removeimpurity | Tenth Incision [Action, Voice; Backdated to the 10th]

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Tenth Incision [Action, Voice; Backdated to the 10th]

[March 10th]

[Syre's return to the village on the 10th is rather anti-climactic. Though she seethes with anger, none of it is related to the cage in which she finds herself again -- the Malnosso are not the source of her ire, not this time.]

[Her fury, in this case, is directed toward a different set of foes, soldiers and commanders a long, long way from here, whose swords have cut down all but the most loyal of her forces...]

[As the haze of hatred and anger clears from her conscious mind, jade eyes glance idly around what she realizes is her apartment. Her books are exactly as she had left them, with the most recent pages laid open and unfinished.]

[The first thing she does is collect all of her research and pack her bag, and then she gets moving, despite the lateness. Her destination is the Battle Dome -- a place where she can run as many experiments, as many tests, as she needs to get the data she requires. After all, this work of hers needs finishing -- especially if she can use it when she returns to Selles...]

[March 11th to March 14th]

[Loathe though she is to admit, Syre still has base needs to attend to.]

[Every once in a while, the alchemist can be seen flitting out of the Battle Dome, whether to grab a quick meal at the restaurants or to replenish supplies at the Item Shops.]

[Those that encounter her on these errands will notice that she's decidedly less friendly, and that her actions are quicker and more to the point than before; she's in no mood to make idle small talk, and in even less of a mood to stay out of the Dome for very long...]

[March 15th]

[It is somewhere about 7pm when a thought crosses Syre's mind.]

[Simulations are not enough. Simulations are predictable, and predictability leads to inaccurate results.]

[She ends the last of her simulations, and sets her things aside. In her mind, the only way to remedy this issue is to use live subjects.]

[Well, perhaps she can head out, explore the village, and perhaps find some... willing participants for her use...]

[March 17th, Early Morning]

[The journal begins broadcasting at what would normally be an hour entirely too early for Syre.]

[What is most noticeable in this is that the Ecliptian isn't calm, isn't cheery, isn't angry...]

[...but is crying. Half-choked sobs filter over the audio stream, and the older woman seems not to notice that the whole of the enclosure can hear her now.]

Gods... Gods Above, what will I become? What madness awaits me on that battlefield?

[The memories of her future are all but foggy remnants now, but what Syre remembers -- and the fresher memories of what she's done -- haunts her like a specter.]

[She doesn't believe that she could be possible of such atrocities... but she is. She is, and she was so easily willing to justify them...]

[Her sobbing begins again in earnest, much louder this time. It doesn't seem like she'll be stopping any time soon...]

((Advance Trigger Warnings for threads in this post: Violent actions, gory descriptions, and possible talk of suicide. When replying, please be sure to state the date of the interaction -- anytime between the 10th to the 17th!))

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[It's peaceful in House 55, quiet and calm as the evening light filters through the windows. Snow floats through the air thickly, glittering like fairy dust as it drifts downward.

Though Robert worries for Don in this weather - especially with his anniversary with the Turtle passing the day before - he tries to make himself calmer by focusing on the tea he's preparing, rather than the journal laid out on the table before him. He is determined to make this day normal - even if he hasn't been doing the best job until now.

This is why he is not paying attention to any possible... unwelcome visitors. And he's completely alone... all too easy a target for someone who needs a willing, pliant subject to study.]

Edited 2013-03-14 03:57 (UTC)

[The snow provides a perfect cover for Syre. As she sticks to lesser-taken paths, marching toward an objective known only by her, the quickly falling snow covers her tracks.]

[A smart move, indeed.]

[Her arrival at House 55 is announced with a simple knock at the door. Robert is a willing scientist -- he, if anyone, should understand the need for data that comes from more than just a simulated experiment.]

[Hopefully, she won't have to do anything unsavory.]

[... An unannounced knock? At this time? Concerned, Robert flicks the stove off first before heading over to the door and opening it tentatively.

The man is dressed in sleep clothes and a housecoat despite the early hour; lounging clothes, or whatever is closest for him. This should indicate to Syre that he's clearly not ready for any sort of intense study - obviously it's up to her to motivate him, right?]

... Ah... Syre...?

Good evening, Robert.

[Her smile is as friendly as can be, her head inclined slightly.] I didn't mean to bother you, but... well.

[She folds her arms loosely, glancing aside.] I've been trying to work on something for a few days now, and I'm receiving... sub-par results. I was hoping you'd be able to help.

[Robert nods acquiesingly at this - though he does, of course, worry for Helios and for Don, work might do his mind well, to have something else to focus on.]

Of course... do you have the results in question here? Perhaps I should... ch-change, to better assist...

