Don't thank me.

[{ Laughing]

dmitri d'arkangelis

He killed before. He killed thousand of innocent, wonderful people. He took their lives because he could no longer go through life with his. Because he, Dmitri, the heir of the D'Arkangelis throne, didn't deserve their company. But he did not leave, nor did he take his own life because of it. He decided, yes, it was him, somewhere deep inside beyond his conscious understanding that because they didn't want him, they didn't find joy in knowing him, that he'd just have to end their reign then. If they did not conform to who he was, they're just have to suffer. There was no reason that he had to suffer, no reason that his black eyes had to be stabbed out and his wings ripped off, just because they didn't like him. If they didn't want to conform then fuck them. If they didn't want him, they'd just have to go.

"Thank you, Mr. Dmitri, thank you so much. How can I really, truly thank you?" she had praised him, nearly kissed his feet. If she had done that, he probably would have shoved his foot down her throat.

"Don't thank me," he had said back. He had been going over, losing consciousness. She didn't know that. She didn't know he was fading backwards, him, the Dmitri. Then that one came out. The insanity nudged him forward and when he woke up it was morning and bodies littered the ground like a carpet. He felt the blood that coaked his form. They were all dead. He had buried his head in his hands for a moment, cradling a face stained with their innocence.

"Don't thank me."

It's incredibly easy to run away. He did. More times then one. However, there were things that someone couldn't run away from. Like this journey, this movement through the cardinal directions. Looking for things that he didn't care about, things that didn't matter to his being. They didn't have anything to do with him, so why did he force himself to move along with the flow? Each movement was another waste of breath, another waste of time. He could be flying over the other edge of the country, looking for the things that he had lost. He could be sitting over a village and looking as people bustled about and wonder how many of them had lost their loved ones, and whichi village near her held these peoples kin. He could wonder how many of those people would be missed once he took their life. How many tears would be shed if he could finally just end their misery.

His misery would never be over. He was old, he would get older. No one would kill him because he didn't want them to kill him. He would breath and stir and move through the world as he did now when all of the people in all of these villages were gone and their grandchildren were in their place-- poor but happy. They were all smiling. This journey was to keep them smiling.

"How sick. The killer making people happy," Dmitri felt sick, he felt the growth of the emptiness in his chest. He was so melodramatic, so depressing. He watched his companions move everyday and moved along behind them, smoking through packs of cigarettes without a thought on his mind. He allowed himself to think that by chugging down those packs he could finally be over with this. Sadly, lung cancer just made things painful for him. Too bad he wasn't human, by now he would have be reincarnated eight times. By now he would be raising another family and smiling and someone else would be protecting his future. Too bad.

He wondered, idly, where the others were. The breeze had picked up, settling into a hollow wind that sent chills over his arms. The others were nearby, huddling by a fire that would keep setting out. One of them would be gone-- him. No, two. Chandra would be near by, stalking him through the bushes. Her form slipped out into that of an animal. She would appear and frown at him, annoy him. He had enough things on his mind, he could live through a day without that as a second bother. First was his constant flow of memory, the second clearly stated earlier.

"Chandra," he called out in the wind, wondering where that croak had gotten. "You can come out and stop being a stalker now." He grinned a little, enjoying the sarcasm in his voice.

[x___acrossthemoor]

"Oh, I made my victims very happy." She spoke, almost unwillingly, in response to his call. This journey was dull and long and miserable. And it taunted her, making her remember things she did not altogether. Maybe it was Dmitri, maybe it was.He almost bragged of his murders, it was sick, digusting. And yet, Chandra was oddly jealous of the man. His blantant brutality and darkness. And oh, oh how it contrasted with her sneaky, cunning, hiding spirit. Was he more content than her, though? When he fell asleep at night did his mind lull on to imaginery, dark things? Or did they haunt the actual past, like Chandra's did for her?

Wasn't that why she was so intriqued with the man? Because he didn't hide behind stupid little secrets and fake smiles like the others. Like herself. How dare she, how dare she even think she was better than those others? It was so apperent that she wasn't. Her smiles seduced her victims and it took her so much urging and poking to even remember what happened afterwards. Chandra put on those fake little acts to please herself, to not be shunned. For if someone knew, her way of life would be over. And Chandra just wouldn't accept that. She'd fight it with every willing fiber of her being.

And yet here she was accepting the fact. Joking about it. About all those dark dark redstained nights of passion and death. It made her uncomfortable, it did. Really did. She wished to take the words back and just leave this journey altogether. To go back to her small, safe hut and wait for them to come to her. Hiding was her escape method, and without it, when she was brought to warm, lively surface of the world, she couldn't stay quiet.

Was it her sex, the chatter of women that made her want so much to blurt out what happened? No. Chandra was never like the others, who cared so much for there honor and modesty. Who had only one man and loved them so much. With kindness. That was it, Chandra wasn't kind at all. She was a bitch and willing to admit it. But bitches made the best lovers and that's what she was. A lover.

And a killer.

Like Dmitri.

They were alike. And he was dangerous. He could hurt her, easily. He could kill her. Did she want that. Oh yes, oh yes. To be weak and begging at anothers knees. To be desperate. Because what Chandra needed was to be in control. But she so wanted to be taken over. She was such a narcissist that she wouldn't kill herself, she thought she was good for that, but she would certainly love it if someone else held a knife to her throat.

The others here? Who knew what they had done. They tried to be so good and nice. It sickened Chandra, really. People who hid behind nice. That's where she veered of, Chandra hid with her sexuality, her flirts and feminity. Were they not all bad people? The woman could admit that she was. But the others could not. They wanted to redeem themselves. There was no way for Chandra to. In fact, if she were to die tonight, and burned in enteral hellfires, she would smile a sad little smile, because she wouldn't have to live with guilt.

Which all led to why she wanted Dmitri. He didn't want her at all. And it just drove her crazy. Chandra was a determined woman. Maybe, as a child, she was spoiled. Her mother's men wanted her to like her, and so they gave her what she wanted. But mostly, the most of all, was because she wanted to be hurt, emotionally. A bit of physically, too. She wanted to beg and plead for her life and fail at being saved. Chandra so wanted to have her life in another hands. So the ass that Dmitri was, she still had an odd fascination with him, because he didn't like her, didn't even lust for her. He didn't care for her and it made Chandra just want him more.

But he couldn't know that.

"Mmh, darling, don't think that I stalk you. You are just much, much more interesting than anyone else here. They all are trying so hard to be good. And it's so inane and silly. I know I'm bad and you know your bad, and that makes you gads more interesting than anyone else here." [/b]And she smiled, a little smirk to herself. Her ice blue eyes sparked at him, daring him to say something terrible. Because, of course, she wanted him to. [/size][/font]

[{ Laughing]

He had known that she would appear, that was why he had called out to her. He wasn't looking for her company, for like those who praised the Lord and his omnipresent abilities, she was always there. Waiting. All he had to do was raise his head with that sardonic smirk and call for her pleasentness to come out and find him. All he had to do was croak out her name and she would slide out like a dog waiting for be recognized by its master. It almost made him annoyed how easily she revealed herself to him, how she just came out and didn't even have to introduce herself into the picture because she was already there, the shadows were her.

"I think you made that point clear days before," Dmitri said in response to her intro. His black eyes rose from where they had been looking out into nothing. "You must be so proud of yourself, giving men their last pleasure before you take away their life. You must consider yourself an angel." And at this note, he bitterly laughed, for after meeting Dmitri no one would ever want to be considered an angel again. For though he sported beautiful wings and straight blonde hair, his eyes foretold misfortune and his actions were the ones that answered.

The angel took a step back and leaned against one of the trees of the Aelnesse forest, the bark digging splinters into his form. His head tilted back, blonde hair sticking out against the dark brown. His black eyes featured his dislike for her being against his pale face, dark eyelashes casting shadows over the dark circles beneath his eyes, as if to hide his lack of sleep from the staring girl before him. Girl... she was no girl. She was no woman either. She was like a siren, a voice of attractive quality and a form of a half-morphed beast. Except it was different in this one. Though she had the beauty of a thousand women, literally, it was beneath her skin that one could examine the venomous soul it contained. Her words and appearence were of legends but her actions were of the devil. Oh, how perfect these two were. Together, they could rid the world of uncomforist people.

