Multiple Personality Piloting [mdu]

[Anonymous]

He really needed to trim his hair. He liked to keep it just as that perfect length, and as he tried to peer up through his eyelids at the chunk of hair he was tugging on with pale fingers, he was sure it was just that little bit too long. He tried another one to be sure. Yep, it needed a good cutting. Too bad that despite all their endless talents, he didn’t know any pilots that could operate a pair of scissors with meritable dexterity. Sighing, Victor let his hair fall back into place, sticking up at the edges and falling just slightly over his ears. At least he was still dashing? Yes, that was a good word for himself, he thought; dashing.

   Fluffing his wings and yawning a bit he looked to the door. Still hadn’t opened. Damn, what kind of pilot was this candidate going to make if they kept their mentor waiting. Not that they were late, Victor was just impatient, and his reasoning and logical abilities he left with his job. What did he need them for when he was just wandering around anyway? Besides, he loved the way he could twist people’s thoughts into sadistic labyrinthes with his lack of logic, and for some reason, he always came out sounding like he was the one making more sense.

   Victor waited only a few more moments before deciding this standing business was far too much work, and the not-so-comfortable-looking chair behind was, probably, more comfortable than standing at least. He sat with his left ankle crossed over his right knee, as reclined as he could be, arms stretched behind his head, and stared up at the ceiling.

   He knew he was supposed to be training this candidate of his, but, in all honesty he wasn’t quite sure what all that entailed. Of course there were the basics: Leave your emotions with your picture frames, keep calm, keep cold, and don’t attach yourself. But… He still had to think of way to engrain that into someone else’s mind, to teach them to separate their pilot from themselves. For Victor it has always been two sides, two halves of his life, and they had never mingled. A solid, blaring black line seperated them down the center, like flicking a light switch between one and the other. They just couldn’t both be on at the same time. They were both too big to occupy the same headspace at the same time.

   Maybe it was a just a matter of forcing this candidate to create that alter-ego, formulate the person they wanted to be once they plugged in.

   He close his eyes, just for a moment, his wings shifting and shuddering as he breathed, almost as though they were a living creature unto themselves, and he waited, wondering if he would even like this candidate of his. Not that it mattered, once he started to break them down he would more than likely become something less than human to them anyway. He would be that lingering presence they couldn’t look in the eye. It was the pilot who would be teaching, not Victor.

   Opening his eyes and peering toward the door, he wondered: Was it a requirement to be schizophrenic when you were recruited to be a pilot?

[Anonymous]

Demya tucked her legs up and flew to the candidate meeting room. She had taken so long arranging her hair she had forgotten to check the time. As she flew she tumbled over several other potential pilots, 'get out of the way!' Oooh, pretty she thought as she saw a shiny uniformed man. She waved to him as she passed and darted down a corridor that would lead to the room she needed to be in.

She landed with a slight whomp and rearranged her naked chest and hair, then preened a loose feather and tucked it under her ear, no letting such a beauty go to waste. She rapped lightly on the door with well manicured fingers and opened it partially. She peered in to see a man with attractive feathers facing th opposite way. She slipped in easily and pperched herself on the desk.

'So you're the tutor...ooo, you're handsome. Exellent, you're single too,' it was a faint premonition but she hoped it was correct.

[Anonymous]

Spinning his chair 180 degrees, Victor didn’t hear the knock at the door, and his brain had heard the whirring breeze of them sliding open and closed so many times his brain tuned the sound out completely, which made Demya’s entrance luckily covert. He heard her situating herself atop the desk behind him before he heard her speak, and he could honestly say, it was not something he had expected to be the first thing out of a pilot candidate’s mouth. He didn’t turn in his chair, merely leaned his head far enough over the back of the chair, arms held straight up together in the air, until he could see her from his overturned face. Hm, this was going to be interesting to say the least.

   Victor turned to face her, bringing his elbows to rest on his knees, hands clasped together in front of him before standing to look down at her through his vibrant green eyes. His eyes seemed to glow with electric life, and he swore it was his species’ sign of aging. Not that he had any vivid memory of what his eyes had looked like when he was young. He had always wondered, though, if they shone eerily in a dark room. That would be awesome.

   Shaking the thought from his head, he scowled down at the girl.

