Dy (no_savior) wrote in parabolical, @ 2008-05-14 12:39:00 |
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Entry tags: | annie wheaton, darla, peter petrelli (future) |
Who: Peter, Annie, and Darla
What: Act 2
Where: Annie's mindscape, then Darla's Toychest again
When: Currently
Rating: Very, very R
Status: COMPLETE
For the moment, he was alone. Darla had gone off to feed, her teasing words over how she would choose her victims torturing his soul. Part of him knew she would be this cruel regardless of him; it didn't matter what he had done or what slight she had imagined, she would choose the victims she wanted no matter what. But her words had become well-aimed daggers. Just another way to torture him. Another way to inflict pain. So that even when she wasn't here to cut, to burn, to stab, her words in his mind could still flay apart his soul.
There had been another dose of sedatives at some point. Just enough to inhibit his mind. But as the room spun in his vision, Peter shut his eyes, tring to retreat inward, to find a better place to be.
Annie had been trying - and failing - to make a connection with Peter for some time now. She could sense him on the outermost edges of her mind, she knew he was still alive at least, but that was as far as she could get before he was once again lost to her. It was frustrating but Annie wasn't one to be deterred. Once she made up her mind to do something, she saw it through to the end no matter the consequences. So she kept waiting, half-hidden inside her own thoughts as was per usual for her, and the moment she sensed Peter doing the same, she jumped at the opportunity.
She'd only ever made a true mental connection with one other person in her entire life, before. Steve, the man who owned Rose Red. She'd read his mind as easily as others, but had also been able to communicate with him where her attempts to do so with everyone else had always failed. It was the house, then, that had allowed such a connection. This time, Annie wasn't certain who or what was responsible, but the moment her mind met with Peter's, she clung to it and refused to let go.
"PETER!"
She was different, here. Speaking wasn't easy, but it was easier than in the real, physical world. She didn't withdraw as much, either. After all, where would she go? This was her refuge. It was a little intimidating, knowing that Peter's very life as well as her own ability to cope with the outside world once this was said and done hung in the balance. One rip to her own mental facilities and she'd be well and truly lost. One rip to his, and the results would be disastrous. Still, she pressed forward, shouting his name once more and searching through the shadows - now waist-deep - for a glimpse of him.
"Peter! Answer me!"
He was trying to sink into the darkness, letting it wash over him. The waves were just crashing over his head when a voice called his name. A voice familiar and foreign at the same time. He'd heard it before, but not in the same way. Did it matter? He wanted quiet, solitude. He didn't want someone to find him here.
But then she called again, and Peter thought he recognized it this time. Annie. Annie was looking for him. Was she hurt? Scared? Was someone not letting her get to her garden? Peter strained, willing himself back to the surface, his hands breaking through the shadows and reaching for her.
Annie sensed him before she actually spotted him. Reacting on instinct, her own hands went upward just as his seemed to come from nowhere. She grabbed ahold of him like a woman who was drowning and heaved with all of her might. A grunt of frustration laced with determination passed her lips and the shadows parted, scurrying for the darker places where she had no control.
The landscape shifted, slick ground replaced with stone walls. Comfortable furniture, a pointed ceiling, it began to resemble something from a storybook she'd heard once as a small child. Annie kept pulling on Peter, kept tugging with all her strength, until he finally appeared in the room with her.
No. Not a room. A tower.
It was the only symbolism she could find that would also make sense to him. She wouldn't go fully into his mind, and she couldn't pull him fully into hers, so the tower becamse a neutral ground. It was the only way she'd ever been able to explain to someone before exactly why her thoughts couldn't be reached, and Peter was the only one to ever see it as she saw it. Not a prison, but an escape. A place where she was safe. Where he'd be safe, until her strenght waned and he had to go back at least.
Straightening, Annie's smile nearly filled her face as she peered up at the man who had gone missing. She'd been worried about him, and reacting as a young child might, wasted no time in wrapping her arms around his middle and hugging him tightly.
"There you are," she spoke, voice muffled against his stomach. Pulling back enough to beam upward at him, she added, "We're coming for you."
