Author's Note: Any reviews or feedback is greatly appreciated. I don't think I can express how much I value it.
Blood Libel: Chapter One
The Color Purple
Rolling thunder accompanies a brief flash of lightening, still far off. Bleary purple clouds, barely visible against the night sky, choke off any chance of extrasolar light percolating down to the ground. All in all? Rain was on the way.
"Rain is always on the way." The words echo across the empty wharfs before returning to their origin, as happened with most everything, altered by their time away. Senni Allani walks alone, watching the surf slowly roll in to her right. She is an asari, blue skin matching well with the nearby expanse of water. Even her smartly cut dress seems intent on blending well with the environment, the base color best being described as sea foam. Having just left her job, as a secretary at the local space port, such a chance color coordination with the sea could best be chalked up to fate.
And she is correct in her mumbled words, for on the planet of Trident, rain is a common occurrence. On a planet so dominated by water, storms frequently worked their way across the atmosphere, recycling the very liquid so much life depended upon. Local forecasters had predicted a heavy storm to arrive later tonight and, for once, they seem to have been correct.
Such a forecast hadn't stopped Senni from walking home though, instead of taking a cab. Trident was beautiful at night, and by taking the seaside route home, she had found herself blissfully alone. Had it been any other evening, the docks would have bustled with the trade and commerce that sustained life here, as the spaceport's collected goods were shipped to the more remote islands and archipelagos that Trident's residents hemorrhaged so many credits for. But as things stood, with a major storm approaching, no one was willing to pilot a ship into the expected maelstrom. And for that, Senni was thankful.
The hustle and bustle of her office was a constant annoyance, only exasperated by the high number of salarians she worked with. Their lifestyles differed greatly from her own, with so short a life to live. They seemed intent only on rapid advancement, on quick results and short gain. When Senni thought about, as she does now with so much solitude, they lacked patience. But then again, if she had a life expectancy of forty years, wouldn't she rush things? Would it even be considered 'rushed'?
"Poor dears..." The words drift lazily across the quiet landscape, again vocalizing her internal thoughts. Senni got along well enough with her fellow employees, at least. But their pace was tiring, and today had been especially stressful. Again, one could blame it on the storm, as shipping contractors tried to move as much product as they could before being waylaid. As such, knowing full well that the docks would be empty had been her primary motivation for choosing to head this way home.
Acting on her delight with her current surroundings, Senni shifts her path, turning towards the docks themselves. Stepping onto an elderly wooden structure running out into the ocean, the asari clasps her hands behind her back, walking to the very end. Water laps against the wooden supports beneath her, following only the most leisurely pace, the aging wood groaning slightly from her weight.
Trident lacked any moons, which would have plunged the planet into near absolute darkness every night had not the gas giant Aegis orbited so closely. Even now, with the storm clouds slowly approaching, the light of the star Hoplos shines upon Aegis, who in turn reflects a portion towards Trident. The result is a yellow-orange ball of light perched just below the incoming clouds of violet, although within an hour it too will be swallowed by the encroaching storm.
Senni sits down at the end of the dock, taking off her shoes, to allow her feet to dangle in the water. The scene before her, as nature collides, is absolutely beautiful. The crystal blue water stretches out towards the horizon, a whitish highlight down the middle marking where Aegis' reflected light meets ocean. It joins the boiling purple of the approaching storm upon the point where sea meets sky, while Aegis itself is seated between the two, an orange ball held tight within a vice of color. Another clap of far away thunder comes alongside a brief flash of lightening, for a moment only serving to give the rolling clouds more definition.
"B-Beautiful... isn't it?"
The words are not her own. Senni turns her head suddenly, back towards where dock met land, her blue eyes widening in surprise. A figure stands there whom she had not heard approach, buried within the shadows of a docked yacht. Without anything expressly visual to expressly focus on, Senni turns the shadow wrapped wraith's voice over in her head, a cold chill creeping down her spine. It was male, definitely, and a distinct flange marked it as turian. Rather unremarkable, had she not taken into account the cadence that had accompanied the words. It was wrong, the stuttered first word combining with the following pause to give the voice a very abnormal lilt.
"Yes..." She finally manages to croak, scrambling to her feet as she pulls back on her shoes. Her socks are now soaked, but that was by far the least of Senni's worries, as the figure blocking her route to dry land takes a shambling step forward. Light now falls upon the turian, revealing brown plates, a ragged gray jacket, and a set of eyes locked into a stare. The pinpricks of orange that make up his gaze are by far the most unsettling, as they do not move or blink, instead simply gazing with a corpse-like finality.
"I n-never... really noticed how, h-how nice the sea... looked," the turian ventures, another unstable step attending the words. "The way the... s-sky meets the sea... so purple..."
