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@skygraces-blog
Hihihihi hi hi everyone! I only have a vague idea of what I’m doing but that goes for everything I do, honestly :DDDD be nice please or else
====================== //Hello! Welcome to my rp blog for my silly lil sinner! //Just abide by basic courtesy, (no nsfw, but medium amounts of blood and stuff are allowed) and we will all be fine! //Feel free to send asks, that's why I made this blog hehe! ======================
{Refs and tags, and info under the cut!}
=[ 🏝️ ]= Somewhere in “The Middle of Nowhere” =[ 🏝️ ]=
[ John lay almost motionless in the desert sands. Going into hiding hasn’t really gone as planned for him. ]
..Agh.. Why’d I think this was a good idea..
M’head’s pounding.. Gahh..
…
..Jus’ needa.. rest..
[ He eventually drifts off into unconsciousness.. ]
-[ 🏝️ ]-
(Another sinner is also here, led here by her innate desire to wander.)
(…she eventually comes across John, unconscious in the sand.)
(Blink blink.)
(Very Much Concerned.)
The Sinner laid on his back, eyes closed, simply relaxing, as he had time to. He fought the urge to fall asleep, though, as he constantly worried about... well, everything. He had had many a close call with Dozer or Litany, but would spend a lot of time in saferooms. He didn't want to feel the pain of dying again, even for a split second.
Rue's chains scared him the most. They radiated of immobility and helplessness, and he hated, hated, HATED the feeling of helplessness.
He couldn't bear to think of what would happen if he were caught.
At least there was nobody nearby to hurt him. Right?
@poor-sinner
Ire wasn't the sneakiest thing in the world. She was always loud, dragging herself around and fiddling around with the chains linked to a metal 'collar' of sorts where her neck would have been. One a prisoner would wear in medical cartoons.
Lucky her for wandering today, as she'll likely be entertained for a while. Peering around a corner, she masked the same face as always and made herself known.
Oh, have I walked in on a little someone?
She hooked her dagger more far back than she would usually. She'd use it later... or, well, she hoped she could.
John's eyes shot open, and, upon seeing Ire, SCREAMED. He made a pitiful attempt to run, only making it a few feet before tripping on a door frame and falling over. He crawled further away and, upon finding no easy way out, got up and flattened himself against a wall, trying to stay as far away from her as possible. Not Ire. Not her. No no NO NO NO. This was NOT good. He was trapped. He didn't even know Ire HAD a physical form; all he had heard were horror stories of the various violent ways others had perished at her hands.
The petrified sinner kept his eyes locked onto her, hoping for a quick demise... but by the stories he had heard, death would not come so quickly.
Oh! Seems we're running now. Not far, though.
Ire watched as the Sinner pitifully tripped over the doorframe, scrambling as she quickly lessened distance. Within moments, he had nowhere to go.
Hah, funny! Nice try, but you're gonna have to try harder than that to get away.
She stepped forward, leaning in slightly to take a good look at what was in front of her. She'd have fun with this, wouldn't she?
You're an interesting little fella. What're you doing, lying about within this hellhole? Hah! Shouldn't you know a bit better by now? You look like you've seen your own blood more than once.
Your eyes tell it all... along with that scream a whole room ago. Wow, ran for so long! So impressed, truly.
The sarcasm was obvious and bled through every word. Her motives were clear; to irritate.
She'd might as well tease a bit now that she's finally gotten the chance to feed the raging fire that was her violent desires.
John looked up at her menacing, towering form. Ire's face reeked of something sadistic. He started quivering. This was it. He was going to die, and it would be slow. Tears welled up in his eyes.
He tried to make a break for it, but Ire was too close, and he could barely move. Whether it was from fear or physical restraint, he didn't want to know. But he knew his demise was mere seconds from beginning, and the pain would not end for a long, long time.
"..p-please don't hurt me..." he managed to whimper. He knew it wouldn't work. She would chain him down and stab him and he would suffer and he wouldn't be able to do anything.
He was already dreading the cold, restricting feeling of a shackle around his neck.
Aw, did you not get what I asked?
Her tone was sweet. Too sweet.
All of these Sinners never get my questions, do they? Let me ask again.
Ire crouched down, grabbing the Sinner's wrist, and tight at that. In an instant, her tone switched to a more demanding one.
What're you doing resting all alone in such a horrible place?
And you'd better fuckin answer.
Seems some plans will be switched, this little someone clearly knows what'll happen, or at least has an idea for it. She slipped a finger through her dagger's handle and quickly pulled it into view, pointing it at the poor Sinner's neck, threatening to stab.
As Ire grabbed his wrist, John flinched. The razor sharp knife suddenly millimeters away from his jugular vein moments later forced him to be still.
He began to cry. "I- I thought I was safe- I was tired- I'm sorry-" he spluttered, voice cracking as he forced himself to make eye contact. His fear multiplied tenfold upon seeing that same, unmoving, sadistic smile. Please don't hurt me. Please don't hurt me. Please don't hurt me. Ire's grip felt like it was tightening. It hurt so much. He didn't want to move. He didn't know what she was going to do to him. He did know, however...
It would NOT be pretty.
Ire listened in, then laughed. It sounded genuine for just a moment, but it became clear as she ended it that it was not, not at all.
HAH. What're you sorry to me for? Be sorry to yourself, pathetic little thing.
She took the dagger and acted quick, giving a quick nick to their arm. She watched the blood slowly pool for just a moment, but swiftly gave a good and solid slash after enough time to think that the Sinner in her grasp wouldn't expect it.
The cut wouldn't kill; nothing important was even damaged, but the blood drain seemed to be quick. With some time, there'd be no doubt of at least a little bit of wooziness from it. Not for now though.
You're funny. Cute!
...cute very clearly didn't mean the same thing as the typical definition with her. Ire pressed down on the wound, drawing more blood.
You bleed real fast. Embarrassing!
The second he felt the burning pain, John suddenly had enough strength to get out of Ire's grip, if even for a moment. He became light on his feet, like a deer running from a hunter's missed shot, running as fast as his legs would carry him. Drops of ichor trailed behind him, unwittingly letting Ire know where he had gone.
He kept running until his legs were numb. Where in God's name is the next safe room?!
Looking back for a split second was all it took for him to realize that Ire was catching up already, radiating pure anger. Hurriedly, the sinner used his robe's arm to stem the flow of blood, hissing as dry fabric touched raw flesh with white hot pain.
Ire was already here. And that smile meant nothing good before, but after escaping her, her entire form radiated with unbridled sadism, and her face with seething rage.
As the rattle of eerie, luminous, cold chains grew louder, he hoped to God that she wouldn't go for his heart.
Ire was a bit surprised at the sudden fleeing. She kind of just stood there for a moment, but she knew damn well that this little game wouldn't last long.
Every link of chain raddled as she moved, swift and agile despite the weights. She giggled to herself, amused by the chase.
...but then, the sound stopped. There were no footsteps, no chains clinking about, nothing. Just some nice silence for a whole two rooms. Calm, like she'd stopped.
Ah, but nothing can last forever. Her voice rang decently quiet, and the traditional sound queue played. There wasn't much time to react.
Jump, asshole.
No matter what the Sinner did, correct action in time or not, it ended with them being swept off of their feet from Ire, who was now directly behind them. Before they could run off again, they grabbed them by the collar and kept them there with a chokehold.
Within seconds, the dagger hit them directly in the side, once then twice in two locations, one slightly higher than the other. She also made sure to poke at their neck a little, creating a wound that'd bleed enough to incapacitate and make them dizzy after a moment but not kill.
Consider yourself lucky that I let you go for that long! I could have just stomped your head in by now, but I like to have fun. No one seems to get what 'fun' really even is, though. A shame, huh Sinner?
As the collar wrapped around his neck, John realized he had messed up. He had heard that noise. He had had to jump. But he hadn't.
White-hot, searing agony slammed into his side, hilt-deep, not once but twice, cutting off his cries for help to make him shriek, then gasp. The blade brushed against his neck, releasing bright red pearls of blood.
He started to kick and struggle, ichor staining his robes a dark red as he clawed at the tight collar holding him hostage. The sheer pain in his side kept him speechless; all he could do was make pitiful noises and struggle futilely.
He gritted his teeth, trying to swing at Ire but unable to reach her, as he was hanging in midair. Drops of blood were hitting the ground now.
He was starting to feel cold.
Ire laughed once more at the struggling. This was fun! To her, at least.
You're real funny. You know that?
She let them fight just a little more, letting them try to do something to try and fix their situation before stabbing them again, this time rough in the stomach. She watched in satisfaction as the blade sunk in, slipping a pleased noise as the blood spilled out and stained the previously clean blade.
It was unfortunate that it was so sharp, and it'd probably stay that way for a while. Even if it did get dull, she had the tool to sharpen it again. Nice for her, not for anybody else.
That aside however, she wasn't done. Just like the previous, she did it again, but this time she didn't stop. She stabbed again, then again, then again and again and again. Only then did she stop, and that was to drop the poor Sinner and keep them in place with her foot, stomping down. She made sure to decompress their lungs the most they could, just to really keep them grasping at life.
God, I just wish that you were more angry. It's always nice when I leave with a hefty bruise... guess not this time, ey?
She stomped again.
John let out a loud yelp as the knife sank deep into his stomach. Pain was everywhere. Everything hurt. He was so cold. So dizzy.
Then came the blood. Through his gritted teeth. With every stab of the knife came more tears and more blood coming from where it shouldn't. A drop got stuck in his throat. He coughed. All that came out was a quiet gagging sound and a weak spatter of blood.
Then he fell from the air, landing hard on the cold ground, smearing fresh gore on the pristine concrete. A crushing sensation on his back forced another bloody cough as the wind was knocked out of him.
He couldn't even struggle anymore. Everything was agony. Pure white, burning, searing agony. He was so, so cold.
Tears ran down his face. Every time he thought it was over, he just kept living.
He hoped to God that someone would help him.
Ire stood over the dying Sinner, proud of her work. She did all of that, didn't she?
She turned around, just to see no one there. No one was around to help this poor thing, and she took advantage of that.
Maybe you shouldn't lay around next time!
Once more she stomped the wind out of them before taking her foot off and kneeling down, engraving a deep line into their chest, right where the heart would be. This Sinner wasn't particularly interesting so she didn't go any farther than the third layer of skin, but the mark was very much made.
After that? She left them to die.
She simply walked off, laughing to herself as the sounds of chains faded away. She'll have to clean off that dagger of hers... and herself.
Stuck in a limbo of life and death - not quite alive but not dying either - all John could do was writhe pathetically on the ground. Slowly, painfully slowly, he stopped writhing, and laid there, in a slowly spreading pool of his own blood, breathing raggedly.
Once more, white-hot pain, this time over his heart.
His heart.
He couldn't die like this. He didn't want to die. He attempted to scream - and did, very loudly, with a strained throat. Please. Someone, anyone, help me. I don't want to die.
I don't want to die.
Please don't let me die.
(Footsteps, someone runs by. They backpedal a bit, seeing the dying sinner- the one who screamed words, the reason they ran over here in the first place. She usually sees someone like this when they’re already dead, they aren’t used to seeing someone with these sorts of injuries alive, at least not down here.)
(A mind processes those words previously screamed, a plea for life.)
(She gets to work- she can’t hesitate. She pulls out a needle and thread, and some gauze from her pockets (why does she just have that?), stitching up wounds like she’s done so many times before, bandaging as needed.)
Sorry, don’t have anesthesia here… hold tight.
(Eyes usually wide and childlike are pinpricks as she zeros in on the damage.)
John only twitched softly with every prick of the sewing needle. He had tried to keep his eyes open, but was now closing them tightly in pain. Occasionally he would let out the equivalent of a whimper, or would try and fail to stifle a bloody cough. The poor sinner was barely conscious of aware of what was happening; he silently endured the burning pain save for his labored, ragged breathing. He couldn't even speak anymore.
Tears were still rolling down his face. He so desperately wanted to live, but didn't know who was helping him, or why.
When the gauze touched his raw, ragged flesh, he made a sort of gagging noise, but couldn't do anything but tense up for a moment. He was in SO MUCH PAIN. Blood almost immediately soaked the gauze with a warm, dark red.
(She’s at least quick with it, if that’s any sort of saving grace. Not to say that she’s sloppy, she has an almost mechanical precision.)
That’s good, you’re still alive. Just a little more.
(Words of reassurance is said to the half-conscious sinner as this goes on, words consistently said until she’s done. Though, you’re still in a bad condition, all things considered- but she did the best with what she had.)
You’ve been brave. I’m with you. Sorry I don’t have any more I can help you with. Don’t try to respond- well, you know why. Just. Keep on trying to hang on.
"...please. take me somewhere safe," the sinner rasped quietly. It hurt to speak even a little, but if he were left here, something else would come for him. Maybe Ire would come back for seconds. He couldn't even move; it hurt too much. Please bring me back to safety. I can't stay here any longer.
He coughed again. Blood spattered the concrete in front of him, adding to the already soaked area that showed how much he had lost.
(They nod. Both arms move to pick him up, red staining fabric. She’s not bothered by this, she’s bathed in blood and filth more times than she could be bothered to count.)
I’ll try to make this as smooth as I can.
(And she moves, though she isn’t jostling you around quite as much as you’d expect. In fact, you aren’t hearing footsteps. (aka, the floating animations. she can do that))
We’ll be safe soon.
John silently allowed her to lift him, even when his whole body was burning with pain. Closing his eyes, he let her carry him to safety, wherever that may be. Maybe the lobby, where he could get further help from Rig?
Though the ride wasn't very bumpy, he still felt splitting pain on especially hard "landings" that would force out a yelp or a bloody cough.
Knowing that he would be in relative safety soon was a nice thought.
(They move on and on… eventually there’s a small shift in the air, a more peaceful place- the lobby. Seems to be a pretty empty lobby.)
(She sets him down near the shop, taking off her jacket so he can lay on that for now.)
One second ill. I’ll get something if I can.
(And she’s off, heading inside H. Skel’s shop. Leaving you alone with thoughts for some moments.)
The second the air shifted, John inhaled sharply in surprise. It had been so long out there that he had forgotten the lobby even existed. The ground there was somehow softer than in Grace despite being made from the same concrete.
A moment later, though, he realized he didn't feel too good. Maybe something in Grace's halls had been keeping him somewhat stable - but since he had been removed from there, that effect had disappeared.
The taste of warm iron hit his tongue. He retched, and threw up blood. Fresh blood. His vision became blurry.
Oh god. I have internal damage.
He felt weak.
(She exits the shop, with quite a bit of things, the entrance to the shop looking like a makeshift hospital room now with the things she got.)
Internal damage… to be somewhat expected…
I’ll put you under for what happens next- it’ll feel like you just went to sleep, ok?
Already weakened from blood loss, he managed to mumble an answer along the lines of "What if I die from the anesthesia?" This was NOT something he wanted to happen. He didn't want to wake up dead. Maybe he wasn't thinking clearly, but he didn't care. He wanted to be somewhat aware of what was happening. I hope she can understand me, his mind echoed.
(true. So very true. This isn’t one of those situations. Foolish of her, always making small slip ups, small mistakes.)
(She defaults back to old more logical programming, her voice a lot less warmer than it was before, emotions need not play a role in this. He has handled what she’s done to help him before, her thoughts of sparing him the pain could’ve led to disaster.)
Ok.
(She first restrains him before she really starts, not wanting any additional movement. Along with a transfusion of blood, you’ve lost a lot already.)
(Precise cuts to patch what’s within- it hurts, so very much. But you’ll endure, right? Pain before healing.)
The sudden coldness in her voice, along with the restraints, reminded him too much of Ire. Before he could struggle, though, pain began shooting through his body like miniature bullet wounds. Can't she at least give me something to bite down on?!
And then, he went limp, his eyelids half closed and pupils dilated. He had gone into shock, his body no longer able to endure the amount of fear, pain, or blood loss he was experiencing. He was barely even breathing.
At least it would be easier for her to operate this way.
(Slice and stitch, mend.)
(Her emotional mind wanders as her logical mind works.)
(Long ago, she once wondered what a human was. Then she got her answer, the internal workings of what goes where put into her mind, the muscles and bone and fat, the fluids and tendons.)
(That’s what makes up a human, right? No, that’s not all. The brain where thoughts are held, that’s what really holds what makes one up, right?)
(Her body is made up of all those organic things but, no. She doesn’t believe she can ever be truly human. No matter how much she wants to.)
(She works diligently. As a construct should.)
Though the sinner was in full shock, he could still feel everything. Every slice, every stab of the needle was a new dot of pain. He could not move. He could not speak. He could not scream. Everything felt like it was on fire.
A particularly deep cut snapped him out of shock. He SCREAMED. He cried out. He struggled, as much as his restraints prevented him from doing so. He was in so much pain. He wanted it to be over. He wanted someone to hold his hand, to tell him things would be alright.
But these things would not be happening.
(Indeed, it does not. The restraints hold steady, but even the bits of motion able to be forced out is annoying to her.)
(Indeed, all he gets for that trouble is something to bite down on added into his mouth.)
(Pain, white hot, blinding is what he lives in for what feels like an eternity- but, indeed it is not truly eternity, for eventually it is over. Of course, it doesn’t mean the pain is all gone but- it’s over right? The worst is over?)
(A voice can be heard, mostly muttering to herself.)
End procedure. Start post-op recovery monitoring.
The moment the object - presumably gauze or fabric, from the feeling of it touching his tongue - entered his mouth, blood immediately stained it dark red. By this point the poor sinner was blacking out due to pain. All he heard as his consciousness was fading was her quiet talking, which he couldn't quite understand.
Then, dizzy and tired, he slumped backwards and fainted.
(She remains there, noting the fact that he has fallen unconscious.)
(A bit of her emotional mind comes back, this time just… allowing her to think.)
(It’ll probably be a while until he wakes up, she thinks. Well. She wants to know him more, but for now she’s gotta make sure he’ll wake up and live after all of this. It would be bad if all of this work was for naught.)
(She takes out her quill… occasionally drawing stuff on the nearby ground to pass the time while she does this. Doodles of just… anything that crosses her mind.)
---
Hours later, the sinner groaned. He stirred.
"wha... what's going on?..." he murmured. He had a splitting headache.
His vision was still blurry. Dull pain was everywhere, as if he had fallen down several flights of stairs.
There was still a faint taste of iron in his mouth.
(Oh! He’s awake!)
(She puts away her quill, wow, she’s doodled quite a lot of things during those hours. Well, it’s really compact in a way, the surface taking up isn’t that big from how little her doodles are.)
(She speaks in a quiet voice.)
You were a bit messed up earlier… don’t try to get up, pretty sure you can feel that you’re still recovering.
The sinner shivered. "...god I'm cold. What- what happened?..." he asked, in a raspy voice. "It's kinda hard to breathe. Or see."
He felt like he needed to move. "I feel all stiff. Can you maybe help me get up and walk?..."
Why can't I remember anything?
It’s better if you stay resting- as I said you were pretty messed up.
I don’t know what exactly happened to you down in there, but when I found you, you were very heavily injured. Hours prior I operated on you, you went into shock a few times.
John's eyes widened.
He rememebered everything.
He started to hyperventilate. This couldn't have happened, right?...
Then he looked down. And saw his decimated, bloodstained robes.
Shit. Shitshitshitshit. The pain was coming back. The cold, clammy feeling of bloodloss was coming back, despite the earlier transfusion. Was he hallucinating?
He felt like he was going to vomit. God would have never allowed this to happen. Maybe this was a nightmare, and he would wake up.
But the pain was all too real.
Ah. Seems like you remember.
(She floats closer, trying to take his attention off himself.)
You’re ok now. The worst of it is mostly over. Focus on me. Try to follow my lead. Breathe in, and out.
(She’s mostly clean of blood, during those hours of waiting she took the time to clean herself.)
"MOSTLY?? WHAT DO YOU MEAN MOSTLY???" he yelled, his voice cracking from stress. "EVERYTHING HURTS! WHAT DO YOU MEAN 'MOSTLY'?"
Then he quieted down. "...s-sorry. But what do you mean by 'mostly'?..." How do I tell her I still feel cold? How do I tell her I feel sick? His mind echoed.
"...uh... can you at least help me sit up so I don't get bed sores or something?... I'm getting kind of uncomfortable with these restraints." 'Uncomfortable' was an understatement. Everything reminded him of Ire. But he had to stay calm. He had to not freak out. Everything would be fine if he just kept his cool.
He slowly turned to look at her with tired eyes. "...thanks, by the way. For saving my life. I don't think I'm gonna be able to visit Grace anytime soon." He chuckled. "Maybe I should've slept in Zen."
(She seems mostly unfazed by the outburst, but her smile is a bit awkward, one hand scratching the back of her head…)
It’s no problem. I’ll undo those restraints, they’re unneeded now. I’ll help you sit up.
(As she said, she does undo the restraints, he’s now freed from them. She then moves to help him sit up.)
Understandable about not visiting Grace. Probably shouldn’t anyways due to the, yknow. And Zen is just a nice place to chill. Here is also nice, I like sitting on the benches near the fountain myself.
I just said mostly because well, I consider healing to be part of the bad part of it. Kinda just, stuck resting and all. Making sure that hard work isn’t undone.
But he was already asleep, softly breathing. For one, knowing he was safe. For two, knowing he had someone to help if he ever got hurt again. And for three, all that running and freaking out previously.
It seemed like, even though He did not show up, things somehow still worked out in favor of his life.
John had been incredibly lucky that day.
(She watches him as he falls to sleep, exhaling, going back to doodling.)
(She’s happy that he seems to be doing good in recovery, hoping that whatever he met down there that did this doesn’t come after him again, at least any time soon.)
(hallor! I do hope you are doing well :P) pulls out quill and puts down silly seesay doodles (here! some silly seesay doodles :D) - @adam-sinner-grace
Hello!!!
(She sees the Seesay doodles, wide eyes looking at em, remembering em for later.)
I’m doing ok, how are you? And thanks for the doodles :DDD
(I'm doing well :] and I can give you more doodles if you want! I have... 19 pages of doodles to give :] )
:0
Really? I like doodles!
(A bright halo appears above her head, glowing with happiness.)
I would love if you shared them with me! :D
He starts giving you doodles like there's no tomorrow
He stops for a bit
(I was planning on going on a run with @mayhem-grace soon :] )
He continues to give you doodles
Oh! That sounds fun! :D
(She pulls out her own quill, sharing her own lil doodles, of just random other things. Doodle time, hehe!)
(hallor! I do hope you are doing well :P) pulls out quill and puts down silly seesay doodles (here! some silly seesay doodles :D) - @adam-sinner-grace
Hello!!!
(She sees the Seesay doodles, wide eyes looking at em, remembering em for later.)
I’m doing ok, how are you? And thanks for the doodles :DDD
(I'm doing well :] and I can give you more doodles if you want! I have... 19 pages of doodles to give :] )
:0
Really? I like doodles!
(A bright halo appears above her head, glowing with happiness.)
I would love if you shared them with me! :D
The Sinner laid on his back, eyes closed, simply relaxing, as he had time to. He fought the urge to fall asleep, though, as he constantly worried about... well, everything. He had had many a close call with Dozer or Litany, but would spend a lot of time in saferooms. He didn't want to feel the pain of dying again, even for a split second.
Rue's chains scared him the most. They radiated of immobility and helplessness, and he hated, hated, HATED the feeling of helplessness.
He couldn't bear to think of what would happen if he were caught.
At least there was nobody nearby to hurt him. Right?
