#eptask02

[rollingthxnder]

White.

It came like a blanket, covered everything she was until it was so blinding that even squeezing her eyes shut didn’t help. It came with a pain so excruciating, so foreign, she wasn’t even sure if she had made a sound. She had wanted to scream. Wanted to push anything out that could lessen this feeling, ease the buildup she felt happening in her veins.

White.

It came like a siren, loud. Blaring in her ears and muffling out whatever was going on around her in the temple. The ring in her ears so deafening that she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to hear again. It seeped into muscles, bore itself into her bones until she was no longer sure where she ended and this feeling began.

Maybe this was what it was supposed to be like, being Divine. Being a part of the sacred temple. Maybe this was to be her life, and this was why families hid their children from the elders.

The blinding soon started to fade, the white giving way to colors once more. The darkness of the temple was a welcomed feeling, the cool of the stone floor easing the burn to her skin she didn’t know she had. Ileana could hear the voices now, soft murmurs, mumbles of people standing over her, staring at her. She blinked back tears, tried to clear her vision as she finally took in a breath she hadn’t known she’d been fighting to find.

Her body had froze, a defense mechanism to the pain, and when that first drop of air touched her lungs, it was like a whole new world of pain. This time the scream did rip from her throat. It cut through the quiet of the temple, split the silence and bounced off walls. A thunder in its own right.

The white was back, there, fading into the outskirts of her vision, threatening to take over again. She wanted it, at this point. Silently, she begged for the white to come and just swallow everything she was. To submerge her into a darkness until everything had passed. Unconscious, while a coward’s way out, was still a method of survival, and one she’d welcome.

Voices again, growing louder. Not in concern, but in curiosity. Questions came as hands came to touch her still burning skin. The young elemental jerked from them, her body revolting against the movement, but no scream came this time. A quiet, soft whimpering, but no scream.

“-her threshold. They all have limits.”

Slowly it was coming back, the overwhelming sensation of pain subsiding into a dull throb. White light giving way to dark and dim colors. Browns and blacks with the subtle touches of greed and gold.

The temple.

She wanted to go home.

“She’s still conscious.”

“Miraculously. It was too much for her, you cannot do it again.”

Eyes stared at her, burned her far greater than any strike of lightning could. There was pity there, and she couldn’t tell if she was grateful for the emotion, or enraged at it. As if she needed it from them. Needed them to feel anything from her. Ileana sucked in a breath, but it was back – the pain. Searing through her body faster than it had before.

White, again. A color forever embedded into lightning, into the idea of pain. They were one in the same. The buildup became too great for her body to contain, whatever his touch had brought clashed with her own element. Fed it. Encouraged it until she felt as if she was exploding. There was a flash, the color finally seeming to envelop the entire room and not just her. There was a CRACK, the distinct sound of thunder. And then… there was black. Darkness.

Nothing.  

[famxshed]

her name had never been spoken, amina. No one knew it, no one took the time to care. Her name didn’t matter. What she was is what mattered. What her kind represented to the villages. Wendigoag were a sign of greed, a notion that taboo had been performed. That was their explanation of why her kind feasted on the flesh of humans. There was no talk of the curse they endured, no words for the hunger they felt.

Feet had carried her into that village with intent to feast, not because of some form of greed. She hadn’t been summoned with acts of cannibalism. She hungered and craved flesh, but as she stalked her way into that village, skin tight against her bones, gaunt looking, skeleton protruding, she was not met with the usual screams of fear. No one ran from her. No one begged her. There were no pleas, no offers of trade. Just a line of people with heads bowed and hands extended.

Feet slowed to a stop as she stared. No one dared look her in the eye or explain the current situation, but looking down at upturned hands, she noticed that they were, in fact, offering her a trade. Each set of hands held something in them. Meat, mostly. Small portions of the harvest. The occasional trinket. Fingers snatched a chunk of raw meat and brought it to her mouth. She sniffed it first, doing her best to stamp down the hunger pains to try and find any traces of hunger. Steps dragged over the dirt, kicked up rocks, a trail of dust as she worked her way down.

