Herbicide [Closed]

[PoisonIvy]

[#nightchilder; participants: Zerachiel and Kayura]

The Belly of the Whale. A dim light leaks out from a boarded window - the outside of the place still looks more like a shack and slowly eroding building that it was before Gehyra made it their occasional meeting spot. Of course, chances were that the frequency of coming here would only drop - a shame, it was beginning to be somewhat homely. The door, at least, isn't locked - in fact, it's about half an inch ajar, a soft, modern ambient tune floating out with a slight touch of static. Radio? Honestly, it would have to be - there was still no electricity available within.

From the shadows emerges a vampire, cloak and hood obscuring her features. She pauses at the entrance of the Belly of the Whale a moment before pulling the door open several more inches. Faint light flickers outward, a slice of light in the otherwise dark night. A brief glance behind her then she slips into the bar, closing the door behind her with a click. Inside, Kayura lowers the hood, green eyes darting left and right, looking for the reason she is here: Zyan.

The sharp-edged outline of Zerachiel swirls slight in a chair infront of the bar, his gaze finding her before hers settles on him. A glitter of wine lazily swishes in a glass held between nimble fingers, wrists set upon his lap, demeanour relaxed, welcoming, if also a touch eerie. "Kayura," he greets, an overly excited smile on his face. "Good to see you," he states, raising his glass with his left hand in gesture, before leaning to the side and stretching out his right arm to snag the volume control of the radio to turn it down. What is that? It certainly sounds a lot more mellow than anything that would seem to suit Zerachiel.

A smile touches Kayura's face as she finds the smiling Zyan. She raises a hand in a small wave as she closes the distance between them, taking a seat next to his. She casts a brief glance to the radio, wondering what's powering it. "Hello Zyan," she grins, eager to please him and pleased to find his mood so good. "How are you on this eve?"

The music dims to naught and Zerachiel straightens anew, twisting himself slightly to rest both arms' elbows on the bar while keeping his back to it, though settling a casual sideways glance on Kayura. "Good, good," he assures, dragging his stare across her analytically, the distance of that gesture only thinly wrapped by the friendly exterior. It's one of those moments that prompt the question: He's on my side, right? But the moment dissipates uncommented, flowering instead into a purebred smile. "Now that you're here," he says, tone ambiguous as to whether he's completing a thought or starting a new one. "What do you think is the plan?"

She casts a glance toward the basement door, finding it closed. Her gaze lingers as she attempts to listen for any sounds that might be heard over the radio. Her gaze slants back to Zyan, expression curious. "You don't have another Gekkonid down there, do you? Mictian perhaps?" she questions, tone eager, hopeful.

A low, rumbling chuckle surfaces from Zerachiel, even as he raises his glass for a sip to bridge a moment's pause. "I'm sorry, you missed that party," he says, putting emphasis on supposed tragedy, nodding his head forward slowly. "But it's not over yet, so I'll be sure to invite you to part two. Deal?"

"Cheers," she says, raising her hand as if toasting to what was just said. "Just be sure to let me know the dress code before then. If it's formal, I need to get something for that occasion. To celebrate properly." She paused for only a moment before continuing. "So why am I here?" Straight to the point.

"Oh, come on now, you're not even going to humour me with some bizarre, perhaps self-referential idea of what you think I might be planning?" he asks, canting his head and arching a brow. His right hand's index finger taps against the curve of the glass idly, almost soundlessly.

"Well, I've had a few ideas. One I suspect the most is hiring the Gekkonids for a contract under the guise of another. When they descend on said target, we descend, taking hostage those on the scene first. I suspect we'll repeat what happened to Neike or reform them. Those we don't reform, well, their heads will be sent to PoisonIvy." Another pause. "That's what I find most likely. I hope for that story to be true to more burning and less reformation and we each get to keep a trophy. Or pet."

"That's what I find most likely. I hope for the above story to transpire with a few changes. Such as getting to keep trophies from those Splinters we burn. Or keeping them as pets. I find I'm rather lonely as of late."

"Spinner doesn't entertain you enough, does she?" Zerachiel remarks, dead-pan, but wastes no time waiting for the jab at that most recent ex-gekkonid to sink in as what it was. Instead, a soft sigh leads up to the truly serious, even as his left hand discards the glass by setting it down beside and behind him. "Remind me to use that idea at some point - and to challenge your imagination more often," he remarks, nodding, solemn expression lit up only by a light but genuine smile. "Though if we do get back to it, we'll have to replace Ivy's role with someone else." He allows himself the luxury of a moment's pause, gathering his thoughts, picking his words carefully. His lips twitch in barely concealed, vindictive amusement. "You see, my plan," he says, anchoring his gaze on her. "Is to put Ivy out of her misery." His hands spread and twist palm-up, shoulders touched by a light sag, entire body language serving as a non-verbal add-on: It's that simple.

Kayura says nothing at the mention of her protoge. Her utter disgust with the vampire was beyond words. To think of her caused a phyiscal sensation of nausea. However, now was not the time to communicate this to Zyan, or the fact she had not contacted Spinner in a long time. No, contact too soon may result in the vampire's death and she did not want to have to kill her. His plan explained resulted in a quirked eyebrow. "Kill Ivy?" she questioned to make sure she understood. "No trying to convert her?

A shrug touches Zerachiel's shoulders, though the rest of his demeanour remains the same. Only slowly does he fold his hands back in, only to settle them upon his lap. "No," he says, simply. For a moment, it seems like that might be his entire response, silence lingering between them, before a light twitch touches his expression. "She's the one the clan listens to. She approves people. She's the one who grants mercy when they break the codex. No. She's already beyond redemption, though, by all means, if you want me to judge her fairly, I will. But I can assure you: A trial is a waste of our time." Another pause, his head drifting into a tilt. Then: "Gekkonid leadership after Ivy, on the other hand, I wouldn't mind being quite lenient with. For a while. Depending on how it plays out."

