i feel like a M O N S T E R ||eria||

[VINCENT MOREAU]

The Resistance really ought to get their broken window fixed. Sure, it made the building stand out less, but it provided an easy access point if someone ever found out that the building served as the Resistance’s base, as Vincent had. He’d been understandably hesitant to walk in the front door despite the apparent lack of security; considering his growing infamy as Dresdin’s Butcher, he figured anyone who saw him would shoot first and ask questions later. And despite his hatred for himself and his life… he didn’t want to die. Not yet. He wasn’t convinced that there was no hope for him. He still might be able to make his life worth living. Maybe.

He raised a hand to the collar around his neck, curling his lip even as he curled his fingers around the cold metal. Dresdin thought he had Vincent completely under his thumb, dictating everything his Butcher did. And it was true that, by shocking the hell out of Vincent whenever the hybrid dared to rebel, he could usually beat Vincent into submission. Vincent supposed that Dresdin thought he was making Vincent fear him, and thus would eventually make Vincent more loyal to him. But in truth, all he was creating in Vincent was a burning resentment, which, over the past few weeks, had turned to full-on hatred. Every time Dresdin shocked him, the hatred grew. That hatred, as well as his wish to be more than just an experiment, had driven him to the Resistance’s base this cold winter day.

He’d found a room that appeared to be the leaders’; no one was around at the moment, but he’d prowled through the upper floor, passing through a locker room and a large room with a number of bunk beds. Then he’d found this room. Apart from the others, it had its own bed and attached bathroom. Vincent could only assume that it belonged to the infamous Eria Hatem, the leader of the Resistance forces. Who else would have their own quarters? Once he’d found the room, unoccupied as it was, he had shut himself inside. With any luck, the only person who would come into this particular room would be Eria. He needed to talk to her, and her alone. He didn’t want to get gunned down by some trigger-happy Resistance member before he got a chance to explain himself, no matter how justified they might be in shooting him.

See, he hadn’t come here to pick a fight, nor had he come on Dresdin’s orders to kill the leader of the Resistance, as one might think. The Tyrant didn’t know he knew where the Resistance’s base was; that was a piece of information Vincent had kept entirely to himself. He didn’t owe Dresdin anything, after all. He’d found out a while back, in a way he preferred not to remember, and had only now worked up the courage to bring himself here. To put his life at risk. Even with as sucky a life as he had, he’d been hesitant to risk getting himself killed. No one here would care about Dresdin’s wrath if they killed him. He fingered the collar again, the all too familiar cool, smooth surface. Maybe it would be better to die than go back. But better to do neither.

He intended to turn himself over to the Resistance, provided he could convince Eria Hatem not to kill him outright. He didn’t care if he ended up a prisoner; if that would make her more willing to leave him alive, so be it. It would even be better, if he was imprisoned. Then, no matter what buttons Dresdin pressed on that godforsaken remote, he would not be able to do what the Tyrant wanted of him. He wouldn’t have to kill anymore. And maybe, just maybe, someone in the Resistance could get the collar off. And then he could do whatever he wanted. He would be no man’s slave. He could be free, finally free of anyone’s control.

He closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. He should stop dreaming. The likelihood of him getting what he wanted was incredibly slim. He’d start with not getting shot, and work his way up from there. He pulled his cleaver free of its sheath and stared at the blade. He cleaned it constantly, almost compulsively. Like that could absolve him of what he’d done, the blood he’d spilled with it. He closed his eyes and thunked the cleaver blade-down into the desk, handle sticking up at an angle. Eria had better show up soon, before he lost his nerve.

[ERIA HATEM]

There was nothing like a nice shower to calm the nerves. Eria stood under the water, her eyes closed and face turned upward as the droplets hit against her skin and ran down her body. Steam filled the bathroom and fogged the mirror that hung over the sink. Her brown hair was plastered to her body as she ran her hands over it, pulling it gently to rest over her left shoulder. For the first time in a long while she felt relaxed. Although not as relaxed as she had last night.

Eria wasn't in her own bathroom; she was taking a shower in Isaiah's. She'd spent the night in his room, in his bed, and now she was using his shower. Seemed about right. Turned the water off she stepped from the shower and wrapped a towel around her body and stepped into his bedroom; he was still asleep. With a small sigh she left his room, closing the door quietly behind her before making her way to her own room.