Meat was shoved into her mouth, freeing up her hands to grab more things down the line. There was hesitation and confusion. She still hadn’t figured out why they were offering her these things, but she hadn’t stopped to ask. Mina spun, brought her attention to the opposite line, shoving more meat into her mouth and grabbing their offerings from their hand. Step by step, she worked down the line, shoving things into her top, tucking away shinier things into the fabric of her pants. Meat was pushed passed lips until her cheeks hurt from being so full.

No eyes had come to meet hers, no words were given her way for the entirety of the path she took. Mina had been met in silence, in stillness save for the flinches she felt as fingers grazed palms. They feared her, that much was obvious. She could smell it. Had she not a face full of random chunks of meat, she could have tastes it. Worn it like a second skin. But they still hadn’t run and curiosity was started to hurt just as the hunger always did. But they stayed.

Wide eyes ran along the line of people, followed until they ended, and down at the end of them all was a man on his knees. Bound. Gagged. Blindfolded.

Mina dropped what was in her hands, everything she had been clinging to fell to the dirt road as she moved. She swallowed what she could, let the rest fall free to meet the same fate as the others. Thin fingers reached for his hair, jerked his head back to shove her nose there, right against his pulse and breathe. She hadn’t thought it through. Hadn’t let herself remain caution of her surroundings. So when someone had stepped into the corner of her sight, she almost lashed out – defensive of her newly found meal.

“Take it,” he said, hands held up in surrender, “as an offering.”

The Wendigo shifted where she stood, her grip on the man tightening, pulling him back a step. Putting space between them, and this man speaking.

“It was his actions that brought you to us.”

Mina jerked, her eyes whirling to the line of people who were, finally, watching her. Bare feet scuffed in the dirt as she moved, doing her best to not scramble away like a frightened animal. But she didn’t want to give up her meal. Refused.

“You give him.” Voice hoarse, broken and scratchy from lack of use, came rolling out. Forced, almost. “Freely?”

the disbelief was there, the caution she still held. He was squirming, this man they bound for her, but he wasn’t trying to break free of her.

“He gave himself freely when he ate his brethren.”

No one had come closer to her, they all stayed where they had stood when she walked into the village. Feet planted, but their eyes were on her. Staring in horror, in disgust.

“Take him as an offering of peace.” A pause, a motion toward the path behind her. “And leave.”

An offering.

Again eyes darted. Scanned the faces around her as she pulled her prize along with each step.

A gift.

Fingers dug into the soft flesh of the human, nails puncturing skin to draw blood. She would return to this village, to other villages, and demand more offerings.

Gifts of sacrifice.

[raphaelcolt]

SOLID  COLOR  COATS  ARE  RARE.  it’s  what  he’s  been  told  since  a  young  age,  the  only  white  wolf  he’s  known  was  himself---  and  he’d  known  many  wolves,  from  his  pack  and  other  packs  a  like.  the  solid  colors  were  revered  wanted  in  every  aspect.  they  were  always  stronger,  faster...  the  alpha  flowing  through  them  in  glorious  amounts.

WHITE  DEATH,  the  plague  of  supernaturals.  a  legend  among  them.  ruthless,  in  his  nature... in  ITS’  nature.  but  weapons  are  not  born,  they  are  made.  they  are  carved..  forged  through  blood,  sweat  and  tears.  lacking  of  tears  for  this  weapon,  for  weapons  do  not  weep.

tick. tick. tick. tick. neck cranes, head strikes the concrete wall behind his head. “shut up!” the alpha snarls toward the clock just outside his cell. tick. tick. tick. tick. that’s all he could hear, the ticking analog clock; the drip within pipes; slight hum of the shock collar around his neck. the silence was always deafening, always. calloused hands move, digits thread through blonde locks repeatedly until they come to rest over his ears. knees bend and tuck into his chest. once they’ve reached position, body curls into itself. the chestnut jumpsuit does nothing to protect him from the cold concrete ground of his cell. ears perk up, but head makes no movement, as key cards are swiped multiple times, electronic beeps; more irritation. footsteps echo down the hall, six legs, three men. nose picks up the scent of expensive three piece suit, filthy pig; this means something new was going to happen or already set in motion, never good for him.

