Playing God
By GoldenEagle
Chapter Three: Playing the Tag-along
"Hey, where do you think you're going?" Siren had been distracted, and when she turned she had found that the boy was disappearing into the forests that lined the road. He seemed to tear through them with some unknown vigor. The girl had been admiring the chaos she had caused in meditation, as one may observe a sunset or a masterpiece painting. Now she was running after the boy, trying to keep up. "You won't get anywhere through there! It's only wilderness. Ah, you moron." She muttered, wondering why she was even following the teen, pushing deeper and deeper into the woods.
She chanced a glance back and snapped her fingers, a smile on her face. The small primate that had been scampering after her rushed forward with a new speed and leapt easily to her shoulders, wrapping around her neck. She was rather content with her new friend, and rather annoyed with the other new acquaintance. She turned her head back around, still trudging forward, but her head hit painfully with another hard object. She stumbled back and hissed out before looking up. The boy was holding his head, just as she was, and glaring up at her, an extremely annoyed and peeved look on his face. "Hey, watch it!" He snapped out after a few more moments of head holding. Though she could not understand the words, she knew well enough what he said.
"If you weren't trudging through a wilderness like a freaking idiot..." She knew better than to use the "f-word" again, seeing as how he reacted like a toddler by picking up the familiar term. And yet, why *was* she following him through the middle of nowhere? Surely the boy could fend for himself, and if he couldn't, it would mean nothing to her. Still, there was something about him... A wild, sadistical air, a promise of adventure, danger, maybe even death if you interacted with him too much... It was too much for the murderer to resist.
Dillandau's gaze flickered from the girl's face to the creature on her shoulders, which screeched at him from that stronghold, complaining about the small head "wreck". He scowled. "Why are you bringing that... thing? Why *are* you even coming?" He growled, looking her in the eye, momentarily forgetting that she couldn't understand a word he said. Though he uttered the words, he personally felt a link with her, however weak or sudden it may have been. She was too entrancing, to beautiful a prize, to depart with without any feelings of regret.
Siren was starting to get the gist of the whole "foreign" thing and was interpreting his body language quite well. "Hey, the monkey goes where I go." She paused, contemplating something for a second. "Yes... Umm... Shit, I never had a pet." She said, annoyed with herself. Finally, she snapped her fingers in the completion of the thought process. "George! George here, is mine, and goes where I go. You know, like Curious George." She said brightly before snapping out of her momentarily childish contemplation. The boy stared at her oddly before shaking his head and turning once more. She frowned. He seemed paler now, even though they were in the shadows. "Hey, where are you going?" She asked, although she knew well enough that, even if he did know what she was saying, he wouldn't have been able to answer her in any language she would know.
There was another reason why he wouldn't have been able to answer her if he had understood the question, and that was because he truly didn't know where he was going, either. All he felt was this urgent, tugging instinct, that grew stronger and stronger as the moon rose steadily higher on that cold, Halloween night. He could feel the energy draining from him with each drop of blood being lost in a constant stream down his side. He could also feel the coldness seeping into him, embracing his innards, his organs and bones. It leaked through that hole in his abdomen, like some sort of gas through the crack of a door, filling him with its freezing torrent. He took this in dully as he pushed forward, the girl behind him moaning and groaning. He imagined she was complaining (more like whining) about the branches that he pushed through that would snap back in place, most likely into her face. She was noticeably shorter than him and he found it strange that such a small, skinny, pale thing could be something so utterly... Utterly... *him*. It made Dillandau admire her more, worship her more, and in a sense, spurred on a small obsession of this girl in his mind. He was torn from his thoughts as he stumbled into a clearing, collapsing to the ground in unrealized exhaustion.
Siren stood behind him, looking at the scene with a strange, respective awe. The very clearing emanated power of a sacred nature, and she could see symbols burnt into the ground, three points, and lines of ash to outline the triangle. There was also blood. Not stains, but dried, on the cold, giant white rock. The primate on her shoulder became skittish. It paced on her shoulders before climbing to her head, chattering, then disappearing into her shirt, a bulge of fabric in constant motion before settling, hiding at her stomach. She looked to the kneeling form of the boy, a tight grimace across his face. For the first time she noticed his wounds, old and new. That strange scar across his cheek, several down his bare arms, and then the bleeding tear that she knew must be producing so much blood from his abdomen. He held it, gritting his teeth, before raising, slowly.
