing. It was treasured possession, even though Dainn was usually minimalistic when it came to such things.
"This is going to explode everywhere, isn't it."
Dainn usually saw sarcasm as the lowest form of wit, but even he couldn't resist giving this gentleman a dry look.
"Mmm, what I do for my job. If you don't mind, there's a basin in the washroom. I'll probably be in need of it in a few moments, and would much appreciate it if you could bring it out."
Both of Dainn's eyebrows raised at this sudden request, rather taken aback by such forwardness. He licked his dry lips and cast a wondering gaze over the to the washroom, were a slightly dirty basin sat in the corner. Musing over this slightly, Dainn gave a clicking noise with his tongue and looked back towards his company, expression glazed slightly.
Fine, I can play this game.
He brought both hands together with a sudden smack and rubbed them together vigorously, "Put it anywhere then, darling?" he chimed breezily, taking long and purposeful strides to where the basin lay. He took the still-damp rims of the object and lifted it into the air with ease, despite it being heavier than first thought. He carried the thing back into the other room where the man was squirreling away at his 'subject'. He was poking at the now removed heart, just as Dainn plonked the basin down next to him with a heavy thud, sniffing slightly with indignation and he moved around the table, now standing opposite the gentleman on the other side of the splayed body.
As he came to a halt, the organ suddenly burst with a wet popping sound, sending droplets of scarlet hurling through the air like water from a crashing wave. The dots of red splattered against the newcomer, on the table and indeed, on Dainn himself. Except while his companion responded with a flinch of disdain, Dainn remained still, barely blinking as flecks of crimson sprayed against his nonchalant face. Been there, done that. He watched with internal amusement as the other gentleman set about wiping his glasses clean before taking up his book to presumably scribble some observation within the pages.
"Next order of business, facial structure."
Now this piped Dainn's attention, and he cast a small glimpse over to where the wife of the tailor lay, loyally spread out, even in death. He'd be interested to see how both his and this newcomer's techniques matched, if they did at all. As Dainn watched him work, leaning in slightly to get the best view, it became apparent that this gentleman was taking a much more intricate route, carefully cutting down to the sudden white of bone and tracing out such a cut around the oval of the boy's face. Interesting strategy, but it wasn't Dainn's own. With the wife, he'd taken the blade and sliced vertically down the length of her face, peeling it off to reveal the layer of exposed muscle and bare teeth and naked eyes. Perhaps a more...hasty method, admittedly, and Dainn began to ponder if it was time to reevaluate his methods.
But still...that blunt blade betrayed such skillful practice!
Dainn felt his teeth grind together, having to watch such jagged slicing. It was almost torturous.
When the man ceased his cutting, and placed the poor instrument down, Dainn immediately reached out and seized it, caring not for the streams of red running down his hands as he stroked a finger against the rough blade. He gave a disapproving scoff at the device, before flicking it with a brisk motion over his shoulder. He reached down to his belt and pulled out his own knife from its holster, drawing it up into the air before sending it sailing down with one, smooth stroke into the exposed belly of the cadaver, piercing the remaining skin with a sharp squelching noise. "Use this." he said, voice low and commanding. He released his grip on the handle and folded his arms, "I can't stand watching such a shoddy instrument perform such work."
He looked up at the man, with a interested eyebrow raised, "Are you scientist then?" he asked, "A professor, perhaps?" At this point he leaned forward slowly, placing both hands in front of him on the table, so he was effectively leaning on them, "You take pride in your work." The corner of his lips tugged upwards slightly, "I can respect that. Do I call you doctor or...?"
Tags: Vykhlu the Erudite
Inspiration: haaaaaaa there was none and this sucks
Notes: their couple name would be daihlu. i like this.
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Post by Vykhlu the Erudite on Mar 16, 2014 22:05:36 GMT
"Better yet to have it on the walls than on your clothes. But I confess that there is...a little more than I anticipated."
The man spoke with what might be considered an oddly pleasant voice for one capable of such destruction and morbid actions. Still, Vykhlu knew that it was genetics that determined the physical phenotype, and epigenetics that affected one's personality and other determined characteristics. As such, his genetic code probably had no real effect on his morbidity, and such a pairing of good voice and bad personality was irrelevant. Vyk supposed that he simply found the contrast... amusing.
Vyk did, however, inwardly agree with the murderer's statement. However, it was better contained than anything. Precision and cleanliness were the Erudite's first concerns.
He thought back to his first big project, the Hektus he'd trapped himself. He'd managed to get it splayed out in the dining room with no mess, skin peeled away to reveal its still-functional organs. The poor beast's own ability to replenish its own blood quickly had worked against it, keeping it alive as Vykhlu carefully dissected it. Oh, how it had screamed.
Until he cut out its voicebox, placing the little organ right on the beast's own snout.
A thin-lipped smile flickered over his face, just for a brief moment, and how excellently he had performed that dissection. This man, for all his critique and insanity, had nothing on the Erudite.
Happily, however, the murderer did seem happy enough to get the basin for Vyk. He didn't seem like such a bad chap after all.
"Put it anywhere then, darling?"
Vykhlu's head tilted to the side slightly at the endearment. After a moment, he responded in kind.
"Yes, wherever, dearest."
The last word had just the tiniest hint of emphasis, voice changing slightly to show his amusement at this man.
He did not speak again until Vyk had fully peeled off the face, instead seeming content to stand opposite the Erudite and observe his procedure, entirely unaffected by the gore.
As the Erudite focused on his task, the other man let out a scoff. A tad curious, perhaps--why scoff at such work?
"Vyk, he's got the knife."
The Erudite glanced up just in time to see his companion send a different blade plunging into the cadaver's stomach.
"Use this. I can't stand watching such a shoddy instrument perform such work."
Vykhlu smiled slightly, with just the tiniest hint of sardonicism.
Just as perfectionist about certain things as I am, I see.
"My thanks. You appear to have provided me not only with a subject, but also a blade. I am indebted to you."
Not really, though. Vyk was simply biding his time until he found a specimen he wanted specifically for his experimentation--a being he could ship back home and study under optimal conditions in a nice, clean lab. A bit of research prior to such an experiment, however, was not a bad idea, and thus the reason he was currently in the presence of a murderer dissecting some poorly documented subject with less-than-prime instruments.
Vyk had slipped the knife in around the faceless man's eyeball, and began to carefully cut around it to ensure the best removal possible for the organ. Indeed, this blade was much more suited to his work, but it did not yet have the finesse of the laser-sharp blades that Vykhlu had worked with in the past. Still, not a bad instrument.
"Are you scientist then? A professor, perhaps?"
The Erudite paused. What to tell this man? Why not the truth?
"You take pride in your work. I can respect that."
Pride in his work? Oh, yes, indeed. Vyk's lips changed to match the murderer's, pulling into a thin-lipped smile that held very little actual amusement. He was, as always, distant. Distant even to one who appeared to be very much akin to him. Both were professionals, after all.
"Do I call you doctor or...?"
I am Head Xenobiologist of the Infinite Vykhlu the Erudite, and you will call me your god, little human. I am the final determining factor in the fate of your planet, and your secrets shall spill before me as I cut them from your gut.
Vyk cleared his throat.
"I am indeed a scientist. A biologist, specifically."
He'd left out the "xeno" prefix, simply for the fact that it would imply his true heritage of beyond the stars and his more-than-human blood.
"Doctor?"
A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips again, as if he liked how it sounded. Doctor Vykhlu certainly didn't have a bad ring to it, but it was definitely not as prodigious as his actual (albeit detested) title. However... his Calling Name suited him much better than "doctor."
"Hmm. I suppose you could. Professor would not be entirely accurate, as I am no teacher. Freelancing is more my style. Doctor is the most appropriate title I can think of."
He carefully levered out the man's eyeball, grasping it with his free hand. In the meantime, he was carefully constructing his new alias's name. After all, he might be in contact with this murderer again, and saw no reason not to have a backup disguise in case his Pryfektus identity should go horribly wrong, as things were prone to doing around Vykhlu.
"Doctor Victor, then. What should I call you?"
Vyk made sure his grasp on the orb was secure, then severed it from its nerves. He tossed it up and down in the air a few times, a spark of amusement dancing in his own, intact, eyes.
Soon, he tired of the game and set down the eyeball, quickly slicing it in half with the precision of an expert, creating another cross-section.
Again, he set down the knife, wiped his hands, and carefully crouched down to bring his face closer to the eyeball, drawing it carefully. If only he had his microscopes, to better see the structure and function of the cells of this tissue!
But, nay, there was simply Vyk, the murderer, and the murderer's knife.
Finished with the eyeball, Vykhlu stood again, taking a moment to carefully sketch the structure of the face in front of him, white bone dyed red with leftover blood, grinning one-eyed into nothingness.
"Really ought to be in a lab," he muttered quietly. "No time to take closer examination of certain fascinating aspects." Throwing the pencil down, he took a moment to manipulate the subject's jaw, placing another finger by his ear to feel the joint working.
Glancing about, he tilted his head slightly to the left. "Where to now?" he mused out loud, a touch of whimsy in his voice. He could break the man's skull and do a quick sketch of a cross section of his brain, or he could move on to the tendon structure of the forearm. Vyk was interested in both--the first to see whether or not the brain had changed much in size since his ancestors visited, the second to comprehend how exactly to strike at a man's arm to incapacitate him. The Erudite had noticed that it was a tendon allowing someone to hold their weapon, and upon the severing of that tendon, they should be sufficiently disarmed. The question was which tendon specifically.