   “Of course I’m handsome, I’m bloody me,” his voice was a low tone, mischievous undertones running through it, and a subtle hint of some unknown, forgotten accent. Then he smiled, but, it wasn’t a smile anyone would call… Friendly, per se. “Single, perhaps, but, what should that matter to you? Actually I have myself a pretty steady relationship, thank you. But, pilots should show a little more integrity… And, a little more intelligence?”

   Victor immediately threw up his walls, containing his own thoughts. He didn’t need his little candidate getting into the twisted mess of his brain, now, did he? Might scare her off.

   The grin remained, but, Victor couldn’t help but think…Was there anything going on in that brain besides what was handsome and what wasn’t? And… Oh sweet Bog, did he want to be around when she was with a dragon. The thought actually frightened him… A little.

   He stepped back, turning and pacing the room’s length in thought before speaking again.

   “First thing’s first, Sweet,” he smiled. “Name, age, height, weight. Then we’ll start with our… ‘Improvements’.”

   Oh yes, this was going to be more fun than he’d thought.

[Oi, typos are slaughtering my posts XD And, this one sucked, sorrehs.]

[Anonymous]

OOC: Noooo! I did have a post here. Damn internet.

'Don't look at me like that! And I am intelligent, you don't live thousands of years without having a little know-how.'

Demya twiddled her hair in a relatively thoughtful manner. She loved her hair, and she loved playing with it too. It was short and straight. The colour was very interesting, it was flecked gold and red, the same colours as her wings. She wouldn't way that she was old, she didn't feel or look old. Finally she said, 'I think I might be about 1000 years old, maybe a bit older. What year is it? All these silly calendars starting at arbitrary times, like the birth of some uppity king. Did you know there was once a civilisation that counted years from the time a new king took control. They only lasted about ten years each and they often had two kings in different parts of the country.'

Demya shook her head, she hadn't been alive that far back but she had looked at books on them. They had pretty jewelry.

OOC: Sorry gotta go so I'll make it short.

'My name's Demya, say it with me "Dem-ai-a". It's spelt D-E-M-Y-A. Don't go pronouncing it wrond,' she gave him a look to make sure she thought he understood. 'I'm about 6'5 and my weight in none of you're busines.'

[Anonymous]

“How about we just call you Miss Priss, and save everyone the trouble, hm?”

Sassy little thing, wasn’t she? He might be able to use that, he thought, if it didn’t break in the process of converting her to the lovely pilot side of the psyche. But, sass wasn’t going to keep her alive, and neither was her ‘intelligence’. He smirked slightly at the comment. It was one thing to say you were intelligent, quite another to get others to believe what you were telling them, and deceit was one thing she was going to have to get used to around here.

“And, you don’t live long around here without learning your place, so I’d figure it out now if I were you.”

A slightly tilted smile crossed his lips as he spoke, not bothering to look up from where he was taking note of the information she was, not all-too-obligingly, spitting out at him. He wasn’t quite sure how long she was going to last here at this rate, on a more serious thought. If she walked around the way she was now, he wouldn’t be surprised if she came back in a few different shades of blue and purple by the end of the day. Hm, maybe it would teach her something if he told her to go for a walk through the pilot’s quarters and try to strike up a conversation. Hehehe. Wait, no sadistic thoughts today, he chided himself.

Tossing the information sheet onto the chair with a flip of the wrist, he moved closer to her, staring down at her before placing both his hands firmly on the desk, either side of where she was perched, leaning in close.

“And, if you haven’t noticed yet, it’s at the bottom, Miss Priss,” he said in a low tone. “And, for now, every little part of you is my business. So shut up and listen.”

Victor grinned, his green eyes glowing almost maliciously, as he pushed himself away from the desk, his wings twitching in a habit that had formed over the years, rearranging the feathers into their comfortable formation in one quick gesture. At the door he paused to lean against the frame, beckoning her over with the gesture of a hand.

“Now, get up. We have to go find you something to make you look more… Orderly.”

[Anonymous]

'No, Demya is fine. Just make sure you say it properly,' she felt a little jaded, 'you certainly are a cold one, aren't you.'

She glared down at him, he truly was being a bit over the top. She stepped back a bit on the bench when he came over, then fluffed her feathers to try and look unconcerned. 'Fine, no need to be snooty, I've been around longer than even you race can remember. Did your mother never teach you to respect your eldars?'

