Fantasy The Waiting Game (Seru and Dirge)

[Seru]

Watch me,
I will go to my own sun,
And if I am burned by its fire,
I will fly on scorched wings.
---​

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Cold. The cell was cold, punctuated only further by its small white walls--as if they were closing in on the young woman ever so slightly. She was in the middle of the area, curled up in a fetal position, trembling and quiet and gaunt. Ragged breaths escaped her being through gritted teeth. Her eyes were closed tight, and she was clutching her head with a shaking grip. It hurts--this was the only thought on her mind, loud and repeating and indicative of this shitty life, yet it was the only grip she had to reality. Anything else, she knew, would only lead to a downward spiral that was difficult to escape from.

"You look like shit, Flick."

She could recognize the voice--Chaplin, from the cell right beside her. Having neighboring rooms meant that he'd definitely seen the mess she was when the guards dragged her in--and of course, in typical Chaplin fashion, he was frank about his observations.

"Shut u--" was all Flick could muster as a retort before another sharp pain poked at her head. Normally, even amidst her power-induced headache, she would retort to his daily quips. Maybe even give a glare although he couldn't see it. But the whitecoats had been harsher today. Perhaps even harsher than they'd ever been, which was never a good sign for any of them stuck in these lovely small cells.

And there were a lot of them, rooms lined up in a long hallway, clean and modern and...adequate--but most definitely still a prison.

Despite the obvious fact that she couldn't hold up a conversation with him right now, Chaplin continued on with his sterling remarks. "Oof, something definitely happened there. Did they find a breakthrough in your powers? What can you do now? Read mi--"

He was interrupted by the loud hiss of the hallway doors, a sound that normally every lab rat hated, but for the first time Flick was grateful for if but a second. Anything that could shut Chaplin up right now was a blessing. But even these blessings were a mere disguise, dissipating just as quickly as they arrived. After all, the hissing of the hallway doors meant the entrance of guards, and perhaps the most recent lab rat they'd poked and prodded with.

Come to think of it, Flick hadn't noticed that the cell in front of hers was empty.

"You look like shit too!" Chaplin remarked a little too cheerfully as the guards passed by, dragging a certain someone roughly by the arms before throwing them inside the cell adjacent to hers. Flick forced herself to sit up, squinting slightly so as to try and alleviate the blurriness in her vision. It was someone she knew, of course--that much she could gather, but her current disorientation could only make out bits and letters of what was supposed to be a name. Perhaps later she'd remember properly, but right now the only thing she knew was that this person was just as hurt as she was.

And was probably going to get the same treatment from the lovely Chaplin.

"You okay?" she managed, if not a bit weakly, but audible enough in a place so closed off and resonant.

--------
Dirge




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[Dirge]

"I can't wait for the day I can kill these people..."
​

That thought circulated in Kaine's mind more than anything else did since he'd been here. The malice in those words kept him sane, despite the torture and experimentation he was subjected to every day. His pale, lean built body covered with scratches and bruises while the black clothes he wore were ripped and tattered. He was always rather violent tempered and combative. Every time they'd come to poke and prod him it was akin to trying to grab a wolf by the scruff that didn't want to be touched. Sometimes he managed to land a good blow in, every now and again. His physical constitution betrayed his looks; he was naturally rather strong and resilient, and that trait was occasionally overlooked when they came to try and restrain him. That blessing turned out to be a curse in this situation, funnily enough. Oh, how they loved to test on him. To see how far he could be pushed and how much he could resist. It was like a sick game, and he was always on the losing end.

As they tossed him into the cell like a broken toy, the young man would tumble until he hit the wall and lie still. His once short and black, messy hair now baring profound white streaks originating from his scalp. Initial signs of the rumored Marie Antoinette Syndrome that many thought was just a rumor. One could only imagine the levels of stress one had to go through to have such a rapid acceleration of hair color change like that. He was far too young to have that color in his hair.

When a voice beckoned to him, asking if he was okay, the young man didn't respond for a long moment. No, instead, he just laid there in silence. He laid there for so long, that one could have easily assumed that he was dead. It would be several minutes before he finally answered. His voice dry and weak as he choked out the words "What the fuck do you think?"

Kaine always did hate stupid questions. The savage look in his amber-colored eyes worth a thousand words when he glared at Flick.​