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tampered2007-10-02 10:21 pm
ordenmagier.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2007-10-02 10:21 pm
(no subject)
When; 1 October
Rating; PG
Characters; Ophelia![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
therippling, Isaak Fernand von Kampfer ordenmagier
Summary; A bored Magician finally finds a vicious little kitten to amuse himself with, and Ophelia gets an invisible wolf-beast that she could care for. And eventually kill.
Log;
Rumors of an Awakened Being in the forest had already caught his attention on the Network, and it hadn't taken too long before Isaak had contacted its source. From what he had seen of her, she was curiously child-like, and seemed to have had no recognition of herself when she'd been in frenzy.
That in itself was enough to snag the Magician's attention, and it was that almost innocent blood thirst that drew him to the forest this evening, the faint scent of blood still lingering here and there. Most unperturbed at the slaughter that had probably gone on, he headed deeper within, seeking out the girl-child that he had promised to meet.
>>>
Ophelia was being good.
She kicked her feet happily, small armored boots clinking lightly against the sizeable boulder on which she perched, idly licking blood off her fingers. A deer had come by. It hadn’t lasted long, she’d been hungry. The rest of the carcass lay discarded a few meters away, red and ripped, callously eaten raw, its blood smeared over her hands and staining her lips.
She was going to have a visitor. It was exciting, all these visitors. Everyone seemed to want to play with her lately, it was interesting. Nnoitra was back and he liked to play, and all the stupid human whining people could play with her, the bloody kind, and now, people were coming to visit her.
The Claymore hummed happily, licking her fingers. Exciting.
>>>
Stepping elegantly through the underbrush, unruffled in the least - considering the fact that his apparel couldn't be more unsuited for terrain such as this - Isaak heard a soft hum, and finally spotted her, perched neatly on a boulder and licking her fingers. Briefly, he wondered if she knew she was so much like the man that he had served.
Lighting a cigarillo, sweet scented smoke wafting from the clove, Isaak stopped a little way before her and bowed slightly, the cigarillo dangling between long fingers. Perhaps with the proper...prompts, this young girl would reveal her secrets. "Ah, the Lady Ophelia."
>>>
“…” Ophelia sniffed. Smoke. Like fire. Only, not. This smoke smelled sweet, smelled funny. Her nose crinkled, but her lips, a woman’s lips, but not a woman’s mind to accompany them, split into a wide grin, childish in its innocence.
“I… Isaak.” She murmured, it was obvious she’d had trouble with the name, idly licking the last traces of blood from nimble, calloused, fingers. “You came.”
>>>
Looking up at her, his expression calmly indulgent, Isaak smiled and held the polish out to her - the gift he had promised to bring. "It's not in my nature to break promises. Have I disturbed you?"
Still such a child, someone that Isaak could not help but be fascinated by.
On hindsight, he wondered if he had a tendency for child-like individuals such as her. Cain, Dietrich - they held a certain allure, a certain twisted innocence that he would guide into corruption; a unique brand that he molded, destroyed, and shaped it to his own whims. The Magician smiled, noting her reaction. "Shall I put it out?"
>>>
“Mm, no, it’s fine.” She wriggled her nose, reaching out for the polish and reaching for her blade, swinging the large claymore sword into her lap and expertly opening the cleaner, quick tongue peeking out to clean the last of the blood from her lips, swinging her legs happily.
“Smells funny.” A comment, Ophelia’s logical thought process. “Can’t track anything with one of those, Isaak~”
>>>
"Indeed. My apologies; I have been used to this. After all, this is what my pets use to track me." Moving up to take a seat beside her, noting the weapon
on her lap, Isaak admired the view from that vantage point. Life was, after all, meant to be enjoyed the same way death was. He could smell the blood, almost taste it, and he knew that Cain would love this one. "I do wonder, how many have you slain lately?"
>>>
Ophelia blinked. Most people were afraid to get near her, let alone plop down next to her while she polished the large, heavy blade in her lap, the thing was easily nearly her height, and yet she handled it easily with one hand.
“Just lately?” The Claymore grinned wickedly. “How much is lately?” That was the question, she thought, before her thought process drifted away.
“Pets?”
>>>
In the past few days." The way she hefted her weapon spoke of hidden strength that belied her slender form, and at her question, he smiled, bemused. Her antics had not gone unnoticed by him, after all; and he had merely been biding his time before he was able to approach her. "And yes. Pets. Would you like to see them?" It was about time that he took them for a test run, and perhaps now would be a good time to see what the Claymore was really capable of.
>>>
“Four.” She answered promptly. The boy everyone said she’d killed, the boy whose head she’d taken earlier, and two little things she’d caught earlier. She’d hid those.
