genessia | With My Feet Upon The Ground

Entry tags:

With My Feet Upon The Ground

Who: Cassian, Tannusen and Garrus
Where: Everglade, in Cassian's Subgate
What: An end to two thousand years worth of BULLSHIT
Warnings: DEATH. VIOLENCE. ATTEMPTED CANNIBALISM. MENTIONS OF FORMER CANNIBALISM. BODY HORROR. HIGH SCORE HIGH SCORE HIGH SCORE

It was happening again. He knew it was. He could feel that crushing weight on his chest, slowly pressing the air from his lungs. He'd tried so very, very hard to hide it from everyone, easier to do with the newer employees, more or less. The priest was predisposed to wheezing a lot after all, and the air was still thick with pollen. It was no wonder he might have been having more episodes, right?

But Tannusen.

Tannusen would know. Tannusen would be aware. Tannusen was aware, communicated silently, no words for it to hear, no motions for it to grow suspicious of. Walled off from the more important parts of his mind, it was making it very clear that it had no idea what was happening. The beast was starving, it'd been so, so long, and these soulless husks did nothing to appease it. Someone else was going to have to die.

Someone who had a real life. Someone with a real family, with hopes, with dreams. Someone with real feelings and real thoughts. A real person and.... He didn't want to go back to that. Not another life on his hands, it'd almost been tolerable with these atomatons but...

The man was so gray, so washed out, doggedly working in the herb garden outside the rectory, something, anything to take his mind off...

Everything, off everything. It sat in his head like a lead brick, refusing to be budged, and in anger and frustration, a rock was hurled from the dirt, resulting only in a brief episode of wheezing and gasping. Too much exertion. It wasn't happy.

Tonight, it just had to be tonight, he couldn't deny it any longer, he could take this torture any longer.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It's been a few weeks since the... incident at the Cirque du Vrai, while Tannusen was adamant that it was consensual, he also said somethings to make Garrus think that the man was less than safe. So he's been doing some sweeps, keeping an eye on the guy, usually as Archangel. So far there's been no sign of Szelhamos around Tannusen's workplace or house, so when he decides to swing by on his way home from work tonight, he's not disguised as the vigilante. It's been a quiet day just about everywhere from what he gathered, so he has zero reason to suspect that something is going to take a turn for the worse.

He'd soon find out how wrong he was.

He stops off a decent distance away, lest he be seen, and peers through his sniper's scope. No sign of Tannusen, but that's not odd, given his business. Cassian (or at least he presumes he's Cassian from that night) is gardening. And no sign of anyone else. He circumvents the property, checking the blind spots, but nope, no Szelhamos. His visor isn't picking up any other biosignals either, so it looks like it's just him and Cassian here. He should probably head on out before he's noticed.

Before he's noticed.

Cassian, usually, wouldn't have. He may be two thousand years old, he may have lived through some shit, but he's not equipped with super human senses here, Garrus was a professional, and Cassian was a wheezing, half dead priest/warlock.

This usually wouldn't have been an issue.

IT however.

It knew. And now that it know, and was aware of Cassian's now lax and weakened will to struggle against its demands, sunk in its claws, and alerted him.

Someone was here. A sudden, miraculously deep breath through his nose, the smell a different one that he was used to. Not human, but it wasn't a puppet either. Breath out, reality wavers for a moment. He can't. He can't do it. He has to go back inside, get a drink, make himself slee-

The agonizing throb and the feeling of what could have been hands squeezing around his lungs forced another, painful, pitiful wheeze.

One more. Just this one.

It could tide him off for a while. A good few years in fact!

He lurched to his feet, the thing letting up off his tortured body as it began to filter through his brain, waking up and sharpening senses that would have otherwise been far too dull. Follow the smell, follow the sound.

Footsteps light, movement quick, descending further and further into that predatory, beast like mentality.

Just one.

Where was it.

Call him over protective, but instead of leaving right then and there he decides to do one more sweep of the place, just to be safe. He's managed to make his way back to the front of the house when his sensors start to pick something coming, something fast.

He does a sweep, ready for his opponent when his visor alerts him to something else: Cassian was no longer in the garden. Shit. There's something here and half the couple he's trying to protect over here is fucking missing right when shit's about to hit the fan. Typical.

He lets out a light chuckle. He's not sure why he's nervous, really; he'd been in tons of tough spots with Shepard or with his team on Omega before he came here - what's one more? But Genessia has all sorts of things he's not used to facing, and without someone to watch his six, well, it's less than a desirable situation.

But he came here to keep them safe and that's exactly what he's going to do, damn it. Just as soon as whatever it is comes into his line of sight.

Oh Garrus.

When Hastur decides to help Cassian with anything, nothing is half assed. Nothing comes into his line of sight. Nothing at all. Which is a shame because there very much is something there, but the entity now happily piloting its starving host was pretty set on getting too close to allow Garrus an attempt to back up.

Invisibility was, in the end, just another illusion.

A flash, and Garrus would find himself beset by frail and skinny arms that were far too strong, too horrifyingly sturdy, to be related to the small, five foot five, ashen faced man that was now attempting to hurl and pin Garrus to the ground. Quite akin to a starving wolf attempting to ground its prey, there were two major signs that the priest had checked out of this situation.

