jagura kitten | "jaguar"/mamiya (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
formaliteas) wrote2020-01-17 11:20 pm
formaliteas) wrote2020-01-17 11:20 pm
Entry tags:
REGISTRY ♔ KYRIAKOS
✔ = priority ✘ = locked ✿ = | |||||
✘ "....because we're friends." ✿ ✘ Freedom. | |||||
✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ● "I'm sorry." | |||||
● A recovered heirloom. ✿ | |||||
✿ ● Mastering telekinesis. ● Mastering cryokinesis. ✿ ✿ | |||||
● Learning to play the guitar. ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ | |||||
✿ | |||||
✿ ● Euphoria's decline. ● Forced splicing. ✿ | |||||
✿ ● Realizing that the Flock is basically a cult. ✿ ✿ ● The amusement park. | |||||
✿ | |||||
✿ ✿ ✿ ● pain resistance ● durability ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ● marksmanship ✿ ✿ ✿ | |||||
Sophia explains their purpose. 1/
taken: day 142
witnesses: N/A
You go rigid beside your less-than-desirable companion when the office door of Sophia Lamb is approached. For just a moment, the mask of composed almost-insolence falls away and your aura erupts with a black, vicious hatred despite yourself — despite knowing better than to lose control. But it's just so difficult to stand here and feel nothing, to be utterly detached from the memories of various betrayals that now fill your mind's eye. Sophia Lamb reaching out to you, supporting you, teaching you.....and then stabbing you in the back, torturing you, violating your mind in an attempt to break you down and make you hers.
Part of you wonders how Eleanor must be feeling. The rest of you pushes that thought away. The facade of steely composure reasserts itself an instant later.
"Because you're not as stupid as she seems to take you for." It's a response delivered in calm, flat tones. Not an opinion, but a fact, as bluntly impersonal as the truth sometimes had no other choice but to be. Part of a not-as-yet remembered conversation. A pause, and then you reach out to open the door for Eleanor — that, too, is a lesson learned by heart during the formative years of your childhood.
Eleanor's shoulders are stiff with tension as she approaches that same door. The sudden flare of fury and hatred down your shared link catches her by surprise, and she stops in her tracks to stare at you as you pull open the door. Then bitterness fills her eyes and catches in her throat. She looks away, walking past you.
"And yet, here we are."
She steps through the door into a blue room, majestic and elegant with gold trim. You follow, ducking in a moment later. The woman behind the desk looks up at the two of you. A small, casual movement, yet Eleanor very nearly flinches away and it takes all of your restraint to not snarl. You had both forgotten the sheer power of Sophia's presence: commanding attention just by existing, the magnetic pull of her certainty that she is right in all things. She stands up from her chair, mouth curved in a welcoming smile even as her eyes remain cold, frozen.
"Hello, Eleanor,
Mamiya," she says by way of greeting. Her voice is warm and welcoming, a mother's voice.The use of your first name is like salt in an open wound. Before, you had politely corrected most of those in the Flock who had tried to refer to you as anything other than "
Mr. Tomoe". Emotional distance, a defense mechanism, a small yet crucial bit of safety. It didn't matter with Eleanor — the mental link that had been forged between them without their permission meant it was far too late to build that particular wall. But you had trusted Sophia, once. You had even admired her, easily adopting the ideals she espoused as your own. For that woman to speak to you as though nothing had changed was a slap in the face."...Miss Lamb." The most shallow of nods. You rest your hands in the small of your back, where they curl into loose fists. The idle thought of could I freeze her solid and then smash her apart? do I have that chance? dances across the surface of your mind very briefly. But then Sophia looks at you, seems to see through to the heart of that dark fantasy. You settle instead for a thin, cold smile.
You're about to speak again, but Eleanor gets there first. Knowing the value of discretion, you hold your tongue and wait.
"Hello, Mother. Is this a bad time? I'm sure you must be very busy, when you aren't occupied smothering your daughter or getting your soldiers slaughtered." Eleanor is pleased to hear her voice shake only a little, as Sophia gives her a long, hard look, brows furrowed.