But Dmitri didn't like Chandra, no, he rather disliked her completely. Who she was, what she was. Hiding and pretending made no friend. But Chandra acted now as if she didn't do that very thing. Or rather, she behaved like she could get away with doing it by suddenly saying that she didn't do it. It was so obvious that she just wanted to see him, oh, it was terribly ridiculous as well. Dmitri was Dmitri, he could live without company, as he did for decades. However, now that he was stuck with a party of strangers, he had to resurface social skills that he could have otherwise done without. And it was against Dmitri's code to be chatting with a necessary cause. Chandra didn't seem to care much at all for what he thought, however. She was as clingly as ever, as bothersome, as annoying.

"You should probably listen to yourself, the advice you spout is perfect for you," Dmitri pointed out harshly. "Pretending is so easily done for people like you, who don't even have an indentity of your own. I wouldn't expect you to be any other way. Because you're Chandra, right? Oh rather, right now. I'm guessing you'll fix your appearence soon enough, try to tell me off in a form different then the innocence you portray in the presence of our companions. Really, its rather ridiculous." The angel snorted, wishing to spit more venom but finding that he didn't have much else to say to her, really. His head ached for a cigarette and his hands were itching to find one, his habit drawing itself as the only conclusion in the presence of her.

[x___acrossthemoor]

Her smiled stayed, steady, the little sarcastic smirk, and her eyes narrowed the slightest bit. Dmitri made her so angry, poking at her nerves, being downright rude. But she wouldn't leave, now, she wouldn't go off in a huff because he had insulted her. Chandra wasn't a immature in that way, her mother had never liked her. So she had adapted. She was downright horrible to me, in fact. Everytime she had a man with her, the woman threw a look to me, like I was nothing to her. With Cassidy, there was some kind whispering. Explaining. And when I got older, and began to attract the men, when the mother held the prescence of being older? When there eyes glanced down me instead of her? It just got worse.Called me a slut, a prominiscious child whore. But I wasn't a child, I wasn't. I never was.

No, Chandra wasn't that sensitivie. "Mmh? Do I act innocent and sweet the others, I didn't notice at all. I probably do, love. I don't want to be hated like you. That make me weak? Yes. It does, but your weak too, for all the airs you put on. You don't like others and that makes you pathetic. Maybe when you were stuck all alone, you recluse, you were safe. But now your out here in the world, and your not nearly as strong." Her words were almost affenctionate, to the man. She wasn't going let her mind fill with anger, with rage so easily, it had no affect on him.

But did she try to comform, did she really? She kept herself neat and gorgeous. And for the most part, Chandra hid her murders. Most didn't feel that they were all the acceptable. They'd mob and scream horrible names at her, call her a whore. A worthless killing whore. Was she? Perhaps. It gave her selfworth, at least. Even if every rational soul on the earth hated her, there would still be lonely men who didn't know her faces, her name. So she'd never be lonely, and that was a lovely, a marvel of marvels. Dmitri was a bitter old man, even with his youthful appearence. It made her better than him, in a way, because someone needed her and wanted her. No one wanted Dmitri... for the most part.

"And I'm not self-righteous like the others. God, they might have had lovers, but they cared for them. I'm a slut, Dmitri, and I do belive you know that, and they know that and hell, the whole world might. Or maybe not. I do ... cover what happens pretty well. You're effeminate enough to resist it, but those pathetic little humans? They need me. And who wants you, Dmitri? No one."
I could turn around and leave right now, not just him, but everyone. I could go back to my hut and I would be safe and no one would have to know. But yet they do. The Gods do and they would get pissy and harm me. Oh god. They always knew. Why didn't they punish me, why didn't they decide to lock me up or kill me or force me to have a little demon of a child. The locked up him, they really did. And yet the left me, they left me with my sins and they knew that would be worse. They are just as immoral as us. It isn't fair punishment, they like the cruelness of it. There leaving me hurt me, but it's hurting others, good people too.

"We could leave. Or... I could leave. I don't care about this journey, and I don't even think the gods do. Why'd they pick bad people, why not good heroes? Heroes would do what they are told for there pride and honor. Maybe it'll kill us. Whatever is there. They probably knew that it would get rid of us, and if we got rid of it? Killing two birds with one sword. Or rather six sinners. So why, Dmitri, love, did we come here? Why did I, even. I'm going to gain nothing out of it." The words came out in a whisper, eyes narrowed, and perhaps more to herself than to him.

She could leave. Just go away and never see any of them again, and no one would care. Chandra would be free and happier. The only problem, was, of course, they got here as a group, and leaving alone would be harder. She could change, or course, into a tiger or a bear or a mouse. But the journey back home would be wearisome. More work than it was worth. As much as she loved the ease of her hutlife, maybe, just maybe, she had grown bored of it.

[{ Laughing]

Dmitri listened, as it was all he could do... or rather that was what he told himself. He could have shoved his fist down her throat by now, opened his fingers and shredded them through that white neck. He could have taken her by the hair and dragged her close, taunted her as he always did and then thrown her to the ground, snapped her spine. Killed her. His teeth grinded at the thoughts, a sound that resembled crunching gravel beneath the pack's feet as they roamed through the world, looking, searching, not killing. Oh god, was that the reason that they had sent them on this mission? To keep them from reverting back to phases before? Had the gods been benevolent enough to save their followers by sending their murderers out on a journey, telling these sadists that there was a point, this was to save everything, humanity, the gods themselves. But the gods were not so wonderful... they did not care. They probably sat in their golden thrones, drank their wine and laughed. Laughed at Dmitri, at Chandra, at them all as they took the lives of countless people. Murderers, they most likely crowed, continue this game. Murderers, like a chant, amuse us more. All while their people cried out their eyes and fell to their knees before these destroiers, tears sliding and voices beseeching mercy. Murderers, murderers, play us more songs. Their screams were only background music to the thoughts that possesed him, possesed her, possesed this group. A soap opera that never ended. Centuries of amusement. Centuries of hilarity. Until it finally came back and bit those fucking gods in the ass.

"Weak as you? No one is that weak, Chandra," Dmitri said with a stupid smirk on his face. "You're the most pitiful excuse for a... creature that I've seen. You say that you are stronger because you can play pretend, because you think that you have the social skills of a pretty queen. Then why, if you are so strong, stronger then I, the introverted narcassist from the mountains, do you come to me when I call out? Why do you flaunt yourself when I beckon your appearence? Tell me, Chandra, why you seem to need the attention from me, if you are stronger then me? I do not expect your attention, I do not want your existence. I have no emotional attachment to your reality. So if you are so much better than me because you wear masks and can hide behind fluttering eyes and conceal emotions behind smile, I dare you one thing-- leave me alone."

Dmitri listened again. His head wrong, his fingers twitched. He wanted a cigarette, really bad. Whilst she ranted about lovers and sluts, he grabbed his pack from his pocket, easily lifting it to his mouth and grabbed one of them from the packet into his lips. He wasn't look at her as his other hand came up to start a small flame with the lighter, the orange glow immediately sliding onto the end of the cigarette. He settled both the pack and the lighter in his pockets and then inhaled deeply, taking in the smoke and prayed that it gave him lung cancer. He realized by the time that he had leaned his head back against the tree, cigarette drawing back to his mouth and trailing grey smoke beyond it, that Chandra had stopped talking. She really did, which he found absoluetely out there. Could the girl actually stop chattering? The possibility was very low, he had assumed, but there she was, shape-shifter and all, not prattling out unnecessary information. Wonderful. But he knew he had to respond to what she said before she began prattling again and that wouldn't take long without an answer.

"To be wanted, as you put it, like you are wanted, would be much more of a curse then anything," Dmitri commented, pointing the two fingers that were holding the rolled cigarette in her direction. "You give away your body each night just to kill a man. Its completely useless, unless the whole point of it was the feel needed. You probably have some human desire to be wanted as you say the men want you. You probably are suffering right now, standing there without any men pawing at your feet, looking for your affections. You're probably boiling with rage because no one who walks with you desires you. No one wants you to take off your clothes and pleasure them. Oh, painful, isn't it?" The angel smirked a little as he took in another drag of his cigarette, allowing another prayer to the gods for that beautiful concept of death.