“… Are they good pets?” Ophelia asked curiously, her sword beginning to gleam under the ministration, long, blond braid hanging free over one shoulder.
>>>
Four? Just four and the City was cowering from her, and Isaak couldn't help but chuckle softly. He felled entire states on his own - granted, no one knew it was him, or Silent Noise - but the uproar that was caused just because of this amused him greatly. Really, people took too much pleasure in making mountains out of molehills.
"Good is subjective, Ophelia. One man's meat is always another's poison." A snap of his fingers, and a patch of ground rippled, as if something was tearing through - but there was nothing that the eye could see. There were indentations on the ground, of large, invisible paws that
>>>
Ophelia didn’t know that what the City was truly cowering from, what truly scared them, was an Awakened her, was that horrid, grey scaled form, the jaws and sharp teeth so easily stained with blood, entrails hanging out and soulless golden eyes that, when hungry, saw only meals and guts, warm and wet in her mouth, down her throat, in her belly.
“Ah-“ The Claymore stiffened, the hairs on the back of her neck rising as her hand gripped the hilt of her blade hard, silver eyes settling on the rippling, on the indents, suddenly battle-poised.
“… I don’t see the pet.”
>>>
"No one does," Isaak responded pleasantly. The beast was calm, unmoving, and the scent was unmistakable. He noted the way she gripped her Claymore, and added, taking a long, slow drag of his cigarillo, the sweet scent causing his creature to rumble a purr. "Until it bleeds."
Onyx eyes flickering over to her, he murmured. "Would you like it as a pet, or would you like to hunt?"
>>>
“…” Ophelia frowned, bottom lip in a sultry pout of innocence confused. “It’s not mine.” She didn’t understand the concept of pets, truly keeping a pet, being responsible for another’s life. When she held another’s life in her hands, she always crushed it.
“What’s it look like?” She didn’t know about killing things she couldn’t see. No Awakened Beings did this.
>>>
"It can be," Isaak responded calmly, watching her carefully. It was interesting, the way the concept of a pet seemed so alien to her. Dietrich had been one who took to pets easily, with all the enthusiasm of a child plucking the wings of an insect and throwing it into the fire. Perhaps this child would be easy to teach, even as he murmured. "A beast that will put the fiercest lion to shame. Yours to kill, to care for." A life that was not a life, controlled by the commands Isaak had overridden into its system.
>>>
“… I don’t understand.” She had relaxed somewhat, but she was still taut, a string thrumming, reading to spring into action if she need be. Wide, near childish silver eyes that, behind the outer color, glinted gold and vicious, cold-hearted and wrong.
“Is the point of the game to kill it, or keep it alive?” Ophelia truly did not know, wasn’t accustomed to choices or any such thing, a vein bulging momentarily at her temple and a flash of gold showing through in her iris before she suppressed the wayward yoma power.
>>>
Choices, choices.
Isaak offered them all the time, amused and watching as to which road they would take. There were some times, of course, when he would discreetly guide his subject into a choice that Isaak saw fit, but those instances were few and far between. Catching sight of the flash of gold, sensing the power, Isaak took another drag. Exhale, and the gentle words of an indulgent parent. She was something that he was interested in, and she would require patience; patience he was willing to give. "I shall teach you, then. The beast is yours. And the game, Ophelia, is to make up your own rules. Will you devour it, or will you care for it?"
>>>
“… I don’t know.” Her brow furrowed, full mouth drawn into a sulking expression, fingers skimming on the mark at the blood channel in her blade, the identifying sigil of her Claymore identity and rank, the same one that matched up with the one on her neck guard.
“Do I like the pet? Does it like me? Does it look like a good pet? Does it eat?” The question stemmed out one after the other, knowing, just knowing, this was dumb somehow, that she could make a decision like that.
>>>
"Why don't you touch it?" A rustle of the leaves, and a significant depression indicated that the creature had indeed lain down, soft snuffling sounds the only indication that it was there. "Command it, and it will kill for you. If you love it, it will love you. Looks are important, but they don't matter, especially for pets like these. It consumes the blood of your enemies, and thrives on it." The side of his lips tugged in a faint smile.
"You don't have to fear the unknown; there are always two choices. Embrace it, or destroy it."
>>>
“…” Ophelia glared at it, where it would be, hated this feeling, this fear of indecision. No one had ever put a choice like this before her. She would kill it, if it made a move, or seemed fun, but how could she know when she couldn’t see it? She was confused and it showed, she was unskilled at hiding her emotions. But the squeal of armor and she slid off the boulder, plopped to the ground and reached out with the hand not gripping Claymore hilt to press where she thought the creature should be, her face a look of
pure focus.