@poor-sinner
Ire wasn't the sneakiest thing in the world. She was always loud, dragging herself around and fiddling around with the chains linked to a metal 'collar' of sorts where her neck would have been. One a prisoner would wear in medical cartoons.
Lucky her for wandering today, as she'll likely be entertained for a while. Peering around a corner, she masked the same face as always and made herself known.
Oh, have I walked in on a little someone?
She hooked her dagger more far back than she would usually. She'd use it later... or, well, she hoped she could.
John's eyes shot open, and, upon seeing Ire, SCREAMED. He made a pitiful attempt to run, only making it a few feet before tripping on a door frame and falling over. He crawled further away and, upon finding no easy way out, got up and flattened himself against a wall, trying to stay as far away from her as possible. Not Ire. Not her. No no NO NO NO. This was NOT good. He was trapped. He didn't even know Ire HAD a physical form; all he had heard were horror stories of the various violent ways others had perished at her hands.
The petrified sinner kept his eyes locked onto her, hoping for a quick demise... but by the stories he had heard, death would not come so quickly.
Oh! Seems we're running now. Not far, though.
Ire watched as the Sinner pitifully tripped over the doorframe, scrambling as she quickly lessened distance. Within moments, he had nowhere to go.
Hah, funny! Nice try, but you're gonna have to try harder than that to get away.
She stepped forward, leaning in slightly to take a good look at what was in front of her. She'd have fun with this, wouldn't she?
You're an interesting little fella. What're you doing, lying about within this hellhole? Hah! Shouldn't you know a bit better by now? You look like you've seen your own blood more than once.
Your eyes tell it all... along with that scream a whole room ago. Wow, ran for so long! So impressed, truly.
The sarcasm was obvious and bled through every word. Her motives were clear; to irritate.
She'd might as well tease a bit now that she's finally gotten the chance to feed the raging fire that was her violent desires.
John looked up at her menacing, towering form. Ire's face reeked of something sadistic. He started quivering. This was it. He was going to die, and it would be slow. Tears welled up in his eyes.
He tried to make a break for it, but Ire was too close, and he could barely move. Whether it was from fear or physical restraint, he didn't want to know. But he knew his demise was mere seconds from beginning, and the pain would not end for a long, long time.
"..p-please don't hurt me..." he managed to whimper. He knew it wouldn't work. She would chain him down and stab him and he would suffer and he wouldn't be able to do anything.
He was already dreading the cold, restricting feeling of a shackle around his neck.
Aw, did you not get what I asked?
Her tone was sweet. Too sweet.
All of these Sinners never get my questions, do they? Let me ask again.
Ire crouched down, grabbing the Sinner's wrist, and tight at that. In an instant, her tone switched to a more demanding one.
What're you doing resting all alone in such a horrible place?
And you'd better fuckin answer.
Seems some plans will be switched, this little someone clearly knows what'll happen, or at least has an idea for it. She slipped a finger through her dagger's handle and quickly pulled it into view, pointing it at the poor Sinner's neck, threatening to stab.
As Ire grabbed his wrist, John flinched. The razor sharp knife suddenly millimeters away from his jugular vein moments later forced him to be still.
He began to cry. "I- I thought I was safe- I was tired- I'm sorry-" he spluttered, voice cracking as he forced himself to make eye contact. His fear multiplied tenfold upon seeing that same, unmoving, sadistic smile. Please don't hurt me. Please don't hurt me. Please don't hurt me. Ire's grip felt like it was tightening. It hurt so much. He didn't want to move. He didn't know what she was going to do to him. He did know, however...
It would NOT be pretty.
Ire listened in, then laughed. It sounded genuine for just a moment, but it became clear as she ended it that it was not, not at all.
HAH. What're you sorry to me for? Be sorry to yourself, pathetic little thing.
She took the dagger and acted quick, giving a quick nick to their arm. She watched the blood slowly pool for just a moment, but swiftly gave a good and solid slash after enough time to think that the Sinner in her grasp wouldn't expect it.
The cut wouldn't kill; nothing important was even damaged, but the blood drain seemed to be quick. With some time, there'd be no doubt of at least a little bit of wooziness from it. Not for now though.
You're funny. Cute!
...cute very clearly didn't mean the same thing as the typical definition with her. Ire pressed down on the wound, drawing more blood.
You bleed real fast. Embarrassing!
The second he felt the burning pain, John suddenly had enough strength to get out of Ire's grip, if even for a moment. He became light on his feet, like a deer running from a hunter's missed shot, running as fast as his legs would carry him. Drops of ichor trailed behind him, unwittingly letting Ire know where he had gone.
He kept running until his legs were numb. Where in God's name is the next safe room?!
Looking back for a split second was all it took for him to realize that Ire was catching up already, radiating pure anger. Hurriedly, the sinner used his robe's arm to stem the flow of blood, hissing as dry fabric touched raw flesh with white hot pain.
Ire was already here. And that smile meant nothing good before, but after escaping her, her entire form radiated with unbridled sadism, and her face with seething rage.
As the rattle of eerie, luminous, cold chains grew louder, he hoped to God that she wouldn't go for his heart.
Ire was a bit surprised at the sudden fleeing. She kind of just stood there for a moment, but she knew damn well that this little game wouldn't last long.
Every link of chain raddled as she moved, swift and agile despite the weights. She giggled to herself, amused by the chase.
...but then, the sound stopped. There were no footsteps, no chains clinking about, nothing. Just some nice silence for a whole two rooms. Calm, like she'd stopped.
Ah, but nothing can last forever. Her voice rang decently quiet, and the traditional sound queue played. There wasn't much time to react.
Jump, asshole.
No matter what the Sinner did, correct action in time or not, it ended with them being swept off of their feet from Ire, who was now directly behind them. Before they could run off again, they grabbed them by the collar and kept them there with a chokehold.
Within seconds, the dagger hit them directly in the side, once then twice in two locations, one slightly higher than the other. She also made sure to poke at their neck a little, creating a wound that'd bleed enough to incapacitate and make them dizzy after a moment but not kill.
Consider yourself lucky that I let you go for that long! I could have just stomped your head in by now, but I like to have fun. No one seems to get what 'fun' really even is, though. A shame, huh Sinner?
As the collar wrapped around his neck, John realized he had messed up. He had heard that noise. He had had to jump. But he hadn't.
White-hot, searing agony slammed into his side, hilt-deep, not once but twice, cutting off his cries for help to make him shriek, then gasp. The blade brushed against his neck, releasing bright red pearls of blood.
He started to kick and struggle, ichor staining his robes a dark red as he clawed at the tight collar holding him hostage. The sheer pain in his side kept him speechless; all he could do was make pitiful noises and struggle futilely.
He gritted his teeth, trying to swing at Ire but unable to reach her, as he was hanging in midair. Drops of blood were hitting the ground now.
He was starting to feel cold.
Ire laughed once more at the struggling. This was fun! To her, at least.
You're real funny. You know that?
She let them fight just a little more, letting them try to do something to try and fix their situation before stabbing them again, this time rough in the stomach. She watched in satisfaction as the blade sunk in, slipping a pleased noise as the blood spilled out and stained the previously clean blade.
It was unfortunate that it was so sharp, and it'd probably stay that way for a while. Even if it did get dull, she had the tool to sharpen it again. Nice for her, not for anybody else.
That aside however, she wasn't done. Just like the previous, she did it again, but this time she didn't stop. She stabbed again, then again, then again and again and again. Only then did she stop, and that was to drop the poor Sinner and keep them in place with her foot, stomping down. She made sure to decompress their lungs the most they could, just to really keep them grasping at life.
God, I just wish that you were more angry. It's always nice when I leave with a hefty bruise... guess not this time, ey?
She stomped again.
John let out a loud yelp as the knife sank deep into his stomach. Pain was everywhere. Everything hurt. He was so cold. So dizzy.
Then came the blood. Through his gritted teeth. With every stab of the knife came more tears and more blood coming from where it shouldn't. A drop got stuck in his throat. He coughed. All that came out was a quiet gagging sound and a weak spatter of blood.
Then he fell from the air, landing hard on the cold ground, smearing fresh gore on the pristine concrete. A crushing sensation on his back forced another bloody cough as the wind was knocked out of him.
He couldn't even struggle anymore. Everything was agony. Pure white, burning, searing agony. He was so, so cold.
Tears ran down his face. Every time he thought it was over, he just kept living.
He hoped to God that someone would help him.
Ire stood over the dying Sinner, proud of her work. She did all of that, didn't she?
She turned around, just to see no one there. No one was around to help this poor thing, and she took advantage of that.
Maybe you shouldn't lay around next time!
Once more she stomped the wind out of them before taking her foot off and kneeling down, engraving a deep line into their chest, right where the heart would be. This Sinner wasn't particularly interesting so she didn't go any farther than the third layer of skin, but the mark was very much made.
After that? She left them to die.
She simply walked off, laughing to herself as the sounds of chains faded away. She'll have to clean off that dagger of hers... and herself.
Stuck in a limbo of life and death - not quite alive but not dying either - all John could do was writhe pathetically on the ground. Slowly, painfully slowly, he stopped writhing, and laid there, in a slowly spreading pool of his own blood, breathing raggedly.
Once more, white-hot pain, this time over his heart.
His heart.
He couldn't die like this. He didn't want to die. He attempted to scream - and did, very loudly, with a strained throat. Please. Someone, anyone, help me. I don't want to die.
I don't want to die.
Please don't let me die.
(Footsteps, someone runs by. They backpedal a bit, seeing the dying sinner- the one who screamed words, the reason they ran over here in the first place. She usually sees someone like this when they’re already dead, they aren’t used to seeing someone with these sorts of injuries alive, at least not down here.)
(A mind processes those words previously screamed, a plea for life.)
(She gets to work- she can’t hesitate. She pulls out a needle and thread, and some gauze from her pockets (why does she just have that?), stitching up wounds like she’s done so many times before, bandaging as needed.)
Sorry, don’t have anesthesia here… hold tight.
(Eyes usually wide and childlike are pinpricks as she zeros in on the damage.)
John only twitched softly with every prick of the sewing needle. He had tried to keep his eyes open, but was now closing them tightly in pain. Occasionally he would let out the equivalent of a whimper, or would try and fail to stifle a bloody cough. The poor sinner was barely conscious of aware of what was happening; he silently endured the burning pain save for his labored, ragged breathing. He couldn't even speak anymore.
Tears were still rolling down his face. He so desperately wanted to live, but didn't know who was helping him, or why.
When the gauze touched his raw, ragged flesh, he made a sort of gagging noise, but couldn't do anything but tense up for a moment. He was in SO MUCH PAIN. Blood almost immediately soaked the gauze with a warm, dark red.
(She’s at least quick with it, if that’s any sort of saving grace. Not to say that she’s sloppy, she has an almost mechanical precision.)
That’s good, you’re still alive. Just a little more.
(Words of reassurance is said to the half-conscious sinner as this goes on, words consistently said until she’s done. Though, you’re still in a bad condition, all things considered- but she did the best with what she had.)
You’ve been brave. I’m with you. Sorry I don’t have any more I can help you with. Don’t try to respond- well, you know why. Just. Keep on trying to hang on.
"...please. take me somewhere safe," the sinner rasped quietly. It hurt to speak even a little, but if he were left here, something else would come for him. Maybe Ire would come back for seconds. He couldn't even move; it hurt too much. Please bring me back to safety. I can't stay here any longer.
He coughed again. Blood spattered the concrete in front of him, adding to the already soaked area that showed how much he had lost.
(They nod. Both arms move to pick him up, red staining fabric. She’s not bothered by this, she’s bathed in blood and filth more times than she could be bothered to count.)
I’ll try to make this as smooth as I can.
(And she moves, though she isn’t jostling you around quite as much as you’d expect. In fact, you aren’t hearing footsteps. (aka, the floating animations. she can do that))
We’ll be safe soon.
John silently allowed her to lift him, even when his whole body was burning with pain. Closing his eyes, he let her carry him to safety, wherever that may be. Maybe the lobby, where he could get further help from Rig?
Though the ride wasn't very bumpy, he still felt splitting pain on especially hard "landings" that would force out a yelp or a bloody cough.
Knowing that he would be in relative safety soon was a nice thought.
(They move on and on… eventually there’s a small shift in the air, a more peaceful place- the lobby. Seems to be a pretty empty lobby.)
(She sets him down near the shop, taking off her jacket so he can lay on that for now.)
One second ill. I’ll get something if I can.
(And she’s off, heading inside H. Skel’s shop. Leaving you alone with thoughts for some moments.)
The second the air shifted, John inhaled sharply in surprise. It had been so long out there that he had forgotten the lobby even existed. The ground there was somehow softer than in Grace despite being made from the same concrete.
A moment later, though, he realized he didn't feel too good. Maybe something in Grace's halls had been keeping him somewhat stable - but since he had been removed from there, that effect had disappeared.
The taste of warm iron hit his tongue. He retched, and threw up blood. Fresh blood. His vision became blurry.
Oh god. I have internal damage.
He felt weak.
(She exits the shop, with quite a bit of things, the entrance to the shop looking like a makeshift hospital room now with the things she got.)
Internal damage… to be somewhat expected…
I’ll put you under for what happens next- it’ll feel like you just went to sleep, ok?
Already weakened from blood loss, he managed to mumble an answer along the lines of "What if I die from the anesthesia?" This was NOT something he wanted to happen. He didn't want to wake up dead. Maybe he wasn't thinking clearly, but he didn't care. He wanted to be somewhat aware of what was happening. I hope she can understand me, his mind echoed.
(true. So very true. This isn’t one of those situations. Foolish of her, always making small slip ups, small mistakes.)
(She defaults back to old more logical programming, her voice a lot less warmer than it was before, emotions need not play a role in this. He has handled what she’s done to help him before, her thoughts of sparing him the pain could’ve led to disaster.)
Ok.
(She first restrains him before she really starts, not wanting any additional movement. Along with a transfusion of blood, you’ve lost a lot already.)
(Precise cuts to patch what’s within- it hurts, so very much. But you’ll endure, right? Pain before healing.)
The sudden coldness in her voice, along with the restraints, reminded him too much of Ire. Before he could struggle, though, pain began shooting through his body like miniature bullet wounds. Can't she at least give me something to bite down on?!
And then, he went limp, his eyelids half closed and pupils dilated. He had gone into shock, his body no longer able to endure the amount of fear, pain, or blood loss he was experiencing. He was barely even breathing.
At least it would be easier for her to operate this way.
(Slice and stitch, mend.)
(Her emotional mind wanders as her logical mind works.)
(Long ago, she once wondered what a human was. Then she got her answer, the internal workings of what goes where put into her mind, the muscles and bone and fat, the fluids and tendons.)
(That’s what makes up a human, right? No, that’s not all. The brain where thoughts are held, that’s what really holds what makes one up, right?)
(Her body is made up of all those organic things but, no. She doesn’t believe she can ever be truly human. No matter how much she wants to.)
(She works diligently. As a construct should.)
Though the sinner was in full shock, he could still feel everything. Every slice, every stab of the needle was a new dot of pain. He could not move. He could not speak. He could not scream. Everything felt like it was on fire.
A particularly deep cut snapped him out of shock. He SCREAMED. He cried out. He struggled, as much as his restraints prevented him from doing so. He was in so much pain. He wanted it to be over. He wanted someone to hold his hand, to tell him things would be alright.
But these things would not be happening.
(Indeed, it does not. The restraints hold steady, but even the bits of motion able to be forced out is annoying to her.)
(Indeed, all he gets for that trouble is something to bite down on added into his mouth.)
(Pain, white hot, blinding is what he lives in for what feels like an eternity- but, indeed it is not truly eternity, for eventually it is over. Of course, it doesn’t mean the pain is all gone but- it’s over right? The worst is over?)
(A voice can be heard, mostly muttering to herself.)
End procedure. Start post-op recovery monitoring.
The moment the object - presumably gauze or fabric, from the feeling of it touching his tongue - entered his mouth, blood immediately stained it dark red. By this point the poor sinner was blacking out due to pain. All he heard as his consciousness was fading was her quiet talking, which he couldn't quite understand.
Then, dizzy and tired, he slumped backwards and fainted.
(She remains there, noting the fact that he has fallen unconscious.)
(A bit of her emotional mind comes back, this time just… allowing her to think.)
(It’ll probably be a while until he wakes up, she thinks. Well. She wants to know him more, but for now she’s gotta make sure he’ll wake up and live after all of this. It would be bad if all of this work was for naught.)
(She takes out her quill… occasionally drawing stuff on the nearby ground to pass the time while she does this. Doodles of just… anything that crosses her mind.)
---
Hours later, the sinner groaned. He stirred.
"wha... what's going on?..." he murmured. He had a splitting headache.
His vision was still blurry. Dull pain was everywhere, as if he had fallen down several flights of stairs.
There was still a faint taste of iron in his mouth.
(Oh! He’s awake!)
(She puts away her quill, wow, she’s doodled quite a lot of things during those hours. Well, it’s really compact in a way, the surface taking up isn’t that big from how little her doodles are.)
(She speaks in a quiet voice.)
You were a bit messed up earlier… don’t try to get up, pretty sure you can feel that you’re still recovering.
The sinner shivered. "...god I'm cold. What- what happened?..." he asked, in a raspy voice. "It's kinda hard to breathe. Or see."
He felt like he needed to move. "I feel all stiff. Can you maybe help me get up and walk?..."
Why can't I remember anything?
It’s better if you stay resting- as I said you were pretty messed up.
I don’t know what exactly happened to you down in there, but when I found you, you were very heavily injured. Hours prior I operated on you, you went into shock a few times.
John's eyes widened.
He rememebered everything.
He started to hyperventilate. This couldn't have happened, right?...
Then he looked down. And saw his decimated, bloodstained robes.
Shit. Shitshitshitshit. The pain was coming back. The cold, clammy feeling of bloodloss was coming back, despite the earlier transfusion. Was he hallucinating?
He felt like he was going to vomit. God would have never allowed this to happen. Maybe this was a nightmare, and he would wake up.
But the pain was all too real.
Ah. Seems like you remember.
(She floats closer, trying to take his attention off himself.)
You’re ok now. The worst of it is mostly over. Focus on me. Try to follow my lead. Breathe in, and out.
(She’s mostly clean of blood, during those hours of waiting she took the time to clean herself.)
"MOSTLY?? WHAT DO YOU MEAN MOSTLY???" he yelled, his voice cracking from stress. "EVERYTHING HURTS! WHAT DO YOU MEAN 'MOSTLY'?"
Then he quieted down. "...s-sorry. But what do you mean by 'mostly'?..." How do I tell her I still feel cold? How do I tell her I feel sick? His mind echoed.
"...uh... can you at least help me sit up so I don't get bed sores or something?... I'm getting kind of uncomfortable with these restraints." 'Uncomfortable' was an understatement. Everything reminded him of Ire. But he had to stay calm. He had to not freak out. Everything would be fine if he just kept his cool.
He slowly turned to look at her with tired eyes. "...thanks, by the way. For saving my life. I don't think I'm gonna be able to visit Grace anytime soon." He chuckled. "Maybe I should've slept in Zen."
(She seems mostly unfazed by the outburst, but her smile is a bit awkward, one hand scratching the back of her head…)
It’s no problem. I’ll undo those restraints, they’re unneeded now. I’ll help you sit up.
(As she said, she does undo the restraints, he’s now freed from them. She then moves to help him sit up.)
Understandable about not visiting Grace. Probably shouldn’t anyways due to the, yknow. And Zen is just a nice place to chill. Here is also nice, I like sitting on the benches near the fountain myself.
I just said mostly because well, I consider healing to be part of the bad part of it. Kinda just, stuck resting and all. Making sure that hard work isn’t undone.
(hallor! I do hope you are doing well :P) pulls out quill and puts down silly seesay doodles (here! some silly seesay doodles :D) - @adam-sinner-grace
Hello!!!
(She sees the Seesay doodles, wide eyes looking at em, remembering em for later.)
I’m doing ok, how are you? And thanks for the doodles :DDD
The Sinner laid on his back, eyes closed, simply relaxing, as he had time to. He fought the urge to fall asleep, though, as he constantly worried about... well, everything. He had had many a close call with Dozer or Litany, but would spend a lot of time in saferooms. He didn't want to feel the pain of dying again, even for a split second.
Rue's chains scared him the most. They radiated of immobility and helplessness, and he hated, hated, HATED the feeling of helplessness.
He couldn't bear to think of what would happen if he were caught.
At least there was nobody nearby to hurt him. Right?
@poor-sinner
Ire wasn't the sneakiest thing in the world. She was always loud, dragging herself around and fiddling around with the chains linked to a metal 'collar' of sorts where her neck would have been. One a prisoner would wear in medical cartoons.
Lucky her for wandering today, as she'll likely be entertained for a while. Peering around a corner, she masked the same face as always and made herself known.
Oh, have I walked in on a little someone?
She hooked her dagger more far back than she would usually. She'd use it later... or, well, she hoped she could.
John's eyes shot open, and, upon seeing Ire, SCREAMED. He made a pitiful attempt to run, only making it a few feet before tripping on a door frame and falling over. He crawled further away and, upon finding no easy way out, got up and flattened himself against a wall, trying to stay as far away from her as possible. Not Ire. Not her. No no NO NO NO. This was NOT good. He was trapped. He didn't even know Ire HAD a physical form; all he had heard were horror stories of the various violent ways others had perished at her hands.
The petrified sinner kept his eyes locked onto her, hoping for a quick demise... but by the stories he had heard, death would not come so quickly.
Oh! Seems we're running now. Not far, though.
Ire watched as the Sinner pitifully tripped over the doorframe, scrambling as she quickly lessened distance. Within moments, he had nowhere to go.
Hah, funny! Nice try, but you're gonna have to try harder than that to get away.
She stepped forward, leaning in slightly to take a good look at what was in front of her. She'd have fun with this, wouldn't she?
You're an interesting little fella. What're you doing, lying about within this hellhole? Hah! Shouldn't you know a bit better by now? You look like you've seen your own blood more than once.
Your eyes tell it all... along with that scream a whole room ago. Wow, ran for so long! So impressed, truly.
The sarcasm was obvious and bled through every word. Her motives were clear; to irritate.
She'd might as well tease a bit now that she's finally gotten the chance to feed the raging fire that was her violent desires.
John looked up at her menacing, towering form. Ire's face reeked of something sadistic. He started quivering. This was it. He was going to die, and it would be slow. Tears welled up in his eyes.
He tried to make a break for it, but Ire was too close, and he could barely move. Whether it was from fear or physical restraint, he didn't want to know. But he knew his demise was mere seconds from beginning, and the pain would not end for a long, long time.
"..p-please don't hurt me..." he managed to whimper. He knew it wouldn't work. She would chain him down and stab him and he would suffer and he wouldn't be able to do anything.
He was already dreading the cold, restricting feeling of a shackle around his neck.
Aw, did you not get what I asked?
Her tone was sweet. Too sweet.
All of these Sinners never get my questions, do they? Let me ask again.
Ire crouched down, grabbing the Sinner's wrist, and tight at that. In an instant, her tone switched to a more demanding one.
What're you doing resting all alone in such a horrible place?
And you'd better fuckin answer.
Seems some plans will be switched, this little someone clearly knows what'll happen, or at least has an idea for it. She slipped a finger through her dagger's handle and quickly pulled it into view, pointing it at the poor Sinner's neck, threatening to stab.