Peter was momentarily stunned by where he'd suddenly found himself, but that surprise was nothing compared to what came next. Annie. Speaking clearly to him. Hugging him. Peter dropped to his knees and pulled her back, holding her tightly.
"Annie? What... what is this place? How did we get here?" He was confused by this, yes, but not scared. He felt safe here. Looking down at himself, he was fully dressed, with no signs of the brutality his body was going through. He drew back just enough to give her a light smile. "Are you okay?"
There was no deliberate choice to ignore what she had said. But he still couldn't feed into the hope that they were true.
"It's my head," Annie replied, her brow furrowing a bit as she realized that wasn't quite right. "No," she stated softly. "It's between our heads." It may not make a lot of sense, but it was the best she could come up with. She'd created the place, relying on powers she'd yet to explore to their fullest capacity, but it wasn't all hers. Peter had control here too even if he didn't realize it.
"You're hurt," was her next statement, one small hand gently cupping his cheek for a second as she smiled sadly at him. "We're looking for you. I'm looking for you."
Pulling away from him, she moved to the large couch shoved against one wall and plopped down on it, patting the cushion beside her for him to have a seat. Annie glanced back at him with that same sweet, somewhat sad smile. "It's safe here," she promised. "I'm me, here." It was the only place - quite possibly the only time - she'd ever truly be herself. Free of the inhibitions of the physical world and the demands it made on her psyche. Free of the prison walls that her own mind trapped her within, not willing to let her escape for more than scant precious seconds of freedom once every so often. Here she was able to be the girl she should have been, could have been, would have been, had her powers not exceeded her mind's capacity to utilize them.
After a moment, he nodded at the explanation. "Mindscape," he said, thinking of the word Jack had used, when teaching Peter how to hone his telepathic skills. "Okay." It was far more detailed and expressive than anything he or the senior telepath had ever come up with. "It's nice here."
Safe. The word echoed through the tower, from his mind. He smiled a little at that, but his expression tightened when she put a hand to his cheek and repeated herself. Peter shut his eyes as she pulled away, having heard the words and felt the impact of them. When he opened them a moment later, she was patting the cushion beside her, and Peter obeyed, going to sit beside her. He wrapped his arms around her again, needing the gentle physical contact to express what he could not. The hope that he would see her soon. The gratitude for searching.
Then he drew back, looking around at the lovely room with a sigh. "We can't stay here, can we?" he asked. "Or, I can't, at least?" It was disappointing. Achingly so. "I wish I could. I don't want to leave."
Her smile was light and bittersweet when he held her again, undersatnding his need for contact and not about to begrudge him in the slightest. When he drew back, she turned to face him. Her smile turned into a regretful, sad sort of look, the emotions shining in her brown eyes as she shook her head slowly.
"I can't find you if you're here," she explained softly. "I'm... sorry." The word was strange on her tongue, a statement she'd never before made. She'd never had a reason to, before. Everything she did was either for a reason, or a simple reaction of basic survival instinct. Annie didn't consider the impact her actions might have on others. That part of her mind was sealed up tightly, cut off from her consciousness and stored in a place similar to this one.
The air took on a thickened quality, the sky outside the window beginning to darken as though a storm were approaching. Pointedly ignoring it for now, Annie reached for Peter's hand and squeezed it gently. "I will find you," she promised. "Soon." The words were coming more slowly to her now, a sign that her control over the place was beginning to slip. Outside forces, things she had no ability to stop, were drawing him away from her once more. Frustration and acceptance warred inside of the girl, even though she knew it was a futile battle. Like he'd said himself. He couldn't stay here, no matter how much he might want to.
The confirmation that he couldn't stay was a bitter blow. Peter tightened, but nodded slowly. "I understand." He didn't want to accept it, but he understood. No matter how nice it was here, he would have to go back. Back to that horror of living to await his rescue. They were looking for him.
He wondered if they would be soon enough to save him.
The skies darkened, and her hand squeezed his. Peter looked out the window fearfully, wrapping his free arm around Annie, as though to protect her from whatever might be coming. At her promise, he squeezed her tight and put a kiss to her forehead. "Be careful, Annie," he said, tears stinging at his eyes. He was going to be taken away from this place now, away from her. He knew it. Wind was starting to howl in through the windows. "If you see Nathan..." Now he was fighting to be heard over the wind, and he called to her mind instead. Tell Nathan not to do anything stupid! Hardly the most clear sign of brotherly affection, but possibly (if Peter knew Nathan, which he did) the most appropriate.