>>>
It would be somewhat moist, for her hand lay on the snout of the beast, and it nuzzled up against the touch, docile unless Isaak ordered otherwise. The Magician watched the Claymore - a child, she was no more than a child - the way one would watch an experiment. She had raw power, that much was clear, but what fascinated him would be, how much would it take for her to harness it, to use it to control, instead of merely killing? Her need to kill was startlingly similar to that of the nanomachines, but there was something...human, something that, with enough guidance, would prove to be both beautiful and terrible.
A pet project? Perhaps. For now, it was best to observe, to teach, little by little, if she allowed him to.
>>>
Wet. The claymore pressed experimentally, hands roaming all over the creature, shifting her small frame all around, making sure to explore every bit in her mind’s eye, furry, maned, course, bristly hair. Like a wolf, but bigger. Her hands pressed into its sides, feeling the ribs widen and contract in breath beneath her palm, knowing if she dug in she could crush it, feeling the sharp teeth under the snout, knowing they could pierce the skin, actually nicking her hand carelessly on one in her curious exploration of touch, but didn’t pay attention, the skin knitting back almost before she noticed.
Slowly, Ophelia reached for her blade. But just when it seemed she had decided to kill the beast, for no other reason than she liked to kill, that it was familiar to her, she paused.
“… I think I like it.”
>>>
Leaning back on the boulder, Isaak smiled lazily. "It's quite a beauty, isn't it? One day, perhaps I'll take you to another of mine, one who swims and sings. She's almost as lovely as you are." Gesturing expansively to the invisible creature, who made a low, rumbling sound, he remarked. "You should name it."
How long would it take, before her bloodlust got the better of her, and she spilled its guts? It probably was an unnecessary question to ask; he would know when it happened. Would she get creative with its destruction - like Dietrich sometimes did, or would she merely bring it down in the manner of a hunter striking down prey? The answer was probably pretty obvious, but sometimes, subjects could be surprising. "If you care for it, Ophelia, it will love you."
>>>
“I’m not lovely.” Ophelia murmured conspiratorially, lowering her face to breath in the scent of the beast. She could track by smell and she memorized smell, would know Isaak in the future by the smell of the perfumed smoke. “I’m quite ugly.”
Killing the beast did not seem so fun now. It was shaped like a wolf, and she had killed wolves before. Maybe it would want to eat the rest of her deer. That would take care of the steaming meat. Convenient.
“… Will it listen to me?” She did not ask if it would love her. Love was not an issue.
>>>
Moving off the boulder fluidly, he went over to her. Isaak paid no mind to personal space, even as gentle fingers moved under her chin, lifting her face up to his. "Hardly. You're exquisite." And he meant it; although it was unclear as to whether he was referring to her penchant for destruction or her physical appearance.
"Of course." He allowed smoothly. "Except for the day when you're finally curious as to what its blood looks like." The creature was an intricate mix of wires, flesh, and poison - one that would serve as both Ophelia's companion and observer when she roamed the forests. Through it, Isaak would know her habits, her quirks, and perhaps even some insight as to how she operated. "When you hunt it, it will hunt you down in return. Its behaviour all rests in how you treat it, a perfect mirror."
A perfect opposite reaction.
>>>
“No.” Ophelia, equally, had no respect for personal space, smiling up at him innocently, and yet, just behind that veneer was something wicked. “I’m very ugly.” One hand petted at her breasts, beneath her shirt where the scars, bad enough to make a grown man ill, rested against her skin. But her head cocked curiously, blinking and listening avidly to his words.
“As long as I like it, I won’t break it.” She assured with a croon, a small nuzzle into his hold on her chin. “When I want to break it, it’ll be because it did something wrong.” The Claymore was completely blind to her rages, to her possibility of Awakening again. It simply did not come into account, these things which could not ever happen.
>>>
"Vicious little kitten," Isaak murmured, seeing through the innocence, finding the purity of that wickedness fascinating. It was untainted by politics, driven only by pure lust. Her awakened form was perhaps something to be reckoned with, considering the uproar the entire City had been in when it happened.
It would happen again, he knew, and this time, the beast - and he - would be there to watch. After all, unobtrusive observation was one of the best research methods a scientist would pick. "If you break it, I'll let you pick a new one. Don't let it eat too many humans at one go, hm? It might get indigestion."
Quite impossible, of course, but it was better to be safe, just in case.
>>>
“…” Suddenly, Ophelia frowned, quieted and stiffened, taking in what he’d said.
“… It eats guts?” She whispered tremulously, a slight shiver running down her spine, a manic tint appearing in her eye. Awakened Beings ate guts. They ate people.