his cell door slides open upon another prompting of yet another keycard swipe. raphael remains in his almost curled up position on the floor of his concrete prison. the path of two of the men ends at the doorframe, both the third continues in. eyesight can only see the fossil colored space between his legs. charcoal dress shoes come to stand in exactly that space, still fixated gaze remains. “good evening, white death,” dubbed name chops through the air, nearly makes him shudder. “It’s time for a session.” raphael doesn’t budge, perhaps not the wisest decision in this moment but he was exhausted. this marks five sessions today. he knows what’s coming next, as remote button is pressed. It takes all but a couple seconds for collar to respond to remote access. Shock is given throughout his body, he grunts. “white death, up.” body unfolds only than after given a direct order. this treatment was not rare for him; directions explained to react only when given a direct order. he rises to his feet now, eyelids fluttering before peeling back to reveal malachite hues which in time rise as well meeting ryan’s eyes. ryan morgan, the man in charge of the whole operation---- signed the papers for this very occupying infrastructure to be built. bottom line, nothing happened in this facility that wasn’t approved or authorized by him.

it’s not often that ryan came down from his position on the top floor of the facility, this was definitely not the normal session. and of course this is broadcasted to him; he knew it. “now tonight, is  a  very  special  session, white death, so I want you on your best behavior. Is that clear and understood?” raphael swallows the bile down in his throat, he knows partially what this means. there is no finding serenity, something always triggered him. not getting a response in the time, deemed appropriate there was another click of the button. the alpha cries out in pain; this time shocks last a little longer and before there is a chance for knees to buckle current flow halts. gentle panting just before rough hand is shoving weakened body against concrete, “answer when spoken to subject colt.” venom laced words are spat, followed by feeble ones from pinned form, “yes sir, crystal clear, I understand.”

“that’s a good boy.”

ryan pulls back. there is a breath of relief from raphael as the higher up turns towards open door, “follow, white death.” it is only then that he decides to move, falling into step with just behind the suited male. the guards file out first allowing rorgan to exit followed by white death. electric batons extend and they slip in tow just behind Raphael. he’s lead through the dark interior of the facilities lowest floor. on other days, his mind, sight and body are wandering down each corridor; not today (tonight?). his concept of time always construed, some days he never sees daylight, only the harmful artificial florescent lights. with ryan’s lead, with ryan’s presence, raphael’s obedience knows no bounds. despite on his best behavior starting since he left the cell, malachite hues scan--- aiden is nowhere in sight, lester is nowhere in sight, in fact it was eerily desolate. when they finally reach the interrogation room door, the werewolf is antsy.

ryan snaps and the two guards accompanying them lower their batons. his hand swipes the keycard to activate the door, which slides open. “remember white death, best behavior,” tone of the voice yet again nearly runs a shiver up raphael’s spine. the two guards, take both biceps and maneuver the asset into the interrogation room. the room contains: a metallic table bolted to the concrete floor because of an incident before where table was flipped in one of raphael’s fits, back when they were newly learning about him; they’ve learned better, a metallic chair to match said table unbolted.

there was a chair for him, the usual chair for the room. the guards move him over to the chair before shoving him into it. it was unnecessary, he thinks, but he’s learned better than to open his mouth. eyes cast to ryan as he steps into the room, door closing behind him. his arms move to the rests, palm up and he watches as his arms are strapped down  ;  and to his ankles.  silver  plating  over  them---  he  was  never  going  anywhere  strapped  to  that  chair.  ryan  stalks forward, eyeing raphael as the guards begin to attach the pads to his  skin. he settles into the chair, no use in fighting against it.  his eyelids flutter shut, coping in full swing. he imagines summer lake  :  imagines jumping into the lake from the swing. the storms that strike the surface of the water. the noises and smells all around him, thinks of a better time.

and as the current from the machine begins, he can’t hear himself screaming--- dissociates to another place, out of his body.  the current stays strong, it burns farther into his memory. it strikes and steadies before it stops. and that’s ryan places his hand next to raphael’s head as he recovers slowly. heavy eyelids blink up at him, “I want you to remember this moment, all our moments together. remember that you are mine, all of you is mine, no matter where you are, my weapon.” and if raphael didn’t know better he might’ve noticed the slight sadness within ryan’s tone. good for him though, better, that this would be the last time he’d see him. but it continued until raphael found himself passing out and waking in a cell at evergreen parish.