Well Aimed Chaos (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
whitemage) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
rainbowfic2014-08-07 09:39 pm
whitemage) wrote in rainbowfic2014-08-07 09:39 pm
Surgical Steel #4; Bone #10; Fire Opal #5
Name: Ardy
Piece/Story: Coronation/Blood Saint
Color: Surgical Steel 4 (reconstructive surgery); Bone 10 (cause of death); Fire Opal 5 (ravenous);
Styles/Supplies: Glitter: "Reality is something you rise above." – Liza Minnelli
Word Count: 691
Ratings/Warnings: PG-13 - violence; Warnings: Graphic death, biting, blood
Notes: Posting this scene for Tom, because I promised. ;)
Looking back, it does seem to be an irrational lapse in judgement. At the time, however, I was very put out. These over-grown boys had terrified me, destroyed my family’s livelihood, and wrecked the lives of entire towns around here with the death they had caused. They would do nothing but tease at the fate of my relatives, making me watch the inn burn to the ground, then laughing like imps all the way on our midnight flight over darkened countryside quaking with unspeakable horrors.
And even with the strangeness of the details of these events, at the time, I was still convinced it was an elaborate hoax by too-clever, deluded humans--that made me the most angry about it.
So I decided then and there to turn the terror back on them. If they wanted to fight with fear, I would give them some of their own. As their leader showed me off to them, built anticipation, staged that raw and visceral moment to watch them all strangling themselves with desire as they begged their prince to just take the ‘velvety’ throat he stroked with clawed fingers, I struck.
Stomping his instep, I twisted quickly, grabbing his collar to keep him bent over me instead of arching back. With a roar, I opened wide and bit down over his own jugular, determined to make him think I pierced it.
Except, somehow, in a twist of fate I did. I could feel my teeth going long after they should have stopped, plunging themselves deep into cool, firm, struggling flesh. My mouth filled with something that smelled of iron, and I automatically took a gulp, feeling the thick, rich liquid go with an odd sweetness down my throat.
It tasted good. Not like blood should--everyone has tasted their fair share, splitting open their lips or sucking on wounds as a child. But this wasn’t that at all. It was heavenly, like fine wine--no, mead--no, the best honey..
He let out a high-pitched scream that tuned up to an unbecoming wail as I drank harder, roughly pulling his body closer to mine with a moan and snarl that surprised me as much as anyone present.
I knew--biologically speaking--this would be pooling in my stomach, but I could feel a sudden surge, a rising tide that sloshed around my veins, scattered blood cells and platelets with a tingling sense of vigor. Is this how healthy people feel? Is their very serum singing with supernovan energy?
We were on the floor, and he scrambled to push me away, but both of my knees landed hard on his solar plexus, both my hands pinned his arms. He was a drink I couldn’t let go of--didn’t want to. I could feel my organs twisting with my dancing blood vessels: my entire body was like a tree blossoming out of dormancy via time lapse video. It was a pleasant sort of pain, growing steadily intense--but still I could not stop. Muscle long starved were awash in something they could use. Metabolism long suppressed and grumpily coaxed into use no longer had hesitation. Each of my senses was superbly heightened: the whispers and hushed interjections around me because a resounding cacophony of panic, stray drafts through chinks and old ductwork was like a grand wind, my sight was no longer confined to its field, but swam with excess periphery vision. I could feel every sentient form in the room, and describe their emotions in detail if I so chose.
The body under me grew limp, and I realized there was no thought nor energy within it anymore. Every bit of me was now filled with throbbing ache punctuated by searing shots of pain. It felt like a trillion atomic surgeons were busily systematically slicing each molecule and rebuilding it as it was meant to be.
I rolled off the grey corpse I had created, sitting up for a moment to hazily smile at the astonished faces backed against the wall. Then, wiping my mouth, I lay slowly back and gave myself over to rocking and groaning with the successive jolts of my procedure.