Then he let her go and stood, walking away from the couch. He didn't want to risk bringing Annie back with him.
She'd stayed composed, in complete control, up until the very end. Annie had listened to his words and nodded, knowing she wouldn't be able to relay the message as easily as she wanted to, but also knowing she'd do her very best to try. Telling Nathan not to do anything stupid, however, was the least of her concerns at the moment. In fact, she all but forgot about the request as the winds reached a deafening level.
"No." The word was soft-spoken but filled with steel as the young woman surged to her feet. Her eyes narrowed and she stalked forward, standing beside Peter and facing the window. "Be quiet!" The last part was a shriek and the walls seemed to bend outward, the window expanding to allow the force behind her words to escape. There was a shrill sound - similar to a cry of pain that was definitely feminine in origin - but the growl that tried to follow was abruptly silenced.
Everything went still as Annie slowly turned back to Peter. "Go," she whispered softly, pushing out gently with her mind as her lips curved upward. The gentle smile was a glimpse into her soul, a hint of the innocence that made Annie such a beautiful, tragic person. "Now."
Already she could feel her control she'd briefly regained slipping, and knew his tormentor wouldn't be foiled a second time. She hadn't been intending on stopping it, however. Just giving Peter enough time to return on his own terms, instead of being cruelly forced back to reality by the ministrations of his captor.
"I'll see you soon..." Was the last whispered promise the girl had to offer before the scenery faded to black and another voice, low and sultry and filled to bursting with anger, echoed throughout the void.
"How the hell did you do that?"
And slowly but surely, Darla picked herself up off the floor and glared across the basement at the seemingly unconscious man who had, somehow and some way that she didn't understand, flung her across the room with enough power to crack the wall that had stopped her mid-flight. Her face was a picture of outrage as she brushed off her clothing, but there was a tremor to her tone too. He'd hurt her, whether he even realized it or not, and she had no idea how to keep it from happening again without administering such a high dose of the drugs that he never saw the waking world again.
Peter wasn't even going to try and answer. He was back in his body, the pained and twisted prison it was. Had it been a dream? A hallucination? He wasn't sure. But the crack in the far wall claimed not. And the faster pace at which his mind was moving...
He could sense them. His abilities. Just out of reach. It would hurt to use them, hurt his mind in ways he wasn't sure he was prepared for, but if he needed to, some were there.
One side of his lips quicked up in what might have been a smile. Peter relaxed against the wall, trying to keep weight off of his dislocated arms, and looked back at Darla. "Sorry. Did you slip?"
For a heartbeat (or one of his heartbeat's, at least, since Darla didn't have one of her own), the blonde went completely still. Her entire face seemed to contort, eyes narrowing to virtual slits as she stared at him with a mixture of rage and confusion.
"What did you just say to me?" she demanded, voice little more than a growl. Stalking forward - her gait predatorial but still slightly wary - she paused only when she'd gotten within a few feet of him. Glaring up at his prone form, she snapped, "Clearly that last blow caused some sort of brain damage that even you couldn't heal."
Up the ladder, her hand grasped his chin in a bruising grip. "Because it's obvious you've forgotten that I am the one in charge, here."
She was trembling, actually shaking, with both anger and fear. He was broken. She knew he was broken, she'd felt him snap the instant it'd happened. Yet now, he was back. Granted he wasn't in complete control of his facilities (a fact proven true by her not being a pile of dust), but he was starting to regain control over himself. That, she knew, was something she could not allow to happen.
He waited until she was there, holding his chin painfully tight. And then he couldn't hold it anymore. Peter broke into laughter, snickering as a spike of pain cut through his mind when he pulled up his telekinesis. It wasn't much, but it was strong enough and fast enough to split the ladder under her feet in half. A thin trickle of blood seeped from his nostril from the effort it had taken, but he laughed again anyway.
They were coming. Annie was coming. She'd promised.
"Darla go boom," he said, setting him into peals of laughter again.
