Caliban "Cal" Leandros ([info]halfed) wrote,
@ 2009-04-20 01:45:00
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Entry tags:affected up the wazoo, auphe, back to caliban it goes, bad idea, bloodbath or bust, cal's gone bye bye, curse day, for the safety of the masses, fuck you all, gates, get too close and die, going to kill something now, guess who's back, i forsee problems, i speak auphe, it's something out of a horror movie, just wait for the aftermath, keep away, my biggest nightmare, new family, of epic proportions, spoilers

⇒54
All that work, and it had been for nothing. They were here, and they were ready to collect what was due. And while Cal may have fought alongside his brother to keep his family at bay, Caliban had taken a different choice. Caliban had known how hopeless it was to resist. He'd known it for a long time, only Niko had done all he could to tell him otherwise.

But things changed. People changed. Demons changed. All hope had long been lost at the very moment he'd realised that escape was an impossibility. Tumulus was a bigger place than you could imagine. And one explosive wasn't ever going to be enough to rid the world of their kind.

His kind.

They killed for fun, and this was exactly what it was. Red eyes. Pale skin. No, red too. Almost black. The blood had long since become a second skin. One he wasn't willing to give up so easily.

A sound as sharp as blades, and just as likely to draw blood. Caliban was speaking in a language that turned pale heads and red eyes towards him. The area glows grey as each and every one of them open a gate of their own. And then the area is deserted, leaving nothing but bodies in their wake. The fun had died out the moment the sheep had.

The scenery changes around them. A reset. It's Central Park again, and already people are screaming. Caliban sneers with an expression to rival the creatures around him.

"Unworthy."

[ooc: fffff replies will be slow 'cause i'm braindead and it's nearly 2am >__>]


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[info]cal_sitter
2009-04-20 01:07 am UTC (link)
At first there's nothing to tell Niko if this dream belongs to him or to his brother. Since Cherish, his mind often conjure Central Park as a setting for the horrors it creates during sleep, and the Auphe and Cal have been fixtures in Niko's nightmares since he was seven-years old. His mind has never combined all three elements like this before, though.

When he hears his brother speaking a language not meant to be shaped by human lips, Niko has his proof that the mind he walks in is Cal's. As many times as the older Leandros has heard the Auphe tongue, he's incapable of reproducing it in any form. Only Cal has the knowledge now that the Auphe are dead.

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[info]halfed
2009-04-20 01:31 am UTC (link)
The scent of blood is already heavy in the air. The ground squelching underfoot; green now darkened to black. The bodies are already in the double-digits, and ready to climb higher. His sisters- mates, because that is what they are now -are only to eager to help. And even as Caliban disappears from sight, another Auphe fills his space, torn limbs in hand.

He has no qualms about bringing the pram back with the mother. None at all. And while the child starts to scream, the woman is quick to join it as she too becomes nothing more than another number.

"Weak. Want more."

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[info]cal_sitter
2009-04-20 02:10 am UTC (link)
"Not today, little brother."

Niko keeps his sword sheathed at his back as he steps forward, already saturated with blood that's flowed from Cal's body in a dozen nightmares since the sun set. Neverthless, his hair is neat, pulled back into the customary ponytail, and his eyes are clear and bright, determined.

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[info]halfed
2009-04-20 08:15 pm UTC (link)
He looks up suddenly as that familiar scent comes in to play. It's family, but not the kind he's surrounded by. Instead, it's one that's now nothing more than a forgotten memory. One of a time before he'd given in and become who he was meant to be. Cal was dead. And with that, all ties had died too.

"Better."

The body is tossed aside, and Caliban reaches in to the pram to pull out the screaming toddler. There is an expression on his face that reads as a challenge. He will be having more blood, no matter what the source was.

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[info]cal_sitter
2009-04-20 08:20 pm UTC (link)
Aware that he isn't fast enough, Niko nevertheless attempts to intercede before the next victim is killed. He can at least force his brother to be quick. The shuriken he throws are a distraction only. The Auphe move so swiftly that a bullet is too slow. Niko's rush after them is the true attack, one that will force Cal to throw the toddler aside to deal with his brother, unless he instead chooses to open a gate.

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a war of words that lead to nothing new /spams the shit out of you forever GO TO BED
[info]adamantined
2009-04-20 01:23 am UTC (link)
Claire has been in Central Park before. Once. Just briefly. On her first visit to New York, when the Petrelli's had picked her up, she and Peter had cut through it just long enough for Claire to feel the grass. She remembers that she'd wanted to stay for longer than just long enough to breathe the air, but there had been more than just vacationing to do then - nuclear devastation, for example.

Central Park didn't look like this.

