#ascendedpath

“  wheat?  that  insinuates  my  hair  is  dry.  “  he  says  flatly,  brows  furrowed  in  irritation.  “  as  for  what  goes  on  in  my  head…  where  should  i  start?  my  troubled  childhood,  or  shall  i  tell  you  when  i  lost  my  faith  in  christ—beaten  and  shackled  to  a  wall?  their  bodies,  scattered  across  the  dungeon.  there  were  so  many  of  them,  all  in  various  stages  of  decay. ”  grey  eyes  darken,  his  body  moves  suddenly,  like  lightning  on  the  black  ocean  night—he's behind her.

lestat  speaks  directly  into  her  ear,  his  breath  like  ice  against  her  neck.

“  every  single  one  had  golden  hair.  just  like  me.  tell  me,  what  is  hell  if  it  is  not  the  very  earth  we  walk  on?  “  

From out of the blue, he stumbles, pulled off balance by an audacious stranger, seeking to test their luck. It earns a shrill hiss, that rumbles deep within his scaly chest as he turned around to confront the daring interloper, tattered lab coat swaying in the wind as he did so.

"Don't do that again!" His voice packs volume as an attempt is made to wriggle free his captured tail, but the appendage annoyingly holds fast in the other's grip, causing the Lizard to clench his fists in frustration. "I wasssn't going to harm anyone!" Not yet, anyway. Plus, only those who wished to halt his grand plan to amass an army of reptiles would feel his wrath this day. There was simply far too much that needed to be accomplished in the meantime.

Each day revealed new aspects to the role he had designed and built for himself. If order was to be brought to a realm of chaos plagued by anomalies, then he was obligated-- no, required -- to gauge what assets he had to work with, tools in a living arsenal that wavered constantly. All except for him, at any rate, the one Spider that couldn't afford to lose his nerve, or allow his capabilities in battle to degrade and wither. He needed to hold himself to a high standard.

So Miguel devised a solution; why not wage battle with the same displaced deviants he had dedicated his time to hunting down? The difference of course being that such a spectacle would be held on his turf and would abide by his rules, with exceptions made based on the behaviours of the chosen anomaly in question. As a result, in place of a red hardlight cage, the woman opposite him was fitted with a different kind of Society wristband; one designed specifically for compliant anomalies, that granted a limited range of freedom within the building's perimeter. And was designed to deploy a containment cage the instant the anomaly strayed beyond such boundaries.

"How's the wrist?" Trying for menial talk, broad arms remain folded in front of his chest as Miguel stands ready, in a section of the training wing that he had instructed his fellow Spiders to corner off for the occasion. He had no doubt that an arrangement to see their leader trade blows was a sight not to be missed, and would inevitably draw a crowd, but it wasn't a concern. What mattered more is what could happen, when he started to go back and forth with his opponent.

"If it needs adjusting, let me know." That much he could at least offer freely, grappling as he was with entertaining any anomalous force, outside of their designated part of the Tower.

Even if this one in particular happened to remind him of an old colleague.

"If not, then I'm ready to begin, whenever you are." As if feeling the need to underscore his point, his limbs untangle to settle by his sides, fingers flexing individually, without any signs of talons. It wasn't going to be that kind of fight, more of an exhibition match than anything else.

villain or hero edition prompts

Points of merit were rattled off with precision, pressing him to pay heed. To take stock of what influence he had managed to assert upon Nueva York, over the span of a few months. Already, he was setting an example for others to follow, been trialled, been tested, worked to the bone as civilian and costumed identities were juggled. Each success had been followed by a stinging defeat, or painful loss. Lessons were learnt, however harshly as was experience gained-- without once becoming discouraged.

"I'd consider myself lucky if they still bothered to remember me by the end of next week." It sounded like a drastic exaggeration, but it spoke to the rapidly cycling of topics in this loathed place. Today's news was tomorrow's history; woefully relevant, no matter how much blood he shed to prevent the other monsters from turning this place into a hellish nightmare. Not for the first time did he harbour doubts in regards to the existence of a single person that looked to him in hope.

Not adverse to undercutting the significance of his words, he busied himself by wrapping a length of tape around his bare right arm, using the time to think. With arm secured, he moved next to encompassing his hand as strips were carefully passed through fingers, the effort intended to aid in improving his rate of recovery, but he remained doubtful. He wasn't going anywhere quickly, for the time being.

"Are you suggesting that I should keep going?" Seek justice for the unheard and forgotten, racking up more injuries in the process. The mention of scars worsens a frown that had seen his mouth form a straight line, poking distinctly through the suit's UMF as he slowly came to terms with that possibility.

SHE WIPED THE GRIME OFF her hands on the rough material of her overalls. they'd been sifting through the wreckage for hours, scorched debris, the scent of dying flames burning her nose. as she cast her eyes over in samara's direction, she felt something in chest ache a little more than it had a mere few moments ago. the air of waning resolve settled around her friend, one that she wished she could fend off. there was no gun or amount of charisma that could fix it. " don't worry, we'll find what you're looking for. what did you say your keepsake box looked like again? "

Stefano looked at the stitches and sighed. It's since the war that he ever got hurt this bad to need stitches. His hair coating his right eye to keep it from being seen he rubbed it a few times and looked to the woman with a small smile.

"Thank you, Mio Amico." He whispered as he rubbed it a few more times. Then he got to his feet to show he could stand. His fingers cracking as he clenched his fist in silence. Damn...his leg hurt. Pain. That was art..delicious to the senses. "I despise such rude people..so willing to hurt. I wonder how they would like something special made from their own body parts." He muttered under his breath towards the bastards who dared attack him.