THE ROYAL LADY ASPIS!

Amorality is an inborn trait. Immorality is learned. [ ind. cleopatra nefertiti. ]

[sarpevraji]

finalplague:

      “Yes.”

      The word came out before she put too much thought into it, but on further reflection, she repeated, “Yes. A few. My caretakers.” Former caretakers? “Some of them.”

Cleo nodded sagely, like a therapist hearing her client out. She is one, in a sense. She’s interested in hearing Shachath’s thoughts about things to try and direct her to learn life, but the direction itself is not typical. It’s baser than morality and, as Cleo has learned, wiser. 

The good man dies always. The bad man dies too, but only if he’s Stupid.

Well, anyway.

“Only some, hm? Surprising,” she said, and then added, “but only slightly. You’re a nice girl.”

[sarpevraji]

finalplague:

      Shachath had to think about that one for a minute, considering what wanting to kill might feel like. “I don’t not want to…”

“Which is fine.” 

Cleo thought for a second that she shouldn’t encourage that, but it’d be awfully Hypocritical for her of all people to do so. “Is there anyone you’d feel relief if they were dead? As if their very breaths are oppressive and offensive to you and you’d like very much if they stopped forever?”

[sarpevraji]

She was looking at me like she was taking an eye exam. What was I to do?

[sarpevraji]

finalplague:

      “I am not sure I understand why this is negative thing… Obviously older people would know more than I do. Except about killing. I know a lot of that.”

“The... doing it, yes,” Cleo said, chuckling lightly. She remembered her mother. “But not what it feels like to want to.”

[sarpevraji]

finalplague:

      “I suppose.” Shachath had never had anything that she wanted to last forever, so it was a difficult concept for her to wrap her brain around.

       “Thank you for the reminder, I suppose.”

“Oh, please,” Cleo waved the thanks away. Not to be deep, but it wasn’t a thank worthy reminder. If anything, it was a preemptive admonishment. 

“I don’t mean to be a... Americans call it a ‘Negative Nancy,’ but some things bear repeating. Very often, you’ll find women older than you have the best advice.”

[sarpevraji]

@finalplague | (x)

The bluntness of Shachath’s response brings a smile to Cleo’s face. She’ll keep it to herself that she was speaking in third person.

“Yes, well, it’s important to remember. Everything may be temporary, but not everything feels temporary. Nor, especially, will you want it to be.”

[sarpevraji]

finalplague:

      “I don’t scream.”

      And, as if to prove it, she didn’t. She clenched her fists and gritted her teeth, taking quick, shallow, shaky breaths while the electricity shot through her. It was a familiar feeling, one that she’d gotten used to distancing herself from her body to avoid. Let herself be outside this flesh for a while.

      It took her a moment to register that Cleo was speaking to her again when it was over. “I… no. No; I’ll be fine.”

“You’re a strong girl, but you don’t need to be invulnerable,” said Cleo. “I know that hurt. I could see your face. At least for a moment, you need to rest. Especially in light of everything else that’s happened here tonight.”

Choosing life happened in a split second but thinking about it is forever. Years wondering, “did I make the right decision?” when faced with an unpleasant situation. That’s what she damned Shachath to, motivated by her own self-righteous observations.

-- even just then, Cleo was second guessing herself. Wondering did she do the right thing by mentioning a life outside of a confinement, of control? She’ll have to see, she’ll probably be told. In time, Shachath will decide how she felt about today, if she can find the right words to say.

Well, anyway.

She handed Shachath a glass of water. “...all that being said, I won’t stop you from leaving. I'm only making a suggestion. I don’t want you to feel like you must.”

[sarpevraji]

finalplague:

      “They’ll have to divide their efforts if I am elsewhere and you are here. And I don’t know you well enough to live with you.”

      She downed a little more of the alcohol, then closed her eyes. “I’m ready. Do it.”

“I suppose that’s fair.” 

Cleo thought briefly that making contact with Shachath’s skin would be faster, but she couldn’t take the risk the pain might make her powers act up. There was no way she going to risk dying helping someone, as silly as it sounded in light of everything.

“Don’t be afraid to scream if it hurts,” she said. Her hands went to either side of Shachath’s neck without making contact. She started to sway, her powers worked that way, and let loose. 

The electricity flowed freely from her right hand, Cleo restraining just enough to not kill Shachath but to fry that collar. Perhaps if she had more time, she could be more exact, but that wasn’t a luxury she had. Instead, she did her best to absorb the excess with her left.

When she was sure it was through, she stopped and smiled as warmly as she could do. “It’s over,” she said. “You should rest here for a while, at the very least.”

