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"Tall, lean and Gamma Green- that's me!"
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Post by Judi Strange on Feb 26, 2023 5:39:00 GMT -7
"There are no Snowflakes in Hell..."
The corners of the withering husk that Illyana Rasputina had become offered a hint of amused smirk. “You are doing well enough,” was all she offered watching Flora go through her paces, how long had it been since she arrived practically a neophyte and yet already with the right prodding she was moving more and more to action. Why she barely had to lift a finger to get her to do it.
As Flora’s plants worked and tore open form the floor in the old-world classic Church she could hear the ruckus form inside, then found herself falling into a step disk with her for lack of a term “mentor” on the other side of the door, the scene inside could freeze the blood, chill the very soul however, or perhaps for some, lead the blood to boil with a rage born of demonic tutoring.
The two men were indeed restrained by the growth form Flora, her plants rich and lush, strong and uncommonly huge, that much she was prepared for- the rest of the visage for a short moment even stilled Illyana herself who stood staring from under the dark cloak that seemed to hide the onset of her demonic transformation.
It could be idyllic if it were not for the blood in some way- there transformed was Megan Gywnn, as white and glossed as marbled alabaster. The flecks and lines however of the “Marble” were lines that cracked and seeped thick rich pools of blood that ran down the white pristine pos, her arms outstretched and her face in a sort of pained bliss as she bled. Pixie had for all intents and purposes been transformed into a sort of blood fountain, weeping life's blood down into a fountain base that drained deeper into the ground.
“Пиздец!!” She roared, seeing the blood seeping from where tears might flow, winding down around the perfect purity of stone like white skin and mingling with the stigmata born cracks in her hands- beautiful to Illyana, save for the fact it was her apprentice, someone she wanted close to her, how dare they! “Гавн- See what happens when you play nice with animals!” the happiness at what Flora had done on her own was replaced with a white-hot rage! Magik turned and raised a clawed hand and sent them away- where? The only hint of their end was a snarled fanged chuckle from under the hood. It was followed swiftly however by pain as the Russian mystic grabbed the side of her head and almost dropped to her knees.
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Post by Starlight Pilgrim on Feb 28, 2023 15:06:32 GMT -7
FLORA
Flora had been, for all intents and purposes, rather proud of herself. Although Illyana might think of it as her taking action, she sort of thought of it in the opposite way; She thought that she was trying to prevent action, prevent violence. She even gave Magik a smile, happy at how proud she looked. Flora was definitely getting the hang of her powers now, but would she be as good at them outside of this place?
Her stomach fell out from beneath her when they used the step disk to go inside, and she swore that one day she would get used to such a thing. Her first impression upon seeing the room was pride. The large plants were brought to life with *her* energy. They were a part of her, bourne from her want and her need. Creation was beautiful.
However, the rest of the scene filled her eyes, then. Looking past the beauty, looking past the pride, revealed a horrifying, gruesome scene. She had little care or need for the two men that she had captured, although they could feel their bodies being squeezed harder, now that Flora could see what they had been protecting. Before Illyana did her work, before they were... removed... they could feel the vines beginning to squeeze the life out of them.
Their disappearance made Flora fall to the floor and stare in horror at the fountain before them. "What did they do to her?" She asks, in a voice almost like that of a child that she wasn't much older than, when it came right down to it. "Were we too late to save her? Or is she... still in there? How much longer could she even survive like that?"
She turned her gaze upon the Darkchylde, and she stood up, her eyes darkening to that of dark poison. "Tell me what we need to do," she hisses. "And I will do it."
"Mother is angry!" cried the plants joyfully in her head. "Make them pay, mother!"
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Post by Judi Strange on Mar 12, 2023 4:34:17 GMT -7
"There are no Snowflakes in Hell..."
There was a mania; a wild seething beast like fire that burned deep inside the X-man resurrected. This mad, insane dimension seemed at the very core of it a sanity threatening one, these she had studied as a child mewling at the lap of her abductor. Worlds so inhospitable to life as it was understood that it tore at the very recesses of the consciousness, the core of what it was in the human animal that made it distinct from its lesser aware brothers and sisters in the animal kingdom. This, she was certain, must be such a place.
The men adorned in the clothing of Cossacks were gone now, in her rage the Darksoul -she- had sent them in time and space, perhaps even into pieces in differing places and eras. For the very first time since crawling out of the techno magical hell of Apocalypse's resurrection chamber she felt- out of control. She felt like she was being dragged by the Darksoul of herself, unable to grind this to a halt.