One minute Darla was eye to eye courtesy of the ladder and the next she was in a rather undignified heap on the ground. Her palms stung from where they'd slapped the concrete and her hair fell across her face. Glaring upward, at Peter, through the thick curtain of blonde locks, she hissed, "Shut up."
Then he said what he said and she was back on her feet, her eyes flashing dangerously. "Shut up!" she screamed. Without thought, reacting on pure fury, she grabbed the chain that held one of his arms and ripped it completely out of the wall. The other followed suit and she took a step back, releasing her palm from his chest and letting him land on the ground with full use of his legs for the first time since he'd been brought here.
His legs were far too numb, and Peter was still laughing much too hard. He dropped immediately to his knees when she released him, looking up at her. "Darla go boom," he said again, laughing a moment before surging back onto his feet, calling up any and all reserves Annie had tried to give him. Move fast, move hard, and move the ten-pound weights his wrists had just become into her face as hard as he could swing his arms.
"Shut u-" The last of her order was cut short as he made contact with her face and she was airborn. Crashing painfully into the wall she slid down and rolled, the tangy taste of her own blood filling her mouth and gushing from her now-broken nose. Almost instantly her accelerated healing kicked in, staving off the bulk of the flow as she leapt to her feet and rushed at Peter.
Her hand was bunched into a fist, arm drawn back for a powerful swing. "Now, you pay," she growled as she let loose with the punch, aiming for his face just as he'd aimed for hers.
She was quick, but Peter saw the blow coming and had a split second to do something. No time to dodge, not from her, and not with his wrists so heavy. But his wrists also still had the chains around them. He started to swing them out when her blow landed, knocking him into the wall behind him, but his movement had been enough to get the chains moving, whipping around towards her, propelled faster by the impact of her blow knocking Peter back.
The first chain struck Darla in the chest, sending her hurtling backward, but not before she managed to snag ahold of the other chain. Crashing into the wall, she lurched back to her feet and wrapped both hands around the linked metal. Eyes narrowed, a smirk on her face, she pulled with all of her might on the make-shift leash still attached to Peter's wrist.
"Here puppy," she growled, walking her way up the chain with her feet planted firmly on the ground and her vision partially obscured by the blood that dripped from a gash in her forehead.
Peter pulled back, knowing the impromptu game of tug-o-war wouldn't last long. She was stronger than he was right now. But he still had a little freedom to maneuver. Peter pushed himself to the left, bracing his feet back and sidestepping his way. At least it was his right hand that was still free. He saw the table of tools and reached, knocking it over. Various blades spilled to the floor. Peter ignored the twisting in his gut, recognizing several as having been used on him, but he picked up a heavy iron spike and threw it at her, grabbing a knife as well before he was pulled away from the stash.
Darla dodged the spike for the most part, hissing when it sliced across her shoulder and split the skin open. Re-tightening her grip on the chains she managed to cover the distance between them with only a few well-timed yanks and tugs. She hadn't noticed the knife, her attention was solely focused on Peter's face and the wonderful expression he was going to make when she literally rip off his arms and began to beat him with them.
Almost close enough to touch him now, she stated flatly, "Enough of these damn games. It's time to end you once and for all."
Peter moved with her pull now, hoping to throw her off balance as there was suddenly no resistence in the way she was pulling the chain. He dropped forward, the hilt of the curved knife wrapped in one hand, and brought the knife up for a collision with her throat.
The plan worked and Darla began to lurch backward. In an effort to keep herself upright, she instead shoved herself forward... and directly into the blade of the knife. Her eyes widened as blood instantly began to spurt from the wound and she jerked herself free, one hand going to her throat to keep as much of her fluids inside as possible. Spinning away from him, Darla dove for the tranquilizer gun that had fallen from the table when Peter had knocked it over.
As soon as her hand wrapped around it, she tucked herself into a roll and surged back to her feet. Spinning on one foot she took aim as best she could with one arm and fired.
Peter dropped, still holding the knife in one hand, trying to dodge the incoming dart. His free hand went up, trying to stop it with telekinesis, but trying to use the ability again so soon sent another spike of pain through his forebrain. The dart was deflected enough to pierce his leg instead of his chest. Peter knocked it away as soon as he was able, but his leg was already going numb, and he didn't have the strength to stop it from moving to the rest of his body.