Dmitri understood the concept of want, desire, need. He had suffered from it himself with Jacqueline. The arc angel had pretty much had him wrapped simply around her middle-finger, not realizing that she had been just fucking around with him the whole time. There was nothing between them while they did it over and over again, a simple animalistic pleasure that had taken them a long time to get over. Years, if he remembered right. Ever since she found him messed up in the woods, practically dieing right in front of her doorstep. It had been so idealistic, their meeting and their time together. Desire would be the word that he would use for that time. Desire for another thing, another lonely soul. But Jacqueline hadn't been lonely, it was only Dmitri that was lonely. He was no loner cursed with the loneliness that he had been plagued with at earlier times in his life. Now he understood that being lonely or sad was so much easier then being caught up in a relationship. This was probably coming to him right now, staring at the shape-shifter whose basic needs in life was sex and destruction. She was the word fool personified.

"Why did they chose us, murderers? Why didn't they chose heroes?" Dmitri repeated her words as if they were ridiculous, his cigarette hanging again moments from his lips. "Heroes would die, Chandra. Heroes would think that by letting themselves fall they would be honoring their cause. Murderers, we know what death is, we cause it and we do not ever want to experience it. Heroes would not know to escape, to finally just run away when there was nothing left to do. Heroes do not know the concept of life, they know the words justice and loyalty. We, we are not heroes, we will never be heroes. Sadists and masochists and murderers, we strive to live. And this whole concept of life is our survival method. So while heroes crumble we still stand, because, you know what? We probably killed the heroes long before."

[x___acrossthemoor]

Was she worthless, was she really? For all the men she slept with, none stood by her to the day. But then again, she didn't want them to. Chandra took a strange pleasure out of seeing there blood on her hands. For all of the time before, when she was slutting around with them, she would never, never be as turned on as when she saw there dead corpses, and pressed the bloody knife against her mouth. No matter, no matter how she may deny it, the murders got her off. In the beginning, when those men wander down the moorhills, it was about being needed. But even she couldn't deny the wonderful, crumpling pleasure she got from the power of it. She could own them, and she did. Chandra took them from whomever else needed them, and they were all hers, and then she ended that too. There had been longer relationships as well, oh a few of them. But when dawn fell upon there sleeping, nude bodies, there was no feeling of warmth inside of Chandra. No affection for the man that loved her, or at least, wanted her. The excitement and faded. And when she wandered away, there was no closure to it. He might miss her, but she didn't miss them. Just a bored, discontended ache. Rarely did men escape her nights, and when they did, it was regret she felt, and nothing else.

But nobody, nobody could know that. Chandra wasn't modest about much at all, but, still, what man would want something like that. A woman who was discontented with the romantic part. The men she had known, really, personally known, had thought them all silly, swooning fools, who were embarressed about the sex. Who blushed, but let there lovers sleep with them under obligation. So there men would stay by them night after night and not go off with some whore. And Chandra wasn't even that. For prostitutes did it for the men or the money. Everything Chandra did was for herself. Maybe she was a prominiscus little child, maybe she was. Or perhaps, it was her mothers ways with men that led her to this. Led her to hate the men that came for her mother, but stayed for the daughter. And the longer they stayed, the more money they got. Her mother should have loved her for that, or at least appreciated her. But god no, she just loved that little virginic Cassidy. The stupid child.

But she's probably happy now, that innocent little babe. Probably she's married, with two beautiful children of her own. And Chandra knew that she was not standing her, lusting after what she could never have, and begging to be hurt. Cassidy never licked the blood off the knife of the men that trusted her panting from the excitement it gave, never raided the corpses belongings for money. No. Chandra's sister never did anything of those things, and never would. Cassidy was a normal, happy woman. She didn't have a power complex. Oh, and one more, this for the positive, Cassidy never had to look in the eyes of that bastard Dmitri D'Arcangelis.

"Well my child, my dear child, I was, who the hell do you think I kill for? You think I'm not just as narcisstic as you? You withdrew yourself honey, from the society. And I stay, I keep killing those men, and I wouldn't change. Oh, we may be different, oh yes we may, you withdrawn son of a bitch, but I am not that weak. Don't ever call me weak you hypocrite. How many women, oh god, how many women slept with there men to try to please there mother? Entertained them while they thought of her? Any of those other worthless little babies would have cried, would have moped about and whined about how they were so molested. And I liked it, I really did. I liked being hurt by them, there elder brutalities. I began crave it." She stared at him, pausing for a second to breathe, her now calm, almost happy. She was proud of herself for killing those men. Why should she deny it? Oh god why should she have ever denied it.

"I wouldn't kill you Dmitri, I wouldn't kill you because you don't seem to like me. It's the people who like me who are the probably. I never was loved as a child. Or ... I was loved. Just not in the normal way. Not in the affectionate way that others were, with a mother to hug them when they fall. But yet... I wanted her to love me, and yet she never did. You probably weren't wanted as a child either, yes? But... the type of adoration I feel towards dies out quickly. Why should I deal with those boring men and there dull stories. They never loved me, they never did. In fact, they looked at me like I was a whore. A whore, Dmitri, and they didn't respect me. Not when I was a young woman or now. So yes, oh god, oh god. I killed them. I hated them afterwards, after I fucked them. And I hated men in general. But I have never, ever hated men as much as I have hated the weakness of women, that made slutty women so shunned."

Those modest, humble women that whispered of her wrongdoings to the friends, pretty young ladies who waited, who didn't use there bodies for what it was so meant to do. Chandra's body could be any man's, for a price. A very big price. She never had female friends, she never did. It was so true, so wonderfully terribly spectaculary horribly true that the only love she had ever known was lust; quick, passionate sex. And she had taken over those men so many times that she had grown bored with it, now she wanted to be taken herself. She had a power complex bigger than anything, it's what controlled her. And for the first time, she agreed with Dmitri, if those stupid, angelic blusing women and tried this journey? They'd be dead. They were completely too weak.

"They'd sacrifice themselves. We are all narcissists, in a way, even those who've just killed one, just killed someone they adored. It'd probably be harder to do that, anyway. But those who've never felt the blood on there hands? Weak. Can we agree on that? Those who fear the Gods or others opinions. Us killers are strong. I don't care though. I don't want to save anyone. To help anyone. Who helped me? No one, and that's the way I wanted it, the way it's always been. I don't want to be a nice girl, Dmitri, love. It's so inane and dull and stupid, this journey and those heroes. I'd let them die, oh I should have let them die. Why didn't I, Dmitri? Am I all that weak, am I? Or can I just not admit that I want to be good. 'cause if your dark, you can't ever get hurt."

[{ Laughing]

What Dmitri had focused on out of Chandra's fast and furiously paced words, the hatred and disgust for who she was, for they were, who everyone was, was the part about being needed as a child. It was so strange that he immediately turned his attention at that, touching his cigarette to his lips to think about that-- that being what his parents wanted out of him as a young boy. Chandra, she had experienced the worst thing of all, having to plead inside for the attetion of a mother who wouldn't bend down and care for your knee when you cut it. Chandra existed solely in that type of un-nurturing existence with a mother that would rather have her screw men then do anything together. Dmitri... well... his childhood had not been a childhood at all. It was like he was an adult the minute he learned each word and could form proper sentances. Probably because he was the heir of this amazing throne. He stood at the right side of his father at the table and listened to the man talk about politics and how he was going to just kill those bastards. It made the boy sick then and now, thinking about it, it made his feel like smashing the cigarette that he had taken once more away from his lips.

"Most murderers do not grow up in loving, tight-knit families that smile and laugh together," Dmitri commented softly. "I am a fabulous heir, Chandra. My father still lives and my mother along with him, but their retirement age had passed them long ago. I am the supposed heir to the throne or riches and glory, I could get anything I wanted. I was not loved, Chandra. My family as based off of political and economic standards. While I existed as their puppet, which I was never quite that, they could continue to run an empire that their forefathers created and never lose anything to my less interested ways. I probably would have allowed them to do it too, to control this mountainous society they created, if I had stayed. So sad, too bad, I was ripped away from that throne and placed into a town far, far away. After, of course, killing father's mistress for taking away the two things that had been precious to me."

The angel was smirking now, a light upturning of the lips trailing along his expression. He opened his mouth, still the corners upturned and placed the cigarette into his mouth, listening with one ear, thinking with the other. He truly did find Chandra's prattle quite unnecessary, but he couldn't tell her to shut the fuck up, considering that he too had just made a speal about his ever so screwed childhood. So he decided that maybe he could sit through her chattering and not make faces, because that only seemed to make her more mad which only led to more ranting. He was about to sigh, but he plugged that closed with his cigarette and decided to just roll that around in his mouth for a while, listening away to Chandra as she commented on lecherous men and despising women.

