Re: Shifting colors.mirror_brightlySeptember 24 2009, 00:48:33 UTC
Nero's expression remained, fixed and leering like a mask of gaping stone and metal, like the broken plates of the Narada. Idly he wondered if Kirk could see the Etrevon wires, hear them clicking behind his eyes, beneath his skin. His blood felt cold, his fingers glassy, and Nero leaned back on his heels.
“Ainama afvu...” Nero lifted Kirk's neck, his eyes running down the expanse of the human's throat as his fingers did the same. Neither were very forgiving.
“Thlhe bhai'allh dvaer,” Nero continued, speaking against the light. His voice was wispy, frigid, seeping in the threat of pain. There was a void within his throat, unforgiving as space, and it propelled his words. “Thlom aelhe...d'hannam. Daegnus emael uhfea.Behind him, the jar swirled and Ayel set it to the ground. Casually, Nero lifted the combs above his shoulder. The longs lines of them rattled free, slipped pink and white into Ayel's hand as he took them. It was silent, the one he had left. Penitent. Nero eyed the tool, the dark titanium combing, the binding wire, and his
( ... )
Re: Shifting colors.kirktasticSeptember 24 2009, 01:08:14 UTC
What the hell is that?
It was the one shining clear thought in Kirk's mind as he stared at whatever the hell was in Nero's hand. It looked almost like the devil's idea of a paintbrush, with a long wooden handle spotted in darkness, a tightly wrapped curl of inky thread, and what looked like bright tines of a pitchfork. Sharp metal tines that looked like some very strange weapon.
Specially when it was pressing against his neck, cold against the pounding pulse that he could feel against his temples. They were damn sharp, those metal tines, and he was sure they left thin red crisp lines against the newly-tanned skin on his neck.
What was Nero talking about? ...Elehu. A place. Saeih. A name. Was this the story that Nero was talking about? What the fuck? Was Nero seriously going to tell him a story while torturing him? With... the pointy-thing?
The comb pressed into his skin enough to prick blood when Kirk laughed at his own thought. It was better then being terrified. I am going to die by pointy-thing.
Re: Shifting colors.mirror_brightlySeptember 24 2009, 01:44:25 UTC
There's something sweet, naieve, crisp in Kirk's wheezing laughter. Nero's fingertips drummed against the handle of the comb and the sound tumbled away. He pulled the comb back, settled it between his teeth, bit gentle against the soft wood, and lifted the jar away from the fuchsia light. It was dark in his hands, between his and Kirk's legs, and it drew in the light as he twisted the lid free. The metal squealed and he cast it aside with a clatter. His grin was less hollow as he pulled the comb away, snaking fingers around the grip.
“Saeih' walks to the academy, always keeping under the sun. He calls it swift wings, and laughs and shouts to Ael. He does this every day,” Nero continued as he craned his head down, watched the needles of the comb vanish into the void of the jar. The liquid was thick. It fell in heavy drops, but he can't hear them as he looks back up at Kirk. His words came automatic, then, as he continued to speak and leaned almost to press his face against Kirk's neck. “Every day he he dreams and calls to the sky. He
( ... )
Re: Shifting colors.kirktasticSeptember 24 2009, 02:04:14 UTC
Every word is patterned into his neck by the heated breath of the Romulan against him. It was intimate, heavily so, but not in any sexual way. Each word paints a vivid picture in his mind, all swirling colors that form into painting. Each word is a different color, a different texture, a different shade until he can see it in his mind.
The pain was distinct. Not each individual tine, no, but each puncture is felt by itself. Bright, unique, repeating. Nero kept speaking, constantly speaking, building the picture in his mind, surrounding him with it and winding through it all was the brilliance of a single crimson thread.
...shut the fuck up. Don't want to hear this... what are you doing...
The thoughts melded together in one long strand, listening to this constant rambling. Yet his mind could not stop thinking, even for an instant, about the pointy-thing against his neck. Repeating, over and over. He could smell metal and blood... what is Nero doing... what is he doing?
Re: Shifting colors.mirror_brightlySeptember 24 2009, 03:06:12 UTC
Saeih' fell from his hands and mouth easily, tumbling words laced with recent memory, and Nero slipped the comb into the void again. It came back, bright and black, and his thumb on Kirk's chin stretched. It swept away the creepy grey slide of blood, wiping the skin clean. The line on Kirk's neck was Kirk's own, convoluted and warped, the interior smooth and graceful, the exterior pointed and harsh. It was as foriegn and tasteless as his blood, as the smell of mingled iron and Etrevon heat. An apology phrased in the platitudes of another world. He gripped Kirk's head again and tilted his neck upward, craning his eyes and face into the loudness of the light. It was shouting at him and he dug closer, slower, just to make certain the hevam heard his story
( ... )
Re: Shifting colors.kirktasticSeptember 24 2009, 03:31:26 UTC
Words. Constant constant words. They never stopped, telling him inane details of people, all with Romulan names. Characters in a story but no damn story that makes sense. Don't even know how to tell a story. Beginning, middle, end. Fucking can't even do that much right. Kirk told himself, because cracking jokes in his head is better then breaking in his spirit.
