18 November 2002

The Great Fishtank Escape

Tianya

A thing of light twisted into darkness. A form kept from the ground by two pairs of gossamer wings, but instead of reflecting light in rainbows they absorb it into a charcoal illusion; dark smears through the air. The form, while predominantly human in feature, is made of nothing akin to flesh. Instead, worn in a manner of chain-mail, is an infusion of smoky quartz and mica shell, wearing silvery-obsidian hair to her waist. Black-on-black eyes are cut sharply from features that seem an angular stylization of Tina's own; a reflection in cold-edged-darkness instead of soft rose contours. Her lips are a mottled gray, perhaps the only contrast in this ethereal form. Each movement gives the impression that there is nothing substantial beneath the chain-linked shell, wisps of smoke lingering around the form.

Of adornments, she wears few. Secured around her throat a multi-coloured cord. Worn around her wrist is a silver bangle with a hawk and owl's head inscribed on it's surface, each facing off in opposite directions. On her right-hand middle finger is worn a silver ring, emblazoned with a skull. Slanting across her narrow waist is a thin leather belt, holding a brace of eight throwing knives.

Tristan

A lean, pock-faced man with a steely squint and uncharismatic air, trapped inside a large fishtank. His hair is graying, well receded from his forehead. His chest was once thick, but has diminished with age, shoulders still wide. Scars mark violent times in his past; on his chest, arms, and legs. Perhaps more are concealed beneath his grey shorts. Gills swell in and out at his throat, an IV stuck from his right arm.

You enter the elevator and press button '67'.

Condo - Erotic City

Wearing a fresh coat of paint, and wall to wall tawny colored carpeting, this condo is nothing other than empty. The kitchen and bathroom hold common utilities, but beyond that the many rooms of this apartment look uninhabited. The only betraying attribute is a corner opposite the balcony, where a pile of blankets are nested; a large wooden trunk residing a few paces away. The balcony doors and all windows remain open.

Contents:

Tristan

Tianya

Obvious exits:

Elevator

Tristan hangs from his bindings, head down, occasionally drifting from side to side. Now and again, his eyelids flutter.

Tianya has been sitting on the edge of the bathtub, watching the fishtank and its captive for quite a while. Unlike the other times, the new round of drugs is not pushed through Tristan's circulatory system. In time, the woman rises, hands placed stop the aquarium so that she may remove the lid.

With the lid set aside, she continues on with removing the IV whatever other monitoring equipment Emily felt necessary.

Tianya continues by draining the water from the tank. A tub hooked up to a small plugged opening at the bottom, allowing the liquid to drain off into the tub.

Tristan makes no move, save what she forces on him. His eyes flicker again, beneath their lids. As the water drains, he slumps against his bonds, too weak to move.

Tianya runs a bath once all the water has drained from the tank, and begins undoing the shackles. With the tub full and sudsy, she moves to lift Tristan out of the tank. Her grasp gentle, even though her flesh scrapes against the skin.

With Tristan levered into the tub, Tianya shuts the water off. Once concealed by the suds, she removes the shorts and begins methodically washing him up.

Tristan's breath comes gaspingly, gills trying to intake air; he spasms when they no longer can.

Tianya keeps a tight hold of the man as the changeover from gilled breathing reverts back to the more human intake of air.

Tristan's hand rises toward his throat, as if he chokes, then finally his lungs begin to function once more. His eyes creep open, slowly; still weak as a newborn, but conscious. His squint lifts to Tianya, unseeing.

Tianya's voice is quiet as she works at cleaning him. "I will remove you from this tub shortly," she explains.

Tristan's voice is as weak as the rest of him, still harsh and throaty. "...where...?"

Tianya makes short work of it, gentle but just simply trying to get the work done. She flips the plunger and lets the water drain out. "With Tina," she takes advantage of his poor sight. Reaching over for a towel.

Tristan closes his eyes, sighing. Months kept unconscious, yet somehow he's exhausted.

Tianya wraps the man up in a towel sheet. "What do you remember?"

Tristan says "...a bottle..."

Tianya asks, "Are you cold?"