She shivered slightly at the grin he gave her, there was definitely something wrong with him. She opened her mouth to say that he was less attractive when he was rude but promptly shut it. Instead she followed him to the door.

'I look perfect the way I am. What is it with you morals and clothes anyway?' She brushed her tanned skin down with her hands. It was not as dark as it used to be but that was because she didn't get as much sun. It was so ugly outside, why did all these humans and mortals have to ruin a perfectly beautiful planet.

[Anonymous]

“No, not cold, Missy. Just indifferent.”

The elders comment made him want to burst out laughing. Age didn’t matter worth dirt here, so she better get over that one quickly. Instead he held his composure, only a slight upturning of his lips betraying his amusement. This was one of those times he wished he didn’t have so many secrets.

“Hehe, Tarlaka?! Respect? Not on your life, Sweet.”

Victor stood leaning against the doorframe, one hand extended out to support him, the other he moved to his forehead, his eyes on the floor, exasperated with her lack of understanding. Just what didn’t she get about the fact that this was the military, and she was at the bottom of the food chain? Obviously something wasn’t getting through that feathery brain. And, it was his job to pound it in, whatever way possible. Oh, joy.

He wasn’t one that thought the best way to make a pilot was to beat them into submission until they were nothing but a shell. He hated those types, anyway. They always ended up being the ones with shit for personalities. If this one could just get over the fact that he did have authority over her, this would all be so much easier. But, that didn’t sound like it was about to happen anytime soon. Not if even going to get a candidate uniform was going to become an ordeal.

Victor sighed, looking up and leading the way out the door.

“Look, since you seem to have missed something, let me lay this down in the simplest way I can,” He spoke as he walked, leading the way down the hallways. “I’m a pilot. You’re a candidate. I. Have. Rank. Over. You.,” He pointed to himself, then to her, to emphasize his point. “And, while I’m training you, you do what I tell you, and everything goes easy-peasy? Get it?” He smiled.

When they reached the right door, which didn`t hold anything against any of the other doors in the complex, he stood to the side, gesturing her inside. Time to inject a little imperfection.

“Ladies, first.” The door slid open at their approach, giving a good view of the rows and rows of identical slate-gray uniforms that lined the shelves standing at right angles and straight lines against each other. This room had always epitomized the conformity of the military for Victor. The lights seemed to bleach the very individuality from your skin. Oh well, maybe that would be a good thing for this one. Not that he liked forcing anyway to give up their little bit of rebellion. But, having the discretion to know when you needed it was something she’d have to pick up, and, hopefully, he could at least help with that.

“Take your pick."

[Anonymous]

'Tarlaka? What in the Solar System is Tarlaka?' She asked as she followed him down the hall. So many halls, how didn't they get lost in this rabbit warren? She wondered whether rabbits still existed but decided that would be a question for later.

She tried to smooth her ruffled feathers while they walked, he was really really unnvering. 'I'll follow your orders, just don't be so rude.' She brushed his hand away with her own. Obviously this boy was one of her sister's offspring. She would never allow her's to be so rude.

She brushed past him, knocking him with her folded wings as she went by. She stopped and stared at the rows of uniforms. They were hideous, how could she possibly wear any of it. The grey colour looked like a dead seal had been stretched out and clibbed flat. It would look absolutely horrid with her darker skin and red feathers.
'How am I supposed to wear these? In case you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly able to wear pants over these feathers. Look at them! Even the colour says "vomit on me". I have to wear these everyday?'
She kept talking on and on until even she had no idea what she was talking about. She then turned to her pilot and sttod up straight, 'Is this a sick joke?'

[Anonymous]

Victor was only half listening to her as he paused in front of the door, using his hand to cover his mouth when he yawned. Such bad habits Victor, tsk tsk. Oh well, he was a few thousand years too late to start changing them now. That would be one hell of a load of work that he just wasn’t into.

“Tarlaka’s my dear, sweet mother,” he laughed to himself as he spoke. Sweet; hehehe. Yes… That was the word for Tarlaka.

