Quoth the Kraven

Seeing the Entity's influence drain from the Faerie's eyes only stokes the flames of hope within Vittorio's breast. He struggles for a moment in her hold, only to free his neck and arms from her verdant tendrils.

Of course, there's no way for her to know that he's been here since before she was a twinkle in her sire's eye. Before her family so much as found the land that would one day become their estate. Before her language was even conceived. He'd seen many souls buckle under the pressure the Entity exuded from its lofty place on high -- some survivors, some killers.

Trembling from instinctual terror which screamed at him to flee, to fight back, to do anything but speak calmly, he steels himself to do exactly that.

"Maybe I don't. But I would like to." Hands raised in a sign of surrender, he sticks, as he always does, to his principles before his own desire to stay alive. "You are in control here. It's your choice. It's always a choice."

She's in control? A strained laugh comes from her mouth. "And what sort of choice do I have? What control? The only thing that has control here is the thing that brought us here." The vines lower him to the ground and release him.

"I don't know who you are, and my memory of this will probably be fuzzy at best or gone at worst, but my choice is meaningless when I have my mind and body taken from me."

Her eyes are sad as she regards him, "I don't want this."

From within the locker, a wet gurgle reaches out through the slats in the doors. The Dredge is far from accustomed to visitors -- on the contrary, her assessment of it, too, was accurate. Having been formed from a congregation of fear and misery, loneliness is just as much part of its makeup as the rest.

Just as it embodies such emotions, so too must it feed upon them.

The doors to the locker crack open, slowly, only mere inches, revealing nothing of the darkness within. Then, a tiny hand pokes out from the recess within, palm upturned to the sky.

Give us something. Something good, it seems to mime.

With the creak of the locker door her head snaps back to where the creature is hiding. She bends down, trying to peer inside until that small hand peaks out.

"Oh! You want something?" Perhaps it's hungry? Does she have anything on her? Eliza pats herself for a moment before realizing she does not have her purse on her and frowns. What could she give it?

She bends down and coaxes a mushroom from the soil. "Here," she places it in the small hand and closes it, "do you like that?"

@archaievist asked:

[ change ] sender helps receiver change out of bloodied clothes.

🐊 -- A sigh as his button up was peeled off of his side, the blood sticky and dried to his scales. There was a rather nasty gash in his side this time, one that was already starting to heal itself.

"It's not fine," she mutters while inspecting the damage. "And while yes, it will heal, that doesn't mean you have to suffer in the meantime."

"Now hush and let me clean this up."

"Ah-ha--!"

With a bit of a pleasant surprise, Dr. Carter eases down into the seat provided for him once it becomes clear that sitting is not a mere suggestion. He spends a lot of time on his feet anyway, and orthopedic shoes worth any real usage wouldn't be invented for another 10-20 years after his abduction into this happy little realm. Crossing his legs ankle-to-knee, he wastes no time at all in assuming a classic, Freudian pose.

With his fingers steepled, he cants his head to one side and lets his ever-present grin speak for itself for a moment.

"Curious about me? Why, I'm an open book, Ms. Kraven. I was the top of my class in a university where I was the first black student to attend. I worked for the CIA for a time -- unfortunately I can't disclose those activities, however. I gave them my word, after all."

He would break that promise for a soda pop. The government meant, and continues to mean, nothing to him. But dear Eliza needn't know that.

"And I'm afraid that's everything of note. Like I said, I've got nothing to hide."

On the contrary. He has entire filing cabinets in his realm full to the brim with secrets. Not all of which pertain solely to matters before the Entity.

His sore muscles lean into the grin on his face.

He loves lying.

The redhead has never been fond of the government, nor people who work for them. It tends to attract a certain type of person. But maybe it's that fae love of fascinating people that let's that slide.

"I see, very impressive," she leans back in her own chair. It's hard for her to get a read on him, most likely due to the impossible smile on his face. "Oh doctor, everyone has something to hide," she laughs. "But regardless, you shared something it's only polite that I do the same."

"So, what did you want to know?"

&. 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬.‧. . ......OPEN!

R☆ckstar☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆: "This isn't the first time." Lestat wipes his bloodied mouth, sporting a torn shirt and a pair of expensive trousers that barely hold to his waist. He has gone through a cheese grater, or a shredder, or, most likely here, an unfortunate run in with vampires who chant the name of the Maker. Armand has that effect on people. Rolling his eyes, the rockstar sits down on the closest chair he can, moving his eyes about to notice the surroundings.

"What a mess, he mutters."

"Clearly," she says, eyeing the scars that are already on his chest. Eliza gathers her first aid kit from behind her desk and gets to work. "And am I going to find out what happened to you? Since you dragged yourself into my shop I think I'm owed at least that."

"Here," she has a bottle of disinfectant and a swab in her hand. "For your own sake I suggest you don't move."

@archaievist

"why are you following me?"

With downward fingers steepled in its lap, the Priest regards Kraven unwaveringly. Unblinkingly. It seems quite out of place on the edge of her little pocket of the Entity's multidimensional belly -- like a stain, in fact. Forged materials like black leather and pearl-tipped pins clash harshly with the verdant surroundings. But the creature does not relent.