As Ire grabbed his wrist, John flinched. The razor sharp knife suddenly millimeters away from his jugular vein moments later forced him to be still.
He began to cry. "I- I thought I was safe- I was tired- I'm sorry-" he spluttered, voice cracking as he forced himself to make eye contact. His fear multiplied tenfold upon seeing that same, unmoving, sadistic smile. Please don't hurt me. Please don't hurt me. Please don't hurt me. Ire's grip felt like it was tightening. It hurt so much. He didn't want to move. He didn't know what she was going to do to him. He did know, however...
It would NOT be pretty.
Ire listened in, then laughed. It sounded genuine for just a moment, but it became clear as she ended it that it was not, not at all.
HAH. What're you sorry to me for? Be sorry to yourself, pathetic little thing.
She took the dagger and acted quick, giving a quick nick to their arm. She watched the blood slowly pool for just a moment, but swiftly gave a good and solid slash after enough time to think that the Sinner in her grasp wouldn't expect it.
The cut wouldn't kill; nothing important was even damaged, but the blood drain seemed to be quick. With some time, there'd be no doubt of at least a little bit of wooziness from it. Not for now though.
You're funny. Cute!
...cute very clearly didn't mean the same thing as the typical definition with her. Ire pressed down on the wound, drawing more blood.
You bleed real fast. Embarrassing!
The second he felt the burning pain, John suddenly had enough strength to get out of Ire's grip, if even for a moment. He became light on his feet, like a deer running from a hunter's missed shot, running as fast as his legs would carry him. Drops of ichor trailed behind him, unwittingly letting Ire know where he had gone.
He kept running until his legs were numb. Where in God's name is the next safe room?!
Looking back for a split second was all it took for him to realize that Ire was catching up already, radiating pure anger. Hurriedly, the sinner used his robe's arm to stem the flow of blood, hissing as dry fabric touched raw flesh with white hot pain.
Ire was already here. And that smile meant nothing good before, but after escaping her, her entire form radiated with unbridled sadism, and her face with seething rage.
As the rattle of eerie, luminous, cold chains grew louder, he hoped to God that she wouldn't go for his heart.
Ire was a bit surprised at the sudden fleeing. She kind of just stood there for a moment, but she knew damn well that this little game wouldn't last long.
Every link of chain raddled as she moved, swift and agile despite the weights. She giggled to herself, amused by the chase.
...but then, the sound stopped. There were no footsteps, no chains clinking about, nothing. Just some nice silence for a whole two rooms. Calm, like she'd stopped.
Ah, but nothing can last forever. Her voice rang decently quiet, and the traditional sound queue played. There wasn't much time to react.
Jump, asshole.
No matter what the Sinner did, correct action in time or not, it ended with them being swept off of their feet from Ire, who was now directly behind them. Before they could run off again, they grabbed them by the collar and kept them there with a chokehold.
Within seconds, the dagger hit them directly in the side, once then twice in two locations, one slightly higher than the other. She also made sure to poke at their neck a little, creating a wound that'd bleed enough to incapacitate and make them dizzy after a moment but not kill.
Consider yourself lucky that I let you go for that long! I could have just stomped your head in by now, but I like to have fun. No one seems to get what 'fun' really even is, though. A shame, huh Sinner?
As the collar wrapped around his neck, John realized he had messed up. He had heard that noise. He had had to jump. But he hadn't.
White-hot, searing agony slammed into his side, hilt-deep, not once but twice, cutting off his cries for help to make him shriek, then gasp. The blade brushed against his neck, releasing bright red pearls of blood.
He started to kick and struggle, ichor staining his robes a dark red as he clawed at the tight collar holding him hostage. The sheer pain in his side kept him speechless; all he could do was make pitiful noises and struggle futilely.
He gritted his teeth, trying to swing at Ire but unable to reach her, as he was hanging in midair. Drops of blood were hitting the ground now.
He was starting to feel cold.
Ire laughed once more at the struggling. This was fun! To her, at least.
You're real funny. You know that?
She let them fight just a little more, letting them try to do something to try and fix their situation before stabbing them again, this time rough in the stomach. She watched in satisfaction as the blade sunk in, slipping a pleased noise as the blood spilled out and stained the previously clean blade.
It was unfortunate that it was so sharp, and it'd probably stay that way for a while. Even if it did get dull, she had the tool to sharpen it again. Nice for her, not for anybody else.
That aside however, she wasn't done. Just like the previous, she did it again, but this time she didn't stop. She stabbed again, then again, then again and again and again. Only then did she stop, and that was to drop the poor Sinner and keep them in place with her foot, stomping down. She made sure to decompress their lungs the most they could, just to really keep them grasping at life.
God, I just wish that you were more angry. It's always nice when I leave with a hefty bruise... guess not this time, ey?
She stomped again.
John let out a loud yelp as the knife sank deep into his stomach. Pain was everywhere. Everything hurt. He was so cold. So dizzy.
Then came the blood. Through his gritted teeth. With every stab of the knife came more tears and more blood coming from where it shouldn't. A drop got stuck in his throat. He coughed. All that came out was a quiet gagging sound and a weak spatter of blood.
Then he fell from the air, landing hard on the cold ground, smearing fresh gore on the pristine concrete. A crushing sensation on his back forced another bloody cough as the wind was knocked out of him.
He couldn't even struggle anymore. Everything was agony. Pure white, burning, searing agony. He was so, so cold.
Tears ran down his face. Every time he thought it was over, he just kept living.
He hoped to God that someone would help him.
Ire stood over the dying Sinner, proud of her work. She did all of that, didn't she?
She turned around, just to see no one there. No one was around to help this poor thing, and she took advantage of that.
Maybe you shouldn't lay around next time!
Once more she stomped the wind out of them before taking her foot off and kneeling down, engraving a deep line into their chest, right where the heart would be. This Sinner wasn't particularly interesting so she didn't go any farther than the third layer of skin, but the mark was very much made.
After that? She left them to die.
She simply walked off, laughing to herself as the sounds of chains faded away. She'll have to clean off that dagger of hers... and herself.
Stuck in a limbo of life and death - not quite alive but not dying either - all John could do was writhe pathetically on the ground. Slowly, painfully slowly, he stopped writhing, and laid there, in a slowly spreading pool of his own blood, breathing raggedly.
Once more, white-hot pain, this time over his heart.
His heart.
He couldn't die like this. He didn't want to die. He attempted to scream - and did, very loudly, with a strained throat. Please. Someone, anyone, help me. I don't want to die.
I don't want to die.
Please don't let me die.
(Footsteps, someone runs by. They backpedal a bit, seeing the dying sinner- the one who screamed words, the reason they ran over here in the first place. She usually sees someone like this when they’re already dead, they aren’t used to seeing someone with these sorts of injuries alive, at least not down here.)
(A mind processes those words previously screamed, a plea for life.)
(She gets to work- she can’t hesitate. She pulls out a needle and thread, and some gauze from her pockets (why does she just have that?), stitching up wounds like she’s done so many times before, bandaging as needed.)
Sorry, don’t have anesthesia here… hold tight.
(Eyes usually wide and childlike are pinpricks as she zeros in on the damage.)
John only twitched softly with every prick of the sewing needle. He had tried to keep his eyes open, but was now closing them tightly in pain. Occasionally he would let out the equivalent of a whimper, or would try and fail to stifle a bloody cough. The poor sinner was barely conscious of aware of what was happening; he silently endured the burning pain save for his labored, ragged breathing. He couldn't even speak anymore.
Tears were still rolling down his face. He so desperately wanted to live, but didn't know who was helping him, or why.
When the gauze touched his raw, ragged flesh, he made a sort of gagging noise, but couldn't do anything but tense up for a moment. He was in SO MUCH PAIN. Blood almost immediately soaked the gauze with a warm, dark red.
(She’s at least quick with it, if that’s any sort of saving grace. Not to say that she’s sloppy, she has an almost mechanical precision.)
That’s good, you’re still alive. Just a little more.
(Words of reassurance is said to the half-conscious sinner as this goes on, words consistently said until she’s done. Though, you’re still in a bad condition, all things considered- but she did the best with what she had.)
You’ve been brave. I’m with you. Sorry I don’t have any more I can help you with. Don’t try to respond- well, you know why. Just. Keep on trying to hang on.
"...please. take me somewhere safe," the sinner rasped quietly. It hurt to speak even a little, but if he were left here, something else would come for him. Maybe Ire would come back for seconds. He couldn't even move; it hurt too much. Please bring me back to safety. I can't stay here any longer.
He coughed again. Blood spattered the concrete in front of him, adding to the already soaked area that showed how much he had lost.
(They nod. Both arms move to pick him up, red staining fabric. She’s not bothered by this, she’s bathed in blood and filth more times than she could be bothered to count.)
I’ll try to make this as smooth as I can.
(And she moves, though she isn’t jostling you around quite as much as you’d expect. In fact, you aren’t hearing footsteps. (aka, the floating animations. she can do that))
We’ll be safe soon.
John silently allowed her to lift him, even when his whole body was burning with pain. Closing his eyes, he let her carry him to safety, wherever that may be. Maybe the lobby, where he could get further help from Rig?
Though the ride wasn't very bumpy, he still felt splitting pain on especially hard "landings" that would force out a yelp or a bloody cough.
Knowing that he would be in relative safety soon was a nice thought.
(They move on and on… eventually there’s a small shift in the air, a more peaceful place- the lobby. Seems to be a pretty empty lobby.)
(She sets him down near the shop, taking off her jacket so he can lay on that for now.)
One second ill. I’ll get something if I can.
(And she’s off, heading inside H. Skel’s shop. Leaving you alone with thoughts for some moments.)
The second the air shifted, John inhaled sharply in surprise. It had been so long out there that he had forgotten the lobby even existed. The ground there was somehow softer than in Grace despite being made from the same concrete.
A moment later, though, he realized he didn't feel too good. Maybe something in Grace's halls had been keeping him somewhat stable - but since he had been removed from there, that effect had disappeared.
The taste of warm iron hit his tongue. He retched, and threw up blood. Fresh blood. His vision became blurry.
Oh god. I have internal damage.
He felt weak.
(She exits the shop, with quite a bit of things, the entrance to the shop looking like a makeshift hospital room now with the things she got.)
Internal damage… to be somewhat expected…
I’ll put you under for what happens next- it’ll feel like you just went to sleep, ok?
Already weakened from blood loss, he managed to mumble an answer along the lines of "What if I die from the anesthesia?" This was NOT something he wanted to happen. He didn't want to wake up dead. Maybe he wasn't thinking clearly, but he didn't care. He wanted to be somewhat aware of what was happening. I hope she can understand me, his mind echoed.
(true. So very true. This isn’t one of those situations. Foolish of her, always making small slip ups, small mistakes.)
(She defaults back to old more logical programming, her voice a lot less warmer than it was before, emotions need not play a role in this. He has handled what she’s done to help him before, her thoughts of sparing him the pain could’ve led to disaster.)
Ok.
(She first restrains him before she really starts, not wanting any additional movement. Along with a transfusion of blood, you’ve lost a lot already.)
(Precise cuts to patch what’s within- it hurts, so very much. But you’ll endure, right? Pain before healing.)
The sudden coldness in her voice, along with the restraints, reminded him too much of Ire. Before he could struggle, though, pain began shooting through his body like miniature bullet wounds. Can't she at least give me something to bite down on?!
And then, he went limp, his eyelids half closed and pupils dilated. He had gone into shock, his body no longer able to endure the amount of fear, pain, or blood loss he was experiencing. He was barely even breathing.
At least it would be easier for her to operate this way.
(Slice and stitch, mend.)
(Her emotional mind wanders as her logical mind works.)
(Long ago, she once wondered what a human was. Then she got her answer, the internal workings of what goes where put into her mind, the muscles and bone and fat, the fluids and tendons.)
(That’s what makes up a human, right? No, that’s not all. The brain where thoughts are held, that’s what really holds what makes one up, right?)
(Her body is made up of all those organic things but, no. She doesn’t believe she can ever be truly human. No matter how much she wants to.)
(She works diligently. As a construct should.)
Though the sinner was in full shock, he could still feel everything. Every slice, every stab of the needle was a new dot of pain. He could not move. He could not speak. He could not scream. Everything felt like it was on fire.
A particularly deep cut snapped him out of shock. He SCREAMED. He cried out. He struggled, as much as his restraints prevented him from doing so. He was in so much pain. He wanted it to be over. He wanted someone to hold his hand, to tell him things would be alright.
But these things would not be happening.
(Indeed, it does not. The restraints hold steady, but even the bits of motion able to be forced out is annoying to her.)
(Indeed, all he gets for that trouble is something to bite down on added into his mouth.)
(Pain, white hot, blinding is what he lives in for what feels like an eternity- but, indeed it is not truly eternity, for eventually it is over. Of course, it doesn’t mean the pain is all gone but- it’s over right? The worst is over?)
(A voice can be heard, mostly muttering to herself.)
End procedure. Start post-op recovery monitoring.
The moment the object - presumably gauze or fabric, from the feeling of it touching his tongue - entered his mouth, blood immediately stained it dark red. By this point the poor sinner was blacking out due to pain. All he heard as his consciousness was fading was her quiet talking, which he couldn't quite understand.
Then, dizzy and tired, he slumped backwards and fainted.
(She remains there, noting the fact that he has fallen unconscious.)
(A bit of her emotional mind comes back, this time just… allowing her to think.)
(It’ll probably be a while until he wakes up, she thinks. Well. She wants to know him more, but for now she’s gotta make sure he’ll wake up and live after all of this. It would be bad if all of this work was for naught.)
(She takes out her quill… occasionally drawing stuff on the nearby ground to pass the time while she does this. Doodles of just… anything that crosses her mind.)
---
Hours later, the sinner groaned. He stirred.
"wha... what's going on?..." he murmured. He had a splitting headache.
His vision was still blurry. Dull pain was everywhere, as if he had fallen down several flights of stairs.
There was still a faint taste of iron in his mouth.
(Oh! He’s awake!)
(She puts away her quill, wow, she’s doodled quite a lot of things during those hours. Well, it’s really compact in a way, the surface taking up isn’t that big from how little her doodles are.)
(She speaks in a quiet voice.)
You were a bit messed up earlier… don’t try to get up, pretty sure you can feel that you’re still recovering.
The sinner shivered. "...god I'm cold. What- what happened?..." he asked, in a raspy voice. "It's kinda hard to breathe. Or see."
He felt like he needed to move. "I feel all stiff. Can you maybe help me get up and walk?..."
Why can't I remember anything?
It’s better if you stay resting- as I said you were pretty messed up.
I don’t know what exactly happened to you down in there, but when I found you, you were very heavily injured. Hours prior I operated on you, you went into shock a few times.
John's eyes widened.
He rememebered everything.
He started to hyperventilate. This couldn't have happened, right?...
Then he looked down. And saw his decimated, bloodstained robes.
Shit. Shitshitshitshit. The pain was coming back. The cold, clammy feeling of bloodloss was coming back, despite the earlier transfusion. Was he hallucinating?
He felt like he was going to vomit. God would have never allowed this to happen. Maybe this was a nightmare, and he would wake up.
But the pain was all too real.
Ah. Seems like you remember.
(She floats closer, trying to take his attention off himself.)
You’re ok now. The worst of it is mostly over. Focus on me. Try to follow my lead. Breathe in, and out.
(She’s mostly clean of blood, during those hours of waiting she took the time to clean herself.)
//Skygrace lowkey got me feelin like the “I have two sides” meme
The Sinner laid on his back, eyes closed, simply relaxing, as he had time to. He fought the urge to fall asleep, though, as he constantly worried about... well, everything. He had had many a close call with Dozer or Litany, but would spend a lot of time in saferooms. He didn't want to feel the pain of dying again, even for a split second.
Rue's chains scared him the most. They radiated of immobility and helplessness, and he hated, hated, HATED the feeling of helplessness.
He couldn't bear to think of what would happen if he were caught.
At least there was nobody nearby to hurt him. Right?
@poor-sinner
Ire wasn't the sneakiest thing in the world. She was always loud, dragging herself around and fiddling around with the chains linked to a metal 'collar' of sorts where her neck would have been. One a prisoner would wear in medical cartoons.
Lucky her for wandering today, as she'll likely be entertained for a while. Peering around a corner, she masked the same face as always and made herself known.
Oh, have I walked in on a little someone?
She hooked her dagger more far back than she would usually. She'd use it later... or, well, she hoped she could.
John's eyes shot open, and, upon seeing Ire, SCREAMED. He made a pitiful attempt to run, only making it a few feet before tripping on a door frame and falling over. He crawled further away and, upon finding no easy way out, got up and flattened himself against a wall, trying to stay as far away from her as possible. Not Ire. Not her. No no NO NO NO. This was NOT good. He was trapped. He didn't even know Ire HAD a physical form; all he had heard were horror stories of the various violent ways others had perished at her hands.
The petrified sinner kept his eyes locked onto her, hoping for a quick demise... but by the stories he had heard, death would not come so quickly.
Oh! Seems we're running now. Not far, though.
Ire watched as the Sinner pitifully tripped over the doorframe, scrambling as she quickly lessened distance. Within moments, he had nowhere to go.
Hah, funny! Nice try, but you're gonna have to try harder than that to get away.
She stepped forward, leaning in slightly to take a good look at what was in front of her. She'd have fun with this, wouldn't she?
You're an interesting little fella. What're you doing, lying about within this hellhole? Hah! Shouldn't you know a bit better by now? You look like you've seen your own blood more than once.
Your eyes tell it all... along with that scream a whole room ago. Wow, ran for so long! So impressed, truly.
The sarcasm was obvious and bled through every word. Her motives were clear; to irritate.
She'd might as well tease a bit now that she's finally gotten the chance to feed the raging fire that was her violent desires.
John looked up at her menacing, towering form. Ire's face reeked of something sadistic. He started quivering. This was it. He was going to die, and it would be slow. Tears welled up in his eyes.
He tried to make a break for it, but Ire was too close, and he could barely move. Whether it was from fear or physical restraint, he didn't want to know. But he knew his demise was mere seconds from beginning, and the pain would not end for a long, long time.
"..p-please don't hurt me..." he managed to whimper. He knew it wouldn't work. She would chain him down and stab him and he would suffer and he wouldn't be able to do anything.
He was already dreading the cold, restricting feeling of a shackle around his neck.
Aw, did you not get what I asked?
Her tone was sweet. Too sweet.
All of these Sinners never get my questions, do they? Let me ask again.
Ire crouched down, grabbing the Sinner's wrist, and tight at that. In an instant, her tone switched to a more demanding one.
What're you doing resting all alone in such a horrible place?
And you'd better fuckin answer.
Seems some plans will be switched, this little someone clearly knows what'll happen, or at least has an idea for it. She slipped a finger through her dagger's handle and quickly pulled it into view, pointing it at the poor Sinner's neck, threatening to stab.
As Ire grabbed his wrist, John flinched. The razor sharp knife suddenly millimeters away from his jugular vein moments later forced him to be still.
He began to cry. "I- I thought I was safe- I was tired- I'm sorry-" he spluttered, voice cracking as he forced himself to make eye contact. His fear multiplied tenfold upon seeing that same, unmoving, sadistic smile. Please don't hurt me. Please don't hurt me. Please don't hurt me. Ire's grip felt like it was tightening. It hurt so much. He didn't want to move. He didn't know what she was going to do to him. He did know, however...
It would NOT be pretty.
Ire listened in, then laughed. It sounded genuine for just a moment, but it became clear as she ended it that it was not, not at all.
HAH. What're you sorry to me for? Be sorry to yourself, pathetic little thing.
She took the dagger and acted quick, giving a quick nick to their arm. She watched the blood slowly pool for just a moment, but swiftly gave a good and solid slash after enough time to think that the Sinner in her grasp wouldn't expect it.
The cut wouldn't kill; nothing important was even damaged, but the blood drain seemed to be quick. With some time, there'd be no doubt of at least a little bit of wooziness from it. Not for now though.
You're funny. Cute!
...cute very clearly didn't mean the same thing as the typical definition with her. Ire pressed down on the wound, drawing more blood.
You bleed real fast. Embarrassing!
The second he felt the burning pain, John suddenly had enough strength to get out of Ire's grip, if even for a moment. He became light on his feet, like a deer running from a hunter's missed shot, running as fast as his legs would carry him. Drops of ichor trailed behind him, unwittingly letting Ire know where he had gone.
He kept running until his legs were numb. Where in God's name is the next safe room?!
Looking back for a split second was all it took for him to realize that Ire was catching up already, radiating pure anger. Hurriedly, the sinner used his robe's arm to stem the flow of blood, hissing as dry fabric touched raw flesh with white hot pain.
Ire was already here. And that smile meant nothing good before, but after escaping her, her entire form radiated with unbridled sadism, and her face with seething rage.
As the rattle of eerie, luminous, cold chains grew louder, he hoped to God that she wouldn't go for his heart.
Ire was a bit surprised at the sudden fleeing. She kind of just stood there for a moment, but she knew damn well that this little game wouldn't last long.
Every link of chain raddled as she moved, swift and agile despite the weights. She giggled to herself, amused by the chase.
...but then, the sound stopped. There were no footsteps, no chains clinking about, nothing. Just some nice silence for a whole two rooms. Calm, like she'd stopped.
Ah, but nothing can last forever. Her voice rang decently quiet, and the traditional sound queue played. There wasn't much time to react.
Jump, asshole.
No matter what the Sinner did, correct action in time or not, it ended with them being swept off of their feet from Ire, who was now directly behind them. Before they could run off again, they grabbed them by the collar and kept them there with a chokehold.
Within seconds, the dagger hit them directly in the side, once then twice in two locations, one slightly higher than the other. She also made sure to poke at their neck a little, creating a wound that'd bleed enough to incapacitate and make them dizzy after a moment but not kill.
Consider yourself lucky that I let you go for that long! I could have just stomped your head in by now, but I like to have fun. No one seems to get what 'fun' really even is, though. A shame, huh Sinner?
As the collar wrapped around his neck, John realized he had messed up. He had heard that noise. He had had to jump. But he hadn't.
White-hot, searing agony slammed into his side, hilt-deep, not once but twice, cutting off his cries for help to make him shriek, then gasp. The blade brushed against his neck, releasing bright red pearls of blood.
He started to kick and struggle, ichor staining his robes a dark red as he clawed at the tight collar holding him hostage. The sheer pain in his side kept him speechless; all he could do was make pitiful noises and struggle futilely.
He gritted his teeth, trying to swing at Ire but unable to reach her, as he was hanging in midair. Drops of blood were hitting the ground now.
He was starting to feel cold.
Ire laughed once more at the struggling. This was fun! To her, at least.
You're real funny. You know that?
She let them fight just a little more, letting them try to do something to try and fix their situation before stabbing them again, this time rough in the stomach. She watched in satisfaction as the blade sunk in, slipping a pleased noise as the blood spilled out and stained the previously clean blade.
It was unfortunate that it was so sharp, and it'd probably stay that way for a while. Even if it did get dull, she had the tool to sharpen it again. Nice for her, not for anybody else.
That aside however, she wasn't done. Just like the previous, she did it again, but this time she didn't stop. She stabbed again, then again, then again and again and again. Only then did she stop, and that was to drop the poor Sinner and keep them in place with her foot, stomping down. She made sure to decompress their lungs the most they could, just to really keep them grasping at life.
God, I just wish that you were more angry. It's always nice when I leave with a hefty bruise... guess not this time, ey?
She stomped again.