And all Awakened Beings had to die.
>>>
"No," Isaak responded mildly, registering the look in her eye and musing at it, wondering how much it would take to draw her out again. It was a pity, her rejection of her other form. "Limbs. Bones. Muscle." Not a far cry from
internal organs, but a difference nonetheless. "You can hear them snap."
>>>
Her frown immediately slipped back into a wicked grin. Bones and meat, she ate those. So it was okay, just as long as it wasn’t an Awakened Being. Just as long as itdidn’t eat guts. Turning her head to look at her half-eaten venison meal, she wriggled excitedly.
“Will it eat that?”
>>>
"I'm afraid it won't, Ophelia." Isaak responded pleasantly, savoring his cigarillo for the briefest of moments before taking his time to explain, smooth and casual, as if he was making a prediction about the current weather pattern. "You see, your pet likes his meals alive."
>>>
“Oooooh.” Ophelia nodded eagerly, eager to learn, to know, childishly taken with the pet, for now. Her small hands sheathed the large Claymore blade back onto her shoulders, standinding and stretching her arms over her head, accompanied by the clinking of her armor.
“So, I just let it hunt whenever it wants?”
>>>
"Yes, or you can command it to stalk your prey." The fear of fighting the unseen, of anticipating death that came out from nowhere was an almost tangible one, and something Isaak found himself amused by from time to time. One's greatest enemy was one that they could not see; one that belonged to the unknown.
Looking up at the darkening sky, he murmured, "I will leave you to play with your new pet; I'm afraid there are other matters I must see to." The creature shifted, the rustling of fallen leaves indicating that it had risen, and was now skulking around its new mistress, sniffing and obeying the Magician's silent instructions. "Seek me out when you wish."
>>>
“Really?” Ophelia smirked happily and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Because… people have been watching me you know. Ever since that lying bitch said I Awakened, people have been watching me, trying to keep me here…” Silver eyes flashed gold in the darkening light. “I’ve been meaning to kill them.”
But she could ay this with a smile, delighted child with a new toy, leaning over to pat the creature in a parody of affection, long braid swinging.
“Where do I find the Isaak?”
>>>
"Perhaps I could lend a hand." The Magician responded easily. "But I hear that you have a Keeper, Ophelia. One who watches over you and tries to keep you here. Is she one of your many eyes as well?"
The creature shifted under her pat, rumbled a throaty purr that sounded very much like one of the tanks of old. How many watched her, seeking to hold her in? "I can be found in the House where angels dwell." He smiled at the irony. Such a place could only belong to God, and yet... "You remember my scent, don't you?"
>>>
“… The Lilith?” Perking, Ophelia blinked. “I like the Lilith, mostly… she makes people shut up when they’re bothering me, and keeps most of the annoying people away…” She liked the sound the creature made, it was interesting and foreign to her, so she kept patting, feeling the bristly fur.
“Of course!” To demonstrate, the Claymore wrinkled her nose. “The Isaak smells like the pretty smoke.”
>>>
Isaak gave her a slow, lazy smile, reminiscent of an idling snake even as he registered the name. 04. The Crusnik that had been consumed by Cain. So she was active in this City, then. This should prove to be very interesting.
The creature shifted under her hands, moving a little closer to nudge her, its rumble a sign of the pleasure at the attention that was showered upon it. "I'm sure that you will find me again." A pause, and he spoke, almost as an afterthought. "And, Ophelia?"
>>>
Ophelia had seen the Crusnik’s form, had seen it when Lilith had offered it to her as proof of their similarity, but she’d promised it a secret. She didn’t know the number, but the claymore would be delighted if she did, after all, she was number 4 herself.
“Hmm?”
>>>
Isaak knew that she wouldn't understand it now, but as child-like as she was, she had a keen, primal intelligence to her that could be sharpened, molded. It was a waste, having the others leave her here like this, but perhaps a blessing, as well. "Let none who can belong to himself be owned by another. Try and remember it, hm?"
>>>
She tried to understand it. Let none who can belong to himself be owned by another… She tried to figure out if he meant the pet, or her. She wasn’t sure, and after a moment of a furrowed brow and awkward pattings, she gave up wondering.
“Alright…”
>>>
One last smile spared for her, and Isaak murmured. "Good girl." If she repeated it to the right person, perhaps they would know exactly who told her that; and perhaps through that, the exact nature of the game he was currently playing. "Enjoy your evening, Lady Ophelia." A courtly bow, and he was gone; the darkness that pooled at his feet rising, swallowing him whole.