It was a scene that assaulted her eyes, her senses in that one could smell the carnage of what remained of poor Megan Gwynn. This atrocity was made so very much worse by the “Statues” blissful, pained expression of the very moment torment meets bliss.
Her demonic eyes, for there was not much left human in her, not after this- in the spiritual, or physical sense. “I sense… The place, this plane is drinking her soul, her essence as sustenance. Her blood and life feed the plants, the animals…” The DarkChylde stopped there, as the hidden gaze looked back to Flora, she knew more now but dared not tell the innocent child, how could you tell one so very naive in these Arts that she suspected Megan Gywnn’s essence perhaps even fed the people. They had seen no animal, no “food” to speak of save plants.
At once, there was a blood boiling need to destroy all of this, down to the man, woman and child. To with righteous fury, hate claimed the title she dismissed, to become once again the very walking embodiment of Death, was it not simple? As Belasco’s disciple, she was in essence a demonic changeling, if any needed to be damned it was those of this world for what they have done!
She looked up at the poor Welsh, and felt hot stinging tears of regret, of rage- the hand of darkness had closed upon Megan the same as her as a naive child in Russia, she would be sure every single being here suffered for Megan..
“Now you see it, do you not?” The words came from the entryway, over Illyana Rasputina’s shoulder to the rear and right of Flora. There stood simply a man, he wore vintage clothing of the 1800’s. Coat from shoulder to floor in muted earthy colors that hid much of the middle-aged man his hands were strong, his skin a queer mix of the Baltics and tartar linages. It afforded a swarthy, dark handsome visage with well-kept dark hair with its most descriptive element being the large, flared mustache of its day, well-groomed and maintained. It was, as Flora may recall the very same man form the statue, if only older- It was George Ivanovich Gurdjieff is Magik's original identification held true.
“Waking up is so very hard little snowflake- may I call you that?” The dark eyes that looked so very kind even as the words were tinged with an icy sting. Not waiting for her reply, he continued.
“So many live, if it can be called that in self-deception, they function as automata- on automatic letting others dictate who they are, what they may be as she did, as you do even now.” He moved closer, staring up at the statue that wept blood in blissful, guilty agonies. “Sometimes, difficult measures must happen for a sleeper to wake, to see the world and themselves as they truly are, no?
The rage welled within Illyana- it boiled and tore at the very skin, each word coaxing more until finally it exploded like a wound! The growls borne in her throat erupted into a hate filled cry for blood as at once the Soulsword, the last vestige of her pure soul was made manifest, she clearly meant to take the man's head. "First you, then your disciples, your city. This world!" She raged as the blade ignited in an aura of fire as it swung up for the final arbitration of this monster, even she the dark child of two worlds saw him as such, evil knows its own did it not?
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Post by Starlight Pilgrim on Apr 22, 2023 10:28:42 GMT -7
FLORA
Part of Flora knew that she was being swept up in Magik's righteous anger, but part of it felt good, to feel like this, to see the passion growing in someone else. She liked the manic Pixie girl, but she could tell there was a part of Illyana that had loved her, even if she told herself that she could not possibly love anymore. It touched her. But something still felt wrong about the anger, something felt wrong about this whole world. Where *were* they, anyway? Really?
Magik's words brought her to a halt, however. "If this place is being fed by her soul... then everything I have been using... all of this power flowing through me... Oh God, am I using up Megan's soul? All of this..." She sank to her knees, her hands going over the plants she had summoned. She had felt so powerful, so good, so righteous and now... now she looked forlorn, frightened. Her hands quivered, and the plants that she had summoned began to wrap around her hands, as if comforting her.
"Don't fret, mother! Use us! Get revenge! Destroy them!" The mad glee in the voices in her head, coming from her plants, continued to catch her off guard.
From the mouth of babes. ... well, they may have been her children, in a way, her creation, but they certainly didn't have mouths. "Magik," she finally said, swallowing the lump of anger and anguish in her throat. "Can we save her... can we..."
The man's voice caught her off guard, and she spun to see him. She had been so lost in her own self-pity, as well as the pity for Megan, that she had allowed the man to sneak up on them. She stood up quickly, accepting the gift of the plants around her hands, pulling them from the ground and shaping them into thorned vines that she could use as whips for attacking. "Who are you... are you the one who created this place, who took Pixie?"