He pushed himself back to his feet anyway. He wasn't about to let her know that.
In the time it had taken him to knock the dart out,Darla managed to snatch up a nearby towel and was pressing it tightly to the wound in her throat while still holding on tightly to the tranquilizer gun. He could have the chains as far as she was concerned. She had a handful of darts left and knew she could drop him before he could do much more damage.
She could feel the skin around her wound beginning to close - she would have trouble talking for a few days, her voice would likely sound even more raspy than it typically did - but she wasn't going to suffer much more blood loss. Which, really, was a good thing. Idly she wondered if Peter realized just how close he'd come to actually besting her with that little stunt. A vampire couldn't necessarily starve to death, but they did become much weaker if they lost the blood their bodies required.
Re-aiming the gun, she stated coldly, in a voice barely above a whisper, "Enough. Get on that damned table and I may change my mind about slicing you open, top to bottom."
Peter was on his feet (foot, really, but who could tell?) and glanced at the table, then back at her. In one hand, he gripped the knife. The other he raised, fingers spread, as though ready for a telekinetic attack.
"It'll be a cold day in Hell before I do that, bitch."
He wasn't going to submit to her. Not again. Help was coming, he knew that. Annie was looking for him.
She hadn't expected him to comply, but figured it didn't hurt to at least make the offer. Now, though, she knew one thing with absolute certainty. Whatever control she'd had over Peter had vanished and she was going to have to start at the basics all over again.
It was a pity she really didn't feel up to it anymore.
"Suit yourself," she rasped, firing the gun once more. As soon as the dart was airborn, Darla tossed it aside and dove for the chains. Wrapping them around her arms she yanked forward on them then once more leapt into the air, this time lunging directly toward Peter. She was likely going to get stabbed, she knew, but this time she was ready for the pain. She was anticipating it, even looking forward to it. Because once that knife was embedded somewhere in her body, she was going to exert every ounce of energy she had left bashing his head into the floor until nothing but soft tissue remained.
The dart would have missed if she hadn't yanked on the damn chains. The weight threw him in the wrong direction, and the tranq hit him in the shoulder. Two now. It didn't have the impact of six, especially when they were knocked out so quickly, but that frail grip he'd had on his abilities was gone.
Still, Peter would try his best. At least it was the left shoulder he'd been struck in. The knife was still in his right hand, and when Darla threw herself at him, Peter was knocked to the ground under her. He held onto the hilt as tightly as he could, stabbing upwards as many times as he could, as fast as he could.
The blade first entered her chest, near her lungs. Then it re-entered somewhere in her stomach, her intestines, and most definitely ruptured some sort of organ if the sharp pain that made her gasp out loud was any indication. However, for all of the agony Darla was feeling, she wasn't deterred. She would not lose this fight. She'd have to be dusted first.
Gritting her teeth, her already pale skin growing even more pale as blood began to seep from the fresh wounds, the vampire snarled as she dug her fingers into Peter's scalp. Raising his head off the ground, she had every intention of smashing it into the ground as many times as it took before he stopped fighting and grew compliant.
Five. The fifth time his head was slammed into the floor, black roses started to bloom in his eyes. His grip on the knife faltered, the blade stuck somewhere around her kidneys. His eyes rolled back a bit, clearly dazed, and a smear of blood was left on the ground where his head had been.
When Peter released his grip on the knife, Darla finally stopped beating his head into the ground. For a second she hovered over him, her fingers still digging into his scalp and her gaze focused on his face. The scent of fresh blood caused her nostrils to flare as she slowly released him and rolled off of him, onto her knees next to his form.
Her hand wrapped around the handle of the blade stuck inside of her and with a hiss of pain she yanked it free. Blood covered her torso and spilled on the floor beneath her. Her own arms trembled ever so slightly at the loss of the precious fluid and she knew she'd have to feed, soon. But first, she had a defiant pet to deal with.
Rising to her feet with far less grace than she normally exhibited, Darla stared at Peter for a few moments before sucking in an unnecessary breath and bending over. She grasped him underneath his armpits, locking her hands across his chest and hauled hhis shoulders off the floor. With little to no ceremony she then drug him to the table and, using what strength she had left, hauled him into the air and dropped him on it.