Kayura waves her hand dismisively at the mention of a trial. "You're right, it would be a waste of time. Though I do wonder who would step up in her place. Which Nova would it be? But I'm jumping ahead of myself. We must first capture Ivy. I'm unsure if this task will be a challenge. I doubt she'd meet either of us. So how do we get her?"

At this question, Zerachiel lights up, sinking into a slouch but resting his fingertips against each other and tenting his hands, leering at Kayura - no, through Kayura, at some inanimate, intangible concept. His lips have creased to a smirk. "Spinner," he tosses the minimalistic answer at the Gehyran. "Directly or indirectly, I don't care - but the way is through her. Ivy and her used to be so close - what do you think a promise of reunion would get us?"

At the word 'Spinner', Kayura's lips pull back into a silent snarl. Protest springs to her lips, why trust that fool with yet another test she will fail. But the words remain but a thought. "A reunion, a trap," she muses, snarl fading into a smirk. "I am unsure of Spinner, however," she confesses. "She has failed her previous tests with regards to Ivy. I am not sure she is capable of leading her former bonded to us."

One of his shoulders tips into motion subtly, like a half-hearted shrug. "Indirectly, then," he remarks, hint of subtle irritation in his voice at having to repeat a concept - the one he preferred, even. "Of course that wouldn't be quite so easy. Do you think you could feign being abused as a messenger for such a purpose?"

Kayura nods slowly. "I could. Or not tell the entire truth to Spinner. If she's not aware of what she's doing, she will be less likely to fuck things up. If you would not mind, I could contact Spinner and lead her to believe we merely wish to speak to Ivy. A truce perhaps between Gehyra and Gekkonids. Or do you not care about such details so long as Spinner arrives with Ivy?"

A nod touches Zerachiel's demeanour. "Just get your hands on her," he says, but a faith resonates in that voice. "You have the benefit of a wonderful lure," he elaborates. "And that we've kept quiet for a while. I doubt the Splinters of Dusk will expect a strike with consequences anytime soon. One of their own, truly harmed? It's not happened yet." His expression darkens slightly as he adds, in afterthought: "It's way overdue."

Kayura nods in agreement. "Long overdue indeed," she murmurs. "When do you want them?" she questioned, demeanor serious. "A time limit may be good for our young Gehyran."

Some of the weight of tension and seriousness lifts in favour of a lighter expression, the more familiar, less jarring, friendly smile reasserting itself. "Personally, I like to think I'm quite patient. Of course, you have full authority in regards to your protégé, so if you want to involve her and pressure her with time, I certainly won't object."

Kayura smiles, relieved with the return to a more pleasant, less annoyed mood. "Perhaps I can contact you after speaking with dear Spinner? And set up a more concrete time then?" she questions with a nervous smile. "Too much pressure and I fear she may break. Not enough and she will be lax. I must speak with her to gauge which will be best."

A thoughtful glance swerves lazily about the room. As it returns full circle, he leans toward her at similar pace, extending his right arm to place the palm of his right hand upon her left shoulder. "Anytime," he assures, sincerely, trying to alleviate her worries that she might, heaven forbid, disturb him at some point. "And I assure you, whatever you pick, I'll be fine with it, but, yes, you can talk to me about that." A pause, head tilting slightly, eyes narrowing subtly, analytically, touched by concern. "Do you need my help with any part of this?" he asks, tone supportive. "Or am I just asking too much? You're not comfortable?"

Kayura shakes her head, a negative. "I don't think I need help," she said after a moment of thought. "Though if I do.." she let the sentence trail. While she may be reluctant to bother Zyan but if it were needed, she would seek him out for aid. He may not be the first choice for aid, but such would depend on situation.

For a moment, the concern lingers, before the cyan eyes drift closed and rest that way for a moment as he pulls his right hand to before him and holds it before him, fingertips loosely rested against each other at height of his collar bone, upturned palm creased. A tension travels across his fingers. A drawn out inhale and exhale later, a hint of a jitter of some exertion in that breath, his eyes peel back open the same instant a stray flame appears at his fingertips, reaching up brightly and eagerly. "I can help you," he remarks, emphasising both ability and that it was optional. A reflexive twitch of pain tugs at his middle finger - and a moment later, the whole hand jerks into brief motion, flame dissipating abruptly. Specks of his fingertips seem burnt, and a scent of singed flesh subtly mingles with that of the old tavern.

Kayura yelps, jumping off her seat, the sound one a mingling of surprise and fear. Her mouth hangs open, eyes fixed on Zyan's barely singed fingers. "What was that?" she breathed, perplexed, nervous. Her gaze traveled to Zyan's, confused. An expression she had once, when she first learned of vampires, when her world changed.

A slight tilt of his head to the right, then to the left, gaze seesawing accordingly. Indecisiveness, perhaps, before he shrugs lightly and opts not to answer the question - unusual for him. Perhaps he imagines the answer to be obvious and not worth stating, as if uttering a remark would desecrate some other ideal. Instead, a soft huff. "Do you need it?"


Kayura hesitates, suddenly unsure what he meant with offering to help. "Can anyone do that?" she questioned, gaze dropping to his fingers for the briefest of moments before returning to his eyes.