Victor stepped around her as she walked past, her folded wings bumping his shoulder as he maneuvered to fill the doorway with his own broad shoulders and broader wingspan, his face a portrait of grim amusement. So, the little candidate fancied herself a walking fashion statement, too, eh? He didn’t quite see how that worked when she wasn’t wearing any clothes, but, her aversion to the uniforms was obvious, even before she started talking.

And, boy did she talk.

After the first few sentences Victor’s brain switched over to idle. He’d spent far too many years around female species of every kind to have not acquired the skill of at least looking like you were paying attention while your mind was fully elsewhere, and right now his mind was running through the lists of bars and brothels that would still be open by the time he got out of here, and wondering whether or not he had to take his candidate with him or if he could just order her to get a good night’s rest and be done with it for the night.

It wasn’t until she actually turned to speak to him that he clued in again to what she was complaining about, and he sighed.

“Yes, you have to wear it every day, whether it wants you to puke on it or not.”

His wings flicked outward, filling the space in the doorway and the hallway outside, slowly settling back down with a soft shuffling noise, consuming the small void of space that would let her out into the rest of the training complex. Crossing his arms, Victor leaned into the door frame, inspecting the back of his hand as he peered down at it, speaking from lips that were trying to conceal the entertainment he was getting from the fact that someone could be THAT opposed to the colour gray.

“I’d hurry up and pick one out, sweet, because you’re not leaving this room until you do,” he looked up at her, shifting his shoulders against the unforgiving steel of the door. “I mean, it’s not like you have to wander around picking the ‘right shade’ or whatever it is you women do when you have to decide between three different outfits of the same colour.”

Ugh, flashbacks to failed shopping trips with one of the lovely ladies he’d actually tried to get to know on a friendly basis. He still didn’t understand how him not understanding the difference between salmon and pink had been such a big deal. It was all girly to Victor.

[Anonymous]

'What has your mother got to do with the military?' she feddled with her red hair again and tried to pull a length long enough to suck on. It was too short so she just flicked it behind her ear. She watched as the pilot blocked her way out. Geez, all this over a uniform, 'oh come on! It's not like I'm wearing clothes that go against the system. I'd still be wearing the same stuff underneath anyway. You're even wearing what I'm wearing.'

She snorted, 'what shade? Grey puke or puke grey? Or do you mean choosing between pressed and rigid? That ain't a shade sweety'

Demya pulled one off the rack. It even looked uncomfortable, 'so how am I supposed to wear pants? How on earth would I get pants over these feathers? I'll be damned if you get me into pants.'

She glared at him with challenging eyes. She had never worn pants in her life; she was not going to start now. Who did he think he was anyway? Her mother? She didn't need a mother, she'd hatched herself from an egg. She didn't have a mother, 'who are you anyway? I've told you my name, you can at least tell me yours if your going to try to make me wear clothes.'

He was getting less attractive by the minute. She threw the outfit at him, 'here, you try these female uniforms, see how you like them.' She continued glaring at him, jerk.

[Anonymous]

Victor’s face was a blank. How long was this woman’s attention span? Sixty seconds? That wouldn’t have surprised him, except for the fact that she’d been prattling on about the uniforms now for at least a good five minutes. He was almost ready to make the conclusion that she should not be allowed to plug into anything if she could get so out of shape about something this trivial. Whether she liked it or not, all candidates had to wear uniforms. This was the military, and guess what!? The military thrived on their rules.

“My mother doesn’t have anything to do with the military. You asked me if she taught me any manners, and I said no,” he replied bluntly.

He watched her rummaging through the uniforms in disgust, slightly amused. Personally he liked gray. Any shade between black and white was good with him. Made him feel important, despite the fact that he wasn’t really all –that- important. He could dream.

“Oof-“

Victor was pulled out of his thoughts, and his blank staring, as he was hit in the face with a rather starchy candidate uniform. How many excuses were there for not wearing a uniform. Victor’s green eyes glared back at Demya.The little twit, throwing uniforms. Running his hand through his hair, he bent to pick it up, leaning back against the doorway, and holding it out with his free arm, grinning. The shapeless drape of gray fabric hung heavily from his hand.

“… Don’t worry. It comes with a skirt.”

Holding the skirt out to show its generous range of movement, he tossed it back at her.

“And, you can call me… Sir. “

She was really starting to get on his nerves. He had other things to train her in than how to dress herself. Like, say, being a pilot? Victor straigtened himself into a standing position, readjusting his wings to suit, his eyes staring down at her.

