Among Chaos (Viverescribere x Peregrine)





Imelda Fletcher

Struggling for a moment, Imelda battled within herself at his response. He would need to do it. So he would need to be in complete control.

It would be stupid of her to ignore the fact that, really, they had been building up to something like this having to happen. Him partially controlling her lower half for her limp, and then manipulating her body to provide injuries and wounds were both experiences that seemed to have been building up to the big event. The Slayer also knew that, throughout their time together during this investigation, there could come times that he may have to be in complete control.

But that didn't mean she enjoyed the idea of that possibility.

With a soft snarl under her breath, a hand raggedly pushed through her hair as the internal war on what to do continued.

What other choice did she have? The back door was locked, the front was guarded by those that she didn't wish to waste time taking out. It wasn't as if Alarik had proven himself untrustworthy during this time either. Key phrase - during this time. He had kidnapped her, after all. He had done what she had asked for, and only what she had requested. She knew it was best if she tried to rein in her paranoia as best as possible, however that was easier said than done considering her job title.

"Alright... alright. Let's-- let's do it your way then. You can do this to get us in... and back out. But the moment my feet touch the floor on either side, I want that control back, understood?"
 
"I understand," he agreed, pausing for a second before deciding to feel touched that she was willing to allow him this at all, rather than wounded by the fact that she felt it was so necessary to clarify so exactly when he had to give up control. He'd been aiming for baby steps with her, but this was far, far more than a baby step. He should be grateful. "I promise I'll do exactly that."

Deciding rather abruptly that she'd probably appreciate some measure of gratitude and consolation, he quickly lined up a few words. "Thank you, Im. For trusting me. I'll make it as quick as possible."

Wasn't that what humans sometimes said before they killed someone?

"We also might not need to do it on the way out. You may be able to open the door from the inside."

Deciding he'd done enough damage, he focused on the matter at hand.

Like for any jump, they'd need to get a small running start. They were certainly too close to the wall right now for that. And, since the last thing he wanted was to unnerve Imelda further, it was better to let her line herself up. "Can you line yourself up three to five meters away from the wall? And then... let me know when you're ready."
 




Imelda Fletcher

Luckily for Alarik, she was too occupied with trying to keep her nerves steady for what she had just agreed to. She was going to finally experience what it felt like to be completely and utterly controlled by him, and it was enough to make her reconsider her agreement.

However, the Slayer knew that there was no other way in, lest they wasted more time and she couldn't afford to let that happen. She wanted in, and soon. She knew that her decisions previous to this one had led them here: if she just allowed him to knock out the guards, to send them to sleep, then she wouldn't need to be putting her complete trust in him. That being said, there was no guarantee that either of those guards had a key to get in to the Hut, so it may have ended up at the same conclusion at any rate.

Taking a deep breath, she nodded to his request and began to back up a few steps. Hesitant at first, but slowly gaining speed until she had reached the point she thought best suited his wants. The sooner she did this, the sooner she would have her control back.

"Alright, when... whenever you're ready."
 
Satisfied that Imelda had settled herself a good distance from the wall, he quickly recalculated everything he was intending to do. The wall was quite tall, and it would take clean technique and strength to get her over it in one move. With all his promises, there was no way he had the luxury of messing it up. Fortunately, he'd had a long enough period of time to adjust to the details of her body, so it was at least 98 percent confident he'd be able to complete the action with no problems.

It was simply that 2 percent chance that worried him.

"Here we go."

Before his words would have time to stop echoing in Imelda's ears, he sprung forward, Imelda's limbs moving powerfully as she explosively raced forward in three long strides. He jumped upwards, one foot firmly planting against the wall and pushing off, as her other leg swung upwards, lifting her higher. A second later, and he reached out to grab the lip of the wall, the fingers of her right hand easily catching the lip of the wall, while her left hand pressed against the wall for a moment, before reaching upwards to join her other hand.

However, the moment Imelda's first hand closed around the lip of the stone wall, he realized that something was wrong.

The tips of Imelda's fingers were being pushed in by something, the skin ripping open and tearing in a way that was completely incongruent with what should happen from gripping rough stone.

He interrupted the pain traveling up her nerves by instinct, simultaneously preventing the blood from flowing out of her fingers.