She has to step with purpose across and around the people - and this is too much like the dream she just left and the dreams she used to have just after she moved to Costa Verde - and elbow passersby as she tries to get closer to the only face she actually recognizes, even if she can't understand a word he's said.

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a war of words that lead to nothing new /SCREAMS. sleep sucks
[info]halfed
2009-04-20 01:39 am UTC (link)
Another. And another. It's a male this time. Blonde hair and grey eyes. So familiar to him and yet so different. Where the man from his memory would remain silent until his dying breath, this one was screaming. Gurgling may have suited better. As the blood rushed up out his mouth, Caliban tossed him aside. Yet another waste of time.

"Need better sheep."

He wanted a challenge, and this had been nothing but a waste of time. Which is why his gaze switched to a pale figure in the distance. One of his own kind. She had killed less than the others, making her weak. Making her a better target. And so, he disappeared in a haze of grey, makeshift claws ready and finding their mark a moment later.

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a war of words that lead to nothing new /BUT IT'S GOOD FOR YOU
[info]adamantined
2009-04-20 02:10 am UTC (link)
Claire came up short, her heart hammering in her chest and her blood pounding in her ears. It was too difficult to keep track of faces as she moved through the crowd, not pausing to stop and worry over pulled arms or legs or torn pants or pressure on her wrists and ankles. It was confusion, mass hysteria, and Claire couldn't keep up even as she tried to follow. Her palms hit the ground hard, and she pushed up with a demanding, "Wait!"

There was never anything she could do personally, but if what was going on here was at all what it looked like, then she needed to do something. Find a bucket of ice water, shock them both awake, throw her shoe at the back of his head in order to distract him. It was confusing, like being dropped in the middle of a war with things she couldn't comprehend, and she needed to do something to... she didn't know. Make it stop. Make it end. None of it made sense. "Cal! Cal, right?" She didn't know him well enough for familiarities but if he was going to gut someone then it wasn't going to be someone or something that would die because of it.

Until she saw those somethings faces at least.

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a war of words that lead to nothing new /stays braindead FOREVER
[info]halfed
2009-04-20 08:30 pm UTC (link)
"Gone." Cal is a long forgotten stain on his past. Cal is the half-human that he once was. Back when his will had been his own. But everything had changed and now Caliban is all that's left. It was something he had put off for so long. But now all of that is over with, and he is free to do as he wants, without question. He was born a monster, and that's the way he will always be.

He wants red hair, not blonde. He wants eyes that see the future, not ones stuck in the present. He wants to see that apologetic look on her face as he tears her apart. But he's left with just this blonde. One more sheep for the flock. One more number to join the rest.

There's a smirk. One that's all teeth, already coated with blood. And one that's aimed at a man taking up arms. Perhaps he will be more of a challenge. Perhaps not. He wants something that will bite back, and he will do whatever he has to in order to find that.

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a war of words that lead to nothing new /brings you cookies from work
[info]adamantined
2009-04-20 08:41 pm UTC (link)
Claire stumbles back a moment, startled and half-afraid, and her mouth falls into the same expression her brain is feeling, processing. It only lasts a moment, though, and then she is surging forward after him with her eyes set and her mouth a dark pink slash against her skin. The sleeves of the white sweater she's wearing falls back to her wrists as she reaches out and grabs his arm. She isn't very strong but what she lacks in strength she makes up for in raw determination and a distinct lack of fear.

Her nails prick into his skin through the fabric of his shirt, and Claire tries not to balk at the blood in his mouth. She's had blood in her mouth, came back to the City with copper overflowing from behind teeth, tongue, and lips. It won't hurt, she reassures herself, yanking at him. "Stop," she says, and she doesn't know when she became a part of this or why.

She remembers hooded faces on planes and the necessity to stop any evil and she pulls at his arm again. "Turn around. Look at me."

Stop it, is what she really wants to say, but she knows it's not going to make a damn bit of difference.

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[info]hundredflowers
2009-04-20 04:04 am UTC (link)
It's not the screaming that bugs her, and perhaps, being only human after all, the creatures around him are those which Hong Mei at first blocks from her mind, grotesque pictures that make one look away without even taking a chance to begin with. Without a care in the world for the chaos around her, or the unfamiliarity of the creatures buzzing and speaking in unfamiliar tongues, Hong Mei simply sits in the middle of the sidewalk and stares in Cal's direction.

It wasn't so long ago that she saw him laid out on the ground, heart having stopped.

And it wasn't so long ago that his very own brother had slid a sword through her beating heart.

If she was to get to know one, why not the others? Her chin rests in her palm as she takes every minute detail of him in. Is this what got him killed? Is he even human at all? How strange.