"I wonder, Chandra, if you really hate things as much as you say you do. You despise men, yet you allow them to pleasure you and you to pleasure them in return. You say that you hate gossiping women, but aren't they the only thing that keeps the men coming, those rumors that there is a whore in the moorland, waiting for customers? I really do think that you exagerrate your words to make it sound like you are displeased with things so that you sound, oh, I don't know... bad-ass. And you probably, even if spoken to deeply and most sincerely, would continue to kill, maim, and destory men and continue to glower at the women who dare call you a slut. You will continue to be unhappy with your life and you'll continue to complain about it when the gods once again call upon you. For they are not done with us yet, Chandra, not even after this. They will find something for us again and force us through it again, because murderers are probably the best protaginists in their stories."

Dmitri released a breath of smoke, letting it curl in the air before watching it blow away in the wind. He brought it back, took another drag, let it go. He was listening again, it was as if all he did was listen to her. Was he a fucking therapist, really? He should just leave her here, freaking out over if she was a dark or a good person. Because, truly, heaven forbid that you're good. The heavens only search out bad, bad to the bone, people, obviously. She really had some issues, this one. And so did he, and so did the rest of these fucked up people on this journey. Where did they go? What did they witness? What actions did they taken against their enemies, against their life, against their gods?

"You should stop worrying about being a hero, about saving people. Our actions are not poised on such thoughts. We move forward because we have to. Being good or bad, or wanting to be good or bad, it's all for those who truly think that they have no purpose in life. A title is what you're looking for? Why don't you listen to what the people say around you? Slut, whore. Aren't those titles? Do they often end up being relevant to bad? Yes. Then aren't you bad, Chandra? Aren't you a little asshole? Isn't that what you want to be known as?" Dmitri taunted her, flicking the charred remains of paper and tabacco from the end of his cigarette. A grin had come across his lips, a horrible one. "Or do you want to be good? Do you want to be good so that you can be hurt? Because in your psychology, only good people can get wounded emotionally. Because us bad people, us murderers and sadists, we don't ever, ever feel any sort of pain or sadness. That's impossible! We are emotionless, thoughtless andriods! Only those innocent, pretty little good girls can get hurt. They are more easily hurt, but I'm sure that even the strong crumble, Chandra. Do you want to be considered good? Then stand right here and crumble and cry because I've just insulted you. Because then, you can be hurt, and that is what it takes to be good, doesn't it?"

[x___acrossthemoor]

She stayed quiet, for his whole spheel. As he went on and on, whining about his child. His petty little troubles. How on earth, on this rightful earth could he complain about losing his money, his her, or how he was raised in a serious household, and still call her petty. She wanted to slap him, but that would be silly and feminine and terrible. I shall become a tiger, yes. I shall become a tiger and bite off his pretty little wings and through that pretty little face. Be the first women I'd ever kill, heh. And I'd know that we'd all get satisfaction out of it. I'd go back to camp with blood on my hands... or paws and kill them too. It'd be different and fun and I'd like to see fear in his eyes. He'd probably be the type to accept with, with a smile. And a sarcastic comment.

"Are you just stupid, or are you actually meaning to be a hypocrite. Maybe I do exaggerate, yes. but it's because I'm a passionate person, because what I say I mean. I'm sorry I'm not a big rational man like you are. Though you aren't very big. Or manly. I'm a slut, and people don't like sluts. And I like myself. And sex, for that matter, I really do. But I don't like people. Is that obvious enough? You don't like people either, honey, we can all see that one. Why don't you just go back to you happy little castle and mope around inside?" It goes in cycles for me doesn't it? You get angry, and you get sarcastic. Calm yourself, honey, there is no use at all to raise you tone. You're letting him get to you.

The woman shut her mouth, and sat down hard, on the cold dirty, ground, mussing her dress. Her long, straight golden blonde hair was flipped behind her shoulders as she looked up at the man, curiously. What really was wrong with him? He wasn't loved as a child, he did admit, but many weren't. How many heirs were raised with parents who looked above there childrens head's as they explained there ancestry? But what really bothered her, what really interested was that he killed his fathers mistress. For tearing up the family? Silly Dmitri, there were worse things in life.

And there was that matter with his old lover, Joslyn or something like that. Some J name. He had wanted her, hadn't he? When he was weak and despaate and dying he grew attached to her. Is that what he liked, poweful strong women. Chandra worried that she wasn't such. The men that begged at her feet for there lives didn't make her powerful, for she had a knife then. The good were the truly strong, no matter what lies she may speak from the mouth. For though they haven't faced death, they had morals and consciounces. And they had them for a reason. She had never kept her legs together and blushed around men because she didn't care. But for some reason, all those others did. It couldn't be love, could it? True deep soulmate love, the kind she had only heard about? No, of course not. What man would know or care about a girls virginity? Then what of the pregnancy risk? More likely, though I've never had a brat. I'd get rid of it anyway. Dmitri would probably just kill one of his when it came out. Women were supposed to like children, and flowers and romance. And I don't. So what's that say about me? That I'm not a woman? No. Even shapeshifters have preferred forms. And I've never been a man, never will be. It'd be wrong, to kill a women that you slept with. Plus they aren't as willing.

So where does this lead me? Right back to where I was and what I admit. I'm just prominicious. Which isn't such a bad thing. And Dmitri? He's asexual. And he's such a narcissict that he'd sleep with someone who saved him. I do wonder if that's the only women he's ever fucked? Probably. Poor Dmitri, the almost virgin. Her thoughts were calm and quiet, as she glanced back and forth slowly, dully between the angel and the forest. The thoughts were pointless and somewhat silly, but what did it matter. They were to calm her down. So when she spoke again, it was in that almost scratchy, affectionate voice.

"I'd love to be hurt, 'mtri. I'm not afraid of that. Nice people are, the little wimps. It's what separates the brave from the cowards. Good people, for all there belief in the Gods and Hell, don't want to die. I think that's why were here. Thought they could just get rid of the bad with one fell swoop and keep the good for more important things like rescuing kittens and babies. No, for all I say, I don't want to be good, to be held down by my morals or, even greater, guilt. To think before I act. It isn't there wish for pain, that makes them good. It's there fear of that. And I know that better than anyone, my child. I really do." [/size]

[{ Laughing]

"I would, Chandra, but... I would be rather unwelcome," Dmitri laughed, raising one haunty eyebrow and looking at her with a bit of amusement. "I seem to have killed to many people to be welcomed anywhere, least of all to a family that I abandoned. They would sic the Gods on me... not that someone hadn't already done that." Dmitri drew in another breath, another smokey lung and a prayer. "And that is why I am on this trip, wandering in a forest, talking to you. If I could, I would, I really would. But sadly I am forced here. It wasn't like I came on this adventure with a happy smile and a pack of goodies. I came because it was will of the gods in all of their mighty glory moving me forward like a pawn on a chessboard." The man smirked again, a little. He was amusing himself more then anything.

"You probably should think before your act, though," Dmitri said after turning his ear back to his own thoughts. Her prattling had distracted him from other things again, these 'other things' being less important and more amusing thoughts. Like just walking up to her and grabbing her by the neck, choking her. Or just walking away from the situation altogether, leaving behind the girl who had, probably in pursuit to calm herself, planted herself on the ground. "Guilt is not always a bad things... being good is not always a bad thing. I suppose that we, murderers, will never be 'good' but we can pretend to be portrayed as such. I'd assume that is what we are viewed as now... 'good' people because we're defending the national public from the dangers that only the gods know and don't care to tell us." Dmitri looked at the butt of his cigarette and then let it fall to the ground, setting it off with a smash of his shoes as he did so.

"I live with guilt, Chandra. I have for years, but that doesn't stop me from doing the things I do. It doesn't prevent me from going along on this journey and killing, as the gods will it. I am not brought down by my own past nor do I care to linger over its thought, but it doesn't mean that occasionally," he scoffed at this, pausing in the sentance to let his thoughts contridict his words-- every single night--, "I don't find myself guilting over actions that did, in the end, took their time to bite me in the ass." Dmitri leaned forward, off of the tree, and dug his hands into his coat pockets. A feather fell from beneath it, his wings tucked carefully beneath the heat of the coat. He narrowed his eye at the exceptionally cold wind that blew itself through the area, his blonde pony-tail whipping behind him.