A defensive prickliness enters his demeanour, slight glare flitting across his expression, only to vanish as swiftly as it appeared. An awkward silence lingers for a moment, before he does respond: "Yes." Then: "But forgive me if I don't leap at the opportunity to teach you. Not only does it take time, but I enjoy having an ace up my sleeve that is both not advertised, even indirectly, and most certainly not shared." Blunt and to the point. Nonetheless, he finds his smile again. "But I've allowed it to be a tool of Andriel's - and I would certainly allow it to be yours, too." He nods slowly, almost stolidly. "Just... tell me if and what you need." He was far removed from a grand mage, of course - but there was no use listing his limits here and now, there were too many to even consciously remember off-hand to begin with. So far, he'd managed to find a way to get everything to work, however much of a hackjob it had been getting there.

A rare frown touches Kayura's brow. "I do not ask because I want to learn. An interesting skill, no doubt but you misunderstand my reasonings for asking." She nibbles on her lip slightly. "Is this something the Immolators can do?" she questioned softly.

The Immolators? That seemed hard to answer. Sweepingly, no, but there was Narayan, Mercurian - and Aranel. "Not significantly," he summarises, peering at nothing in particular in distracted contemplation. "The daywalkers, obviously. Otherwise, they're mostly 'pragmatists'."

Kayura keeps an blank expression for a moment, blinking a handful of times. "Oh, so just the dangerous Immolators. Glad to know now that they can set us on fire before tossing us out into the dawn," she said shaking her head slightly. Despite the generalness of the statement, her only concern was of Mercurian with these abilities. "What of Mictian?" she questioned. "If so, the Gekkonids may have a chance." A brief pause. "Well, even then maybe not."

Zerachiel's lips crease slightly. "The gekkonids' only chance is, quite simply, cutting the crap. Michael is quite likely their purest adherant - so as long as he exists, they've got a chance." He cants his head slightly. "And I don't want to reap them of a chance to see the proverbial light," he adds. Oh, how unlikely that scenario was - the Splinters of Dusk, back to their rigour and codex-abiding ways. Even if they managed that - they'd have to ditch that atrocious 'detached' alignment before Gehyra'd be obsolete. But if all those points were met, why, then he would gladly merge Gehyra into the Splinters of Dusk, rather than demanding subservience from them. Either way, that hadn't been the question. "But to answer your actual question - no."

"Well, that's a relief," she said nodding. The idea of the Splinters with such a weapon was disconcerting. Her gaze travelled to Zyan's hands once again, examining them as if such viewing might reveal their secret. She reached for them, realizing just before touching him what she was doing. She hesitated, hand extended half way between them. "May I?" she questioned, sheepishly.

The Altachra nods. "Of course," he confirms, tipping his fingertips toward her by way of being forthcoming. Short of the slight charring of the tips of the one hand that's to be expected from a flame having licked at them, and the associated dry, brittle skin, there's nothing of note to inspect, though.

Her hands brush over his lightly, feather soft. She turns his hands over, examining them from various angles as if she expected flame to be concealed somehow. When flame didn't shoot from his finger tips, she placed his hands closer to him, releasing them. "That is a neat trick," she confessed with a nervous smile. "Handy if you pick up smoking. You never need a lighter."

He smiles slightly, but tips his head into a light shake. "It's quite taxing," he informs, his face scrunching up ever so slightly to emphasise. His fingers flex as they're released, and he kneads the base of his charred fingers with his unscathed ones.

Kayura nods slowly, a vague thread of concern tugging at her. To see Zyan at less than top condition was a disconcerting image. "Perhaps you should rest then?" she questioned, tone nonchalant. Would Zyan be offended if she hinted at any weakness of his? It was a risk she did not wish to take.

A wry chuckle surfaces. "No," he responds, curtly - but it's ambiguous whether or not he's offended by it, his tone's neutral. One might err on the side of assuming him irate, though, given his philosophic ideals. "But we should probably return to the subject at hand," he transitions away from the flame. "Do you want the assignment?"

The assignment. A chance to please Zyan, a chance to be killed. When put that way... "I do," she said. "I want to play apart in this plan."

He nods acknowledgingly, his features softening again. The right answer, apparently. "See if you can use Spinner to get Ivy for me," he summarises, reflecting on what had been said. "And, of course, let me know if I can help you. You know how to reach me - online's your best bet."

Kayura nods, a smile touching the corners of her mouth. "I'll be in contact," she said. "With you, and Spinner."

He extends his unscathed hand forward, intending to gently take hers and place a kiss across the back of the hand. "Good luck," he wishes, grinning to show fangs. "It's been a pleasure."

"Indeed, it has." As her hand is released, Kayura rises. "Good eve." She nods to Zyan, a small bow before turning and making her way out into the night, slipping from the entrance of the Belly of the Whale.

[PoisonIvy]

[Y!M; participants: Spinner and PoisonIvy]

Spinner paces in her apartment, classical music playing on the stereo. She sits down on the sofa and sends a telepathic message to Poison. ~Baby? Can you meet me at the winery?~ She waits for an answer.

The message was loud and clear even for her blood soaked and tattered body. The recent dealing with NightWatch were nothing to be concerned about and it was fun being enlightened. Fulfilled. It was the best feeling in the world second to only the first time she got married to her love. Surprise the woman would want to speak with her in this condition but it was halfway normal for Spinner to want to see her blood soaked. "I'll be there in just a few darling I've been a little busy."

"I know, love... I'll meet you there at our usual spot?" Spinner replies, reaching for her leather jacket and taking the scroll from the pocket. Breaking the scroll, she reads the coordinates and closes her eyes, opening them to the sight of the vineyard below. She sits on a bench and waits for her love to join her.