Senni exhales suddenly, surprised that she had been holding her breath. She tries to take a step back, to keep distant from the man, only to find no more pier to retreat onto. Looking to her left, and then to the right, she runs a hand over her cerulean tendrils. Hesitant apprehension colors her words. "P-Please, uh, sir... just stay back. Really. I like the clouds t-"
"You d-do?" The turian interrupts, blinking for the first time, as he pulls back from taking another step. His mandibles flutter silently, before spreading to allow another sentence to venture out. "M-May I... ask a q-question?"
Unsummoned sweat runs down Senni's forehead, her hands wringing together at her sides. She had never felt so unsettled. Something was definitely wrong with the turian, the terror arising from such a conclusion colluding with the sheer lack of other nearby sentients to weaken her knees. Scrambling for a response, she focuses on the fact that appeasement seemed to have stopped him, so the asari agrees with a nervous nod. The pinpricks of orange upon the unpainted turian face close, a smile twisting his mandibles. When he speaks, the words are a whisper.
"D-Do you find t-this... s-scene... beautiful? Unforgettable?"
Senni blinks once, struggling to find purchase upon the turian's question. Everything about this line of questioning felt wrong, she could sense that. The unnatural rhythm of his words had placed particular emphasis on 'unforgettable'. That seemed important. Seizing on that conclusion she forages ahead, gaining confidence as the turian seems to relax. "Yes, I would say that. Most unforgettable. I do-"
"I'm s-sorry..."
Again she is cut off by his words, but it is the action that follows them that kills any notion of a continued conversation. Where before the haggard turian had held a slouched, unresponsive stance, he now springs suddenly into action. One taloned hand descends into his jacket, withdrawing an object about eight inches long. This coincides with churning legs as he sprints forward, placing his free hand upon Senni's shoulder before she can react. Spun in an 180 degree arc by his momentum, she loses her balance, falling to the weathered wood beneath them. Only chance keeps her from tumbling into the water, and probable safety.
Landing hard upon her elbow, Senni lets out a scream, willing her vocal cords to a higher octave as the first semblance of resistance courses through her throat. Trying to shove off her assailant, she gains a quick moment to lament the storm that had driven away the dock workers. She needed help, now.
But none stands forthcoming. Keeping his momentum, the turian leverages his weight into a weapon, coming down onto the asari herself, straddling her waist as he pins one arm down with his knee, the other with his free arm. For a moment they lock eyes, her's terrified, his as dead as ever.
"Cannot forget."
His sentence is the only unbroken one he had managed during their brief engagement, but it drives a frozen spear straight through Senni's heart. Still fighting and kicking to dislodge him, she starts pleading too. It falls on deaf ears.
The implement the turian had removed from his jacket before the assault began is finally revealed in the waning light of Aegis; a battered military grade knife. Splattered with the dried blood of a dozen different species, it is a rusted, wicked thing. The tip is missing, a jagged break ending the weapon about an inch shorter then it would have stood in its prime. The turian hesitates only briefly as Senni catches sight of the cruel tool, her eyes focusing equally on the serrated right edge, and far more smooth left. Her attacker's short pause allows her a chance to take the initiative. Gasping for breath, she drives forward, trying to push the turian off of her. But he is too heavy, her arms too weak to force back his own surprising strength. As if in retribution for her insolence, the weapon rises.
And then it descends.
The knife gouges a hole into her shoulder, rending flesh from sinew as it cuts a bloody path forward. Her strength founders. Shock impedes resistance, rendering any further struggle that much more difficult. As if capitalizing on that fact, the turian twists the blade, having placed it within a nerve cluster. A labored cry escapes the asari's pursed lips, her throat already raw from the constant yelling that she hadn't been aware of. Fireworks blink into existence before Senni's eyes, a direct result of her injured shoulder sending too much information towards her brain too quickly. Lifting up his knee, its only then that she can see with blemished sight that the turian wears a hard suit beneath his jacket, although such a factoid does her little good. Following her poorly timed examination of the turian's wardrobe, Senni suddenly realizes that one arm had indeed been freed. And yet, when she tries to raise it, the pain burning through her nervous system only amplifies. Either the beast upon her had been deliberate in his attack, or he had proven far too lucky. Without surgery, thanks to the piercing of the nerve cluster, that arm would never function properly again.
Bile lurches up her throat, the sour fear that had previously only burned within her stomach coming upward. Only a concerted effort to keep it down, for reasons she would never have been able to explain, keeps vomit from mixing with the purple stain spreading from her punctured shirt.
"Ohmygoddesspleasepleasedon'tdon'tpleasestopit!" Her cries fall closer and closer together, eventually colliding with one another, coming out nigh unrecognizable. Even had they been easily discernible, however, they have no effect on the turian as his grisly goal within reach. Flipping the grip on his knife to a slashing stance, he brings it to her neck, meeting her pained and terrified blue orbs one last time.