"I thought that I already went over this with you, Chandra, but it seems that I have a need to repeat myself," Dmitri rolled his eyes, huffing a breath that appear in a white whisp before him. "We're not going to die because of what we are. Though we aren't necessarily afraid of death and all of its mystery that we don't seem to care about, we aren't going to die. The gods wouldn't will us on this journey to fall. The pushed us along so that we finished the job. If one of us dies, okay, maybe that would be believable. But all of us? Every single member on this trip? No, we won't, because the gods didn't pick people who would fail." The blonde moved away from the wind once more, moving back against the tree, but this time sliding down until he hit the ground.

The angel picked out another cigarette, stuck it in his mouth and ilt it with the lighter he had aleady set to flame. He took another drag, another breath of death another prayer. "Evil isn't a dieing race. If we die, there are others to replace us. And when the years pass, no one will know our name, because there are always people there to take on personas that originated with us," the angel looked at her with a small smirk on his face, tucking back in the half-full pack of cigarettes and the lighter into his pockets. "Do you like the concept of being replaced, Chandra?"

[x___acrossthemoor]

He was just so infuriating, always acting so wise, so careful. Dmitri speaks in mirages, in lies, I expect. Everything he says, everything, could just be a big fable, a tale to subdue me. To make me leave. Chandra's thoughts were dull and calm, and the latter of them pounded in her head. There had been men before, who didn't want her or like her. She had let them free, with some amount of fake pouting, teasing. Hid the way her eyes flashed behind them, as they sauntered off with there righteousness, or their love for another woman. Either way, any way, really, it turned about better for them. But so many of those men were greedy little pigs, and it cost the women in the long run. Had it not done so when she was a virgin? With her mother's hurtful words, glancing with her narrowed little eyes from child to her lover.

And her sister, her little sister who always allowed her hair to be brown and straight or orange and wavy, and her wide childlike eyes to be green, her mother adored.. Her appearence spoke for her, pretty, but not exquisitely so. Cassidy looked like a child, an innocent little helpless thing that men never once wanted. That men would have stayed with Eleanor for. But Chandra's whose hair was always curled and blonde, tied back with that eternal shiny blue ribbon, and her wide, ice blue eyes made them nervous. Said that the lady, the mother was no good. Of course, many of them knew she was a shapeshifter, many of them were themselves, but the way the child held herself, acted so quiet, with her eyes the peirced them, narrowed. Her eyes were that of a killer. And as Chandra grew older, she learned to conquer that, hiding her icy stare with layers of green or brown or violet.

Her sister hid nothing though, she was always the blushing maiden. The one who was courted by men her age, innocently, them blushing as much as she. And Chandra, for once in her life, had to stand back, watch as the kissed her younger sister's forehead timidly on the porch, before leaving, reluctant of missing her personality, not her body. Yes, Chandra would always stand back in the shadows, when this happened, her pale eyes flickering and dancing with anger. And jealousy. For as innocent as she acted, as she pretended to be, the young men never wanted anything to do with her. Made them nervous. Even Chandra knew that. And so, like her mother's affection, Cassidy stole another thing Chandra wanted.

Not that the sister was a complete angel, though. Cassidy was mean to one person, and that was her sister. Sibling rivalry was all it was, quite basically. But to someone who hated her so, those fights, those light girl-slaps became signs of deepening hate. Perhaps the girl really did hate her, just hid it well. Unlike Chandra, who couldn't hide a thing to save her life. Secrets she kept eventually would creep up, bubbling from her mouth like the blood of a dying man. Yes. Cassidy was the first to call the woman a slut. The first to whisper about her with friend, there hands covering there mouths, there eyes shifting slowly, carefully to her. The first to cause the the slow paranoia about others that made Chandra's spine contract, and shiver slowly, miserably down.

And then the day Chandra announced she was leaving? Not a word from any of them. Just a stare, a fine or something of that matter spoken by her mother. As she turned though, she thought she saw them exchange a smile, a hurtful little smile of the older daughters escape. But when she was gone, from the sight of the house, of all those hurtful memories, she fell to the ground, so quickly her knees turned dirty, and cried. A cold, sobbing cry of hate and misery. For she was completely alone, with no one female on this earth to like her or comfort her. That mattered more to her than anyone could possibly imagine. She slept there, that night, on the cold land with the tall grass swaying around her. The next morning she left, with nothing but another set of emotions closed off.

So as the woman turned her eyes on Dmitri, stared at the black, heartless stare, she kenw that it had become her mission to make him like her. A cold, dark one, one that she would probably fail at, and maybe that's what she wanted. Yes, looking at Dmitri, Chandra knew she had two mission to complete, before the Gods drew there wrath down upon her and locked her up or killed her. As the pushed her to the edge of the earth and then another, quick shove into hell or nothing. The woman stood up, carefully, her brushing the dirt off her legs and carefully, with a slow, seductive gait, moved toward the man. But yet she stopped, with a step or so between them. It would do no good to go shoving herself at him. Again.

"I would have never expected you to feel girl, my heartless, heartless love. I never would have thought that you'd have cared about it. I don't, really. Or I can hide it anyway. I mean, I just don't think about it." Was it true? That when she buried the corpses that she didn't feel regret for them. That they were dead. Was she really, the truly dark one? The only one. Surely there were others who didn't care. War veterans, who killed the enemy. Ah, of course. Men were the enemy to Chandra, so why should she feel bad for killing those pigs. And yet, yet, I am so like one myself, for all of my careful covering of my feminity, I am like the worst of the the sick bastards Just wanting them for one thing. But who cares? Who really does care rather or not I want to love and hold them or just kill them. Them, probably. Maybe if I just went to a brothel I would be better off. With those sad, young children that cried when the men left. That wanted a nice, good, decent one to sweep them up and save them. They are so weak. That's the problem. They are weak and I am strong... basically.

Her toned stayed even though, as she stared the angel in the eye, eyes somewhat fogging over, as her thoughts took her away, her words being planned and careful, "I will be replaced, I do fear, I will be replaced in due time, which is regretful. If I should ever, god forbid, have a child, who is to say that she will not continue the cycle. But... maybe she'd be a good girl, like my dear, dear sister." The last words were spoken with such a powerful hatred that her nose wrinkled up in a grimace. That her eyes broke her soft stare and fell to the ground. "Cassidy, my sister, poor thing that she is, it probably happy. She always was. All of my mother's hate for me got channeled into her. Into her raising and care and comfort and shelter. And now, oh god, and now she probably is somewhere resting, with children at her feet and a husband to love. A traditional wife, a female. Meek and timid and ready for her husband to boss her around, to cook his supper and bear his whelps. I bet she does it with some amounts of joy too."

Her first mission would be hard, getting the angel to want her, but the second could be easy. Almost pulled off without flaw, and with some amount of closure too. Chandra's pretty little mouth smiled at the thought, "My dear, you wouldn't leave this, because you want to save yourself. Well, I fear I must say that I don't care enough about myself to protect my life... so I'm going to go rogue. Ah yes, I'm leaving this godforsaken journey and leaving it. I'm going to kill my sister, my love. And when I do, when I look into her eyes and watch the life fade out of them, I will be a good person. I will be satisfied."

[{ Laughing]

Dmitri watched Chandra with half-narrowed as she came forward, the wing swaying her blonde locks over her shoulder. Her movements swayed with the winter-chilled breeze, her fingers twitched from where they hung limp at her side. That was what he was looking at her, her fingers. He had gotten tired of her face, of her mouth as it twisted its smirk and rid her mind of thoughts by releasing them on un-wavering breaths. Her eyes had gotten tiring, the ice coat they wore jumping from one emotion to the next, then settling for a boring look of utter amusement. Was Chandra truly amused? Dmitri could read her at most moments like an opened scrolled, rolling on for pages and pages with emotions, dips and swings, thoughts coloring the pages in their plentiful ink. He had always been able to tell was beyond Chandra's words when she spoke with the other people on their journey. What twisted thoughts were behind the curling of her lips in that smile to prevent others from seeing within. She was such a obvious liar. He watched her fingers as the breeze touched them. She was such a horrible weaver of lies, these knots she made were the reasons she was on this mission.

The reason which Dmitri was on this mission, as Chandra had pointed out during the last paragraph of her speech, was to save himself. To keep himself from comitting suicide on that mountain, all by himself. To keep himself from ripping off his wings and then getting a noose and hanging himself. No one would suspect such a thing from Dmitri, would they? He didn't act like that was the reason he came on this journey. He took on the normal facade of he was only here because the Gods had called upon him to do their dirty work, to prevent their own asses from being fried. But there was more then that, more then the plea of Gods. He could care less for those who sat upon their golden thrones and talked shit about their own creation, not taking the time to try to do anything about them. How could he want to do anything for the Gods--not want, do in general--that had confined him to that hell of a place in the mountains? Save himself. He almost whispered the words right there, looking at the small, girlish fingers of his traveling companion. To save himself.