Save for the faint scent of sweet smoke, and the softened rumbling of Ophelia's new pet, it was as if Isaak had never been there at all.
Rating; PG
Characters; Ophelia
therippling, Isaak Fernand von Kampfer ordenmagier Summary; A bored Magician finally finds a vicious little kitten to amuse himself with, and Ophelia gets an invisible wolf-beast that she could care for. And eventually kill.
Log;
Rumors of an Awakened Being in the forest had already caught his attention on the Network, and it hadn't taken too long before Isaak had contacted its source. From what he had seen of her, she was curiously child-like, and seemed to have had no recognition of herself when she'd been in frenzy.
That in itself was enough to snag the Magician's attention, and it was that almost innocent blood thirst that drew him to the forest this evening, the faint scent of blood still lingering here and there. Most unperturbed at the slaughter that had probably gone on, he headed deeper within, seeking out the girl-child that he had promised to meet.
>>>
Ophelia was being good.
She kicked her feet happily, small armored boots clinking lightly against the sizeable boulder on which she perched, idly licking blood off her fingers. A deer had come by. It hadn’t lasted long, she’d been hungry. The rest of the carcass lay discarded a few meters away, red and ripped, callously eaten raw, its blood smeared over her hands and staining her lips.
She was going to have a visitor. It was exciting, all these visitors. Everyone seemed to want to play with her lately, it was interesting. Nnoitra was back and he liked to play, and all the stupid human whining people could play with her, the bloody kind, and now, people were coming to visit her.
The Claymore hummed happily, licking her fingers. Exciting.
>>>
Stepping elegantly through the underbrush, unruffled in the least - considering the fact that his apparel couldn't be more unsuited for terrain such as this - Isaak heard a soft hum, and finally spotted her, perched neatly on a boulder and licking her fingers. Briefly, he wondered if she knew she was so much like the man that he had served.
Lighting a cigarillo, sweet scented smoke wafting from the clove, Isaak stopped a little way before her and bowed slightly, the cigarillo dangling between long fingers. Perhaps with the proper...prompts, this young girl would reveal her secrets. "Ah, the Lady Ophelia."
>>>
“…” Ophelia sniffed. Smoke. Like fire. Only, not. This smoke smelled sweet, smelled funny. Her nose crinkled, but her lips, a woman’s lips, but not a woman’s mind to accompany them, split into a wide grin, childish in its innocence.
“I… Isaak.” She murmured, it was obvious she’d had trouble with the name, idly licking the last traces of blood from nimble, calloused, fingers. “You came.”
>>>
Looking up at her, his expression calmly indulgent, Isaak smiled and held the polish out to her - the gift he had promised to bring. "It's not in my nature to break promises. Have I disturbed you?"
Still such a child, someone that Isaak could not help but be fascinated by.
On hindsight, he wondered if he had a tendency for child-like individuals such as her. Cain, Dietrich - they held a certain allure, a certain twisted innocence that he would guide into corruption; a unique brand that he molded, destroyed, and shaped it to his own whims. The Magician smiled, noting her reaction. "Shall I put it out?"
>>>
“Mm, no, it’s fine.” She wriggled her nose, reaching out for the polish and reaching for her blade, swinging the large claymore sword into her lap and expertly opening the cleaner, quick tongue peeking out to clean the last of the blood from her lips, swinging her legs happily.
“Smells funny.” A comment, Ophelia’s logical thought process. “Can’t track anything with one of those, Isaak~”
>>>
"Indeed. My apologies; I have been used to this. After all, this is what my pets use to track me." Moving up to take a seat beside her, noting the weapon
on her lap, Isaak admired the view from that vantage point. Life was, after all, meant to be enjoyed the same way death was. He could smell the blood, almost taste it, and he knew that Cain would love this one. "I do wonder, how many have you slain lately?"
>>>
Ophelia blinked. Most people were afraid to get near her, let alone plop down next to her while she polished the large, heavy blade in her lap, the thing was easily nearly her height, and yet she handled it easily with one hand.
“Just lately?” The Claymore grinned wickedly. “How much is lately?” That was the question, she thought, before her thought process drifted away.
“Pets?”
>>>
In the past few days." The way she hefted her weapon spoke of hidden strength that belied her slender form, and at her question, he smiled, bemused. Her antics had not gone unnoticed by him, after all; and he had merely been biding his time before he was able to approach her. "And yes. Pets. Would you like to see them?" It was about time that he took them for a test run, and perhaps now would be a good time to see what the Claymore was really capable of.
>>>
“Four.” She answered promptly. The boy everyone said she’d killed, the boy whose head she’d taken earlier, and two little things she’d caught earlier. She’d hid those.