The pain keeps spreading, and where it burns hot, it leaves behind embers. Dull, constant lines of embers left behind to constantly burn and nag and remind him of where the pointy-thing has been. It flared out like wings on either side of his adam's apple, spreading up and down, curving inward
( ... )
Re: Shifting colors.mirror_brightlySeptember 24 2009, 04:13:35 UTC
Nero's motions halted and he leaned close to Kirk, his ear drifting over the human's shoulder as he watched him. After several seconds his brow furrowed and he pushed the man onto his back, splaying his arms out, limp and lifeless across the floor. The air wheezed from the human, stripes of blue and black, but it wasn't the same. Nero parted his lips and hissed, the knife in his hand fell away and he drew the comb out, gripping it tight
( ... )
Re: Shifting colors.kirktasticSeptember 24 2009, 04:27:37 UTC
It hurts here, even more then his neck. The flesh on his face is far more sensitive, not used to pain in such tiny, delicate motions. Used to pain in the slug of a fist, crumpling and bright and sudden, but this is a pain that doesn't die. It's a slow burning fire, banked and settled and staying. The comb bites into bone when it finds his cheekbones.
A tattoo on his face. On his face. His mind could not even fathom the full scale of such a thing. Nero had him helpless on the floor and he wasn't even bound, but he could not dick all to stop him from writing poetry or blasphemy on his face then he could fly--
Eihva.
A name they had mentioned before. "Eihva is beautiful..."
"It was Eihva's birthing day today, she had shift off. She survived the prisons, she was strong."
Nero had said that, hissing and low in his ears. "You killed my crew."Eihva was dead. A story. The tattoo. Something was coming together in his mind. Something terrifying and horrible and alien. "What-" Oh god, it hurt to talk. His throat was raw and it made the
( ... )
Re: Shifting colors.mirror_brightlySeptember 24 2009, 17:52:13 UTC
Nero savored that sound, the sheer redness of it, the way it warped around the lines, slid around them like wind through branches, air through vents. It wasn't what he wanted, but Kirk gave it to him freely. What he was given was almost as beautiful as what he could take. His hand stilled, the needles hovering just a hair's span from Kirk's cheek. Nero leaned in close. Kirk could not see his smile and neither could he. He could hear it though, just like the soft whispering black that wrapped up Kirk's cheek.
“They are a story, James,” Nero explained. His words were slow, leaden, and laced with the same flavor as the truths he'd related. “The only story that matters.” He pulled back and started marking in silence as he considered Eihva. He recalled the feel of her flesh, the cold creep of her blood across his shins. The green of it, blaring in the dark and the white, glistening and cracking like ice on metal. The cold crawl of her skin....and the feel of her arm around his neck. The gentle amber light of midmorning became the humid
( ... )
Re: Shifting colors.kirk_georgeSeptember 24 2009, 21:32:07 UTC
George screamed at the Romulans, a babble of English and Romulan, screaming they were killing Jim, attempting to divert their attentions to himself, straining against the bonds, helplessly. His son, had to protect him, to take this for himself on himself, heedless of the pain it cost him, his body, his throat, it didn't matter.
"If you kill him, you'll never get your information."
Re: Shifting colors.mirror_brightlySeptember 24 2009, 22:01:08 UTC
Nero scowled as he stared at Kirk, the line on his cheek finished and Tha'liij written out in whorls of black and blood. The human arched against him, twisting with strength he shouldn't have, involuntary and sparking. He was short circuiting, humming beneath him, and Nero sneered as he rose and stared down at the thrashing man. Kirk couldn't hear him, not through the spark under his skin.
“I don't want to kill him,” Nero admitted evenly, a low current beneath the clashing staccato of Kirk's cries and George's half-babbled Rihannsu. “Not yet.”
His attention was torn from Kirk, forced into an impatient, keening halt against his skull. He cast his glance at the hevam still leashed to the table. He could smell the fetid bite of burning iron and his eyes narrowed. He stepped off the sparking Kirk, away from his live limbs that crawled against the floor, slid to nowhere and back again.
“But if you supply my information,” Nero continued as he crossed to George's side. “I will not object.”
Re: Shifting colors.mirror_brightlySeptember 24 2009, 22:12:17 UTC
The liquid caught the side of Nero's neck and the Romulan fixed his heavy vision on the human, his hand rising to swipe the spit with slow, calculated resolve. It was dark, the space between George and he, and Nero could hear Kirk's live thrashing at his back. A slow smile splintered across his face and Nero's eyes drifted away, fixing on the weeping wounds that covered the hevam's torso. He lifted his hand, casually glancing at the liquid, before letting the appendage fall against the most colorful of the cuts.
Re: Shifting colors.kirk_georgeSeptember 24 2009, 22:15:04 UTC
George barely managed to hold the scream back between his teeth, as he smiled at hte spot he'd managed to hit the romulan with the spit. "The code...is go fuck yourself, sideways."
