/[The H|o|m|ewreckers}~ {Chaos/Semper/Sky}

[chaseee]

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----
Out of breath, and out of cash
Find yourself watching M.A.S.H
Every night on the couch,
Woman says lets take a drive down south
----

In and out of consciousness, Frederica was completely unattentive of her surroundings. A steady drop lead her to beleive there was a drip in the ceiling somewhere... well, that was, if the place even had a ceiling. With her eyelids heavy, it was damn near impossible for her to open them again, and to look at the ceiling nonetheless. Her head felt like a lead weight, pulling down at the chin and creating a sharp cramp at the back of her neck. It hurt, but it was all she could do to sit upright. Her eyebrows gently brushed the area beneath her eye, alerting her she had fallen asleep yet again.

----

Eyelids fluttering open once again, she tried her hardest to stay awake. Twice she tried unsuccesfully to lift her arm and pinch herself, and a few more times again. No matter how hard she tried, her body remained stiff as wood, and showed no sign of returning to normal.

Her thoughts wandered, and she found they jumbled and collided when trying to remember what occured before waking in this... this place. Where in the hell am I? Finally able to turn her neck, she was able to take it all in. The dim lighting, the leaking ceiling, a narrow shaft of light coming from the hastily covered window. The floor was blanketed in dust and some dried substance she couldn't name, although it reminded her a great deal of blood. A basement. But... whom's?

Whatever had made her drowsy, and her caused her body to lock up, was fading from her system. She was able to twist in her seat, to get a better veiw of what was behind her (nothing she could see; just a vast empty space), and move her hands around the ropes that tied her wrists together. She was still, however, unable to speak. Not because of the drug (as this is what she realized it to be), but because of the rough sheet gag tied firmly around her mouth. To prevent her from crying out in agony and pain, or to simply prevent her from talking, she did not know.

Frederica could tell the drug had finally wore off when she was able to make out two- no three!- shapes. They seemed to be other people, also tied to chairs and gagged, placed in a semi-circle around her, but this was all she could make out. The rest of their features were shadowed by the near-dead bulb hanging from the far wall.

She struggled to remember how she had gotten here, but the memories still lingered in the outskirts of her minds, taunting her with their distance. She managed to grasp the images of a single needle, a bathroom, and a... a big man? Well, whoever it had been, they had been strong and fast. Fast enough to take Frederica down.

Giving up, she slumped against the back of her chair. Although she had slept for who knows how long, she still felt exhausted. She nestled her head against the side, and closed her eyes, forcing thoughts out of her head. She wished not to think, but to slowly sink into the feathery softness of slee- Where was Blade?

Her eyes flew open, and she was sitting blot-upright again as she remembered her faithfull weapon, her talking ax. He had been with her when she was taken... hadn't he? She twisted against the restraints, the rope rubbing the skin on her arms raw. She had to find Blade. If she didn't... bad things could happen to him. Could be done with him. If he wasn't with her, to soothe her nerves or calm her down when she went over the edge, she would do just that. Go over the edge, and never come back.

She kicked out with her feet. Another length of rope held her knees against the hard wood, but she found she could stretch her legs out as far two feet. The ones down there weren't tied as tight as the ones holding her against the chair's back, or the one's binding her wrists. She moved her feet around the chair legs untill her toes bumped up against something hard. Something with a handle, and a- Blade!

Frederica pushed against the ropes restraining her chest with all her strength, willing them to move, to no avail. She struggled to bend over, to grasp the familiar wooden handle between her hands, to welcome her nearest and dearest back into her arms, only to be pushed back, taking off a sliver of skin with her.

Relax, Derica. I'm not going anywhere. Don't worry about gettin' me off the floor (although it is rather disgusting), you need to worry about getting rid of those ropes.

