[GAU] Dextera Domini (Kelly, Michaela) 1/17/15

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[GAU] Dextera Domini (Kelly, Michaela) 1/17/15

Postby admin » Thu Jan 29, 2015 2:14 pm

Michaela Carter (Eric the Bard)
(1/17/2015 12:54:16 AM) (2003046)

Late practice has a major disadvantage -- having to go home in the dark. As my mom doesn't have a license -- another casualty to her rampant alcoholism -- and neither do I, this means I walk the couple miles to our place. More often, I run it, but I was bone-tired from the three miles I'd done at the track.

Still, there are reasons a young lady doesn't go home alone at night, and one of those reasons grabs my arm as I pass an alley and yanks me in.

"Your unlucky day, miss," he informs me, and punches me in the gut before I have time to pull in air to scream. The nascent wind is forced out of me in a pained wheeze, and I fold to the ground. Fear is not very conducive to thought, and right now, my brain is whirling between visions of rape and murder, because I clearly don't have anything worth stealing. My unlucky day indeed. Here endeth the career of the high school track sweetheart, long-distance champion. Ironic. Had I been running they would never have caught me.

I still don't have my breath back as one of them -- there's two, one has has hand fisted in my dishwater-blond hair and is pulling my head back -- walks forward with a skinning knife. My eyes are glued to that blade, and I can't look away. I try to struggle, but that grip on my hair is effectively pinning me to the spot.

"Go ahead," Knife says. "Fight a little. Scream if you want. Makes it more fun."

All I can make are little whistling sounds out of my constricted throat, and wildly, the thought passes through my mind.

Mom, this is all your fault.

Kelly Benette (EvilSqueegee)
(1/17/2015 1:25:24 AM) (2003075)

C’mon, Kelly. Not rocket science. Why does shopping for someone else’s birthday have to be so hard?

I’m standing at the counter in the pawn shop. The lady behind the counter looks down her cigarette at me with half-lidded eyes and scratches the back of her scraggly head. I’m somehow encouraged to get home as quickly as possible, go to bed and wake up as early as I can to be certain I’m awake for school… because I don’t want to be that when I grow up.

“I’ll… taaaaake… uhm…”

The lady grabs one of the two bracelets at random and tosses it over her shoulder into a pile of junk, leaving me with only one choice.

“Hey!” I look up at her with an expression on my face I usually reserve for my little brother. “I was getting there!”

”Mhm.” She sounds real impressed, let me tell you. Fine. I didn’t want to shop here anyw-

”At’ll be ten bucks,” she cuts me off before I even manage to turn around. I take a deep breath and reach into my purse, pulling out a wrinkled ten dollar bill. Stole it from my brother this morning, he probably forgot about it a month ago anyways. I put the money on the counter and slide it across to her. She takes the money, tucks it into the drawer and slams it shut with a sudden and insulting clang -- and shoos me away.

”Now git. No loiterin’, kid.”

“I’m not a kid,” I snatch the bracelet off the counter and storm over to the door.

I’m not a kid.

I look one way then the other down the dark sidewalk. The street lamps here feel like they’re out to get you with the way they flicker. I only came to this part of town because the pawn shop was the cheapest place to buy a gift for a friend, but I’m suddenly wishing I was richer or less cheap. This side of town makes jail feel like the right side of the tracks, and I am a small girl with a purse.

I start walking, head tucked down and moving at a good clip that can be heard the way my shoes are clop clop clopping against the cement, trying to attract as little attention to myself as possible. That’s when I hear it.

”Go ahead. Fight a little. Scream if you want. Makes it more fun.”

I freeze in my tracks. It wasn’t meant for me… but…

I look over my shoulder at the alleyway it came from. This isn’t my business. I can just walk on by if I want, not get involved. I can get home safe and sound. I could live to yell at my brother again, or to give this stupid bracelet to who it’s supposed to be for. You know, I could do the smart thing.

Yeah. I’m going home. I take one step, but I don’t complete it. Before my foot even hits the ground I’m spinning and walking for the alleyway. Damnit, Kelly. Don’t be stupid. Stop what you’re doing. You don’t know the girl. You don’t need to help her -- it doesn’t matter that you might be the only thing that saves her life! You should be saving your life!

Stop picking up that trashcan, Kelly. Er. Stop trying to pick it… up…

Okay. You can’t pick up the trashcan. But now that everyone has stopped and is staring at you, you can kick it at them! Yeah! I do that, and it makes a loud noise. The garbage can rattles and… doesn’t fall over--

“Hey!” I whimper and kick again with everything I’ve got. The trashcan topples, garbage bags spill everywhere and then I’m left staring at a girl, two thugs and a knife.