Though he was not conscious when he had been in the clearing last, he did recognize it. It was the place that he had first touched down on. The place where he had first felt the Mystic Moon against him. As he felt his body crash into the cold rock. He stumbled forward, pushing... As long as he could... Could make it... He fell forward heavily, his stomach stretching, more stitches tearing. He held it in fear that it would be more than just blood that would be lost, feeling his insides pushing to reach the night air. He looked down, gasping shallowly, a strange, numb realization and acceptance pushing past him as he saw torrents of blood stain the white stone below him crimson. He felt death taking hold of him once more, and he didn't have the strength to fight, nor the fear of death to push on that will to fight. Through the pool of blood collecting around him, he could see that he was in the middle of that triangle, those strange symbols seeming to glow at the taste of his blood. He remembered that liquid spilling onto the altar on Gaea, and him suddenly being here. Perhaps... Perhaps this would bring him back home... If there was such a place for a person like Dillandau.
Then he felt that strange light touch down on him, tickle his skin, blind his senses. And then came a different touch, hesitant yet decided. He opened his eyes and looked up as that strange girl forced him to his feet. He looked at her with questioning and grudgeful eyes. Could she not leave him in peace? Even as he thought this, he could feel the strange light around them gaining strength, tugging at him slightly.
"What the hell is this?" Siren muttered as she pulled her shirt off with one quick movement. George shrieked at being unveiled before scrambling up and wrapping himself around her neck once more. She noticed the boy's eyes on her, confused, dazed. "This isn't a strip show." She hissed as she moved forward, forcing his hand away from his stomach before pulling off his own shirt with a little more effort. She then proceeded by wrapping the shirt around the wound, forcing it shut, the material absorbing the blood. Though she said the words menacingly, she knew well enough that his thoughts were not in the least bit out of line, for she knew that his thoughts must be few and dim. She knew the look in his eyes, just as the Grim Reaper knows his victims by that look. It's a look of hopelessness, of dull acceptance. It was the look of death, a thing Siren had seen much of. Something she had relished in. But now, as she looked at his failing form, some power in that consuming light literally lifting her feet off the ground, she felt no joy. A bit of... regret, maybe. He was such a beautiful, entrancing vision, a vision of everything she lived for. Death, strength, pride...
As they were lifted faster into the air, George screaming (or perhaps it was her?), she noticed the boy's for slip unconscious. She drew him to her, holding him against her, his head limp on her shoulder, the skin of her stomach touching that of the cloth wrapped around his wound. She closed her eyes as she felt as if she were disolving and then reforming. Then falling, falling. This time she knew she had let a cry out, and then her back hit the edge of stone, the boy's weight pressing down on her as she faded away into her own darkness.
By GoldenEagle
Chapter Three: Playing the Tag-along
"Hey, where do you think you're going?" Siren had been distracted, and when she turned she had found that the boy was disappearing into the forests that lined the road. He seemed to tear through them with some unknown vigor. The girl had been admiring the chaos she had caused in meditation, as one may observe a sunset or a masterpiece painting. Now she was running after the boy, trying to keep up. "You won't get anywhere through there! It's only wilderness. Ah, you moron." She muttered, wondering why she was even following the teen, pushing deeper and deeper into the woods.
She chanced a glance back and snapped her fingers, a smile on her face. The small primate that had been scampering after her rushed forward with a new speed and leapt easily to her shoulders, wrapping around her neck. She was rather content with her new friend, and rather annoyed with the other new acquaintance. She turned her head back around, still trudging forward, but her head hit painfully with another hard object. She stumbled back and hissed out before looking up. The boy was holding his head, just as she was, and glaring up at her, an extremely annoyed and peeved look on his face. "Hey, watch it!" He snapped out after a few more moments of head holding. Though she could not understand the words, she knew well enough what he said.
"If you weren't trudging through a wilderness like a freaking idiot..." She knew better than to use the "f-word" again, seeing as how he reacted like a toddler by picking up the familiar term. And yet, why *was* she following him through the middle of nowhere? Surely the boy could fend for himself, and if he couldn't, it would mean nothing to her. Still, there was something about him... A wild, sadistical air, a promise of adventure, danger, maybe even death if you interacted with him too much... It was too much for the murderer to resist.
Dillandau's gaze flickered from the girl's face to the creature on her shoulders, which screeched at him from that stronghold, complaining about the small head "wreck". He scowled. "Why are you bringing that... thing? Why *are* you even coming?" He growled, looking her in the eye, momentarily forgetting that she couldn't understand a word he said. Though he uttered the words, he personally felt a link with her, however weak or sudden it may have been. She was too entrancing, to beautiful a prize, to depart with without any feelings of regret.
Siren was starting to get the gist of the whole "foreign" thing and was interpreting his body language quite well. "Hey, the monkey goes where I go." She paused, contemplating something for a second. "Yes... Umm... Shit, I never had a pet." She said, annoyed with herself. Finally, she snapped her fingers in the completion of the thought process. "George! George here, is mine, and goes where I go. You know, like Curious George." She said brightly before snapping out of her momentarily childish contemplation. The boy stared at her oddly before shaking his head and turning once more. She frowned. He seemed paler now, even though they were in the shadows. "Hey, where are you going?" She asked, although she knew well enough that, even if he did know what she was saying, he wouldn't have been able to answer her in any language she would know.