He really needed to do a full-body dissection in a lab. A map of blood vessels, along with their pressure and size, would really be good to know where to hurt the humans. A map of tendons would also be good--one could essentially paralyze parts of a body by severing tendons. Nerves could tell him where and how to knock out someone, and also how to torture them for information if necessary.
The Erudite flipped through his notebook, looking at what else he had to diagram. His tongue flicked out to lick his lips free of some blood that had gotten spattered there somewhere along the way.
"Vyk, there's a murderer standing across the table from you."
Vykhlu paused, eyes narrowing and one eyebrow raising in the fascinating promise of a possible business contract.
"If you don't mind me asking..." he began, turning from his notebook to gaze at his companion with actual interest. "How often do you kill people, and what do you do for a living besides?"
The Erudite had long ago gotten counterfeit money coined for him so he was free to pursue whatever he felt like in his secondary disguise. A job was a nuisance he was not inclined to keeping up with or dealing with, he hated his current position enough for all his disguises. He was no economist, after all, and didn't especially care how it might impact the balance of the humans' currency.
Tags: Dainn Haskett VindalfrInspiration: Same, especially Skin Crawl Notes: dare i think that they're flirting? |
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Post by Dainn Haskett Vindalfr on Mar 18, 2014 20:36:08 GMT
"My thanks. You appear to have provided me not only with a subject, but also a blade. I am indebted to you."
"It's not yours to keep." Dainn reminded him, trying to make his voice sound light but the slight hint of threat betrayed him a little. He doubt he needed to express a caution anyway; if this man was as really as intelligent as he seemed, he would know better than to pinch another craftman's tools, so Dainn's tone came over mostly relaxed. He gestured briefly to the slab of meat on the table, "But you can keep him, of course. And the others." He gave a small sniff, focusing his attention elsewhere in the room, "I have no use for them anymore."
Ouch. Dainn gave a mental flinch, likening himself rather to a sulking child whose toys had been snatched away rather than an indifferent professional. Highly immature. Even so, it was a little difficult for him to observe another pair of hands tampering with his own playthings. Still, better to have a skilled pair of hands than a set belonging to some blundering idiot, so Dainn took solace from that. Besides, this individual seemed to getting the same sense of joy Dainn experienced when he performed his craft, so there was understanding there, even if it was limited.
"I am indeed a scientist. A biologist, specifically."
So Dainn was right, of course he was. A scientist indeed! How lucky for him; to be in the company of someone so knowledgeable. Dainn himself liked to think he wa someone who thought on the left-hand side of his brain, taking more creative strides in his actions than opposed to intellectual pathways. There was room for intelligence of course, but there was more potential, more challenging, and simply more fun in projecting his inner artist. The world deserved to see his talents, after all. Let logical thinking be left to those who had time to stand still all their lives.
"Doctor? Hmm. I suppose you could. Professor would not be entirely accurate, as I am no teacher. Freelancing is more my style. Doctor is the most appropriate title I can think of. Doctor Victor, then. What should I call you?"
Dainn's eyes followed the plucked-out eyeball as it sailed into the sky, and then back down into the stranger's hands, and then up again, and then down again. He suppressed a smile, but the corner of his lips twitched once as he watched. "Doctor Victor." he repeated in low, drawling tone, enunciating the consonances with a harsh clicking of his tongue. He leaned forward on one elbow and lovingly prodded the remaining eyeball, licking his top lip, "Those that talk of me call me the Shuck." His dark eyes flicked up to this 'Doctor Victor' and he gave a sweet smile, "But you can call me Dainn, poppet." he informed the man with a mock sing-song voice, in retaliation to his earlier '"Yes, wherever, dearest."' .
It was a rare occasion he actually revealed his true name, having been referred to as 'The Shuck' for so long. Then again, no one had ever asked, which was actually rather rude.
This city was full of bad manners!
"Really ought to be in a lab. No time to take closer examination of certain fascinating aspects. Where to now?"
Dainn tilted his head to the neck, clicking his neck deliberately as he watched Victor examine his cadaver. He wondered where this lab he spoke of was (if it even existed) and what marvelous little treasures he kept inside. While his current perception of a lab environment was not entirely kind (too much white for such a storeroom of scarlet), he could gladly wager a visit to one if he was in the right mood for it.
As his doctor companion began to poke once more at the sliced figure on the table, Dainn threw both hands into the air, seemingly bored with this spectacle now. "Well, don't let me stop you." he said breezily, shoving both crimson coloured hands into his pockets and striding across the room, after spotting a cabinet that captured his attention. As he crossed the floor, he passed the tailor sat in his chair, and reached out with a gentle hand to stroke at the man's now cold cheek, humming the tune of 'Oranges and Lemons' to himself. He had a soft melancholy expression on his face, but it only stemmed from his disdain at his ruined painting. Still, he couldn't blame Doctor Victor for such an act; he'd provided him with entertainment, so Dainn would let it slide. For now.
He made his way towards the large wooden cabinet in the corner of the room, next to the tailor's chair. He opened the top glass door, acting like he'd been familiar with his room his whole life, and pulled out a large bottle of whiskey and one glass- he paused, no, two glasses, and set them down in front of him. He uncorked the large, studded vial with a loud 'pop!' and gently tipped the dark liquid into his wide-set container, enjoying the slight sloshing sound of his drink hitting the glass.
"If you don't mind me asking..."
"Hmm?" came the low, returning sound from Dainn's mouth, half listening to Victor and half concentrating on gently pouring the liquid into his glass, setting the bottle down next to him once he was satisfied.
"How often do you kill people, and what do you do for a living besides?"
Dainn clicked his tongue. There was the suggestion of something in Victor's tone, but Dainn resolved himself to crossing that bridge when he came to it. He took his whiskey in his hand and turned so that he was facing his companion again, backside leant against the cabinet for support. He pursed his lips in thought and swirled his drink, eyes looking up at the ceiling, "Up until now I was recently incarcerated. Bit of an iffy time with the authorities, you see." He gestured to the splattered room, "In the space of two days, six people." He rolled his shoulders and clicked his neck again, "I have a lot of...pent up energy." His lips pulled up into a smile.
"But-" he began again, "-in concerns to having a career..." At this, he took a small sip from his whiskey, pondering over the question, "I suppose the more...poetic answer would be that this is my living." He gave the briefest of smiles, before shrugging it off by blowing a raspberry, "But the correct answer would be that I don't have a profession." He rose the rim of the glass to his lips while adding, "Not one that the Drakonrhedi officially recognises anyway."
Tags: Vykhlu the Erudite
Inspiration: herpderp.
Notes: you betcha ass they are. totally not sorry.
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Post by Vykhlu the Erudite on Mar 19, 2014 1:07:46 GMT
"It's not yours to keep. But you can keep him, of course. And the others. I have no use for them anymore."
Vyk almost laughed at the absurdity of keeping such a crude tool, but withheld his emotion. "Of course not, such an action would be terribly impolite of me. The subjects, likewise, are much appreciated." He paused for a moment, considering whether or not to prod at the man's ego to see how he reacted. "A pity I must ruin such a marvelous scene, however."
The Erudite would have to see how this man would react to such a stroking. If he was truly considering entering into any business contract with this particular murderer (as was currently his plan), he supposed he'd have to learn how to handle the man correctly sooner or later. While Vyk was no good when it came to legitimate interaction, he could follow a procedure and script well enough to get what he wanted from people, or Promethaen.
"Doctor Victor."
Oooh, yes, he did like the ring of that. It sounded very professional. Fitting, yes, for this alias of his.
The Erudite watched with a touch of amusement as the murderer across the table from him prodded at the subject's remaining eyeball, similar in intention as to how he'd played with the vaguely spherical organ.
"Those that talk of me call me the Shuck. But you can call me Dainn, poppet."
One eyebrow shot skyward at "poppet," but he supposed it was merited with his earlier reprisal. Would meaningless affectionate terms begin to be a theme here? Vyk might have to do some research on them. He wasn't one for emotions, especially the fuzzier ones. Besides, his relations had never called him anything particularly endearing, not that he was protesting.
"The Shuck?" His lips twitched into a smirk, briefly. "Sounds... ominous. Or, perhaps, vegetative." The smirk vanished, but his amusement remained, quiet inside of him. "Regardless, it is my pleasure to make your acquaintance, Dainn."
After a moment, however, Dainn slipped out of the room for a moment with a nonchalant "Well, don't let me stop you."
As Vykhlu set about dissecting the man's forearm, carefully peeling away the skin and flesh to expose the network of nerves and tendons. As he inserted the knife in its new sheath in the subject's stomach, he heard the pop of a bottle being opened and glasses being taken out.
"Two glasses? How very polite."
"You seem to have struck upon the world's one gentleman murderer, Vyk. I'd suggest not wasting this opportunity."
"Wasn't about to, Tsui."
"Up until now I was recently incarcerated. Bit of an iffy time with the authorities, you see."
Vyk nodded and made a humming noise to indicate his understanding. Authority must certainly be a bother for this poor man. It was a good thing that Vyk didn't have any particular attachment to the supposed defenders of humanity--not like they were anything more than a fly to him.
