Post by Souleh on Sept 26, 2007 21:58:02 GMT -5
ooc: This isn't really meant to be replied to, and only part of it takes place in the kitchen, but if anyone was feeling like throwing a wrench into the works, or if Zim wanted to just skip to some time in the day and reuse this thread, it's here. That's why it's not somewhere else.
Also, the setting is the night following the 'Project Kitty Cola' thread in Adrian's room.
bic: The hour was late, perhaps two or three in the morning, and a certain quiet stillness had infiltrated the House, most of the residents being diurnal. Adrian assumed that even the most extreme night owls of the diurnal crowd would have been, at the very least, in their rooms at this point. He assumed, too, that those residents that were nocturnal would not need to use the kitchen and would have settled into whatever it is they did while they were awake.
The assurance that there were few witnesses about, however, was not enough to propel him from his room. There was more to be dealt with than just his paranoia, and it was dead set against what he planned to do with the jar of liquid in his hands.
This is sick.
She deserves it.
This is dabbling in things the labs dabbled in. No one deserves that.
She does. He couldn’t help but run through every moment that could be blamed on Kat—many of them humiliating, thick with the taint of fear. There were a number of memories that had nothing to do with the tiger girl in question, that were entirely his fault, but somehow he had managed to make them connect, convinced himself that if it hadn’t been for Kat, he would never have lost control at various points. Clearly, it was her fault for driving him so close to the edge. And there were other, even less related memories, only relevant due to a common species, images of white and black fur accompanied by flashes of pain and shame. There aren’t very many who deserve it more than she does.
She hurt me.
Humiliated. Mocked. Tortured. The list goes on, the heartless b!tch.
It could teach her what it’s like. Some caution, maybe. Show her what it’s like to be caught scared and in pain for no apparent reason.
Take her down a notch.
Adrian swallowed, once, his jaw setting as he stood and headed for the door, resolved to do it before his determination wavered yet again. Keeping the hand that held the jar from Christina well hidden inside the front pocket of a hooded sweatshirt, he slipped from his room, careful to shut his door behind him, moving on silent, bare feet down the hall and two flights of stairs. Pausing on the bottom stair, he leaned forward, checking both ways for anyone that could be about to notice a birdman skulking about, and then scurried to the kitchen, repeating the check, this time through an opened crack of the kitchen door. All clear. With the same care he had given the rest of his trip, he drifted to the refrigerator, pulling out one of Kat’s cans of Coke with surprising speed—with gloved hands, his paranoia insisting they were necessary. He retreated to the darkest corner of the kitchen, sitting down with it.
Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, giving himself a few minutes to calm his nerves. Then, very carefully, he let a little sliver of shadow crack the can open almost imperceptibly, another siphoning Christina’s homemade liquid through the opening. It took what felt like ages to Adrian, sitting in a corner in a highly suspicious position with his known archenemy’s beverage of choice.
But eventually, he was done. Slipping the jar back into his sweatshirt pocket, he did his best to close the crack again with the help of his shadowy talent, brow creasing with concentration. It had to be just so.
There. Leaving a bit of shadow in it, to complete the seal, he hopped to his feet, quickly returning the Coke to the fridge. It took a moment longer than before, careful to put it at the very front, in a position that seemed to be guaranteed to be grabbed by Kat before any of the others. He only hoped no one would decide to steal from her stash.
Then it was out of the kitchen, feeling a bit bolder, high with victory, walking infinitely more casually. He paused once, hesitating mid-step in the family room, his gaze falling on a door that had perplexed him for a while, now. Perhaps it was the heightened alertness that, even after the dirty deed had been finished, was present tonight, or perhaps it was just a coincidence, but he was fairly positive that the door was very, very wrong. Licking his bottom lip, he continued up the stairs, both flights, and into his room. Climbing into his nest, he curled up after shedding the sweatshirt, hiding the jar away where he was sure it wouldn’t be found. He resolved to investigate the door when all of this had blown over, but not before. Calling attention to himself would hardly be advisable at the moment.