There was another reason why he wouldn't have been able to answer her if he had understood the question, and that was because he truly didn't know where he was going, either. All he felt was this urgent, tugging instinct, that grew stronger and stronger as the moon rose steadily higher on that cold, Halloween night. He could feel the energy draining from him with each drop of blood being lost in a constant stream down his side. He could also feel the coldness seeping into him, embracing his innards, his organs and bones. It leaked through that hole in his abdomen, like some sort of gas through the crack of a door, filling him with its freezing torrent. He took this in dully as he pushed forward, the girl behind him moaning and groaning. He imagined she was complaining (more like whining) about the branches that he pushed through that would snap back in place, most likely into her face. She was noticeably shorter than him and he found it strange that such a small, skinny, pale thing could be something so utterly... Utterly... *him*. It made Dillandau admire her more, worship her more, and in a sense, spurred on a small obsession of this girl in his mind. He was torn from his thoughts as he stumbled into a clearing, collapsing to the ground in unrealized exhaustion.
Siren stood behind him, looking at the scene with a strange, respective awe. The very clearing emanated power of a sacred nature, and she could see symbols burnt into the ground, three points, and lines of ash to outline the triangle. There was also blood. Not stains, but dried, on the cold, giant white rock. The primate on her shoulder became skittish. It paced on her shoulders before climbing to her head, chattering, then disappearing into her shirt, a bulge of fabric in constant motion before settling, hiding at her stomach. She looked to the kneeling form of the boy, a tight grimace across his face. For the first time she noticed his wounds, old and new. That strange scar across his cheek, several down his bare arms, and then the bleeding tear that she knew must be producing so much blood from his abdomen. He held it, gritting his teeth, before raising, slowly.
Though he was not conscious when he had been in the clearing last, he did recognize it. It was the place that he had first touched down on. The place where he had first felt the Mystic Moon against him. As he felt his body crash into the cold rock. He stumbled forward, pushing... As long as he could... Could make it... He fell forward heavily, his stomach stretching, more stitches tearing. He held it in fear that it would be more than just blood that would be lost, feeling his insides pushing to reach the night air. He looked down, gasping shallowly, a strange, numb realization and acceptance pushing past him as he saw torrents of blood stain the white stone below him crimson. He felt death taking hold of him once more, and he didn't have the strength to fight, nor the fear of death to push on that will to fight. Through the pool of blood collecting around him, he could see that he was in the middle of that triangle, those strange symbols seeming to glow at the taste of his blood. He remembered that liquid spilling onto the altar on Gaea, and him suddenly being here. Perhaps... Perhaps this would bring him back home... If there was such a place for a person like Dillandau.
Then he felt that strange light touch down on him, tickle his skin, blind his senses. And then came a different touch, hesitant yet decided. He opened his eyes and looked up as that strange girl forced him to his feet. He looked at her with questioning and grudgeful eyes. Could she not leave him in peace? Even as he thought this, he could feel the strange light around them gaining strength, tugging at him slightly.
"What the hell is this?" Siren muttered as she pulled her shirt off with one quick movement. George shrieked at being unveiled before scrambling up and wrapping himself around her neck once more. She noticed the boy's eyes on her, confused, dazed. "This isn't a strip show." She hissed as she moved forward, forcing his hand away from his stomach before pulling off his own shirt with a little more effort. She then proceeded by wrapping the shirt around the wound, forcing it shut, the material absorbing the blood. Though she said the words menacingly, she knew well enough that his thoughts were not in the least bit out of line, for she knew that his thoughts must be few and dim. She knew the look in his eyes, just as the Grim Reaper knows his victims by that look. It's a look of hopelessness, of dull acceptance. It was the look of death, a thing Siren had seen much of. Something she had relished in. But now, as she looked at his failing form, some power in that consuming light literally lifting her feet off the ground, she felt no joy. A bit of... regret, maybe. He was such a beautiful, entrancing vision, a vision of everything she lived for. Death, strength, pride...
As they were lifted faster into the air, George screaming (or perhaps it was her?), she noticed the boy's for slip unconscious. She drew him to her, holding him against her, his head limp on her shoulder, the skin of her stomach touching that of the cloth wrapped around his wound. She closed her eyes as she felt as if she were disolving and then reforming. Then falling, falling. This time she knew she had let a cry out, and then her back hit the edge of stone, the boy's weight pressing down on her as she faded away into her own darkness.