“L-Leave her alone!”

Yeah. Squeaking. Great way to intimidate someone, kelly.

I’m gonna die.

Michaela Carter (Eric the Bard)
(1/17/2015 1:40:05 AM) (2003079)

Someone else has joined the party.

Oddly, it's that that gets me into motion. I guess when it comes down to it, I don't really care that much about me, but someone else getting hurt on my behalf is just unacceptable. Or it could just be that she gave me the opportunity. Whichever it is, I manage to yank free of the guy holding my hair -- leaving what feels like half of it behind --and kicking Knife in the shin while I scramble to my feet. And you know, I almost think I might have made it to her, grabbed her arm, and pelted hell for leather out of the alleyway. I don't know how long she could have kept a dead run, but I know how long I can, and those two would have had heart attacks keeping up with me.

Except that doesn't happen. I manage two steps when I feel a shard of ice sink into my back. The sensation is indescribable -- there's pain, but the shock of violation is worse. All the strength goes out of my legs, and I collapse like a puppet with its strings cut. Knife is standing behind me, his weapon red with my blood,a nd I can feel warmth spreading across the back of my jersey. Crazily, I realize that's never coming out of the fabric. Apparently not satisfied, he kicks me in the stomach, forcing me to double up and driving the wind out of me, then bends and sinks his knife in me again.

Then he straightens and looks at Kelly.

"Brave girl," he says, smirking. His friend is edging closer. "Looks like we get a twofer tonight."

"Run," I croak, but I'm not sure she can hear me. I can't really hear me.

Kelly Benette (EvilSqueegee)
(1/17/2015 2:14:10 AM) (2003088)

I stumble back. Brute boy shakes his knife at me, and believe you me that’s all I can see. I certainly can’t see where I’m trying to put my feet -- namely, behind me -- so when I fall over and he grabs me by the collar of my blouse I don’t have any footing. He’s got me at his mercy.

”Shoulda listened to ‘er,” he grunts down at me. His breath stinks. I’m too busy panicking about how I can’t see where his knife is to realize he just yanked the bracelet right out of my hand.

And then, something stupid happens.

“Hey! That’s mine!” I’m so jarred by the idea that he took something of mine that I actually find my voice. My brain has to focus on something, and in the sea of panic that’s crashing through my head like a raging storm front, that single stupid thing turns out to be the beacon of light that lets me focus on anything. It’s just like when my little brother steals my jeans to wear for himself and I don’t notice at first, or when a jerk at school tries to play keep-the-phone-away. It makes me mad.

“Gimme!” I reach out and snatch the bracelet. He tries to pull it away and laughs, but I’m too fast. I shove my hand into the bracelet and yank it back; at the same time I kick his shin with everything I’ve got and give a girly scream of frustration.

“Ow! You little-”

That’s when I see the body of the girl on the ground. For the first time, I get a good look -- I know her. It hits me like a fist.

Actually, the thug hits me with a fist. He’s mad. I fall down, turning away and throwing my hands out in front of myself. My skin tears on the rough tarmac, and I give a cry. I don’t feel the pain, though. I’m kind of in shock. I think I’m going to throw up. They… killed her. I know her. She goes to my school. They killed her and I’m n-

--OOF. He kicks me for good measure, right in the ribcage. I double over into the fetal position and somehow or another I wind up on my back. He’s leaning over me with the knife. I’ve got my eyes closed and I’m bracing to die… but I’m not dead. Nothing happens.

He doesn’t strike. Instead he stares at me, kind of like the way I see the jocks stare at their S.A.T’s, or as if he’s forgotten how to use the knife. I look at him, then follow his stunned gaze to my wrist, where I’m wearing the brace… the…

Kelly Benette (EvilSqueegee)
(1/17/2015 2:14:18 AM) (2003089)

The bracelet. The red gem on it is fucking glowing. And the metal is melting. Spreading like roots growing around my arm, my hand. You know, like the special effects in a movie? Like that. Roots, only… metal, instead of wood. The bracelet is some kind of alien thing and it’s going to take me over!? I scream and try my hardest to scramble away from the thing on my arm but it’s no good. I slam my back against the wall of the alley and try to claw this thing off my arm but it won’t give up. I can feel it… seeping into me. My muscles. My skin.