It is, after all, helplessly bound to the object the Faerie holds in her hands -- a not entirely new development from its previous incarnation under Leviathan. Except now, it feels like an errand, not a glorious exaltation of agonizing ecstasy. A chore-like fuck with no orgasm in sight.

In the Priest's own realm, the Entity made the barest of efforts to supply it with enrichments suited for its nature. Skinless, writhing bodies screamed, copulated, and suffered bondage for time immemorial upon the many walls and floors of the counterfeit labyrinth. But they are only memories. Not fresh, wet flesh.

"You have something that belongs to us -- " It trails off, disposition momentarily wavering. "...To me."

Pausing, it outstretches one hand, elbow relaxed.

"Return the box."

Eliza looked down at the metallic box in her hand. She had found it during her most recent trial just...there. The killer had felt a pull toward it, like it was calling to her in some secret language; like a dog with a dog whistle.

She saw no harm in picking it up and taking it with her to examine later.

Of course she couldn't have predicted that this...individual would follow her back to her lush abode. Well, if this box belonged to it then best to give it back; this box is not worth a fight.

"Here," she holds it out, "I apologize. I had no idea it belonged to someone."

Green eyes narrow slightly while looking at the box, "Would you mind telling me what it is?"

@archaievist

"Now I see you."

Many killers became somewhat ghostly after enough time spent in the Entity's realm, haunting their respective locations almost as if they could not leave. The Dredge, however, was different. When its lonely, old Victorian lie empty except for itself, the starvation would set in. The deep, cloying hunger that totally eclipsed every other need -- visceral, primal, instinctual.

So it wandered. Moving from shadow to shadow to siphon what delicious threads of fear, doubt, and pain it may find lingering in miserable souls between trials. Presently, it inhabited an otherwise empty locker, tucked between the broad trunks of two trees, situated on the outer rim of the Faerie's haunt.

As she addressed it, the Dredge let out an abrupt, but quiet symphony of moaning and screaming, startled to have been detected.

With one of its smaller, more dexterous hands, it slowly opened the locker doors from within to take a peek at its discoverer. It breathed in her emotions, probing for something to eat. But it found only curiosity. A desire to nurture. Loneliness.

It slammed the locker doors and hissed a collection of baleful cries.

You didn't see anything, lady. There is absolutely nothing inside this locker.

The old Victorian house was a personal favorite realm of hers, reminding her of her own childhood home. That's where she had first seen it. Only a shadow at the time, but she knew it had to be another one of the killers.

She didn't mean to startle the poor thing, but she couldn't help but address it. Her head cocks to the side to try and get a better look at it before it slams the door.

Eliza can't help but laugh, "Oh, don't be like that. I mean you no harm." What it detected was correct, she was very lonely and seeing such a creature did bring out her nurturing instincts. Perhaps it was lonely too?

@archaievist

"What are you looking for?"

Since the inclusion of the Faerie to their happy little family of murderers and ne'er-do-wells, Dr. Carter had carefully kept a record of her. Of course, he did this for all the specimens which shared his little pocket of paradise, but the supernatural had, ever since his own arrival, become somewhat of a special interest of his. In life, before the Entity, everything was cut-and-dry. Empirical. Scientific.

Not so much when it came to specimens which defied science -- the Faerie, the Artist, et cetera. His discomfort had, like a piece of coal under immense pressure, rendered a diamond. And with that sparkling new perspective, his obsession reignited.

"Just you, madam."

His words were crackled in ambient static, not spoken with a voice. Like a man speaking over an old radio set. As he spoke, his permanent grin did not falter one iota.

"Can you fault a man for his scientific curiosity?"

Charming, well-spoken, believable. Entirely non-genuine.

It's rare that other killers seek her out. She's new to this little collective and these are the types who don't trust easily. Save for Burong, who she shares a realm with.

"Hm, how very interesting," the shape she takes in trials is gone, replaced by a tall, but normal looking, woman. The only thing that is the same is the shocking red hair. A throng of vines gather behind him, forcing him to sit and brings him closer to his host.

"No, I can't fault one for curiosity," she sits down herself. "But I am curious about you as well, Dr. Carter."

It's not that Thad thinks Eliza can't take care of herself- it's that even he's afraid of what's been unleashed. He doesn't wait to see what happens in the box they've left, nor who else might be in danger, rushing for a side exit marked EMERGENCY ONLY before dropping her there and yelling

"RUN!" He whirls, then, blocking the entrance. He has no clue what might wait outside...or if the door out is even useable. It could be blocked.

He has a horrible feeling that might be the case.

Once again she does not argue, but runs with the rest of the crowd. As she makes it towards the door her mind is full. What are these things? Who sent them and why?

Never mind that now. Eliza bursts through the door but does not go far. Vines whip the creature's away from the fleeing masses; trying to give them more time to escape. Green eyes wildly search for the dark shape that would be Thad.

Anxiety wells up in her as the seconds tick by. She has to resist the urge to rush back in there to help him, but she stays put. All she can do now is hope he makes it out.

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