The Mother of All Psy-Pires
On Alderaan...
"Its not personal, I swear it." the deep contralto of the woman uttered apologetically. Her ivory handled Katana the first thing noticed by the frightened victim. The smaller, double edged sword underneath gleamed a little better in the ship lights.
"G...get back. Don't you karkin' come near me, whatever you are! I'll use this!" The pudgy woman in the brown engineering suit said, her black hair in an odd, squat moe-type cut. Her brown eyes danced with fear as she held the slugthrower pistol. Forty five caliber. Robes wouldn't take it.
"You are only frightening yourself needlessly."
She towered over the other woman, concealed by green, flower printed ceremonial robes, a somewhat roomy type of hooded Kimono in design, the hood obscuring the features of her face, save for two unsettling dots of bright purple fixed on the woman's neck.
She had followed her from the dockyard, the hunger driving her after the woman. Ninth and final feeding of the night before she was sated enough. The woman had simply had the misfortune of being too close to the Psy-Pire, who was too hungry, and the woman too weak looking and isolated to be considered a threat. An unfortunate miscalculation on Nine's part.
She had ghosted the dockworker during the forty minute walk to her own ship, a large, saucer shaped craft she knew to be based off very ancient and eccentric designs. It was located in the unoccupied grasslands close to the forest. Perfect.
"What do you want?" The woman blubbered in fear. "Money? I barely make enough to get buy!"
"Oh if only my problem could be solved by throwing money at it. No, unfortunately."
"You...you going to kill me?"
"Wasn't planning on it."
The short woman looked even more frightened of the tall woman whose face was concealed. She had noiselessly followed the woman up her boarding ramp. The dockworker had been distracted, had run up the ramp quickly before Nine could put her in a sleeper hold, which would have made the subsequent pain and fear a relatively remote possibility, forcing Nine to follow her further into the vessel, only a shadow on a wall in the ship giving her away. But she had not known about the pistol.
"Show me your face!" The dockworker demanded.
"It is a face with an unclean gaze. You would not like it."
"Last chance!"
The hooded Psy-Pire paused, blinked visibly.
"As you wish..."
The hood came down with a simple flick of her hand. The dockworker stared, half from surprise at not seeing anything truly hideous, half because it turned out Nine was right.
Her face was delicate, cheekbones possessing a definition that stopped just short of being declared sharp. Her nose slim and perfectly set against the exotic features. Her lips were a light blush color, full in shape. There was no amusement. No sadism in the features. A tired resignation to the inevitable drew the mouth of an otherwise gorgeous woman into what seemed to be a permanent frown crinkling flesh of a light olive shade.
But the eyes really were unclean, and the beautiful features of the woman somehow became subsumed by the terrible, simplistic hunger with which they stared at the meal. Nine would hate this next part.
The Dockworker backed away, the tall woman seemed to glide closer.
"What are you?" The short, squat woman almost whispered.
The frown grew much larger.
"An exile. Destiny's discarded piece of driftwood. A parasite. A tick. Constantly two steps ahead of starvation."
"L-l-look, if...if its food you want, just take whatever is in the fresher and leave. I...I won't tell anyone, just leave!"
Nine Lives drew in a sharp breath of regret.
"I wish both our problems could be solved so easily."
The dockworker opened fire, but Nine Lives was faster, the Arch Psy-Pire drawing her katana in a single, one handed motion, knocking the gun out of her hand, but catching a graze on the cheek as she moved in bite range. The Dockworker screamed as the tall woman seized her.
"Don't worry, kind girl." Nine Lives said, as she seized the pudgy woman, terrified woman.
"I promise you...you won't even remember my face..."
...and Nine Lives stopped her feeding after consuming that fresh memory, She withdrew bloodied fangs into her mouth, revolted by the sweetness of the taste, and how good the feeding made her feel, holding the unconcious woman.
She had taken more than she had intended. Between gobbling up a memory of her playing with lawn darts and one of her picking up her check a few hours before, she had accidentally come across a recent birthday memory, and before she could stop herself she had swallowed it to her own horror.
It had been one of the woman's happiest memories. The last time she had been able to play with her pet kath hound before having to put him down due to chronic illness. The taste had been so sweet, the happy sensation of the dog licking her face, and Nine so lonely, that the aforementioned factors combined into a perfect storm.