"Don't say things that you don't mean, Chandra. You have every intention of living. You know that even if you kill this sister of yours, Camey or whatever, you won't be taken away. You'll still be living and you'll come back here because you too want to save yourself. The Gods will not punish you because they need you. They do not care about the innocent, or those who have done nothing at all. They will bring you back. No, you will bring yourself back," Dmitri brought the lit cigarette to his mouth, another taste of the tabacco on his lips made his frayed nerves settle into placant waiting. He wanted to say more at the moment, to continue his taunting speech and make Chandra leave, but he couldn't. His mind could not force the words out of his mouth, his fingers had frozen once he had the cigarette over his knee, the cold ground tapped with the fiery remains of the end of his cigarette. His eyes had left her fingers, left Chandra's fabricated form all together. He couldn't look at her anymore. She made him sick.

His head turned with a sudden show of his life, fingers let go of the cigarette to burn into the earth beneath him. His black eyes found her ice ones in the onyx night, noting the splashes of platnium blonde that had strung itself across her face in the whipping of the winds. Why was he looking at her like this, staring like an idiot? His lips were half-parted, waiting to whisper something, to yell something, to do anything at all. But Dmitri just stared at the face of his companion, of the shape shifter that he hated with a passion. She was such a useless existence, such a bother, such an idiot. Yet, calling her useless, spitting on her life was like doing the same to his, to the people that he wandered with. If he called Chandra a stupid wench he was, in turn, calling himself a useless bastard. Because they were all so a like. She held onto some things--her hatred for men, for her good sister--as vehmently as he held onto others--the death of his siblings, his killing sprees. They were all so damned a like. Was this the Gods will at work? Retrieving the most ridiculously similiar people on the planet and forcing them together on a journey, which he believed, had no point at all.

"Why do you tell me about these things in your life, past and future anyway, Chandra?" his words came out suddenly, they weren't the ones he was looking for. "Did you just want to vent your ultimate hatred for Cassidy out finally? To show someone that you were going to go do your final duty and destroy her. For what reason? Because of jealousy, because she was better? Chandra, I know you are trying to say that you do not have regret for the things that you do, the peoples lives who you take, but I doubt you aren't going to feel anything after you kill this Cassidy girl. If its you I can see you falling down and crying over her corpse." Dmitri laughed, looking at the knees of her. He wasn't going to ever look at her face again, not in these moments. He couldn't do it anymore. He would just want to rip those eyes out their sockets and subsequently remove that stupid smirk from her lips. Because her words were bothering him, making his aching head beat like a drum.

"So go, Chandra, leave behind this journey and kill uselessly. Because, doesn't that title evil applied to our names dictate we kill every week?" Dmitri shook his head, grinning with that hint of annoyance behind the expression. "And then I'll be expecting you back. Unless, of course, you commit a final act of violence upon yourself. Wouldn't that be a lovely present?" The man looked at her knees with hooded black eyes, his fingers, which had betrayed the lifeless cigarette under his knee, touching his lips and tracing the small smirk that had divulged in his expression. His other hand lay abandoned on his knee, which gave a twitch of life. "Take that life and then take your own, because you seem to think that when she is gone the Gods are going to come after you. Wouldn't falling by yourself be more honorable?" A throat-tickling laugh escaped his throat. He did not look her in the eye.

[x___acrossthemoor]

"She was better than me, honey. Absolutely, totally and completely. Managed to stay innocent and untainted by Mother whoring herself out. Maybe her daddy was better than mine, --no. It was my mother. It was just... her. From the moment she knew about Cassie, she loved her. Cared for her. We even goddamn moved for her. So Mother would be safe for the pregnancy, so no men would bother her. And you know what she told me, when we moved? She hated me even then, you see, and she whispered to me, 'I drank through your pregnancy. Heard it made you miscarry. I was wrong through, damnit, and I had to have you.' And then her voice changed, said something or other about how this child would be different. I'm guessing that's what made us different. I'm surprised my mother didn't abadone me after she was born. Or for that matter when I was born."

Goddamnit, Chandra, you're do talk to much about you're life. Just another stupid woman. Why don't you just nag him about wearing his muddy boots across the floor while you fix his dinner? Still, it bothered her. Why did her mother have to punish her, every day. She could have left her somewhere, even if it was in the woods, alone, as an infant. To die. "And have my corpse eaten by bears or wolves," she finished almost silently to herself.

Yet, she didn't hate her mother as much as she hated her sister. Because there were times, when all facades fell, and basic siblings rivalry reared it's ugly head, and her sister dropped the sweet act and was downright terrible to Chandra. Not to say that the woman wasn't terrible back, but there were no lies. Chandra was a mean child, and Cassidy? She was kind to every single being on the planet except for Chandra. Very few times in her childhood was there any affection passed on to her, and even less was if from her family. On occasion, before she grew up, men would be kind to her, treat her like a child. And there had be a cat once, a little grey thing that wander around waiting to be fed. It disappeared though, after her mother saw her petting it.

Then again, it all made her who she was. Gave her that odd, wonderful satisfaction of killing. Brought her here. But at the same time, it was time for her to leave. There was no reason for her to wait around. The others were off somewhere else and soon she would be too. They'd all return eventually, rather it be from the force of the Gods or from their own careful desire to save themselves or others. The journey would be tedious alone, but if it must be done, she'd accomplish it. "Some of the others left too, must have been that awful wracking guilt that attacked them in in night, here you think about your murders, you have too. That's why we're here, isn't it? Why we were chosen to go on this mission. What do you think they are going to do with us when it's over though? You think that they are going to let us redeem ourselves, go on living normal happy lives. Maybe they will for a few of the others, one's who got angry and killed there daddy who beat them, or something. But what about us? If the Gods know so very much about us, then they'll know we'll go right back to our old ways. Killing the normal, happy people. Dearie, I don't know about you, but I'm not going to spend my final days standing around waiting for the others to return from apoligizing to some whore's child whose mother they killed for using her body in an unsacred way."

"They are using us. Maybe that's why they picked us, it isn't anything about us being stronger. The Gods know that something is going to happen, something is going to make us go through Hell to save them. And did they put good, normal, heroes up to it? No. Didn't think they deserved to go through it. It's inane and silly, this whole journey is. I'm surprised someone hasn't escaped or tried to run away yet. Or even better, I'm surprised little Dmi-ey would sit and wait around, following the rules so carefully. Are you scared though? Don't want to get in trouble so you can have a normal, happy life after this is all over. But life screws people like us over, love. We don't get happy endings or anything. I'm not going to stand here and die for my sins. And I'm surprised you're going to."

She did talk too much, to him, especcially. But whose blame was it? There was no real need or way for her to talk in her normal life. In fact, most of the time, the men she took in did most of the speaking for her. Went on about there travels and tried to compliment her and make her feel special and wanted. Even in her childhood, when a story stood on a her lips ready to bubble out like naive stories do, her mother's look silenced her. Now, though, she was with her peers. Now she could to all the talking she wanted too. So why shouldn't she?

"I'm going to do as much as a can before I get stuck dying on this journey. That includes ruining my sister's perfect, happy, life. So you can just sit here and mope around by yourself, love. If I should die when I return, it will be worth knowing that I ruined my sister, scarred her children. To know that I killed someone who really deserved it, for once."

[{ Laughing]

"Chandra... Chandra." She wouldn't stop. Her words, though not frantic or desperate, would not cease. He rubbed his temples. "Chandra." The repition of her name, for soothing purposes or a subtle way to tell her to shut up? When was Dmitri subtle? He always said outright what he meant to do, what he meant to say. So why was he saying her name in patience? Why was he even allowing her to continue to prattle? What was the purpose? What was the point in being gentle? "Chandra, shut up." His voice escaped in a loud breath, the edge of a terribly annoyed. His questions were answered in those words, he had settled the debate in his mind. He just wasn't going to be nice then, if his inner thoughts screamed at him for being so. Besides, it wouldn't do him well to be uncharacteristicly sweet in front of the shapeshifter. Her next words might jab at him for being so patient with her idiocy. He had to be on guard here. He had to make sure that he did not slip up anymore then he had in earlier moments. So he decided that it was time to force Chandra in pursuing her actions against her devilish sister, this Cassidy that seemed to make the woman so very jealous. In truth, Dmitri had no other clue what to do. The journey was growing dull, though he would continue in her absence. In the absence of them all. He would go and he would attempt to get it over with quickly. He hoped, secretly, as he touched his forehead that he would be able to complete the journey with the help of the other companions before Chandra got the time to show herself again. Surely that would be a dream.