Ugh, this was going to be a trip. It kinda sucked not being able to use scrolls with no blood, but no matter. The ride was usually quick, regardless. She hopped to her feet and began the walk that she was sure would be less than fun, but Spinner wouldn't call her there unless it was something needed.

Roughly twenty minutes of running later, she could see the vineyard and soon enough she was sitting next to the woman she cared so much for. "So. Why am I here?"

She takes a deep breath and brings Poison's hands to her lips and then her heart. "Love... they want you to meet them for peace talks." Spinner's voice chokes and she looks away before Poison can see the tears welling in her eyes, the scar on her face wrinkling with emotion. "But I don't trust them."

The shock of her words should have been much more serious but she figured this would be coming. Of course she was next on the pole, Pink was dead and now they wanted her to join the fallen leader. Peace talks. Yeah right. "And let me guess. You're going to turn me over for brownie points." She sighed and wished she hadn't come. Of course Spinner wouldn't actually want to see her.

"They want me to turn you over to them for brownie points... but I've already given you up for them once... I can't do that again, love," she turns to the woman beside her, seeing her torn and broken body, the breath knocked out of her. "Love... I... - I can't betray you again... I need you more than they know..." Spinner takes Poison gently in her arms, holding her close.

Her eyes were full of more pain then anything else as she snugged close to Spinner. "Then they will kill you. What exactly do you think you will do about that? Run? You've never been good at that. So what is your plan?" She sneered and thought of Kayura telling Spinner what to do. Kayura. Who should be helping to lead the Splinters of Dusk, not bitch to Gehyra.

"I know but... do you really want to go there alone? I will go with you, but..." she whispers, not wanting to give up her love.

"I don't trust him but I have a service to provide and if there is even a chance he is being truthful, I'll take it." She shook her head and wanted to scream at the female. Like she had any other choice but to go. It was her job.

Spinner stands, looking out into the vineyard. "Neither of us can do anything, we both know that. We are pawns in their game! I can't save you... hell, I wouldn't be able to save myself!" She falls back to the bench and thrusts her face into her hands.

"Exactly. You choose them over me. Now you will deal with your choice. I will be a pawn for the Splinters. You for Gehyra. And maybe in the end the Immolators will crush Zyan. As it should be. Beyond that, we can control nothing."

She nods, slightly rocking on the bench, already feeling her mind breaking at the knowledge of what is and will be. Taking a deep breath, Spinner sits upright and looks Poison in the eyes. "Marry me... before they come after us both..." She licks her lips, biting the lower. "I've the coin for us both."

The words caught her off guard. Was it a trap? What would happen to them both? She wanted to be with Spinner but in the end she didn't know if it was worth it. Marriage was of course till death do us part... "I have my own coin and you know it, Spin'. I just... - You know what Kay said. You know what will happen... unless you know something I don't..."

Getting down on her knees in front of Poison, she takes her hands and kisses her palms. "I know... they will hunt me down, make me pay... but even if it means death, I can't be without you!" Spinner looks into Poison's eyes, "Severing you was my biggest mistake... you know that don't you? So, I want us bound till death do us part..."

She would take the only woman who ever captured her hearts hand and hold it in hers. "You say that now, but you didn't think that when you did it. If you hand me over you will live. I will go. If I do die, I am not a Splinter any longer and it would not be illegal for you. But... I don't want to die, Spinner. I don't want to let them kill me. Think of how much it would hurt the gekkonids..." A big sigh followed by a light sob as she thinks everything over. "I suppose I will marry you... but only because I am certain if you hand me over or not, I will be dead if Zyan wants it done. Well and of course, I love you."

Spinner lays her head on Poison's lap, oblivious to the blood and burns, hands still holding her's. "Zyan wants it done whether I deliver you to them or not... and you are right, if I don't I am dead. And you are my love, the love of my existence." She rocks back onto her heels, looking her love in her eyes. "I love you, Poison... I've never stopped loving you. And severing you broke me to a degree... but if they kill you, I will take your heart."

She thought about the proposition long and hard. It was interesting to say the least. "You want... my heart... like my actual heart? ...I don't know if even a vampire can survive long without such. Is this part of your clans want or do you truly want it?"

"They have no clue... I want your heart to keep with me, to keep safe, to keep unharmed... to keep you near me, baby," her eyes tear up as she looks into Poison's eyes. "They could kill your body... but not your heart."

She had truly lost her mind to even consider this proposition. But it was true if she went through with it then Spinner would have her heart and maybe some day that little piece of her would help her live on. But of course that was just wishful thinking. "I can deal with your request but you can not have it until you hand me over to Zyan and only if he kills me." She snickered. How horrible a day if Zyan really wanted her dead.

Spinner nods slowly, not knowing if she can go through with what has been asked of her from so many, but knowing if she didn't she would also be dead by the sun's hands. "Then that's how it will be done, darling... and our binding before it happens?"

"Indeed my love." She sighed softly and placed a gentle kiss on the woman's lips. "Until death do us part..."

[PoisonIvy]

[Y!M; participants: Spinner and PoisonIvy]

It had been a few days since the meeting at the vinyard. Enough time had gone by for Poison to get her things in order and today was the day for a joyous occasion. Her mind sent a message to Spinner and she was obviously bursting with happiness. ~Are you ready to be my wife? I am waiting for you.~

Spinner smiled as she heard Poison's voice in her head. Grinning, she answered: "I'm ready, love... you know I am, for whatever comes, no matter how easy or difficult." With that, she teleported to Poison's side at the bank and withdrew the coin for her final wedding of her existence.