"In the space of two days, six people. I have a lot of...pent up energy."
Both eyebrows raised as the Erudite quickly sketched what he could see of the man's tendons. Half of his mind was focused on the task that his hands were doing--he'd need to document another dissection sometime, or even perform one in front of the Infinite for the official records. Either way, the multilayered structure of the human anatomy would at least require a three-dimensional holocam recording to fully document, if not a genetic sequence in case his race needed a quick clone for experimentation.
The other half of his mind was concentrating on the discussion with Dainn. "Aren't you a rambunctious little puppy," he murmured, perhaps just loud enough for the murderer to hear him.
"But in concerns to having a career... I suppose the more...poetic answer would be that this is my living."
Curious. That meant that Vyk quite possibly had this man under his control. Evidently, he was inclined to this sort of pasttime, and one always enjoyed to have a profession that fit one's interests. As much as Vykhlu hated his current position, he understood that he was quite lucky in the fact that it was suited perfectly to what had formerly been a hobby.
This also meant that Dainn was not entirely inclined to thinking very far ahead. Sooner or later, someone would glimpse the murderer's face, and how would he gain his money then? He may be an excellent thug, and could find employ in the gangs, but the Drakonrhedi kept those well under their thumb. The criminal underworld, then, the true criminal underworld, was the way that this Dainn was headed. Assassinations and the like were probably soon to be his usual fare, but that would be a particular target--and was he inclined to taking out targets? From what Vyk guessed, the Shuck was a much more spontaneous and chaotic being than one would find in an assassin, that is, if his sister was anything to judge by.
"But the correct answer would be that I don't have a profession."
"Mmm." Vyk's mind was working even as it was working. While Tsui briefly oversaw his diagramming of the subject's arm, simply ensuring that he copied down all necessary details, his mind traveled elsewhere.
Dainn had just confirmed Vyk's suspicions; he was no assassin. Simply a madman, then. But a madman that the Erudite could use. A madman who might, indirectly, save or condemn his race.
"Not one that the Drakonrhedi officially recognises anyway."
A smile of pure cruelty trickled onto Vykhlu's lips, partially hidden as he bent over the notebook. But the xenobiologist was not particularly inclined to hide this burst of emotion--it wasn't as if Dainn was going to object to such a sadistic side of him, and neither would the little human comprehend the humorous situation that the Erudite did.
Placing down the pencil, Vyk stood and let a sharp bark of laughter emanate from him, a single dry "hah." It was not his normal laugh, but his usual laugh was inappropriate for the situation at hand.
After all, this was a beautiful irony!
"I don't particularly care what the Drakonrhedi do or don't recognize," he answered with an almost lazy tone of voice. "The way I see it, you're practically jobless either way. Unless you're inclined to subsisting entirely off the flesh of your victims, which as wonderful as it may be, is not exactly a varied or healthy diet." The last bit was said with a hint of sarcasm.
He leaned against the table and crossed his arms, the crimson fluid on them dried to the point where it didn't get on his shirt. Human blood was nice that way.
"Because I am a wonderful human being who cares about your dietary choices, I would be willing to buy subjects from you. A premium price, of course. Your work in your chosen field, from what I understand, is unparalleled." Just a bit of honey to coax this murderer into doing Vyk's bidding. Half of the reason he wanted Dainn to take part in this scheme so much was the wondrous irony of an insane mass murderer inadvertently saving his entire race. "The criteria for aforementioned subjects would be vague. I'm not particularly picky. I may occasionally request specific targets, live or dead, but if you were unwilling to obtain them for me I would be able to arrange other methods of getting them."
Vykhlu raised an eyebrow. He was fairly certain he made a fairly compelling case. Money, a good job... he was practically offering this man the best seat in the house to watch the world burn.
And, nonetheless, take part in the pyrotechnics.
"What do you say, honeybunchkins?"
Tags: Dainn Haskett VindalfrInspiration: Playlist of Awesome Notes: dangit teapot now i keep making terrible retorts to dainn in my head you are a terrible influence on my young and impressionable mind we'll find a way for you to use that pent up energy
it won't be just a knife in your pocket for long
you'll be shucking your clothing soon
don't worry about this 'marvelous scene,' soon you'll be seeing another one
wait til' you see my great dane, baby
you'll be getting pleasure at more than my acquaintance soon
i've got something else in a sheath for you
you're a terrible terrible person teapot i hope you know this and it hasn't made me ship this pairing any less please help me stop these thoughts |
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Post by Dainn Haskett Vindalfr on Mar 19, 2014 12:29:26 GMT
"A pity I must ruin such a marvelous scene, however."
Dainn rolled his shoulders and puffed his chest out with a deep inhale, taking in what was left of his ex-masterpiece. Silently, he agreed with Victor, but there was no time to be a prima-donna about it. Professionalism, after all. This man was certainly dedicated to his work, and Dainn wasn't about to show himself up by acting like the hard-done-by child. A bit of friendly competition, perhaps? Although he'd keep that just to himself.
"The Shuck? Sounds... ominous. Or, perhaps, vegetative."
Dainn caught the slight smirk on his companion's face, and he gave a brief but gruff "Huh." in response to Victor's words, highlighting that he was oh-so-amused.
"Regardless, it is my pleasure to make your acquaintance, Dainn."
In that moment, Dainn shook of his previous indignation and flashed a small smile in response, "And mine to make yours." he returned. Surprisingly, there was sincerity in his tone, but only because Victor had provided him with brief flashes of amusement - even if sometimes at his own expense. The man was cocky, Dainn could respect that. He was professional, Dainn could respect that too. And more importantly, he damn well loved what he was doing.
Perhaps a kindred spirit, his mind cooed in jest.
Perhaps that's why Dainn hadn't even attempted to plunge a knife into this man's neck as of yet. Oh sure, it had crossed his mind, but then again, that's how Dainn's mind usually said 'hello' to everyone anyway.
He continued to prod at the eyeball for a moment longer, testing the limits of the soft outer tissue to see how far he could stick his finger into it before it inevitably popped. It didn't, but Dainn was satisfied regardless, more enjoying the soft squelching noises the eye made when poked. He licked his top row of teeth, the makings of a gentle chuckle escaping his lips.
"Aren't you a rambunctious little puppy,"
The murmur was barely audible, but Dainn's ears picked it up, and his lips creased into almost playful smirk, briefly taking a sip from his whiskey. "Thank you, Doctor." he replied, in a polite, almost sing-song voice, like he'd received a welcome diagnosis. He wasn't sure if the remark was even meant to be a compliment, but Dainn took it that way anyway. After all, the sentiment was -in it's own way- true, and the affectionate phrasing could only be perceived as playful jesting at most in Dainn's eyes. If not, well, he would let it slide. Victor was obviously going somewhere with this and Dainn was curious to find out.
"I don't particularly care what the Drakonrhedi do or don't recognize,"
Well, Dainn thought, swirling his glass, at least we're on the same page, Doctor.
Regardless, whatever ideals these two men shared, Dainn wouldn't be hasty in allowing his trust to be given so easily. This was a man who'd willingly delved into his domain without fear of the consequences. Such a cocky spirit was one to be wary of. Nevertheless, Dainn would allow room for common thought between them both; such principles were rarely matched in this world, and so Dainn welcomed them with a refreshed mind.
Perhaps the times really had changed in his absence.
"The way I see it, you're practically jobless either way. Unless you're inclined to subsisting entirely off the flesh of your victims, which as wonderful as it may be, is not exactly a varied or healthy diet."
Dainn raised both eyebrows and gave a light smile in response to Victor's last statement, indicating that he had acknowledged his words, and they were entirely true. He detected the dryness in his companion's tone, but took no offense. After all, what need did he have to be ashamed of his eating habits? What he feasted upon was natural, organic, it was 'living off the land' put into practice, what was so bad about that? Raw, cooked, whatever you please. On the other hand, he did eat other things as well, in fact, he was a good lover of fine dishes, the more lavishly prepared the better. However, food somehow when you put effort into finding it yourself. In other words, when you hunted for it.
"Because I am a wonderful human being who cares about your dietary choices, I would be willing to buy subjects from you. A premium price, of course. Your work in your chosen field, from what I understand, is unparalleled."
Ah, so there it was.
Dainn kept one eyebrow raised but his smile faded as he mused over Victor's words.
What a curious proposal.
Dainn, for all intents and purposes, had no real care for money. Food, of course, was no issue, and as for living arrangements? He'd found a small abadoned hovel at the edge of the city. Of course, by no means elegant, it was secluded and peaceful. Having said that, it would be nicer to perhaps invest in a larger homestead...somewhere where he could perhaps build his own workshop, a place where he could create in solitude. And it would be nice to purchase some new clothing; while it was nice to have the stains of your endeavors to wear as a badge wherever you went, Dainn was not one for being overly filthy.
Even so, Dainn was minimalistic sort of soul. He didn't need much to live his life the way he wanted. Then again, Victor's words had sufficiently buttered him up (even if he'd realised that was the intended purpose, and there was no real sincerity behind it), so he felt inclined to hear his suggestion through with a neutral perspective.
"The criteria for aforementioned subjects would be vague. I'm not particularly picky. I may occasionally request specific targets, live or dead, but if you were unwilling to obtain them for me I would be able to arrange other methods of getting them."
