ArchivedLogs:Gifts

Gifts
WARNING: CREEPYSAUCE
Dramatis Personae Rasa, Sublime
In Absentia	2014-04-09 part of Perfectus TP
Location some basement, somewhere
It's been a short trip for Rasa, likely a bit /fuzzy/-groggy with sedatives but ze's had some time to halfway come out of it now though there's still some slug-brained drugs percolating through hir system. The room ze's in is, like the other, blank basement, concrete walls. A table ze's been strapped to, cold underneath hir bandaged back. It's possibly a blessing that ze can't, currently, actually /feel/ anything from the waist down. A man in a surgical mask is standing beside with -- some things. A cart. Many tools. On the other side of the table there is a chair. A man in it, too. Forties, perhaps. Not scrubbed up, /he's/ in button-down and slacks. And smiling, oddly, at Rasa. Almost solicitous. "I'm afraid I can't offer you anything to drink, /just/ quite yet, but we're /almost/ through. /Very/ nearly. Is there anything you'd like to eat or drink when we are?" His tone is warm and rich. He sounds like he's genuinely concerned. For hir /comfort/. "Last meal, already?" Rasa almost coughs the response, hir lungs feeling heavy with the drugs and the damage from a few days ago. Hir eyes shift, roll unhappily in hir head, hir vision blurring. Ze swallows against the fear welling up inside hir. "If I don't say, do I get to live?" Emotions are hard - or are they easy - with this many drugs in hir system, hir growing anticipation starting hir hands shaking. Ze blinks, hir voice lowering as ze starts speaking Russian in low, hushed whispers. "Oh, goodness, child. Of course not. We still have plans for you." The man at the other side of the table is coming aroud, now. Handing something long and heavy to the man in the suit and returning to get out copious amounts of /bandaging/. If Rasa tries moving, much, ze'll find hir lower half a bit /lighter/ than before, on the left half. There's a serene sense of joy in his tone as he continues: "You'll get to live. You'll live on in so many others." His head dips, slightly, his hands lifting, Rasa's detached leg held between them, still raw and bloody at its severed end. "And that's a /gift/, child. For you and for them." "But you said you were almost done..." Rasa replies, confused panic starting to filter through the fog. "Why aren't you done?" Ze moans softly and turns hir head to look at the movement near the foot of the table, hir skin yellowing further and things ze can't quite make sense of. "What was that? What did you do? Put it back. Oh god, put it back!" Ze then begins to struggle against the restraints, the movement doing nothing for the sections of her body that are missing skin and still trying to heal. More tears escape the corners of hir eyes, streaking down hir temples and pooling in the valleys between eyes and nose. "I don't want to be a gift... I don't want this." "Almost done for today," the man clarifies, almost paternally. The restraints are thick, strong cold metal and cool leather against hir skin. "What you're helping with is something that the world has never seen before. You're creating the future, here. You're helping to build something new. Something so powerful. Something that transcends boundaries. You're part of something that will surpass you alone." He shakes his head slightly at Rasa's protestations, sighing in mild disappointment. "Are you sure that I can't get you anything?" "I ... want..." In hir weakened state, hir powers are diminished and hir morphing is sluggish and nearly nonexistent, but it seems to be working better than hir ability to speak. What's left of Rasa's skin starts to darken in places, words appearing from under murky depths. 'me' surfaces first, followed by 'person' and 'self.' 'choice' comes through brightly as ze searches hir mind. 'Vanya' appears many times in small text, repeated in all the spare pieces, followed by 'meat' and 'milk candy.' Ze sniffs and lets out a quiet sob, a swirl of violent green streaks one shoulder, but vanishes soon after. "Thirsty," is all ze manages to whisper, while 'no' starts to crop up, blotting out the other words entirely. "Of course." The man's tone is warm, magnanimous, as his eyes skim over the words skating across Rasa's skin. He looks up, nodding to -- someone, who can't be seen over beyond Rasa from where Rasa is strapped down. There's the sound, beyond, of a door opening, and closing again. Opening again, some minutes later; a lean blonde woman with spiky hair brings in a glass of water, a straw tucked into it. A plate, with some cold cuts, a roast chicken sandwich. She crouches nearby Rasa, setting the plate down on the cart and holding the straw up near Rasa's lips to let hir drink. "As I said." The man's eyes are lingering on Rasa. He's lifting the raw bloody flesh in his hand, here, his head dipping. His mouth opens, and for all the quiet gentility in his voice there's a sudden raw ferocity in the way his teeth clamp /down/ against the torn end of Rasa's leg, tearing off a chunk. Chewing -- oddly primly, now, swallowing. Taking another bite -- his face is starting to shift in colour, changing to take on Rasa's yellow hue, as words print across /his/ face: 'gift' 'Third Species' 'Ascension' 'POWER' 'I AM GOD'. "What you are part of here. Is the future." Rasa's attention wavers as food is brought in, hir brow furrowing at the sight of it. The water is presented and ze takes a few cautious sips to start, but hir attention is drawn back to the man before hir when he starts speaking. Hir eyes widen at the sight of hir leg in his hands, hir body trembling instantly at the sight. Hir lips part as he dips his head, not in hunger or thirst, but in horror as he ... begins... to eat hir. Ze chokes for air, chokes on the half swallowed water and whatever nasty flavor is in hir mouth. Ze chokes and then gags, bile mixing with the scant bit of hydration, but never really making it out of hir mouth. Ze has to swallow again to be able to breath. Every inch of hir flesh turns white in horror, tears welling in hir eyes again as a gurgling noise catches in hir throat - an aborted scream too weak to surface. The man's bites continue, now. There's quiet, save for the tearing-rending of flesh. The crunching of bone that his teeth break through as though it were candy. The rip of bandages that are being applied to Rasa's leg, though there's not much to be felt down there except a faint pressure. Chewing. Swallowing wetly. More tearing. The leg is steadily /disappearing/, thick haunch vanishing like the expanse of flesh in his hands is just a ream of cotton candy. Words still scrolling across his skin though now they begin to blend together, /power/ into /god/, /god/ into /blessing/, /blessing/ into /dominate/ into a black swirl of unreadable mess. The woman just nuges the straw gently back towards Rasa's lips. Quiet. Impassive. "You are not god." Rasa's voice is paper thin and strained by the bile and stomach acid that recently washed hir vocal cords. "You are just a person. You will fail." The man is crunching down on -- an ankle joint? With /relish/. Slurping meat from bones. Biting off a smallest toe, crunching it down like popcorn. There's blood on his teeth, on his lips; his skin has changed to an almost golden hue, now, though it's mottled black with the words that have streamed together on his skin. As he works his way through the last of the toes he reaches for a /napkin/, to wipe his mouth with absurd delicacy. "Make sure to get our guest some of that -- milk candy, was it?" He shakes his head as he stands, wiping his hands clean; an almost /orgasmic/ shiver passes through him. He walks, not past the table but straight through it, passing through Rasa and the metal as though it simply weren't there, his skin fading slowly back to its regular hue. "I haven't been a person for a very long time, child," he says, as he passes out of hir sight. "I've been so very much more."