Of course, more frightening than a new metal glove that’s shooting down my arm, over my shoulders, down my other arm and around my hand, my legs…

...sorry, what was I saying? Oh. Right. More frightening than that is the feeling of someone else being in your head. An angry, angry someone. My hair fuzzes up a little, mangles itself, and I can feel a power pouring through my muscles. My adrenal glands are pounding so hard right now I think I’m actually going to short-circuit and collapse in a twitching heap of burnt-out, fried teenage girl.

But I don’t. And suddenly I’m not afraid of the thing sinking into my muscles or growing over my body.

I… know. I know I don’t have to be afraid. I mean, I’m afraid, don’t get me wrong. But when I look at the thug now, I see a puny little man who doesn’t know the pointy end of the stick from his own ass. And I push myself up off the ground. I look at him and something he sees scares him to the core. I’ve seen that look in a man’s eyes, before --

--what? Don’t be stupid, Kelly. He’s stunned. Just run for it. You’re gonna end up like Michaela--

I slam my metal fist against my now-armored chest. I point my clawed finger at the thug. I grin and throw my arms open, wordlessly inviting them to get curbstomped, which I clearly pantomime for him with a few extra stomps of my foot for good measure. And I. Feel. Fucking. Awesome.

Michaela Carter (Eric the Bard)
(1/17/2015 2:23:36 AM) (2003092)

How long does it take to die?

I have no idea. By my count, I shouldn't be seeing the scene in front of me. The pain is actually beginning to subside, which I'm sure is a bad sign. So is the weakness, which confuses me, more than a little, and I'm able to look up, and see the thug take two steps back, his knife falling in a clatter to the ground. His face has gone an unhealthy shade of pale, and his friend isn't looking much better.

"What...the fuck...are you?" he says, in a strangled kind of voice. And I find, I'm not feeling like I'm going to die after all. Maybe it's adrenaline. I don't know. All I do know is next thing, I'm picking the knife up off the ground and slowly, shakily, but definitely getting to my feet. The weirdness of Kelly, I will deal with later. Right now I'm dealing with the weirdness of not being dead.

"Trouble," I rasp at him, and he jerks, whirls, sees me, and goes whiter yet. I can taste blood in my mouth; my teeth must be red as I bare them at him in what might be a grin. What the fuck, I'm dead anyway. One of those wounds went deep in my chest. I'm pretty sure there's important stuff there that shouldn't be pierced. I grip the knife tighter and grin my bloody, deathseeker grin at him. "Want some?"

He, and his friend, do not. That's the point where they break, pelting madly down the alleyway, and my newfound strength deserts me. The knife clatters to the street, and I fall to my knees, retching. Coughing up blood is a bad sign. I know that.

Why aren't I dead yet?

Kelly Benette (EvilSqueegee)
(1/17/2015 2:36:19 AM) (2003100)

The girl stands up. She shouldn’t be -- My nostrils flair and I can tell by the placement of the blood that she should’ve been downed for good. I’ve killed myself, that way. If she’s not dead, she can’t die like that, and--

I shake my head. What!? What the actual freak is happening? Jesus -- oh god, I bet he actually did stab me. Or I hit my head. The thing on my arm is still growing inside of myself, I can feel it… I try and fight whatever the hell is taking over. I am Kelly Benette. I got an A in math. I am Kelly Benette. I got an A in math. I am Kelly Benette. I got.. I…

I gotta get those jerks.

“UMA!” I bellow my name out down the road after the thugs. I fall into the pursuit like I always do, except my legs… I have tiny legs. Puny little girl’s legs. And my hands are so small so I can’t grab the windowsill I jumped to. I hit the ground and scramble back to my feet, forgetting how to use my own damn body for a minute while I leave the undead girl in my dust.

I finally catch up to the guy, and go to grab a car by the bumper to swing at him --

-- Nope! OW. Ow sweet jesus ow!

What the hell is going on!?

Michaela Carter (Eric the Bard)
(1/17/2015 2:47:23 AM) (2003104)

I can't quite run yet, but I manage to stagger back to my feet, turning to watch my metal-sheeted schoolmate chase off after our fleeing attackers. This is bizarre. This is surreal.

I wish I had my camera.

I leave the knife where it lay, and retch up a last bit of blood, before wiping my mouth and staggering toward the continuing altercation. Don't mistake me. Those wounds hurt. They were beginning to burn, as a matter of fact, but they hurt like fury on top of it. But you don't compete at my level without a close and personal relationship with pain, some of it on levels that put giving birth to shame. Or so I've been told. Pain could be ignored, if you were willing to pay the price later.