Dainn himself usually went after Drakonrhedi, and the riffraff who associated themselves with them. But the word hadn't surfaced in Victor's demands, and Dainn could see an opportunity to broaden his horizons. True, Drakonrhedi were more fun to play with, but commoners were simple prey. Dainn could easily take on such a request.
He took another sip from his whiskey.
"So, let me see if I've got this straight; I hunt for you, and you'll pay me for my troubles? A glorified body-snatching business?"
Yes...he rather liked the sound of that.
"What do you say, honeybunchkins?"
Dainn swirled his drink, making light humming noises as he mused the proposal over. Of course, he had the answer on his lips, but he found it fun to keep a doctor waiting.
"It would be my pleasure." he returned finally, the baited excitement oozing in his tone. "Of course, you understand the money isn't such a big issue for me." he truthfully added, "While of course, like any good dog, I like being reward for my efforts, please take into consideration that primarily, I do it for my own satisfaction-" He paused, and lifted up his drink as if to toast Victor, "-sweetie."
He gave Victor a sideways glance, folding one arm inside the other so he could still keep a firm hold on his drink, "This makes you my superior then?" he queried. Dainn preferred the term 'business partner', but it was obvious they were two egos silently battling one another. Dainn disliked orders from other people.
...then again, he disliked taking orders from stupid people.
Victor wasn't stupid.
....this could be rather fun.
Dainn lowered his head, darkening his features in shadow, but the nearby candlelight glinted off his smirk, "Does this mean I call you 'sir'?"
Tags: Vykhlu the Erudite
Inspiration: oh god there was none and there really should've been.
Notes: dainn was all 'woof woof' in this one.
and oh god i love vyk's potential pick up lines.
I WILL NEVER STOP WITH THIS SMUT.
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Post by Vykhlu the Erudite on Mar 21, 2014 22:21:52 GMT
Dainn did not seem nearly as amused as Vykhlu at his rather odd nickname, which the Promethaen shrugged off easily. He found human terms quaint, was all. Their language was so cumbersome in comparison to the elegance of his own. "Shucking" corn, and this murderer was nicknamed "the Shuck?" He'd heard reference to some old folktale about a phantom beast of the same name. The latter use of the word was probably the source of Dainn's alias, to be honest, but that wasn't about to prevent Vyk from being amused by it.
His companion did seem willing enough to shrug away any insult caused by Vyk's intrusion on his "masterpiece" and rather subtle verbal abuse, at least. It was good to find one so laid-back about life.
"And mine to make yours."
The Erudite gave a thin smile. There was even a hint of authenticity in that voice. What a wonderful human this man was. Vyk did hope that such friendliness continued, he really did detest the effort required for fighting. He couldn't understand why this entire race found it enjoyable, and certainly wasn't in the mood to have a dagger flying at his throat.
"What a gentleman, Vyk," Tsui commented, her voice ringing with amusement in his mind.
"He seems most polite. Two glasses, indeed! That's one for me. Poisoning doesn't seem violent enough for him, so I think I'll trust it."
He sensed his OAI's approval. "I could eliminate or allocate any poison within you, anyway. If they affected you. One of the many services I provide."
That reminded Vyk of another thing he had to study. Poisons, and their effect on the system.
"Thank you, Doctor," came the nearly chirped reply. The Erudite gave another thin and inauthentic smile, content to simply amuse and be amused for the time being. Despite the fact that the stakes for this encounter had gone up slightly with Vyk's desire for a murderer to save his own race, Vykhlu could still obtain enough specimens on his own if truly necessary.
He was nothing if not resourceful and intelligent, after all.
Dainn seemed to be taking a moment to ponder this business offer. Take all the time you want, little human. I have an eternity, you have but an eyeblink in the gaze of a Promethaen.
"So, let me see if I've got this straight; I hunt for you, and you'll pay me for my troubles? A glorified body-snatching business?"
"Glorified and glorious," he added with an overacted, cheesily happy tone. At least for him. It sounded more like a half-enthusiastic sarcastic remark than anything, really. Vyk was perhaps not the best at emphasizing and enunciating his emotions, especially the warmer kinds.
But that didn't exactly matter now. Vykhlu had almost no interest in those emotions--he'd lost that particular desire a long time ago.
"It would be my pleasure."
The Erudite could barely contain a completely inappropriate giggle. This man really had no idea what he was getting into. He was completely blind, as if Vyk had plucked out his eyeballs as carefully as he had with the subject.
"Excellent," the Promethaen replied, voice hissing slightly.
"Of course, you understand the money isn't such a big issue for me."
Vykhlu nodded. Neither was money an issue for him, of course--which meant that they'd sooner or later reach a balance. The Erudite was inclined to be lenient in prices, as the market for this sort of thing could be quite competitive and he wanted to keep his little Dainn in his service. He had a soft spot for irony, after all.
"While of course, like any good dog, I like being reward for my efforts, please take into consideration that primarily, I do it for my own satisfaction--sweetie."
Vyk's thin human lips parted to reveal a toothy grin.
"I'm certain we'll work out the pricing, pet," he commented, adding in his own affectionate term at the end, as was apparently the custom now. "I think you will find me a... reasonable patron to create your art under."
This reasonableness was really because Vyk wasn't actually paying for Dainn's 'artwork.' The counterfeit money the Infinite had created was doing that job for him, and since his lampshaded source of "family fortune" was as infinite as the ruling body itself, Vyk could afford to be a bit of a spendthrift.
Besides, he needed some way to silently spite the Infinite for offering him this position as Head Xenobiologist.
Vyk supposed he should be a little more thankful in that regard, but he wasn't about to change, so they'd just have to deal with his petty manner and negative attitude for now.
"This makes you my superior then?"
One eyebrow raised. "I suppose it does." Vyk took a moment for a quiet bit of amusement. Funny, how the Promethaen always ended up on the top. ((yes i noticed the innuendo there and i left it in even though vyk's probably a sub))
"Does this mean I call you 'sir'?"
The grin reappeared.
You should call me your god, but for now...
"Why not?" Vykhlu replied with a touch of whimsy in his voice. He really was enjoying this. "And you'll be my little puppy. I can put you on a leash and everything. It will be a grand time."
I am your master now...
Master of my field...
Vyk frowned.
He was on the cusp of a wonderful idea. This feeling, like the calm before the storm, or more the deep breath before the plunge, had come before he'd decided to dissect a live Hektus.
What was coming next would be both enjoyable for him and a ridiculously large amount of work, but it would be worth it. It had always been in the past, and so it would be now.
A Lexicon.
He could hear Tsui's alarm at his grin.
"Vyk, you're going to assemble an entire Lexicon? There's not even another xenobiologist on this planet!"
"The Infinite said they wanted all the information possible, didn't they?" he queried. "A Lexicon will give them that."
Lexicons were essentially databases containing every known piece of information on a certain subject. Compiling one was usually done after a certain quantity of knowledge had been gathered, but Vykhlu would be working preemptively--he'd assemble knowledge into a Lexicon as it was gathered, with the compendium as his end goal.
To create this, he'd need the assistance of every Promethaen on the planet--which was a very limited number, and even less of those were actually scientists. He knew that Dae'myr the Endwalker was present and muddling with some humans' minds, and could probably produce a dissertation on psychology. He would hopefully not take much convincing, as from what Vyk understood, the Promethaen was hopelessly power-hungry. The prospect of his work being recorded in the race's databases and presented before the Infinite should be payment enough for him. Vyk knew of a few other interesting figures on the planet, but the only other one who stuck out as any possible assistance was Zsasilda the Solitary. She'd be harder to pull out, but hopefully had some observations to stock into the Lexicon. Her brother Kerberos might also be of assistance. Depended on how well his brain was working on that particular day.
"Only on humanity, though? That's might be doable."
"No, Tsui. A Lexicon on Earth."
This inclusion of the other species was not out of any particular interest in them. It was simply because Vyk, in his Drakonrhedi guise, had spotted a Titanothain and desperately wanted to do a live dissection of the beast. A Lexicon would give him the opportunity to do that, possibly in front of the entire Infinite. And while he couldn't speak in front of them, he was much more confident when performing his work than when talking about it.
If the Infinite wanted knowledge, he'd give them knowledge. He was Vykhlu the Erudite, after all, and overachieving was apparently back in style.
This also meant that he would need a few dozen live or recently deceased subjects. He'd need to gather samples to sequence their DNA, and for the finale, he'd also perform a live dissection on a human subject.
"Now, targets. As I said, I'm not particularly picky... but I will need them delivered inconspicuously to me or be told of them secretly. Additionally, I'll want some live subjects. Unconscious and bound, preferably, but live. If that doesn't suit you, I'll simply have to find someone else."
And you, my dear insane little Dainn, will at the very least assist in perpetuating a memory of your race for far longer than humans will ever live.
Tags: Dainn Haskett VindalfrNotes: OH MY GOD THIS TOOK FOREVER I AM SO SORRY /post gets progressively more perverted then i suddenly turned the post into me giving Vyk a reason for his continued presence on Earth sorry for making you read that ramble |
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Post by Dainn Haskett Vindalfr on Mar 22, 2014 1:17:33 GMT
"Glorified and glorious,"
Perhaps, but there were risks to such a business. None concerning the Drakonrhedi, mind. While they were...a nuisance, along with the bothersome Hrafnung gaurd, Dainn could easily slip under the focus for a while, choosing rather to lug stiffs on his back than leave them in the streets. After all, people went missing all the time; sons left home, daughters ran off to marry, fathers went off into the throngs of battle, it was life. And Dainn was death. Simple.