“Just put the thing on. I don’t care if you bloody wrap it around yourself, but, you have to wear one. This isn’t a fashion show, Princess, this is the military. I don’t care if your uniform is covered in your vomit and everybody else’s, you’ll still wear it,” Victor smiled, almost friendly. “Besides, I’m sure it will look just lovely on you.”

Turning, he made his way out into the anonymous hallway, one of a million in the complex. Its walls were the same colours as the uniforms he’d left her with, no lovely scenery outside windows, nothing to inspire the mind. The hallway was simply a statement to its origins. It was there to serve its purpose, nothing else. It didn’t need any frills, it just needed to do its own task, and do it efficiently. Quite metaphoric for a hallway.

“Join me when you’re done,” he called back to her. “And, it’s Victor.”

The door whirred shut as he said this, closing him off from her gaze. As he leaned against the hallway wall Victor just prayed that she could at least figure out how to get the uniform on by herself.

[Anonymous]

Demya glared at his retreating back and pouted. When the door was closed she took a deep breath. She would meet him half way. There was no way she would wear the skirt.

She pulled out several uniforms. There had to be one here that slots for wings. He had wings and was still able to wear clothes. She continues rummaging until she found one that was her shape. Or rather her shape without curves, not that she was well endowed or had round hips. She was built for speed.

She pulled on a shirt and then a coat. The colour was disgusting and she was glad there was not a mirror around. She played with her hair to try and get it to look a bit wild. If she could not say what she wore she would have her hair the way she liked it.

She threw the uniform on the floor and licked it under a row. She looked around the room. It needed some colour, some originality. She looked around the room with a smirk and flicked her hands, vines grew out from the corners of the room and bloomed tiny white flowers. Jasmine did the room a world of good, it even smelt less... uniformed. She hated the word uniform.

'Victor, get in here. I'm done,' she hoped it would grate at him.

[Anonymous]

Victor stared up at the ceiling, trying to conjure up a way that he could count sheep if he were in space, and they were floating. He supposed they would have to wear some sort of helmet, so that he wasn’t counting dead sheep; dead sheep just weren’t as good at putting him to sleep. And, how would they jump? Would they? Or would it be counting the sheep as they orbited the planet? Floating space sheep. At least the thought made him happy, in the, ‘Aw, they’re sheep floating in space wearing helmets’ way. But, sheep always made Victor happy, whether they were floating or not. Maybe that’s what he’d be when he retired; Victor the sheep herder.

'Victor, get in here. I'm done.’

… Obviously she’d missed something about coming out into the hallway when she was done getting dressed. Did anything get through that feathery brain of her’s? Because it sure as hell wasn’t seeming that way. Sighing, Victor turned, signalling the door to slide open, but, stayed planted firmly in the hallway, his arms crossed over his chest, the gray wrappings causing the pale skin of his hands to stand out against the dark tone of his outfit. Lucky for Victor, pilots didn’t have uniforms.

“Oh, congratulations, you figured out how to put on a shirt. Apparently the concept of lower garments still escapes you, though,” He turned and started down the hallway, beckoning her with the gesture of his hand. “Come on, you’re wasting time.”

Victor disappeared behind the doorframe, making his way down the hall. In all truth, Victor had never liked this place much. It reminded him of broken things, not of a unified force, a militian entity that moved flowingly as one being of itself. The corners of the place were dark, and they served as sanctuary for the remnants of humanity that had long ago fled from the minds beaten down by the rigorous training of the pilots. Mediocrity seemed to run rampant in the very face of the building, despite the fact that it was meant to house the favoured few that were considered the skilled.

He just had his misgivings. He knew what he missed, but, didn’t miss it enough to change it. Victor was a pilot. Without that, he wasn’t sure he was anything at all.

His footsteps echoed off the barren walls as he walked, glancing behind him to make sure Demya was actually following. If not, she’d be lost in a heartbeat, but, from what he’d witnessed, it was entirely possible she’d missed those instructions, too. They just seemed to go in one ear and straight out the other, screamining in fear.

Victor paused in the hallway and turned to face her.

“Oh, and I think we should get your hearing checked,” he said, holding his hand up toward the ceiling, to emphasize his point as he smiled.