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[info]halfed
2009-04-20 08:39 pm UTC (link)
Another and another. The numbers will continue to pile up until there is nothing left but a carpet of gore. Landscape design for Auphe. He grows more and more comfortable with each passing moment amidst the mayhem. This was his playground, and he is willing to stay long after closing time.

Each reset is ignored as the body count starts once over. As long as he is moving, he is happy. Content. He is who he is meant to be. More grating words escape him every so often. Commands to his group. Once the supply here runs short, they will yet again bring sheep in from further afield. And with each glowing patch of grey, more tumble in to the fray. Both human and Auphe alike. Some already screaming in either fear or enjoyment.

And amidst it all, Caliban now stands, a blood-soaked arm wiping across his face. It's been too long.

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[info]hundredflowers
2009-04-20 10:03 pm UTC (link)
The slew of bodies is a familiar sight to Hong Mei, although of course, being from a world of humans only, they usually don't end up torn and shredded in the manner that they are here. Just bullets to the back, neck, chest-- everything is practical, and in the violence there is little mirth, all worn down as students and soldiers alike grow jaded with years of revolution, years of pointless war. There are pools of blood, and the girl runs her fingers through some of them, painting as she goes, no faces or forms, just patterns, chaotic and smeared.

From the corner of her eye, she watches him, hears his words, and even though they have no meaning to her, she understands them all the same, perhaps.

"Do you remember them?" she asks, not looking up from her artwork on the ground.

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you're out living it up today | i’ve got dues to pay
[info]winewomenand
2009-04-20 04:17 am UTC (link)
He thinks that he's escaped. That he's waking up after Niko's dream and he can go back to bed for some actual rest. He thinks that when he opens his eyes again he'll be staring at his ceiling and safely cocooned in his cool egyptian cotton sheets. Robin is wrong.

He's in Central Park. People are screaming, and not the happy Dave Matthews Band live in the park kind of screaming that Robin wouldn't be unhappy to hear. It's the sound of large groups of humans in absolute terror, and it raises all of the hair on the back of Robin's neck immediately. This time he finds that he is already armed, a heavy silver longsword gripped in his fist, so subconsciously tightly that there are white grooves forming that will be blood blisters, or would be, if he wasn't trapped in another situation plainly fictional. But fiction isn't easy, either; he's seen the effects in Niko's dark eyes.

He takes a sharp breath and moves forward, parting people in front of him bodily, sometimes with the flat of his blade, not caring if they trip and fall in his wake. If he was any less jaded, he would be in a state of panic.

But he's exactly as jaded as he is and he knows Auphe when he sees it, even if he can't see it yet. Then he hears that language being spoken, the one that feels like fishhooks in your ears and ground glass in your mouth.

"Caliban?"

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you're out living it up today | i’ve got dues to pay
[info]halfed
2009-04-20 08:50 pm UTC (link)
The name is the right one to pick. Caliban is all that's left. The human in him is long since forgotten. Maybe it's destroyed completely. He doesn't know. What he does know is the enjoyment to be found in the sound of screams gargled out of blood-filled throats. With the flesh torn away and bite marks still in place. It's like music to him now, as each victim makes their own individual sound.

Perfect.

There is something to be said about the mix of blond-haired males and red-haired females that litter the ground at his feet. Each time, his first choices are always one of the two. If they aren't there, he finds them himself. His family are able to take care of the rest. But only after he gets the first kill. Always him. The only male left.

"Sheep weak." He grows bored quicker with each victim. The fight they put up is only amusing for as long as it takes for them to run out of breath. After that, they are nothing more than meat for a creature that is already full.

A waste. More for the pile.

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you're out living it up today | i’ve got dues to pay
[info]winewomenand
2009-04-21 12:28 am UTC (link)
He trips when he reaches the first of the bodies, the coldest of them, falling to his knees and scraping the skin on his palms. He turns to stare at the bleeding, deformed thing, a man with pale skin very dark blond hair. It could have been coincidence. Robin realizes, as he drags himself back up and continues a walk that is closer to a rushed jog, that it's not.

There are more men with the same hair, various shades of medium-pale. And then there is a young woman with thick red curls-- fake, salon-created, but he knows immediately why she was chosen. A superficial resemblance to Georgina.

There is not a living soul around that he can hear moving above the blood in his ears, all the Auphe having moved on to kill more in the park. He lets himself stop for a moment and sticks the end of his sword in the ground, leaning against it as he kneels with a pale, tight expression and slides the dead woman's eyelids down. He wants out of this dream immediately. Robin doesn't need to see even a second more.

"My gods, why did you do it."

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