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Andrea comes into the Grotto, the tired smudges of a lack of sleep
marring her bruised brutish face further. She limps slightly from the
previous night as she makes her way to the trussed person that used to
be Dusty. She doesn't even bother going near the small pile of weapons
pulled from the Weaver bodies, not even to inspect the sonic knife
that was the first order of business to get from their captive.
Dusty is still asleep up to now, or so it appears. The wound that was
left in his forearm from the removal of the knife appears to be
healing, and he has made no apparent effort to move in that time.
Andrea stops near Dusty, kneeling down on the hard ground. She doesn't
touch him at first, her eyes speaking silent words of grief and pain,
seeing her student in this state. Her shoulders bow slightly, the
adren having to keep up no pretenses, as no eyes are watching.
As the Adren stares at him, Dusty's eyes open, blinking once, then
twice. His head turns, left, then right, and he methodically begins to
test his bonds, seeming momentarily unconcerned with the presence
above him.
Pack> Cassandra sends over the pack link, "Andrea, are you a masochist?"
Pack> Andrea's voice, fagged out from the meeting, then the attack, then
a return to the city to study the fetish, then a return to the woods
to study Dusty, says, "I've been told so." Her pain as seeing her
tribemate has leaked over the lin. Her control simply isn't as good
when she's this tired.
Pack> Cassandra's reply is not unsympathetic. "Okay. Just checking.
Maybe this Sept should be called the Sept of S&M."
Andrea's eyes go somewhat distracted, as well as a shuttering of her
expression as the Weavered Garou wakes. She leans over to touch one of
his plugs, seeing how it fits into the flesh. Her fingers are cold and
dry, as wintery as her mask.
Pack> Andrea attempts a joke, "Someone else doing something notably
Andrea-like?"
Finding his bonds more than sufficient to hold him, Dusty relaxes, not
flinching as he is touched. His stare instead goes to the woman above
him, the emotionless blue eyes hauntingly familiar and yet different.
The plus look as if the holes were drilled into the flesh itself,
perhaps an inch deep or slightly more, and then tightly fitted with
thin steel. The flesh itself is visible through the steel inside parts
of the holes, while others are completely hidden.
Andrea's lips thin further as she meets Dusty's gaze briefly. She then
looks away again, concentrating on what she can find. Her hands shake
very slightly as she presses, prods, goes to the next violation.
Pack> Cassandra says "Everybody I've seen this morning looks like they
got tossed in a fuckin' forge an' beaten with an anvil." Her tone
softens. "Look, hon, 'f it gets t'be too much, talk t'me. Y'sound
exhausted."
Pack> Andrea admits, "I am. But I can't leave him like this." Her mental
voice catches, "Cass, his eyes have no soul, anymore."
Pack> Cassandra is silent for a long moment. "Anything you can do?"
There are about a dozen of these holes, spread over the chest and back
in places where their positioning will not interefere with vital human
function. He watches through all of this, cold, staring....perhaps
waiting.
Pack> Cassandra says "That's just nasty. Did you at least take the damn
Hive out?"
Andrea's fingers grudgingly go to the other visible implants, including
the chest plate in the center. It's as if she has to touch it to
believe it. She still doesn't look in his face.
Pack> Andrea says "Yes, thank Gaia. Unless they have another base,
somewhere else."
Finally, Dusty speaks. The warm, rich tenor is gone cold, scratchy from
long disuse. It is flat, lifeless, the voice that is half-machine.
"Release me."
Pack> Cassandra says "Mother's light, let's hope not. Jus as well I
ain't seen any of these."
Andrea drops her hand as if the cold metal cold burn her. Her eyes go
reluctantly to Dusty's, then she shakes her head. "No. We will reclaim
you."
Still, the cold, flat tenor that still holds bare haunting threads of
its former beauty. "That is impossible according to this unit's data.
Release me."
Andrea closes her eyes and stands, unable to take this conversation. She
sways a little as she does so, then steadies. Her voice has no trace
of the tears that begin to streak her cheeks. "If it is impossible,
Dusty, we will release you back to Gaia."
Dusty shows no hint of emotion, just that cold, steady stare. He waits.
Andrea turns and leaves. If Dusty's cold assessment of her walk out
would include the word 'fleeing,' it wouldn't be too far off the mark.
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