The water dripped from her hair and landed on the floor and she left footprints behind her as well; she figured it'd be best to just dry off and everything in her own room. That was where all her clothes were anyway. Stopping outside her room she stared at the door then looked back the way she had come.

How long had she and Isaiah been like this? It had been going on for quite a while; they would spend the night together, having sex, and then the next morning she would just leave. She wondered if it annoyed him; she was basically leading him on, right? She gave herself over to him at night, but in the morning she just left him alone. Normally she didn't feel so guilty about it; maybe she just needed a cigarette or something.

Shaking her head slightly, as if that would make the thoughts go away, she placed her hand on the doorknob and turned it, pushing her dooor open. She stopped at the sight of an unfamiliar man in her room, her eyes looking at him and then the cleaver that was sticking up out of her desk. "Who the hell are you?!" she demanded. She moved quickly to her dresser and threw open the top drawer, pulling out a pistol and pointing it straight at him. "What the fuck are you doing in my room? Answer me now or you get a bullet in that fuckin' skull of yours."

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[VINCENT MOREAU]

Vincent spun to face the door at the sound of someone outside, his heart abruptly in his throat. This was it. He might very well be dead in a minute, if Eria (he assumed she would be the one entering, particularly without knocking) was armed and chose to shoot first and ask questions later. Instinctively, his hand went first to pull the cleaver from its sheath, then, when his hand met no handle, to his pistol. The instincts were ingrained enough that it took a supreme act of will to drop the pistol on the desk next to the cleaver instead of bringing it up to point at the black-haired woman who stood in the doorway.

Before he could say anything, she had stormed to her dresser and pulled a gun from one of the drawers, leveling it squarely at his head. His heart hammered against his ribcage, but he managed to keep from going for either of the weapons he had dropped on the desk. Instead, he raised his hands slightly, the universal symbol for surrender. She looked angry; he didn’t blame her. But if he wasn’t careful, he might end up getting shot regardless of what his answer was, or what he had to say.

He took a slow step away from the desk, placing himself out of arm’s reach of his weapons to emphasize the fact that she was in control here. Keeping very still, he answered in as calm a voice as he could muster. ”Easy, easy. I’m not here to fight you.” He paused and swallowed, knowing that what he said next might very well get him shot without any further chance to explain himself. ”My name is Vincent Moreau. You… probably know me by a different name.” He had to swallow again, nervous as he’d never been before. ”Most call me the Butcher. Dresdin’s Butcher.”

He hurried on, before she could overthink what he’d just said. ”But as I said, I’m not here to fight. Dresdin doesn’t know I’ve come.” Being very careful not to move too suddenly, he reached slowly to his neck and pulled the scarf away from it. A wave of shame swept through him as the collar was revealed, sealed around his neck, but he kept his head high, looking her in the eye even as he pleaded internally for her to listen. ”He doesn’t expect a slave to rebel.”

Reaching to his waist, he undid his belt and tossed it onto the bed between the two of them. ”Bind me if it will make you more comfortable,” he offered, a slight quaver of nerves creeping into his voice. ”But, please, hear me out.” He hoped his inhuman attributes wouldn’t push her to shoot him; he knew the unnaturally sharp teeth and the thick, furred lower arms could be a bit disconcerting to those who hadn’t seen them before. But even if he had animal DNA in him… he was human. Ysabel had told him so. And all he wanted was a chance to be human, instead of just another experiment.

[ERIA HATEM]

Even though his hands were in the air in a sign of surrender and his weapons were out of reach, that didn't case her to let her guard down a bit. Her gun remained pointed at his head and her finger was on the trigger, ready to shoot at any moment. Her cold eyes stayed trained on him, not wavering or moving a bit. He was in her sights and she was locked on, and there was no way in hell she was going to take her eyes off of him until he was either dead or she was certain he was no threat.

"Don't talk to me in that tone of voice," she hissed. The way he said those words to her made her feel like she was being treated like some sort of rabid dog that someone was afraid would bite them. Or something of that nature. "You don't need to introduce yourself; I already knew who you were. You think I don't have informants watching every move and murder you commit?" She'd had her eyes on this man for a while now.

