@The Psyentist: "I do." His breath quickens and he blinks several times in the darkness. Struggling to maintain his composure under an onslaught he was not prepared for. "Allow me access to the information you have on your patients.. and I'll give you what I suspect you want."
@The Psyentist: Amaranth lifts his left hand and presses it to his weathered face. His glove is quickly soaked in ancient blood. He drops the crimson smeared hand to her shoulder creating a scarlet imprint of his palm and fingers. "You will not." His grip is solid and he begins to recover his mental equilibrium. "You would have to touch me. And anything I touch I can destroy."
Unconsciously his thumb trails across her collar bone leaving a streak of bright blood. "No.. its not just you."
"Different things. Age, childhood, parents or birthplace. One thing I never forget," he started, perking up once more. "Never forget this sword, and I never forget how to fight. At least, I think I don't." His face then returned to its puzzled expression.
"Well I'd be willing, if it would help with the issue. To be honest, I'm not sure memories thought of as clothes that can be tossed out a window forever works for me. I'd much prefer them buried and if I could dig them up in any way, I'll try."
@The Psyentist: Her razor sharp fangs scythed into his neck and blood pored forth.
Ancient blood, blood from before the pyramids, from before the rise of Sumer, from before civilization. From the days of the first anatomically modern humans, before the first abstract concept was conceived, before even the rise of human language.
Blood of Amaranth the Immortal. Blood filled with his plethora of mutant powers, every cell shaking with potential power. Each strand of DNA bearing the weight of his life. Eons of experience, a legacy stretching back nearly thirty times the length of human history. So much power had been crammed into his DNA, into his blood, that now his body was overwhelmed by it and the Immortal had slowly, but inevitably begin the process of aging.. and dying.
Amaranth detonates every single cell.
The tremendous shockwave tossed him across the room, blasting the wound in his neck wide open and spraying a thin red mist of blood into the air. He slammed into the wall, rattling books from the shelf and leaving a four foot dent in the drywall.
He clutched his neck, struggling to regain his footing as the wound slowly stitched itself closed. His breath was ragged, in short gasps.
@Yaiba: "No, that's alright... you can keep your clothes on." Alexandra looked around wondered why that would have crossed his mind. "Just relax. Close your eyes." She walked over and knelt beside the couch.
(I was gonna say... ;D )
@The Psyentist: (wanna know what sucks most about the new job besides not getting on here, at the end of the night my brain is just mush so even if i tried to get on id be a blabbering idiot....even more so than normal lol)
@The Psyentist: Amaranth knew this mission was over. There was too much resistance now, and he had dallied too long. Allowed her to toy with him, manipulate him, and now she seemed to demonstrating powers of her own. No, coming here alone had been the wrong choice.
The wound in his neck finished sealing, leaving a spiderweb of thin scars stained crimson with blood. He took several deep breaths, steadying himself.
"Let us finish this."
@The Psyentist: (HAzzah!!! I miss you guys, hell i got teary eyed talking to Nova the other day. I dont see anyone besides my fiance anymore, maybe my kids if they got a snowday but thats it lol. Tell ya what if i had a wee little one id never be able to do this six seven days a week like i am now)
@The Psyentist: Slowly his eyebrows climbed upward. If she could steal his powers by drinking his blood that put things in a different light. A bad one. And if she could replicate the control that took him thousands of years to develop things were even worse.
How many sets of powers did she have? How much had she absorbed over the years? To engage her without knowing was foolish.
This mission was a failure. He didn't wince, or sigh or curse his fortune. Sometimes he lost, and this was one of those times. The realization brings a shift in his paradigm. The mission had been to attain information about super humans, but he had allowed himself to fall into her literal clutches and now that mission was over. The new mission was to escape.
"I'm glad you like them." Grunting out the words, his voice box and throat still raw and healing from the damage. "But I'm afraid its time for me to depart." With a short hope backwards he phases through the wall behind him, falling through the empty air outside, into the ground, and making his escape by dashing through the solid earth under the street.
That had not gone well.
[ That was a blast :-)
(Indeed. We'll have to do this again. It was fun!)
His skittish nature around strangers could not be helped, not even from the person he sought help from. He jumped at the sound she made. The hair on the nape of his neck arced upwards and his pupils widened in anticipation. He calmed down just as quickly as he became riled, however, and awkwardly brushed the hair on his neck back down before standing up and holding out his padded hand.
"Hi, Dr. Steele, I'm Zazamell. We spoke on the phone earlier this week about some dreams I've been having."
He gave her a smile that faded as soon as she turned her back. He hung his jack on the rack in the corner of the doctor's office and kicked off his shoes before he settled on the chair appointed to him. He stared at the ceiling and folded his hands on his chest.
"So, uh, where do you want to start?" he said, wrinkling his nose as he began to become accustomed to his new surroundings.
"Sure sure," he remarked nervously. Something did not settle in the air and it bothered him.
"They started when my dad passed away about a year ago. He was really the only one who supported me in school for obvious reasons," he said, twitching an ear almost to emphasis his point. "Ever since his funeral, I had a hard time going to sleep for long periods of time. I kept having dreams about people I've seen on the streets breaking into my house. I guess you could call it anxiety. People are starting to hate mutants and supers more nowadays. A guy can hardly go to the supermarket without getting weird glares."