A smile was placed firmly on her lips as she withdrew her own coins and ran her little butt towards the hall. Today would be amazing and tomorrow would be her meeting. But that was not for thought for today. Today was for Spinner. And so help her if she dared break this bond again. Third time was the charm right? She handed over her coins to the man who had seen them come and go so many times he was prolly having deja vu. "I take you, Spinner, to be my wife. My only love until the day I lay at peace. I am yours. Past. Present. Future."

Spinner followed Poison to the hall, watching her run, knowing the 'piss and vinegar' that ran through her veins. How did she know? Poison's hand had helped zero her more than once, they had worked together on more than one occasion, and she had taken her back time and time again. This was the last time, no turning back. She smiled as Poison spoke the words uniting them for the final time. "And I take you, PoisonIvy, to be my wife. from the day we met, to our first date, to each time we've been here..." - A chuckle. - "...and as this is the final time we will be here: I love you, before, now, and always. my one true love 'til the sun greets me." She smiled and kissed Poison deeply, then pulled back. "Your only love 'til you lay at peace? You mean I'll have to share you then?" She held her wife in her arms and winked.

A giggle which had not been heard from the piress in a very long time escaped into the open air. She kisses Spinner just as deep and hard as she was receiving in return. "Maybe if you take a very, very long time to cross over. I did always have a thing for Pink, you know." She laughed then. It was horrible to laugh at such a matter but it was truly fitting for the situation and none would know 'cept her and her beloved. "Shall we go then, love? A night together before the meeting?"

"Yes." She smiled and picked up her wife and held her in her arms. "Let's go and make this the night that will be the one to rival all nights. Gods, I love you, Poison," she said, before kissing her wife as if it were the first time they had kissed. "Tomorrow, may it never come... even though we know it will..." she whispered before taking Poison home.

With that they left into the night. Whispering sweet nothings into each others ears as they made their way to their spot. The one place that was theirs. "There is always hope darling."

[PoisonIvy]

[#nightchilder; participants: Zerachiel and PoisonIvy]

She couldn't believe she was doing this. Meeting Zyan, on his own turf. Wasn't this what she had just told Mictian not to do? And yet, here she was, pulling this off. Spinner said she would meet her there - of course the scrolls of teleportation she could use were much faster then walking. Was a small burden to bear to be at full capacity mentally and emotionally. This interaction was sure to be one she wouldn't soon forget. Being in Mercurian's presence scared the crap out of her - let alone Zyan's. Quickly making her way towards the meeting grounds, Ivy does her best to pull herself together as much as possible. It was a short time before she was standing next to Spinner who had been waiting for her. She gave the woman a small kiss before they both went inside. A meeting with Zyan. This was sure to end badly.

A dim flicker of light from an oil-lamp set on a polished but ultimately abandoned bar fills the interior of The Belly Of The Whale with warm, however thin colours. A stylised image of a gecko adorns a scroll hung on the wall opposite to a dormant fireplace. Feet on one of the bar stools, a wirey, unhealthily built figure sits skewly on the smooth surface of the aforementioned bar, with casual attention on what is no doubt some writ, delicate fingers wielding a pen and moving the tip.

Motion at his peripheral vision tugs his attention to the doorway and the two entering vampiresses. The face is familiar, of course, if not nearly to the degree the sloppily bleached black hair and bright cyan eyes are, reminder of where the original founder of the Splinters of Dusk got his name from. Thin lips tug into an abrupt display of something akin to a smile. "Why, Ivy. I didn't think you'd come." The voice is smooth, almost alluring - it's easy to see why the heretic gekkonids could have fallen into the trap of this serpent, he carries his facade with practise. Knowing it as such, though, makes it easy to diagnose. "May I get you a drink? And your lovely companion, too?" His shape straightens, pen discarded, set onto the smooth of the bar as he slowly but surely nudges himself off the bar and descends into a more... normal posture.

Like she could ever trust anything given to her by Zyan. Her flaming red hair lay dormant at her shoulder and scrawled down her back, her vines not visible currently - however, if he pissed her off enough, he would surely feel her wrath. Anything that happened her would prolly go in the books as unnoticed, so it wouldn't much matter right?

Her emerald eyes looked right at him. Judging him. It was indeed obvious why so many exiled gekkonids would want to join him. She, however, would never be one of them. "No. I would rather not have anything to drink from your collection. I don't wish to drink Pink in a glass."

Pink in a glass? His face lights up a little, the slight glitter to his eyes persisting as his gaze drifts an inch away from Ivy's face, while he indulges in an absent-minded moment. "You make me feel inadequately prepared, mademoiselle," he informs, tone coloured with amusement without carrying any venom. "If I'd kept any part of her, that would indeed have made for a lovely little cynical note. 'A toast to the deceased!' Imagine that." It seems too overtly scathing to suit his style, as if he were deliberately trying to get under her skin without taking any of the traditional paths. No insult, no ambush, no rudeness but on a meta-level.

A soft sigh transitions away from the spoken words, left hand cast loosely through the air in dismissive gesture. "Forgive," he remarks. "We're not here for that." He shakes his head briefly, before anchoring his gaze back on Ivy's face and warping a briefly dryly neutral expression back to what is now a thin smile. "Just a second," he announces - and a moment later, he's slid across to them, palms open, fingers held loosely, shoulders slightly sagged and head lightly dipped, a thoroughly open and almost submissive posture; before his right hand twists and shifts minutely, nail of his middle finger snapping to graze the ring Spinner had given Ivy.

The light tap of nail against the curve of the ring seems to extend through her finger as if he'd abruptly grown a thorn at the tip of that fleetingly touching digit, one capable of piercing through bone, skin and the ring itself effortlessly; but of course it's just an association. The stabbing pain flowering up her senses no doubt came from elsewhere. An instant later, a dull fire raked up through her blood vessels - and a furious, brutal wall of stupor smacked against her perception of the world, clamping numbness around her mind, details beginning a threatening, slow but determined bleeding out from the world around her. A burning in her lungs might coax forth the instinct to breathe in gasps, inessential as that was for a vampire.