Tristan nods, very faintly. Goosebumps stand up along his exposed skin.

Tianya settles down, resting her back against a wall and the man in her lap. Wrapping him up tighter, "Hungry? Thirsty? Anything else?" She slides a pack closer to herself.

Tristan says "Tired... hazy. Don't much figure I'd eat, could I..."

Tianya watches, waiting for him to continue.

Tristan squints, blearily, up at Tianya. "Who're you...?"

"Tina," she tells him. "Who are you?"

Tristan's squinted gaze narrows further, suspicious. The blur doesn't really have Tina's coloring.

Tianya repeats, "Who are you?"

Tristan puts a little strength into his reply -- but only a little. "Tristan-Goddamn-MacCauley."

Tianya inquires further, "Do you remember Tina?"

Tristan says "She hit me with a bottle... where is she?"

"She is here," Tianya replies. "And before that? Were you close to her or hated by her for her to hit you over the head with a bottle?"

Tristan says "Don't rightly know what she was to me."

You say "A stranger, then?"

Tristan says "No, more'n that."

"She explained to me that she used to care for you," Tianya inquires curiously, as if this was new to her.

Tristan's lips work, but no words come immediately. Finally, they press thin.

Tianya considers a moment. "I see." She rubs the sheet towel against his skin, keeping her abrasive flesh off of his. "There are clothes in the pack, will you require assistance dressing?"

Tristan gives a little shake of his head, still squinting upward at her.

Tianya meets his gaze. "Is there something you would like to ask?"

Tristan says "Reckon I'll ask 'er, when I see 'er."

Tianya ponders this a moment. "Shall I fetch the lady for you, then?"

Tristan says "Reckon so."

Tianya moves the man off of her lap, settling him against the back of the tub and removing her body heat from his proximity. "This may take some time. Would you be willing to wait, or is your departure determined to be hasty."

Tristan says "I ain' so sure I can goddamn walk. See soon enough."

Tianya says, "Will you wait."

Tianya looks down upon Tristan, a towering statue at her full height.

Tristan leans forward, slowly, struggling to sit up. "Yup," he mutters.

Tianya leaves the bathroom then, ignoring the door as she passes it. Disappearing around a corner.

Tristan manages to prop himself up, hands coming to the edge of the tub. For once, his hands shake from weakness, not from want of liquor. This effort alone almost finishes him, but he struggles to rise, then dress.

The better part of two hours passes, before a young woman returns. Tina, dressed in a fashion that she was last seen in. She clears her throat before rounding the corner, "Tristan?" Sounding more than a little uncertain.

Tristan is seated on the trunk, as near to furniture as there is here. One elbow rests on his knee, his chin held up by his hand. He's wearing his spectacles.

"May I come in?" Tina requests meekly, looking him over with disappointment written all over her features.

Tristan frowns, deeply, "Ain' my goddamn place. Ain' much of place a'tall."

Tina steps a little further into the room, hands folded behind her back. A blush worn, mildly as she shuffles closer.

Tristan brushes a hand over his thin, greying hair. Rather near the place show broke a bottle over his head. "Got you a helluva way a'showin' you care, Miss Tina."

"I do not believe I care, for I know very little about you, Sir." Tina lies, and lies rather well too.

Tristan mutters, "Makes more sense," to himself, staring at Tina.

Tina adds, "And my friend explained that you called me a stranger."

Tristan says "She got the strange right."

Tina asks. "There was something you wished to know, Sir?"

Tristan says, roughly, "Reckon that's finished, fer now." He lowers his hand from his chin, using both to push himself to his feet. His balance is precarious at best, knees weak. He almost falls, but catches himself.

"When you are prepared to depart," Tina supplies, "I will send a steed to carry you to your shadow."

Tristan says "Don' do me no favors."

"It is no favor," Tina explains, "Is your mind affected? Your memory? I would feel indebted and sent for a healer if it were so."

Tristan replies, shortly, "I'm fine." He's a worse liar than she is.

Tina asks, "What do you need, Sir?"