He could feel his stomach grumbling before he heard it, looking down at it with his hand still in the air, which reminded him that he’d decided to skip breakfast this morning. Damn, that obviously hadn’t been a good idea. Well, one of many. He looked back toward Demya.

“Hungry?”

[Anonymous]

Oh, congratulations, you figured out how to put on a shirt.

'I learnt a long time ago, just because I don't need to wear them doesn't mean I can't.' She fluffed up her feathers slightly.

Demya unbuttoned her shit a bit when Victor turned back around. She made vines appear in her hair and dance annoyingly around her head. She grinned at his retreating back and followed him out the doorway. Uniforms sure are uncomfortable. I suppose if it gets too annoying I could adapt it.

She half trotted, half flew down the halls, easily keeping in step with Victor. She noticed all the doors, they all looked the same except for names of people and departments. Everything was grey, it was like how the cities looked after the first holocaust. The only difference was that everything here was so rigid where back then it had all been crumbling. She looked at the Pilot's back, 'so Victor, why do they make everything grey? It's not your country's national colours and it isn't good cammoflage. Do you people wear cammo when out on missions?'

Oh, and I think we should get your hearing checked.
'Hearing? Why would I need my hearing checked? If it was because it's routine then you'de have checked my eyesight and everything else too,' she followed his hand movement with a confuse expression, 'why did you move your hand like that?'

Hungry?
Demya smiled kindly at him, 'Sure, I'll eat. What do your people serve here?' she gave a miscevious face, 'do you have worms?'

[Anonymous]

[ZOMG, I've created the ultimate post of phaile, haha.]

The hallways were relatively quiet save for the generic hum of the building, and the intermittent sound of footsteps resounding off the twin walls somewhere else in the complex. The sound of Demya’s half-flying motions were the only thing that sounded strange here. Victor had never used his wings here, he’d never had a reason to. Walking just like everyone else had always suited him just fine, and, besides, the other people using the hallways didn’t usually appreciate being buffetted in the face by the wayward end of a wing.

Her comment about the camouflage caused him to raise an eyebrow, and he cast a strange look her way. Camouflage… didn’t even enter his thoughts when he was preparing to go out on a mission. Besides, mismatching green patches for clothing were nowhere near what he would classify as ‘practical’. Actually, they would probably be quite the opposite. He could just see himself sticking out like a bullseye against the darkness otuside the cities. No, Victor much preferred his black on black attire.

“No… No camouflage. That wouldn’t be very useful out in the field, trust me. And, I supposed whoever made the building was just particularly fond of gray. Keeps you from getting too… Creative.”

He wasn’t even going to bother giving the inquiries about her questionable hearing a respone. If that one had managed to go over her head, he wasn’t about to go explaining his sarcasm.

The vines that had randomly sprouted around her hair and the lack of pants gave Victor reason for pause. She was looking slighly more off-kilter by the minute. Maybe she thought the flowers made her look rebellious? Really, Victor had no idea why someone would want to have plants on their head. It seemed like it would be rather… Annoying, come to think of it.

An omnipresent and official chime sounded, followed by a monotone voice announcing something in an almost unintelligable grumbling across the speakers, background noise to the monotony of his days. There really wasn’t that much to do around here besides training. Well, that was to be expected, it was what this place had been built for, engineered for, but, dammit, there was no denying the fact that it was just outright boring. Victor eyed Demya as he faced her; it looked kind of odd, her wearing a shirt but no pants. Not that he was going to go complaining about the view. His features softened as a smile formed on his lips, his dark hair shifting slightly in the soft breeze from the building’s conditioning system, a system he fully appreciated for keeping this place from getting anymore stagnant than it already felt.

“Worms? I wouldn’t know about that one, but, we can try,” Victor glanced toward the doorway marked “Cafeteria”, then back at Demya. “ I usually stick to whatever the slop of the day is.”

He shifted his body slightly more toward the entrance, turning his head to keep her in his view, his beguiling smile never leaving his lips as he held his hand out toward her.

“Shall we?”

[Anonymous]

'Green camoflage is for forests stupid. Camoflage in the desert is red-brown. It all depends on the situation,' Demya said in a seemingly smart voice. She snorted when he said creative, 'I doubt it will stop me from being creative.'

