' why send you a symbol, jack, when i can simply... ' and he leaned forward and touched the corner of the illusive man's lips with his own, a /ghost/ of a touch.
It’s
a phantom touch.
Monsters
find salvation in one another. Humanity they’ve lost &
humanity they’ve gained through a single touch. Fire &
ice combine for what? Steam to fuel the engine of their
hearts? The parallels they form inspire BALANCE.
Since
Jack Harper was a boy, he had an appetite that couldn’t be easily
sated. He aspired for the S-S-STARS & ne'er settled
for less! Contrary to belief, he doesn’t see Hell in
the tyrant, in Albert Wesker himself. He sees opportunity & it
burns with the brightness of the sun.
Death
creeps up on him whether he likes it or not, catches him by
surprise. Wesker’s footsteps are as silent as the interior of a
vacuum. It startles the Illusive Man, of all people. The cigarette
dancing between his fingers falls from his power-hungry grasp.
His lips taste of aged scotch saved from the early 2000’s. He tastes
like the rise of an empire & much more.
{ coɴтrol. ♦ } — ❝I’m flattered, Wesker.❞
Out
of reflex, Jack very nearly nips at the man in black’s lips.
Teeth are a weapon as much as a gun & his have been
bloody for so long. All the breath he possesses now compresses his
lungs. He sighs & it clenches his ribs, pounds against
them, as though something feral that has laid dormant for
centuries begs for freedom.
❝You’ve a fondness for the element of SURPRISE.❞
A
chuckle covers up the initial shock. His worn &
calloused hand rests on a black sleeve. Fine wrinkles crease &
curl. It’s a touch that suggests camaraderie. Beneath his
heel, the cigarette squashes &shrivels. A
politician’s smile illuminates his face.
It’s National Kissing Day, send ‘:*’ to give my muse a kiss.
‘ WORSHIP ME, JACK. ’
Her
melodic, albeit mechanical voice contains the volume of a
thousand buzzing cicadas, a soft whirring hum that
simultaneously lulls & sparks paranoia in his addled
heart. It’s not as shrill as it once was. The sound has dulled over
time, comparable to gears that settle into place with the help of
oil. Despite the haunt, his forehead pulses, his brain
SCREAMING.
These
days, his eyes are brighter, borderline cyan, to rival the jarring
laser red that stares back. He’s lost himself in the abyss.
The scars that adorn his face are simply medals of honor, a
network that leads to galaxies light years away. He’s a
mixture of blue & grey, robbed of his humanity &
the man he once was.
He
remembers a time before the Shepard { SHEPHERD THIS LAMB }.
A time where he ran a renegade ship as nothing but a hired
gun. He remembers refusing to bend at the knee for the turians, for
the asari, for anyone. He remembers placing a cool hand on the
thick glass window that showed him a destination that went on
forever. He remembers his life as Jack Harper just as he remembers
his life as the Illusive Man.
For
her, he bows so low before THE REAPER EMPEROR. He kneels as a
futuristic knight regardless of the aching whine of protest
that his joints produce. He thought himself puppeteer, but
he’d been wrong. He worships her now, a MOTHER wearing
celestial veils to hide her frighteningly beautiful
appearance. She’s as sharp as a blade, Prophet & weapon.
Maybe that’s why he worships, prepared to kiss her feet & wash
them if the need arises.
She
compels him to stand, her dangerous rings nicking his jawline, his
throat. When he stands, his thumbs trace her cheeks { SHE
WILLS IT }. He kisses each cheek. No longer will he play
Judas; he cannot. A butterfly kiss on the lips suffices.
{
coɴтrol. ♦ } — ❝You have me, Shephard.❞
From
cat to mouse, it will only be a matter of TIME before she devours
him whole.
{ coɴтrol. ♦ } — ❝What I want is what
HUMANITY should want: a legacy. We
deserve glory. I refuse to have time be
my enemy. I deserve to be remembered. If not my name, then for my ingenuity.❞
Her glove catches on her wrist as she peels it off, the stick of cornstarch and clammy flesh reminding her not to shake hands with this man.
She massages her palms on a towel to rub the tack off.
“Are you going to smear me with remarks? Is that what it’s come down to, Jack?”
Immortality comes with a price. When it’s her brand of undeath, that price is steep and unforgiving. She coaxes the black apron off her and it shines- still wet.
There’s a copper-y taste in the air.
The woman, slit from groin to throat down the middle, is still breathing on a mortuary tray. In fact, the flesh of her lungs is vibrating with how fast she is breathing. Her body’s transforming. The organs are changing- some are necrotizing before their eyes.
“This is what you wanted, isn’t it? A way to escape your own death?”
The woman is sedated and bound at the limbs, her head held in a wicked-looking manacle of metal so pale that it seemed white. Her lips were peeling like wax as the vessels died, exposing the bone of the teeth.
It’s National Kissing Day, send ‘:*’ to give my muse a kiss.
Ada.
He croons her name like a
joke shared between old friends.
Crow’s feet crease.
Laughter lines curl, grooves & ridges that bestow a canyon
with a graceful look. Men grow dignified & women grow
bitter; it’s cruel. That’s society for you, but he doesn’t see
her as a hag. Her face is too smooth, her skin nearly translucent.
She smiles & now he knows he’s not ALONE. It’s the same
painted grin that he wears: an empty one for the spider’s web.
She crawls into
his lap like Lolita with her hyper-sexual smile. She wears too much
lip gloss, a slick sheen that makes a popping noise when she
enunciates. Her nails are daggers, her thumbs pressing into
the underside of his jaw. The pressure reminds him of his
mercenary days where alarms screamed shrilly. Those days, the
pressure nearly shattered his skull. Here, she commits his face to
memory.
It’s sickly sweet.
Nauseated from the kiss, his lips remain glued to hers. Rendered
breathless from a single touch, his lungs threaten to B-B-BURST. It’s
sticky. Reminds him of the corpse on the metal table, sinew &
muscle exposed. Stringy. Dripping. The blood doesn’t
bother him; it’s the mess & she leaves a trail of
destruction in her wake.
He thinks a kiss
can make him IMMORTAL so he reciprocates.
Tries to suck the life
right out of her.
& he chortles, deep &
throaty, akin to the low hum of machinery.