[sarpevraji]

finalplague:

      Shachath took an experimental sip of the whiskey, wrinkled her nose and let out a gasp of air before taking another sip.

      “I… do not think I should stay with you after this. Putting you and your friends in danger does not seem like an appropriate way to repay you for your help.”

Cleo laughed again, this time short and bitter. 

“They’ll come for me anyway, to ask where you’ve gone should they not be able to find you. Or tying up loose ends, or trying to make an example of me. It’s a given those who held you and I will come into conflict.

“But I have no interest in rolling over and dying, nor do I intend to let this conflict spill over to my girls either. On my own life, I simply won’t allow it. Now,” she held her hand out, “Let’s get rid of that awful collar.”

[sarpevraji]

mustscream:

“Uh…thanks.”

She’s fairly sure Cleo is either flirting with her or making fun of her, but the former seems rather presumptuous even if she did put a little more effort into her appearance than usual tonight, and the latter…shit, maybe she is making fun of her. From the limited time she has spent around the so-called cape community, even the ones whose abilities amount to little more than gimmicks they’ve either cooked up in their basement or bought from The Tinkerer seem to have a misplaced sense of superiority over “norms” like her. Like, who the fuck was Whirlwind to look down the end of his nose at her and mutter something about groupies just loud enough for her to hear when she’d walked past him? 

Prick. She’d almost wanted to remind him that he used to call himself The Human Top and got his ass routinely kicked by Ant-Man before realizing that he was sat at a table with The Ringer and The Looter, the latter of whom she only recognizes from that Marvel Tsum Tsum tie-in comic book series. Birds of a feather, and all that.

“I dunno, I mean- it is just a mask, right?” she continues, shyly nudging the ball back into Cleo’s court. “Like, that’s not his face? I remember reading a- uh- reading somewhere that it’s a mask that he can take off, so…I mean, he’s gotta be ripped. He’s not, like, Juggernaut-muscular but he has to be at least as fit as Captain America or Daredevil since he can mimic their moves flawlessly- right?”

Maybe this isn’t a surprise, but this isn’t the first time Cleo has discussed Taskmaster’s “potential.” Not just him, of course, as she’s been asked her opinion on men from Gamecock to Crossbones. That one always makes her vomit but she’s learned the question comes with the territory. Though the borders of “I’ve Slept With This Villain Before”-land is narrower than her questioners might believe, so she often makes things up. Gamecock won’t stop thanking her, and it’s getting annoying.

Well, anyway. 

She and Taskmaster are not friends except she respects him and she believes he respects her too, so she never gives her honest answer of, “Any man who wears a skull for a face is over-performing masculinity.” 

But.. that doesn’t mean she ever says anything outright positive either.

She just has a little fun with it, that’s all.

“Oh, there’s no doubt he can. Would he, is the better question. I don’t know... You’re correct, he has a great body, but could you stand a man who kept the mask on?”

The drinks she called for have come and Cleo absently takes hers and taps the server in thanks while she pretends to be distracted by the query she just posed. She doesn’t care that much, actually, because there’s worse in the world, she just wants to see how Robin answers.

“Well?”

[sarpevraji]

mustscream:

She catches herself just in time to avoid coming out with something embarrassing like Diablo? The guy from Suicide Squad? and follows Cleo’s gaze to someone who looks like Dick Dastardly and Waluigi had a kid that was raised by Batroc the Leaper, making a disgusted noise before glancing away as quickly as though her attention had been drawn to a dog turd.

“Yeah, no. Even if I was gonna sleep with a cape I’d at least pick someone with a little street cred- Doctor Doom, or Loki, or the Taskmaster, or Magneto. There’s probably a girl out there with a blog dedicated to her Paste-Pot Pete fanfiction or whatever, but that ain’t me.”

Of course, the actual villain quotient of those she just named depends largely on your point of view since most of them are closer to being antiheroes than outright villains these days, but she’s making a special effort to stay away from homicidal maniacs ( Carnage and Bullseye ) and truly irredeemable scumbags ( Purple Man, Crossbones, Carnage and Bullseye again ) whilst also avoiding the lower rungs of villainy who’d probably get her laughed at if she named them as her favorites ( Shocker, Overdrive, The Spot… )

“And I always watch my drink,” she adds darkly. The worst thing about that statement is that Cleo doesn’t need to be a telepath to understand the significance- she’s a woman, and that’s enough.

“A compliment. I’ve just decided what I said earlier was a compliment. Though... Taskmaster is certainly an inspired choice. Is it the mask? -- I’m playing. I don’t care.”