Piece/Story: Coronation/Blood Saint
Color: Surgical Steel 4 (reconstructive surgery); Bone 10 (cause of death); Fire Opal 5 (ravenous);
Styles/Supplies: Glitter: "Reality is something you rise above." – Liza Minnelli
Word Count: 691
Ratings/Warnings: PG-13 - violence; Warnings: Graphic death, biting, blood
Notes: Posting this scene for Tom, because I promised. ;)
Looking back, it does seem to be an irrational lapse in judgement. At the time, however, I was very put out. These over-grown boys had terrified me, destroyed my family’s livelihood, and wrecked the lives of entire towns around here with the death they had caused. They would do nothing but tease at the fate of my relatives, making me watch the inn burn to the ground, then laughing like imps all the way on our midnight flight over darkened countryside quaking with unspeakable horrors.
And even with the strangeness of the details of these events, at the time, I was still convinced it was an elaborate hoax by too-clever, deluded humans--that made me the most angry about it.
So I decided then and there to turn the terror back on them. If they wanted to fight with fear, I would give them some of their own. As their leader showed me off to them, built anticipation, staged that raw and visceral moment to watch them all strangling themselves with desire as they begged their prince to just take the ‘velvety’ throat he stroked with clawed fingers, I struck.
Stomping his instep, I twisted quickly, grabbing his collar to keep him bent over me instead of arching back. With a roar, I opened wide and bit down over his own jugular, determined to make him think I pierced it.
Except, somehow, in a twist of fate I did. I could feel my teeth going long after they should have stopped, plunging themselves deep into cool, firm, struggling flesh. My mouth filled with something that smelled of iron, and I automatically took a gulp, feeling the thick, rich liquid go with an odd sweetness down my throat.
It tasted good. Not like blood should--everyone has tasted their fair share, splitting open their lips or sucking on wounds as a child. But this wasn’t that at all. It was heavenly, like fine wine--no, mead--no, the best honey..
He let out a high-pitched scream that tuned up to an unbecoming wail as I drank harder, roughly pulling his body closer to mine with a moan and snarl that surprised me as much as anyone present.
I knew--biologically speaking--this would be pooling in my stomach, but I could feel a sudden surge, a rising tide that sloshed around my veins, scattered blood cells and platelets with a tingling sense of vigor. Is this how healthy people feel? Is their very serum singing with supernovan energy?
We were on the floor, and he scrambled to push me away, but both of my knees landed hard on his solar plexus, both my hands pinned his arms. He was a drink I couldn’t let go of--didn’t want to. I could feel my organs twisting with my dancing blood vessels: my entire body was like a tree blossoming out of dormancy via time lapse video. It was a pleasant sort of pain, growing steadily intense--but still I could not stop. Muscle long starved were awash in something they could use. Metabolism long suppressed and grumpily coaxed into use no longer had hesitation. Each of my senses was superbly heightened: the whispers and hushed interjections around me because a resounding cacophony of panic, stray drafts through chinks and old ductwork was like a grand wind, my sight was no longer confined to its field, but swam with excess periphery vision. I could feel every sentient form in the room, and describe their emotions in detail if I so chose.
The body under me grew limp, and I realized there was no thought nor energy within it anymore. Every bit of me was now filled with throbbing ache punctuated by searing shots of pain. It felt like a trillion atomic surgeons were busily systematically slicing each molecule and rebuilding it as it was meant to be.
I rolled off the grey corpse I had created, sitting up for a moment to hazily smile at the astonished faces backed against the wall. Then, wiping my mouth, I lay slowly back and gave myself over to rocking and groaning with the successive jolts of my procedure.
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And, I mean, what girl doesn't make it her life goal to become vampire queen?
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I don't know, it was just kind of fun to write it this way. It's definitely not angst free, but it's a new kind of angst.
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I am too? XD We're still working that part out....
I thought about playing with dhampir mythos as an explanation? Or a different take on hybrids and/or daywalkers. Not sure yet!