Another: Story
2010-11-01 14:26![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aguuA/N: This is another side of Story for my NaNoWriMo2010. Before you ask -- no, I do not know where this is going, I'm running with it as I please. Nagant and Browning, you will see are more messed up than before. This isn't part of the official Story Canon. It will be utterly complete in itself, a (hopefully) 50,000 word draft.
Lucas, my 32gb iTouch wants me to fail, for he casts a sleepy spell each time I open the document to edit it...
Word Count: 1817
_________________________________________
Dark. Dank. Smells bad. These were the only thoughts to spring from her unconscious mind. The body was weak and much blood had spilled all over her white dress. The drugs were wearing off quickly--Lytonal had given them but a taste of that forbidden pleasure--and she was caught.
'Let me.' his anger was sharp and he licked the blood off his lower lip, the strong taste of metallic shame rolling past his tongue. Those damned democrats weren't as forgiving as they used to be. Wearily she fought him off; they needed to escape before the cover was blown. The stench of dried blood caked with mud and shit were good motivators in getting up.
'Chains hurt' passed through the shared consciousness, and a quick shake made her cry out, her red-raw wrists chafed and torn. 'Let me then, Elizabeth.' he spat out her name and crunch went their body's foot. Pain ripped through and Elizabeth gave in, raising her chained hands in supplication.
"Yes, Adrian." she had already begun to fold herself into the shape of hearts and stars, cutting away the excess of her until she fit neatly into her box.
He opened his eyes and looked at himself. The dress had gone and he wore the suit of black with his half-cape, helmet covering his identity. Her white wrists hidden underneath his gloves. He lamented this disease, this unwanted Splice called Deux. Democracy hadn't been kind when Marcos was ousted and it was worse now, using kindness to stamp out ant individuality in mankind.
"History needs you both," Lytonal had said, the memory hazy in his brain. Elizabeth had always been the stronger one when it came to mental torture, her wit twisting words and weaving lies as effortlessly as parents explain that Santa Claus is but a playful myth to convince children that morality was worth something every December 25th.
'Christ's birth.'
'Christ? What makes you think He's watching? If He is then God better be laughing, because I am not amused.' Her thoughts were sharp and offended but she said nothing and continued to weave lies into the brain's framework.
She was the heart and he was the head; that was what they were. Deux had been around since 2006, an underground pill used to treat extreme cases of near-fatal accidents and diseases that had no cure in the human tongue. The day Adrian Nagant me Elizabeth Browning their lives had been over. The fragment of a shining bullet near his heart and she in a brain-dead coma; Lytonal had adopted them both and gave them to Noahn to Splice.
"Deux candidates," he said to the man who paid his wages. "there's nothing more we can do, save a miracle." Noahn kept his eyes on the two bodies lying in the twin hospital beds. Lytonal was not a man who bothered with aesthetics, unless it was for his benefit. The grey-haired old man leaned on his cane and said thoughtfully, his voice colder than a February frost, "That is my godson. Save his brain."
"What of the girl?" He looked at her, a breathing vegetable. Her lips were dry and stained with blood, bone-white locks splashed with dirt. An albino with injuries so severe she should have died, half-choked on bleach in the psychiatric ward of Hope Clinic.
"Her heart still beats. Splice them."
Noahn had a choice back then, he realized. He could have chosen to forego the Deux pill and simply shot them in the head. One Remington would have done a spectacular job.
The doctor with the shattered emerald eyes crushed the Deux pill, half magic vitamin and half morphine. The creator of Deux, a secretive woman known only as "Angel" created the drug hoping it would cure cancer. It did, and cured a myriad of other diseases--with a price. The rewritten DNA that ordered the body to heal tampered with various other things--the mind, heart, psyche. Most of the cured were retarded in one field. Splicing came soon after, when a mother of twins applied for the drug administration. Having little money she could only afford one pill and cut it in half, praying to God that it would be enough.
Little did she know, Noahn thought as he mixed the bitter pill halves with water, that the heart of God is divided. You were either very very good or very very bad. There could be no Satan without Lucifer and no Lucifer without God. The pill halves, when given to the twins killed one body, but restored both mind and heart.
Essentially, she gained both healthy twins...just in one body. It was akin to the grotesque Metamorphosis of man --that without each other, all would suffer.
Noahn never faltered as he watched the clean water turn black--blood of the sinner and blood of the saint. The first cupful was fed intravenously to the girl--Elizabeth Kathryn Browning. Adrian Santiago Nagant's half was swallowed simultaneously.