The turian pauses here, contemplating for a brief moment the act he is about to commit. The blue woman pinned beneath him, bleeding from a shoulder wound and breathing heavily from exertion and fear made a truly pitiable sight. Or Senni could hope so, for if her assailant had any semblance of a conscious, this would be the time to back down. Looking into the amber shards that make up his eyes, however, give her all the information she needs. They're so cold, so entrancing. There is no remorse.
His knife shifts without a murmur between the two, Senni too panic stricken, the turian too intent on doing things properly.
The blade draws a violet line against the pale blue of the asari's neck, a torrent of blood flooding out as veins and arteries are severed. The turian keeps his stare on Senni's eyes, watching the life slowly fade out of them. At the same time he releases her undamaged limb, using his newly freed arm to reach again into his jacket. Quickly he withdraws a transparent vial, stoppered with a black plug. Opening it, he places the container next to the asari's neck, knocking away a clumsy blue hand intent on exploring the jagged gash now found there.
As the turian continues the morbid task of collecting her blood, Senni finds her vision blackening, a dark weariness working its way through her body. Mentally she continues to resist, but a body can only go so far. With less and less of the purple fluid slowly dripping into the turian's vial still within her own body, she finds the prospect of sleep ever more acceptable despite the constant protestations her conscious mind puts forward. By now her body had fully entered shock, rendering her unable to resist in any meaningful way. Realizing this, half pinned beneath her assailant, blood seeping from an open wound, the asari allows herself to consider a quick nap. Just to regain her strength of course. Allowing her eyes to close, Senni allows darkness to envelope her.
But it recedes once more, a futile second wind wracking her body. The turian now stands above her, only his back visible as he looks out to the sea that had lured her unto the dock that would prove to be her deathbed. Weakly she manages to lift an arm, her mind trying haphazardly to check how long she had been out via omnitool. It is then that she notices slash that had been added to her wrist. Purple blood leaks from it, the wound just as deep as its asperous brethren upon her neck. A third wound makes itself known through her hazed mind by sheer luck, her head rolling to the left of its own accord allowing her to glimpse another such cut upon her other wrist.
Through it all, her attacker doesn't seem to notice her movement, instead being too focused on the violet sky spread above them. His arm is outstretched, comparing the purple blood he had collected to the sky above. The colors match perfectly.
The door opens, blankets of water and wind washing in before it is closed behind the new arrivals. The lobby they enter into is small, barely capable of being called a room itself. A woman sits behind a small desk within the tiny area, her paperwork forgotten as she rises to greet the three humans who had just entered. Their leader is a sharply dressed, red haired woman with a quick smile and firm handshake. Her green eyes meet the woman rising from behind the desk.
"Its good to see you again, Carrie." Motioning towards the two men flanking her, the newly entered woman gives introductions. "This gentleman," she begins, presenting the elderly man to her left, "is Doctor Carthari, our general physician. And to my right," she gives a quick nod to the far more muscular man to her other side, "is Donald McCarr. He is a shift leader, for the orderlies."
The woman from the desk greets each in turn, before looking back to the red haired human before her. "Well, welcome to my shelter, everyone. It is so good to see you again, Doctor Collen. I'm surprised to see you out in such a storm."
Collen, her green eyes flashing, only shrugs. "My Clinic is always looking to help those in need, and when you mentioned a potential prospect so close to home, I had to come immediately."
The shelter director smiles, although the expression fades quickly as she gestures for her guests to follow, talking as she goes. "I know your time is important, and your Clinic is such a boon for Trident that I won't waste your time... we do enough of that over the phone!" Taking a corner, they start passing a number of small rooms, each lacking a door. Most contain humans, their scruffy nature and weathered clothing alluding to their current status: homeless.
"With Trident being a predominantly human colony," Carrie continues, "most of our guests are human. But, as I explained, the individual I'd like you take a look at is turian. He is a... deeply troubled man."
Turning to the side to allow a sickly looking human rush by towards the bathrooms, Carrie can only sigh. "He has been here a couple weeks, never leaving, except for an occasional long walk... in fact he just returned from one, actually." Stopping at the portal to another short hallway, the director points a finger forward. "Last door on the left. I could go on, but you've already heard everything I know over the phone. Please, Collen, if you can help him... He's such a sweet person... and he needs help."
Collen thanks her friend with another smile and a nod, watching the other woman depart before starting down the hallway with a quick look into each of her compatriots eyes. They knew what they were to do.