Adrian yawned, curling tighter, his wings readjusting themselves, and fell asleep, more peaceful than he had been in a while.
Also, the setting is the night following the 'Project Kitty Cola' thread in Adrian's room.
bic: The hour was late, perhaps two or three in the morning, and a certain quiet stillness had infiltrated the House, most of the residents being diurnal. Adrian assumed that even the most extreme night owls of the diurnal crowd would have been, at the very least, in their rooms at this point. He assumed, too, that those residents that were nocturnal would not need to use the kitchen and would have settled into whatever it is they did while they were awake.
The assurance that there were few witnesses about, however, was not enough to propel him from his room. There was more to be dealt with than just his paranoia, and it was dead set against what he planned to do with the jar of liquid in his hands.
This is sick.
She deserves it.
This is dabbling in things the labs dabbled in. No one deserves that.
She does. He couldn’t help but run through every moment that could be blamed on Kat—many of them humiliating, thick with the taint of fear. There were a number of memories that had nothing to do with the tiger girl in question, that were entirely his fault, but somehow he had managed to make them connect, convinced himself that if it hadn’t been for Kat, he would never have lost control at various points. Clearly, it was her fault for driving him so close to the edge. And there were other, even less related memories, only relevant due to a common species, images of white and black fur accompanied by flashes of pain and shame. There aren’t very many who deserve it more than she does.
She hurt me.
Humiliated. Mocked. Tortured. The list goes on, the heartless b!tch.
It could teach her what it’s like. Some caution, maybe. Show her what it’s like to be caught scared and in pain for no apparent reason.
Take her down a notch.
Adrian swallowed, once, his jaw setting as he stood and headed for the door, resolved to do it before his determination wavered yet again. Keeping the hand that held the jar from Christina well hidden inside the front pocket of a hooded sweatshirt, he slipped from his room, careful to shut his door behind him, moving on silent, bare feet down the hall and two flights of stairs. Pausing on the bottom stair, he leaned forward, checking both ways for anyone that could be about to notice a birdman skulking about, and then scurried to the kitchen, repeating the check, this time through an opened crack of the kitchen door. All clear. With the same care he had given the rest of his trip, he drifted to the refrigerator, pulling out one of Kat’s cans of Coke with surprising speed—with gloved hands, his paranoia insisting they were necessary. He retreated to the darkest corner of the kitchen, sitting down with it.
Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, giving himself a few minutes to calm his nerves. Then, very carefully, he let a little sliver of shadow crack the can open almost imperceptibly, another siphoning Christina’s homemade liquid through the opening. It took what felt like ages to Adrian, sitting in a corner in a highly suspicious position with his known archenemy’s beverage of choice.
But eventually, he was done. Slipping the jar back into his sweatshirt pocket, he did his best to close the crack again with the help of his shadowy talent, brow creasing with concentration. It had to be just so.
There. Leaving a bit of shadow in it, to complete the seal, he hopped to his feet, quickly returning the Coke to the fridge. It took a moment longer than before, careful to put it at the very front, in a position that seemed to be guaranteed to be grabbed by Kat before any of the others. He only hoped no one would decide to steal from her stash.
Then it was out of the kitchen, feeling a bit bolder, high with victory, walking infinitely more casually. He paused once, hesitating mid-step in the family room, his gaze falling on a door that had perplexed him for a while, now. Perhaps it was the heightened alertness that, even after the dirty deed had been finished, was present tonight, or perhaps it was just a coincidence, but he was fairly positive that the door was very, very wrong. Licking his bottom lip, he continued up the stairs, both flights, and into his room. Climbing into his nest, he curled up after shedding the sweatshirt, hiding the jar away where he was sure it wouldn’t be found. He resolved to investigate the door when all of this had blown over, but not before. Calling attention to himself would hardly be advisable at the moment.
Adrian yawned, curling tighter, his wings readjusting themselves, and fell asleep, more peaceful than he had been in a while.