She held his hand and for once, obeyed. Demya sighed, her wings drooping so that she had to walk. She would probably have to scrounge up some worms outside. 'I guess I'll eat the gruel then, it can't be worse than the stuff I was fed in Connloath. Nothing could be that bad.'

[Anonymous]

[[ Finally, haha. Sorry it took so long. ]]

At the sound of the word ‘stupid’ falling from her less than pensive mouth, Victor turned on the spot, his one hand reaching out to crane her head back the other darting between her lips to grab her tongue. He yanked firmly on it, his eyes locked onto her’s, letting her head snap forward as he retained his hold on her tongue, pulling it out between her teeth. A devilish grin washed onto his face.

“Call me stupid again, Pretty, and you won’t be using this little thing for very much longer,” he released his hold, letting his hands fall to his sides. “And, wouldn’t that be a shame.”

He pouted mockingly before turning and making his way into the cafeteria.

It was no more astounding in decoration than anything else in the complex. Monotonous walls dressed in monotonous shades, small windows cut high and shallow into the corners near the ceiling, letting in only a trickle of natural light. Any further illumination was supplied by the light bulbs that hung from the roof on crooked wires. And, the metal benched tables didn’t look anymore cozy than the hard floor, but slightly more clean.

Victor’s eyebrows twitched when she mentioned Connlaoth. Her? In Connlaoth? And… Still being alive? Ha, that sounded unlikely.

“Connlaoth? I think you’ve got your geography a little askew there, Missy.”

He was getting the feeling more and more that this chicken was a compulsive liar. And, a bad one at that. Her attitude was failing to impress him. Making her into anything worthy of pilot material was looking like a far-off and fading glimmer of hope from here. But, hey, he wouldn’t be too opposed to seeing her trash-talking her pretty little way all the way to TRIM.

That would be a reality check.

He made his way to the buffet-style food area, dishing up something that looked slightly off-colour and sat down at one of the benches, spooning small portions into his mouth and watching Demya with a sidelong glance. He had the inexplicable urge to maim, and he was just waiting for an excuse.

[Anonymous]

Demya had to bend down as the pilot pulled on her tounge. She met his gaze with challenging eyes. He was flying on small wings* if he thought he could boss her around like this. She remained quiet but scratched her talons on the floor, warning him that she would use them. She would do it too.

When he let go she stayed where she was and continued watching him, 'you're lucky I plan to pass this course. If we were anywhere else, you'd have claw marks through your torso.'

She straightened herself up and fixed her hair. The vines on her head retreated and redesigned into a small circlet. She followed him into the room and made rude signs behind his head, several of the rude signs were even from different millenia and languages.

Demya was displeased with what she saw when she entered the lunch hall. 'This has got to be a joke! I think I'll just grow my own later,' she said. There was a look of open disgust on her face. 'If you be nice I will let you have some grapes.'

She was outraged that he would think she was forgetting her geography! Either that or he was mocking her. 'No, it was definately Connloath. If you don't believe me, why don't you go in and have a look,' she said as she pointed to her temple. She smiled and nestled down so that her lower body touched the ground. She was not going to let him dictate her mood, 'now, would you like fresh fruit or not?'

All the little vines on Demya disappeared and a single sprout burst from her palm. She chirped as it started growing up her arm. It tickled her skin then curled towards her feathered abdomen and legs. Small flowers bloomed and fell within a matter of seconds then grapes formed. Demya picked a bunch and placed it on the table next to her mentor.

'It's probably healthier than that icky stuff. I actually feel sorry for you,' she said. Sour jerk.




*Equivalent to "skating on thin ice".

[Anonymous]

Victor snorted a laugh at her comment, digging his spoon into the food on his plate. Him, lucky? He didn’t really see how being stuck with her was lucky. More like… The greatest misfortune he had ever been dished out. And, that included the gruel he was now pushing around his plate in swirling motions. Her voice was starting to give him a nasty migraine. He didn’t bother answering her threat, she didn’t need any excuse to keep talking. And here he was having thought that, hey, a candidate would be cool. Some young and eager little thing to take under his wing, so to speak. Hm, so much for that theory.

He focused in on the sounds of anonymous faces bustling about behind the swinging doors of the kitchen, dishes crashing into sinks and pre-packaged mixes burning and bubbling on an old stove, giving the cafeteria that signature smell. Victor only turned back to Demya when she started talking about grapes, something he really didn’t have any preference for to begin with.