No...the risks were more personal for Dainn. With business there was protocol (usually), and a strict adherence to the chain of command. While Dainn was perhaps rather liking the idea of being oh-so-obedient for a change, there was a nagging concern at the back of his head that the routine following of orders would get a little, well, dull after a while.
Still, there was spark of faith within him that Doctor Victor wouldn't let things get too boring for him.
"I'm certain we'll work out the pricing, pet. I think you will find me a... reasonable patron to create your art under."
Dainn's had to suppress a smile.
Oh, I'll bet.
He drew in a sharp inhale of breath, clicking his neck to the side once, and then again the other way. Such was his fashion went he was about to undergo something big; a hunt, the creation of another masterpiece, and now, a partnership it would seem. Victor seemed like a man one would have to keep on one's toes around, treading delicately, expecting the unexpected. Whatever. Dainn could adapt to such a man. "I look forward to it." he returned finally, voice gently snaking past his lips.
"Why not? And you'll be my little puppy. I can put you on a leash and everything. It will be a grand time."
Dainn had been in the middle of raising his glass to his mouth to take a modest sip, but Victor's words had halted his movements, lips parted only slightly. He raised both eyebrows, pondered for a moment, and resumed to take a swig.
A leash now? My, my, Doctor, aren't you forward.
Still, whether Dainn objected to such a suggestion was another matter altogether. He lowered his glass and with his free hand, gently scratched his stretched neck. It was only but a few weeks ago, upon this neck, that chains had rattled and bit his pale skin. Dainn knew all too well what it was like to be kept under such bondage...and it wasn't the sort one paid for either. Humiliating and brutal. The Hrafnung guard had made sure his stay had not been a pleasant one, although Dainn had tried to twist it to his own amusement by asking for 'one more, please' when they flogged his back.
Perhaps willingly accepting such a treatment wasn't so out of his style after all.
"'Sir'..." he said the word slowly, as if tasting it, still rubbing his neck with an outstretched finger like a leash was going to magically appear around it, "I could swing a leash." he replied airily, voice light as he mused the idea with internal amusement, "But make sure it's tight, wont you?" He said his request with a tone of bored exasperation, like he'd repeated it a thousand times to a thick-skinned child who hadn't quite understood him. He set his near empty glass down next to him on the cabinet and strode over to the table again, placing his hands opposite Victor's and leaning forward so that his face a few inches away. "You wouldn't want me to get distracted, would you?" His lips were pulled into a smirk now, voice low and gentle, "Not that I have any doubt you won't make it worth my while...sir."
As long as you don't mistake me for a lap-dog, Doctor. I'll willingly play the fox-hound in your chase, but don't take my obedience or my loyalty as a means to be your doormat.
In other words, Dainn could easily learn to fetch. Just don't expect the roll-over trick to work anytime soon.
"Now, targets. As I said, I'm not particularly picky... but I will need them delivered inconspicuously to me or be told of them secretly. Additionally, I'll want some live subjects. Unconscious and bound, preferably, but live. If that doesn't suit you, I'll simply have to find someone else."
"Alive?" Dainn gave him a bemused look, taking a moment to ponder over this, lips pursed as his mind worked. So be it, they'll probably end up dead anyway. Besides, Dainn could work inconspicuously, he could knock people unconscious, bound them, gag them, whatever the good Doctor wanted. He drew himself up and adjusted his skewed sleeves, "It suits me just fine." he retorted, with a slight note of indignation, despite his earlier skepticism.
Like Victor could find anyone else as good as he was. Preposterous.
"And where, pray tell, am I meant to deliver such gifts?" he queried, strolling lazily back to the cabinet to pick up his drink again. He knocked back the last of the liquid, savouring the slightly bitter aftertaste. "There is too much risk in simply leaving people lying in the middle of street, if you need to make use of them later." He shook his head, dark locks bobbing, "No. I can easily bring them to you. Providing -of course- I know where it is I am bringing them?"
He reached for the tall vial of whiskey, pouring himself another (if a little smaller this time) drink and then taking the other glass to tip a sizable quantity into it. After all, Victor seemed a little preoccupied with his current fascination, so Dainn politely took the liberty of amending two empty glasses. He took both into his hands and walked back over to Victor, placing his beverage with a firm thud onto the table next to him. "Go easy on it, darling." he cooed mockingly, "You know how you get when you're on the sauce."
Tags: Vykhlu the Erudite
Inspiration: overactive dainn muse and INNUENDOS.
Notes: wow this is so short. i hope the blatant homo-eroticism makes up for this.
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Post by Vykhlu the Erudite on Mar 22, 2014 22:53:53 GMT
"I look forward to it."
Vyk allowed himself a moment of quiet amusement and content. He had the first player in this game secured. An able pawn, indeed. Dainn would undoubtedly prove useful in the tasks the Erudite was about to face.
Dainn appeared to be mulling his words over, perhaps in preparation for some witty retort, so Vyk turned back to the subject. He was slightly curious to see what the kidneys held, but there was no way he'd get any chemical analysis on them, so he wasn't sure if dissecting the man was actually worth it any more.
The xenobiologist sighed. He so hated it when his normally fun things turned into pointless messes.
"Perhaps it's time to wash up, Vykhlu."
He had to agree with Tsui. He'd gotten what information he needed for now. This business with Dainn would get him far more dissection subjects, both live and dead, so one missed opportunity was no longer much of an issue. It had been before, but with a mass murderer asking to call him "sir," he figured he'd probably be alright for a bit.
Quietly 'sheathing' the knife once more in the man's stomach, Vyk wiped his hands dry on the rag and closed his notebook as to ensure that Dainn wasn't as prone to noting the odd runic script inside.
"'Sir'..."
Yes, I do like the ring of it. Perhaps I'll actually start using my Infinite status sometime. Make them all call me Exemplar Vykhlu the Erudite, every time they speak to me.
Respect, Vyk decided, was nice. Perhaps it was time that he got a little more of it.
"Vyk, I--"
"I could swing a leash. But make sure it's tight, won't you?"
"Yes, Tsui?"
"I think he's hitting on you."
The Erudite, meanwhile, was busy wiping down Dainn's treasured knife with the makeshift rag. He doubted that the murderer would particularly mind a bit of blood, but such stains weren't necessarily good for the metal. He frowned slightly as he scraped away particularly hard-to-remove bits.
"Vyk, watch out!"
"Hmm?" He glanced up just in time for Dainn's face to come uncomfortably close.
The only response Vykhlu could muster to Dainn's physical proximity (and rather rude invasion of his perceived personal space, as the Promethaen saw it), was to blink once, unaffectedly maintaining eye contact as Tsui did the OAI equivalent of rapidly flip several tables in a row.
"I do not approve of this pairing!" she was shouting.
"Tsui, calm yourself. I don't believe the current situation merits such a violent and emphatic reaction."
"Vyk!"
"You wouldn't want me to get distracted, would you?"
One eyebrow raised. "Distractions would be most detrimental to my work. If you insist, a tight leash would seem in order, then."
"Dammit, Vyk!"
"What? You're being awful loud, Tsui." Of course, she was actually making no noise. It simply caused a ruckus in his head. Quite frankly, although he adored Tsui, her reaction was beginning to irritate him.
"He's flirting with you, Vyk. Not good flirting, either. Creepy flirting."
The same reaction as before--a slow, reptilian blink as the gears in Vykhlu's head encountered a fundamental misunderstanding.
"And that entails?"
"DAMMIT VYK. I-- I-- You know what? I GIVE UP."
Vykhlu shrugged it off, returning to the conversation at hand.
Dainn had begun to smirk. "Not that I have any doubt you won't make it worth my while...sir."
Really, now that he thought about it, there was something in Dainn's tone that was a little unfamiliar to Vyk. Vaguely unsettling, even. Was he in danger?
The thought concerned him.
"Tsui. Does he mean to hurt me?"
"I--" There was the mental equivalent of a sigh. "No, Vyk. He doesn't mean to hurt you. Well, he might. You are a hopeless bachelor, you know that? How can you not see that--gah."
The Erudite's curiosity was beginning to gnaw at him. He might very well have to pester Tsui for answers. This wasn't the first time his OAI had gotten exasperated at his confusion over an interaction with a sentient being. He'd long understood that he was not the best at the social aspects of his life, but was he really so bad as to merit such a strong response?
He did like being called sir, though.
"I assure you that it will be quite worth your while, my little bloodhound." Vyk smiled, eyes closing in a mockery of childish happiness.
"Vyk!"
"What?"
"You're almost flirting back!"
Now this was disturbing news. He was doing something that he had no intention of doing, let alone knowledge of the nature of?
"Even if I don't like this man, I'm so proud of you!"
"Tsui. This is an order: explain to me at once what is going on with you and this 'flirting.'"
She'd dodged the question for a good 1000 years now.
His OAI sighed. There was no escape.
"He wants to get it on with you, Vyk."
The Promethaen was baffled. "What does that mean?"
Another sigh. Tsui paused, presumably to translate what she was saying into understandable terms for him. "Vykhlu, when someone flirts, they are expressing their desire for the victim to become their mate or romantic companion. That, or they are attempting to satisfy their lust."