The goddamn Slayers had embedded something into the top of the wall. Broken glass, perhaps, or cheaper flint fragments. Whatever it was, it was clearly designed to prevent people from doing exactly what he was helping Imelda do now.

Of course, it could do nothing to stop him. But he still cursed at this unexpected event. He'd wanted this to go cleanly and smoothly, free of anything unexpected. That clearly wasn't going to be the case now.

Pulling her body upwards so that she could finish vaulting over the wall, he was momentarily tempted to avert her eyes, so that she wouldn't be able to see the way her fingers were casually gripping around whatever sharp fragments were on the top of the wall. A moment later, he demurred on the idea. Better to simply pretend that nothing was wrong, and hope the darkness would cover up the worst of the scene's strangeness.

Using the momentum from the climb, he pulled Imelda upward, her feet bouncing off the wall, before briefly touching the shard-covered top of the wall. And then she jumped down on the other side, feet landing lightly on the soil in a crouch, her landing softened to nothing but a mild thump.

It was as clean as he could get it, barring the unexpected circumstances of the top of the wall. He was satisfied. He just hoped Imelda was alright.
 




Imelda Fletcher

What the fuck.

What the actual fucking fuck.

Never, ever, had Imelda felt so out of control. Literally. To have her body move of it's supposed own accord was fucking terrifying, herself feeling as though she had been shoved out of the driver's seat and left to watch from the back of the carriage, the reins having been ripped from her. She couldn't even suck in a sharp breath, the gasp that wanted to expel was trapped in her chest and the scream well, that was lodged in her throat. It was truly indescribable, having to watch the world move around her from the depths of her mind. She was so utterly aware of how it felt like she was a part of nothing. Just something floating, like an unimportant thought, in the back of her head. Watching uselessly as her body was thrown into action.

Then came the sight of shards sticking through parts of her skin. If she could scream, she would have then. Not out of pain. No. Because Alarik had seen to it that she didn't feel the pain.

She would have screamed because there wasn't any. There was no pain, no blood. There. Was. Nothing.

To see those sharp protrusions piercing her palms and her fingers, even sticking through some areas of her hand due to the force in which it had been brought down on the extra defensive mechanism, made her feel faint. Perhaps it was a good thing that Alarik was in charge in that moment, as Imelda wasn't entirely sure if she would have been able to keep herself awake by that point.

She was tough, of course, as a Slayer one had to get used to seeing some gruesome injuries and deaths. And she would have handled the injury easily if it wasn't so unnatural. She would have known what to have done if there had been blood and pain. But because there wasn't anything of the like... what the fuck did she do?

Imelda herself wished that it was dark enough that she didn't have to see what happened. However as her body was pulled up, it was impossible to not witness what had happened.

When they had landed, and control had been given back to her, the reaction was immediate. She lifted her shaking hands to her face to see the wounds, twisting her wrists so she could see the front and the back of them. Colour, if she could see her reflection, would have drained from her cheeks. Of course she should be focusing on how miraculous, and scarily easily, it was to get in once allowing him to help. However, it was hard after what she had just witnessed.

"That was-- I can't-- what--" The Slayer stuttered in a whisper, still instinctively keeping her voice down in fear of being heard by the guards (not that it was likely). "Fix-- fix them. Can you fix them? I-- I don't-- there was no blood. You can-- you can control the-- my-- blood too. This is... this is a lot. I-- I've learned... I've learned...in this one-- one moment..."
 
"It's okay, Im." Her stuttering voice, forcibly repressed to little more than a low whisper, sent a mixed rush of worry and disappointment through him. Despite his hopes, she hadn't missed what had happened only moments before. Of course she hadn't. Even if it was dark, the light from the moon was more than enough for them to reach the Slayer's Hut, and the entire thing had literally happened inches in front of her nose. Now all he could try and do was placate her.

"I didn't know the spikes were up there, but it's okay. I promise. Your hands are fine."

In truth, with the wild activity of her thoughts and her rapidly shifting ramblings, he wasn't completely certain that was what Imelda was worried about. However, he'd definitely heard her asking if he could fix them, and it was something he could focus on.