She felt herself growling, and was surprised by it. She recognized him by the statue, but... "Did you create this place in your own pathetic image?" The thorns on the whip became more wicked, and she could feel her own body growing thorns, bark developing over swathes of her skin. She called on her children, for what else could she call them now? Called upon them to rend the earth and wrap around the man to keep him in place.
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Post by Judi Strange on Apr 26, 2023 17:20:16 GMT -7
"There are no Snowflakes in Hell..."
"My own image, no little one it is the image of those who come here, it is here in their own suffering that they can achieve what I could not teach so easily on Earth, in life as a mortal being. Man, as a creature live this life in a slumber, he lives in this sleep and ultimately dies in his sleep.." He kept his eye on both as he continued, if there was fear he did not offer it so easily to the Demons; for what else were they here and now?
This word only gives you a sliver of the truest thoughts of oneself, stripping away all illusion, all self delusion. The fee kissed child wishes to give all to life, she sees it as her destiny to be one with nature, life and all that is good..Conversely, our Slavic child fears she is truly dead, all of her humanity spent by her brothers treachery- all that remains is a monster that slowly rots on the outside to reflect what is on the inside... and..what of you little flower?"
If there was to be an answer it was stalled as the yell of righteous fury tore from the girl who had died and lived well past her young age. Scream and swing of the sword drove home into the man with a we, tearing sound as it was given to it's hilt.
"I know what I am! I know whats left of me, I do not need you to tell me!" The push buried the soul sword deep, its light erupting on the other side of Gurdjieff its brilliance stained with dark blood and fabric as her cloak was torn away by the mans grasping hand. "I grow so very weary of men telling me who I am to be, I accept it no more! Not Belasco, not the Professor, not Piotr or Mikhail, not Apocalypse and sure as this ears your very soul...not you!"
As the man, Gurdjieff fell taking her cloak with him to the ground and toppling the basin of Megans blood fountain writhing in death's agonies there she stood, monstrous. A Demon in always but also quite dead, with pallid skin and dried flesh staring at Flora with the blackest of eyes, horns majestically barbed as she looked form the mans death to the girl she brought into hell itself. To Illyana it seemed Flora had a choice to make, to be like the others who betrayed- or be loyal.
She flexed her grip on the soul sword and stared, saying nothing but reading every little nuanced moment of the girl. She was, here and now with all her darkest fears of self laid laid bare without pretense, scars and all- she was outwardly what she whispered to herself she was inwardly.
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Post by Starlight Pilgrim on May 16, 2023 15:35:13 GMT -7
FLORA
The man was making a modicum, a very small amount, anyway, of sense. She could see it all here. The young Pixie who wanted to help everyone around her, and the violent, vibrant mutant Magik, who fought against death and lose of self with every step she took. Wasn't she just exhausted from it all? Fighting with every fiber of her being? Surely she deserved a rest, deserved to be happy, deserved to be alive and unchained, untethered to war and fighting and death at such a young age. What did it mean to herself, to Flora? All of it seemed to mean... well, the unexplored depths of her powers to her. Hasn't everything reacted fondly to her in this place? Done everything she had wanted, and more? The place practically sang to her. The plantlife that she had created here called her mother. Still... it desired her lifeforce, too, didn't it?
She had opened her mouth to respond to the man, to respond with how she thought this place was a trap, for everyone involved, when she saw the woman's sword appear and spear through the man, rip him asunder, destroy him, and possibly begin to destroy thiws world. She glanced at the pool of blood that had once been Pixie, stared at the corpse of the man who had brought them into this world... and then locked with the black eyes of the demon woman.
She was not careful. She had no reason to cower, no reason to fear this woman. Despite her appearance, she knew who this woman was at her core. She was no craven spirit, no lackey. She deserved more than this life of doubting herself. The plant girl did not kneel for her, but she approached her, and... if allowed, she would stretch herself, growing into the earth, her legs extending longer, to reach Illyana's height, and try to plant a kiss on her demon-dried lips. "You are a goddess worthy of praise. Your soul is beautiful and strong. You do not kneel to any man, real or imagined. You are worthy of love, Illyana."
And then she stopped there, her own eyes looking deep into those Abyssian ones, waiting for her fate to be decided by the demon. Would she live long enough to be free, or would she die here at the feet of her friend?
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