"There are a variety of reasons we were chosen, Chandra. We have studied them in this sitting and many others for a long time, plowing ove the reasons why it was us and not the heroes of the world that got to go. They hope that we will suceed in bringing them to a safe place and that we will fall on the way simply because it is easier for them to hope. Remember, Chandra, though the Gods have created us it is not they who kill us, it is of our own mortality that does that. We risk our lives by coming out here, and why? Because of the Gods? Somewhat and somewhat of our own reasons. Not all of us wander here because the Gods have dictated it so. Do you really think the only reason that I came down from the mountains I was condemned to was to please the whims of those who sent me there?" Dmitri paused, his eyes drawing towards the sky. He did not elaborate upon the subject, for there was no reason to be prodding attention his way at this moment in time. He'd rather have kept on Chandra's childhood issues, but he knew that she no longer wished to speak of them as well. It was her choice to change the mood of the conversation, she used that ability. "And when we are finished with the journey, take that we do not die on the way, I know what is going to happen to me, Chandra. I will go back to the mountains. That is my place in this world, my cage to prevent my esapce onto the humans that will suffer because of me. I am aware of my place, Chandra. I don't think that you are."

He had rebellion issues since he was a child, so why was he exclaiming to this witch that he had no problem with his place in the world? He was a liar by nature, he knew. His responses concerning other people were brutally honest, but he was a liar when it came to himself. A pretender, a liar, a deciever. He didn't know what else to call it, how he so simply came up with lies. The fluidty of his words was pretty but it was scathed by his dishonesty. It made his speeches seem less beautiful, if one knew the truth beyond it. So why did he lie? To comfort himself? To make Chandra look bad? Both of the two were valid answers, both a spin of the truth in their own way. The answer to this question was unknown, he couldn't answer it himself. He just didn't want to be the same as Chandra, though they were essentially the same type of existence. He wanted to differentiate himself from her, from her existence. He wanted to be something else. He lied to be something else.

Dmitri would have exited the journey process sooner if he had the will to return to those dreadful mountains. He knew that he was not allowed to near a village on his own without the company of those who were taking their time to go on the journey as well. The rumor of the Bloody Angel had since become myth, no longer were black-eyed, blonde-haired angels whispered about in the streets. But he was aware that he couldn't have left, he knew that it wasn't possible to leave. They would come after him if he detached himself from the others. And what if they all left? What would he do then? What would he do it they forced him to go back to the mountains even if he insisted that he was seeing this mission through until the end? What if because they all left, because they all broke off to flee from the dangers of this mission he was forced to be brought back? What would he do if something like that was to occur...?

Dmitri felt the hair on his arms rise, his skin prickling with the sensation of goose-bumps. He didn't want to go back to that place, to that time spent with nothing but himself for company. He had already, spent decades there he had been on the verge of hurtling himself off of the nearest cliff and being done with it all. Because solitary confinement, the lack of social circles and the ability to see other people had been killing him. Even when he had been that rebellious adolescent in his first few hundred years he had at least been around people, he had least had been able to sit in their company if he felt like it and watched them from afar. He had not appreciated it then, he had thought that everyone should just go away. He was the type that others labeled as aloof, a loner. Yet there was only the capability of being a loner if one had a choice, if there were still other people are to observe one as this. If he was going to go back to that solitary confinement he had no choice to be away from people. After leaving that he would do anything to stay here. So why had he lied? Why had he said that he was okay with his place, or at least knew it? He'd rather know the face of death then the emptiness of those cold nights once again. He would do anything.

And Chandra was going to leave. Another one, leaving him to be on his own. If she left he'd only have a couple of people with him, and what if they decided to depart as well? Then he'd have to go back, they would force him to return there. The Gods were not going to spare him any time in the world he knew he couldn't leave behind again, not now. His eyes suddenly, in a frantic motion, departed from the blank sky and reached out towards Chandra, desperation suddenly the sparkling glaze over the usually dulled onyx. He had to keep her from going by doing something. He had to say something, to pull her in and do something. Chandra couldn't leave, she couldn't be the next one to go, the role model for the several others left to idolize. Who cared if she was an independant mind, who cared if he hated her, if they hated each other? He was going to make her stay.

"Chandra, Chandra, Chandra," he repeated her name in a rapid speech, attempting to catch her attention away from her wishes. To keep her from turning around. "Chandra." He suddenly broke his promise to keep from her eyes and stared into their cold depths, a shiver running down his spine like how one freezes up after diving into water of cold temperature. His teeth chattered, ground together. "Chandra, you can't leave." He nearly bit his tongue, but he had to continue to detain her from her course. She had to be here, too keep him from returning to that place. He had to do more, to continue forward in his bold actions. He would never speak to her in such a hopeful way if it was for anything else. But this, this concerned his mental and physical being. This was important to him.

"You can't abandon this journey."

He suddenly rose from his sitting position, full standing position, and as he did so he lunged out at her in a desperate attempt to keep her on this pitiful journey. His attempt was so ridiculous. He was trying to hard. He had grabbed onto her wrists, pressing them against the bottom of her back. He didn't know what he was doing, it was so stupid. His other hand had come up behind her head, tangling into her long blonde hair and pulling back. Her neck was exposed, as if he planned to bite it, but he was not going to be so intimate with the shape shifter. He had some sense to him. He instead leaned his face in towards her, ebon eyes still never finding the ability to glance away from her. He needed her to tell him that she wasn't going to go now. He had to make sure that she wasn't going to leave. She couldn't leave.

[x___acrossthemoor]

Chandra's breath escaped her, in a quick little gasp, when his hand wrapped around her wrist, the other drawing into her hair. She stood, practically trembling in his grip, but all the same, she wasn't even frightened by him. I like it, I love it, don't I? That he's touching me. He could slap me or kick me or throw me agaisnt a wall and I'd still like it. I'd beg him for more. God, oh enternal damning Gods, I shouldn't be this way. I'm better than this. Chandra Belleforte is too good for any man. And isn't that what she told herself, as she saw them rambling slowly across the fields, only to saunter up to coolly to her, and look at her like they had already seen her nude. As if she was nothing to them something to sleep with, to give them one of the barest, simplest of all pleasures. She wasn't a being to them, just a whore, a worhtless peice of earth that was lower than they or there honored wives and daughters would ever be.

Some of them couldn't even look at her in the eye, because they were ashamed to be with. To have to sink so low for sex that had to come to a prostitute. And they didn't dare go to a well respected brothel, someone might see them there. No, they had to come to some far away slut that never told who her customers were. And they never had to pay for her. Oh no, this women would sleep with anything that crawled to her. She had no standards.

And why should she? They all were pigs, digusting, horrible heathens that panted over her form. Like they had never even been close to a shapeshifter before, all of the breed had the oppurtunity to be stunning, and most took it. But then again, most shapeshifters were vain, simple creatures that cared not to mix between species. Of course, though, Chandra did not care. Did it matter what kind of blood spilled carefully out of her lovers neck in the night, to fall upon her, staining her body in the moonlight? It was all the same, then, when they were dead. And that's when Chandra truly, truly cared about the souls.

Except for now, of course.

The woman stood, the heat from Dmitri close enough to spread over her, and she was intimidated, for once she felt weak to a man. And if it was anyone, anyone else, she would have whipped around, regardless of the hair pulled, and hurt him, slashed his throat. Her knife was there of course, waiting, calling to her to slash him, and escape. To run to her sisters home while his blood still sat on her and kill them, kill them with all the passion in her soul, for closure, and ultimately, to see her sister cry, to see that perpetual smile run off of that womens face and to see her beg and scream and admit that Chandra was better than her. Finally admit how much worse she was than her sister, and know that it was true. But of course, even though her body messages would absolutely give her away, she could not tell Dmitri anything. She knew he was doing this to taunt her, to mock her, but what could would it too to flaunt her weakness for him anymore?