It would have been stupid for Eria to not look into the string of murders that occured to people who were in any way related to factions against Dresdin, or simply people whom Dresdin didn't like. Every time there was a gruesome murder in the city she had her informants look into it; eventually a few of them linked the common factor of a certain man aroudn the area shortly before the murders occured. She hadn't been too certain of the accuracy of their statements, but seeing this man before her gave her a bit of reassurance in her informants abilities.

Seeing the collar surprised Eria a bit, but not so much. Dresdin was a freak after all; that could be how all people that were under his thumb were supposed to dress. He probably had some weird S&M fetish along with a torture one. There was no telling how messed up the man was.

She shook her head. "No, I ain't gonna tie you up. I'm just gonna shoot you if you make one fuckin' move." Shifting her weight to her other foot slightly she stared coldly at him. "Now what the hell is you wanna tell me? And it better be good or I swear to god I will kill you. And believe me, it ain't a threat. It's a fuckin' promise."

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[VINCENT MOREAU]

Vincent considered pointing out that, upon entering the room, she had demanded to know ‘who the hell’ he was, but decided against it. Antagonizing the person who had a gun aimed squarely at his head would likely not be a good idea, even if he sometimes couldn’t keep from being a smartass to Dresdin despite the power that that man held over him. At least he knew he was too valuable a tool to Dresdin for the Tyrant to kill him outright. This woman had no such qualm. He had no doubt that if he made a false move, she would shoot him and not regret a thing. He had to tread lightly, though apparently his attempt to be submissive had just ticked her off more.

He flinched slightly at the word murder, as well as the hatred in her voice, but he knew he deserved it. He had done horrible things, and as much as he could claim that Dresdin had forced him to do them (since the Tyrant had, in fact, forced him to begin killing), there was a part of Vincent that enjoyed it. That reveled in the sight and smell of blood. He was a monster, and he knew it. But Ysabel kept insisting he was human, and so… here he was. It was a rather convoluted train of cause and effect, but since when was anything in life simple? Certainly his life had never been simple, at least since he had come out of the labs.

She was obviously not one who would be willing to listen to a roundabout explanation, and certainly not a sob story, as his life would almost definitely sound like if he told her of it. He had to make this quick, and simple. No chance for her to think he was lying to her, or dodging around the truth. He looked her straight in the eye, his unnatural yellow eyes meeting her hard grey ones, and said simply, ”I apologize; I didn’t mean to patronize you. I’ll keep this as short as I can: I hate Dresdin as much as you do. Perhaps even more.”

He paused; he needed to explain that more, most likely. Especially since that didn’t really explain what had brought him here. So, lowering his hands (though he kept the palms facing her, well away from any pockets he might have), Vincent continued in as even a voice as he could muster without sounding like he was trying too hard. As he spoke again, he made sure to do so in such a way that she would be able to see his strange shark’s teeth, as if his arms and eyes were not enough to attest to what he was about to tell her. ”You can see I’m… not entirely human. I’m an experiment in recombinant DNA—I have animal DNA in me. I was raised in the labs beneath the capital building. When Dresdin came into power, he forced me to do his dirty work,” He paused, raising a hand slowly to touch the collar around his neck. ”With this, he set me killing his enemies in such a way as to make people fear him more than they already did.”

A note of desperation crept back into his tone. ”But I’m sick of being his slave. I can’t oppose him by myself, but I came here in hopes that either you or someone in your group might be able to get this godforsaken collar off.” He paused and shook his head slightly. ”Or, if not, then imprison me here until someone who can comes along. I don’t care, as long as I am alive and out from under Dresdin’s thumb.” He didn’t want to die. Not yet.

Throughout all of his, despite his shame, he maintained a steady eye contact. If he looked away, she would think he was lying. He spread his hands slightly. ”If you don’t believe me, ask yourself this: why would I put myself at your mercy if what I’ve said isn’t true?” He had come to the very heart of the Resistance and disarmed himself. If that wasn’t proof of his sincerity, he didn’t know what was. He could feel his heart thumping against his ribs as he waited for her response. It might very well mean the difference between life and death.