The static flickering in what was once gray eyes, for instance, dead space, white and blank, inhuman light dancing just behind the glasses, and a mouth full of jagged, thick, beastly teeth, one hand firmly clenched around the hilt of an ancient, blackened iron dagger.

Sorry, Garrus.

Garrus' sensors tell him something's coming, something's near, but he can't see anything even though it's supposedly right in front of him. And, being from a universe where cloaking is not possible, it doesn't even occur to him to just let loose a round. Nope, he stands there like a fool, totally unprepared for what's to come.

Garrus may be a hand to hand specialist, but he's been caught completely off guard and Hastur easily throws him to the ground, the sudden impact causing him to hose his grip on his Mantis. He grunts at the shock, his mind taking a second to recognize the beast in front of him as the tiger's boyfriend. He has no idea what the fuck he's looking at, but okay he can handle this. Totally. The priest(?) wouldn't harm him once he learned he was there to keep Tannusen safe, right? ...Right?

Well it's all he's got so he's running with it. Not like he has mich to lose at this point, really; there's nothing but up from being under a demonic creature that's trying to eat you.

"Cassian, stop! I'm a friend of Tannusen's. I'm not here to hurt you."

He reaches up with a hand to try to grab the wrist with the knife while the other tries to push him off.

The motorcycle parked outside the house had, of course, seen it all. Left here regularly lately to monitor the situation; as soon as Cassian had lunged to his feet Jethro had begun throwing red flags through its constant connection to Tannusen's brain.

Tannusen wasted no time, changing into his tiger form to run the distance and only shifting back right as he hit the sub-archway, coming out of the shift still running. Not even out of breath, but only because of the other form's stamina.

As soon as he laid eyes on Cassian, the Faerie snapped a hand out and grabbed at thin air--

And the knife vanished from the possessed priest's hand, reappearing in Tannusen's as the blond slid to a halt.

He didn't hold it like someone intending to use it, though, letting it dangle at his side like an afterthought. Tannusen held his other hand out, palm-up. "...Cassian," he attempted to coax, as though not knowing full well Hastur needed the knife he was holding, "come here, love. Let me help you..."

Oooh, that knife almost made it too. Garrus would be treated to that black blade descending despite the hand clamped around his wrist, impossibly powerful despite being so worn out, so scrawny and ill.

It would have met him too, had it not, you know.

Vanished.

The thing with the priests face rounded, wild eyed, that mouth full of wolf's teeth bared, and caught sight of Tannusen with that knife.

Fairy with an iron knife... The thing wasn't stupid, there was no way Tannusen could keep any sort of grip on that for long, first of all. Second of all, two in the same night? Even as it could feel its host beating wildly against the walls of the prison he'd regretfully allowed himself into, the wild look fell away, that air of violence seeming to fade.

"Tannusen." Tired, but sweet, almost pleading.

"Tabhair dom an scian, mo ghrá. Tar chugam, Tá mé tuirseach sin, grá." It might know English, hell it heard it enough. Perhaps it preferred Gaelic?

Perhaps it just knew the pretty language would be more... impactful, turning to face Tannusen fully, appearing ragged, breathless, gray in the face and those lips now a pale, faded blue.

"Tá mé ag fáil bháis, mo ghrá."

Tunnel, he'd been named. Not just a toy, but also a killer, one who wormed his way beneath the target's defenses. There was a lot of blood on the tiger's hands; first kill when he was seven years old...

Szel had learned how good he was at slipping under defenses.

Hastur was going to learn, too.

Tannusen just smiled faintly, sadly, and kept his hand extended. His other hand's grip on the iron knife looked really haphazard, didn't it? It practically dangled from his fingertips. Unseen, his claws on the chimerical side of things had a firm hold on it.

Never more grateful he wore gloves on that side of reality, either.

"You know I'll do anything to help you, Cassian," he knew full well he wasn't speaking to Cassian. Cassian could probably hear everything, sure, but... "just, come here. Please?"

Cassian could hear everything, just as Hastur always could, but blocked off as he was from the surface, there was nothing more he could do than watch helplessly as Tannusen gestured, trying to coax the beast forward. Cassian could feel it, still attached physically to himself, of course. This was by no means an out of body experience, the thing roiled in him, twisting itself up, hungry and annoyed that Tannusen refused to listen.

He always listened, it had learned that a long time ago.

He wasn't listening now.

The annoyance just barely glinted in the back of too vacant, too glassy eyes, hinting at primal, but alien intelligence behind them.

"I'm so tired, Tannusen..." Keening, soft, a faint wheeze to the back of it.

"Please, suffer just a few steps towards me?"

Tannusen allowed some of the pain into his expression, looking like worry in the context. And he allowed himself to be 'lured' forward, one slow step at a time.

"It's the parasite, isn't it?" As if he didn't know exactly who he was speaking to. They'd spoken of 'the parasite' a few times, however. "Stay with me, Cass..."

Cassian felt as if he were being rattled about in a tin can, helplessly beating himself against the walls of his own damned skull as Tannusen moved in closer.