She looked at the woman, unconscious in her hands, blissfull in her unawareness of what she might have just lost forever. And then she looked at her sword, and not for the first time, wondered if she should put it through herself. And not for the first time, she reminded herself if she died, there would be no one left to even try finding a cure to this wretched illness that destroyed everything around her, including her ability to gaze upon the stars and be happy, to gaze and not feel overwhelming self disgust.
If she died, who could cure all the other people whose lives she had ruined giving this disease to in a dissociative state?
She rose, though she picked up her unconcious victim and carried her to her bedroom. She cleaned the wounds from the bite marks, placing a bacta patch she found in a stashed emergency kit under the bed, and gave her a hypo of antibiotics, in case the bacta missed something. As she was treating her victims wounds, she noticed photos of her and her dog. The squat woman was grinning in every photo the dog was.
Nine stared and felt her stomach give a phantom wretch. Her body wanted to vomit in shame, but she hadn't eaten real food in decades. What came up was dry heaves as the Psy-Pire doubled over, coughing non-existant guilt-vomit out. Or trying to.
Her robes felt too hot. She pulled them off her, revealing she was only sparsely clothed by a simple black bra and underwear underneath the robes, shivering in anxiety as she fought down a panic attack at what she had done by accident.
At least, she hoped it had been an accident. Sometimes...the act in the moment of it made it hard to tell.
She stood, letting her body stop shivering in guilt for a moment, forced herself to calm down.
"Taking the birthday was an accident...it was an accident, I swear it... she said under her breath to herself. She looked at her ceremonial robes...and wanted to burn it. It was a false finery. Fancy coverings for a bloated tick. It was also her only protection currently...
Nine felt her own blood on her face. It was time to leave. She needed sleep if she wanted the wound to vanish. It was lavender in color, a sign of the corrupt process that had mutated her.
Refixing her robes, Nine threw on her hood and walked off the vessel, wondering if her reason for staying alive was just an excuse to keep breathing when there was no longer any need.
She began a long trek to a cave she had picked out in the woods, a fitting location for something as discarded as she.
[member="Sky'ito Yumi"], [member="Alexandra Feanor"], [member="Sawa Ike"](Or rather, whoever Matsu chooses to show up as,) [member="Stephanie Swail"].
"Its not personal, I swear it." the deep contralto of the woman uttered apologetically. Her ivory handled Katana the first thing noticed by the frightened victim. The smaller, double edged sword underneath gleamed a little better in the ship lights.
"G...get back. Don't you karkin' come near me, whatever you are! I'll use this!" The pudgy woman in the brown engineering suit said, her black hair in an odd, squat moe-type cut. Her brown eyes danced with fear as she held the slugthrower pistol. Forty five caliber. Robes wouldn't take it.
"You are only frightening yourself needlessly."
She towered over the other woman, concealed by green, flower printed ceremonial robes, a somewhat roomy type of hooded Kimono in design, the hood obscuring the features of her face, save for two unsettling dots of bright purple fixed on the woman's neck.
She had followed her from the dockyard, the hunger driving her after the woman. Ninth and final feeding of the night before she was sated enough. The woman had simply had the misfortune of being too close to the Psy-Pire, who was too hungry, and the woman too weak looking and isolated to be considered a threat. An unfortunate miscalculation on Nine's part.
She had ghosted the dockworker during the forty minute walk to her own ship, a large, saucer shaped craft she knew to be based off very ancient and eccentric designs. It was located in the unoccupied grasslands close to the forest. Perfect.
"What do you want?" The woman blubbered in fear. "Money? I barely make enough to get buy!"
"Oh if only my problem could be solved by throwing money at it. No, unfortunately."
"You...you going to kill me?"
"Wasn't planning on it."
The short woman looked even more frightened of the tall woman whose face was concealed. She had noiselessly followed the woman up her boarding ramp. The dockworker had been distracted, had run up the ramp quickly before Nine could put her in a sleeper hold, which would have made the subsequent pain and fear a relatively remote possibility, forcing Nine to follow her further into the vessel, only a shadow on a wall in the ship giving her away. But she had not known about the pistol.
"Show me your face!" The dockworker demanded.
"It is a face with an unclean gaze. You would not like it."
"Last chance!"
The hooded Psy-Pire paused, blinked visibly.
"As you wish..."
The hood came down with a simple flick of her hand. The dockworker stared, half from surprise at not seeing anything truly hideous, half because it turned out Nine was right.