“… Are they good pets?” Ophelia asked curiously, her sword beginning to gleam under the ministration, long, blond braid hanging free over one shoulder.
>>>
Four? Just four and the City was cowering from her, and Isaak couldn't help but chuckle softly. He felled entire states on his own - granted, no one knew it was him, or Silent Noise - but the uproar that was caused just because of this amused him greatly. Really, people took too much pleasure in making mountains out of molehills.
"Good is subjective, Ophelia. One man's meat is always another's poison." A snap of his fingers, and a patch of ground rippled, as if something was tearing through - but there was nothing that the eye could see. There were indentations on the ground, of large, invisible paws that
>>>
Ophelia didn’t know that what the City was truly cowering from, what truly scared them, was an Awakened her, was that horrid, grey scaled form, the jaws and sharp teeth so easily stained with blood, entrails hanging out and soulless golden eyes that, when hungry, saw only meals and guts, warm and wet in her mouth, down her throat, in her belly.
“Ah-“ The Claymore stiffened, the hairs on the back of her neck rising as her hand gripped the hilt of her blade hard, silver eyes settling on the rippling, on the indents, suddenly battle-poised.
“… I don’t see the pet.”
>>>
"No one does," Isaak responded pleasantly. The beast was calm, unmoving, and the scent was unmistakable. He noted the way she gripped her Claymore, and added, taking a long, slow drag of his cigarillo, the sweet scent causing his creature to rumble a purr. "Until it bleeds."
Onyx eyes flickering over to her, he murmured. "Would you like it as a pet, or would you like to hunt?"
>>>
“…” Ophelia frowned, bottom lip in a sultry pout of innocence confused. “It’s not mine.” She didn’t understand the concept of pets, truly keeping a pet, being responsible for another’s life. When she held another’s life in her hands, she always crushed it.
“What’s it look like?” She didn’t know about killing things she couldn’t see. No Awakened Beings did this.
>>>
"It can be," Isaak responded calmly, watching her carefully. It was interesting, the way the concept of a pet seemed so alien to her. Dietrich had been one who took to pets easily, with all the enthusiasm of a child plucking the wings of an insect and throwing it into the fire. Perhaps this child would be easy to teach, even as he murmured. "A beast that will put the fiercest lion to shame. Yours to kill, to care for." A life that was not a life, controlled by the commands Isaak had overridden into its system.
>>>
“… I don’t understand.” She had relaxed somewhat, but she was still taut, a string thrumming, reading to spring into action if she need be. Wide, near childish silver eyes that, behind the outer color, glinted gold and vicious, cold-hearted and wrong.
“Is the point of the game to kill it, or keep it alive?” Ophelia truly did not know, wasn’t accustomed to choices or any such thing, a vein bulging momentarily at her temple and a flash of gold showing through in her iris before she suppressed the wayward yoma power.
>>>
Choices, choices.
Isaak offered them all the time, amused and watching as to which road they would take. There were some times, of course, when he would discreetly guide his subject into a choice that Isaak saw fit, but those instances were few and far between. Catching sight of the flash of gold, sensing the power, Isaak took another drag. Exhale, and the gentle words of an indulgent parent. She was something that he was interested in, and she would require patience; patience he was willing to give. "I shall teach you, then. The beast is yours. And the game, Ophelia, is to make up your own rules. Will you devour it, or will you care for it?"
>>>
“… I don’t know.” Her brow furrowed, full mouth drawn into a sulking expression, fingers skimming on the mark at the blood channel in her blade, the identifying sigil of her Claymore identity and rank, the same one that matched up with the one on her neck guard.
“Do I like the pet? Does it like me? Does it look like a good pet? Does it eat?” The question stemmed out one after the other, knowing, just knowing, this was dumb somehow, that she could make a decision like that.
>>>
"Why don't you touch it?" A rustle of the leaves, and a significant depression indicated that the creature had indeed lain down, soft snuffling sounds the only indication that it was there. "Command it, and it will kill for you. If you love it, it will love you. Looks are important, but they don't matter, especially for pets like these. It consumes the blood of your enemies, and thrives on it." The side of his lips tugged in a faint smile.
"You don't have to fear the unknown; there are always two choices. Embrace it, or destroy it."
>>>
“…” Ophelia glared at it, where it would be, hated this feeling, this fear of indecision. No one had ever put a choice like this before her. She would kill it, if it made a move, or seemed fun, but how could she know when she couldn’t see it? She was confused and it showed, she was unskilled at hiding her emotions. But the squeal of armor and she slid off the boulder, plopped to the ground and reached out with the hand not gripping Claymore hilt to press where she thought the creature should be, her face a look of
pure focus.