Past the fresh veil layered across her senses, the words are less than ideal to make out, but the mumble of syllables spilling from Zerachiel sound suspiciously like: "Much better."

Typical in her mind, She would figure Zyan would make a smart-ass comment. Pink should have been left out of all of this. But instead, now she was resting - hopefully in peace. When he came closer to her, she wasn't sure what he was doing. She personally liked her bubble of anti-Zyan and yet he was invading her space. She tried not to flinch away but when he took her hand. Her ring...

She gritted her teeth and did her best not to scream out in pain as it shot through her body. Blood might have been a buffer, but she was sure this pain would still be just as horrible. All of her prep time hadn't prepared her for this. Such pure uninhibited pain.

"Why Zyan you flatter me. I didn't think you cared so much." The words were hard to force out and she didn't even know if they would be understandable. "And here I thought I was here to talk Peace, not for you to enlighten me."

"I'm not," he responds, flatly, watching her hold herself still with an expression of indifference - and a moment later, his right foot snaps forward, sole of his boot knocking from the side against Ivy's left ankle, felling her, the delicate vampiric form crashing down against the raw, concrete ground. "You're past that point," he says, simply, almost with a hint of pity, curling hands into light fists, casting a gaze down at the ground.

To Ivy, meanwhile, as the world tips so rudely, the grip on her conscious mind that's so hard to peg, appearing for a moment like pain as it had, melts into a firmer kind of numbness, layering itself as an alien taste across her tongue, slowing her motions to what in vampiric terms would be crawl, as if she were fighting to move through an atmosphere of honey or clear oil. The edges of her vision smear slightly, colours dragging uncomfortably across her visual landscape at each move of her gaze. Aside from a rude, angry tingle in her blood vessels and the ache from Zerachiel's kick, there's no further pain - for now.

This was bullshit. Her vision, which was turning fuzzy for reasons she didn't fully understand, turned towards where Spinner had been. She had already gone. The bitch. Left her here to Zyan. Figures she knew about this. All of this. Didn't bother to say anything. She needed to come to terms with everything - and fast. How to get out of this situation, in her current state? Everything was becoming... hazy. Like she didn't truly belong to this world anymore. What the fuck had Zyan done to her?!

"I am gekkonid. You are an exiled Immolator. I shall win this war, Zyan. You can't stop me." She was just a heap on the floor, but her spirit would keep her strong. She couldn't let him win. Not now, not ever. Could they hold themselves without her? Could they hold themselves with her? Zyan was already so powerful.

She wished to god that Narayan had taken her on her offer. She could then at the least tell him what was happening. Now no one knew where she was. What he would do to her?

The rasping words, forced past whatever was poisoning her body into near-paralysis, seemed to distort Zerachiel's swimming face into light, smirking grimace. His words and actions, however, do nothing to acknowledge the barbs. "Think of it this way," he says, still in a flat, almost emotionless tone, only slightly infused with loathing. "I'm curing the Splinters of Dusk of a disease," he concludes, even as his left boot rises, jagged black sole of it setting down against her head with not enough speed to kick, but not slow enough to avoid. He grinds the foot down against her cheek, twisting it against her skin, pulling it, his right hand meanwhile looking for something in his right trouser pocket without that he takes his gaze and primary attention off his victim. A part of him chastised him - he should ask her to reconsider her ways, give her some kind of feeble chance she'd no doubt fail, but he wanted to make her work for his mercy. And work fast, because if there was one thing he wasn't patient about, it was the deaths of his enemies. Not quite instant-kill, but by all means, nothing to allow last minute heroic saves. He wasn't stupid.

That one stung. Deep inside she wanted to stand and beat the living fuck out of him. Dismember him. She was numb now, though, and movement of that sort would have been seriously hard to pull off. She was in no shape currently to do anything she wanted to. He took the first move as she knew he prolly would - and now she was stuck. His boot came down on her cheek and distorted her skin into something twisted.

She knew she would soon be gone and it was her chance to get him. She just needed a small advantage point. She crawled her fingers towards her cheek. Hoping he wouldn't notice her. She got her hand to his boot and sent her little vines crawling their way up. It was her only shot and she wasn't sure she had enough strength to follow through.

Slow. Too slow. The boot shifts abruptly and with menace in an instant, and a moment later, it cracks against her face, catching her mostly by her left brow, scraping like fire across her skin, tearing at the surface, even as its force sends her head back. And then the boot is gone, letting the air sting against her abused face.

Meanwhile, the status quo remains the same. The veil around her senses has settled as if comfortable, allowing her to grow accustomed to the new perception of the world. No, whatever was in her body was likely at most a slightly magically accelerated poison, nothing lethal for a vampire, not even a hybrid like Ivy. Of course, that meant it wasn't meant to kill her.

"You going to take your death with a 'yes, please' like a good gekkonid?" the Gehyran Altachra sneers, prompting, even as his right hand winds back out of his pocket, revealing a long, fairly thick needle, end held in loose grip of that hand.

Telepathy. Maybe she could call for help? Surely one of the Splinters of Dusk would be near enough to come to her aid - but good would that do if they bound themselves to the codex? A shitty little rut she's got herself into, indeed.

Fucker, that hurt. She knew she shouldn't have tried but she needed to. If she didn't at least try to protect herself she would have felt guilty. She was helpless. There wouldn't be enough time for them to get here to help her and even if they could, they couldn't attack him. This was horrible. The codex should protect them from these things and yet they are left completely defenseless. Things like this shouldn't happen. Not to anyone.