John let out a loud yelp as the knife sank deep into his stomach. Pain was everywhere. Everything hurt. He was so cold. So dizzy.
Then came the blood. Through his gritted teeth. With every stab of the knife came more tears and more blood coming from where it shouldn't. A drop got stuck in his throat. He coughed. All that came out was a quiet gagging sound and a weak spatter of blood.
Then he fell from the air, landing hard on the cold ground, smearing fresh gore on the pristine concrete. A crushing sensation on his back forced another bloody cough as the wind was knocked out of him.
He couldn't even struggle anymore. Everything was agony. Pure white, burning, searing agony. He was so, so cold.
Tears ran down his face. Every time he thought it was over, he just kept living.
He hoped to God that someone would help him.
Ire stood over the dying Sinner, proud of her work. She did all of that, didn't she?
She turned around, just to see no one there. No one was around to help this poor thing, and she took advantage of that.
Maybe you shouldn't lay around next time!
Once more she stomped the wind out of them before taking her foot off and kneeling down, engraving a deep line into their chest, right where the heart would be. This Sinner wasn't particularly interesting so she didn't go any farther than the third layer of skin, but the mark was very much made.
After that? She left them to die.
She simply walked off, laughing to herself as the sounds of chains faded away. She'll have to clean off that dagger of hers... and herself.
Stuck in a limbo of life and death - not quite alive but not dying either - all John could do was writhe pathetically on the ground. Slowly, painfully slowly, he stopped writhing, and laid there, in a slowly spreading pool of his own blood, breathing raggedly.
Once more, white-hot pain, this time over his heart.
His heart.
He couldn't die like this. He didn't want to die. He attempted to scream - and did, very loudly, with a strained throat. Please. Someone, anyone, help me. I don't want to die.
I don't want to die.
Please don't let me die.
(Footsteps, someone runs by. They backpedal a bit, seeing the dying sinner- the one who screamed words, the reason they ran over here in the first place. She usually sees someone like this when they’re already dead, they aren’t used to seeing someone with these sorts of injuries alive, at least not down here.)
(A mind processes those words previously screamed, a plea for life.)
(She gets to work- she can’t hesitate. She pulls out a needle and thread, and some gauze from her pockets (why does she just have that?), stitching up wounds like she’s done so many times before, bandaging as needed.)
Sorry, don’t have anesthesia here… hold tight.
(Eyes usually wide and childlike are pinpricks as she zeros in on the damage.)
John only twitched softly with every prick of the sewing needle. He had tried to keep his eyes open, but was now closing them tightly in pain. Occasionally he would let out the equivalent of a whimper, or would try and fail to stifle a bloody cough. The poor sinner was barely conscious of aware of what was happening; he silently endured the burning pain save for his labored, ragged breathing. He couldn't even speak anymore.
Tears were still rolling down his face. He so desperately wanted to live, but didn't know who was helping him, or why.
When the gauze touched his raw, ragged flesh, he made a sort of gagging noise, but couldn't do anything but tense up for a moment. He was in SO MUCH PAIN. Blood almost immediately soaked the gauze with a warm, dark red.
(She’s at least quick with it, if that’s any sort of saving grace. Not to say that she’s sloppy, she has an almost mechanical precision.)
That’s good, you’re still alive. Just a little more.
(Words of reassurance is said to the half-conscious sinner as this goes on, words consistently said until she’s done. Though, you’re still in a bad condition, all things considered- but she did the best with what she had.)
You’ve been brave. I’m with you. Sorry I don’t have any more I can help you with. Don’t try to respond- well, you know why. Just. Keep on trying to hang on.
"...please. take me somewhere safe," the sinner rasped quietly. It hurt to speak even a little, but if he were left here, something else would come for him. Maybe Ire would come back for seconds. He couldn't even move; it hurt too much. Please bring me back to safety. I can't stay here any longer.
He coughed again. Blood spattered the concrete in front of him, adding to the already soaked area that showed how much he had lost.
(They nod. Both arms move to pick him up, red staining fabric. She’s not bothered by this, she’s bathed in blood and filth more times than she could be bothered to count.)
I’ll try to make this as smooth as I can.
(And she moves, though she isn’t jostling you around quite as much as you’d expect. In fact, you aren’t hearing footsteps. (aka, the floating animations. she can do that))
We’ll be safe soon.
John silently allowed her to lift him, even when his whole body was burning with pain. Closing his eyes, he let her carry him to safety, wherever that may be. Maybe the lobby, where he could get further help from Rig?
Though the ride wasn't very bumpy, he still felt splitting pain on especially hard "landings" that would force out a yelp or a bloody cough.
Knowing that he would be in relative safety soon was a nice thought.
(They move on and on… eventually there’s a small shift in the air, a more peaceful place- the lobby. Seems to be a pretty empty lobby.)
(She sets him down near the shop, taking off her jacket so he can lay on that for now.)
One second ill. I’ll get something if I can.
(And she’s off, heading inside H. Skel’s shop. Leaving you alone with thoughts for some moments.)
The second the air shifted, John inhaled sharply in surprise. It had been so long out there that he had forgotten the lobby even existed. The ground there was somehow softer than in Grace despite being made from the same concrete.
A moment later, though, he realized he didn't feel too good. Maybe something in Grace's halls had been keeping him somewhat stable - but since he had been removed from there, that effect had disappeared.
The taste of warm iron hit his tongue. He retched, and threw up blood. Fresh blood. His vision became blurry.
Oh god. I have internal damage.
He felt weak.
(She exits the shop, with quite a bit of things, the entrance to the shop looking like a makeshift hospital room now with the things she got.)
Internal damage… to be somewhat expected…
I’ll put you under for what happens next- it’ll feel like you just went to sleep, ok?
Already weakened from blood loss, he managed to mumble an answer along the lines of "What if I die from the anesthesia?" This was NOT something he wanted to happen. He didn't want to wake up dead. Maybe he wasn't thinking clearly, but he didn't care. He wanted to be somewhat aware of what was happening. I hope she can understand me, his mind echoed.
(true. So very true. This isn’t one of those situations. Foolish of her, always making small slip ups, small mistakes.)
(She defaults back to old more logical programming, her voice a lot less warmer than it was before, emotions need not play a role in this. He has handled what she’s done to help him before, her thoughts of sparing him the pain could’ve led to disaster.)
Ok.
(She first restrains him before she really starts, not wanting any additional movement. Along with a transfusion of blood, you’ve lost a lot already.)
(Precise cuts to patch what’s within- it hurts, so very much. But you’ll endure, right? Pain before healing.)
The sudden coldness in her voice, along with the restraints, reminded him too much of Ire. Before he could struggle, though, pain began shooting through his body like miniature bullet wounds. Can't she at least give me something to bite down on?!
And then, he went limp, his eyelids half closed and pupils dilated. He had gone into shock, his body no longer able to endure the amount of fear, pain, or blood loss he was experiencing. He was barely even breathing.
At least it would be easier for her to operate this way.
(Slice and stitch, mend.)
(Her emotional mind wanders as her logical mind works.)
(Long ago, she once wondered what a human was. Then she got her answer, the internal workings of what goes where put into her mind, the muscles and bone and fat, the fluids and tendons.)
(That’s what makes up a human, right? No, that’s not all. The brain where thoughts are held, that’s what really holds what makes one up, right?)
(Her body is made up of all those organic things but, no. She doesn’t believe she can ever be truly human. No matter how much she wants to.)
(She works diligently. As a construct should.)
Though the sinner was in full shock, he could still feel everything. Every slice, every stab of the needle was a new dot of pain. He could not move. He could not speak. He could not scream. Everything felt like it was on fire.
A particularly deep cut snapped him out of shock. He SCREAMED. He cried out. He struggled, as much as his restraints prevented him from doing so. He was in so much pain. He wanted it to be over. He wanted someone to hold his hand, to tell him things would be alright.
But these things would not be happening.
(Indeed, it does not. The restraints hold steady, but even the bits of motion able to be forced out is annoying to her.)
(Indeed, all he gets for that trouble is something to bite down on added into his mouth.)
(Pain, white hot, blinding is what he lives in for what feels like an eternity- but, indeed it is not truly eternity, for eventually it is over. Of course, it doesn’t mean the pain is all gone but- it’s over right? The worst is over?)
(A voice can be heard, mostly muttering to herself.)
End procedure. Start post-op recovery monitoring.
The moment the object - presumably gauze or fabric, from the feeling of it touching his tongue - entered his mouth, blood immediately stained it dark red. By this point the poor sinner was blacking out due to pain. All he heard as his consciousness was fading was her quiet talking, which he couldn't quite understand.
Then, dizzy and tired, he slumped backwards and fainted.
(She remains there, noting the fact that he has fallen unconscious.)
(A bit of her emotional mind comes back, this time just… allowing her to think.)
(It’ll probably be a while until he wakes up, she thinks. Well. She wants to know him more, but for now she’s gotta make sure he’ll wake up and live after all of this. It would be bad if all of this work was for naught.)
(She takes out her quill… occasionally drawing stuff on the nearby ground to pass the time while she does this. Doodles of just… anything that crosses her mind.)
---
Hours later, the sinner groaned. He stirred.
"wha... what's going on?..." he murmured. He had a splitting headache.
His vision was still blurry. Dull pain was everywhere, as if he had fallen down several flights of stairs.
There was still a faint taste of iron in his mouth.
(Oh! He’s awake!)
(She puts away her quill, wow, she’s doodled quite a lot of things during those hours. Well, it’s really compact in a way, the surface taking up isn’t that big from how little her doodles are.)
(She speaks in a quiet voice.)
You were a bit messed up earlier… don’t try to get up, pretty sure you can feel that you’re still recovering.
The sinner shivered. "...god I'm cold. What- what happened?..." he asked, in a raspy voice. "It's kinda hard to breathe. Or see."
He felt like he needed to move. "I feel all stiff. Can you maybe help me get up and walk?..."
Why can't I remember anything?
It’s better if you stay resting- as I said you were pretty messed up.
I don’t know what exactly happened to you down in there, but when I found you, you were very heavily injured. Hours prior I operated on you, you went into shock a few times.
The Sinner laid on his back, eyes closed, simply relaxing, as he had time to. He fought the urge to fall asleep, though, as he constantly worried about... well, everything. He had had many a close call with Dozer or Litany, but would spend a lot of time in saferooms. He didn't want to feel the pain of dying again, even for a split second.
Rue's chains scared him the most. They radiated of immobility and helplessness, and he hated, hated, HATED the feeling of helplessness.
He couldn't bear to think of what would happen if he were caught.
At least there was nobody nearby to hurt him. Right?
@poor-sinner
Ire wasn't the sneakiest thing in the world. She was always loud, dragging herself around and fiddling around with the chains linked to a metal 'collar' of sorts where her neck would have been. One a prisoner would wear in medical cartoons.
Lucky her for wandering today, as she'll likely be entertained for a while. Peering around a corner, she masked the same face as always and made herself known.
Oh, have I walked in on a little someone?
She hooked her dagger more far back than she would usually. She'd use it later... or, well, she hoped she could.
John's eyes shot open, and, upon seeing Ire, SCREAMED. He made a pitiful attempt to run, only making it a few feet before tripping on a door frame and falling over. He crawled further away and, upon finding no easy way out, got up and flattened himself against a wall, trying to stay as far away from her as possible. Not Ire. Not her. No no NO NO NO. This was NOT good. He was trapped. He didn't even know Ire HAD a physical form; all he had heard were horror stories of the various violent ways others had perished at her hands.
The petrified sinner kept his eyes locked onto her, hoping for a quick demise... but by the stories he had heard, death would not come so quickly.
Oh! Seems we're running now. Not far, though.
Ire watched as the Sinner pitifully tripped over the doorframe, scrambling as she quickly lessened distance. Within moments, he had nowhere to go.
Hah, funny! Nice try, but you're gonna have to try harder than that to get away.
She stepped forward, leaning in slightly to take a good look at what was in front of her. She'd have fun with this, wouldn't she?
You're an interesting little fella. What're you doing, lying about within this hellhole? Hah! Shouldn't you know a bit better by now? You look like you've seen your own blood more than once.
Your eyes tell it all... along with that scream a whole room ago. Wow, ran for so long! So impressed, truly.
The sarcasm was obvious and bled through every word. Her motives were clear; to irritate.
She'd might as well tease a bit now that she's finally gotten the chance to feed the raging fire that was her violent desires.
John looked up at her menacing, towering form. Ire's face reeked of something sadistic. He started quivering. This was it. He was going to die, and it would be slow. Tears welled up in his eyes.
He tried to make a break for it, but Ire was too close, and he could barely move. Whether it was from fear or physical restraint, he didn't want to know. But he knew his demise was mere seconds from beginning, and the pain would not end for a long, long time.
"..p-please don't hurt me..." he managed to whimper. He knew it wouldn't work. She would chain him down and stab him and he would suffer and he wouldn't be able to do anything.
He was already dreading the cold, restricting feeling of a shackle around his neck.
Aw, did you not get what I asked?
Her tone was sweet. Too sweet.
All of these Sinners never get my questions, do they? Let me ask again.
Ire crouched down, grabbing the Sinner's wrist, and tight at that. In an instant, her tone switched to a more demanding one.
What're you doing resting all alone in such a horrible place?
And you'd better fuckin answer.
Seems some plans will be switched, this little someone clearly knows what'll happen, or at least has an idea for it. She slipped a finger through her dagger's handle and quickly pulled it into view, pointing it at the poor Sinner's neck, threatening to stab.
As Ire grabbed his wrist, John flinched. The razor sharp knife suddenly millimeters away from his jugular vein moments later forced him to be still.
He began to cry. "I- I thought I was safe- I was tired- I'm sorry-" he spluttered, voice cracking as he forced himself to make eye contact. His fear multiplied tenfold upon seeing that same, unmoving, sadistic smile. Please don't hurt me. Please don't hurt me. Please don't hurt me. Ire's grip felt like it was tightening. It hurt so much. He didn't want to move. He didn't know what she was going to do to him. He did know, however...
It would NOT be pretty.
Ire listened in, then laughed. It sounded genuine for just a moment, but it became clear as she ended it that it was not, not at all.
HAH. What're you sorry to me for? Be sorry to yourself, pathetic little thing.
She took the dagger and acted quick, giving a quick nick to their arm. She watched the blood slowly pool for just a moment, but swiftly gave a good and solid slash after enough time to think that the Sinner in her grasp wouldn't expect it.
The cut wouldn't kill; nothing important was even damaged, but the blood drain seemed to be quick. With some time, there'd be no doubt of at least a little bit of wooziness from it. Not for now though.
You're funny. Cute!
...cute very clearly didn't mean the same thing as the typical definition with her. Ire pressed down on the wound, drawing more blood.
You bleed real fast. Embarrassing!
The second he felt the burning pain, John suddenly had enough strength to get out of Ire's grip, if even for a moment. He became light on his feet, like a deer running from a hunter's missed shot, running as fast as his legs would carry him. Drops of ichor trailed behind him, unwittingly letting Ire know where he had gone.
He kept running until his legs were numb. Where in God's name is the next safe room?!
Looking back for a split second was all it took for him to realize that Ire was catching up already, radiating pure anger. Hurriedly, the sinner used his robe's arm to stem the flow of blood, hissing as dry fabric touched raw flesh with white hot pain.
Ire was already here. And that smile meant nothing good before, but after escaping her, her entire form radiated with unbridled sadism, and her face with seething rage.
As the rattle of eerie, luminous, cold chains grew louder, he hoped to God that she wouldn't go for his heart.
Ire was a bit surprised at the sudden fleeing. She kind of just stood there for a moment, but she knew damn well that this little game wouldn't last long.
Every link of chain raddled as she moved, swift and agile despite the weights. She giggled to herself, amused by the chase.
...but then, the sound stopped. There were no footsteps, no chains clinking about, nothing. Just some nice silence for a whole two rooms. Calm, like she'd stopped.
Ah, but nothing can last forever. Her voice rang decently quiet, and the traditional sound queue played. There wasn't much time to react.
Jump, asshole.
No matter what the Sinner did, correct action in time or not, it ended with them being swept off of their feet from Ire, who was now directly behind them. Before they could run off again, they grabbed them by the collar and kept them there with a chokehold.
Within seconds, the dagger hit them directly in the side, once then twice in two locations, one slightly higher than the other. She also made sure to poke at their neck a little, creating a wound that'd bleed enough to incapacitate and make them dizzy after a moment but not kill.
Consider yourself lucky that I let you go for that long! I could have just stomped your head in by now, but I like to have fun. No one seems to get what 'fun' really even is, though. A shame, huh Sinner?
As the collar wrapped around his neck, John realized he had messed up. He had heard that noise. He had had to jump. But he hadn't.
White-hot, searing agony slammed into his side, hilt-deep, not once but twice, cutting off his cries for help to make him shriek, then gasp. The blade brushed against his neck, releasing bright red pearls of blood.
He started to kick and struggle, ichor staining his robes a dark red as he clawed at the tight collar holding him hostage. The sheer pain in his side kept him speechless; all he could do was make pitiful noises and struggle futilely.
He gritted his teeth, trying to swing at Ire but unable to reach her, as he was hanging in midair. Drops of blood were hitting the ground now.
He was starting to feel cold.
Ire laughed once more at the struggling. This was fun! To her, at least.
You're real funny. You know that?
She let them fight just a little more, letting them try to do something to try and fix their situation before stabbing them again, this time rough in the stomach. She watched in satisfaction as the blade sunk in, slipping a pleased noise as the blood spilled out and stained the previously clean blade.
It was unfortunate that it was so sharp, and it'd probably stay that way for a while. Even if it did get dull, she had the tool to sharpen it again. Nice for her, not for anybody else.
That aside however, she wasn't done. Just like the previous, she did it again, but this time she didn't stop. She stabbed again, then again, then again and again and again. Only then did she stop, and that was to drop the poor Sinner and keep them in place with her foot, stomping down. She made sure to decompress their lungs the most they could, just to really keep them grasping at life.
God, I just wish that you were more angry. It's always nice when I leave with a hefty bruise... guess not this time, ey?
She stomped again.
John let out a loud yelp as the knife sank deep into his stomach. Pain was everywhere. Everything hurt. He was so cold. So dizzy.
Then came the blood. Through his gritted teeth. With every stab of the knife came more tears and more blood coming from where it shouldn't. A drop got stuck in his throat. He coughed. All that came out was a quiet gagging sound and a weak spatter of blood.
Then he fell from the air, landing hard on the cold ground, smearing fresh gore on the pristine concrete. A crushing sensation on his back forced another bloody cough as the wind was knocked out of him.
He couldn't even struggle anymore. Everything was agony. Pure white, burning, searing agony. He was so, so cold.
Tears ran down his face. Every time he thought it was over, he just kept living.
He hoped to God that someone would help him.
Ire stood over the dying Sinner, proud of her work. She did all of that, didn't she?
She turned around, just to see no one there. No one was around to help this poor thing, and she took advantage of that.
Maybe you shouldn't lay around next time!
Once more she stomped the wind out of them before taking her foot off and kneeling down, engraving a deep line into their chest, right where the heart would be. This Sinner wasn't particularly interesting so she didn't go any farther than the third layer of skin, but the mark was very much made.
After that? She left them to die.
She simply walked off, laughing to herself as the sounds of chains faded away. She'll have to clean off that dagger of hers... and herself.
Stuck in a limbo of life and death - not quite alive but not dying either - all John could do was writhe pathetically on the ground. Slowly, painfully slowly, he stopped writhing, and laid there, in a slowly spreading pool of his own blood, breathing raggedly.
Once more, white-hot pain, this time over his heart.
His heart.
He couldn't die like this. He didn't want to die. He attempted to scream - and did, very loudly, with a strained throat. Please. Someone, anyone, help me. I don't want to die.
I don't want to die.
Please don't let me die.
(Footsteps, someone runs by. They backpedal a bit, seeing the dying sinner- the one who screamed words, the reason they ran over here in the first place. She usually sees someone like this when they’re already dead, they aren’t used to seeing someone with these sorts of injuries alive, at least not down here.)
(A mind processes those words previously screamed, a plea for life.)
(She gets to work- she can’t hesitate. She pulls out a needle and thread, and some gauze from her pockets (why does she just have that?), stitching up wounds like she’s done so many times before, bandaging as needed.)
Sorry, don’t have anesthesia here… hold tight.
(Eyes usually wide and childlike are pinpricks as she zeros in on the damage.)
John only twitched softly with every prick of the sewing needle. He had tried to keep his eyes open, but was now closing them tightly in pain. Occasionally he would let out the equivalent of a whimper, or would try and fail to stifle a bloody cough. The poor sinner was barely conscious of aware of what was happening; he silently endured the burning pain save for his labored, ragged breathing. He couldn't even speak anymore.
Tears were still rolling down his face. He so desperately wanted to live, but didn't know who was helping him, or why.
When the gauze touched his raw, ragged flesh, he made a sort of gagging noise, but couldn't do anything but tense up for a moment. He was in SO MUCH PAIN. Blood almost immediately soaked the gauze with a warm, dark red.
(She’s at least quick with it, if that’s any sort of saving grace. Not to say that she’s sloppy, she has an almost mechanical precision.)
That’s good, you’re still alive. Just a little more.
(Words of reassurance is said to the half-conscious sinner as this goes on, words consistently said until she’s done. Though, you’re still in a bad condition, all things considered- but she did the best with what she had.)
You’ve been brave. I’m with you. Sorry I don’t have any more I can help you with. Don’t try to respond- well, you know why. Just. Keep on trying to hang on.
"...please. take me somewhere safe," the sinner rasped quietly. It hurt to speak even a little, but if he were left here, something else would come for him. Maybe Ire would come back for seconds. He couldn't even move; it hurt too much. Please bring me back to safety. I can't stay here any longer.
He coughed again. Blood spattered the concrete in front of him, adding to the already soaked area that showed how much he had lost.
(They nod. Both arms move to pick him up, red staining fabric. She’s not bothered by this, she’s bathed in blood and filth more times than she could be bothered to count.)
I’ll try to make this as smooth as I can.
(And she moves, though she isn’t jostling you around quite as much as you’d expect. In fact, you aren’t hearing footsteps. (aka, the floating animations. she can do that))
We’ll be safe soon.
John silently allowed her to lift him, even when his whole body was burning with pain. Closing his eyes, he let her carry him to safety, wherever that may be. Maybe the lobby, where he could get further help from Rig?
Though the ride wasn't very bumpy, he still felt splitting pain on especially hard "landings" that would force out a yelp or a bloody cough.
Knowing that he would be in relative safety soon was a nice thought.
(They move on and on… eventually there’s a small shift in the air, a more peaceful place- the lobby. Seems to be a pretty empty lobby.)
(She sets him down near the shop, taking off her jacket so he can lay on that for now.)
One second ill. I’ll get something if I can.
(And she’s off, heading inside H. Skel’s shop. Leaving you alone with thoughts for some moments.)
The second the air shifted, John inhaled sharply in surprise. It had been so long out there that he had forgotten the lobby even existed. The ground there was somehow softer than in Grace despite being made from the same concrete.
A moment later, though, he realized he didn't feel too good. Maybe something in Grace's halls had been keeping him somewhat stable - but since he had been removed from there, that effect had disappeared.
The taste of warm iron hit his tongue. He retched, and threw up blood. Fresh blood. His vision became blurry.
Oh god. I have internal damage.
He felt weak.
(She exits the shop, with quite a bit of things, the entrance to the shop looking like a makeshift hospital room now with the things she got.)