"It was like waking up in a hellish Paradise." Those were her exact words when he came to in the body. At first he wondered if he was even in the right universe--he was face to face with a girl wearing a pure white dress, her rouge eyes and cranberry lips the only pops of color in her entire body. Everything else was gleamingly, disgustingly white.
"Who are you?" she had asked timidly, holding what looked like two small lances in both hands. A curious device, Adrian remembered thinking.
"This is my body." the answer tumbled out of his lips automatically, with him running a calloused hand through his foxfur hair.
"That is impossible." she looked angry and her voice strengthens. She is scared but there is royal steel in her spine; her body sitting up on her perch--it looked suspiciously like a throne. The lances she reassembles to form one long gun. Out of habit he unleashes his Desert Eagle.
"This is my body."
Their fight is broken by a man's soothing voice.
"Splice successful, my Lord. You now have the Deux."
The results were flawless. A perfect human--with half male, half female features. The eyes are windows to the soul, Browning and Nagant peering through like nosy neighbors come Christmastime, all wanting a piece of the golden turkey rubbed tenderly in goose fat, rich red apples thrust in its' gaping maw.
"Let the boy control. Elizabeth." The green-eyed man was talking to her. She stood up and nodded. "Repair the mind. Tell it a story. Let Nagant control."
"How do I--" she claps a hand to her mouth as realization sinks in. Quietly she whispered "This isn't over," before folding her consciousness away. Her half of the body-room grew dark. Adrian Nagant felt a sudden wholeness. "Good," the green-eyed man said approvingly, taking down notes on a Personal Digital Assistant device. "you are the mind. She is the heart. Work and you survive. Fail and the body starts to malfunction, until you fall with a bullet plugged between your eyes."
Adrian Nagant closed his eyes and shouted. "Get me out of here, you fools! White Death escaped!"
A pair of bumbling guards scrambled to the cell door, their faces a mash of nothingness in a blank canvas of white. "Black Death sir, we were sure she was there a second ago--"
"You know how it is when that--that thing is present...it's like coming face to face with a ghost..."
'That's rather mean...' Elizabeth piped up, rubbing her wrists and letting them heal themselves, telling the brain that they were actually on a very nice adventure, where bastard swords had partners and sliced bread had been invented. 'I am not a ghost, I just look like one...'
"The point is, you two lost her. Now are you going to free me or am I going to dock your pay again?"
"b-b-but sir, how did you end up there?"
The other guard was glad that the infamous Black Captain always wore his visor. Without it his next words would have stopped global warming full throttle.
"Are you questioning my competence, you lowlife scum? LET ME OUT OR GOD HELP YOU I'LL DEMOTE YOU TO DIGGING!"
There was the distinct sound of sobbing and the inhumane cell that housed both of them opened with a mighty creak. Adrian Nagant tried both of his legs--no sprains or breakage anywhere too dangerous--and stepped outside into the dismal guard cell. Both guards were talking to themselves and with the slightest flick of his wrist Adrian stole the master list and map of prisoners. That was the thing about this 'Democracy.' it always turned sour whenever the jail cells began to complain and this meant they had to dig.
His boots clomped from the jailhouse all the way to his private quarters, cursing all the way.
His quarters were large and roomy, the stuff used to lure in new recruits and to inspire the power-hungry molds of society. The room was split in half--from the wallpaper to the decor, even the bed was split neatly to accommodate them both.
'Adrian...' her whispering voice was like a constant tick he was unable to control, a sort of wanting to shoot her and at the same time unable to, as life is amusing that way.
"Morir es vivir; to die is to live..." he replied as he sat on his half of the bed, minimalist and modern. His gloved hands rubbed precariously on the black and white blanket. What wouldn't he give for one night of sleep.
'Adrian, may I take a bath? The House of White Sun expects me there in the morning.'
He hesitates, thinking of his own schedule, looking for any holes to slide into. He remembers Lytonal, Godfather telling him:
"The devil is in the detail. Be careful with your words."
'Elizabeth, are your wounds healing?' He takes off his boots, his bullet proof vest, his overshirt, his cape. She nodded then said 'Yes'; in the recesses of their shared body she hid herself well, the only indication she gave was to stick out one badly bruised leg, purple black and blue, marked in places where hands and blunt objects shouldn't be. It was banged up but healing, and that was the main thing.
"Yes, you can. I have canvassing duties for Blood Moon. I left the map and prisoner memos on your side of the bed."
He lets go of control and the vessel falls, with Elizabeth grabbing hold and forcing it to stick its' arms out. The body began to adapt to her, the metamorphosis had begun. She was clad in the same dirty white dress, kicking off her heels and unzipping the bell-shaped gown that housed all her weapons, laying it delicately on the redwood floor.