She tried to lift her head, or at least turn it to see Zyan, but it was pointless. Her vision so clouded she would be lucky if she could hit a broad side of a barn let alone a vampire who could move quicker then lightning. "Not. The. End." She managed to say though it was hard to speak or even think. "You and Sun shall meet."

He snorts derisively. Why throw those words back at her and spell out her faith with them? The syllables weren't worth the effort invested in them. He tipped forward nearly soundlessly, only the crinkle of his clothes making a noise at all, which in turn barely filtered through to Ivy's fogged mind. A strong grip seized Ivy by her left shoulder, pushing it down against the ground before her a moment later with as much disregard for her health as his boot had handled her face. For a moment, with her face so rudely pushed down against the rough, concrete surface below, there's blissfully nothing else happening, pressure on her shoulder remaining as it is.

Then...

An abrupt fire stabs up Ivy's senses, her skin protesting from a furious tear, and the bones of her spine frantically scream up at her conscious mind to stop the assault - but it's over before it's even fully begun. With Zerachiel's fist rested against her spine just under the base of her neck, the needle's slammed its way past two vertebrae, and a lazy, numb, phantom tingle spreads across her limbs, only to disperse her sense of proprioception into something alien, intangible.

Paralysed. Crippled. That wasn't going to heal fast enough to get her out of here even if the poison wasn't running through her veins. Shit.

She couldn't take this anymore. The assault on her body was more then she had ever felt. Everything that had ever happened to her in her entire life was flashing before her very eyes and then it was gone. The true pain gone to a blinding numb sensation again. This wasn't right. It couldn't be happening.

How was she to survive this? Short answer: She wasn't going too. Quickly coming to terms with the matter at hand she tried to speak into Zyan's mind rather then working her lips. ~I accept my fate. I will prosper and you will die. Even in Death I shall live on.~ She took a very deep breath and tried to force her thoughts together just a little bit longer. ~What are you going to do with me?~

'What am I going to do to you, indeed?' Zerachiel found himself thinking silently, a mocking tone even in that inner thought. A sick, wet sound accompanies the withdrawing of that needle, now slathered in a thin sheen of blood. Its removal drags another alien sensation up the length of her neck. A rough grip winds about the strands of Ivy's hair, yanking her limp body into motion, beginning a careless drag across the rough floor. If her body had any connection to her conscious mind, she'd probably feel her skin scraping painfully against the floor. "Put you out of your misery," he finally remarks, her tugged shape displacing the rug PinkGoth2 had been tortured on, unbeknownst to Ivy, folding back one of its corners. Time to drag this gekkonid up to the roof.

She couldn't even feel what he was doing. She was moving, being pulled somewhere, but she had no idea where she was going. She couldn't feel. Nothing was left. Tears finally came from her eyes and ran down her blood stained cheeks. She could do nothing to help herself. She was doomed. Just like Pink...

Silently she wondered if Zyan had gotten WhiteLighter too. Kill them off in order. Would be a very Zyan thing to do, she thought. Very quietly she began to pray. Mostly for her enlightened soul to one day get revenge on those who did this to her. Gehyra couldn't be allowed to get away with this.

To be trapped like this, in a tomb of her own unfeeling flesh, was an unusual terror to be subjected to. It was one thing to suffer pain, but to be devoid of sensation? Nauseatingly, it felt like there was far too little of her in the tangible reality around her, like a first taste of death to come, an all too practical demonstration.

Time drags on, her scalp burning fiercely as she's pulled by her hair, neck muscles strained by the weight of her body being dragged behind by what might as well be them alone. The Gehyran Altachra is ghostly silent, more like some demonic apparition than any (un)living being, driven by that sole goal of getting the gekkonid leader up to the building's roof for her to burn in the first rays of dawn. Of the Morningtide washing across her.

No, there was no humanity in her as perceived by Zyan. He had nothing but a passing interest in even mocking her in her weakened state - he simply sought a quick death for her, like exterminating a weed growing in a garden. Like ivy.

Her shape sags down against wooden floorboards by necessity as Zerachiel lets go of her, having hauled her up to the attic of the building, her body angled unnaturally. The stick figure of the Gehyran darkens subjectively as he turns his attention to a roof window, the light from the moon filtering in from it, framing him with a silver sheen as he reaches up to unlatch it with a disgruntled huff.

Her tears couldn't stop falling. She wanted to see her wife again. She wanted to see the gekkonids again. Death was coming soon. She could feel her eternal clock winding down to almost a halt. The sun would be rising soon and she was sure that it would be the last thing she ever saw. Her last sunrise. For some reason she was almost happy. At the very least she would see the beautiful sun once more.

The frame of the window clicked as it unlatched and a subtle chill crept down upon her body, gnawing at its edges, as the Gehyran pushed it open. "Now then, Ms Wilde," Zerachiel addresses her with an almost absent-minded tone of voice, turning to face her and dipping his shape down, leaning forward to slide his arms under her, now suddenly as if with care. A light huff sounds from him as he lifts her off the ground. "Is there anything sensible you'd like me to include in my obituary to your clan?" Frankly, he wasn't comfortable using the word 'obituary' before her death had irreversibly taken place, especially given than he was essentially trusting Spinner with her final moments - but anything else seemed grossly out of place. Of course, he could have simply not asked - and a part of him chided him for doing so, when anything she could possibly say was at best a barb and at worst an instruction to her clan to fall further into the abyssmally lax lifestyle - but that particular courtesy came almost instinctually.