"I... oh. I see."
There was a pause. Dainn withdrew, leaving Vykhlu once again in his wonderfully empty personal space.
"Alive?"
The murderer sounded amused, as he should be. The Erudite figured that one demonstration of a live dissection should be enough to secure his respect and acknowledgement of Vyk's need for live subjects. Vyk simply doubted that Dainn would be able to observe that particular sight for a good while, until Vyk was allowed to reveal his superhuman capabilities.
"It suits me just fine."
A thin smile once again crept over Vyk's lips. "Excellent. It's good to find an amiable business partner."
He placed the knife on the table in easy reach of Dainn, then strode over to the wash basin. Picking out a clean spot on the floor, he knelt in front of it and quickly figured out the best way to do this.
The first thing he did was pull off his glasses to clean off the residue, then quickly bend over and splash at his face and neck to clean off the little droplets of red that had landed on him. His hands were relatively clean, as he'd wiped them off on the rag, but despite this his forearms were still bloody and he wasn't about to use dirty water to clean his face.
The water was refreshingly cold, trickling down his shirt in tiny rivulets of cool liquid.
"And where, pray tell, am I meant to deliver such gifts? There is too much risk in simply leaving people lying in the middle of street, if you need to make use of them later. No. I can easily bring them to you. Providing -of course- I know where it is I am bringing them?"
Vyk replied immediately after his face was no longer smothered by water.
"I own a small and secluded house. You'll find it on Foxfire Road, on the west of town, in the lower levels of the city. Black shingles, quaint little gothic fence around it. Right beside the railing keeping people from falling off." It was a nicely isolated place where he could observe the time easily by glancing at the sunset. Of course, most of the time he could be found on the Drakonborg. "You will find that it has a very nice little alleyway in the back for dropping off such presents. Crates may be required, though. Wouldn't want passerby to get spooked, as you said. Gags for live subjects would be nice, too. I live very quietly, such a ruckus would give me a horrible headache."
After he was satisfied with his cleanliness, he slipped his glasses back on and began to clean off his forearms. Dried blood flaked off and swirled chaotically in the basin as he rubbed, a crimson tribute to the enthusiasm he held for his craft and the good work he'd done today.
His lips curved into a smile of contentment; this had been a productive occurrence.
Having cleaned himself, Vyk stood and let himself stretch for a moment. He was allowed a bit of a break after a lab session, after all.
After that moment, he carefully stepped around the dried bloodstains, retrieving his coat from the banister and slipping it on as Dainn returned, this time with the second glass filled.
What was presumably his glass landed with a solid thud on the former dissection table. Vyk retrieved it, staring at the liquid with interest.
"Go easy on it, darling. You know how you get when you're on the sauce."
"Thank you," he murmured automatically. The Erudite blinked again, this time with curiosity, sniffing at the substance. "Tsui."
"Already on it. It's just a simple concoction of fermented plant matter. Grain, that is. Alcoholic fermentation apparently has adverse effects on the human mind."
"Duly noted. But does it have adverse effects on me?"
"Not if you don't want it to. I can allocate and manage it... although, it might not effect you at all. Promethaen are good at that, and your body still retains much of its Promethaen powers."
"Let's refrain from a drunken stupor, then."
He raised the cup to his lips and took in a tiny sip, just enough to taste it. Tsui was hurriedly performing tests and initiating reactions.
"We're clear. Drink up, Vyk."
The Erudite closed his eyes and took a few large gulps. To be honest, it was a bit bitter for his tastes, but he wasn't about to complain.
"Simply savory," he commented dryly as he lowered the glass and arched a brow. "Anything else you need to know before we both go our separate ways in a rather hurried fashion to be safely distanced from your masterpiece when the local authorities finally realize its existence?"
Tags: Dainn Haskett VindalfrNotes: all ur smut are lost on vyk apparently the "blatant homo-eroticism" was not blatant enough for sir erudite over here wow okay this post sucks it's just plain old bad writing i am so sorry also where do you see this thread going? we should probably talk about that hurr |
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Post by Dainn Haskett Vindalfr on Mar 23, 2014 19:09:54 GMT
"Distractions would be most detrimental to my work. If you insist, a tight leash would seem in order, then."
A soft, low chuckle snaked past Dainn's barely creased lips, rumbling up from his chest and reverberating in his neck. This Doctor certainly was an amusing fellow. Dainn was silently pleased that he hadn't sought to kill him; he would've destroyed a welcome source of entertainment, if nothing else. It would appear that Victor hadn't quite understood the extent of Dainn's meaning, and yet somehow both chains of thought had interlinked and met as one, which Dainn found incredibly humourous. Nevertheless, he found himself inwardly looking forward to the possibility in Victor's words.
Pent up energy, and all that nonsense.
"I assure you that it will be quite worth your while, my little bloodhound."
The tone in which Victor spoke was a little curious, and Dainn raised an eyebrow at his words, face now creasing in visible amusement....was he flirting? Dainn doubted that someone with such an indifferent and distant personality would even have any knowledge of flirting, let alone engage in it...and that was coming from a so-called 'criminally insane' serial killer. Dainn himself rejected all such notions of trivial matters regarding romance, and all the sickly sweet practices that went with it. He shunned the concept of 'falling in love', as such an idea was ludicrous, even for him. No, romance was out of the question. No exceptions.
But lust on the other hand was entirely different.
He categorized the feeling completely separate to love, and something he actively recognized. It was an emotion he all too often exploited in the games he played, knowing all too well the desires of men. It was true maybe, that perhaps his skills at seduction had faded worn during his incarceration, but that hadn't stopped him from trying it on with the guards, although more often than not his efforts were rewarded with a hard strike to the face.
Apparently 'convicted psychopath' not such a big turn-on for Hrafnung vikings.
Dainn doubted how well such tricks would fly with Victor.
Still, he'd have fun finding out.
"Excellent. It's good to find an amiable business partner."
By this point, Dainn had broken away from the close eye contact with Victor and was presently swirling his whiskey, back leaning against the cabinet. "Well then," he began theatrically, raising his glass as if to toast Victor on his arrangement, "Here's to a prosperous future, sir."
"I own a small and secluded house. You'll find it on Foxfire Road, on the west of town, in the lower levels of the city. Black shingles, quaint little gothic fence around it. Right beside the railing keeping people from falling off."
Dainn knew Midgardborg like the back of his hand, the winding streets becoming almost like a homily rat-warren for him in which to carry out his...perhaps less than reputable acts. He quickly noted the directions Victor was giving him in his head. He knew the place the Doctor spoke of, or at least the general area. It was a murky corner of the city, very fancily built with impressive gothic structures but its dark countenance made sensible folk of the city stay well clear of it, especially after the sun went down. Dainn on the other hand mentally applauded Victor for residing in such a fine spot.
"You will find that it has a very nice little alleyway in the back for dropping off such presents. Crates may be required, though. Wouldn't want passerby to get spooked, as you said. Gags for live subjects would be nice, too. I live very quietly, such a ruckus would give me a horrible headache."
Dainn nodded, mostly from his acknowledgement of Victor's requirements, but also from his internal agreement over Victor's preference for peace. The prison had been a frightfully loud environment; constant brawls, shouting, screaming, an overwhelming cacophony of sound. It was partly the reason Dainn had sought desperately for his freedom at all costs, being a man who too relished quiet solitude. "Understood." was all he stated in response, voice hard and firm.
He mulled over the possibility of this new business arrangement. Not only would it provide Doctor Victor with his apparently much needed specimens, but Dainn could perhaps use it as a medium to practice his creativity. Targeting Drakonrhedi was primarily his goal, but an excuse to go after regular citizens was actually rather welcome. Extra credit, one might even say.
Dainn watched, bemused as Victor studied the liquid given to him, sniffing it gently and seemingly evaluating its contents. Dainn recognised what he was doing.
I haven't poisoned it, bloody cheek.
Nevertheless, he gave Victor a warm smile once he'd finally ingested his drink.
"Simply savory. Anything else you need to know before we both go our separate ways in a rather hurried fashion to be safely distanced from your masterpiece when the local authorities finally realize its existence?"
Dainn craned his neck to the window and noticed for the first time that -far off in the distance- the sky was beginning to lighten with the first rays of morning. Dainn made a gruff hum in acknowledgement to the changing colours and turned back to back Victor, "Clear as mud." he returned dryly, before tipping the glass back suddenly to gulp the last of his drink. While he'd preferably like to stick around to watch the aftermath of his deeds and particularly how the authorities reacted to such a splendid mess, the first stretches of dawn was the sign for him to take his leave and retreat back to his own residing.
"Well, sir doctor." he began breezily, sarcastically using both his chosen titles for Victor, "This has been a rather marvelous evening, I'm sure." He crossed quickly over to the window and with a strong pushing motion, flung open the shutters, allowing the crisp air to waft on it. He paused for a moment to inhale the air, effectively clearing his senses and cleaning the slate for another day. He hopped up onto the windowsill, using an arm for support and he crouched there for a moment, stopping only briefly to turn one last time to Victor, "I hope for many more in the future." He flashed the Doctor a quick smirk, teeth catching the dying flickers of the nearby candle, before turning and dropping himself from the windowsill.