"Eleanor." Sophia's voice is chiding, and Eleanor's lips draw back from her teeth, voicing the snarl that you had contained.
"No, Mother. How dare you pretend you still have any claim on me. After all you've done to me, to the others....After what you did to Father—!" Hot fury burns in her veins as she strides forward, all caution thrown to the wind, slamming her hands palm down on the burnished wood of the table. Every loose object in the room jumps up by about a foot and stays afloat, drifting toward Eleanor in a tightening spiral, a maelstrom.
Sophia closes her eyes for a moment, and when she speaks, her voice is equal parts regret and command.
"Stop that once, Eleanor."
Like puppets with their strings cut, every floating object immediately drops to the floor. Eleanor jerks back in shock, hearing the crunch of broken glass.
"Sit down."
Eleanor refuses: her shoulders stiffen, body going rigid, eyes flickering from side to side as she fights her mother's command.
"What Delta did... that was unforgivable. You should have been... a leader, a paragon among men. Under his influence, you learned only violence and selfish corruption. Oh, Eleanor, I would have spared you that. I had hoped—" And here, the full force of Sophia's eyes turn upon you. "—that a new companion would ease the transition somewhat."
"But it may be that I was wrong."
It's strange, but Eleanor's outburst of fury manages to drag you away from your own boiling ocean of vengeful hatred. By the time that Sophia turns her attention upon you, it's clear enough that you have to try and defuse this situation somehow, or at least lessen whatever ugly fallout potentially awaited. You meet that steely gaze with one of your own, putting most of your considerable willpower towards keeping your gaze utterly flat, completely inscrutable. You can't afford to show the smallest shred of weakness; she would see it, exploit it, weave a noose from it to hang you with at a moment's notice.
"Pardon me so saying so, Miss Lamb, but I have to disagree. I think things are going quite well!" Your tone is quiet, pleasant, unerringly calm. A series of graceful, deceptively nonchalant steps are executed forward until you're between them. The bruises on your neck have already darkened, the skin around your blisters is red and swollen, yet you calmly smile as though this was just a discussion of the weather over tea.
You look to Eleanor for only an instant — the false smile that wreathes your face doesn't reach your eyes, but something that's almost supplication flashes briefly — before smoothly turning back to Sophia.
"After all, I'm still alive. Your hard work hasn't been wasted. And besides.....ah, how did the saying go? "Rome wasn't built in a day.'" A soft, rueful laugh that masterfully hides the disgust you feel at having to fall back on deceptive charm, especially towards this woman. "Something like that, right?"
Sophia lets the pause stretch and sharpen, her knowing gaze fixed upon you.
"Do you know why I chose you to partner my daughter,
Mamiya?" Aside from the fact that he was the only one to survive the process, that is. "I chose you for your great strengths, the traits you have in abundance: control, restraint, compassion..." She smiles, and there is something (affection, approval) in the curve of her lips, tender benevolence in her expression. She does love her Flock, after all, she loves them all, even the stray sheep that have lost their way. "... and the wisdom to choose your battles."Meanwhile, Eleanor has caught the look sent her way only to dismiss it entirely, throwing herself against the invisible shackles Sophia had wrapped around her with abandon. Her shoulders jerk forward as she voices a low and guttural snarl, feeling something give, fingers curling like claws.
Sophia merely casts another brief look at her, this time of disappointment.
"Eleanor is my final masterpiece, unfinished. But every perfect creation has its struggles; these are merely the birthing pains of the new world. Recent.... events have not been kind to her, but it is my sincere hope that you will be able to temper that wildness of hers."
Gasping a little with effort, Eleanor finds her voice, and the vicious words come pouring out of her mouth in a torrent.
"I will see you burn, Mother. You, and every person in this whole wretched city. When I'm done with you, there won't be anything left but ruin and rubble at the bottom of the ocean."
2/
And for a minute or two, your mask of friendly composure comes dangerously close to slipping. Your aura spikes with murderous intent, a white-hot surge of wounded rage crackling forth from your end of the mental link — the fingers of both hands crook inward just slightly, yearning to turn into fists. How dare she. How dare she lay bare the incontestable blueprint of your soul and look at you with such tenderness. Her affection is a steel-jawed trap; her goodwill is a poisonous lie. The proof of that is just not all around you, but inside you as well, from Eleanor's seething presence within your mind to the marks on your wrists.