Tristan says "You 'kin just leave me be, Miss Tina. Don' need no more a'yer attentions." He takes a tentative step, though he efforts to mask just how tentative. The effort goes wasted, when he pitches over, falling on his face. The wheel of spur at his heel spins as he clatters to the floor."

Tina watches him fall, impassive. "Are you alright?" She makes no move to assist him.

Tristan shakes his head, to clear whatever haze still holds him. He uses his hands to press himself up from the floor, lip split and bleeding where his teeth gashed it.

Tina looks more rooted in place than mocking. An 'out of place' expression worn even though she stands in her own apartment. "Are you ready to depart then? Or did you want to rest in this Condo for a few weeks."

Tristan stumbles to his feet, pushing himself aright again. Standing, but weak. His face is a mask of soured indifference; perhaps not the expression he means it to be. His eyes flick about, until he's certain of his bearings. Then, he staggers toward the door.

Tina moves easily to intercept the man.

Tristan is just as easily intercepted; he has no fight in him. It's effort enough to stay upright.

Tina pulls the man's arm over her shoulder. "Are you strong enough to ride a horse?"

Tristan turns his head to Tina, eyeing her hazily through the lens of his spectacles. Somehow, they came out of the fall unscathed. For an instant, his gaze lowers to her mouth, then back to her eyes, wordless.

Tina waits expectantly for her answer.

Tristan leans into Tina, as if he means to kiss her.

Tina blinks a little surprised. Unmoving as if afraid to drop him.

Tristan's rough lips brush awkwardly against Tina's; perhaps this is a foreign thing to him as well. Perhaps it is the haze in his head. Weakness comes in so many forms.

Tina watches with wide eyes but provides little reaction beyond that.

Tristan withdraws, almost immediately. He looks at Tina, then away. A moment later, he's stumbling to free himself from her grasp, to escape. The door.

Tina reaches up, quick, instead of casual to wrap her fingers around his throat. "It would be unwise to fight me."

Tristan lifts his hand to Tina's wrist, eyes widening behind his spectacles. It's not fear, not even close. His presence begins to loom large about her, from the place their flesh touches; powerful, imperious, sneering.

Tina sneers, as if that was the most natural thing, distorting her innocent features in a twisted manner. "Who are you," filled with authority.

Tristan's lips part, smiling around crooked, yellowing teeth. His eyes show a fevered glaze. The presence only grows stronger: Old, bitter, knowing. It reaches out to Tina, potent on portent, smothering. This thing -- it is doom.

For all that Tina can try to block it, she succeeds little in the effort. Her mind more receiving once the doom invades, more susceptible than it would have been at any other time. A darkness already lingering, that which seems born from death.

Tina's grip on his throat tightens.

Tristan rasps, around her clenching, almost playfully, in contrast to his typical brusqueness. "He care for you. How touching." A pause, presence rearing, as if to strike, then stays the sundering blow. "Sleep," he suggests.

Tina drops the man as if her hand were set on fire. "Stay out of my head," she snarls, eyes glazed over. A few steps back taken, one hand cradling her temple.

If Tristan is weak, this other is not. His smile is oily, thick, eyes light afire. Even with the touch release, his presence looms. "Sleep," he murmurs again. "Sleep and dream, sweetling. Our game only begins."

Tina's flesh hardens, cracks, darkening. "Who are you..." She stumbles a few more steps back, holding both hands to her head, trying to fight the suggestions.

Tristan rubs his hands against one another: slow, lazing, hypnotic circles. His presence in her head mirrors the languidness. "A wisp of what was, sweetling, and what shall be again. Your resistance pleases me, but I must away. Sleep," he coaxes. "Sleep, now."

Tina drops to one knee, gripping her head as if she were in massive pain. "NO!" Hoarse. "HELP!" She begins screaming out. But none answer her call.

Tristan chuckles quietly, deep in his throat. "We shall see one another again, sweetling," he murmurs with a lover's softness.

Tristan turns for the door, spurs jangling.

Tina's voice is slowly drowned out by her gasping for air. Left curled up in a fetal position, holding her head.

Tristan has left.