The house wasn't high, and there was but a short distance from the first floor window to the cobblestones below. Dainn landed with a heavy thud, one palm hitting the pavement to stabilize himself as he made contact. He regained composure and allowed his heartbeat to calm itself after the sudden rush of energy, before standing up straight again to quickly brush down his clothes and straighten himself out. His eyes fell on the Tiro still lying in the puddle, clothes sufficiently soaked through and through. Dainn gave a soft smile at him, turned back to look up at the window and smiled even more.
A sudden breeze rolled in, and the sound of four paws hitting the cobblestones at rapid pace broke the silence.
The Shuck - known psychopath, wanted killer, working man.
This could be fun.
----------------------- REALLY BAD TIME SKIP -----------------------
Dainn had begun early the following night.
He'd been tempted to stave off his efforts for one evening, but who was he to keep a doctor waiting?
The clocks had only just struck 10pm, but the Shuck already found himself with a sufficient bounty. It was the time of year when night crept in much earlier, giving Dainn the protective embrace of darkness for much longer. The weather, while not freezing, was cold enough for people to retreat into their beds as soon as the sun set, leaving all who dared to remain for the picking.
It was a good thing Dainn was an opportunist.
He'd worked hard that evening; one in a crate and two on his back. Finding a crate big enough had been difficult, but a quick trip to the docks had proved fruitful, allowing him to swipe a used meat crate from a deserted market stall. He was a firm believer in never letting things go to waste, and so he'd found ample usage for his stolen prize. Of course, the two on his back had been dealt with first. A husband and wife, quickly dispatched a blunt strike to the head had warranted a good haul at first, until Dainn realised that -oh bugger, Victor also wanted a live specimen as well.
Totally out of Dainn's comfort zone, but he could adapt.
Fortunately, for him, the now-stiff couple were in possession of a house maid. A pretty young thing with loosely tied auburn hair and pale good looks, she'd screamed and created such an unholy din when she walked in to find Dainn standing above the motionless bodies of her masters. Dainn had given chase almost instantly, and the girl -in her best attempts to stagger him- threw a vase at his face. The object had shattered upon contact, piercing Dainn's skin in several places, but the broken pieces were so small that Dainn could easily ignore them for the time being and focus on his target. In a matter of minutes, the maid had been knocked unconscious, bound, gagged and crudely shoved into the box. Dainn knew full well it wouldn't be long before she came to her senses, so he'd taken the liberty to deliver her first.
Mercifully, Victor's homestead was just around the corner, and Dainn took a shortcut through a inconspicuous alleyway that led directly to the back of the doctor's house, exactly where he'd instructed Dainn to leave crates-bearing-gifts. He disposed of the box, amusing himself slightly at the fact that the worn, red paint on the top of the crate read 'Fresh meat inside' before returning swiftly to the now quiet house, where the husband and his wife lay peacefully beside one another.
He travelled back to Foxfire Road with both bodies on either shoulder, using both arms to support their weight. One side dipped a little, as the husband was significantly larger than his wife, and any other body Dainn had lugged in such a way. He was by no means a weak man, but Dainn found himself slightly worn when he approached the wrought, iron gate to Victor's house. Unable to use his hands, he forcefully kicked the gate open with a loud, metallic thwack, guessing that he'd probably woken Victor up if the other man had been sleeping. He doubted it though; Victor seemed like a fellow night owl, so the sound of Dainn kicking his gate was probably more like a doorbell than an alarm.
Dainn made his way slowly up the path to the large wooden door of Victor's house, fashioned with a deep, green paint and a large brass knocker in the shape of a lion's head. Dainn scoffed at the device, lifted his leg up again and kicked out once more. The door opened, hinges crying out with the sudden force, but thankfully remained intact.
The house was dark inside, and Dainn stood there for a moment, pondering whether Victor was on the ground floor or upstairs. A brief, disgruntled thought flashed his mind as to whether the doctor had given him the right address, but was quickly diminished when he caught sight of a warm glow from the first floor. He grumbled slightly, realizing he'd have to lug both bodies up the stairs and wondering if he could ask Victor for healthcare benefits as well.
Nevertheless, he carried on, staggering up the stairs and putting all his focus and strength into not dropping one of the stiffs over the side of the banister. It was an awkward shuffling movement, as the width of Dainn had increased now he was carrying two others on his shoulder, one of whom wasn't exactly the skinniest example of a human being. Eventually he reached the top, chest heaving slightly as the exhausted pants left Dainn's lips. He turned to find the source of the candlelight, locating it as being inside of the rooms down the end of the hallway. He gave another groan before making his way to the origin of the light.
Fortunately, no door this time, so Dainn wouldn't have to worry about Victor complaining that he'd left his boot marks on the woodwork. He strolled inside, and suddenly dropped the two weights from his shoulders, both bodies landing with a definite but dead sounding thud.
Dainn drew in a deep breath, "Woof." he panted, voice dripping with slightly peeved sarcasm.
Tags: Vykhlu the Erudite
Inspiration: this obviously
Notes: sorry this sounds so rushed ack. also OAIs now canon as promethaen cockblockers
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Post by Vykhlu the Erudite on Mar 24, 2014 3:06:37 GMT
"Here's to a prosperous future, sir."
Vyk internally chuckled at the honorary, raising his glass in a toast to his newfound business partner. He had the feeling that this would be a most profitable exchange for the both of them.
"I don't like him, Vyk."
"Neither do I, Tsui, but I need the specimens he can give me. Besides, his rather gentlemanly manner amuses me."
"I still don't like him."
The Erudite sighed. "It'll be alright."
Dainn gave a quick affirmative to Vykhlu's description of his house and instructions. He was quick to obey--the bloodhound nickname, then, was perhaps more appropriate than Vyk had originally anticipated. Or, perhaps, he simply wanted efficiency over everything else at this point. Vyk did not yet understand such intricacies of the man's nature, but in time, that too would open up before his understanding, just like everything else did.
"Clear as mud."
A thin smile was his reply. He figured that the man hopefully would have learned his lesson by now about clearing out from the scene of a crime. Such a statement, then, must be a joke.
Or so the xenobiologist hoped.
"Well, sir doctor."
Sir doctor? As sarcastic and almost redundant as the statement was, it still created a warm feeling of approval. Respect. He'd definitely end up cultivating it back among his kind.
"This has been a rather marvelous evening, I'm sure."
Vyk smiled, his ingrained courtesy taking over. "Indeed. Thank you again for the drink. A pleasure meeting your acquaintance, and I wish you a very good night."
"I hope for many more in the future."
He nodded. "I'm certain that we shall cross paths again in the best of ways, and look forward to it."
All of this was said with his usual cold detachment, seen to most as professionalism. Very few realized that it was in fact the xenobiologist's antisocial nature coming into play. His detachment was a way of consolidating himself, and his manners a way of keeping things entirely proper. He'd found that it was very hard for both people and Promethaen to relax and attempt to befriend him when forced to constantly be polite.
That left him happily on his lonesome own.
And it wasn't like people could complain. He would simply act affronted if asked why he was constantly so polite, and insist that he was trying his hardest to be the proper son that his parents required, and the professional that his position necessitated.
Vykhlu gave a quick wave to Dainn as the man leaped from the windowsill, then quietly made his way downstairs. He didn't feel like falling down tonight, although it wasn't as if he would be hurt by the impact. Promethaen were much more resilient than these silly little humans.
-----TERRIBAD TIMESKIP-----
The Head Xenobiologist was pretending to read a book the next evening.
In fact, he was dictating to Tsui a list of necessary supplies to send back to the Infinite. He was curious to see if any of them managed to pin down his intentions in regard to the Lexicon, and if so, what their reaction would be. There was a definitely marked increase in the length of his "grocery list," so he figured that they'd suspect some idea had come into his mind. Those who followed the Erudite calling where known for spontaneous and often enigmatic goals, after all.
His "reading" was interrupted by the loud bang of his gate. He sighed irritably, putting down his book and standing up to peek out from behind the drapes to see who it was.
An eyebrow raised at the man carrying two dead bodies.
"Hmm," he mused aloud, then went back and sat down in a different armchair, back to the door.
Not long after, there was a thud as Dainn kicked open his door and tromped up his stairs.
Dirt all over, dirt ALL over. I just repainted the door, too.
He carefully withheld a sigh and turned the page.
Dainn made quite a ruckus, coming in panting and pointedly dropping the bodies with two dead thuds on the ground. Vyk deliberately replaced the ribbon in his book.
"Woof."
Vykhlu smirked slightly, turning around to face his mass murderer employee.
"Good evening, Dainn. Two already? Excellent. Tea's on the stove--two doors down on the right--feel free to pour yourself a cup. I'll need these two brought downstairs first, though, if you don't mind."
He did have a makeshift lab in the basement, after all. It still had yet to be completed, but he was working on it. There were a few dissection tables (one with cuffs for live subjects), excellent lighting (light magic pooled in by trough runes, a trick he'd picked up and had very carefully installed by herding the light with shadow), and a wonderfully mobile microscope.
He carefully put down his book, standing and stepping over to the corpses. The candlelight was far from good for examination, but he was incurably eager for this. Kneeling down in front of the subjects, he rolled up his sleeves and began to prod around, seeking out fatal wounds.
"Oh, excellent," he murmured. Then, without preamble (and certainly more strength than his thin frame and narrow human build would indicate possible), he picked up the larger of the two subjects, hefted him easily over one shoulder, and ambled off down the stairs.