"You're fine," he continued to reassure. Imelda had never been one to need comforting in the past. Even if she'd ended up hurting herself, she was more the type to bite back her tears and then keep going with a stiff upper lip. He could only guess, like a blind person stabbing in the dark in hopes of hitting their target by luck. "We need to search the Hut, remember?"
 




Imelda Fletcher

"They're fine? They're-- they're fine. Fine. Yep. Yep. they-- they--" She took in a few deep breaths to counteract the hyperventilation that threatened to overcome her. She couldn't fall into that panic in that moment. She could succumb to just how fucking weird the whole situation was. "They're fine. They're fine. All healed up. No blood-- none-- none at all."

It was true, whatever he had done, it mean the wounds were closed up and, at least in the dark, she couldn't see any marks. It was almost like they hadn't even just gone through such a traumatic experience. However Imelda knew, she had seen it, witnessed it all. There was no forgetting that image. It was one of the worse things she had seen, and she had witnessed a lot. It was like she was dead. Like when he... he had killed Kalvar and inhabited his body. Every slice Imelda had made on that body, blood hadn't oozed out but immediately the skin had stitched back together.

With that though, her stomach rolled in a very threatening manner and she closed her eyes briefly.

"Right... hut... yes..." She answered, words coming out on every exhale as her eyes finally opened again. Using the wall, Imelda tenderly pushed herself to her feet. "Maybe-- maybe... just... watch out for those next time." She added, voice small as she tried to get over the fact that how they got in was also their way out.

Of course she knew that what they had planned wasn't going to be a walk in the park, but she hadn't imagined it to be anything like that.

Releasing a final, long, heaved sigh, Imelda consciously flexed and wiggled her fingers as she walked through the courtyard they had landed in to begin searching the villa-like building.
 
"I will," he promised, figuring that the best thing to do at the moment was simply agree. All things considered, he was pretty pleased with his response on this whole matter. He'd had only a split second to realize that Imelda's hand had grabbed something wrong to resolve the situation. If he'd been any slower, he wouldn't have been able to fully block her pain reception, since that normally wasn't something he had to worry about in his other bodies.

However, Imelda certainly wasn't in the mood to praise him for reacting well to the situation, if she even realized that it hadn't been an easy accomplishment. He should probably just consider himself lucky that she wasn't mad at him.

"The largest building should be the main Hut. Do you know what you're looking for?"
 




Imelda Fletcher

"Just anything dodgy, I thought." She mumbled, subconsciously rubbing the palms of her hands against the sides of her trousers as she walked.

Tentatively, upon reaching the larger, main area of the villa-like hut, she pushed open the door and breathed a small sigh of relief when it merely swung open. No weird little alterations needed for this part, at least. And that came as a relief considering what just happened.

Taking a deep breath, still trying to steady herself and focus back on to the task at hand, the Slayer shrugged despite him not physically being there. "Seriously though... I guess just anything that don't look right. Overproduction of Catalyst, maybe? But you said about them supposedly sacrificing humans to draw out the bigger monsters. So... so the Slayers must have known something about that, they might have something here that shows they were aware of what Mineral Hill were doing."

She thought aloud, unsure as to if it were helping matters but it was definitely a whole lot fucking better than trying to think such large trains of thoughts to him as slowly as she had to.

Slowly, Imelda climbed a flight of stone stairs, ears pricked and nerves on edge for any sound of trouble.
 
Despite the fact that Slayers Huts were placed, not only all across the nation but all across the continent, they all followed a near-identical layout. Perhaps it was some form of identification, to proclaim to everyone that the courtyard was the home of Slayers. However, he figured that it might simply be that this was the most practical and useful layout that the Slayers had reached after years of trial and error, and there was no point in reinventing the wheel when it already worked.

Whatever the case, it made navigating within the Hut a lot easier, and Imelda was able to move quickly and with purpose to the main building, where she would hopefully be able to find more information or evidence about Mineral Hill's crimes.

While most of the buildings in the Hut were solitary rooms for parties of Slayers, the largest building was often considered the true 'Hut'. In a smaller community like Mineral Hill, it was one of only a small handful of two story buildings that existed in the entire village. And while the lower floor was filled with all the standard trappings of a Hut, including information on the local area and some of its more common monsters, the upper floor was always reserved for the local party.