"Time to rinse." she says in the body's new femme voice, the narrow hips widening as the DNA was rewritten, akin to computer code.
She went to the bathroom.
Lucas, my 32gb iTouch wants me to fail, for he casts a sleepy spell each time I open the document to edit it...
Word Count: 1817
_________________________________________
Dark. Dank. Smells bad. These were the only thoughts to spring from her unconscious mind. The body was weak and much blood had spilled all over her white dress. The drugs were wearing off quickly--Lytonal had given them but a taste of that forbidden pleasure--and she was caught.
'Let me.' his anger was sharp and he licked the blood off his lower lip, the strong taste of metallic shame rolling past his tongue. Those damned democrats weren't as forgiving as they used to be. Wearily she fought him off; they needed to escape before the cover was blown. The stench of dried blood caked with mud and shit were good motivators in getting up.
'Chains hurt' passed through the shared consciousness, and a quick shake made her cry out, her red-raw wrists chafed and torn. 'Let me then, Elizabeth.' he spat out her name and crunch went their body's foot. Pain ripped through and Elizabeth gave in, raising her chained hands in supplication.
"Yes, Adrian." she had already begun to fold herself into the shape of hearts and stars, cutting away the excess of her until she fit neatly into her box.
He opened his eyes and looked at himself. The dress had gone and he wore the suit of black with his half-cape, helmet covering his identity. Her white wrists hidden underneath his gloves. He lamented this disease, this unwanted Splice called Deux. Democracy hadn't been kind when Marcos was ousted and it was worse now, using kindness to stamp out ant individuality in mankind.
"History needs you both," Lytonal had said, the memory hazy in his brain. Elizabeth had always been the stronger one when it came to mental torture, her wit twisting words and weaving lies as effortlessly as parents explain that Santa Claus is but a playful myth to convince children that morality was worth something every December 25th.
'Christ's birth.'
'Christ? What makes you think He's watching? If He is then God better be laughing, because I am not amused.' Her thoughts were sharp and offended but she said nothing and continued to weave lies into the brain's framework.
She was the heart and he was the head; that was what they were. Deux had been around since 2006, an underground pill used to treat extreme cases of near-fatal accidents and diseases that had no cure in the human tongue. The day Adrian Nagant me Elizabeth Browning their lives had been over. The fragment of a shining bullet near his heart and she in a brain-dead coma; Lytonal had adopted them both and gave them to Noahn to Splice.
"Deux candidates," he said to the man who paid his wages. "there's nothing more we can do, save a miracle." Noahn kept his eyes on the two bodies lying in the twin hospital beds. Lytonal was not a man who bothered with aesthetics, unless it was for his benefit. The grey-haired old man leaned on his cane and said thoughtfully, his voice colder than a February frost, "That is my godson. Save his brain."
"What of the girl?" He looked at her, a breathing vegetable. Her lips were dry and stained with blood, bone-white locks splashed with dirt. An albino with injuries so severe she should have died, half-choked on bleach in the psychiatric ward of Hope Clinic.
"Her heart still beats. Splice them."
Noahn had a choice back then, he realized. He could have chosen to forego the Deux pill and simply shot them in the head. One Remington would have done a spectacular job.
The doctor with the shattered emerald eyes crushed the Deux pill, half magic vitamin and half morphine. The creator of Deux, a secretive woman known only as "Angel" created the drug hoping it would cure cancer. It did, and cured a myriad of other diseases--with a price. The rewritten DNA that ordered the body to heal tampered with various other things--the mind, heart, psyche. Most of the cured were retarded in one field. Splicing came soon after, when a mother of twins applied for the drug administration. Having little money she could only afford one pill and cut it in half, praying to God that it would be enough.
Little did she know, Noahn thought as he mixed the bitter pill halves with water, that the heart of God is divided. You were either very very good or very very bad. There could be no Satan without Lucifer and no Lucifer without God. The pill halves, when given to the twins killed one body, but restored both mind and heart.
Essentially, she gained both healthy twins...just in one body. It was akin to the grotesque Metamorphosis of man --that without each other, all would suffer.
Noahn never faltered as he watched the clean water turn black--blood of the sinner and blood of the saint. The first cupful was fed intravenously to the girl--Elizabeth Kathryn Browning. Adrian Santiago Nagant's half was swallowed simultaneously.
"It was like waking up in a hellish Paradise." Those were her exact words when he came to in the body. At first he wondered if he was even in the right universe--he was face to face with a girl wearing a pure white dress, her rouge eyes and cranberry lips the only pops of color in her entire body. Everything else was gleamingly, disgustingly white.