This... surprised her. A lot actually. Zyan was being somewhat civil in the matter. She thought it over quickly and knew exactly what she wanted to say. "You are the Splinters of Dusk. Destroy or be destroyed." It was the best thing she could think of to say and it was the most heart felt thing she ever had come out of her mouth. There was no more she could say for an advantage. Zyan could top any of them in every way. Maybe. Maybe the Immolators were their only hope.

Even as those arms, feeble for vampire standards, but still easily lifting her weight, stretch forward and she's pushed head-first out of the window, Zyan's nose wrinkles, the expression briefly visible to her. 'Break the codex or be destroyed'? No, he wasn't going to let her say something like that. It wasn't even worth quoting for the sake of ridicule, he'd only be accused of making it up. A soft hiss leaves him as her hip hooks against the window's frame. He lets go of her, leaving her hooked against that edge as she is. Delicate fingers wrap against the wooden framing, and a moment later, he's heaving himself up past her, brushing against her shape in the process, spawning folds in her clothes. His knees set down on the slant of the roof half beside and behind her and he twists his attention back to her. His left hand pressed down against the roof, his right reaches forward to grab her by the collar of her top, bunching up the fabric and twisting it against her until it's strained and would be choking that delicate neck if she were still breathing. An energetic yank follows, pulling her from the confines of the building, her shape flopping sideways like some dead fish - and then again, rolling across the roof to the extent the firm grip on her clothes would let her. Zyan's right foot sets down against the bottom of the window's frame, pushing himself to the side, heaving Ivy's shape further up the roof, rolling her onto her back near the window. Gruffly, mostly as not to prompt her reflecting on his silence, he asks: "Anything else?"

Her body tossed and turned. This way and that. As he tried to pull her out and onto the rooftop. Oh how she wished she would have done things differently. Left to be on her own and done her best to kill of Zyan while she could. But now was not a time for regrets, but instead a time for remembering everything that is great and good in her life. Her first wedding to Spinner. Sires. Clans. Family. Friends. Everything she had come to love that was soon to be gone.

Good, she had nothing else to say. Crouched above her head as he is, he pulls her up by her shoulders a little more, then drags her into a more stable position until he's sure she won't roll down the roof. With a soft sigh - either of irritation or a certain personal bliss, it's hard to tell - he heaves rises from that crouch, removing his hands, and beginning a saunter back to the window.

Without dignifying her with any further comment, the Gehyran lets himself drop back into the room below - and then he's gone from her peripheral perception but for the sound of his descending footsteps.

But he wasn't gone. He wasn't going to leave The Belly Of The Whale until her fate was sealed. But for now, she'd be granted exclusive attention by someone else entirely.

[PoisonIvy]

[Y!M; participants: Spinner and PoisonIvy]

Spinner sits and waits until she knows her love has been staked to the roof of the building. Nodding at Zyan, she makes her way to where the sun will turn Poison to ash. She closes her eyes, before opening the proverbial access door and takes a deep breath, not knowing the condition she will see Poison in.[/color]

She was left here to die. The sun would rise soon and meet her flesh. It was all she could hope now. That her death would be quick and at this point preferably painful. The numbing sensation was driving her insane more then anything else. It was truly killing her to not feel.

Spinner opened the door and gasped, seeing Poison bruised and broken. Sliding to her knees beside her wife, her love above all else, she cupped her face and looked into her eyes. "Poison... I'm here, love. Look at me, baby, please," she whispers.

She had no idea what was going on or who was talking about her at first, but soon enough her senses let her know what was going on. Speaking was still to hard for her so she let her thoughts be known through her mind. ~I - I love you Spinner. I will miss you so very much. Never...~ She trailed off and then came back to her thought as fast as her mind would let her. ~Never forget me. Don't trust him. Please...~ Tears were still falling down her face onto the rooftops shingles.

Spinner began to cry, leaning to kiss Poison's lips and whisper into her ear. "Poison, you are my love, my wife, my eternal lover... I won't forget you. They don't realise what they've done... baby... I love you." Through her tears, she looked deeply into Poison's eyes and knew what she needed to do. "Love, let me help end this... please..."

She bit her lip and tryed to process all of Spinner's words, but it was hard to let sentences work for her brain. She could understand bits and pieces. The parts that her brain could still remember. ~End. Please.~ She tried to look at Spinner, her eyes were very glassy and fogged over. Almost as if she was blind. But what was still there of her could be seen in though her eyes and hopefully Spinner would know she was serious.

Spinner nodded and whispered, before kissing Poison deeply within her fog. "I love you, more than I love life itself." And with those words, spinner's nails lengthened into sharp points, and thrust into poison's chest. Her hand gripped the woman's heart and pulled. With a howl, Spinner felt the muscles holding the heart in place tear and give way. She brought her love's heart to her chest with one hand, closing Poison's eyes with the other. "Rest, love... you deserve it. I will live on for you."

Her body gave way as Spinner pulled her barely beating heart from her chest. The loud popping sound was really all she noticed. The pain still subdued. Her mind was still going, but only slightly. As Spinner left with her heart, her minds final thought was peace. The sun rose, her eyes meeting the Morningtide and her body burst into dozens of bright red roses as the warmth hit her vines. Soon they were burning, as was her flesh, until she was no more. Just a pile of burnt petals and ash on the roof of the Belly of the Whale. But forever Spinner would have her heart. Forever.

Spinner, heart clutched to her chest, ran from the rooftop, past anyone who was there to watch Poison's end, and into the darkness of the bottoms of the pub. She cracked the seal on a scroll and teleported to her apartment, locking everything tight and, sitting in the dark, she howled into the coming day and began to mourn.