|harukami (harukami) wrote,|
@ 2007-03-04 04:18:00
|Entry tags:||digital devil saga|
DDS: Wrong ficbits
Horribly wrong speed drabbles. Assume unworksafe and spoilers for each of 'em.
"You," Fred said. He backed up until his shoulders hit the wall. There was no where else to go. "You're that woman. The one *Gale* was talking about."
Her lips curled. The expression was cruel. "...That is correct."
"What do you want from me?"
"What do I want?" She reached out. Her hand was an inhuman claw as it traced across his chest, down. His eyes widened. "I want... something useful."
"That's not..." Despite himself his breath came weakly. "Don't! That's sick, okay?!"
"Not like that." Her expression, past the curl of her lips, was scornful, eyes cold. "I want a guarantee."
"That man. He's... cunning. But I don't think he'll hurt you." She squeezed; he closed his eyes tight and tried to bite back his sudden noise. "...Let's get along, Fred. I'm sure to keep you close by my side."
He notices something wrong. The logical thing is to get backup; unfortunately, it appears the others are out of reach to alert without causing undue attention. He must do this alone, then.
He checks his set skills, shifts to loosen his weapon slightly, and turns.
Abruptly, the world slows.
The thing crawling towards him is both Serph and, at the same time, clearly not the Serph he knows. It has dark hair and dark wild eyes. It is bleeding -- from the lips, from the nose, from the corners of its eyes.
Blood marks its fingertips as it reaches out.
"I won't go back," Serph-not-serph says. It's panting, desperate for breath. "I'm not dead! I won't be dead!"
Gale looks it over. He crouches down. "You are dead," he says.
That was a mistake.
It latches onto him, surges up and throws him back. He feels his weapon spin away. Not good. Careful, he lifts his leg, trying to draw energy to his atma symbol; the dead man, in desperation, jams a fist down.
The dead apparently have strength. Gale hears a crack. His brows twitch and he draws a slow deep breath over the sudden sickening pain.
"You didn't go back either," the creature says. "You weren't supposed to be on this cycle! But you're alive."
"Yes," Gale says. "I am alive. You are not."
"Give it to me," it says, and presses its bleeding lips to Gale's, pries his mouth open, shoves its tongue in like he's trying to climb inside. The taste of old blood fills Gale's mouth. It tastes ...incorrect. Corrupted.
He turns his head aside and spits. "I am not interested in that," he says. It is shameful, perhaps, but he does not hesitate as he tilts his head and calls for help.
"They won't come," Serph says. He smiles. It's shaky and unpleasant. "They won't come, because you aren't with them now."
"Everyone comes to me in the end." He puts a hand to Gale's cheek. There is, Gale notices, dirt under the fingertips. "Become one with me. Give me life."
The voice has taken on calmness again, an even rhythmic near-charm. "Unfortunately for you," Serph says, "You don't have a choice."
At the edge of the world, it turns out, there is a beach. It is not the one from Sera's digital world -- it is a beach with a golden sky, and white water, and the sand is soft as silk.
Seraph stands on the edge and stares out, arms folded. The breeze carries the scent of creation. Silently, feet leaving no marks in the sand, Schroedinger comes up behind.
Schroedinger says, "Seraph."
Turning, Seraph looks Schroedinger over. Schroedinger smiles; Seraph smiles back.
"It's strange," Seraph says. "I thought I might be lonely."
"You are not."
"I couldn't be."
"I know," Schroedinger says. Long fingertips brush against the back of Seraph's neck, wind into Seraph's hair.
Almost nervously, Seraph forges on. "That said... is it wrong, to want connection still?"
All is one," Schroedinger says. "All existence. Hearts. Souls. ...Bodies as well."
"In life, I never..."
"Is that wrong?"
"Is it wrong to want more?"
"Experience," Schroedinger says, "isn't wrong."
"Right action," Schroedinger corrects.
There is silence but for the waves.
Schroedinger reaches for Seraph. Kissing, Seraph finds, tastes -- strange. Different than it would as Sera, perhaps. Like tasting a pearl and curling it on the end of a tongue.
"More?" Schroedinger asks.
Seraph smiles. "If experience isn't wrong," and then Seraph is undressing Schroedinger as Schroedinger undresses Seraph, peeling away the little material possession they have left, curling down and curling in and drawing close. So that it's impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins.
It feels good, Seraph discovers.
"Apologize," Jinana said.
They didn't have long -- they were preparing for the trip to Anahata, and Jinana had pulled aside both Bat and Argilla for what Argilla had thought was a discussion.
Bat was looking horrified. "Apologize?! Jinana, they're the ones who--"
Jinana grabbed him by the nape of the neck. She shoved him against Argilla.
"Apologize," Jinana said. "As you do to me, when you are in error."
Bat's lip curled. "I don't want that." And then, his voice knife-sharp and mocking."I don't think she wants that."
"That is odd if so. It is an acceptable apology."
Argilla turned her head away. "I, um. I don't need an apology."
"He is good."
"I don't need one!"
"See?" Bat hissed. "That's not what she's interested in, is it?" His hips rocked. "Maybe I should apologize. For a good long time--"
"Ah," Jinana said. She squeezed on the back of his neck. "Slow. Gentle. Remember how I've told you."
It's Argilla who saw hatred flicker across Bat's face. It alarmed her; it was only half aimed at her.
She looked past Bat to Jinana. "No," she said. "Jinana. It's fine."
"Is that so?"
"It's fine," she repeated. "You haven't done anything you should apologize for."
"Ah," Jinana said. She released Bat. Argilla squirmed out, drew a sharp breath. Jinana said, "But then there's nothing I can do."
Argilla took her hands. "You're fine as you are," she said. "You don't need to do things like that. It's okay just like this."
"I bet it is," Bat hissed. He backed off before either woman can turn to him. "You're both the same. You make me sick!"
And then he was running off, away; Argilla supposed they won't see him again, and couldn't find it in herself to mind.
"No," Schroedinger says. "That is incorrect data."