A small yelp escaped Frederica's lips as the voice wafted from the weapon at her feet. Not that it was unusual, but she hadn't been expecting it. It had seemed whoever had taken her was trying to make her as miserable as possible, so why not take away Blade's voice? As a matter of fact, why was Blade there at all? Not that she didn't want his company, but why had the kidnappers brought along Blade? It seemed rather foolish to her. "Blade? Blade, is that you?" A foolish question, sure, but she wasn't sure if this wasn't but a dream. "Nevermind, of course it's you. Something terrible has happened! I have no idea whe-"

What he said began to register in her mind. He had an escape plan, and he was going to guide her through it. She twisted her hands, working away at the heavy rope. It burned, but Blade must have known what he was doing, otherwise he wouldn't have told her to do it.

Alright, forget about the ropes. You need to wake the others. Try to move your chair over, and kick that girl over there. That should do it.

She nodded, her hair swishing around her face. She lifted her butt off the seat of the chair as far as she could, and pushed against the rope with her hip. The chair scuttled against the cement floor, and moved an inch. She felt her spirits rise, hope forming in her chest. She lifted again, and scooted more. And then a third time. And then a fourth. And, finally, she was close enough to the girl on her left to reach out her foot and kick her.

And that's just what she did.

OOC-Flight is the one who's kicked. First thread and I already hate Frederica with a fiery passion. This post sucks, a lot. Hoping for a better one next time around. Sorry guys!

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[sadniss everdeen]

Flight DeRicasho

...
mirrors on the ceiling,
the pink champagne on ice
and she said ’we are all just prisoners here, of our own device’
and in the master’s chambers,
they gathered for the feast
they stab it with their steely knives,
but they just can’t kill the beast
...

Stygian dark contrasts brightly against the blinding sparks that fly off from under my eyelids as they battle for dominance over my vision. They hiss and crackle, making me attempt to flinch after each explosion though my muscles refuse even the slightest twitch. Still, they are muted as if wrapped in cotton, drowning out all the sounds from the real world that lays in wait just outside my own personal bubble. I don't want to go back, not yet. Something tells me I won't like what I see. Fingers attempt to curl and fail; the digits have all gone numb and stiff. My shoulders burn from being held continuously at an awkward angle, but I can't bring myself to care. Everything is just so blurry...


---

With a sigh I let my raven locks tumble down my back, absently raking long fingernails through in the mirror. Though my reflection stares back with brilliant yellow eyes it isn't noticed; my physical form might be here but my mind is miles away. In the land of ominous letters and redheaded girlfriends that are torn between rage and tears. Who do they think they are, practically demanding my co-operation like they own the very ground I walk on? The very thought makes my lips curl back over my teeth and a deep growl begin to rumble in my chest, but it's reluctantly silenced. With a glance out the window, the very first snowflakes are beginning to fall, soon blanketing all of District Nine in a layer of soft white. It will draw the hunters out of hiding and make the blacksmiths that are slowly being incorporated into our way of life let the forges ring hot long after the last blow has been struck.

A shuffling outside the door and I tilt my head, wondering what exactly Trig will be doing now. He still hates me; and to be honest, I hate him. But Kaya insists that I try and be cordial with him, so instead of strangling the boy, we go through day to day barely being held back from each other's throats. Vision steaming over I wipe a hand over the glass, and study my reflection intently. Piercing golden eyes stare back, one clouded and useless but no less intimidating. Sighing, I shake my head again and enter the shower.

---


Yes, that's right. Shower. It was unusually cold, and Kaya was out. I must've stood there for ages before actually climbing in. What happened after? No matter how deep I delve into my mind - perhaps deeper than I'd like - it brings no answers. Internally snarling with frustration I again try to twitch my fingers, heartbeat fluttering wildly as they still won't summon anything more than a phantom movement. God, what happened to me? Why can't I move? My mind is clouded with sleep and something sinisterly familiar, but it eludes me like a drop of oil in a beaker of water. Things grow heavy, the sparks dim, and the world falls away once again.