[He has no idea there's anything wrong. After all, Syre's acting entirely normal.]

I don't think it would take any more than a few moments.

[If you cooperate are the unspoken words there.]

Unfortunately, I do not have my results with me. I've brought all of my materials back to my apartment.

Oh...? Well, I would likely be more help to you fully-clothed... of course, that would take me some time. [He turns casually, as if to walk off - this is probably a mistake.]

Ah, that isn't necessary! [Such insistence seems almost... unnatural. She must have some pretty important data.]

I mean... I'd like be done with this business as soon as I could, if it's all right with you? The sooner I get some better results, the sooner I can finish this particular bit of research.

[... Well, that's unusual, but Robert's dressed enough that he doesn't really mind too much. And it won't be long, right?

Still, the uncertainty is evident on his face.]

If you insist... [He cautiously steps toward Syre and the door. Some part of him notes the snow and how thick it is... as a precaution, he throws one of his coats over his thinner clothes. ~~The coat won't make it home later.~~]

... Shall we be... off, then?

We shall. I pray you can be as enthusiastic as I am about this...

[Syre holds open the door for Robert -- the night air is cold, but Robert should be able to handle it fairly well.]

[Once they actually get moving, Syre will take the more direct paths to CH3 -- there isn't any reason to sneak around now.]

I am not certain... why I would not be.

[Robert falls into step easily with her; it feels natural to accompany a fellow scientist to her laboratory-of-sorts to assist with a study. Almost like home.]

[Their trip there is silent, save for the crunching of snow underfoot. It's serene, almost peaceful...]

[...and most definitely a contrast to what Syre's work has in store.]

[A growing sense of excitement builds as they ascend the stairs to the floor upon which she lives, and, she reaches and unlocks her apartment door, Syre turns to Robert with an almost uncharacteristically excited smile.]

I hope you're not squeamish, Robert. I daresay my work is of a rather... unsavory nature.

[The smile should be a clue that things are wrong. It isn't.]

As an astrobiologist, I... feel quite confident that little would... cause me to feel uncomfortable...

[This is of course because he expects nothing of what Syre might truly be meaning.]

[Okay, apparently the pain that he'd leeched from Helios had been more potent than he'd anticipated. The effects of it were lingering, leaving his chest tight and his head pounding and he was exhausted right now. And that was just from absorbing the effects, not the symptoms.

He stumbled a little on the snow as he headed back towards the flat, dizziness overtaking him for a long moment. Shit. Not good. He guided himself over to the nearest building and leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes.

He just needed to rest for a few minutes. That was all.]

[Oh, she knew this one. Max -- the one she had met in the library. He didn't look particularly good -- no, not at all. Perhaps she could find out what was the matter. And then, after that...]

[...well. Perhaps after that she would ask for his assistance -- not that he had any say in the matter. In this state, he'd be a fool to refuse.]

Max... [Her face wears a perfect mask of concern as she draws near.] Are you well?

[He opened his eyes and damn, maybe he should have asked Jack to come meet him, because his vision was a little hazy. It was better than it had been, but still not good. The snow wasn't helping. But he couldn't have subjected Jack to that kind of illness, not when he knew the symptoms of the plague in Jack's world.

It took him a moment to place the face and the voice.]

Syre? Uh... I'll be fine. Just... tired.

You'll catch your death out here, you know.

[She extends a hand for him to take, looking, for all intents and purposes, like she means no harm.]

Do you want to rest at my place for a little while? I'd rather that, than have you possibly injure yourself.

[He chuckled softly at that and shook his head.]

Usually I'm catching other people's deaths.

[He looked at her for a moment before nodding and taking her hand. A break might not be a bad idea. He didn't want to be laid out again.]

Uh, if you're sure. Thanks.

[She'll just start... leading him along, careful as can be. After all, she didn't need him to be too badly hurt.]

[The less injured he was before she got started on studying him, the better.]

"Catching other people's deaths", huh? Are you a healer of some sort, Max?

[He's kind of grateful for the hand honestly. God he was tired. That spell always did that to him.]

No. I'm not a healer. I'm an exorcist.

An... exorcist? [Color her interested. He didn't mention that last time they spoke.] You are the first I've ever met. It's not a very common thing at home.

[It shouldn't be much farther now; Syre can see the top of CH3 in the distance.]

Does it always leave you in such a horrid state?

[After her encounter with Robert, and learning of the attacks, Moiraine Damodred did a little digging through the journals. Finding the woman had not been hard, she wasn't very secretive, and that puzzled the Aes Sedai. What she'd seen of the injuries reminded her more than a little bit of Semirhage, one of the Forsaken. Torture, in the name of progress. That set her Blue Ajah hackles on edge and made her teeth grind. Staff in hand and filled with saidar she rapped on the door to the woman's home with her staff.

