Julian Sark (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
certainproclivity) wrote2009-10-29 01:46 pm
certainproclivity) wrote2009-10-29 01:46 pm
[RP] Who is the fly in your champagne? Who's got the body and who's got the brain?
[OOC: The following takes place from 11:00 PM on Monster Day to 12:00 AM on Shapeshifter Day.]
Some things really ought to be simpler than they are in Chicago. Things like walking the two blocks between the Kashtta and your flat, for example. Sark waited until the very last minute, in the hopes that perhaps the monsters that have taken over Chicago would have either been killed or tired out, while still giving himself enough time before the next plague hit (although he's not really sure what that one's likely to be- there aren't exactly any livestock around Chicago).
Chicago doesn't believe in simplicity. Sark's known this for a long time, but he's still insane enough to try to give it the benefit of the doubt and even at this late hour when everything has gone silent around the city and monster corpses line the streets to be dealt with by the city officials when they feel capable of dealing with such things, he has a feeling that he's going to be punished for that line of thinking.
He's almost a block away from his flat when he hears a howl, something horrific that sounds like a mix of animal and human screams.
All he can do, at this point, is stop, sigh and look up at the sky with eyes heavy-lidded with annoyance. "....Of course."
Some things really ought to be simpler than they are in Chicago. Things like walking the two blocks between the Kashtta and your flat, for example. Sark waited until the very last minute, in the hopes that perhaps the monsters that have taken over Chicago would have either been killed or tired out, while still giving himself enough time before the next plague hit (although he's not really sure what that one's likely to be- there aren't exactly any livestock around Chicago).
Chicago doesn't believe in simplicity. Sark's known this for a long time, but he's still insane enough to try to give it the benefit of the doubt and even at this late hour when everything has gone silent around the city and monster corpses line the streets to be dealt with by the city officials when they feel capable of dealing with such things, he has a feeling that he's going to be punished for that line of thinking.
He's almost a block away from his flat when he hears a howl, something horrific that sounds like a mix of animal and human screams.
All he can do, at this point, is stop, sigh and look up at the sky with eyes heavy-lidded with annoyance. "....Of course."
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The other corpse is back on its feet again. "Or you could attempt civility. Either one."
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"Civility," he says, his tone eerily civil for what he's saying- two can play that game, after all. "That is certainly a tall order coming from a man who seems to delight in trying to destroy me. I'm curious, Mr. Clark, how much of a fool do you take me for?"
He is so tired of this game, so tired of being trained, so tired of being afraid of this man. All he wants is for him to either get this over with or leave him alone.
He stares at the corpse on its feet, anywhere but directly at Clark, lest he have to look the man in the eye when he's in this state.
"Are you going to kill me?" He finally asks, sounding exasperated. "If you're planning on it, I would make it quick. I wager I have about four more days left to live anyway."
That's one thing he can be happy about. In four days, if the plagues continue unabated and every firstborn dies, he won't have to worry about becoming Clark's new favorite pet.
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He smiles, the literal light in his eyes casting patterns over his cheekbones like a flashlight held at an odd angle. "Perhaps we'll die together. Fill the end with a bit more romance."
He might be joking. He probably is. But the way he says it couldn't be more sincere. "Two firstborn schemers, locked in the game until their last moments."
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He's about to shoot something back when a clock somewhere hits midnight. At that point, all that comes out of his mouth is a strangled, suppressed groan as a shift takes hold of him. It's the same violent, involuntary shift that happens when you've been tasered, but this actually hurts more. He tries to stop it, but it won't stop, and he settles for willing himself into tiger shape. At least as a tiger, he has some defense...
It's a white tiger that collapses into a heap when the bone-crunching shift concludes. Sark trips over his tattered clothes, trying to get up onto his feet, but he stumbles and collapses. The world's spinning and he's suddenly really ill and he can't think of a reason why. He staggers to his feet, his legs shaky and takes a step closer to Clark, growling.
He falls over onto his side a few seconds later, the very picture of pathetic tiger.