Internal damage… to be somewhat expected…
I’ll put you under for what happens next- it’ll feel like you just went to sleep, ok?
Already weakened from blood loss, he managed to mumble an answer along the lines of "What if I die from the anesthesia?" This was NOT something he wanted to happen. He didn't want to wake up dead. Maybe he wasn't thinking clearly, but he didn't care. He wanted to be somewhat aware of what was happening. I hope she can understand me, his mind echoed.
(true. So very true. This isn’t one of those situations. Foolish of her, always making small slip ups, small mistakes.)
(She defaults back to old more logical programming, her voice a lot less warmer than it was before, emotions need not play a role in this. He has handled what she’s done to help him before, her thoughts of sparing him the pain could’ve led to disaster.)
Ok.
(She first restrains him before she really starts, not wanting any additional movement. Along with a transfusion of blood, you’ve lost a lot already.)
(Precise cuts to patch what’s within- it hurts, so very much. But you’ll endure, right? Pain before healing.)
The sudden coldness in her voice, along with the restraints, reminded him too much of Ire. Before he could struggle, though, pain began shooting through his body like miniature bullet wounds. Can't she at least give me something to bite down on?!
And then, he went limp, his eyelids half closed and pupils dilated. He had gone into shock, his body no longer able to endure the amount of fear, pain, or blood loss he was experiencing. He was barely even breathing.
At least it would be easier for her to operate this way.
(Slice and stitch, mend.)
(Her emotional mind wanders as her logical mind works.)
(Long ago, she once wondered what a human was. Then she got her answer, the internal workings of what goes where put into her mind, the muscles and bone and fat, the fluids and tendons.)
(That’s what makes up a human, right? No, that’s not all. The brain where thoughts are held, that’s what really holds what makes one up, right?)
(Her body is made up of all those organic things but, no. She doesn’t believe she can ever be truly human. No matter how much she wants to.)
(She works diligently. As a construct should.)
Though the sinner was in full shock, he could still feel everything. Every slice, every stab of the needle was a new dot of pain. He could not move. He could not speak. He could not scream. Everything felt like it was on fire.
A particularly deep cut snapped him out of shock. He SCREAMED. He cried out. He struggled, as much as his restraints prevented him from doing so. He was in so much pain. He wanted it to be over. He wanted someone to hold his hand, to tell him things would be alright.
But these things would not be happening.
(Indeed, it does not. The restraints hold steady, but even the bits of motion able to be forced out is annoying to her.)
(Indeed, all he gets for that trouble is something to bite down on added into his mouth.)
(Pain, white hot, blinding is what he lives in for what feels like an eternity- but, indeed it is not truly eternity, for eventually it is over. Of course, it doesn’t mean the pain is all gone but- it’s over right? The worst is over?)
(A voice can be heard, mostly muttering to herself.)
End procedure. Start post-op recovery monitoring.
The moment the object - presumably gauze or fabric, from the feeling of it touching his tongue - entered his mouth, blood immediately stained it dark red. By this point the poor sinner was blacking out due to pain. All he heard as his consciousness was fading was her quiet talking, which he couldn't quite understand.
Then, dizzy and tired, he slumped backwards and fainted.
(She remains there, noting the fact that he has fallen unconscious.)
(A bit of her emotional mind comes back, this time just… allowing her to think.)
(It’ll probably be a while until he wakes up, she thinks. Well. She wants to know him more, but for now she’s gotta make sure he’ll wake up and live after all of this. It would be bad if all of this work was for naught.)
(She takes out her quill… occasionally drawing stuff on the nearby ground to pass the time while she does this. Doodles of just… anything that crosses her mind.)
---
Hours later, the sinner groaned. He stirred.
"wha... what's going on?..." he murmured. He had a splitting headache.
His vision was still blurry. Dull pain was everywhere, as if he had fallen down several flights of stairs.
There was still a faint taste of iron in his mouth.
(Oh! He’s awake!)
(She puts away her quill, wow, she’s doodled quite a lot of things during those hours. Well, it’s really compact in a way, the surface taking up isn’t that big from how little her doodles are.)
(She speaks in a quiet voice.)
You were a bit messed up earlier… don’t try to get up, pretty sure you can feel that you’re still recovering.
The Sinner laid on his back, eyes closed, simply relaxing, as he had time to. He fought the urge to fall asleep, though, as he constantly worried about... well, everything. He had had many a close call with Dozer or Litany, but would spend a lot of time in saferooms. He didn't want to feel the pain of dying again, even for a split second.
Rue's chains scared him the most. They radiated of immobility and helplessness, and he hated, hated, HATED the feeling of helplessness.
He couldn't bear to think of what would happen if he were caught.
At least there was nobody nearby to hurt him. Right?
@poor-sinner
Ire wasn't the sneakiest thing in the world. She was always loud, dragging herself around and fiddling around with the chains linked to a metal 'collar' of sorts where her neck would have been. One a prisoner would wear in medical cartoons.
Lucky her for wandering today, as she'll likely be entertained for a while. Peering around a corner, she masked the same face as always and made herself known.
Oh, have I walked in on a little someone?
She hooked her dagger more far back than she would usually. She'd use it later... or, well, she hoped she could.
John's eyes shot open, and, upon seeing Ire, SCREAMED. He made a pitiful attempt to run, only making it a few feet before tripping on a door frame and falling over. He crawled further away and, upon finding no easy way out, got up and flattened himself against a wall, trying to stay as far away from her as possible. Not Ire. Not her. No no NO NO NO. This was NOT good. He was trapped. He didn't even know Ire HAD a physical form; all he had heard were horror stories of the various violent ways others had perished at her hands.
The petrified sinner kept his eyes locked onto her, hoping for a quick demise... but by the stories he had heard, death would not come so quickly.
Oh! Seems we're running now. Not far, though.
Ire watched as the Sinner pitifully tripped over the doorframe, scrambling as she quickly lessened distance. Within moments, he had nowhere to go.
Hah, funny! Nice try, but you're gonna have to try harder than that to get away.
She stepped forward, leaning in slightly to take a good look at what was in front of her. She'd have fun with this, wouldn't she?
You're an interesting little fella. What're you doing, lying about within this hellhole? Hah! Shouldn't you know a bit better by now? You look like you've seen your own blood more than once.
Your eyes tell it all... along with that scream a whole room ago. Wow, ran for so long! So impressed, truly.
The sarcasm was obvious and bled through every word. Her motives were clear; to irritate.
She'd might as well tease a bit now that she's finally gotten the chance to feed the raging fire that was her violent desires.
John looked up at her menacing, towering form. Ire's face reeked of something sadistic. He started quivering. This was it. He was going to die, and it would be slow. Tears welled up in his eyes.
He tried to make a break for it, but Ire was too close, and he could barely move. Whether it was from fear or physical restraint, he didn't want to know. But he knew his demise was mere seconds from beginning, and the pain would not end for a long, long time.
"..p-please don't hurt me..." he managed to whimper. He knew it wouldn't work. She would chain him down and stab him and he would suffer and he wouldn't be able to do anything.
He was already dreading the cold, restricting feeling of a shackle around his neck.
Aw, did you not get what I asked?
Her tone was sweet. Too sweet.
All of these Sinners never get my questions, do they? Let me ask again.
Ire crouched down, grabbing the Sinner's wrist, and tight at that. In an instant, her tone switched to a more demanding one.
What're you doing resting all alone in such a horrible place?
And you'd better fuckin answer.
Seems some plans will be switched, this little someone clearly knows what'll happen, or at least has an idea for it. She slipped a finger through her dagger's handle and quickly pulled it into view, pointing it at the poor Sinner's neck, threatening to stab.
As Ire grabbed his wrist, John flinched. The razor sharp knife suddenly millimeters away from his jugular vein moments later forced him to be still.
He began to cry. "I- I thought I was safe- I was tired- I'm sorry-" he spluttered, voice cracking as he forced himself to make eye contact. His fear multiplied tenfold upon seeing that same, unmoving, sadistic smile. Please don't hurt me. Please don't hurt me. Please don't hurt me. Ire's grip felt like it was tightening. It hurt so much. He didn't want to move. He didn't know what she was going to do to him. He did know, however...
It would NOT be pretty.
Ire listened in, then laughed. It sounded genuine for just a moment, but it became clear as she ended it that it was not, not at all.
HAH. What're you sorry to me for? Be sorry to yourself, pathetic little thing.
She took the dagger and acted quick, giving a quick nick to their arm. She watched the blood slowly pool for just a moment, but swiftly gave a good and solid slash after enough time to think that the Sinner in her grasp wouldn't expect it.
The cut wouldn't kill; nothing important was even damaged, but the blood drain seemed to be quick. With some time, there'd be no doubt of at least a little bit of wooziness from it. Not for now though.
You're funny. Cute!
...cute very clearly didn't mean the same thing as the typical definition with her. Ire pressed down on the wound, drawing more blood.
You bleed real fast. Embarrassing!
The second he felt the burning pain, John suddenly had enough strength to get out of Ire's grip, if even for a moment. He became light on his feet, like a deer running from a hunter's missed shot, running as fast as his legs would carry him. Drops of ichor trailed behind him, unwittingly letting Ire know where he had gone.
He kept running until his legs were numb. Where in God's name is the next safe room?!
Looking back for a split second was all it took for him to realize that Ire was catching up already, radiating pure anger. Hurriedly, the sinner used his robe's arm to stem the flow of blood, hissing as dry fabric touched raw flesh with white hot pain.
Ire was already here. And that smile meant nothing good before, but after escaping her, her entire form radiated with unbridled sadism, and her face with seething rage.
As the rattle of eerie, luminous, cold chains grew louder, he hoped to God that she wouldn't go for his heart.
Ire was a bit surprised at the sudden fleeing. She kind of just stood there for a moment, but she knew damn well that this little game wouldn't last long.
Every link of chain raddled as she moved, swift and agile despite the weights. She giggled to herself, amused by the chase.
...but then, the sound stopped. There were no footsteps, no chains clinking about, nothing. Just some nice silence for a whole two rooms. Calm, like she'd stopped.
Ah, but nothing can last forever. Her voice rang decently quiet, and the traditional sound queue played. There wasn't much time to react.
Jump, asshole.
No matter what the Sinner did, correct action in time or not, it ended with them being swept off of their feet from Ire, who was now directly behind them. Before they could run off again, they grabbed them by the collar and kept them there with a chokehold.
Within seconds, the dagger hit them directly in the side, once then twice in two locations, one slightly higher than the other. She also made sure to poke at their neck a little, creating a wound that'd bleed enough to incapacitate and make them dizzy after a moment but not kill.
Consider yourself lucky that I let you go for that long! I could have just stomped your head in by now, but I like to have fun. No one seems to get what 'fun' really even is, though. A shame, huh Sinner?
As the collar wrapped around his neck, John realized he had messed up. He had heard that noise. He had had to jump. But he hadn't.
White-hot, searing agony slammed into his side, hilt-deep, not once but twice, cutting off his cries for help to make him shriek, then gasp. The blade brushed against his neck, releasing bright red pearls of blood.
He started to kick and struggle, ichor staining his robes a dark red as he clawed at the tight collar holding him hostage. The sheer pain in his side kept him speechless; all he could do was make pitiful noises and struggle futilely.
He gritted his teeth, trying to swing at Ire but unable to reach her, as he was hanging in midair. Drops of blood were hitting the ground now.
He was starting to feel cold.
Ire laughed once more at the struggling. This was fun! To her, at least.
You're real funny. You know that?
She let them fight just a little more, letting them try to do something to try and fix their situation before stabbing them again, this time rough in the stomach. She watched in satisfaction as the blade sunk in, slipping a pleased noise as the blood spilled out and stained the previously clean blade.
It was unfortunate that it was so sharp, and it'd probably stay that way for a while. Even if it did get dull, she had the tool to sharpen it again. Nice for her, not for anybody else.
That aside however, she wasn't done. Just like the previous, she did it again, but this time she didn't stop. She stabbed again, then again, then again and again and again. Only then did she stop, and that was to drop the poor Sinner and keep them in place with her foot, stomping down. She made sure to decompress their lungs the most they could, just to really keep them grasping at life.
God, I just wish that you were more angry. It's always nice when I leave with a hefty bruise... guess not this time, ey?
She stomped again.
John let out a loud yelp as the knife sank deep into his stomach. Pain was everywhere. Everything hurt. He was so cold. So dizzy.
Then came the blood. Through his gritted teeth. With every stab of the knife came more tears and more blood coming from where it shouldn't. A drop got stuck in his throat. He coughed. All that came out was a quiet gagging sound and a weak spatter of blood.
Then he fell from the air, landing hard on the cold ground, smearing fresh gore on the pristine concrete. A crushing sensation on his back forced another bloody cough as the wind was knocked out of him.
He couldn't even struggle anymore. Everything was agony. Pure white, burning, searing agony. He was so, so cold.
Tears ran down his face. Every time he thought it was over, he just kept living.
He hoped to God that someone would help him.
Ire stood over the dying Sinner, proud of her work. She did all of that, didn't she?
She turned around, just to see no one there. No one was around to help this poor thing, and she took advantage of that.
Maybe you shouldn't lay around next time!
Once more she stomped the wind out of them before taking her foot off and kneeling down, engraving a deep line into their chest, right where the heart would be. This Sinner wasn't particularly interesting so she didn't go any farther than the third layer of skin, but the mark was very much made.
After that? She left them to die.
She simply walked off, laughing to herself as the sounds of chains faded away. She'll have to clean off that dagger of hers... and herself.
Stuck in a limbo of life and death - not quite alive but not dying either - all John could do was writhe pathetically on the ground. Slowly, painfully slowly, he stopped writhing, and laid there, in a slowly spreading pool of his own blood, breathing raggedly.
Once more, white-hot pain, this time over his heart.
His heart.
He couldn't die like this. He didn't want to die. He attempted to scream - and did, very loudly, with a strained throat. Please. Someone, anyone, help me. I don't want to die.
I don't want to die.
Please don't let me die.
(Footsteps, someone runs by. They backpedal a bit, seeing the dying sinner- the one who screamed words, the reason they ran over here in the first place. She usually sees someone like this when they’re already dead, they aren’t used to seeing someone with these sorts of injuries alive, at least not down here.)
(A mind processes those words previously screamed, a plea for life.)
(She gets to work- she can’t hesitate. She pulls out a needle and thread, and some gauze from her pockets (why does she just have that?), stitching up wounds like she’s done so many times before, bandaging as needed.)
Sorry, don’t have anesthesia here… hold tight.
(Eyes usually wide and childlike are pinpricks as she zeros in on the damage.)
John only twitched softly with every prick of the sewing needle. He had tried to keep his eyes open, but was now closing them tightly in pain. Occasionally he would let out the equivalent of a whimper, or would try and fail to stifle a bloody cough. The poor sinner was barely conscious of aware of what was happening; he silently endured the burning pain save for his labored, ragged breathing. He couldn't even speak anymore.
Tears were still rolling down his face. He so desperately wanted to live, but didn't know who was helping him, or why.
When the gauze touched his raw, ragged flesh, he made a sort of gagging noise, but couldn't do anything but tense up for a moment. He was in SO MUCH PAIN. Blood almost immediately soaked the gauze with a warm, dark red.
(She’s at least quick with it, if that’s any sort of saving grace. Not to say that she’s sloppy, she has an almost mechanical precision.)
That’s good, you’re still alive. Just a little more.
(Words of reassurance is said to the half-conscious sinner as this goes on, words consistently said until she’s done. Though, you’re still in a bad condition, all things considered- but she did the best with what she had.)
You’ve been brave. I’m with you. Sorry I don’t have any more I can help you with. Don’t try to respond- well, you know why. Just. Keep on trying to hang on.
"...please. take me somewhere safe," the sinner rasped quietly. It hurt to speak even a little, but if he were left here, something else would come for him. Maybe Ire would come back for seconds. He couldn't even move; it hurt too much. Please bring me back to safety. I can't stay here any longer.
He coughed again. Blood spattered the concrete in front of him, adding to the already soaked area that showed how much he had lost.
(They nod. Both arms move to pick him up, red staining fabric. She’s not bothered by this, she’s bathed in blood and filth more times than she could be bothered to count.)
I’ll try to make this as smooth as I can.
(And she moves, though she isn’t jostling you around quite as much as you’d expect. In fact, you aren’t hearing footsteps. (aka, the floating animations. she can do that))
We’ll be safe soon.
John silently allowed her to lift him, even when his whole body was burning with pain. Closing his eyes, he let her carry him to safety, wherever that may be. Maybe the lobby, where he could get further help from Rig?
Though the ride wasn't very bumpy, he still felt splitting pain on especially hard "landings" that would force out a yelp or a bloody cough.
Knowing that he would be in relative safety soon was a nice thought.
(They move on and on… eventually there’s a small shift in the air, a more peaceful place- the lobby. Seems to be a pretty empty lobby.)
(She sets him down near the shop, taking off her jacket so he can lay on that for now.)
One second ill. I’ll get something if I can.
(And she’s off, heading inside H. Skel’s shop. Leaving you alone with thoughts for some moments.)
The second the air shifted, John inhaled sharply in surprise. It had been so long out there that he had forgotten the lobby even existed. The ground there was somehow softer than in Grace despite being made from the same concrete.
A moment later, though, he realized he didn't feel too good. Maybe something in Grace's halls had been keeping him somewhat stable - but since he had been removed from there, that effect had disappeared.
The taste of warm iron hit his tongue. He retched, and threw up blood. Fresh blood. His vision became blurry.
Oh god. I have internal damage.
He felt weak.
(She exits the shop, with quite a bit of things, the entrance to the shop looking like a makeshift hospital room now with the things she got.)
Internal damage… to be somewhat expected…
I’ll put you under for what happens next- it’ll feel like you just went to sleep, ok?
Already weakened from blood loss, he managed to mumble an answer along the lines of "What if I die from the anesthesia?" This was NOT something he wanted to happen. He didn't want to wake up dead. Maybe he wasn't thinking clearly, but he didn't care. He wanted to be somewhat aware of what was happening. I hope she can understand me, his mind echoed.
(true. So very true. This isn’t one of those situations. Foolish of her, always making small slip ups, small mistakes.)
(She defaults back to old more logical programming, her voice a lot less warmer than it was before, emotions need not play a role in this. He has handled what she’s done to help him before, her thoughts of sparing him the pain could’ve led to disaster.)
Ok.
(She first restrains him before she really starts, not wanting any additional movement. Along with a transfusion of blood, you’ve lost a lot already.)
(Precise cuts to patch what’s within- it hurts, so very much. But you’ll endure, right? Pain before healing.)
The sudden coldness in her voice, along with the restraints, reminded him too much of Ire. Before he could struggle, though, pain began shooting through his body like miniature bullet wounds. Can't she at least give me something to bite down on?!
And then, he went limp, his eyelids half closed and pupils dilated. He had gone into shock, his body no longer able to endure the amount of fear, pain, or blood loss he was experiencing. He was barely even breathing.
At least it would be easier for her to operate this way.
(Slice and stitch, mend.)
(Her emotional mind wanders as her logical mind works.)
(Long ago, she once wondered what a human was. Then she got her answer, the internal workings of what goes where put into her mind, the muscles and bone and fat, the fluids and tendons.)
(That’s what makes up a human, right? No, that’s not all. The brain where thoughts are held, that’s what really holds what makes one up, right?)
(Her body is made up of all those organic things but, no. She doesn’t believe she can ever be truly human. No matter how much she wants to.)
(She works diligently. As a construct should.)
Though the sinner was in full shock, he could still feel everything. Every slice, every stab of the needle was a new dot of pain. He could not move. He could not speak. He could not scream. Everything felt like it was on fire.
A particularly deep cut snapped him out of shock. He SCREAMED. He cried out. He struggled, as much as his restraints prevented him from doing so. He was in so much pain. He wanted it to be over. He wanted someone to hold his hand, to tell him things would be alright.
But these things would not be happening.
(Indeed, it does not. The restraints hold steady, but even the bits of motion able to be forced out is annoying to her.)
(Indeed, all he gets for that trouble is something to bite down on added into his mouth.)
(Pain, white hot, blinding is what he lives in for what feels like an eternity- but, indeed it is not truly eternity, for eventually it is over. Of course, it doesn’t mean the pain is all gone but- it’s over right? The worst is over?)
(A voice can be heard, mostly muttering to herself.)
End procedure. Start post-op recovery monitoring.
The moment the object - presumably gauze or fabric, from the feeling of it touching his tongue - entered his mouth, blood immediately stained it dark red. By this point the poor sinner was blacking out due to pain. All he heard as his consciousness was fading was her quiet talking, which he couldn't quite understand.
Then, dizzy and tired, he slumped backwards and fainted.
(She remains there, noting the fact that he has fallen unconscious.)
(A bit of her emotional mind comes back, this time just… allowing her to think.)
(It’ll probably be a while until he wakes up, she thinks. Well. She wants to know him more, but for now she’s gotta make sure he’ll wake up and live after all of this. It would be bad if all of this work was for naught.)
(She takes out her quill… occasionally drawing stuff on the nearby ground to pass the time while she does this. Doodles of just… anything that crosses her mind.)
The Sinner laid on his back, eyes closed, simply relaxing, as he had time to. He fought the urge to fall asleep, though, as he constantly worried about... well, everything. He had had many a close call with Dozer or Litany, but would spend a lot of time in saferooms. He didn't want to feel the pain of dying again, even for a split second.
Rue's chains scared him the most. They radiated of immobility and helplessness, and he hated, hated, HATED the feeling of helplessness.
He couldn't bear to think of what would happen if he were caught.
At least there was nobody nearby to hurt him. Right?
@poor-sinner
Ire wasn't the sneakiest thing in the world. She was always loud, dragging herself around and fiddling around with the chains linked to a metal 'collar' of sorts where her neck would have been. One a prisoner would wear in medical cartoons.
Lucky her for wandering today, as she'll likely be entertained for a while. Peering around a corner, she masked the same face as always and made herself known.
Oh, have I walked in on a little someone?
She hooked her dagger more far back than she would usually. She'd use it later... or, well, she hoped she could.
John's eyes shot open, and, upon seeing Ire, SCREAMED. He made a pitiful attempt to run, only making it a few feet before tripping on a door frame and falling over. He crawled further away and, upon finding no easy way out, got up and flattened himself against a wall, trying to stay as far away from her as possible. Not Ire. Not her. No no NO NO NO. This was NOT good. He was trapped. He didn't even know Ire HAD a physical form; all he had heard were horror stories of the various violent ways others had perished at her hands.
The petrified sinner kept his eyes locked onto her, hoping for a quick demise... but by the stories he had heard, death would not come so quickly.
Oh! Seems we're running now. Not far, though.
Ire watched as the Sinner pitifully tripped over the doorframe, scrambling as she quickly lessened distance. Within moments, he had nowhere to go.
Hah, funny! Nice try, but you're gonna have to try harder than that to get away.
She stepped forward, leaning in slightly to take a good look at what was in front of her. She'd have fun with this, wouldn't she?
You're an interesting little fella. What're you doing, lying about within this hellhole? Hah! Shouldn't you know a bit better by now? You look like you've seen your own blood more than once.
Your eyes tell it all... along with that scream a whole room ago. Wow, ran for so long! So impressed, truly.
The sarcasm was obvious and bled through every word. Her motives were clear; to irritate.
She'd might as well tease a bit now that she's finally gotten the chance to feed the raging fire that was her violent desires.
