RP: Too Much to Take In Characters: Spike and River Time/Date: Noon-ish, October 20th Location: Algul Siento, Spike's room Warnings/Rating: Language. Violent thoughts. Angst. Summary: Dora's alleged death has Spike on the brink of mass homicide. Mutual angst happens. And... not so much with the homicide? Status: Private, ongoing [ Yes. There is a lyric theme for the title and cut text. Shh. ]
Spike sat in the chair, fist pressed tightly against his mouth as he leaned forward and stared at the door to... her room.
He couldn't even say her name within his mind without feeling the overwhelming urge to destroy everyone and everything in existence. Friend or foe, it didn't really matter. They were all going to die, anyway. Why prolong the suffering of allies? Why give a damn about those he didn't personally know? Why not go ahead and slaughter Chase?
Maybe that was even the point of this. Survival of the fittest. Captives pushed together when their only hope was to remain solitary creatures. And in the end the survivor got to face off with the twisted fuckers behind their torment. It would be worth the blood spilt, wouldn't it? Even if he only died trying...
His muscles rippled with an angry shudder at the thought, but Spike knew better. Or at least he retained a vague hold on the inner beast's leash. With every passing second, however, the threads of the leash frayed.
What little soul he claimed to have left twisted into knots, screamed at him to remember that it could be faked - that there was no proof of Dora's death, either way. But something stronger, darker growled at the mere thought of her. It clawed closer to the surface, reminding him now as it had once before that he could only lose those he cared about so many times before it became permanent. Real.
If River had been returned, why would they return... the other woman? It would seem too kind for their sadistic nature. Too ignorant, even.
His jaw clenched with the realization of just how perfect the set-up was, down to placing him in a suite with... What? Her fucking corpse?! He could feel the pressure baring down on his teeth, trying the strength of bones and tendons alike. The sensation was painfully familiar in ways he all but begged himself not to acknowledge. Haunting... Not unlike the video.
She was dead. Gone. His co-conspirator... no, friend. She was his friend; there was no sense in denying it anymore. And she was gone, now. They'd killed her. They'd left her there with the others to be wiped away by god-damned earthquakes.
Dora was dead. And Dug... that poor, naive creature. He actually kind of liked that mutt, too. And Jayne, someone who wasn't quite a friend but... someone he trusted with his life. They'd fought Reavers together, for fuck's sakes!
Tightness crept into his throat and his wrists trembled slightly. His jaw was nearly numb from the excessive pressure, but he barely registered the feeling. His mind was too consumed in the grim task of taking human inventory.
Simon was over there, too. Brother by proxy, sibling to the girl he considered as good as his own sister... Co-saviour of his life. Best damn doctor he'd ever met. River would be shattered. Would there be any pieces left to reassemble? He'd promised he'd keep her pieces in place, help her stay as whole as possible. But this... Was it too much for either of them?
Spike's jaw joined with the tremors, creating an ironic parallel which he tried to ignore. He leaned further forward as vague blurriness seeped into the human half of his vision. His knuckles curled further into fists; it felt as if they would splinter if so much as an extra air molecule touched them.
Part of him wished they would. He wanted the pain to ground him to reality. He wanted some sort of reminder that he was still alive. If he couldn't kill everyone else just to watch the life leave their eyes, then... something. He had to do something.
It wasn't right. None of this was right. Jaime had survived a suicide attempt, had vaguely managed to pull through when her lover was taken. And for what? They couldn't fully break the unshakable, so they crushed and drowned her? Why her?! She was just a young woman. Just a girl who wanted to feel like she belonged somewhere. What the hell kind of crime was that?! Why had she been left behind when someone like him - or worse, someone like that Chase kid - was given sanctuary on the new island?
He glanced upward, and something snapped. Not bone or tendon, but something much worse: the final thread of resolve slipped from his grasp.
The blood felt as if it were boiling in his veins. His chest heaved with seething breaths. He saw the door again, thought of Dora and Iridia, thought of that panther - Dora's soul - taking Dug's place in the video, and lost the internal war between man and beast.
With a deep growl, he stood and whipped around, kicking the chair aside. The loud thud it made when hitting the door brought a twisted sort of smirk to his lips, but he didn't bother to see if anything had been damaged. It didn't matter. Instead, he headed for the main door, seemingly stalking it.
Maybe he didn't have any ammunition. Maybe he'd been too foolish to think of checking for ammo on the new island. Maybe he'd even get himself killed in the process of trying to unleash his anger through physical confrontation. He accepted these possibilities. Or, at the very least, he didn't deem them worthy of his attention.
So what if he died in the process? If he died one step closer to the Heads than he was now, that was a small victory. And so what if he claimed innocent lives? If he didn't, then someone else would. Not that he'd start with the innocents. No, there was one person - one worthless specimen - who had shown no respect for his fallen allies.
Chase would die. It was set in stone, as far as Spike was concerned.
His hand closed around the doorknob, still trembling from a mixture of abused nerves and being out of cigarettes in a highly stressful situation. He didn't expect to find anyone or anything when the door opened, but sometimes...
Sometimes, expectations were challenged by reality.