Diplomacy first. She calls, voice clear and ringing with the Power.]

Syre Atries.

Just a moment.

[The alchemist's voice is calm, almost eerily so, as though losing a potential subject hadn't irritated her in the least. She must keep some semblance of control, after all...]

[The door opens after half a minute's delay, Syre's face composed. There's a trace of blood on one cheek, already drying to a rust-colored smear on her skin, but outside of that, her appearance was immaculate.]

Good evening. ... Have we met?

[The staff in Moiraine's hand darts into the door and she fixes the woman with a level, absolutely frozen glare from under her hood. The blood alone is reason enough to incite her anger, as is the eerie calm on her face. Exactly as Aginor had been.]

We have not. I have come on behalf of Professor Robert Alexander Hastings. Explain yourself and your actions.

[Saidar surrounds Moiraine, but she doesn't lash out just yet.]

... Ah. I see.

[Whatever welcoming mood she had falsified seemed to crumble, her eyes filled now with irritation and her mouth twisted into the faintest of scowls.]

Do tell me, how did the good professor fare? He seemed rather distraught as he left.

Why don't you tell me, Darkfriend? When I found him, he was cut and bleeding, barely able to walk.

[Her eyes sharpen and she begins to weave flows of Air, preparing a strike.]

What purpose could that possibly have served? Here, of all places. Harming another prisoner.

"Darkfriend"? A strange term indeed.

[But, despite what little amusement was in her voice for that moment, the rest of her words hold no such light.]

Robert and I had a... falling out. A difference in opinion that elevated to a rather unfortunate level, you see.

[Her arms are spread at her sides, with a brief chuckle and the shake of her head.] But I assure you, madam, it is no matter that time and careful actions cannot fix.

[Moiraine's glare went from icy to glowing fury. A falling out? Time to fix? No. No this woman was quite mad. And perhaps needed a reminder.]

A falling out? You took steel to a man over a falling out?!

[A hammer of air hurls the other woman away, deeper into the dwelling as Moiraine set loose the weaving, immediately followed by a second flow, easily woven to grab Syre in mid-air and hold her against a wall.]

Why under the Light would you? What purpose could that possibly serve?

[Oh, this -- this was new. This was interesting.]

[Unfortunately, however, the alchemist has little time to analyze exactly what's going on before she's suspended in the air and pressed against a wall, facing Moiraine's wrath as best as she can.]

Perhaps my emotions got the better of me. Perhaps I had aimed simply to intimidate, and instead injured. A shame I can't quite ascertain the exact motive or purpose.

[A facade of calm forms on the brunette's face again, and she attempts, at the very least, to move her hand and attempt a counter to the woman's work -- with little success. She can't even so much as twitch a digit.]

But, my, this is certainly troublesome. We aren't even so much as properly acquainted, and already I seem to have angered you.

[Moiraine strides calmly into the room, the coldness of the woman in front of her striking yet another parallel to one of the Forsaken. Aginor, Lanfear, Semirhage. Could she dredge up more?]

Perhaps you did aim to intimidate, but that does not change what you did. And it is my purpose to see that you do not do so again.

[Darkfriends could be taught a lesson, after all. She practically growls, and prepares another weave.]

I am Moiraine, Darkfriend. Aes Sedai of the White Tower, and I oppose any and all who would bring the Shadow over any land. Even one not my own.

You know... [A smile, small and taunting, curls Syre's lips.] That all sounds awfully interesting -- but I know nothing of it. Perhaps you'd like to tell me more?

[Another attempt to move her hand, and again nothing. This was rather troublesome indeed.]

Or, maybe, you could let me down, and we can discuss this in a civil manner.

I'd rather not, you Light-forsaken chit.

[Her eyes narrow.]

Tell me why you did as you did and what purpose it could possibly have served might hold. Truthfully. I will consider letting you down after.

[Moiraine takes a seat, watching the blood-stained woman with a frozen glare]

Edited 2013-03-24 06:59 (UTC)

Ooh, that's a new one. Very clever.

[It's not smart, taunting someone that could very easily hurt her in this state, but, for some reason, Syre doesn't seem to care much.]

My, my, where should I begin? Shall I tell you of my exploits, vivisecting helpless little holograms in the Battle Dome, or shall I grace you with the more boring details of Robert's and my conversation some time after that?

[Moiraine stands stock still doing nothing visible, and Syre will feel a sharp smack, like a whip or a particularly reedy switch hit her across the back.]

[Every inch of the alchemist tenses at the strike, a hiss of breath escaping her as pain runs along her nerves. Once the shock passes, she grins at Moiraine, chuckling breathlessly.]