"Who are you?" she had asked timidly, holding what looked like two small lances in both hands. A curious device, Adrian remembered thinking.
"This is my body." the answer tumbled out of his lips automatically, with him running a calloused hand through his foxfur hair.
"That is impossible." she looked angry and her voice strengthens. She is scared but there is royal steel in her spine; her body sitting up on her perch--it looked suspiciously like a throne. The lances she reassembles to form one long gun. Out of habit he unleashes his Desert Eagle.
"This is my body."
Their fight is broken by a man's soothing voice.
"Splice successful, my Lord. You now have the Deux."
The results were flawless. A perfect human--with half male, half female features. The eyes are windows to the soul, Browning and Nagant peering through like nosy neighbors come Christmastime, all wanting a piece of the golden turkey rubbed tenderly in goose fat, rich red apples thrust in its' gaping maw.
"Let the boy control. Elizabeth." The green-eyed man was talking to her. She stood up and nodded. "Repair the mind. Tell it a story. Let Nagant control."
"How do I--" she claps a hand to her mouth as realization sinks in. Quietly she whispered "This isn't over," before folding her consciousness away. Her half of the body-room grew dark. Adrian Nagant felt a sudden wholeness. "Good," the green-eyed man said approvingly, taking down notes on a Personal Digital Assistant device. "you are the mind. She is the heart. Work and you survive. Fail and the body starts to malfunction, until you fall with a bullet plugged between your eyes."
Adrian Nagant closed his eyes and shouted. "Get me out of here, you fools! White Death escaped!"
A pair of bumbling guards scrambled to the cell door, their faces a mash of nothingness in a blank canvas of white. "Black Death sir, we were sure she was there a second ago--"
"You know how it is when that--that thing is present...it's like coming face to face with a ghost..."
'That's rather mean...' Elizabeth piped up, rubbing her wrists and letting them heal themselves, telling the brain that they were actually on a very nice adventure, where bastard swords had partners and sliced bread had been invented. 'I am not a ghost, I just look like one...'
"The point is, you two lost her. Now are you going to free me or am I going to dock your pay again?"
"b-b-but sir, how did you end up there?"
The other guard was glad that the infamous Black Captain always wore his visor. Without it his next words would have stopped global warming full throttle.
"Are you questioning my competence, you lowlife scum? LET ME OUT OR GOD HELP YOU I'LL DEMOTE YOU TO DIGGING!"
There was the distinct sound of sobbing and the inhumane cell that housed both of them opened with a mighty creak. Adrian Nagant tried both of his legs--no sprains or breakage anywhere too dangerous--and stepped outside into the dismal guard cell. Both guards were talking to themselves and with the slightest flick of his wrist Adrian stole the master list and map of prisoners. That was the thing about this 'Democracy.' it always turned sour whenever the jail cells began to complain and this meant they had to dig.
His boots clomped from the jailhouse all the way to his private quarters, cursing all the way.
His quarters were large and roomy, the stuff used to lure in new recruits and to inspire the power-hungry molds of society. The room was split in half--from the wallpaper to the decor, even the bed was split neatly to accommodate them both.
'Adrian...' her whispering voice was like a constant tick he was unable to control, a sort of wanting to shoot her and at the same time unable to, as life is amusing that way.
"Morir es vivir; to die is to live..." he replied as he sat on his half of the bed, minimalist and modern. His gloved hands rubbed precariously on the black and white blanket. What wouldn't he give for one night of sleep.
'Adrian, may I take a bath? The House of White Sun expects me there in the morning.'
He hesitates, thinking of his own schedule, looking for any holes to slide into. He remembers Lytonal, Godfather telling him:
"The devil is in the detail. Be careful with your words."
'Elizabeth, are your wounds healing?' He takes off his boots, his bullet proof vest, his overshirt, his cape. She nodded then said 'Yes'; in the recesses of their shared body she hid herself well, the only indication she gave was to stick out one badly bruised leg, purple black and blue, marked in places where hands and blunt objects shouldn't be. It was banged up but healing, and that was the main thing.
"Yes, you can. I have canvassing duties for Blood Moon. I left the map and prisoner memos on your side of the bed."
He lets go of control and the vessel falls, with Elizabeth grabbing hold and forcing it to stick its' arms out. The body began to adapt to her, the metamorphosis had begun. She was clad in the same dirty white dress, kicking off her heels and unzipping the bell-shaped gown that housed all her weapons, laying it delicately on the redwood floor.
"Time to rinse." she says in the body's new femme voice, the narrow hips widening as the DNA was rewritten, akin to computer code.
She went to the bathroom.