The room they eventually arrive at is as small as any of the others, the poorly constructed walls covered with soft cloth in order to give it a more home-like feel. Compared to the others they had passed, however, the turian's room is nearly empty of personal effects. Only a beaten gray jacket marks the room as even occupied, lying on the bed. Its water ridden nature validates Carrie's claim that he just returned from the storm.
All of this crosses Collen's mind in the briefest of moments, her attention instead devoted to the turian himself. Of average height for his species, and as such standing taller then any of her comrades, his brown plates drip with water unchecked. Seated upon the bed next to his jacket, his stare don't move from nearby wall.
"Curio? Curio Axia?" The turian doesn't react to his name, although this doesn't surprise Collen. Given the symptoms Carrie had described, his dementia had to be quite advanced. Such a state usually included a lack of awareness when focused on things the afflicted deemed important. Acting on that assumption, and the research she had done in preparation for this visit, Collen approaches the turian quietly, leaving her employees at the doorway. Sitting down on the bed, she places a hand upon his shoulder. "Curio?"
With a physical touch the turian reacts, his right hand going to his chest, as if his jacket was still there. Grasping thin air, he freezes, before calming slowly. Orange eyes shift, still unblinking, to meet Collen's. "Y-Yes?"
The turian's stare proves difficult to meet, the sheer lack of movement within his inner eye unnerving. But Collen endures, following what her research had prescribed. "My name is Doctor Alexandra Collen, Curio. I own and operate a psychiatry clinic here on Trident."
"Doctors..." The words are a flanged growl, Curio's plated lips pulling back as he spits out each syllable. Twisting his shoulder, he forces Collen's pale hand off. "I d-don't want your... h-help."
McCarr steps forward then, but Collen waves him off, knowing full well the orderly was willing to take Curio by force if need be. Trident, being in the Terminus, didn't require all that much paperwork to commit someone into a mental care clinic. In fact, technically, the planet's laws didn't even require consent. But that was not the way Collen wished to do things, nor would it help Curio. If her initial research on the matter proved correct, the turian needed to trust whomever wished to help. That was the goal, to help, not strong arming him into a straitjacket.
"Curio," she replies, repeating his name to help build a rapport. "I'm not a normal doctor, nor is my clinic a normal hospital. It is privately funded, built to help those the Citadel has forgotten. We usually have a rather high monthly bill that our patients must pay to stay. But I'm offering you a room, and help, for free."
The addled turian blinks first at the word 'forgotten', his teeth clinking together as he leans in closer, mandibles pulled tight to his face. She had caught his attention. "W-Why... is it f-free?"
Collen mimics his action, leaning in so that their faces stand a mere inch apart. Like a feral dog, the turian was playing for dominance, trying to make her flinch even if he himself couldn't recognize the ploy. She would not give him the satisfaction. "I will not lie, Curio. I will gain from this. Afflictions of the mind are hard to showcase, and with my clinic being funded by private donations, I am always looking for ways in which to show our benefactors what exactly we are fighting against. And you? Your... case, your condition... it is easy to see. Easy to film. When you speak, you must hear the stutter, the jagged pronunciation and tempo, no? I'm offering you a deal: myself and my clinic will do everything we can to help you, if you sign yourself into our custody. I want to help you, Curio, I do. I can explain further, but I only will if you want to hear it."
The turian's eyes narrow, as if trying to ascertain Collen's true intentions. Doubts pile into the doctor's head as his silence lengthens, questions arising regarding her approach. Coming into this meeting blind hadn't been her intention, but Carrie had mentioned Curio's hostility towards medical personnel, as she had pushed him to seek help herself. All the research she had done had been in the hope that she could at least convince the turian that her motives were true, and that her offer of help was sincere.
Finally Curio breaks his silence, shutting out the fear of failure Collen had felt upon her bare skin. His stare breaks, as he blinks rapidly.
"T-Tell me... more."
Freshly lain concrete, barely dried before the storm that had lashed hours before, shines in the morning light. An air car lands before a sprawling complex, each portion of the glass and steel building as new as the concrete poured around it. The entire archipelago on which it had been built has been expertly landscaped, with sloping hills descending from the building proper down to white sand beaches. The shade of transplanted trees beckons along cobblestone walkways, spreading out in all directions.
Emerging from the car are four sentients: three humans, and a turian. As they enter the main door, passing past two heavy set orderlies, Collen spreads her arms, grinning as she reenters the undertaking that had come about by the sweat of her own brow.
"Welcome, Curio, to the Soothing Seas Clinic."
Everyone proves so intent on greeting their new patient no one notices the dried purple stains upon his jacket.
Author's Note: To all those who enjoyed my previous stories, I apologize greatly for not publishing anything in over six months. I got caught within a Mass Effect themed RP, and it happened to spawn this character. Anyway, if you like it, please review!