John looked up at her menacing, towering form. Ire's face reeked of something sadistic. He started quivering. This was it. He was going to die, and it would be slow. Tears welled up in his eyes.
He tried to make a break for it, but Ire was too close, and he could barely move. Whether it was from fear or physical restraint, he didn't want to know. But he knew his demise was mere seconds from beginning, and the pain would not end for a long, long time.
"..p-please don't hurt me..." he managed to whimper. He knew it wouldn't work. She would chain him down and stab him and he would suffer and he wouldn't be able to do anything.
He was already dreading the cold, restricting feeling of a shackle around his neck.
Aw, did you not get what I asked?
Her tone was sweet. Too sweet.
All of these Sinners never get my questions, do they? Let me ask again.
Ire crouched down, grabbing the Sinner's wrist, and tight at that. In an instant, her tone switched to a more demanding one.
What're you doing resting all alone in such a horrible place?
And you'd better fuckin answer.
Seems some plans will be switched, this little someone clearly knows what'll happen, or at least has an idea for it. She slipped a finger through her dagger's handle and quickly pulled it into view, pointing it at the poor Sinner's neck, threatening to stab.
As Ire grabbed his wrist, John flinched. The razor sharp knife suddenly millimeters away from his jugular vein moments later forced him to be still.
He began to cry. "I- I thought I was safe- I was tired- I'm sorry-" he spluttered, voice cracking as he forced himself to make eye contact. His fear multiplied tenfold upon seeing that same, unmoving, sadistic smile. Please don't hurt me. Please don't hurt me. Please don't hurt me. Ire's grip felt like it was tightening. It hurt so much. He didn't want to move. He didn't know what she was going to do to him. He did know, however...
It would NOT be pretty.
Ire listened in, then laughed. It sounded genuine for just a moment, but it became clear as she ended it that it was not, not at all.
HAH. What're you sorry to me for? Be sorry to yourself, pathetic little thing.
She took the dagger and acted quick, giving a quick nick to their arm. She watched the blood slowly pool for just a moment, but swiftly gave a good and solid slash after enough time to think that the Sinner in her grasp wouldn't expect it.
The cut wouldn't kill; nothing important was even damaged, but the blood drain seemed to be quick. With some time, there'd be no doubt of at least a little bit of wooziness from it. Not for now though.
You're funny. Cute!
...cute very clearly didn't mean the same thing as the typical definition with her. Ire pressed down on the wound, drawing more blood.
You bleed real fast. Embarrassing!
The second he felt the burning pain, John suddenly had enough strength to get out of Ire's grip, if even for a moment. He became light on his feet, like a deer running from a hunter's missed shot, running as fast as his legs would carry him. Drops of ichor trailed behind him, unwittingly letting Ire know where he had gone.
He kept running until his legs were numb. Where in God's name is the next safe room?!
Looking back for a split second was all it took for him to realize that Ire was catching up already, radiating pure anger. Hurriedly, the sinner used his robe's arm to stem the flow of blood, hissing as dry fabric touched raw flesh with white hot pain.
Ire was already here. And that smile meant nothing good before, but after escaping her, her entire form radiated with unbridled sadism, and her face with seething rage.
As the rattle of eerie, luminous, cold chains grew louder, he hoped to God that she wouldn't go for his heart.
Ire was a bit surprised at the sudden fleeing. She kind of just stood there for a moment, but she knew damn well that this little game wouldn't last long.
Every link of chain raddled as she moved, swift and agile despite the weights. She giggled to herself, amused by the chase.
...but then, the sound stopped. There were no footsteps, no chains clinking about, nothing. Just some nice silence for a whole two rooms. Calm, like she'd stopped.
Ah, but nothing can last forever. Her voice rang decently quiet, and the traditional sound queue played. There wasn't much time to react.
Jump, asshole.
No matter what the Sinner did, correct action in time or not, it ended with them being swept off of their feet from Ire, who was now directly behind them. Before they could run off again, they grabbed them by the collar and kept them there with a chokehold.
Within seconds, the dagger hit them directly in the side, once then twice in two locations, one slightly higher than the other. She also made sure to poke at their neck a little, creating a wound that'd bleed enough to incapacitate and make them dizzy after a moment but not kill.
Consider yourself lucky that I let you go for that long! I could have just stomped your head in by now, but I like to have fun. No one seems to get what 'fun' really even is, though. A shame, huh Sinner?
As the collar wrapped around his neck, John realized he had messed up. He had heard that noise. He had had to jump. But he hadn't.
White-hot, searing agony slammed into his side, hilt-deep, not once but twice, cutting off his cries for help to make him shriek, then gasp. The blade brushed against his neck, releasing bright red pearls of blood.
He started to kick and struggle, ichor staining his robes a dark red as he clawed at the tight collar holding him hostage. The sheer pain in his side kept him speechless; all he could do was make pitiful noises and struggle futilely.
He gritted his teeth, trying to swing at Ire but unable to reach her, as he was hanging in midair. Drops of blood were hitting the ground now.
He was starting to feel cold.
Ire laughed once more at the struggling. This was fun! To her, at least.
You're real funny. You know that?
She let them fight just a little more, letting them try to do something to try and fix their situation before stabbing them again, this time rough in the stomach. She watched in satisfaction as the blade sunk in, slipping a pleased noise as the blood spilled out and stained the previously clean blade.
It was unfortunate that it was so sharp, and it'd probably stay that way for a while. Even if it did get dull, she had the tool to sharpen it again. Nice for her, not for anybody else.
That aside however, she wasn't done. Just like the previous, she did it again, but this time she didn't stop. She stabbed again, then again, then again and again and again. Only then did she stop, and that was to drop the poor Sinner and keep them in place with her foot, stomping down. She made sure to decompress their lungs the most they could, just to really keep them grasping at life.
God, I just wish that you were more angry. It's always nice when I leave with a hefty bruise... guess not this time, ey?
She stomped again.
John let out a loud yelp as the knife sank deep into his stomach. Pain was everywhere. Everything hurt. He was so cold. So dizzy.
Then came the blood. Through his gritted teeth. With every stab of the knife came more tears and more blood coming from where it shouldn't. A drop got stuck in his throat. He coughed. All that came out was a quiet gagging sound and a weak spatter of blood.
Then he fell from the air, landing hard on the cold ground, smearing fresh gore on the pristine concrete. A crushing sensation on his back forced another bloody cough as the wind was knocked out of him.
He couldn't even struggle anymore. Everything was agony. Pure white, burning, searing agony. He was so, so cold.
Tears ran down his face. Every time he thought it was over, he just kept living.
He hoped to God that someone would help him.
Ire stood over the dying Sinner, proud of her work. She did all of that, didn't she?
She turned around, just to see no one there. No one was around to help this poor thing, and she took advantage of that.
Maybe you shouldn't lay around next time!
Once more she stomped the wind out of them before taking her foot off and kneeling down, engraving a deep line into their chest, right where the heart would be. This Sinner wasn't particularly interesting so she didn't go any farther than the third layer of skin, but the mark was very much made.
After that? She left them to die.
She simply walked off, laughing to herself as the sounds of chains faded away. She'll have to clean off that dagger of hers... and herself.
Stuck in a limbo of life and death - not quite alive but not dying either - all John could do was writhe pathetically on the ground. Slowly, painfully slowly, he stopped writhing, and laid there, in a slowly spreading pool of his own blood, breathing raggedly.
Once more, white-hot pain, this time over his heart.
His heart.
He couldn't die like this. He didn't want to die. He attempted to scream - and did, very loudly, with a strained throat. Please. Someone, anyone, help me. I don't want to die.
I don't want to die.
Please don't let me die.
(Footsteps, someone runs by. They backpedal a bit, seeing the dying sinner- the one who screamed words, the reason they ran over here in the first place. She usually sees someone like this when they’re already dead, they aren’t used to seeing someone with these sorts of injuries alive, at least not down here.)
(A mind processes those words previously screamed, a plea for life.)
(She gets to work- she can’t hesitate. She pulls out a needle and thread, and some gauze from her pockets (why does she just have that?), stitching up wounds like she’s done so many times before, bandaging as needed.)
Sorry, don’t have anesthesia here… hold tight.
(Eyes usually wide and childlike are pinpricks as she zeros in on the damage.)
John only twitched softly with every prick of the sewing needle. He had tried to keep his eyes open, but was now closing them tightly in pain. Occasionally he would let out the equivalent of a whimper, or would try and fail to stifle a bloody cough. The poor sinner was barely conscious of aware of what was happening; he silently endured the burning pain save for his labored, ragged breathing. He couldn't even speak anymore.
Tears were still rolling down his face. He so desperately wanted to live, but didn't know who was helping him, or why.
When the gauze touched his raw, ragged flesh, he made a sort of gagging noise, but couldn't do anything but tense up for a moment. He was in SO MUCH PAIN. Blood almost immediately soaked the gauze with a warm, dark red.
(She’s at least quick with it, if that’s any sort of saving grace. Not to say that she’s sloppy, she has an almost mechanical precision.)
That’s good, you’re still alive. Just a little more.
(Words of reassurance is said to the half-conscious sinner as this goes on, words consistently said until she’s done. Though, you’re still in a bad condition, all things considered- but she did the best with what she had.)
You’ve been brave. I’m with you. Sorry I don’t have any more I can help you with. Don’t try to respond- well, you know why. Just. Keep on trying to hang on.
"...please. take me somewhere safe," the sinner rasped quietly. It hurt to speak even a little, but if he were left here, something else would come for him. Maybe Ire would come back for seconds. He couldn't even move; it hurt too much. Please bring me back to safety. I can't stay here any longer.
He coughed again. Blood spattered the concrete in front of him, adding to the already soaked area that showed how much he had lost.
(They nod. Both arms move to pick him up, red staining fabric. She’s not bothered by this, she’s bathed in blood and filth more times than she could be bothered to count.)
I’ll try to make this as smooth as I can.
(And she moves, though she isn’t jostling you around quite as much as you’d expect. In fact, you aren’t hearing footsteps. (aka, the floating animations. she can do that))
We’ll be safe soon.
John silently allowed her to lift him, even when his whole body was burning with pain. Closing his eyes, he let her carry him to safety, wherever that may be. Maybe the lobby, where he could get further help from Rig?
Though the ride wasn't very bumpy, he still felt splitting pain on especially hard "landings" that would force out a yelp or a bloody cough.
Knowing that he would be in relative safety soon was a nice thought.
(They move on and on… eventually there’s a small shift in the air, a more peaceful place- the lobby. Seems to be a pretty empty lobby.)
(She sets him down near the shop, taking off her jacket so he can lay on that for now.)
One second ill. I’ll get something if I can.
(And she’s off, heading inside H. Skel’s shop. Leaving you alone with thoughts for some moments.)
The second the air shifted, John inhaled sharply in surprise. It had been so long out there that he had forgotten the lobby even existed. The ground there was somehow softer than in Grace despite being made from the same concrete.
A moment later, though, he realized he didn't feel too good. Maybe something in Grace's halls had been keeping him somewhat stable - but since he had been removed from there, that effect had disappeared.
The taste of warm iron hit his tongue. He retched, and threw up blood. Fresh blood. His vision became blurry.
Oh god. I have internal damage.
He felt weak.
(She exits the shop, with quite a bit of things, the entrance to the shop looking like a makeshift hospital room now with the things she got.)
Internal damage… to be somewhat expected…
I’ll put you under for what happens next- it’ll feel like you just went to sleep, ok?
Already weakened from blood loss, he managed to mumble an answer along the lines of "What if I die from the anesthesia?" This was NOT something he wanted to happen. He didn't want to wake up dead. Maybe he wasn't thinking clearly, but he didn't care. He wanted to be somewhat aware of what was happening. I hope she can understand me, his mind echoed.
(true. So very true. This isn’t one of those situations. Foolish of her, always making small slip ups, small mistakes.)
(She defaults back to old more logical programming, her voice a lot less warmer than it was before, emotions need not play a role in this. He has handled what she’s done to help him before, her thoughts of sparing him the pain could’ve led to disaster.)
Ok.
(She first restrains him before she really starts, not wanting any additional movement. Along with a transfusion of blood, you’ve lost a lot already.)
(Precise cuts to patch what’s within- it hurts, so very much. But you’ll endure, right? Pain before healing.)
The sudden coldness in her voice, along with the restraints, reminded him too much of Ire. Before he could struggle, though, pain began shooting through his body like miniature bullet wounds. Can't she at least give me something to bite down on?!
And then, he went limp, his eyelids half closed and pupils dilated. He had gone into shock, his body no longer able to endure the amount of fear, pain, or blood loss he was experiencing. He was barely even breathing.
At least it would be easier for her to operate this way.
(Slice and stitch, mend.)
(Her emotional mind wanders as her logical mind works.)
(Long ago, she once wondered what a human was. Then she got her answer, the internal workings of what goes where put into her mind, the muscles and bone and fat, the fluids and tendons.)
(That’s what makes up a human, right? No, that’s not all. The brain where thoughts are held, that’s what really holds what makes one up, right?)
(Her body is made up of all those organic things but, no. She doesn’t believe she can ever be truly human. No matter how much she wants to.)
(She works diligently. As a construct should.)
Though the sinner was in full shock, he could still feel everything. Every slice, every stab of the needle was a new dot of pain. He could not move. He could not speak. He could not scream. Everything felt like it was on fire.
A particularly deep cut snapped him out of shock. He SCREAMED. He cried out. He struggled, as much as his restraints prevented him from doing so. He was in so much pain. He wanted it to be over. He wanted someone to hold his hand, to tell him things would be alright.
But these things would not be happening.
(Indeed, it does not. The restraints hold steady, but even the bits of motion able to be forced out is annoying to her.)
(Indeed, all he gets for that trouble is something to bite down on added into his mouth.)
(Pain, white hot, blinding is what he lives in for what feels like an eternity- but, indeed it is not truly eternity, for eventually it is over. Of course, it doesn’t mean the pain is all gone but- it’s over right? The worst is over?)
(A voice can be heard, mostly muttering to herself.)
End procedure. Start post-op recovery monitoring.
The Sinner laid on his back, eyes closed, simply relaxing, as he had time to. He fought the urge to fall asleep, though, as he constantly worried about... well, everything. He had had many a close call with Dozer or Litany, but would spend a lot of time in saferooms. He didn't want to feel the pain of dying again, even for a split second.
Rue's chains scared him the most. They radiated of immobility and helplessness, and he hated, hated, HATED the feeling of helplessness.
He couldn't bear to think of what would happen if he were caught.
At least there was nobody nearby to hurt him. Right?
@poor-sinner
Ire wasn't the sneakiest thing in the world. She was always loud, dragging herself around and fiddling around with the chains linked to a metal 'collar' of sorts where her neck would have been. One a prisoner would wear in medical cartoons.
Lucky her for wandering today, as she'll likely be entertained for a while. Peering around a corner, she masked the same face as always and made herself known.
Oh, have I walked in on a little someone?
She hooked her dagger more far back than she would usually. She'd use it later... or, well, she hoped she could.
John's eyes shot open, and, upon seeing Ire, SCREAMED. He made a pitiful attempt to run, only making it a few feet before tripping on a door frame and falling over. He crawled further away and, upon finding no easy way out, got up and flattened himself against a wall, trying to stay as far away from her as possible. Not Ire. Not her. No no NO NO NO. This was NOT good. He was trapped. He didn't even know Ire HAD a physical form; all he had heard were horror stories of the various violent ways others had perished at her hands.
The petrified sinner kept his eyes locked onto her, hoping for a quick demise... but by the stories he had heard, death would not come so quickly.
Oh! Seems we're running now. Not far, though.
Ire watched as the Sinner pitifully tripped over the doorframe, scrambling as she quickly lessened distance. Within moments, he had nowhere to go.
Hah, funny! Nice try, but you're gonna have to try harder than that to get away.
She stepped forward, leaning in slightly to take a good look at what was in front of her. She'd have fun with this, wouldn't she?
You're an interesting little fella. What're you doing, lying about within this hellhole? Hah! Shouldn't you know a bit better by now? You look like you've seen your own blood more than once.
Your eyes tell it all... along with that scream a whole room ago. Wow, ran for so long! So impressed, truly.
The sarcasm was obvious and bled through every word. Her motives were clear; to irritate.
She'd might as well tease a bit now that she's finally gotten the chance to feed the raging fire that was her violent desires.
John looked up at her menacing, towering form. Ire's face reeked of something sadistic. He started quivering. This was it. He was going to die, and it would be slow. Tears welled up in his eyes.
He tried to make a break for it, but Ire was too close, and he could barely move. Whether it was from fear or physical restraint, he didn't want to know. But he knew his demise was mere seconds from beginning, and the pain would not end for a long, long time.
"..p-please don't hurt me..." he managed to whimper. He knew it wouldn't work. She would chain him down and stab him and he would suffer and he wouldn't be able to do anything.
He was already dreading the cold, restricting feeling of a shackle around his neck.
Aw, did you not get what I asked?
Her tone was sweet. Too sweet.
All of these Sinners never get my questions, do they? Let me ask again.
Ire crouched down, grabbing the Sinner's wrist, and tight at that. In an instant, her tone switched to a more demanding one.
What're you doing resting all alone in such a horrible place?
And you'd better fuckin answer.
Seems some plans will be switched, this little someone clearly knows what'll happen, or at least has an idea for it. She slipped a finger through her dagger's handle and quickly pulled it into view, pointing it at the poor Sinner's neck, threatening to stab.
As Ire grabbed his wrist, John flinched. The razor sharp knife suddenly millimeters away from his jugular vein moments later forced him to be still.
He began to cry. "I- I thought I was safe- I was tired- I'm sorry-" he spluttered, voice cracking as he forced himself to make eye contact. His fear multiplied tenfold upon seeing that same, unmoving, sadistic smile. Please don't hurt me. Please don't hurt me. Please don't hurt me. Ire's grip felt like it was tightening. It hurt so much. He didn't want to move. He didn't know what she was going to do to him. He did know, however...
It would NOT be pretty.
Ire listened in, then laughed. It sounded genuine for just a moment, but it became clear as she ended it that it was not, not at all.
HAH. What're you sorry to me for? Be sorry to yourself, pathetic little thing.
She took the dagger and acted quick, giving a quick nick to their arm. She watched the blood slowly pool for just a moment, but swiftly gave a good and solid slash after enough time to think that the Sinner in her grasp wouldn't expect it.
The cut wouldn't kill; nothing important was even damaged, but the blood drain seemed to be quick. With some time, there'd be no doubt of at least a little bit of wooziness from it. Not for now though.
You're funny. Cute!
...cute very clearly didn't mean the same thing as the typical definition with her. Ire pressed down on the wound, drawing more blood.
You bleed real fast. Embarrassing!
The second he felt the burning pain, John suddenly had enough strength to get out of Ire's grip, if even for a moment. He became light on his feet, like a deer running from a hunter's missed shot, running as fast as his legs would carry him. Drops of ichor trailed behind him, unwittingly letting Ire know where he had gone.
He kept running until his legs were numb. Where in God's name is the next safe room?!
Looking back for a split second was all it took for him to realize that Ire was catching up already, radiating pure anger. Hurriedly, the sinner used his robe's arm to stem the flow of blood, hissing as dry fabric touched raw flesh with white hot pain.
Ire was already here. And that smile meant nothing good before, but after escaping her, her entire form radiated with unbridled sadism, and her face with seething rage.
As the rattle of eerie, luminous, cold chains grew louder, he hoped to God that she wouldn't go for his heart.
Ire was a bit surprised at the sudden fleeing. She kind of just stood there for a moment, but she knew damn well that this little game wouldn't last long.
Every link of chain raddled as she moved, swift and agile despite the weights. She giggled to herself, amused by the chase.
...but then, the sound stopped. There were no footsteps, no chains clinking about, nothing. Just some nice silence for a whole two rooms. Calm, like she'd stopped.
Ah, but nothing can last forever. Her voice rang decently quiet, and the traditional sound queue played. There wasn't much time to react.
Jump, asshole.
No matter what the Sinner did, correct action in time or not, it ended with them being swept off of their feet from Ire, who was now directly behind them. Before they could run off again, they grabbed them by the collar and kept them there with a chokehold.
Within seconds, the dagger hit them directly in the side, once then twice in two locations, one slightly higher than the other. She also made sure to poke at their neck a little, creating a wound that'd bleed enough to incapacitate and make them dizzy after a moment but not kill.
Consider yourself lucky that I let you go for that long! I could have just stomped your head in by now, but I like to have fun. No one seems to get what 'fun' really even is, though. A shame, huh Sinner?
As the collar wrapped around his neck, John realized he had messed up. He had heard that noise. He had had to jump. But he hadn't.
White-hot, searing agony slammed into his side, hilt-deep, not once but twice, cutting off his cries for help to make him shriek, then gasp. The blade brushed against his neck, releasing bright red pearls of blood.
He started to kick and struggle, ichor staining his robes a dark red as he clawed at the tight collar holding him hostage. The sheer pain in his side kept him speechless; all he could do was make pitiful noises and struggle futilely.
He gritted his teeth, trying to swing at Ire but unable to reach her, as he was hanging in midair. Drops of blood were hitting the ground now.
He was starting to feel cold.
Ire laughed once more at the struggling. This was fun! To her, at least.
You're real funny. You know that?
She let them fight just a little more, letting them try to do something to try and fix their situation before stabbing them again, this time rough in the stomach. She watched in satisfaction as the blade sunk in, slipping a pleased noise as the blood spilled out and stained the previously clean blade.
It was unfortunate that it was so sharp, and it'd probably stay that way for a while. Even if it did get dull, she had the tool to sharpen it again. Nice for her, not for anybody else.
That aside however, she wasn't done. Just like the previous, she did it again, but this time she didn't stop. She stabbed again, then again, then again and again and again. Only then did she stop, and that was to drop the poor Sinner and keep them in place with her foot, stomping down. She made sure to decompress their lungs the most they could, just to really keep them grasping at life.
God, I just wish that you were more angry. It's always nice when I leave with a hefty bruise... guess not this time, ey?
She stomped again.
John let out a loud yelp as the knife sank deep into his stomach. Pain was everywhere. Everything hurt. He was so cold. So dizzy.
Then came the blood. Through his gritted teeth. With every stab of the knife came more tears and more blood coming from where it shouldn't. A drop got stuck in his throat. He coughed. All that came out was a quiet gagging sound and a weak spatter of blood.
Then he fell from the air, landing hard on the cold ground, smearing fresh gore on the pristine concrete. A crushing sensation on his back forced another bloody cough as the wind was knocked out of him.
He couldn't even struggle anymore. Everything was agony. Pure white, burning, searing agony. He was so, so cold.
Tears ran down his face. Every time he thought it was over, he just kept living.
He hoped to God that someone would help him.
Ire stood over the dying Sinner, proud of her work. She did all of that, didn't she?
She turned around, just to see no one there. No one was around to help this poor thing, and she took advantage of that.
Maybe you shouldn't lay around next time!
Once more she stomped the wind out of them before taking her foot off and kneeling down, engraving a deep line into their chest, right where the heart would be. This Sinner wasn't particularly interesting so she didn't go any farther than the third layer of skin, but the mark was very much made.
After that? She left them to die.
She simply walked off, laughing to herself as the sounds of chains faded away. She'll have to clean off that dagger of hers... and herself.
Stuck in a limbo of life and death - not quite alive but not dying either - all John could do was writhe pathetically on the ground. Slowly, painfully slowly, he stopped writhing, and laid there, in a slowly spreading pool of his own blood, breathing raggedly.