---

Water pounds against my scalp and lulls me into a sense of false security, allowing the pains and problems of today to wash away. For a moment, I'm pure. Just for a little while, I don't have to think about how somebody is essentially recruiting me for assassinations and thefts, and how my whole essence is screaming to go with the letter and let out the monster. Things like this were never my forte; Kaya always did the intricate thinking when we were young. A small frown marrs my features at the conjured image of her face - she was so torn when I said I agreed. While I don't want to make her unhappy, I know deep in my heart that bad things will happen if I don't let the dark side of me roam free. So caught up in my thoughts, I don't even hear the doorknob twist, only opening my eyes when a floorboards creaks dangerously close to my form.

She shouldn't be back yet, and Trig thinks I'd murder him if he walked in on me in the shower - which I probably would. Slowly grabbing a bar of soap, my cleaved vision roams the shadows of the curtain. Toilet, lights, counter... there! An abnormality, human shaped. Adrenaline begins its confident hum and I spread my feet apart on the slippery basin for balance, bracing one hand against the tiled wall and the other keeping a firm grip on my makeshift weapon. Seconds tick by with almost an audible thunk, and my muscles are pulled into that familiar sensation where I have to wait minutes, hours even, for the prey to exit the house before I make a heist.

No! So close! A wave of white-hot, incoherent fury rolls through me and nothing in particular and it lends me the strength to curl my stiff fingers into fists. Almost crying out from the sudden jolt of agony that streaks through my arm, I bite my tongue hard to swallow the sound and instead work on regaining feeling in my extremities. Legs have been numbed and bound beyond repair until I can physically touch them; so to busy my mind away from this scenario, I instead focus on the fragmented memories that streak to me and attempt to put them in place. There was a fight. Yes, a fight. Lots of shouting. Water and... blood? No, that's not right. Another liquid, whose sticky heat ran through my veins like the high I didn't want.

---

At once, chaos. The room exploded into a cacophany of noise, and I deftly deflect the sudden bulge in the curtain that comes streaking towards me. Still, I couldn't prepare for the other that pops out to the right, and I yelp as something pricks my side and halts when a poorly placed shot makes it hit ribs instead of taut flesh covered with bronze skin. A rush of foreign lava invades my body and a forearm smacks down to remove the offending object, but it's too late. The needle has already deposited its charge; not a single drop remains in holding. Still, with the way it entered, I may have a little more time than usual. Roaring angrily I throw a fist outwards and grin angrily when it connects solidly with what must be a nose. Upon impact the shower curtain crashes, and I'm fully exposed to four men. In their defense, they barely even blink at my towering nakedness.

While the bathroom is cramped and I'm confined to the tub, my swords are never far. Grabbing one I bring the hilt in an arch, smashing it deep into the face of one - the same whose nose I broke - and he goes down. His comrades, undeterred, advance. There's no room to draw it and stab, so I don't stand much of a chance, and they're quickly upon me. I thrash, kick and bite, but the sedative surely slows my frenzied thrashing to a dull twtich and soon enough I can barely move. A force like a hundred hammer strikes to the head ensures that I won't be attempting anything soon, and I'm dragged by the arms outside. Carpet is rough on my bare feet, and my brain registers that we're going down the stairs. Only able to look up once, Trig stares back at me; not making a move to help. In fact... is that triumph I see in his eyes. My glare could burn rock into nothingness before the drugs take over, and I tumble unwillingly into the soulless black.

---

I start awake with a jerk when something impacts my shin hard enough to feel it through the deadened nerves. Jerking my head up despite the agonizing stiffness I feel, my neck makes a series of complicated clicks as I pull my head upright. Not bending my back for fear quite yet, I pull upon my energy reserves - weak though they might be - and gather the strength to open my eyes. At first everything is blurry and out of focus, but slowly shapes make sense and are connected with words in my overloaded mind. Floor. Window. Light. Chair. People. Blood. Blood?