>>>
It would be somewhat moist, for her hand lay on the snout of the beast, and it nuzzled up against the touch, docile unless Isaak ordered otherwise. The Magician watched the Claymore - a child, she was no more than a child - the way one would watch an experiment. She had raw power, that much was clear, but what fascinated him would be, how much would it take for her to harness it, to use it to control, instead of merely killing? Her need to kill was startlingly similar to that of the nanomachines, but there was something...human, something that, with enough guidance, would prove to be both beautiful and terrible.
A pet project? Perhaps. For now, it was best to observe, to teach, little by little, if she allowed him to.
>>>
Wet. The claymore pressed experimentally, hands roaming all over the creature, shifting her small frame all around, making sure to explore every bit in her mind’s eye, furry, maned, course, bristly hair. Like a wolf, but bigger. Her hands pressed into its sides, feeling the ribs widen and contract in breath beneath her palm, knowing if she dug in she could crush it, feeling the sharp teeth under the snout, knowing they could pierce the skin, actually nicking her hand carelessly on one in her curious exploration of touch, but didn’t pay attention, the skin knitting back almost before she noticed.
Slowly, Ophelia reached for her blade. But just when it seemed she had decided to kill the beast, for no other reason than she liked to kill, that it was familiar to her, she paused.
“… I think I like it.”
>>>
Leaning back on the boulder, Isaak smiled lazily. "It's quite a beauty, isn't it? One day, perhaps I'll take you to another of mine, one who swims and sings. She's almost as lovely as you are." Gesturing expansively to the invisible creature, who made a low, rumbling sound, he remarked. "You should name it."
How long would it take, before her bloodlust got the better of her, and she spilled its guts? It probably was an unnecessary question to ask; he would know when it happened. Would she get creative with its destruction - like Dietrich sometimes did, or would she merely bring it down in the manner of a hunter striking down prey? The answer was probably pretty obvious, but sometimes, subjects could be surprising. "If you care for it, Ophelia, it will love you."
>>>
“I’m not lovely.” Ophelia murmured conspiratorially, lowering her face to breath in the scent of the beast. She could track by smell and she memorized smell, would know Isaak in the future by the smell of the perfumed smoke. “I’m quite ugly.”
Killing the beast did not seem so fun now. It was shaped like a wolf, and she had killed wolves before. Maybe it would want to eat the rest of her deer. That would take care of the steaming meat. Convenient.
“… Will it listen to me?” She did not ask if it would love her. Love was not an issue.
>>>
Moving off the boulder fluidly, he went over to her. Isaak paid no mind to personal space, even as gentle fingers moved under her chin, lifting her face up to his. "Hardly. You're exquisite." And he meant it; although it was unclear as to whether he was referring to her penchant for destruction or her physical appearance.
"Of course." He allowed smoothly. "Except for the day when you're finally curious as to what its blood looks like." The creature was an intricate mix of wires, flesh, and poison - one that would serve as both Ophelia's companion and observer when she roamed the forests. Through it, Isaak would know her habits, her quirks, and perhaps even some insight as to how she operated. "When you hunt it, it will hunt you down in return. Its behaviour all rests in how you treat it, a perfect mirror."
A perfect opposite reaction.
>>>
“No.” Ophelia, equally, had no respect for personal space, smiling up at him innocently, and yet, just behind that veneer was something wicked. “I’m very ugly.” One hand petted at her breasts, beneath her shirt where the scars, bad enough to make a grown man ill, rested against her skin. But her head cocked curiously, blinking and listening avidly to his words.
“As long as I like it, I won’t break it.” She assured with a croon, a small nuzzle into his hold on her chin. “When I want to break it, it’ll be because it did something wrong.” The Claymore was completely blind to her rages, to her possibility of Awakening again. It simply did not come into account, these things which could not ever happen.
>>>
"Vicious little kitten," Isaak murmured, seeing through the innocence, finding the purity of that wickedness fascinating. It was untainted by politics, driven only by pure lust. Her awakened form was perhaps something to be reckoned with, considering the uproar the entire City had been in when it happened.
It would happen again, he knew, and this time, the beast - and he - would be there to watch. After all, unobtrusive observation was one of the best research methods a scientist would pick. "If you break it, I'll let you pick a new one. Don't let it eat too many humans at one go, hm? It might get indigestion."
Quite impossible, of course, but it was better to be safe, just in case.
>>>
“…” Suddenly, Ophelia frowned, quieted and stiffened, taking in what he’d said.
“… It eats guts?” She whispered tremulously, a slight shiver running down her spine, a manic tint appearing in her eye. Awakened Beings ate guts. They ate people.