Re: Shifting colors.mirror_brightlySeptember 24 2009, 22:24:11 UTC
Nero hummed against his teeth, a rattling breath held in harmony by bone. His fingers against George's torso tensed, pulling at the injured flesh in slowly increasing increments.
"You are beginning to bore me." The words were even and dangerous, sliding from him like an order. The tips of his fingers were starting to prickle and hum--had they left the coolant on him? Hm, all the same.
“Ainama afvu...” Nero lifted Kirk's neck, his eyes running down the expanse of the human's throat as his fingers did the same. Neither were very forgiving.
“Thlhe bhai'allh dvaer,” Nero continued, speaking against the light. His voice was wispy, frigid, seeping in the threat of pain. There was a void within his throat, unforgiving as space, and it propelled his words. “Thlom aelhe...d'hannam. Daegnus emael uhfea.Behind him, the jar swirled and Ayel set it to the ground. Casually, Nero lifted the combs above his shoulder. The longs lines of them rattled free, slipped pink and white into Ayel's hand as he took them. It was silent, the one he had left. Penitent. Nero eyed the tool, the dark titanium combing, the binding wire, and his ( ... )
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It was the one shining clear thought in Kirk's mind as he stared at whatever the hell was in Nero's hand. It looked almost like the devil's idea of a paintbrush, with a long wooden handle spotted in darkness, a tightly wrapped curl of inky thread, and what looked like bright tines of a pitchfork. Sharp metal tines that looked like some very strange weapon.
Specially when it was pressing against his neck, cold against the pounding pulse that he could feel against his temples. They were damn sharp, those metal tines, and he was sure they left thin red crisp lines against the newly-tanned skin on his neck.
What was Nero talking about? ...Elehu. A place. Saeih. A name. Was this the story that Nero was talking about? What the fuck? Was Nero seriously going to tell him a story while torturing him? With... the pointy-thing?
The comb pressed into his skin enough to prick blood when Kirk laughed at his own thought. It was better then being terrified. I am going to die by pointy-thing.
Reply
“Saeih' walks to the academy, always keeping under the sun. He calls it swift wings, and laughs and shouts to Ael. He does this every day,” Nero continued as he craned his head down, watched the needles of the comb vanish into the void of the jar. The liquid was thick. It fell in heavy drops, but he can't hear them as he looks back up at Kirk. His words came automatic, then, as he continued to speak and leaned almost to press his face against Kirk's neck. “Every day he he dreams and calls to the sky. He ( ... )
Reply
The pain was distinct. Not each individual tine, no, but each puncture is felt by itself. Bright, unique, repeating. Nero kept speaking, constantly speaking, building the picture in his mind, surrounding him with it and winding through it all was the brilliance of a single crimson thread.
...shut the fuck up. Don't want to hear this... what are you doing...
The thoughts melded together in one long strand, listening to this constant rambling. Yet his mind could not stop thinking, even for an instant, about the pointy-thing against his neck. Repeating, over and over. He could smell metal and blood... what is Nero doing... what is he doing?
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The pain keeps spreading, and where it burns hot, it leaves behind embers. Dull, constant lines of embers left behind to constantly burn and nag and remind him of where the pointy-thing has been. It flared out like wings on either side of his adam's apple, spreading up and down, curving inward ( ... )
Reply
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A tattoo on his face. On his face. His mind could not even fathom the full scale of such a thing. Nero had him helpless on the floor and he wasn't even bound, but he could not dick all to stop him from writing poetry or blasphemy on his face then he could fly--
Eihva.
A name they had mentioned before. "Eihva is beautiful..."
"It was Eihva's birthing day today, she had shift off. She survived the prisons, she was strong."
Nero had said that, hissing and low in his ears. "You killed my crew."Eihva was dead. A story. The tattoo. Something was coming together in his mind. Something terrifying and horrible and alien. "What-" Oh god, it hurt to talk. His throat was raw and it made the ( ... )
Reply
“They are a story, James,” Nero explained. His words were slow, leaden, and laced with the same flavor as the truths he'd related. “The only story that matters.” He pulled back and started marking in silence as he considered Eihva. He recalled the feel of her flesh, the cold creep of her blood across his shins. The green of it, blaring in the dark and the white, glistening and cracking like ice on metal. The cold crawl of her skin....and the feel of her arm around his neck. The gentle amber light of midmorning became the humid ( ... )
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"If you kill him, you'll never get your information."
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“I don't want to kill him,” Nero admitted evenly, a low current beneath the clashing staccato of Kirk's cries and George's half-babbled Rihannsu. “Not yet.”
His attention was torn from Kirk, forced into an impatient, keening halt against his skull. He cast his glance at the hevam still leashed to the table. He could smell the fetid bite of burning iron and his eyes narrowed. He stepped off the sparking Kirk, away from his live limbs that crawled against the floor, slid to nowhere and back again.
“But if you supply my information,” Nero continued as he crossed to George's side. “I will not object.”
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"You are beginning to bore me." The words were even and dangerous, sliding from him like an order. The tips of his fingers were starting to prickle and hum--had they left the coolant on him? Hm, all the same.
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