Her face was delicate, cheekbones possessing a definition that stopped just short of being declared sharp. Her nose slim and perfectly set against the exotic features. Her lips were a light blush color, full in shape. There was no amusement. No sadism in the features. A tired resignation to the inevitable drew the mouth of an otherwise gorgeous woman into what seemed to be a permanent frown crinkling flesh of a light olive shade.
But the eyes really were unclean, and the beautiful features of the woman somehow became subsumed by the terrible, simplistic hunger with which they stared at the meal. Nine would hate this next part.
The Dockworker backed away, the tall woman seemed to glide closer.
"What are you?" The short, squat woman almost whispered.
The frown grew much larger.
"An exile. Destiny's discarded piece of driftwood. A parasite. A tick. Constantly two steps ahead of starvation."
"L-l-look, if...if its food you want, just take whatever is in the fresher and leave. I...I won't tell anyone, just leave!"
Nine Lives drew in a sharp breath of regret.
"I wish both our problems could be solved so easily."
The dockworker opened fire, but Nine Lives was faster, the Arch Psy-Pire drawing her katana in a single, one handed motion, knocking the gun out of her hand, but catching a graze on the cheek as she moved in bite range. The Dockworker screamed as the tall woman seized her.
"Don't worry, kind girl." Nine Lives said, as she seized the pudgy woman, terrified woman.
"I promise you...you won't even remember my face..."
...and Nine Lives stopped her feeding after consuming that fresh memory, She withdrew bloodied fangs into her mouth, revolted by the sweetness of the taste, and how good the feeding made her feel, holding the unconcious woman.
She had taken more than she had intended. Between gobbling up a memory of her playing with lawn darts and one of her picking up her check a few hours before, she had accidentally come across a recent birthday memory, and before she could stop herself she had swallowed it to her own horror.
It had been one of the woman's happiest memories. The last time she had been able to play with her pet kath hound before having to put him down due to chronic illness. The taste had been so sweet, the happy sensation of the dog licking her face, and Nine so lonely, that the aforementioned factors combined into a perfect storm.
She looked at the woman, unconscious in her hands, blissfull in her unawareness of what she might have just lost forever. And then she looked at her sword, and not for the first time, wondered if she should put it through herself. And not for the first time, she reminded herself if she died, there would be no one left to even try finding a cure to this wretched illness that destroyed everything around her, including her ability to gaze upon the stars and be happy, to gaze and not feel overwhelming self disgust.
If she died, who could cure all the other people whose lives she had ruined giving this disease to in a dissociative state?
She rose, though she picked up her unconcious victim and carried her to her bedroom. She cleaned the wounds from the bite marks, placing a bacta patch she found in a stashed emergency kit under the bed, and gave her a hypo of antibiotics, in case the bacta missed something. As she was treating her victims wounds, she noticed photos of her and her dog. The squat woman was grinning in every photo the dog was.
Nine stared and felt her stomach give a phantom wretch. Her body wanted to vomit in shame, but she hadn't eaten real food in decades. What came up was dry heaves as the Psy-Pire doubled over, coughing non-existant guilt-vomit out. Or trying to.
Her robes felt too hot. She pulled them off her, revealing she was only sparsely clothed by a simple black bra and underwear underneath the robes, shivering in anxiety as she fought down a panic attack at what she had done by accident.
At least, she hoped it had been an accident. Sometimes...the act in the moment of it made it hard to tell.
She stood, letting her body stop shivering in guilt for a moment, forced herself to calm down.
"Taking the birthday was an accident...it was an accident, I swear it... she said under her breath to herself. She looked at her ceremonial robes...and wanted to burn it. It was a false finery. Fancy coverings for a bloated tick. It was also her only protection currently...
Nine felt her own blood on her face. It was time to leave. She needed sleep if she wanted the wound to vanish. It was lavender in color, a sign of the corrupt process that had mutated her.
Refixing her robes, Nine threw on her hood and walked off the vessel, wondering if her reason for staying alive was just an excuse to keep breathing when there was no longer any need.
She began a long trek to a cave she had picked out in the woods, a fitting location for something as discarded as she.
[member="Sky'ito Yumi"], [member="Alexandra Feanor"], [member="Sawa Ike"](Or rather, whoever Matsu chooses to show up as,) [member="Stephanie Swail"].