And all Awakened Beings had to die.
>>>
"No," Isaak responded mildly, registering the look in her eye and musing at it, wondering how much it would take to draw her out again. It was a pity, her rejection of her other form. "Limbs. Bones. Muscle." Not a far cry from
internal organs, but a difference nonetheless. "You can hear them snap."
>>>
Her frown immediately slipped back into a wicked grin. Bones and meat, she ate those. So it was okay, just as long as it wasn’t an Awakened Being. Just as long as itdidn’t eat guts. Turning her head to look at her half-eaten venison meal, she wriggled excitedly.
“Will it eat that?”
>>>
"I'm afraid it won't, Ophelia." Isaak responded pleasantly, savoring his cigarillo for the briefest of moments before taking his time to explain, smooth and casual, as if he was making a prediction about the current weather pattern. "You see, your pet likes his meals alive."
>>>
“Oooooh.” Ophelia nodded eagerly, eager to learn, to know, childishly taken with the pet, for now. Her small hands sheathed the large Claymore blade back onto her shoulders, standinding and stretching her arms over her head, accompanied by the clinking of her armor.
“So, I just let it hunt whenever it wants?”
>>>
"Yes, or you can command it to stalk your prey." The fear of fighting the unseen, of anticipating death that came out from nowhere was an almost tangible one, and something Isaak found himself amused by from time to time. One's greatest enemy was one that they could not see; one that belonged to the unknown.
Looking up at the darkening sky, he murmured, "I will leave you to play with your new pet; I'm afraid there are other matters I must see to." The creature shifted, the rustling of fallen leaves indicating that it had risen, and was now skulking around its new mistress, sniffing and obeying the Magician's silent instructions. "Seek me out when you wish."
>>>
“Really?” Ophelia smirked happily and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Because… people have been watching me you know. Ever since that lying bitch said I Awakened, people have been watching me, trying to keep me here…” Silver eyes flashed gold in the darkening light. “I’ve been meaning to kill them.”
But she could ay this with a smile, delighted child with a new toy, leaning over to pat the creature in a parody of affection, long braid swinging.
“Where do I find the Isaak?”
>>>
"Perhaps I could lend a hand." The Magician responded easily. "But I hear that you have a Keeper, Ophelia. One who watches over you and tries to keep you here. Is she one of your many eyes as well?"
The creature shifted under her pat, rumbled a throaty purr that sounded very much like one of the tanks of old. How many watched her, seeking to hold her in? "I can be found in the House where angels dwell." He smiled at the irony. Such a place could only belong to God, and yet... "You remember my scent, don't you?"
>>>
“… The Lilith?” Perking, Ophelia blinked. “I like the Lilith, mostly… she makes people shut up when they’re bothering me, and keeps most of the annoying people away…” She liked the sound the creature made, it was interesting and foreign to her, so she kept patting, feeling the bristly fur.
“Of course!” To demonstrate, the Claymore wrinkled her nose. “The Isaak smells like the pretty smoke.”
>>>
Isaak gave her a slow, lazy smile, reminiscent of an idling snake even as he registered the name. 04. The Crusnik that had been consumed by Cain. So she was active in this City, then. This should prove to be very interesting.
The creature shifted under her hands, moving a little closer to nudge her, its rumble a sign of the pleasure at the attention that was showered upon it. "I'm sure that you will find me again." A pause, and he spoke, almost as an afterthought. "And, Ophelia?"
>>>
Ophelia had seen the Crusnik’s form, had seen it when Lilith had offered it to her as proof of their similarity, but she’d promised it a secret. She didn’t know the number, but the claymore would be delighted if she did, after all, she was number 4 herself.
“Hmm?”
>>>
Isaak knew that she wouldn't understand it now, but as child-like as she was, she had a keen, primal intelligence to her that could be sharpened, molded. It was a waste, having the others leave her here like this, but perhaps a blessing, as well. "Let none who can belong to himself be owned by another. Try and remember it, hm?"
>>>
She tried to understand it. Let none who can belong to himself be owned by another… She tried to figure out if he meant the pet, or her. She wasn’t sure, and after a moment of a furrowed brow and awkward pattings, she gave up wondering.
“Alright…”
>>>
One last smile spared for her, and Isaak murmured. "Good girl." If she repeated it to the right person, perhaps they would know exactly who told her that; and perhaps through that, the exact nature of the game he was currently playing. "Enjoy your evening, Lady Ophelia." A courtly bow, and he was gone; the darkness that pooled at his feet rising, swallowing him whole.
Save for the faint scent of sweet smoke, and the softened rumbling of Ophelia's new pet, it was as if Isaak had never been there at all.