And some of that quiet, pained desperation slipped out... intentional? Hard to tell, but that expression slowly began to drift towards agony, mental and physical, as a painful wheeze rocked him.

Real? Fake?

"Tá mé ag fáil bháis." Another desperate plea, spat out on a breath that he could barely gain to begin with.

Tannusen let himself be drawn in, his offered hand lifting to touch the smaller man's face as he closed in; the gesture couldn't possibly be any more tender.

His other hand... his grip on the knife suddenly shifted with a flick of his wrist, and then he drove it forward and up, aimed between the ribs and angled for the heart. Just as he'd practiced.

It had to be done in one shot, and he'd also wanted to ensure it would be as quick and painless as possible.

For one moment? Seconds before the knife was driven home? There was a smile. A small, warm, if somewhat vacant smile, the full weight of years upon years of life visible in his face. The weariness in those eyes, the dark circles beneath them, the sheer exhaustion in that look-

And then the blade buried itself between his ribs.

Just for a second it might seem as if it was nothing more than a brutal, pointless attack, those gray eyes widening in surprise, the hitching of his breath as all he felt at first was pressure...

And then intense, unfathomable, incomprehensible pain. No.

No, it wouldn't go so quietly, even as the knife began to blaze, the metal beginning to glow cherry red as mill scale cracked off from the super heated iron.

The world went black. Blacker than the yawning void of starless space, engulfed in overpowering silence.

Only broken by brief, screaming visions of it, folds of yellow material- flesh? cloth? shooting like rays of sunlight, impossibly red wings spread wide, its gaping, over wide, over sharp, endless mouth trying and failing again and again to snap up this beast, this idiot animal that had stolen a piece of itself and buried it into the center of its host.

Claws, wings, teeth, tentacles, appendages eternal and innumerable, each brief second of full, visible reality more terrible than the last as each fleeting moment was met with what almost felt like endless blackness and silence.

And behind all of it, just once... a soft, broken, relieved rattle, a noise Tannusen might now be all too aware of in his life.

An agonized, heaving breath-

And all at once, the air cleared. A final shriek as some jet of yellow, too fast and too brilliant, streaked like a falling star into the sky, spiraling into nothing.

And leaving a barely conscious, and now heavily bleeding, and fatally wounded man. Mortal and soaked in blood, hazily staring through eyes half clouded now up at Tannusen.

Just barely still there.

The smell of burning flesh made itself known as reality re-asserted itself, Tannusen only peeling his hand off of the knife -- yes, peeling -- once Hastur was well and truly out. The burns went all the way up his arm, raw and open and bleeding, spiraling like tentacles. The sleeve of his shirt and suit jacket crumbled away in places as nothing more than ash.

Tannusen was quick to loop his good arm around Cass and lower him gently to the ground, holding him close, his expression ripped wide open with an agony that words could never fully describe.

"I'm so sorry, love," he whispered, barely able to see Cassian through his own tears, "I'm so sorry. You can rest, now. Please, rest..."

Impossible really, to actually gauge what was going through Cassian's head. Too tired, too far gone to put too much thought.

Confusion?

Well yes. That was there, but for this moment, for once in his entire life... he was... comfortably singular.

Alone. Alone in his head, like someone had come through and in one fell motion, swiped away every ounce of filth and dirt and darkness from his brain.

Even as cool numbness began to sink in, he tried desperately to hold onto that feeling, this alien, wonderful feeling of so many, many horrific, painful memories going mercifully dark, his mind no longer pushed past the boundaries of human capability.

Weak hands fumbled for Tannusen, even now trying to sooth that pain, those burns were- He almost tried to ask, as if he'd forgotten what had happened, if Tannusen remembered where the bandages and antiseptic were.

He wanted to ask if he'd finally drink something, to numb the pain, he wanted to tug him down and beg him to stop crying, that he was right here...

The wet, warm, tacky fluid soaked into his heavy coat only confused him now as soundless whispers, slurred questions, nothing anyone could understand, escaped him as the last motion the man ever made, was to reach up with failing hands and clumsily wipe away those tears.

The last thing he saw before his eyes rolled back was that face, Tannusen's face, filled with an emotion he'd have given anything to scrub from him.

The last sound, a soft, gurgling, pathetic wheeze.

Tannusen felt it the moment that body went utterly slack. The last breath seeping out of those tortured lungs. He buried his face in the corpse's neck and wailed with grief, the sound full of absolute heart-breaking agony and yes, the pain of part of his very soul crumbling away like the tatters of his sleeve.

Cold iron was anathema to Faeries. Wielding it was worse. Killing with it, even worse. Murdering a loved one, one who trusted them, loved them back?

He'd never be the same, on so many levels. Never.

Never.

Garrus' presence was completely forgotten by this point, the tiger screaming his pain into the dead meat of his beloved's body. He'd eventually wear himself out, if left to it, but it would take... a while.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

With My Feet Upon The Ground

Enter our unsuspecting hero

no subject

no subject

GUESS WHO HAS NO ICONS FOR THIS ME ITS ME

OH WELL C'EST LA VIE

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject