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exsiliumlogs2012-12-25 12:02 am
deathwarder) wrote in exsiliumlogs2012-12-25 12:02 am
Entry tags:
"I always have plenty of things to share with my friends..."
Date & Time: Wednesday evening (forward dated)
Location:DEATHWING'S LAIR OF WICKED VILLAINY Prestor's lair of pimpin' awesome, also known as his room
Characters: the flawless Lord Prestor and the not so flawless Adam Jensen
Summary: A meeting of the minds and a "sharing of wisdom". Also known as feeling each other out. No, not that kind of feeling.
Warnings:This is probably going to get really creepy really fast, but nothing for now. Will update accordingly. Violence, gore, nightmares, and overall creepiness. Cthulu, eat your heart out.
[ Prestor stares down at the warm mug of murky brown tea in his hands, and waits.
There was something to be said for gaining allies in this strange world, this realm alien to Azeroth. Power he possessed in abundance, but even Death couldn't have eyes everywhere. And now, it seemed, there were suspicious eyes cast upon him from this man, from this Adam Jensen he'd done extensive research on, network availability permitting. Too many questions, too many implications in his words. Too many loose ends, as it stood.
It remained to be seen if he would be of any use. Everyone has a use. A purpose. But if not, he would meet the fate of all other loose ends—tied off and discarded for the annoyances they were.
He doesn't doubt the message has reached Adam by now, the requested meeting time and place. Now, all that was left to do was sit. And wait. And scheme.
After tens of thousands of years of doing the same, it was something that only came naturally. ]
Location:
Characters: the flawless Lord Prestor and the not so flawless Adam Jensen
Summary: A meeting of the minds and a "sharing of wisdom". Also known as feeling each other out. No, not that kind of feeling.
Warnings:
[ Prestor stares down at the warm mug of murky brown tea in his hands, and waits.
There was something to be said for gaining allies in this strange world, this realm alien to Azeroth. Power he possessed in abundance, but even Death couldn't have eyes everywhere. And now, it seemed, there were suspicious eyes cast upon him from this man, from this Adam Jensen he'd done extensive research on, network availability permitting. Too many questions, too many implications in his words. Too many loose ends, as it stood.
It remained to be seen if he would be of any use. Everyone has a use. A purpose. But if not, he would meet the fate of all other loose ends—tied off and discarded for the annoyances they were.
He doesn't doubt the message has reached Adam by now, the requested meeting time and place. Now, all that was left to do was sit. And wait. And scheme.
After tens of thousands of years of doing the same, it was something that only came naturally. ]
no subject
Quite the lightshow. Yes, whatever happened to you totally justifies all your subsequent douchebaggery. Here's the world's smallest violin. Let me play it for you.
That's what he's thinking even while Prestor is still talking, and hopefully he's too absorbed in his self-pity to really take note of it. Talk about overdramatic. Then there's the image of what he presumes to be Prestor's real form glaring at him, going by what he's seen of him before--some sort of dinosaur. Or dragon. Whatever. Definitely still ugly (but also impressive and intimidating, he has to reluctantly admit to himself, and he definitely doesn't want to experience that thing In The Flesh). ]
I didn't know. [ And he never asked for it, either. He takes a step closer so he stands almost directly behind Prestor. ] Tell me, what happened exactly to make you see things this way.
[ Like he cares. ]
no subject
A few scattered scenes flash behind them—the remains of an ancient battlefield, littered with the dead bodies of dragons, demons, elves, and men, the faintest outlines of similarly hellish beasts with oozing appendages and vile extremities—but they all run together, too intense, too fast to be properly assessed, cataloged, analyzed. Reality returns as it truly is, leaving only the searing image of the molten giant in Adam's head.
Prestor sounds almost bored when he answers him. Disinterested. Unimpressed. ]
You're going to continue to treat this like a game, aren't you? Like something you can set aside, walk away from at any moment. Something you can find a way to outwit, outplay, outlast. Something you can cheat, as you've done to so many others.
But it's not. And you can't. And you won't.
[ Prestor looks over his shoulder at him. ]
Go on, Adam. Take your shot. I know you want to. Get it out of your system.
Show me the extent of your resolve so that I might crush it.
[ And he turns back around. ]
no subject
My pleasure.
[ And the moment he turns around, Adam's augmented fist comes flying straight for the other man's face. It's not going to be nearly as strong as usual--and he'd planned to use additional force mainly reserved for walls--given the sorry and weakened state of his cybernetics due to the damage inflicted earlier. But that doesn't matter, it's the act itself that counts, as well as the satisfying feeling and crunch when a fake fist meets a fake face. All that's reminiscient of the real thing are their shapes, whatever lies beneath that isn't human, and that also goes for Adam, as much as he likes to tell himself otherwise.
Morality.
Because he does use his augmentations often without thinking, doesn't he? And doesn't even feel sorry. Especially not in this case, where he clearly isn't the one who possesses the most strength between the two of them. And much like the people who took his former girlfriend away, he isn't going to get any mercy or sympathy. Not one bit. Just pure, unadulterated hate, mostly for personal reasons.
And he's not just going to bend over and take it, for how little good that will do him. If Deathwing truly want to to reduce him to a broken and begging mess, well, he's welcome to try, but with Adam and his tenacity, it might take a while. ]
Are we done here? Unless you wanna tell me what exactly you have in mind for this place and me. Otherwise, stop wasting my time.
[ ... always pushy and demanding, even when he's clearly not on top, it seems. ]
no subject
It's refreshingly painful. He's a creature who's been twisted by it but he's also a creature who needs it. Pain is what drives him. Pain is what reminds him that there yet remains work to be done. Pain is an addictive force and he takes it in as much as he doles it out, gladly. He'll never forget the first time his armor was branded onto his skin and never should.
It doesn't quite shatter, but his face does contort from the force of the blow, stagger to the side as his body absorbs the shock. There's a bruise Adam will no doubt find very satisfying to look at for all of the ten seconds it'll exist and there's a trickle of blood from his mouth. It takes him a solid working of his jaw to set it back in place and he'll be feeling the sting for awhile. Fine. Get it out of your system.
Prestor's eyes slowly roll back up to Adam's artificial ones and he quietly assesses him for a moment. Disobedience makes him roil by its very nature, and he can already foresee that this is going to be a repeated instance, a difficulty he's going to have to contend with many, many times. The parts inside were weak, but the will was strong. Still, it's something that could be bent, given enough time. And the prospect of a challenge at least provided some incentive, some entertainment in the interim where otherwise there was little.
Yes, he could come to enjoy this. ]
No.
[ Prestor curls a fist, and there's no warning now, no dramatic speech. He just hits him right back, same spot, same style, but with agonizing force, certainly much more than he'd received. It sends an appropriate message of tit-for-tat, of oneupmanship. Take an inch, I'll take back a mile. Take a shot, I'll take mine twice as hard. An untenable, unwinnable situation. A game he couldn't cheat. ]
Now we are done.
[ Prestor shoos him off. Clearly, in his mind, the conversation is over. ]
Do not neglect the terms of our agreement. I will be watching you.
[ Every step and every breath.
It belongs to me now, Adam. ]
no subject
The blow Adam receives is enough to send him reeling, only to be stopped by the nearest wall, in fact, despite his legs having been designed to absorb way more outside force that his body may be subjected to at any time. Broken legs would severely disable him, after all.
Honestly, he's more worried about his face, now adorned by a deep and very visible laceration and more blood running down his temple and cheek. He almost swallows his own tongue when he hits the surface, and when he pushes away from it with a grunt, he notes that there's quite a crack, indicative of the force that had just rocked his body. A normal man wouldn't be standing right now, Adam's a little more... resilient, fortunately. It'll stop bleeding and hurting in a few minutes, though any scars inflicted will, of course, remain. ]
I wouldn't dream of it.
[ He needs to tell someone, though Adam has no idea if there currently exists an individual among the Transports that's powerful enough to defy this creature. Trouble in the making, and so Adam suspects he has to bide his time and keep this to himself for now. It doesn't sit right with him. Gotta see to it that others stay far away from him, at least, so they don't end up in a similar situation.
His instincts hadn't failed him. ]
Enjoy the rest of your evening, your nastiness.
[ He cleans some of the blood off his face with metal digits, wiping them clean on one of Prestor's classy, comfortable seats on his way out, smearing it all over the soft material. ]