While crimson indeed runs sticky through my mass of now dry hair (god, how long have I been here for?), it's certainly not mine. Dirty light filters down into the disgusting room, bathing us all in shadow. Upon closer inspection it's revealed that there are four of us in total; one of whom's feet don't even touch the floor. Walls are unfinished and damp, lending the air a freezing chill that's almost frigid enough to see your breath in. Slowly straightening my spine and clamping down on the whimper I feel rising, I allow myself to move my neck to the side slightly and try to see who just kicked me. My eyes roll back slightly as a rather nasty knot is discovered in my muscles - these chairs are way too small for me - but I still manage to get her into the sight of my good eye. While her finer details are coated in shadow, it's evident that she's Asian, well-kept, and perhaps just as confused as I am.

From overhead the dim bulb keeps playing tricks on my eyes, grimy glass making me thing shadows are moving when really they're staying still. I know the monster is here; I can feel it lurking, but for now it chooses to remain on the edges of my sanity. Ignoring the burn of searing fire I begin to rotate my wrists gently from their tight bindings, releasing pinched skin and giving some semblance of circulation back into the deprived digits. They tingle and ache, but it's a sure sign that they haven't fallen off or been damaged. Scraping of fabric against my flesh shows that I've been dressed after my unfortunate fight - thank god - though it's ill fitting against my large frame. No shoes, mind you, so I'm free to feel the grimy concrete beneath my skin; cracks in the foundation and dampness, coupled with a strange smooth object that--

Craning my neck, I let out a large breath through my nose when I spot the telltale crimson gleam of my dual scabbards, winking reassuringly in the lowlight. Only now have I realized that our mouths have been duct-taped shut, perhaps to stop from raising the alarm. With my legs loosely bound as they are but still cramped, the nearest sleeping figure is much too far to wake, so I settle with once again swinging my gaze over to the Asian, raising an elegant raven eyebrow in confusion. What's going on?

[semper]

Dominic Stryder Rosenfeld

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Don't look back. Just keep running and don't look back. Don't let them get you.

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The schizophrenic boy ran, seeing his way from the light of a full moon; legs as numb as rubber propelled him forward while his arms swung quickly at his sides, fingers clawing at the air. Oxygen could not get in quick enough to fill his lungs, leaving the fleeing boy gasping in desperate attempts for air; his heart, too, was pumping furiously and sending adrenaline all throughout his body. Outstretched tree limbs grabbed at his skin and clothes like thin, bony fingers, trying to hold him back as he tore through the forest. The boy knew he couldn't keep this frenzied speed, but the horrifying feeling of being chased kept him running; weaving around obstacles with agility to like that of a mountain goat. He knew how to travel these woods, even if it was at a furious gallop; but underneath all the burning pressure of his pursuers, he felt cornered. The district fence was bound to appear at any moment, leaving his spastic mind to quickly conjure a plan.

You can't keep running from them forever.

You think I don't know that already?

So what do you plan on doing?

I--...... jump the fence, maybe.

Like hell that'll work. They'll shoot you faster than you can get to the top of that fence.

Then what do you suggest I do?

Fight them.

It was a simple solution, but to what cost? The boy hadn't the foggiest idea how many people were chasing him -- only that there was more than one. Their weaponry was also unknown, which was another deterring thought. What if they had long-ranged weapons? Short-ranged? Or even hand-to-hand type weapons? The schizophrenic knew he couldn't take them all on with just his bare hands, but maybe it didn't have to work out like that. If he took them out one by one, it might ward away the others.

'It's worth a shot, right?'

The boy turned on a dime, shifting an entire 360 degrees and charging headlong into the path of his pursuers. Bloodshot eyes passed their gaze around the woods, spotting a dark figure approaching at a quick pace: a large man with nothing in his hands, by the looks of it. 'I can take him.' The reassuring thought echoed through his mind as he ran, a faint, grim smirk beginning to appear on his mouth. The man appeared to be stuck at a log awkwardly lodged between large boulders, which the boy took to his advantage. Climbing up the backside of the rocks, he peered down at the target who was attempting to climb up the log. 'Oh no you don't.' Body tensed like a coil, the boy then leaped off the rock, colliding with the man in descent and crashing onto the ground with him.

