Matsu Xiangu
The Haruspex
She would have been a fool to miss the way his eyes ran over her body. She had to suppress a shiver, any indication that his appraisal was welcome at all.
Thankfully [member="Krius Syonis"] made it easy to concentrate on something else as his fingers tapped at his temple. As he spoke she imagined every scenario he put forth and the entire time all she could think was “so what, so what, so what?” Who cared if this hypothetical man – if any man – broke like fine china in her hideous clutches? Who cared if his species wasn’t capable of sleep, if he liked shooting at small animals? She would destroy him faster than he could even realize, faster than he could lift his arm to pull the trigger or ignite his saber. She would feast on his agony, gorge on his fear as he snapped.
She could hear it…like a dry stick.
There was a sense of pride when he revealed that her thoughts were not a sign of weakness or stupidity. Every word he spoke edged her excitement. Control. Break. Destroy. Terror. Devour. Consume.
Project the darkest image you can in to my mind.
Matsu smiled.
They were close, close enough for him to push the strands of dark hair away from her delicate features. What she did next came natural – because she wanted so badly to touch another person’s mind or because she was destined to? She didn’t know, and it didn’t matter.
She pushed out with the Force. To her it would seem neither of them were moving, but as she tapped in to his mind to him it would seem…
…that Matsu closed the distance between the two of them, reaching up and slipping one hand around the back of his neck, the tips of her fingers dipping in to the hair at the nape. She wasn’t hesitant, but she savored, her eyes hooded as she tilted her face to his and kissed him. It was slow, building, a solid heat that built and built and built…it was a distraction. As her lips, soft but insistent, moved against his a screaming, a high whistle like tea left on for too long started buzzing.
It wasn’t until that screaming was a cacophony, a hideous and rending shriek that pierced the ears, that she pulled away. Her dark eyes were going black from the iris out, devouring the whites as she stumbled backwards and tilted her head up to the ceiling. Her skin was stretched tight over her skull as if the thing were set to burst and she let her mouth fall open…only for thousands of spiders to begin pouring from her throat, tiny little things of yellow and black with legs bent at sharp angles like they were built for war. Her entire body convulsed, her limbs rigid and searching as she crashed to her knees. And as she collapsed, her body deflating as if she had never existed except as a host for his eventual destruction, the spiders rushed towards him. They skittered over his feet and up the legs of his pants, sneaking in every opening of his clothes they could find before sinking fangs dripping with venom in to his flesh.
When he was wasted by their toxins the men came for him, unworthy and weak beings that had docked against the ship and barged on unceremoniously, their unworthy fingers grubbing over the things he’d collected. They picked him up and took him away.
They shackled him, controlled him. They found ways to keep him from escaping – a prison built exclusively to keep those in the Force devoid of their power forever. He wasted at their hands, a man barely more than a skeleton crouched in the corner of an inescapable room, clinging to the dream he might once have had (but he can’t remember he can’t remember he can’t remember he can’t remember he can’t remember he can’t remember he can’t remember HE! CAN’T! REMEMBER!) of wiping the very people who’ve destroyed him from any position of power at all. He would die there, broken.
As she stood there attempting to overwhelm his mind with horrifying, distracting things, she thought to herself that perhaps she’d gotten a little long-winded. But her heart was beating a hundred miles an hour – how could she resist flexing mental muscles she never knew she had, but only wished desperately for? There was time for moderation, for a quick tear in the future…but this…this was gulping, not slow sipping.
She could think of a million ways to turn him away but this...this was experimentation, this was seeing if she had the ability to affect him the way he spoke of at all.
She heard that snapping...like a dry stick.
Thankfully [member="Krius Syonis"] made it easy to concentrate on something else as his fingers tapped at his temple. As he spoke she imagined every scenario he put forth and the entire time all she could think was “so what, so what, so what?” Who cared if this hypothetical man – if any man – broke like fine china in her hideous clutches? Who cared if his species wasn’t capable of sleep, if he liked shooting at small animals? She would destroy him faster than he could even realize, faster than he could lift his arm to pull the trigger or ignite his saber. She would feast on his agony, gorge on his fear as he snapped.
She could hear it…like a dry stick.
There was a sense of pride when he revealed that her thoughts were not a sign of weakness or stupidity. Every word he spoke edged her excitement. Control. Break. Destroy. Terror. Devour. Consume.
Project the darkest image you can in to my mind.
Matsu smiled.
They were close, close enough for him to push the strands of dark hair away from her delicate features. What she did next came natural – because she wanted so badly to touch another person’s mind or because she was destined to? She didn’t know, and it didn’t matter.
She pushed out with the Force. To her it would seem neither of them were moving, but as she tapped in to his mind to him it would seem…
…that Matsu closed the distance between the two of them, reaching up and slipping one hand around the back of his neck, the tips of her fingers dipping in to the hair at the nape. She wasn’t hesitant, but she savored, her eyes hooded as she tilted her face to his and kissed him. It was slow, building, a solid heat that built and built and built…it was a distraction. As her lips, soft but insistent, moved against his a screaming, a high whistle like tea left on for too long started buzzing.
It wasn’t until that screaming was a cacophony, a hideous and rending shriek that pierced the ears, that she pulled away. Her dark eyes were going black from the iris out, devouring the whites as she stumbled backwards and tilted her head up to the ceiling. Her skin was stretched tight over her skull as if the thing were set to burst and she let her mouth fall open…only for thousands of spiders to begin pouring from her throat, tiny little things of yellow and black with legs bent at sharp angles like they were built for war. Her entire body convulsed, her limbs rigid and searching as she crashed to her knees. And as she collapsed, her body deflating as if she had never existed except as a host for his eventual destruction, the spiders rushed towards him. They skittered over his feet and up the legs of his pants, sneaking in every opening of his clothes they could find before sinking fangs dripping with venom in to his flesh.
When he was wasted by their toxins the men came for him, unworthy and weak beings that had docked against the ship and barged on unceremoniously, their unworthy fingers grubbing over the things he’d collected. They picked him up and took him away.
They shackled him, controlled him. They found ways to keep him from escaping – a prison built exclusively to keep those in the Force devoid of their power forever. He wasted at their hands, a man barely more than a skeleton crouched in the corner of an inescapable room, clinging to the dream he might once have had (but he can’t remember he can’t remember he can’t remember he can’t remember he can’t remember he can’t remember he can’t remember HE! CAN’T! REMEMBER!) of wiping the very people who’ve destroyed him from any position of power at all. He would die there, broken.
As she stood there attempting to overwhelm his mind with horrifying, distracting things, she thought to herself that perhaps she’d gotten a little long-winded. But her heart was beating a hundred miles an hour – how could she resist flexing mental muscles she never knew she had, but only wished desperately for? There was time for moderation, for a quick tear in the future…but this…this was gulping, not slow sipping.
She could think of a million ways to turn him away but this...this was experimentation, this was seeing if she had the ability to affect him the way he spoke of at all.
She heard that snapping...like a dry stick.