Once more, white-hot pain, this time over his heart.
His heart.
He couldn't die like this. He didn't want to die. He attempted to scream - and did, very loudly, with a strained throat. Please. Someone, anyone, help me. I don't want to die.
I don't want to die.
Please don't let me die.
(Footsteps, someone runs by. They backpedal a bit, seeing the dying sinner- the one who screamed words, the reason they ran over here in the first place. She usually sees someone like this when they’re already dead, they aren’t used to seeing someone with these sorts of injuries alive, at least not down here.)
(A mind processes those words previously screamed, a plea for life.)
(She gets to work- she can’t hesitate. She pulls out a needle and thread, and some gauze from her pockets (why does she just have that?), stitching up wounds like she’s done so many times before, bandaging as needed.)
Sorry, don’t have anesthesia here… hold tight.
(Eyes usually wide and childlike are pinpricks as she zeros in on the damage.)
John only twitched softly with every prick of the sewing needle. He had tried to keep his eyes open, but was now closing them tightly in pain. Occasionally he would let out the equivalent of a whimper, or would try and fail to stifle a bloody cough. The poor sinner was barely conscious of aware of what was happening; he silently endured the burning pain save for his labored, ragged breathing. He couldn't even speak anymore.
Tears were still rolling down his face. He so desperately wanted to live, but didn't know who was helping him, or why.
When the gauze touched his raw, ragged flesh, he made a sort of gagging noise, but couldn't do anything but tense up for a moment. He was in SO MUCH PAIN. Blood almost immediately soaked the gauze with a warm, dark red.
(She’s at least quick with it, if that’s any sort of saving grace. Not to say that she’s sloppy, she has an almost mechanical precision.)
That’s good, you’re still alive. Just a little more.
(Words of reassurance is said to the half-conscious sinner as this goes on, words consistently said until she’s done. Though, you’re still in a bad condition, all things considered- but she did the best with what she had.)
You’ve been brave. I’m with you. Sorry I don’t have any more I can help you with. Don’t try to respond- well, you know why. Just. Keep on trying to hang on.
"...please. take me somewhere safe," the sinner rasped quietly. It hurt to speak even a little, but if he were left here, something else would come for him. Maybe Ire would come back for seconds. He couldn't even move; it hurt too much. Please bring me back to safety. I can't stay here any longer.
He coughed again. Blood spattered the concrete in front of him, adding to the already soaked area that showed how much he had lost.
(They nod. Both arms move to pick him up, red staining fabric. She’s not bothered by this, she’s bathed in blood and filth more times than she could be bothered to count.)
I’ll try to make this as smooth as I can.
(And she moves, though she isn’t jostling you around quite as much as you’d expect. In fact, you aren’t hearing footsteps. (aka, the floating animations. she can do that))
We’ll be safe soon.
John silently allowed her to lift him, even when his whole body was burning with pain. Closing his eyes, he let her carry him to safety, wherever that may be. Maybe the lobby, where he could get further help from Rig?
Though the ride wasn't very bumpy, he still felt splitting pain on especially hard "landings" that would force out a yelp or a bloody cough.
Knowing that he would be in relative safety soon was a nice thought.
(They move on and on… eventually there’s a small shift in the air, a more peaceful place- the lobby. Seems to be a pretty empty lobby.)
(She sets him down near the shop, taking off her jacket so he can lay on that for now.)
One second ill. I’ll get something if I can.
(And she’s off, heading inside H. Skel’s shop. Leaving you alone with thoughts for some moments.)
The second the air shifted, John inhaled sharply in surprise. It had been so long out there that he had forgotten the lobby even existed. The ground there was somehow softer than in Grace despite being made from the same concrete.
A moment later, though, he realized he didn't feel too good. Maybe something in Grace's halls had been keeping him somewhat stable - but since he had been removed from there, that effect had disappeared.
The taste of warm iron hit his tongue. He retched, and threw up blood. Fresh blood. His vision became blurry.
Oh god. I have internal damage.
He felt weak.
(She exits the shop, with quite a bit of things, the entrance to the shop looking like a makeshift hospital room now with the things she got.)
Internal damage… to be somewhat expected…
I’ll put you under for what happens next- it’ll feel like you just went to sleep, ok?
Already weakened from blood loss, he managed to mumble an answer along the lines of "What if I die from the anesthesia?" This was NOT something he wanted to happen. He didn't want to wake up dead. Maybe he wasn't thinking clearly, but he didn't care. He wanted to be somewhat aware of what was happening. I hope she can understand me, his mind echoed.
(true. So very true. This isn’t one of those situations. Foolish of her, always making small slip ups, small mistakes.)
(She defaults back to old more logical programming, her voice a lot less warmer than it was before, emotions need not play a role in this. He has handled what she’s done to help him before, her thoughts of sparing him the pain could’ve led to disaster.)
Ok.
(She first restrains him before she really starts, not wanting any additional movement. Along with a transfusion of blood, you’ve lost a lot already.)
(Precise cuts to patch what’s within- it hurts, so very much. But you’ll endure, right? Pain before healing.)
The sudden coldness in her voice, along with the restraints, reminded him too much of Ire. Before he could struggle, though, pain began shooting through his body like miniature bullet wounds. Can't she at least give me something to bite down on?!
And then, he went limp, his eyelids half closed and pupils dilated. He had gone into shock, his body no longer able to endure the amount of fear, pain, or blood loss he was experiencing. He was barely even breathing.
At least it would be easier for her to operate this way.
(Slice and stitch, mend.)
(Her emotional mind wanders as her logical mind works.)
(Long ago, she once wondered what a human was. Then she got her answer, the internal workings of what goes where put into her mind, the muscles and bone and fat, the fluids and tendons.)
(That’s what makes up a human, right? No, that’s not all. The brain where thoughts are held, that’s what really holds what makes one up, right?)
(Her body is made up of all those organic things but, no. She doesn’t believe she can ever be truly human. No matter how much she wants to.)
(She works diligently. As a construct should.)
The Sinner laid on his back, eyes closed, simply relaxing, as he had time to. He fought the urge to fall asleep, though, as he constantly worried about... well, everything. He had had many a close call with Dozer or Litany, but would spend a lot of time in saferooms. He didn't want to feel the pain of dying again, even for a split second.
Rue's chains scared him the most. They radiated of immobility and helplessness, and he hated, hated, HATED the feeling of helplessness.
He couldn't bear to think of what would happen if he were caught.
At least there was nobody nearby to hurt him. Right?
@poor-sinner
Ire wasn't the sneakiest thing in the world. She was always loud, dragging herself around and fiddling around with the chains linked to a metal 'collar' of sorts where her neck would have been. One a prisoner would wear in medical cartoons.
Lucky her for wandering today, as she'll likely be entertained for a while. Peering around a corner, she masked the same face as always and made herself known.
Oh, have I walked in on a little someone?
She hooked her dagger more far back than she would usually. She'd use it later... or, well, she hoped she could.
John's eyes shot open, and, upon seeing Ire, SCREAMED. He made a pitiful attempt to run, only making it a few feet before tripping on a door frame and falling over. He crawled further away and, upon finding no easy way out, got up and flattened himself against a wall, trying to stay as far away from her as possible. Not Ire. Not her. No no NO NO NO. This was NOT good. He was trapped. He didn't even know Ire HAD a physical form; all he had heard were horror stories of the various violent ways others had perished at her hands.
The petrified sinner kept his eyes locked onto her, hoping for a quick demise... but by the stories he had heard, death would not come so quickly.
Oh! Seems we're running now. Not far, though.
Ire watched as the Sinner pitifully tripped over the doorframe, scrambling as she quickly lessened distance. Within moments, he had nowhere to go.
Hah, funny! Nice try, but you're gonna have to try harder than that to get away.
She stepped forward, leaning in slightly to take a good look at what was in front of her. She'd have fun with this, wouldn't she?
You're an interesting little fella. What're you doing, lying about within this hellhole? Hah! Shouldn't you know a bit better by now? You look like you've seen your own blood more than once.
Your eyes tell it all... along with that scream a whole room ago. Wow, ran for so long! So impressed, truly.
The sarcasm was obvious and bled through every word. Her motives were clear; to irritate.
She'd might as well tease a bit now that she's finally gotten the chance to feed the raging fire that was her violent desires.
John looked up at her menacing, towering form. Ire's face reeked of something sadistic. He started quivering. This was it. He was going to die, and it would be slow. Tears welled up in his eyes.
He tried to make a break for it, but Ire was too close, and he could barely move. Whether it was from fear or physical restraint, he didn't want to know. But he knew his demise was mere seconds from beginning, and the pain would not end for a long, long time.
"..p-please don't hurt me..." he managed to whimper. He knew it wouldn't work. She would chain him down and stab him and he would suffer and he wouldn't be able to do anything.
He was already dreading the cold, restricting feeling of a shackle around his neck.
Aw, did you not get what I asked?
Her tone was sweet. Too sweet.
All of these Sinners never get my questions, do they? Let me ask again.
Ire crouched down, grabbing the Sinner's wrist, and tight at that. In an instant, her tone switched to a more demanding one.
What're you doing resting all alone in such a horrible place?
And you'd better fuckin answer.
Seems some plans will be switched, this little someone clearly knows what'll happen, or at least has an idea for it. She slipped a finger through her dagger's handle and quickly pulled it into view, pointing it at the poor Sinner's neck, threatening to stab.
As Ire grabbed his wrist, John flinched. The razor sharp knife suddenly millimeters away from his jugular vein moments later forced him to be still.
He began to cry. "I- I thought I was safe- I was tired- I'm sorry-" he spluttered, voice cracking as he forced himself to make eye contact. His fear multiplied tenfold upon seeing that same, unmoving, sadistic smile. Please don't hurt me. Please don't hurt me. Please don't hurt me. Ire's grip felt like it was tightening. It hurt so much. He didn't want to move. He didn't know what she was going to do to him. He did know, however...
It would NOT be pretty.
Ire listened in, then laughed. It sounded genuine for just a moment, but it became clear as she ended it that it was not, not at all.
HAH. What're you sorry to me for? Be sorry to yourself, pathetic little thing.
She took the dagger and acted quick, giving a quick nick to their arm. She watched the blood slowly pool for just a moment, but swiftly gave a good and solid slash after enough time to think that the Sinner in her grasp wouldn't expect it.
The cut wouldn't kill; nothing important was even damaged, but the blood drain seemed to be quick. With some time, there'd be no doubt of at least a little bit of wooziness from it. Not for now though.
You're funny. Cute!
...cute very clearly didn't mean the same thing as the typical definition with her. Ire pressed down on the wound, drawing more blood.
You bleed real fast. Embarrassing!
The second he felt the burning pain, John suddenly had enough strength to get out of Ire's grip, if even for a moment. He became light on his feet, like a deer running from a hunter's missed shot, running as fast as his legs would carry him. Drops of ichor trailed behind him, unwittingly letting Ire know where he had gone.
He kept running until his legs were numb. Where in God's name is the next safe room?!
Looking back for a split second was all it took for him to realize that Ire was catching up already, radiating pure anger. Hurriedly, the sinner used his robe's arm to stem the flow of blood, hissing as dry fabric touched raw flesh with white hot pain.
Ire was already here. And that smile meant nothing good before, but after escaping her, her entire form radiated with unbridled sadism, and her face with seething rage.
As the rattle of eerie, luminous, cold chains grew louder, he hoped to God that she wouldn't go for his heart.
Ire was a bit surprised at the sudden fleeing. She kind of just stood there for a moment, but she knew damn well that this little game wouldn't last long.
Every link of chain raddled as she moved, swift and agile despite the weights. She giggled to herself, amused by the chase.
...but then, the sound stopped. There were no footsteps, no chains clinking about, nothing. Just some nice silence for a whole two rooms. Calm, like she'd stopped.
Ah, but nothing can last forever. Her voice rang decently quiet, and the traditional sound queue played. There wasn't much time to react.
Jump, asshole.
No matter what the Sinner did, correct action in time or not, it ended with them being swept off of their feet from Ire, who was now directly behind them. Before they could run off again, they grabbed them by the collar and kept them there with a chokehold.
Within seconds, the dagger hit them directly in the side, once then twice in two locations, one slightly higher than the other. She also made sure to poke at their neck a little, creating a wound that'd bleed enough to incapacitate and make them dizzy after a moment but not kill.
Consider yourself lucky that I let you go for that long! I could have just stomped your head in by now, but I like to have fun. No one seems to get what 'fun' really even is, though. A shame, huh Sinner?
As the collar wrapped around his neck, John realized he had messed up. He had heard that noise. He had had to jump. But he hadn't.
White-hot, searing agony slammed into his side, hilt-deep, not once but twice, cutting off his cries for help to make him shriek, then gasp. The blade brushed against his neck, releasing bright red pearls of blood.
He started to kick and struggle, ichor staining his robes a dark red as he clawed at the tight collar holding him hostage. The sheer pain in his side kept him speechless; all he could do was make pitiful noises and struggle futilely.
He gritted his teeth, trying to swing at Ire but unable to reach her, as he was hanging in midair. Drops of blood were hitting the ground now.
He was starting to feel cold.
Ire laughed once more at the struggling. This was fun! To her, at least.
You're real funny. You know that?
She let them fight just a little more, letting them try to do something to try and fix their situation before stabbing them again, this time rough in the stomach. She watched in satisfaction as the blade sunk in, slipping a pleased noise as the blood spilled out and stained the previously clean blade.
It was unfortunate that it was so sharp, and it'd probably stay that way for a while. Even if it did get dull, she had the tool to sharpen it again. Nice for her, not for anybody else.
That aside however, she wasn't done. Just like the previous, she did it again, but this time she didn't stop. She stabbed again, then again, then again and again and again. Only then did she stop, and that was to drop the poor Sinner and keep them in place with her foot, stomping down. She made sure to decompress their lungs the most they could, just to really keep them grasping at life.
God, I just wish that you were more angry. It's always nice when I leave with a hefty bruise... guess not this time, ey?
She stomped again.
John let out a loud yelp as the knife sank deep into his stomach. Pain was everywhere. Everything hurt. He was so cold. So dizzy.
Then came the blood. Through his gritted teeth. With every stab of the knife came more tears and more blood coming from where it shouldn't. A drop got stuck in his throat. He coughed. All that came out was a quiet gagging sound and a weak spatter of blood.
Then he fell from the air, landing hard on the cold ground, smearing fresh gore on the pristine concrete. A crushing sensation on his back forced another bloody cough as the wind was knocked out of him.
He couldn't even struggle anymore. Everything was agony. Pure white, burning, searing agony. He was so, so cold.
Tears ran down his face. Every time he thought it was over, he just kept living.
He hoped to God that someone would help him.
Ire stood over the dying Sinner, proud of her work. She did all of that, didn't she?
She turned around, just to see no one there. No one was around to help this poor thing, and she took advantage of that.
Maybe you shouldn't lay around next time!
Once more she stomped the wind out of them before taking her foot off and kneeling down, engraving a deep line into their chest, right where the heart would be. This Sinner wasn't particularly interesting so she didn't go any farther than the third layer of skin, but the mark was very much made.
After that? She left them to die.
She simply walked off, laughing to herself as the sounds of chains faded away. She'll have to clean off that dagger of hers... and herself.
Stuck in a limbo of life and death - not quite alive but not dying either - all John could do was writhe pathetically on the ground. Slowly, painfully slowly, he stopped writhing, and laid there, in a slowly spreading pool of his own blood, breathing raggedly.
Once more, white-hot pain, this time over his heart.
His heart.
He couldn't die like this. He didn't want to die. He attempted to scream - and did, very loudly, with a strained throat. Please. Someone, anyone, help me. I don't want to die.
I don't want to die.
Please don't let me die.
(Footsteps, someone runs by. They backpedal a bit, seeing the dying sinner- the one who screamed words, the reason they ran over here in the first place. She usually sees someone like this when they’re already dead, they aren’t used to seeing someone with these sorts of injuries alive, at least not down here.)
(A mind processes those words previously screamed, a plea for life.)
(She gets to work- she can’t hesitate. She pulls out a needle and thread, and some gauze from her pockets (why does she just have that?), stitching up wounds like she’s done so many times before, bandaging as needed.)
Sorry, don’t have anesthesia here… hold tight.
(Eyes usually wide and childlike are pinpricks as she zeros in on the damage.)
John only twitched softly with every prick of the sewing needle. He had tried to keep his eyes open, but was now closing them tightly in pain. Occasionally he would let out the equivalent of a whimper, or would try and fail to stifle a bloody cough. The poor sinner was barely conscious of aware of what was happening; he silently endured the burning pain save for his labored, ragged breathing. He couldn't even speak anymore.
Tears were still rolling down his face. He so desperately wanted to live, but didn't know who was helping him, or why.
When the gauze touched his raw, ragged flesh, he made a sort of gagging noise, but couldn't do anything but tense up for a moment. He was in SO MUCH PAIN. Blood almost immediately soaked the gauze with a warm, dark red.
(She’s at least quick with it, if that’s any sort of saving grace. Not to say that she’s sloppy, she has an almost mechanical precision.)
That’s good, you’re still alive. Just a little more.
(Words of reassurance is said to the half-conscious sinner as this goes on, words consistently said until she’s done. Though, you’re still in a bad condition, all things considered- but she did the best with what she had.)
You’ve been brave. I’m with you. Sorry I don’t have any more I can help you with. Don’t try to respond- well, you know why. Just. Keep on trying to hang on.
"...please. take me somewhere safe," the sinner rasped quietly. It hurt to speak even a little, but if he were left here, something else would come for him. Maybe Ire would come back for seconds. He couldn't even move; it hurt too much. Please bring me back to safety. I can't stay here any longer.
He coughed again. Blood spattered the concrete in front of him, adding to the already soaked area that showed how much he had lost.
(They nod. Both arms move to pick him up, red staining fabric. She’s not bothered by this, she’s bathed in blood and filth more times than she could be bothered to count.)
I’ll try to make this as smooth as I can.
(And she moves, though she isn’t jostling you around quite as much as you’d expect. In fact, you aren’t hearing footsteps. (aka, the floating animations. she can do that))
We’ll be safe soon.
John silently allowed her to lift him, even when his whole body was burning with pain. Closing his eyes, he let her carry him to safety, wherever that may be. Maybe the lobby, where he could get further help from Rig?
Though the ride wasn't very bumpy, he still felt splitting pain on especially hard "landings" that would force out a yelp or a bloody cough.
Knowing that he would be in relative safety soon was a nice thought.
(They move on and on… eventually there’s a small shift in the air, a more peaceful place- the lobby. Seems to be a pretty empty lobby.)
(She sets him down near the shop, taking off her jacket so he can lay on that for now.)
One second ill. I’ll get something if I can.
(And she’s off, heading inside H. Skel’s shop. Leaving you alone with thoughts for some moments.)
The second the air shifted, John inhaled sharply in surprise. It had been so long out there that he had forgotten the lobby even existed. The ground there was somehow softer than in Grace despite being made from the same concrete.
A moment later, though, he realized he didn't feel too good. Maybe something in Grace's halls had been keeping him somewhat stable - but since he had been removed from there, that effect had disappeared.
The taste of warm iron hit his tongue. He retched, and threw up blood. Fresh blood. His vision became blurry.
Oh god. I have internal damage.
He felt weak.
(She exits the shop, with quite a bit of things, the entrance to the shop looking like a makeshift hospital room now with the things she got.)
Internal damage… to be somewhat expected…
I’ll put you under for what happens next- it’ll feel like you just went to sleep, ok?
Already weakened from blood loss, he managed to mumble an answer along the lines of "What if I die from the anesthesia?" This was NOT something he wanted to happen. He didn't want to wake up dead. Maybe he wasn't thinking clearly, but he didn't care. He wanted to be somewhat aware of what was happening. I hope she can understand me, his mind echoed.
(true. So very true. This isn’t one of those situations. Foolish of her, always making small slip ups, small mistakes.)
(She defaults back to old more logical programming, her voice a lot less warmer than it was before, emotions need not play a role in this. He has handled what she’s done to help him before, her thoughts of sparing him the pain could’ve led to disaster.)
Ok.
(She first restrains him before she really starts, not wanting any additional movement. Along with a transfusion of blood, you’ve lost a lot already.)
(Precise cuts to patch what’s within- it hurts, so very much. But you’ll endure, right? Pain before healing.)
The Sinner laid on his back, eyes closed, simply relaxing, as he had time to. He fought the urge to fall asleep, though, as he constantly worried about... well, everything. He had had many a close call with Dozer or Litany, but would spend a lot of time in saferooms. He didn't want to feel the pain of dying again, even for a split second.
Rue's chains scared him the most. They radiated of immobility and helplessness, and he hated, hated, HATED the feeling of helplessness.
He couldn't bear to think of what would happen if he were caught.
At least there was nobody nearby to hurt him. Right?
@poor-sinner
Ire wasn't the sneakiest thing in the world. She was always loud, dragging herself around and fiddling around with the chains linked to a metal 'collar' of sorts where her neck would have been. One a prisoner would wear in medical cartoons.
Lucky her for wandering today, as she'll likely be entertained for a while. Peering around a corner, she masked the same face as always and made herself known.
Oh, have I walked in on a little someone?
She hooked her dagger more far back than she would usually. She'd use it later... or, well, she hoped she could.
John's eyes shot open, and, upon seeing Ire, SCREAMED. He made a pitiful attempt to run, only making it a few feet before tripping on a door frame and falling over. He crawled further away and, upon finding no easy way out, got up and flattened himself against a wall, trying to stay as far away from her as possible. Not Ire. Not her. No no NO NO NO. This was NOT good. He was trapped. He didn't even know Ire HAD a physical form; all he had heard were horror stories of the various violent ways others had perished at her hands.
The petrified sinner kept his eyes locked onto her, hoping for a quick demise... but by the stories he had heard, death would not come so quickly.
Oh! Seems we're running now. Not far, though.
Ire watched as the Sinner pitifully tripped over the doorframe, scrambling as she quickly lessened distance. Within moments, he had nowhere to go.
Hah, funny! Nice try, but you're gonna have to try harder than that to get away.
She stepped forward, leaning in slightly to take a good look at what was in front of her. She'd have fun with this, wouldn't she?
You're an interesting little fella. What're you doing, lying about within this hellhole? Hah! Shouldn't you know a bit better by now? You look like you've seen your own blood more than once.
Your eyes tell it all... along with that scream a whole room ago. Wow, ran for so long! So impressed, truly.
The sarcasm was obvious and bled through every word. Her motives were clear; to irritate.
She'd might as well tease a bit now that she's finally gotten the chance to feed the raging fire that was her violent desires.
John looked up at her menacing, towering form. Ire's face reeked of something sadistic. He started quivering. This was it. He was going to die, and it would be slow. Tears welled up in his eyes.
He tried to make a break for it, but Ire was too close, and he could barely move. Whether it was from fear or physical restraint, he didn't want to know. But he knew his demise was mere seconds from beginning, and the pain would not end for a long, long time.
"..p-please don't hurt me..." he managed to whimper. He knew it wouldn't work. She would chain him down and stab him and he would suffer and he wouldn't be able to do anything.
He was already dreading the cold, restricting feeling of a shackle around his neck.
Aw, did you not get what I asked?
Her tone was sweet. Too sweet.
All of these Sinners never get my questions, do they? Let me ask again.
Ire crouched down, grabbing the Sinner's wrist, and tight at that. In an instant, her tone switched to a more demanding one.