Being a Promethaen certainly had bonuses.
Coming to the entrance landing, he didn't even glance towards the stairs. Those lead to a cellar. What he was looking for was his basement--a very different, and very hidden, little sanctuary.
He placed his hand in the middle of a colourful painting of a vibrant jungle bird. A trigger rune flared behind the artwork, setting off a series of other runes that drew back a secret door and slid it into the wall, revealing a path downstairs.
Vykhlu hummed as he descended, carefully touching a small glass panel on the wall again to set off another rune that turned on the light.
He hefted the subject onto a table, neatly aligning him as the runes and light magic flared into being.
The xenobiologist turned around and glanced about for when Dainn made his way down.
"Drop her on that table there." He motioned to one of the tables not equipped for live subjects.
"Did you manage to pull in a live one?" he inquired, voice lilting slightly in happiness, much like he'd originally displayed at the sight of a slaughtered household the first time the two had met.
As much as Vykhlu was loath to admit it, he was incredibly eager to begin his study of humankind. He might hate his position, but he certainly did not hate his work. Xenobiology had truly always been his calling.
He simply had to get used to being bossed around by the leaders of his race.
"I should have somewhere around here..." he trailed off, glancing around before his gaze finally alighted another glass panel, scarcely five centimeters by eight centimeters. "Aha! There we are."
This whole setup had taken him quite a bit of careful crafting to create, but it was well worth it.
Or so he figured as he tapped the rune activator, opening another secret door. This one swung inwards, leading out into the alleyway behind his house.
"Fresh meat inside," he murmured, letting out a bark of dry laughter. "Splendid. Well done, my bloodhound." He tapped the panel again, and the hidden door slid back into place with a click.
Vyk turned, rubbing his hands together eagerly, a grin revealing his teeth in the brilliant light. "Wonderful, wonderful. Shall we go have a cup of tea to discuss pricing?"
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 "I am not your savior, nor your destruction. I am simply a xenobiologist. And your god."
DESIGNATION;
the Erudite, Head Xenobiologist of the Infinite.
ORGANIC ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE;
Tsui
CURRENT ALIAS DESIGNATION;
Doctor Victor
ADDITIONAL NOTABLE COMPANIONS;
N/A, besides the dead ones.TAGS;
Dainn Haskett Vindalfr
INSPIRATION;
playlist of awesome
NOTES;
oh my god look at this table
the one issue is i can't tell when something's bolded
also yes tsui just cockblocked
and apparently she opposes our ship
dammit tsui
this post took forever
also i'm sorry if it's kind of short
shhhhh just stare at the table
look at its beauty and don't pay attention to the bad post |
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Post by Dainn Haskett Vindalfr on Mar 24, 2014 15:46:21 GMT
"Good evening, Dainn. Two already? Excellent. Tea's on the stove--two doors down on the right--feel free to pour yourself a cup."
Dainn's throat had been rather parched all evening, so the suggestion of a warm brew was welcome to his ears. Because of his irregular sleeping habits, finding time to plans meal accordingly was difficult. More often than not, his hunts involved him taking some sort of cut to satisfy his appetite, but of course tonight he staved his teeth with the realisation that Victor probably wouldn't approve of massive chunks of meat missing from his specimens. He wondered at the back of his mind if Victor would mind him snagging a slice - once he was finished with whatever practice he had to do, of course. On the other hand, Victor had promised financial gain from his endeavor, so Dainn mused whether it was time to step up his pallet a notch.
Whatever the case, tea would be gladly received.
He was about to make his way down the hallway to the room of the fabled tea when Victor's voice snaked past his ears.
"I'll need these two brought downstairs first, though, if you don't mind."
Dainn halted in his tracks, clicked his tongue, and used the hand he'd placed on the door frame to pull himself back into the room, face plastered with a grimace. He had to be joking.
Dainn rolled his eyes at Victor's sickeningly smug expression.
He wasn't joking.
"Fine," Dainn retorted, cracking his knuckles, preparing himself to haul the two lumps of flesh again, "-do customary shoulder massages count as my healthcare benefits in this job?" he drawled dryly, watching as Victor came over to excitedly prod at the two bodies.
Of course, he mentally noted, he could easily turn around and decline Victor's requests, and part of him had a good mind to. But any idea of disobeying Victor was far overshadowed by his desire and curiosity to see the doctor work and to gather a little more understanding about his newly found business partner. Not only that, but the other man's house provided welcome protection from the ever watchful presence of the Drakonrhedi, coupled with the patrols of the Midgardborg guard. After a few days, the city had become significantly aware of the Shuck's presence, having discovered all the little presents he'd left for them to discover. Of course, those in charge were keen to stamp out such creative bursts. Authorities were bothersome like that.
Dainn was about to stoop down to pick up both bodies when Victor suddenly swooped in and (much to Dainn's surprise, although he tried not to show it) effortlessly heaved the hefty weight of the husband onto his shoulder, before proceeding on his way. Dainn remained there for a brief moment, inwardly baffled and outwardly bemused. Victor was such a slight man, almost puny, and Dainn was internally confident that his own strength easily outweighed that of his companion. He wasn't incredibly muscled, but he was suitably toned and packed a lot of hidden vigor which meant others usually doubted what he was physically capable of.
Victor was an even bigger surprise. There was no way a man with such a fragile build could carry such a weight so easily.
Dainn had a sneaky suspicion he'd only just scratched the surface regarding Victor.
He resolved to push all thoughts of his companion's unlikely tendencies and lugged the motionless woman onto his shoulder. She was cold now, but rigor mortis hadn't yet set in, meaning she was still easily maneuverable. Hitching the body up so that Dainn's shoulder was comfortable, he proceeded closely behind Victor. Whoever he really was, if there really was something hidden by a supposed facade, would have to be troubled upon later, and Dainn resolved himself to remain indifferent regarding the matter.
When he reached Victor, the man was prodding at some tacky painting on the wall. Dainn raised an eyebrow as his fiddling triggered some sort of reaction within the bowels of the house, and a once-hidden passageway slid into view, revealing a staircase that led downwards. "Impressive." Dainn noted sincerely, even though the tone of his voice was low and dry, suggesting otherwise. When he was a boy, he'd been captivated by the idea of secret passageways and hidden hiding places, constantly imagining his own house to be filled with undiscovered treasures and undetected nooks and crannies, because the grand age of his homestead was one to set his childlike imagination on a whim.
Seeing Victor's house littered with such curiosities brought back a pained sense of nostalgia, although it was closely followed by inward bitterness.
Dainn followed Victor down the passageway, listening to the doctor hum in front of him, no doubt excited by the prospect of discovering his new specimens. They came to a well-lit room, the basement presumably, filled with tables soon to be splattered with crimson. He caught sight of a table adorned with metallic cuffs, and he recognized such a device. Many a times had he the pleasure of being strapped to such a instrument during his imprisonment, more often than not stripped bare and facing the wooden planks. The scars on his back twinged at the memory -oh, how they'd flogged him! Dainn knew all too well the numbing kiss of a whip, but theorized that whoever was being strapped to this particular device wasn't in for the same loving treatment as he was.
"Drop her on that table there."
Dainn proceeded to do so, dropping the wife without any sense of care onto the table top and positioning her so she lay on her back, and stood back once he'd finished to brush his hand down.
"Did you manage to pull in a live one?"
A dark, rumbling chuckle slithered past Dainn's lips and he turned to face the doctor, "Perhaps you ought to to see for yourself, sir." he cooed in a soft, sing-song voice. He suddenly then remember the hospitality in which his live target had received him, and let out a visible flinch as the pain returned on his cheeks. It was by no means a wound he couldn't handle, but it would be bothersome for him to pick out so many tiny shards of glass from his face. He dabbed one of his cheeks gently, tenderly examining a cut where a small corner of china protruded from his skin. He debated briefly whether or not to ask Victor to pull him out, considering his apparent medical training and all that. But the idea quickly diminished once Dainn remembered his sense of pride and dignity.
Still, the longer he left it in, the more tedious the shards would be to pull out.
As Dainn examined where he'd been cut, Victor was busy fumbling with what Dainn could only presume to be as more triggers. True enough, another door opened, leading out towards the alleyway where Dainn had left his boxed gift. Victor examined the crate.
"Splendid. Well done, my bloodhound."
Dainn decided he rather liked such enthused praise, especially coming from the lips of someone who was his supposed superior.
He returned Victor's words with a small smirk, eyes flourishing with a sincere glint of elation.
"Anything for you, sweetheart." he commented darkly, raising his head to bare his unusually light expression.
"Wonderful, wonderful. Shall we go have a cup of tea to discuss pricing?"
Finally! came the slightly agitated thought in Dainn's mind, but he quickly pushed it aside.
"Sounds delightful." Dainn replied, and followed Victor back to where the beverage was being prepared. "I'm feeling awfully generous tonight," he mused suddenly, putting his hands in his pockets, "So consider the two stiffs on the house." With a slight twang of bitterness he added, "They gave me no trouble anyway."
One of the cuts on his face began to dribble slightly.
Tags: Vykhlu the Erudite
Inspiration: there was none and this sucks
Notes: aaaaaaaah i'm sorry i gave you like, nothing to reply to here. YOUR BOOTIFUL TABLE DISTRACTED MY MUSE.
also dainn will let vyk examine him honhonhonhon
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