Very interesting, this ability of yours. I'd love a chance to study it.

[That prompts another strike. And another. Each one engineered to bite into a new set of nerves in different ways. Moiraine can't kill her, but punishing her? Well that's another matter.]

A pity you shall never have that chance, Darkfriend.

[Whatever words Syre were about to speak were swept away in a brief cry, her face contorted in anguish. Pain was something she was used to, but this seemed so much different that the usual.]

[When next she speaks, it's through clenched teeth, her face the picture of anger.]

You'd best hope I do not. Because, by the Gods Above, I would love to cut your heart out of your chest.

[The beating continues as soon as the words are out of Syre's mouth.]

A pity, Darkfriend. I could hope you learn your lesson about experimentation after this encounter. If I have to deliver it a second time I will be less gentle.

[The pain starts anew, burning along her nerves and erasing all rational thought from her mind; all that remains is a quickly growing hatred for the woman in front of her.]

[A dark look passes over her features, eyes narrowed and teeth bared in a sneer.]

You, teach me? Clever joke, that. I am certain this "lesson" of yours would have gone far differently were I not bound.

[Moiraine's face remains icy, and she makes it a point to give Syre a few rather nasty canings around her bottom.]

Be grateful it's only a lesson. Remember it, the next time you want to cut on some unfortunate man.

[Then she ties off the weave binding Syre to the wall. In a few hours it will disappear, but for now she's just stuck.]

Disturb the peace a second time, Darkfriend, and I'll return with a much harder lesson.

[An exhausted, dry chuckle leaves Syre at the end of that, eyes still defiant as she speaks again.]

Perhaps by then... I'll have something of my own to teach you. I look forward to it.

If you catch me as ignorant and unaware as I caught you, perhaps I might deserve it. Though do not think me as easy prey as that.

[Back to caning! Sorry Syre, the beatings will continue until you learn some manners.]

[Which means that they will continue for quite some time, at this rate...]

[Even then, the older woman still manages to keep that smirk on her face and the venom in whatever she can eke out between hits.]

Can't - you - do - anything else?

[Because clearly, taunting your attacker is smart.]

[Moiraine might just be the older of the pair. But at that little jape...well, the beatings become something entirely different. Flows of Fire and Spirit, applied directly to synapses and nerves with flows of Water.

The White Tower's education on how to deal with Darkfriends is rather...creative.]

[The hour may be too early for Syre, but it's not to early for Phil. He'd taken to going through older entries in the morning when nightmares woke him early and he didn't want to wake anyone else. The journal's activity was quiet then as well, making it easy to look through.

So this early morning entry has his attention immediately. As the sounds of half-choked sobs float in the morning air he finds his attention sharpening and worry rising. A quick check and it shows a familiar figure is the source of the crying. The woman who had joked with him when he had been unfortunately stuck as a feline.

Her quiet, almost despairing voice simply further confirms her identity.

Unfortunately Phil doesn't know where she lives so he instead he replies to the entry, firmly held worry making him work quickly. A filter is put in place for her privacy as Phil tries to get her attention.]

Miss Atries. Please, Miss Atries- [No, what was her first name again.] Syre. Syre, Where are you? It's Phil Coulson. Are you okay?

[Well, obviously she's not, but sometimes that question can help people respond. He has a feeling this conversation might be best in person. Keeping the journal in hand he quietly starts getting ready to leave.]

[Coulson's voice quiets her for a moment, leaving only the sounds of her breath, soft and shuddering.]

... No.

[She fights back a sob, forcing her tone to remain as steady as it can as she speaks.]

No, I'm not... [Situations like this... she could easily keep distant, remain the picture of professionalism, but...]

[If she wanted to act like everything was okay, she would have shut the journal.]

... Phil. I...

[A shaky sigh comes through a little after that.] ...Are you available to speak in person?

Edited (REWRITING THIS because ahahaha I am not pleased with my crappy phone tag) 2013-03-24 06:50 (UTC)

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Tenth Incision [Action, Voice; Backdated to the 10th]

[March 15 | Later in the Day because I'm an idiot and misread that as 7 a.m.]

[March 15 | Later in the Day | I AM SO SORRY FOR TAKING SO LONG BLUH BLUH]

[ffff it is absolutely fine o/`]

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/tags this despite everything. since we can just finish it here if you want ;w;

[March 15th, afternoon]

[March 15th, afternoon]

[March 15th, afternoon]

March 15th, afternoon]

[March 15th, afternoon]

[March 15th, afternoon]

[March 15th, afternoon]

[March 15th, afternoon]

[March 15th, Late Night]

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[March 17th | Voice]

[March 17th | Voice | Filtered]