"You taunt me, boy, and oh, how you taunt me. I won't faint in your prescence if you grab my wrist, I won't swoon. And futhermore, killer, I won't tower in fear for you, if you are going to kill me, then kill me, rip open my neck with your long, effeminate hands, or however you plan to do so. Let my blood stain your shining white wings and fall on your clothes. But whatever, whatever you do, you'll be more alone. So I suggest if you plan on keeping me alive, let me go, dear, and we shall head back to camp, as the night grows closer. You wouldn't want any rumours floating around about how our ...interactions between each of us. The others might be waiting dear, and they might not be, but regardless, if they were to find the camp empty when they returned, the fools shall panic, certainly. And with unneccesary panic, comes anger, which of course we don't want in a group of killers[/i]." Her words rose and fell calmly, for her at least, filled with the most blantant lies. Chandra should have been used to falsehoods falling across her tongue, streaming out into the unwanted world, for others to believe, and she was. Nothing, though, had been completely sane and normal since the beginning of this god-awful journey when she had first arrived in that frigid tower where that man had stood.

She didn't want to go back to camp, of course, she could have stood here forever, with him touching her, to feel the almost-hate that pulsed off of him. It almost comforted her, to know that she was person, even if it was that people despised, instead of just a body to be slept with, a simple little stupid dame to be used and dumped. To be more than just a pretty little whore that were lower than the dogs that stayed in brothels, long past there prime, and sleeping with men who were pushed on them, taunted into sleeping with. Oh yes, Chandra's men were plenty willing, and perfectly eager to touch her, to push her down on her large, soft bedding she had been forced upon so many times before. Chandra had slept with gods and theives, and none of the, not a one, had ever truly cared how she was in the morning.

No one had ever, ever loved Chandra, in her entire life, but that wasn't what made her a killer. Women had been in worse situations than she and lived to bear a loving husband 14 adorable little children. Killing was in her blood, she was almost sure of it. Perhaps it fell with her father's traits, the cruel man, her mother said, an ugly brute of a shapeshifter that took on the strongest form he possibly could and all but raped her mother. Deep down, she was almost certain that's why her mother had hated her. Cassie's dear father had stayed with her, until early in the pregnancy, and would have stayed longer, if her mother had not insisted he left. He'd come back and visit to, sometimes, but never again did he sleep with the women. There interactions were that of an old couples, and if her mother was not so stubborn, he'd have married her, returned that honor. Or at least, would have if it wasn't for that first daughter.

One time it almost came to that, her mother told her that she'd leave her here, one day, and let her fend for herself. It had fallen through once again though, for some long forgotten reason. And there had been tears that night, from her mother, from Cassidy. Chandra though, just looked on and smiled. She didn't care if they were hurting, did they not her her every day she lived? No, all she wanted was a place to sleep. That next week, her mother forced her upon her first man, an ugly thing that Chandra's mother did not want to touch. But he had money, substantial amounts of it, and it was something they could not pass up. So little Chandra lost her virginity to a man who moaned out her mothers name in the midst of it, and oh, how she cried afterwards. She had felt dirty, for once her life, the only time she had felt so bad about herself.

And yet now, as she stood, somewhat awkwardly agaisnt Dmitri, she didn't feel horrible at all. No guilt lay in her previous sins, and none would surely fall upon her in her future. She didn't care about other people, in short. Or at least.. not until recently.

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[{ Laughing]

In all reality, his fear was irrational.

Adrenile rushed, his finger tips trembled with the influx. He couldn't breath properly, sporadic breaths slipped through his twitching lips. His hearbeat was going crazy, thumping up and down, pumping blood to his limbs, which were in a frenzy. He was being so desperate, so silly. He had never acted like this before, never succumb to the fear so completely. Not when he was on the edge of death, not when the twins were gone, not when he destroied the lives of innocent people. He had never been as out of touch with himself, with rationality. Dmitri before meeting Chandra, before embarking on this journey, would never have grabbed at a woman so violently and not killed her in the next second. Human contact usually meant immediate death for the second party. But this was Chandra. Chandra was not going to die at his finger tips, no matter how many times they carved out her heart.

It was only his eyes that were not scanning her face in such rapid movements. Though his breath was fast and shallow, though his body was shivering, his dark black eyes were the calmest of everything. They were staring at her, almost into her, as if they wanted to search for her soul among the blackness of her inner body. What was the reality of a shapeshifter? What physical body was their true one, if all of the ones they took were just mirages? What could one see beyond the layers of diguise. Dmitri's eyes seem to seek those answers, peeling away the curtains over her ever changing depths. Had they ever been the same twice? Had that splash of ice touched them once before, in the exact same place? Had that swirl spun her iris into that point of frozen blue at moments before these? Dmitri's eyes did not warm to hers, unmolded they stared. Unwavering they were searching.

He breathed deeply out of his mouth, lips parting to create the release. His black eyes had closed for a moment, this time they pondered the inside of his eyelids. He was longing for answers, within and outside of himself. There were things that he could not answer, things about himself that his surface was not aware of. Deep inside there were answers, for his actions came from inside, from places that his mind could not reach. So there were answers, somewhere within, the depths of his condemned soul whispered secrets to itself. None of them leaked through the barriers of his mind, the shades did not drawn back. Nothing filtered through. In the darkness behind his eyelids, Dmitri was lost, immersed in himself though there was nothing there. It was like slamming his fists against a mountain, the mountains of his bonds, he could not break it. No, he was stuck there. Forever.

So, would he return one day? To those mountains? Or would this journey drag on to its limit, so far that even Dmitri died and by then, Chandra far gone? Could he keep ties to this real world by supposedly serving the Gods will? Was it possible, really, to wander the face of the earth and pretend that this was just all for those wretched immortals, to please them, to save them? Could he do that, could he trick them? But for that, for that scheme to work, he'd need companionship until that one wore away and another would come to replace. His feverish ebony eyes flashed awake, stared at Chandra. She wouldn't be up to it, but did she have to know...? That twisted, sardonic smirk coiled around his lips. She never had to know a thing.

At her request to release her wrists, Dmitri only heavied his grip, now almost to the point that he was leaning into her. "I don't expect you to swoon, Chandra, I am not wooing you. I'm containing you." Like a butterfly under the glass, he would torture a creature to serve its purpose. Wear her out, let her die, there was always another one. He would never fade, his wings would always touch the sky. His shaded eyes watched the woman. He would never die, unless she killed him. "You are not going to flick into a different shape, evade this, and run off to your precious sister. Because, even if you are here..." his lips twitched in mid-sentance, almost in fright, "the others are not." It seemed, almost, sure, like he knew that when they returned to the camping ground no one would be there. They would flee. "No one can judge us if they do not exist, Chandra. No one is looking for us. No one cares." Guesses, swift and fleeting little phrases. He was not sure, they could be near the fire, they could be watching them in the shadows. They could be long gone, fire killed and camp site wrecked.

It was so ridiculous, all of this effort put into making sure that this whore didn't leave him behind. It was like he was in love with her, or was once her lover, begging at her feet forgiveness, to hopes that she would return to him. He was so hopeless, so stupid. But, despite all of his previous thoughts of harming her, of kllling her, of hating her, it was Chandra who he did need at the moment. It wasn't that he needed her emotionally, like all of his body desired her and he wanted her. Her existence was necessary to the process that he had to continue. She couldn't run away, because if she did... if she did run away, he would have to follow her. He would have to trick them, trick those stalking immortals. He would have to pretend that they were going off to this innoccent woman's house to get information out of her, not to kill her. No... there was no real reason to assume that they were going to kill her. That Chandra was going to kill her. Dmitri would just stand there and watch, he would just make sure that she would return to him when she was done with her disgusting deed. He would make sure that she did not escape for longer than necessary.

"If you go..." Dmitri's grip loosened, "I'll follow you." His fingers that were tangled in her mass of blonde locks escaped, unwound themselves from her. "If you kill her, I'll stand there and watch. I will not let you abandon this journey. I don't care where you go." He leaned away from where he had been slipping closer to her, the words on his lips lingering closer and closer to her skin. His feet carried him backwards, shoes scraping against the forest floors. "I'll be there too." As if a vow to protect her, the words fell from his lips with a solemn promise. He was not going to return to those mountains. He and Chandra were going to be stuck together until she was killed, she died of natural causes, of she committed suicide. His other set of appendages slipped from her wrist, nails barely touching the surface of her arm. She was released.

His fear was irrational, sure, but his panicked brain had ordered itself around long enough to make him realize a plan that he had not thought of before. His twisted lips never changed, dark eyes narrowed in assurance and entertainment. He had let her go, would she flee?