Surprisingly, the mayor's words from earlier that day proved unexpectedly accurate. While there was a map of the area pinned to the walls, the rest of the shelves were either filled with a messy collection of papers, or completely bare. Dust covered many of the shelves, proving they hadn't been occupied in a long time. The records of the Silent Forest were unexpectedly sparse, perhaps because it had been over three years since the last outside slayer party had come to Mineral Hill before he had started this current fiasco. Or perhaps the local party was simply sloppy in their record keeping.

Whatever the case, there was not destined to be much information on the lower floor, and he didn't bother giving it much more than an overview. If the local Slayers were keeping any contraband or illegal information, it was doubtful that it would be stored in the public area.

The flight of stairs leading up to the second floor was barred by a heavy wooden door. However, as they drew closer to the door, he felt a sudden tingle wash over his being, completely independent of his perception of Imelda. "Imelda. I... feel Catalyst. A lot of it."
 
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Imelda Fletcher

It frustrated Imelda to see a lack of, well, anything. How could the Slayers allow things to fall into such disarray? A bit of a control freak - if that wasn't obvious but her lack of want to hand Alarik any kind of control - and someone who enjoyed order, Imelda itched to correct everything she saw. To tidy up the abysmal lack of record keeping and clear up the cobwebs and dust that had formed and settled on maps and documents. Her nose wrinkled at the lack of care for the place, disgusted at the lack of pride that either the local Slayers had but also the lack of want to ensure this place of strength was kept well managed by the Mayor of Mineral Hill.

But then she supposed that was why it was so filthy in the rooms they entered, because the Mayor didn't want anyone snooping around. People cleaning would snoop, undoubtedly. It was human nature, in Imelda's opinion, to be at least somewhat curious. It was that sense of curiosity that got her interested in all the stories that Alarik told her all those years ago.

Imelda paid no attention to the door at first, deciding to leave it for the time being in order to check the documents laying around instead. But slowly she drew closer to it, and at Alarik's reaction, she paused near by.

"Catalyst?" She repeated, frowning as her eyes swept over the door. She purposefully moved toward it, fingers reaching up to press against the wood. "What? From here? In this direction?" She questioned next, hand trailing down to check the handle. Locked.

Imelda took a step back to survey the situation, humming softly in thought, "But why would they have catalyst here? And a lot of it, no less? Surely they'd keep their stores in the village, nearby for trade and stuff."

It was definitely a question that would need answering, and since they had come so far, she was determined to get the answers she sought.

"Are you sure it's from here? You sure it's Catalyst you can sense? Now I'm not sure what else it could be but for them to go hiding Catalyst out here..."
 
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"Yes, from there. I'm sure." It was common knowledge that there was an inexorable link between Catalyst and monsters. One could not exist without the other. It was a not insignificant part of the reason Slayers were so valued. Not only were they responsible for protecting communities from the danger of monster attacks, they were also an essential component of securing society's Catalyst supply chain. Without hunters to harvest Catalyst from monster corpses, alchemy would stagnate, and eventually vanish from the world altogether.

However, he knew that, even among monsters, his interaction with and relationship to Catalyst was special. Unlike monsters, who were created by the effects of Catalyst, he speculated that he had instead truly been born from Catalyst, and that was why the heart of the Nightmare Territory where he'd come to exist had simply vanished.

Whatever the reason, there was no question that he was particularly responsive to the presence of Catalyst. Even the small quantities that could be found in the body of a monster, let alone the massive collection that was hiding somewhere behind that door.

"What do you want to do?"
 




Imelda Fletcher

Squaring up to the door, the Slayer began to weigh up her options. Breaking down the door was not an option, not with the guards out front. If they were heard, it would all be over; clearly something was going on here if Alarik was right and there was an abundance of Catalyst beyond the door. If they were caught now, what would the Mayor think? Imelda was sure he was already suspicious of her, and she would have to be careful with her behaviour and actions for the next few days.

"I could potentially pick the lock," she murmured, crouching down to look at it as she did so. There were two locks, which didn't phase her but did irritate her. Her Slayer training hadn't exactly taught her the skill, but instead one of the men who had also joined alongside Imelda. He had been killed during his second ever mission as a Slayer.