So I staggered forward, trying to follow. Oddly, I'm feeling better. I can't see where I was stabbed, but I know I was. I shouldn't be feeling better. What was wrong with me?

Certainly, not as much as was currently wrong with Kelly Bennett.

I manage to catch her as she's again attempting to pursue the fleeing muggers. "Kelly!" I call out, hoarsely. I'm far from well, but I'm not dead yet, and the shout leaves me leaning against the wall. "Come on, let's just go....I think I need....help...."

Christ, I should need a body bag.

"Let them go. I doubt they'll try again soon." I grin through red teeth at her. "And if they do...well...maybe we can make a career out of this." I laugh weakly, which turns out to be a mistake, as it brings up more blood. This stuff appears to have almost clotted.

I don't think I'll be hungry for a month, looking at that mess sickly. I don't lose my grip on consciousness, but it's a near thing. My strength seems to be coming in waves....but I'm not dead.

I'm still processing that.

"I need...to know..." I manage to rasp. "How...bad am...is...how bad?"

Kelly Benette (EvilSqueegee)
(1/17/2015 3:04:42 AM) (2003111)

I try one more time to yank the car off the ground, but all I get is the bumper. What kind of body is this? Did Dextera Domini select a mere child as her bearer this time?

“Hey!” I turn to the thief and slam the car bumper down on him with both hands. He yelps and throws his arms up in front of his face -- for all the good it will do him.


I whip the bumper back and bring it crashing down on the thug again, bent and twisted from the last time I hit him. It’s not any easier on him this time than it was the last.


Again. SLAM.






I hit him one last time and the bumper snaps in two over his body. He whips through the air and slams against the side of the car, thoroughly unconscious and more badly beaten than he probably deserves. But it felt reeeeally good to get that out of my system.

And then there’s a voice behind me. I whip around, ready for more thugs, or a beast of war, or something -- but it’s just Michaela. The girl from school. I manage to hold back my fist and not hit her with a backhanded haymaker. Hell, I even manage to not throw it in the first place.


And… then I notice she needs help. I’m screaming at a dying girl. That thought shocks me right out of it. For the second time tonight, laying my eyes on the girl makes something in my head fall into place. I’m not dead. SHe’s not dead -- we… we lived. I’m okay. And as soon as I realize that, the bracelet reverses that growing process. Much faster in reverse than it was playing forward, and I can still feel it’s roots entangled in my bodty beneath the skin, but…

...the pounding rage in my head is gone. My hair is a wreck. My glasses are skewed.

“S-Sorry,” I swallow. Yeah. That’s gonna cut it, Kelly… ugh. Phrasing.

I’m back to normal. I’ve had the wind knocked out of me, and I think I broke all of my muscles. But I’m alive. She’s alive. And I just want to run.

“You… you’re gonna… gonna make it,” I pant out, and while I try to figure out where my breath went and how to catch it I lean against the car.

Of course, now the car alarm goes off… and somehow, all I can think is that the shouting and fighting has nothing on the ear-piercing scream for attention that this car is giving out.

“We… should go,” I nod, still trying to clear my head as I fix my glasses. I grab Michaela’s wrist and make a half-stumbling shuffle as fast as I can down the street. Anywhere but here.

Holy. Crap.

Michaela Carter (Eric the Bard)
(1/17/2015 3:12:46 AM) (2003116)

I watch in shock and more than a little horror, although I'm finding very little empathy for my murderer in the mix. When she turns with her fist raised, I flinch -- but my head is starting to clear, and even as she roars at me, I'm getting it.

She's not in control. That...metal stuff...what grew from the bracelet. It's using her, like she's a puppet or something. As she comes down from the adrenaline surge, I watch it retreat, much faster than it grew, and let out a slow breath. I know enough to know we're probably neither of us in our right minds right now. We need to get somewhere safe. Both of us.

"Come on," I tell her,a nd push away from the wall. I'm feeling surprisingly steady on my feet. "I know...a place." She takes my hand, and I follow, but guide slowly toward the place I know. How I know of it is nobody's business. Let's just say my mom doesn't always pass out when she drinks, and when she doesn't, it's time to find someplace else to crash for a while.

"We're both gonna make it," I tell her, in a determined kind of voice, and for a wonder, I'm starting to believe it. If Kelly looks close, she can see what I can't -- my wounds look almost a week old, not less than an hour.

"We're both gonna be fine."
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