What're you doing resting all alone in such a horrible place?
And you'd better fuckin answer.
Seems some plans will be switched, this little someone clearly knows what'll happen, or at least has an idea for it. She slipped a finger through her dagger's handle and quickly pulled it into view, pointing it at the poor Sinner's neck, threatening to stab.
As Ire grabbed his wrist, John flinched. The razor sharp knife suddenly millimeters away from his jugular vein moments later forced him to be still.
He began to cry. "I- I thought I was safe- I was tired- I'm sorry-" he spluttered, voice cracking as he forced himself to make eye contact. His fear multiplied tenfold upon seeing that same, unmoving, sadistic smile. Please don't hurt me. Please don't hurt me. Please don't hurt me. Ire's grip felt like it was tightening. It hurt so much. He didn't want to move. He didn't know what she was going to do to him. He did know, however...
It would NOT be pretty.
Ire listened in, then laughed. It sounded genuine for just a moment, but it became clear as she ended it that it was not, not at all.
HAH. What're you sorry to me for? Be sorry to yourself, pathetic little thing.
She took the dagger and acted quick, giving a quick nick to their arm. She watched the blood slowly pool for just a moment, but swiftly gave a good and solid slash after enough time to think that the Sinner in her grasp wouldn't expect it.
The cut wouldn't kill; nothing important was even damaged, but the blood drain seemed to be quick. With some time, there'd be no doubt of at least a little bit of wooziness from it. Not for now though.
You're funny. Cute!
...cute very clearly didn't mean the same thing as the typical definition with her. Ire pressed down on the wound, drawing more blood.
You bleed real fast. Embarrassing!
The second he felt the burning pain, John suddenly had enough strength to get out of Ire's grip, if even for a moment. He became light on his feet, like a deer running from a hunter's missed shot, running as fast as his legs would carry him. Drops of ichor trailed behind him, unwittingly letting Ire know where he had gone.
He kept running until his legs were numb. Where in God's name is the next safe room?!
Looking back for a split second was all it took for him to realize that Ire was catching up already, radiating pure anger. Hurriedly, the sinner used his robe's arm to stem the flow of blood, hissing as dry fabric touched raw flesh with white hot pain.
Ire was already here. And that smile meant nothing good before, but after escaping her, her entire form radiated with unbridled sadism, and her face with seething rage.
As the rattle of eerie, luminous, cold chains grew louder, he hoped to God that she wouldn't go for his heart.
Ire was a bit surprised at the sudden fleeing. She kind of just stood there for a moment, but she knew damn well that this little game wouldn't last long.
Every link of chain raddled as she moved, swift and agile despite the weights. She giggled to herself, amused by the chase.
...but then, the sound stopped. There were no footsteps, no chains clinking about, nothing. Just some nice silence for a whole two rooms. Calm, like she'd stopped.
Ah, but nothing can last forever. Her voice rang decently quiet, and the traditional sound queue played. There wasn't much time to react.
Jump, asshole.
No matter what the Sinner did, correct action in time or not, it ended with them being swept off of their feet from Ire, who was now directly behind them. Before they could run off again, they grabbed them by the collar and kept them there with a chokehold.
Within seconds, the dagger hit them directly in the side, once then twice in two locations, one slightly higher than the other. She also made sure to poke at their neck a little, creating a wound that'd bleed enough to incapacitate and make them dizzy after a moment but not kill.
Consider yourself lucky that I let you go for that long! I could have just stomped your head in by now, but I like to have fun. No one seems to get what 'fun' really even is, though. A shame, huh Sinner?
As the collar wrapped around his neck, John realized he had messed up. He had heard that noise. He had had to jump. But he hadn't.
White-hot, searing agony slammed into his side, hilt-deep, not once but twice, cutting off his cries for help to make him shriek, then gasp. The blade brushed against his neck, releasing bright red pearls of blood.
He started to kick and struggle, ichor staining his robes a dark red as he clawed at the tight collar holding him hostage. The sheer pain in his side kept him speechless; all he could do was make pitiful noises and struggle futilely.
He gritted his teeth, trying to swing at Ire but unable to reach her, as he was hanging in midair. Drops of blood were hitting the ground now.
He was starting to feel cold.
Ire laughed once more at the struggling. This was fun! To her, at least.
You're real funny. You know that?
She let them fight just a little more, letting them try to do something to try and fix their situation before stabbing them again, this time rough in the stomach. She watched in satisfaction as the blade sunk in, slipping a pleased noise as the blood spilled out and stained the previously clean blade.
It was unfortunate that it was so sharp, and it'd probably stay that way for a while. Even if it did get dull, she had the tool to sharpen it again. Nice for her, not for anybody else.
That aside however, she wasn't done. Just like the previous, she did it again, but this time she didn't stop. She stabbed again, then again, then again and again and again. Only then did she stop, and that was to drop the poor Sinner and keep them in place with her foot, stomping down. She made sure to decompress their lungs the most they could, just to really keep them grasping at life.
God, I just wish that you were more angry. It's always nice when I leave with a hefty bruise... guess not this time, ey?
She stomped again.
John let out a loud yelp as the knife sank deep into his stomach. Pain was everywhere. Everything hurt. He was so cold. So dizzy.
Then came the blood. Through his gritted teeth. With every stab of the knife came more tears and more blood coming from where it shouldn't. A drop got stuck in his throat. He coughed. All that came out was a quiet gagging sound and a weak spatter of blood.
Then he fell from the air, landing hard on the cold ground, smearing fresh gore on the pristine concrete. A crushing sensation on his back forced another bloody cough as the wind was knocked out of him.
He couldn't even struggle anymore. Everything was agony. Pure white, burning, searing agony. He was so, so cold.
Tears ran down his face. Every time he thought it was over, he just kept living.
He hoped to God that someone would help him.
Ire stood over the dying Sinner, proud of her work. She did all of that, didn't she?
She turned around, just to see no one there. No one was around to help this poor thing, and she took advantage of that.
Maybe you shouldn't lay around next time!
Once more she stomped the wind out of them before taking her foot off and kneeling down, engraving a deep line into their chest, right where the heart would be. This Sinner wasn't particularly interesting so she didn't go any farther than the third layer of skin, but the mark was very much made.
After that? She left them to die.
She simply walked off, laughing to herself as the sounds of chains faded away. She'll have to clean off that dagger of hers... and herself.
Stuck in a limbo of life and death - not quite alive but not dying either - all John could do was writhe pathetically on the ground. Slowly, painfully slowly, he stopped writhing, and laid there, in a slowly spreading pool of his own blood, breathing raggedly.
Once more, white-hot pain, this time over his heart.
His heart.
He couldn't die like this. He didn't want to die. He attempted to scream - and did, very loudly, with a strained throat. Please. Someone, anyone, help me. I don't want to die.
I don't want to die.
Please don't let me die.
(Footsteps, someone runs by. They backpedal a bit, seeing the dying sinner- the one who screamed words, the reason they ran over here in the first place. She usually sees someone like this when they’re already dead, they aren’t used to seeing someone with these sorts of injuries alive, at least not down here.)
(A mind processes those words previously screamed, a plea for life.)
(She gets to work- she can’t hesitate. She pulls out a needle and thread, and some gauze from her pockets (why does she just have that?), stitching up wounds like she’s done so many times before, bandaging as needed.)
Sorry, don’t have anesthesia here… hold tight.
(Eyes usually wide and childlike are pinpricks as she zeros in on the damage.)
John only twitched softly with every prick of the sewing needle. He had tried to keep his eyes open, but was now closing them tightly in pain. Occasionally he would let out the equivalent of a whimper, or would try and fail to stifle a bloody cough. The poor sinner was barely conscious of aware of what was happening; he silently endured the burning pain save for his labored, ragged breathing. He couldn't even speak anymore.
Tears were still rolling down his face. He so desperately wanted to live, but didn't know who was helping him, or why.
When the gauze touched his raw, ragged flesh, he made a sort of gagging noise, but couldn't do anything but tense up for a moment. He was in SO MUCH PAIN. Blood almost immediately soaked the gauze with a warm, dark red.
(She’s at least quick with it, if that’s any sort of saving grace. Not to say that she’s sloppy, she has an almost mechanical precision.)
That’s good, you’re still alive. Just a little more.
(Words of reassurance is said to the half-conscious sinner as this goes on, words consistently said until she’s done. Though, you’re still in a bad condition, all things considered- but she did the best with what she had.)
You’ve been brave. I’m with you. Sorry I don’t have any more I can help you with. Don’t try to respond- well, you know why. Just. Keep on trying to hang on.
"...please. take me somewhere safe," the sinner rasped quietly. It hurt to speak even a little, but if he were left here, something else would come for him. Maybe Ire would come back for seconds. He couldn't even move; it hurt too much. Please bring me back to safety. I can't stay here any longer.
He coughed again. Blood spattered the concrete in front of him, adding to the already soaked area that showed how much he had lost.
(They nod. Both arms move to pick him up, red staining fabric. She’s not bothered by this, she’s bathed in blood and filth more times than she could be bothered to count.)
I’ll try to make this as smooth as I can.
(And she moves, though she isn’t jostling you around quite as much as you’d expect. In fact, you aren’t hearing footsteps. (aka, the floating animations. she can do that))
We’ll be safe soon.
John silently allowed her to lift him, even when his whole body was burning with pain. Closing his eyes, he let her carry him to safety, wherever that may be. Maybe the lobby, where he could get further help from Rig?
Though the ride wasn't very bumpy, he still felt splitting pain on especially hard "landings" that would force out a yelp or a bloody cough.
Knowing that he would be in relative safety soon was a nice thought.
(They move on and on… eventually there’s a small shift in the air, a more peaceful place- the lobby. Seems to be a pretty empty lobby.)
(She sets him down near the shop, taking off her jacket so he can lay on that for now.)
One second ill. I’ll get something if I can.
(And she’s off, heading inside H. Skel’s shop. Leaving you alone with thoughts for some moments.)
The second the air shifted, John inhaled sharply in surprise. It had been so long out there that he had forgotten the lobby even existed. The ground there was somehow softer than in Grace despite being made from the same concrete.
A moment later, though, he realized he didn't feel too good. Maybe something in Grace's halls had been keeping him somewhat stable - but since he had been removed from there, that effect had disappeared.
The taste of warm iron hit his tongue. He retched, and threw up blood. Fresh blood. His vision became blurry.
Oh god. I have internal damage.
He felt weak.
(She exits the shop, with quite a bit of things, the entrance to the shop looking like a makeshift hospital room now with the things she got.)
Internal damage… to be somewhat expected…
I’ll put you under for what happens next- it’ll feel like you just went to sleep, ok?
The Sinner laid on his back, eyes closed, simply relaxing, as he had time to. He fought the urge to fall asleep, though, as he constantly worried about... well, everything. He had had many a close call with Dozer or Litany, but would spend a lot of time in saferooms. He didn't want to feel the pain of dying again, even for a split second.
Rue's chains scared him the most. They radiated of immobility and helplessness, and he hated, hated, HATED the feeling of helplessness.
He couldn't bear to think of what would happen if he were caught.
At least there was nobody nearby to hurt him. Right?
@poor-sinner
Ire wasn't the sneakiest thing in the world. She was always loud, dragging herself around and fiddling around with the chains linked to a metal 'collar' of sorts where her neck would have been. One a prisoner would wear in medical cartoons.
Lucky her for wandering today, as she'll likely be entertained for a while. Peering around a corner, she masked the same face as always and made herself known.
Oh, have I walked in on a little someone?
She hooked her dagger more far back than she would usually. She'd use it later... or, well, she hoped she could.
John's eyes shot open, and, upon seeing Ire, SCREAMED. He made a pitiful attempt to run, only making it a few feet before tripping on a door frame and falling over. He crawled further away and, upon finding no easy way out, got up and flattened himself against a wall, trying to stay as far away from her as possible. Not Ire. Not her. No no NO NO NO. This was NOT good. He was trapped. He didn't even know Ire HAD a physical form; all he had heard were horror stories of the various violent ways others had perished at her hands.
The petrified sinner kept his eyes locked onto her, hoping for a quick demise... but by the stories he had heard, death would not come so quickly.
Oh! Seems we're running now. Not far, though.
Ire watched as the Sinner pitifully tripped over the doorframe, scrambling as she quickly lessened distance. Within moments, he had nowhere to go.
Hah, funny! Nice try, but you're gonna have to try harder than that to get away.
She stepped forward, leaning in slightly to take a good look at what was in front of her. She'd have fun with this, wouldn't she?
You're an interesting little fella. What're you doing, lying about within this hellhole? Hah! Shouldn't you know a bit better by now? You look like you've seen your own blood more than once.
Your eyes tell it all... along with that scream a whole room ago. Wow, ran for so long! So impressed, truly.
The sarcasm was obvious and bled through every word. Her motives were clear; to irritate.
She'd might as well tease a bit now that she's finally gotten the chance to feed the raging fire that was her violent desires.
John looked up at her menacing, towering form. Ire's face reeked of something sadistic. He started quivering. This was it. He was going to die, and it would be slow. Tears welled up in his eyes.
He tried to make a break for it, but Ire was too close, and he could barely move. Whether it was from fear or physical restraint, he didn't want to know. But he knew his demise was mere seconds from beginning, and the pain would not end for a long, long time.
"..p-please don't hurt me..." he managed to whimper. He knew it wouldn't work. She would chain him down and stab him and he would suffer and he wouldn't be able to do anything.
He was already dreading the cold, restricting feeling of a shackle around his neck.
Aw, did you not get what I asked?
Her tone was sweet. Too sweet.
All of these Sinners never get my questions, do they? Let me ask again.
Ire crouched down, grabbing the Sinner's wrist, and tight at that. In an instant, her tone switched to a more demanding one.
What're you doing resting all alone in such a horrible place?
And you'd better fuckin answer.
Seems some plans will be switched, this little someone clearly knows what'll happen, or at least has an idea for it. She slipped a finger through her dagger's handle and quickly pulled it into view, pointing it at the poor Sinner's neck, threatening to stab.
As Ire grabbed his wrist, John flinched. The razor sharp knife suddenly millimeters away from his jugular vein moments later forced him to be still.
He began to cry. "I- I thought I was safe- I was tired- I'm sorry-" he spluttered, voice cracking as he forced himself to make eye contact. His fear multiplied tenfold upon seeing that same, unmoving, sadistic smile. Please don't hurt me. Please don't hurt me. Please don't hurt me. Ire's grip felt like it was tightening. It hurt so much. He didn't want to move. He didn't know what she was going to do to him. He did know, however...
It would NOT be pretty.
Ire listened in, then laughed. It sounded genuine for just a moment, but it became clear as she ended it that it was not, not at all.
HAH. What're you sorry to me for? Be sorry to yourself, pathetic little thing.
She took the dagger and acted quick, giving a quick nick to their arm. She watched the blood slowly pool for just a moment, but swiftly gave a good and solid slash after enough time to think that the Sinner in her grasp wouldn't expect it.
The cut wouldn't kill; nothing important was even damaged, but the blood drain seemed to be quick. With some time, there'd be no doubt of at least a little bit of wooziness from it. Not for now though.
You're funny. Cute!
...cute very clearly didn't mean the same thing as the typical definition with her. Ire pressed down on the wound, drawing more blood.
You bleed real fast. Embarrassing!
The second he felt the burning pain, John suddenly had enough strength to get out of Ire's grip, if even for a moment. He became light on his feet, like a deer running from a hunter's missed shot, running as fast as his legs would carry him. Drops of ichor trailed behind him, unwittingly letting Ire know where he had gone.
He kept running until his legs were numb. Where in God's name is the next safe room?!
Looking back for a split second was all it took for him to realize that Ire was catching up already, radiating pure anger. Hurriedly, the sinner used his robe's arm to stem the flow of blood, hissing as dry fabric touched raw flesh with white hot pain.
Ire was already here. And that smile meant nothing good before, but after escaping her, her entire form radiated with unbridled sadism, and her face with seething rage.
As the rattle of eerie, luminous, cold chains grew louder, he hoped to God that she wouldn't go for his heart.
Ire was a bit surprised at the sudden fleeing. She kind of just stood there for a moment, but she knew damn well that this little game wouldn't last long.
Every link of chain raddled as she moved, swift and agile despite the weights. She giggled to herself, amused by the chase.
...but then, the sound stopped. There were no footsteps, no chains clinking about, nothing. Just some nice silence for a whole two rooms. Calm, like she'd stopped.
Ah, but nothing can last forever. Her voice rang decently quiet, and the traditional sound queue played. There wasn't much time to react.
Jump, asshole.
No matter what the Sinner did, correct action in time or not, it ended with them being swept off of their feet from Ire, who was now directly behind them. Before they could run off again, they grabbed them by the collar and kept them there with a chokehold.
Within seconds, the dagger hit them directly in the side, once then twice in two locations, one slightly higher than the other. She also made sure to poke at their neck a little, creating a wound that'd bleed enough to incapacitate and make them dizzy after a moment but not kill.
Consider yourself lucky that I let you go for that long! I could have just stomped your head in by now, but I like to have fun. No one seems to get what 'fun' really even is, though. A shame, huh Sinner?
As the collar wrapped around his neck, John realized he had messed up. He had heard that noise. He had had to jump. But he hadn't.
White-hot, searing agony slammed into his side, hilt-deep, not once but twice, cutting off his cries for help to make him shriek, then gasp. The blade brushed against his neck, releasing bright red pearls of blood.
He started to kick and struggle, ichor staining his robes a dark red as he clawed at the tight collar holding him hostage. The sheer pain in his side kept him speechless; all he could do was make pitiful noises and struggle futilely.
He gritted his teeth, trying to swing at Ire but unable to reach her, as he was hanging in midair. Drops of blood were hitting the ground now.
He was starting to feel cold.
Ire laughed once more at the struggling. This was fun! To her, at least.
You're real funny. You know that?
She let them fight just a little more, letting them try to do something to try and fix their situation before stabbing them again, this time rough in the stomach. She watched in satisfaction as the blade sunk in, slipping a pleased noise as the blood spilled out and stained the previously clean blade.
It was unfortunate that it was so sharp, and it'd probably stay that way for a while. Even if it did get dull, she had the tool to sharpen it again. Nice for her, not for anybody else.
That aside however, she wasn't done. Just like the previous, she did it again, but this time she didn't stop. She stabbed again, then again, then again and again and again. Only then did she stop, and that was to drop the poor Sinner and keep them in place with her foot, stomping down. She made sure to decompress their lungs the most they could, just to really keep them grasping at life.
God, I just wish that you were more angry. It's always nice when I leave with a hefty bruise... guess not this time, ey?
She stomped again.
John let out a loud yelp as the knife sank deep into his stomach. Pain was everywhere. Everything hurt. He was so cold. So dizzy.
Then came the blood. Through his gritted teeth. With every stab of the knife came more tears and more blood coming from where it shouldn't. A drop got stuck in his throat. He coughed. All that came out was a quiet gagging sound and a weak spatter of blood.
Then he fell from the air, landing hard on the cold ground, smearing fresh gore on the pristine concrete. A crushing sensation on his back forced another bloody cough as the wind was knocked out of him.
He couldn't even struggle anymore. Everything was agony. Pure white, burning, searing agony. He was so, so cold.
Tears ran down his face. Every time he thought it was over, he just kept living.
He hoped to God that someone would help him.
Ire stood over the dying Sinner, proud of her work. She did all of that, didn't she?
She turned around, just to see no one there. No one was around to help this poor thing, and she took advantage of that.
Maybe you shouldn't lay around next time!
Once more she stomped the wind out of them before taking her foot off and kneeling down, engraving a deep line into their chest, right where the heart would be. This Sinner wasn't particularly interesting so she didn't go any farther than the third layer of skin, but the mark was very much made.
After that? She left them to die.
She simply walked off, laughing to herself as the sounds of chains faded away. She'll have to clean off that dagger of hers... and herself.
Stuck in a limbo of life and death - not quite alive but not dying either - all John could do was writhe pathetically on the ground. Slowly, painfully slowly, he stopped writhing, and laid there, in a slowly spreading pool of his own blood, breathing raggedly.
Once more, white-hot pain, this time over his heart.
His heart.
He couldn't die like this. He didn't want to die. He attempted to scream - and did, very loudly, with a strained throat. Please. Someone, anyone, help me. I don't want to die.
I don't want to die.
Please don't let me die.
(Footsteps, someone runs by. They backpedal a bit, seeing the dying sinner- the one who screamed words, the reason they ran over here in the first place. She usually sees someone like this when they’re already dead, they aren’t used to seeing someone with these sorts of injuries alive, at least not down here.)
(A mind processes those words previously screamed, a plea for life.)
(She gets to work- she can’t hesitate. She pulls out a needle and thread, and some gauze from her pockets (why does she just have that?), stitching up wounds like she’s done so many times before, bandaging as needed.)
Sorry, don’t have anesthesia here… hold tight.
(Eyes usually wide and childlike are pinpricks as she zeros in on the damage.)
John only twitched softly with every prick of the sewing needle. He had tried to keep his eyes open, but was now closing them tightly in pain. Occasionally he would let out the equivalent of a whimper, or would try and fail to stifle a bloody cough. The poor sinner was barely conscious of aware of what was happening; he silently endured the burning pain save for his labored, ragged breathing. He couldn't even speak anymore.
Tears were still rolling down his face. He so desperately wanted to live, but didn't know who was helping him, or why.
When the gauze touched his raw, ragged flesh, he made a sort of gagging noise, but couldn't do anything but tense up for a moment. He was in SO MUCH PAIN. Blood almost immediately soaked the gauze with a warm, dark red.
(She’s at least quick with it, if that’s any sort of saving grace. Not to say that she’s sloppy, she has an almost mechanical precision.)
That’s good, you’re still alive. Just a little more.
(Words of reassurance is said to the half-conscious sinner as this goes on, words consistently said until she’s done. Though, you’re still in a bad condition, all things considered- but she did the best with what she had.)
You’ve been brave. I’m with you. Sorry I don’t have any more I can help you with. Don’t try to respond- well, you know why. Just. Keep on trying to hang on.
"...please. take me somewhere safe," the sinner rasped quietly. It hurt to speak even a little, but if he were left here, something else would come for him. Maybe Ire would come back for seconds. He couldn't even move; it hurt too much. Please bring me back to safety. I can't stay here any longer.
He coughed again. Blood spattered the concrete in front of him, adding to the already soaked area that showed how much he had lost.
(They nod. Both arms move to pick him up, red staining fabric. She’s not bothered by this, she’s bathed in blood and filth more times than she could be bothered to count.)
I’ll try to make this as smooth as I can.
(And she moves, though she isn’t jostling you around quite as much as you’d expect. In fact, you aren’t hearing footsteps. (aka, the floating animations. she can do that))
We’ll be safe soon.
John silently allowed her to lift him, even when his whole body was burning with pain. Closing his eyes, he let her carry him to safety, wherever that may be. Maybe the lobby, where he could get further help from Rig?
Though the ride wasn't very bumpy, he still felt splitting pain on especially hard "landings" that would force out a yelp or a bloody cough.
Knowing that he would be in relative safety soon was a nice thought.
(They move on and on… eventually there’s a small shift in the air, a more peaceful place- the lobby. Seems to be a pretty empty lobby.)
(She sets him down near the shop, taking off her jacket so he can lay on that for now.)
One second ill. I’ll get something if I can.
(And she’s off, heading inside H. Skel’s shop. Leaving you alone with thoughts for some moments.)