She stood back up, glancing over her shoulder to scan the room once more, "I'd just need something to pick it with. Unless... you have any other suggestions?" The question came out somewhat begrudgingly, since she wasn't entirely keen to provide him with any sort of control again with the events of earlier still branded in her mind. However Imelda had to accept the fact that things could be done quicker if he were to do them... no matter how displeased she was to have acknowledge that.
 
He studied the door for a moment, before letting out a faint noise. "Nothing that's quieter and more efficient than simply picking it," he replied, moderately distracted. Even if he wasn't in Imelda's body, where he had to be more delicate and careful with his actions than he might normally, a locked door was the kind of impediment that only really had a few methods to solve. If breaking it wasn't an option, the only remaining choice was to open it normally.

After all, he wasn't able to simply phase a body through wood, and would therefore have had to resort to picking the lock himself. If that somehow wasn't an option, such as if the other side was barricaded, his only possibility would be finding some other creature that could squeeze its way inside, and finding a way to open it from the interior.

His distraction was only heightened by the lure of the Catalyst on the other side of the door. Outside of the fact that it could potentially provide them information, its very presence was a lure to him, a temptation that kept him from thinking and reacting as cleanly as he might otherwise. He wanted nothing more than to be on the other side of that door.

"I might be able to help with the process of picking it, though. Using your hair." He didn't know how much experience Imelda had picking locks, but he considered it highly probable that he'd be able to sense it's interior better that way than she would be able to feel it through whatever makeshift lockpicks they could find in the Hut.
 




Imelda Fletcher

Imelda hesitated at his response, slightly bewildered at what had just been said. "With my... my hair? How-- how the fuck do you pick a lock with hair?" She scoffed, not in a spiteful way, but rather disbelieving and uncertain.

Of course she had learned a lot about Alarik in the short amount of time they had been together, and it was disconcerting just how much she had learned. There had been things she hadn't considered possible, and also things she had thought she would never see happen to her own body. Such as the complete breakage internally that he had to manifest in order to pass the healer's examination, and then the ability to stop blood from exiting her body.

But to pick a lock with her hair? How the fuck would that even work?

"You need to fucking elaborate on that one because I don't know how strong you think human hair is, Alarik, but it certainly isn't going to be strong enough for that kind of shit." She muttered, reluctantly returning to the door.

There was less panic felt about him manipulating her hair. It wasn't something she could feel and not something that much could really be done with in her eyes. Not as much as her body, anyway. Imelda was sure she'd have nightmares about the shards piercing through her hands...
 
Alarik.

The sound of the name caused him to momentarily freeze up.

She'd called him Alarik.

Perhaps it should have been an obvious conclusion. It was their shared history, the reason she was still alive when the rest of her team was dead, the reason that he was now riding with her. It was the point of familiarity they had, which was why he'd chosen to make his 'voice' sound like the older bandit's slightly gravely tone.

Yet the sound of his name on her lips was still completely different from that abstract knowing. For one, strange instant, it felt like they were back in a moment when she'd still thought he was human. Before she'd become a Slayer, and he'd become one of her targets to be hunted.

He wished he could simply plunder her mind, to fully understand how she felt about him. Alarik had once been a type of father figure to her. How did she view him, now?

The silence had dragged on in that stunned instant, and he suddenly remembered that Imelda was waiting for him to explain. There was Catalyst on the other side of the door. There were plenty of other things he was supposed to be focusing on.

"Your hair is a part of your body," he explained. "That means I can control it." The explanation didn't seem entirely satisfactory. She didn't seem all that worried about his offer, especially compared to some of the things he'd suggested in the past. This should be a good moment for an example.

"If you'd like a demonstration, just move a lock of hair in front of your face, and then try and bend it."

He was already present inside her hair, same as he was every other part of her body. However, compared to muscles or bones, which were so essential for movement and stability, even he generally just considered hair a decoration. The only thing it was useful for was moments like this, when he needed something particularly long and movable.

As Imelda tried to bend her hair, he resisted, using his own presence to hold the strands of hair perfectly straight. It was even more simple than holding her injuries together. After all, the only thing he had to do was remain stationary.
 
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