A heartbeat later she had the chains around his wrists removed and the ones bolted to the bed in place. His feet, as well, were shackled. It left him in a slightly stretched position that wasn't too uncomfortable (yet) but would guarantee he couldn't get enough leverage to break the chains himself.
"You're going to wish you hadn't done any of that," Darla murmured, her anger being kept under control for the moment. In fact, the hand she placed against his cheek was almost tender as she brushed her fingertips against his skin. Down his neck, across his chest, hovering near the waistline of his pants. Her lips quirked slightly upward into a hint of a smirk before she abruptly drew her hand away... and viciously drove the knife he'd used to attack her directly into his groin.
Peter was mostly in a daze. In part from the drugs, as well as from the splinters of skull piercing the base of his brain. He had no resistance as she moved him to the table, no will to protest when the chains were attached to his wrists and ankles. Slowly, feebly, his body was trying to heal, trying to repair the damage to his skull. The bits of bone were just being forced out again when he was stabbed.
Which meant he wasn't too dazed to feel that. The scream was ripped out of him, his body bending like a bow, taut with pain, held back from curling into itself by the chains.
Twisting the knife a few times, Darla's face was a mask of indifference at the sound of his screams. Her brow furrowed at the realization that she honestly didn't care about torturing him anymore. This had stopped being fun and turned into vengeance instead. And that... well, that just wouldn't do.
She yanked the knife free and tossed it to the floor, studying Peter for a moment as she tried to decide what to do. Part of her wanted to continue wreaking vengeance upon him, but she knew if she kept up that route for too long she would end up making some sort of mistake. Anger was fine when it was fuelled by desire, or to obtain a certain goal. Unleashing her wrath upon someone just for the sake of doing it though? She'd learned the downfall to that centuries ago.
Still, she was left with the decision of how to best proceed. She could always start cutting off his fingers and toes. Maybe rip out his tongue like she'd threatened to do so very long ago. Or she could place the blowtorch on the table under his back and turn it on for a few hours. With so many decisions, it was difficult to pick just one.
"Maybe I should let you decide," she finally spoke, standing near Peter's head so she could peer down into his face. Her lips curved into a smile she didn't feel in the slightest as she patted his cheek in a mockery of affection. "Pick a weapon I should use, boy," she urged softly. "It's time you helped shape your own destiny."
There were flecks of blood on his lips. His throat had torn in this latest set of screams. It was healed now, as his groin was also healing, his body trembling as it did. Shaking with pain and defeat, Peter didn't bother looking at her or trying to listen. He knew pain would be coming, lots of it. As much as she thought she could get.
He'd run out of options. Now she wanted him to choose his torment.
Well, fuck that.
He felt her hand touch his cheek. Peter snapped his head to the side, catching her hand in his mouth and biting down as hard as he could, jerking his jaw back and hoping that he could at least take off a finger or two before she could get free.
This time, it was Darla who screamed. At first the sound was more due to shock at his actions, but when she felt her little finger snap under the pressure of his teeth and ultimately come off in his mouth, her shriek became one of pure agony. Trying to pull her hand free, she could feel another finger starting to tear as well and instead decided on a new tactic.
It took a bit of stretching, but she managed to reach one of the spikes on the ground with her foot. Sliding it closer, she picked it up with her free hand, gripping it tightly. Then she surged back to her feet and jabbed the spike into his jaw. Using it as a lever, she pried it open and withdrew her injured hand.
"You bastard!" she screamed, her anger almost tangible. Yanking the spike free she raised it high over her head. "Your family is going to pay for that," she vowed before swinging her arm downward and embedding the spike directly into his skull. Not even bothering to watch the light fade from his eyes, she turned away in disgust, wrapped her hand in the same towel she'd used to stop the flow of blood from her neck wound earlier, and stormed out of the basement without so much as glancing back.
Let him stay and rot, she decided as she snapped orders for someone to bring her some food. She'd remove that spike when she had her hands on someone he loved dearly. Then he could lay there and watch as she showed him exactly what real torture was all about.