And… She was sitting on the floor? He might have been confused as to why, except that he was, well, not about to put much past this nut case. And, she wasn’t even the good, entertaining kind of crazy. More like the self-ignorant kind of crazy.

Victor really needed a night out.

He watched as she sprouted her own little garden, watching the vines venture up her arm, fruit blooming from them within a matter of moments. What the hell was she doing? There was no point or purpose for this, and a military academy was far from the place to be growing fresh fruit.

Standing from the table, he moved toward her, pacing slowly around until he was standing behind her, and pulling her lightly to her feet, his hands on her shoulders. Victor stood close behind her, his lips at her ear as he spoke, his pale hand trailing down her arm slowly.

“Now, now. I wouldn’t be feeling sorry for me if I were you,” he grinned and laughed lightly in her ear. His hand paused at her elbow, and his grasp tightened around the joint, firm and forceful. It only took a second, one moment of pressure and the quiet sound of bones popping as he wrenched her shoulder from its housing, dislocating the bones from their socket.

“I’m just not one to appreciate it.”

Victor’s smile widened, and he led her to the table, maneuvering her to sit on the cold, metal bench, glancing at her arm as it hung at her side, and he felt an odd sense of satisfaction running through him. Perhaps it came from the years of being a pilot, of being told you were accomplished, you were judged, on how well you could descimate. Whatever it was, it had always made him feel good.

Dishing up another plate of “nutrients” from the kitchens, he slid it down in front of Demya, letting the plate clatter as it hit the table, and jabbed a fork into the pile of monotonous substance. It stood in place, standing up from the plate at a lovely right angle.

“Now, use your good arm and eat up, eh? Can’t have you starving to death.”

He took is place across the table and continued to dig patterns into his food, occasionally eating it before going back to his pretty food doodles.

[Anonymous]

When Victor turned around she looked at him curiously. She caught his thoughts, it was entirely unintentional but it gave her insight as o why he was being so sulky. 'I am not crazy. How am I supposed to sit on the bench? I - am - a - harpy. Am I supposed to perch on them like I did on the desk? I hate to break it to you but I won't be able to reach down to the table if I do that. Don't you know anything about birds.' This guy really is dim if he can't think of that.

He really was dull. He just sat there continuing to eat. He didn't even want to eat fruit? She watched him get up and come round behind her. She kept her gorgeous red and gold tail out of his reach. 'Easy now, I came here for training, not for romance,' she said. She doubted that was what was on his mind but if he was going to be this way, she would at least match his challenge.

He needn't have helped her to her feet either, she was already doing it by herself. She did not like the way he was behaving. She used her wing to push him away from her back.

'Did anyone ever tell you that you're so much less cute when you're trying to be creepy,' she said before sighing and fiddling with her hair. 'And you just don't know when to accept a gift. If that stuff is as nasty as it looks, why not eat the grapes? You know, they're not poisonous. Look, I'm eating them too.' She empasised her point by biting into a grape. It was really juicy and perhaps a little tart. Just the way she liked them. He really sucked if this was meant to make her feel uncomfortable.

Demya gave a shrill, birdlike shriek as the bone in her forearm was removed from her socket. The noise echoed around the walls and many people looked up from their gruel.

When they got to the table and he made her sit down, he had gone too far. There was no way she was going to let him treat her like this. She used a little vine to push the offencive plate way and pushed her arm back into place with a hiss. At least it wasn't the metal one, that would have been a nightmare to rewire.

'Too far Little Vicky,' she hissed. Her talons came out and she spun round to face him. She looked into his eyes, not even needing to look as vines began to wrap themselves around him. She might not have been a strong psychic but her memories were strong. She belted them at him. Memories of her ripping people apart and eating them, memories of her in dark cells, memories of her escaping and destroying everything around her with her vines, memories of her arm being ripped off and memories of humans: humans destroying the world. I will obey you, I will become a pilot but NEVER attack me again.

She retreated her stream of memories and let the vines go. It was not meant to scare him, just show him why she would be a pilot, why she would help them and why she would not fail. 'Now I'm going to eat my grapes, okay?' Her eyes were cold as she continued to stare at him.