With the element of surprise on his side, the young lad's hands -- in a sudden rush of sweet adrenaline -- instinctively reached up and clamped down on the man's neck, squeezing as hard as he could while digging his thumbs deep into the jugular notch. Writhing, squirming, and gasping for air, the man desperately clawed at the boy's arms, trying to pry the hands off that were latched to his throat, but to no avail. Eyes almost popping from his head and veins bulging in his neck, the man's face began turning red as the deprivation of oxygen began to effect his coordination. Movements becoming gestures of consciousness lost, the man's pulse began to slow, causing a broader, heinous grin to cross the boy's face. He was going to end the man's life; watch the light fade from his eyes--

The pain hit the boy in the side of his ribcage before the sound even reached his ears. The force of impact knocked him off the man and into the boulders next to them, slumping to the ground on his side in a bloody and snarling heap.

Stepping out from the shadows of a thicket of trees was a man wielding a pistol, thin wisps of white smoke flowering out from the end of the barrel. The gasping man on the ground put a hand to his own throat, color returning to his face with each hoarse breath. "Why... did you.... shoot him?" He asked in a wheezing tone. "You were... supposed... to... use.... the darts..." The armed man glared down at the breathless man, snorting. "He was obviously going to hurt you," the armed one said darkly. "He had the better of you." Without another word, the armed one quietly moved over to the boy, watching him as he writhed and twisted as though he could out maneuver the pain. A chortle escaped the armed man as he reached into his pocket, drawing out a dart.

The boy knew he was in trouble; not only from blood loss, but he was outnumbered. Jaw set, he winced on the ground as a nauseating sense of pain overwhelmed him, clouding his vision. Someone was coming towards him, towering to the point where the dim moonlight made the guy look like a giant's silhouette. "Stupid kid." The man muttered, kicking the boy's face to snap it over to the side. The boy's left eye instantly began smarting and burning, causing a sharp yelp to escape him. Eyes shutting tightly, the boy curled up into a trembling ball against the boulder, crimson blood seeping through the clamped fingers on his side.

"Good night, kid."

-----------------------------------

The first thing Dominic noticed when he came to was the sharp, droning pain in his side and face. The irritating burning was quickly becoming too much to bear, though he quickly discovered that shifting his position was next to impossible. Rope dug into his skin, flaying his wrists and bare torso. 'Wait-- what?' Blinking to clear his vision, he turned his gaze downward, noticing that he was, in fact, without a shirt; however, there was a makeshift -- and clumsily made -- bandage over where he had been shot, though it was obvious from the dripping red fabric that nothing had been done to stop the bleeding. His left eye hadn't seen any source of medicine since it had been kicked, but that wasn't his main concern. Through a half swollen shut eye and a wide, bloodshot eye, Dominic was startled by his surroundings: dim light, the damp stench of mold, an eerie chill in the air, and the presence of two -- maybe three, but he couldn't tell for sure with his half-closed eye -- other people, each tied to a chair and gagged. It was then that he realized, with a frustrated sigh, that there was a rope tied around his head and was nestled between his teeth, preventing him from biting down completely; and over that was a piece of duct tape. The rope around his head, though, certainly wasn't as tight as the ones that bound his wrists, torso, and ankles, which were all being rubbed raw underneath the rough string.

'Where am I..?'

Of course, the panicked thought didn't quite display itself on his seemingly calm face. Why would someone want to kidnap him -- of all people -- and hold him hostage along with two or three other people? There was nothing special about the schizophrenic unless you counted his fragile state-of-mind as an oddity. Dominic knew he was a social outcast, by why not just kill him instead? Why go through the trouble of hunting him down, only to tie him tightly to a chair and gag him?

Maybe you bit someone, so that's why the rope's in your mouth.[/color]

A light snort escaped the boy at the thought. 'Pft. Maybe.' Absentmindedly he began moving his jaw back and forth, sawing and grinding the rope with his teeth; not only to see if he could break it, but to get his mind off the searing pain on his side and flayed areas.



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