The space of a heartbeat. Two, three, four. Then your empty smile grows a touch wider, and your anger and grief is forced back into the cage where it belongs. You gesture to Eleanor with a shrug that gives every appearance of being nonplussed.
"As you can see, Miss Lamb, that's a rather....lofty hope you've entrusted me with. I'd be flattered by your faith in me, but I don't want to become arrogant."
There's no surprise at Eleanor's fiery resistance, only a twinge of exasperation. You didn't expect her to chime in and match your fake sycophancy by any means, but their position was precarious, and futile threats against the one that held all the keys would not make it any less so. Sophia had found the means to choke off her daughter's powers at will; Euphoria will not burn today, nor any time soon.
You glance at your "partner" again, but with resignation this time. Because as much as you were loathe to admit it, Sophia's analysis of you is accurate, especially when it came to the way you picked your battles with strategic care. Cunning and patience are your favored tools of achieving victory. Even if it meant the occasional retreat or temporary surrender, you never ran headlong into a fight that you couldn't win — not unless there was no other option left. And here, the only path forward was a narrow tightrope stretched thin over a hungry chasm....a path that only you could navigate.
A thoughtful pause. You add, delicately:
"But my feelings are irrelevant, of course. What would you have us do?"
Because of course they weren't brought here to be told obvious truths, nor to simply be cruelly taunted by the insurmountable fact of their powerlessness. Sophia was many ugly, despicable things, but above all she was purposeful. There was always a reason behind her machinations, a method to the madness.
Sophia's regard turns once again to Eleanor, who glowers back at her, trying to contain the worst of her fury.
"Eleanor, it's time that you began to dedicate yourself, your talents, to the people. To our Flock."
Catching sight of the expression on Eleanor's face (revulsion, fury, denial), Sophia presses her lips together into a thin line. "But... you have had a surfeit of death of late. Delta's corruption will take years to undo. I know you will see the light, in time. But for now, if you must bloody your hands, then I will ask that you do it in service of the greater good.....as a messiah, bringing destruction and redemption to those beyond my power to save."
There's a moment of silence, and then Eleanor laughs, a disbelieving sound. "You want an assassin, Mother?"
Sophia sighs heavily, voice wistful and full of regret.
"These are difficult times, Eleanor. We are at war. Ryan and Fontaine tear each other apart in secret battles, hiding their knives in the dark, and they will soon turn on the Flock as well. Yours will be the act of a merciful savior; you will bring them deliverance, and their ADAM will live on in your genes, in your memory. They will be reborn."
This is what Sophia wants from her daughter. To kill in Sophia's name, in the Flock's name....... Eleanor knows she'll need much more power to escape, power enough to make good on her vengeance. She can use this.
Eleanor lifts her chin.
"Fine."
Your mind works quickly, rapid-fire thoughts behind an inscrutable gaze. So that was the truth of it.....the core of Sofia's intentions laid bare. There's no doubt that other details have been withheld from them, but you don't pay those missing pieces any further thought. There would be plenty of time, you're sure, to dwell upon them once this debriefing concludes and they are ushered out from beneath Sophia's knowing gaze.
Eleanor's acquiescence provokes a certain measure of private surprise, not in part because it comes with less of a fight than you had been expecting, but after a minute you swallow a bitter chuckle — you can only guess that your unwilling partner must have found a way to turn this forced arrangement to her advantage somehow.
At least in that, the two of you are alike. You have no intention of biding your time just to accomplish nothing. Every person, every plan, had a flaw that could be taken advantage of. It was only a matter of finding that weakness and properly exploiting it.
"Ah, so we're all in agreement? Excellent!" You almost sound genuinely pleased with the warped excuse for cooperation that's been established. Another pulse of black anger shudders through your aura, but it's dull this time. A muted, brooding resentment pulsing in the background like a sick heartbeat. "What sort of task should we pursue first, Miss Lamb?"