Cleo understands the point well enough as is. She doesn’t need nor want justifications. That, she thinks, is between you and yourself, especially when it comes to men like them.

Well, anyway.

“You’re a smart girl. Not everyone thinks to think about that, even in times like these. No one should have to, so you can’t blame them for being naive.” 

She calls for drinks, one for herself, and one for the smart girl here. She hopes Robin enjoys it even though she didn’t care to ask what she wanted, but if she doesn’t, that’s alright too. 

“That’s why this club is the way it is.” Entirely staffed by women, she means, which is part of the appeal, she feels. “I can’t help my clientele, but my employees.watch and watch. You can’t put anything past a woman looking out for another woman, just like you can’t deceive any reasonably competent mystery novel detective.”

[sarpevraji]

finalplague:

      Shachath considered this for a moment, weighing having another person involved versus using alcohol to numb herself. The mutant was probably the healthier option, physically safer, but Shachath is already putting a lot of trust in one stranger. She’s not sure she wants to be outnumbered and at other people’s mercy.

       “I will take the alcohol. There is no reason to have extraneous persons involved.”

Cleo laughed at that and prepared a tall glass of whiskey. She handed it to Shachath, with a smile on her face, trying to soften the fact that it was not going to work very well. She would offer her rest here, should Shachath so desire, or pay her expenses somewhere else.

“I suppose so,” she said. “Though, you’ll come to know her if you decide to stay here.”

[sarpevraji]

mustscream:

“Was that supposed to be an insult or compliment? ‘Cause, like- given how everyone else in this place is dressed, I really can’t tell.”

The beauty of her reply to Cleo’s statement is that it could be interpreted as either.

“I’m supposed to be meeting someone here. A friend,” she adds, perhaps a little too quickly. “I’m not, like- I’m not some cape-groupie, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

She has decided, however, that she was right.

“I would hope not, anyway. Most here aren’t worth the effort to fake it, unless you just wanted free drinks while you waited. Then de Ablo over in that booth alone is an easy pickup,” she points to him even, “you’d just have to watch your drink.”

[sarpevraji]

finalplague:

      There was that word again. Want.

      Shachath doesn’t know what she wants, not even while she’s making the first tiny steps to making her own choices. But she needs the implants disabled.

      The worst thing she can imagine is going back to her caretakers and bringing with her a desire to be free. Before, it was all she knew, so it didn’t bother her as much as it should. But knowing that there was another way she could live and being forced to stay where she was? That would be hell.

      “It is necessary,” Shachath decided. “I can’t make much progress if I am on a leash. Alcohol does not sound like the best idea for an anesthetic, though. Do you have an alternative?”

“Necessary,” Cleo repeated absently. 

When she thought about why she did, she wasn’t sure. Necessity was not new to her, like she imagined wanting was to Shachath. Perhaps, she felt, it was because that even this kind of pragmatic decision was still a decision.

Shachath was starting to want.

Cleo hadn’t risked her life for nothing. At least, that’s what she hoped. Time will have to tell, she decided, and refocused on the shock collar experiment she was to perform.

“Well, that depends. One of my dancers can numb you with her presence -- it’s her mutation,” she explained. “But would you mind if I brought someone else in? I understand this is a private matter.”

[sarpevraji]

finalplague:

      As if it was unique to her. Well, how was Shachath supposed to know other people had similar experiences? It’s not like there was a support group for people like her.

      That was the real revelation for Shachath.

      Her world, up until now, had consisted of vague memories of parents who had sent her away, killing, and her caretakers. While she knew people did have lives outside her own little bubble, she only knew them at a distance and she only interacted with them long enough to end them. It hadn’t occurred to her that people besides herself had similar experiences and it certainly hadn’t occurred to her that anyone who’d had similar experiences had gotten out.

      She took a step back, confused by Cleo kneeling–what was she doing? But suddenly, accepting help from Cleo seemed less like handing herself over to a different version of her caretakers and more like… something else. “…how?”

To Cleo’s surprise, her dramatics actually worked. If she was wrong, she had just given Shachath an easy opportunity to kill her.

Praise Allah, she thought and leaned back with a smile on her face.

“Well, I won’t say it will be easy. It will take a long time and you won’t always find it fun, or happy. But you will find it fun and happy often if you’re living right. It’s not something that’ll happen overnight. But we can get to that later.” 

It would be best for her to be honest, she figured. Obscuring the reality of what Shachath was getting into would only lead to frustration when it didn’t happen that way. And someone who could kill with a touch getting frustrated was not what she wanted.

“What we can do right now is take care of that shock collar,” she said, “so they can’t hurt you anymore.”

Cleo got back to her feet and dusted herself off. 

“I’m going to channel electricity through the collar and absorb the excess electricity from you at the same time. If I do it right, I’ll fry that collar forever with no lasting damage. Though... “ she thought about it and added, “it will probably hurt quite a bit. I recommend taking a shot or two first. 

“Only, of course, if that’s what you want.”

[sarpevraji]

finalplague:

      “Don’t all humans want safety and security?”

      Shachath goes from hurt to angry; a rare emotion for her because if she felt anger frequently, she’d be a lot more righteously pissed at her situation. But Cleo’s apparent insensitivity, but also refusing to fight… It rubbed her the wrong way. Cleo knew Shachath was in a precarious position and still had the audacity to call her stupid for being stuck there.

      As if this wasn’t all she knew of the world.

      As if she’d ever been given a choice.

      She stomped with her prosthetic leg. “This is what happened last time I acted on what I wanted. And these–” she pointed out small surgical scars where her neck met her shoulders, subtle enough people usually didn’t notice them unless they knew to look.

      “Imagine a shock collar implanted under your skin. Then tell me again the danger of this existence isn’t real to me.”

Cleo’s face softened momentarily at the sight of the scars, but it hardened once she collected herself. Once she thought again of her own life. 

She knew what the illusion of having no choice felt like. She knew what that powerlessness felt like. She knew and she hated that she did because she was starting to care again. Writing Shachath off as selfish, as foolish, had made it easier for Cleo to accept her death. 

She was being killed by someone she hated, or so she would say in the afterlife. But being killed by someone you wanted to help was not only undignified for someone hellbound but... it hurt more too.

“Imagine coercion, you say, as if it was unique to you.” 

Cleo couldn’t maintain her sneer, her venom. It wouldn’t be right to say she was pleading now, but it wouldn’t be wrong either. 

“One hour to live, because you said no. Poison seeping through your veins, eating away at you faster and more agonizingly than anyone should ever have to bear because you had the audacity to say no. That was just one instance of violence I’ve faced for doing what I wanted. And given the choice, I’d endure it all again in a heartbeat because I wouldn’t be living otherwise!”

After sparing a glance at the ceiling to ask for help from someone she didn’t often speak to, Cleo moved from behind her desk. She knelt down in front of Shachath, her head bowed low.

She became quiet once again.

“I’ll ask you one more time. No, I’ll beg you. Please, trust me. I want to help you find a life that’s yours. You may be stupid... but that’s just because you haven’t lived a day in your life! So, please, let me show you what it is to live!”

[sarpevraji]

finalplague:

      “It…” It had felt like the right thing to do. But she felt like an idiot for thinking that and suddenly felt very childish and naive. For someone whose entire existence was based on killing and death–even her name was from the angel of death–she didn’t understand dying.

      Her eyes glossed over, almost wanting to cry from the mocking, but flinched when Cleo raised her voice. Shaken back into focus, she narrowed her eyes, reminding herself what she was here to do.

      “I told you before. What I want is irrelevant. I’m a tool. A unitasker. Good at one thing, but useless at everything else.”

“You’re not useless, dear. You’re stupid. You’re so helplessly stupid.” 

Laughing at the woman who had come to kill her was not the smartest decision Cleo could have made, but she couldn’t help it. Selflessness was going to be her downfall. Her mother was wrong. Cleo had half a mind to call her for the first time in fifteen years just to say, “you were wrong.”

She wasn’t going to be gun downed by the Punisher, betrayed by other villains.... No, she was going to be killed by someone she tried to help.

“That makes me an idiot too, doesn’t it?” she asked. She didn’t care if Shachath answered. “Since I was so intent on helping you. But... when someone asks you a question, you shouldn’t lie. What you want is the only thing in this world that matters. I’ve told you that before and I realized just now I was right. Do you know why?

“Maybe if I say it like this,” again she mocked Shachath, “‘I don’t want to think for myself, I just want to be told what to do because it’s easy and I’m afraid,’ then you’ll get it. Does that sound about right? You want things very badly, dear. You want safety, you want security. The only reason you’re not running from this life is because the danger is not real yet. They haven’t replaced you yet. So long as you jump when they say jump, things seem fine for now. Safe. And as long as you don’t think, that’s okay.

“If that kind of life is what you want, then kill me. I won’t fight you. I’ll see you in hell in a couple years, at best. But before I go, I just want to hear you say it. Say that this is what you want. Say taking my life is what you want. Say killing until you yourself are killed is what you want.”