There's the slightest hint of rebellious knowledge in your polite, compliant smile. You already understand that there was little chance that their duties (Eleanor's duties) would only involve assassination. Sophia always made the most of her chosen tools, and using Eleanor only for slaughter would be a foolish waste of her daughter's abilities.
Eleanor glances back at you, mouth tightening, not bothering to hide the contempt in her gaze.
Sofia watches you both for a moment longer, blue eyes knowing, before she raises her voice again. Gone is the benevolent concern, the mother and guide. She turns to the two of you now as the charismatic leader whose voice had lead the citizens of Euphoria to riot.
"Ryan Amusements is Ryan's pet project, a monstrous construction equal only to the height of his ego. It is a breeding ground for his cult of personality, dedicated to propaganda and the formative corruption of the young. It also serves as a training base for his armies of indoctrinated splicers. To cut off their supply of ADAM at its source, Eleanor, your first task is to remove the Little Sisters of Ryan Amusements. I have no intention of leaving Euphoria's flow of ADAM and implants in Ryan's control any longer. Unfortunate children that they are, their energies would be better directed in the Flock's service."
Eleanor stares at her mother. "They're not children anymore, Mother. They're monsters. You know that as well as I." A growl. "Is that it, then? Are we done here? I'll need my suit and helmet back, unless you'd like it to be splashed all about the tabloids...."Lamb's Daughter Spotted in Ryan Amusements." Just think of all the amusing taglines that would follow."
You don't need to make eye contact to be privy to Eleanor's contempt — you can feel it in her gaze, in your shared link, that familiar acid burn of disapproval. You don't blame her one bit, not when the disgust you harbor toward yourself is far greater. Yes, it's sickeningly easy for you to lie and play two-faced games of mannerly charm......what's difficult is keeping a wild bark of hysterical laughter at Sophia's brazen hypocrisy from tearing itself free from your throat. All this talk of Ryan's ego, Ryan's faults, Ryan's evil — as though his and Fontaine's are the only soiled hands in Euphoria.
The bitter, hollow amusement quickly turns into a sour dread that settles uneasily in the pit of your stomach. You still can't bring yourself to think of the Little Sisters the way that most people in Euphoria did. They weren't monsters or walking pools of ADAM to be drained dry and then discarded, but unfortunate souls that didn't deserve the awful fate that had befallen them. There was no future for the Little Sisters, no chance to ever again know a normal, happy life. They had been robbed of their innocence and humanity and it broke what remained of your heart no matter how foolish, how futile it was to care about those doomed little girls.
You lacked the power to save them, and no one in Euphoria that mattered wanted to save them. In this underwater "paradise", power was everything, even if it came at the expense of innocent children. Nothing was sacred. You understood that, knew better than to pretend otherwise.....because if the traumatized, penniless orphan of the
Tomoefamily had been a girl instead, chances are that "she" would have wound up as a Little Sister too.A Little Sister accompanied nearly everywhere by a Big Daddy that would defend her with wild, berserk strength. You take in the ruined state of your suit for the second time and makes a mental note to seek out new clothes only after the mission at hand has been dealt with.
"While I think that Euphoria could do with a few laughs, I have to agree."
3/3
"Yes, I suppose so. Until you are ready to truly accept your destiny, my child, we are done."
Immediately, Eleanor turns on her heel and leaves the office without another word or glance back.
You're not quite so quick to leave when dismissed, for all that your desire to break free from this stifling office is strong enough to give Eleanor's a run for its money. You back up to the door without turning around, each step a slow and careful exercise in feigned courtesy. (You know better than to turn your back on this woman.) A shallow bow, and then you're slipping out the door to follow Eleanor.
✿ content
● Strikeouts are missing/blurred information.
● Jaguar and Eleanor meet with Sophia Lamb, Eleanor's mother.
— Sophia's various betrayals are described and recalled in vague terms, the emotional intensity clearer than the actual details.
— She speaks of Eleanor as a creation, a tool.
— Her intentions are political and warlike, shrouded in the guise of benevolent salvation: destroy Ryan and Fontaine, control Euphoria.