The Fires That Bind

Tales of Jaycynda Ashleana and her associates.

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Jaycy Ashleana
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The Fires That Bind

Post by Jaycy Ashleana »

((Events in this thread continued from How The Mighty Have Fallen))

A flash: Confusion.

Jaycy blinked, frowning. Jean-clad legs straddled a beast of a machine and gloved hands squeezed the rubber grips at the ends of the bike’s handlebars. Her green gaze passed over the dials and gears of the vehicle, puzzled as she shifted on the seat. The bike tilted dangerously to the left and she yelped, squeezing her legs and clutching the rubber tighter as she fought to right it before it took her down.

“Ah, Jaycy…” She looked up, eyes widening and a surprised laugh escaping. Pslyder stood before her, clad in dust-mottled and worn gypsy skirts. The bodice lay snugly over his flat chest and fell straight down his sides. The tight fit failed to produce any curves in his muscular frame, however. A leather pack was slung over his bared shoulder and his feet were unprotected. He raised a brow at her. “Really?”

“What is this?” She looked down at the monster between her legs then back at him, brows furrowing. “And why are you wearing that?! Where are we?” Her gaze swept from him to pass over their surroundings. The city beckoned in the distance and fields surrounded the strip of road they stood on.

“That’s Thunderbucket, the bike I was riding when I ended up here,” he chuckled, shrugging the burdened shoulder upward to settle the pack more comfortably. The gypsy’s eyes widened and her gaze snapped to him. “You’re wearing what I did when I first came to the city,” she gasped in realization. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” he sighed.

A flash: Pain.

His left hand held the black cylinder against the ground as his right very slowly twisted, unscrewing the shiny metal endcap. He knelt on the ground, carefully not leaning over the device. A wall of thick, midnight-tinted metal covered all but his forearms and hands. He needed the flexibility to manipulate objects more than he needed the protection. Nothing was likely to happen; he thought he was the best at disarming explosives. He gently set the endcap on the ground, the wires exposed. Fingers slid over the insulated, colored wires before pinching the end of a thick yellow one connected to the metal cap. When he tugged lightly, his world erupted. He flew back, lifted by the blast, and then landed in a broken puddle several feet away with a sickening crunch. Pslyder howled, trying to wave arms that were no longer there – all that remained were twin bloodied, raggedy stumps.

A man dug into the pocket of his long white lab coat and withdrew a pen as he assessed the petite form spread and secured on the cold table before him. Her red hair was fanned across one end of the countertop, the strands hanging over the smoothed edge. Long, thin needles protruded from the entire surface of the body that lay prone. Fibrous lines connected the needles to an overhanging machine, the pattern resembling a spider centered upon a delicate web. Green eyes flicked toward the man who stood so near. He failed to notice as he turned and bent over a tablet, scribbling. His lips moved, but she was unable to discern the nature of his mutterings. He pressed a button. Her body bowed upwards as the electricity flowed through the needles and into her. The currents brought muscles to life but swept the newly formed body through waves of agony. She convulsed and twitched uncontrollably. When her lips could move, she finally screeched, expressing the hell of creation.

A flash: Lust.

A woman with hair dark as chocolate slumped in the hot tub, dipping below the frothing water until only her face remained above the surface. Her full lips parted slowly and a soft gasp escaped. “Oh…” A man stood at the door of the large tiled room. He stepped into the space swiftly, rapidly discarding his clothes and allowing them to puddle in piles as he walked. His breath hitched as the woman’s actions beneath the water came into view. The man climbed into the pool, his appreciation for the sight obvious.

The gypsy’s fingers tangled through blonde hair as she leaned in to nip the other woman’s lower lip. Bare skin touched; they pressed their bodies tightly together in an effort to maintain as close a physical connection as was possible. The blonde slid her hand through wild red strands and pulled the smaller woman's face forward, forcing a kiss. Tongues mingled as lips parted. The redhead's free hand slid down the blonde’s back before traversing her hip and dipping between them. A tortured moan was torn from one of the two men watching in the background.

A flash: Defeat.

Pslyder groaned as he faced the lightly-swaying heavy bag. His hands were curled into light fists, and his arms extended loosely before his gut. He drew his left leg forward to come even with his right and released the last bit of tension from his frame. He bent over, hands resting against his knees as he caught his breath. Fat drops of sweat fell from his forehead to the blue mat. “Drek,” he swore, then straightened and rubbed his upper arms, one at a time. He had been fighting to recover for weeks but remained as weak as a kitten. His head tilted back and his eyes shut tightly. “This ain’ gon’ work.” The man’s voice was simultaneously bitter and defeated. He waited several moments, opened his eyes, and resettled in his fighting stance.

Jaycy’s head bowed as tears dripped from her chin after sliding down tanned cheeks. Her hands were shackled together behind her back, held in place by dainty steel bracelets. Denied clothes, every inch of her body was exposed to the chilled air. Her knees remained wide apart and the freshly seared brand on her inner thigh drew the eye up her legs toward her center. A thick, clear spread of cream covered the burned flesh and protected it from infection. As she wept, her shoulders slumped. “Aye, Master. I am a slave,” she whispered.

A flash: Pain.

She looked down at the weight in her arms and startled in horror to find a straw-haired teen, pale and lax in her grasp. His mouth gaped and wide brown eyes stared sightlessly ahead. The boy’s extremities twisted and turned upon themselves, tilted at awkward and unsightly angles under the jet-black cotton of his skulking garb. The gypsy leapt backwards, hands coming to her chest, and the body dropped from her embrace with a small thud. “Oh, gods!” She looked up.

He sat at a table, leaning forward and facing a ruddy-cheeked, wiry-framed young man, who sighed as he smoothed wild strawberry tangles. “I’m sorry, Jaycy. Without you we … we couldn’t save him.” The other man paused then frowned toward Psly. His light green eyes shifted from left to right in furious thought as his brows furrowed, and the second person continued. “It’s not your fault, Jaycy. No one blames you for leaving. You had to get word to us. We had to know.” The man’s tone was meant to reassure but it was tinged with a deeply-hidden anger.

He looked over and their eyes locked. A wave of devastating guilt stormed over them.

A flash: Excitement.

Pslyder looked over to the elf-woman leaning forward over a computer keyboard, fingers resting lightly on the keys. His ARES Predator pistol remained pointed at the ceiling, the barrel of the gun resting against his shoulder. He grinned, gaze sliding toward her firm rear end. She tapped several keys, oblivious. A dwarf, fully as cybernetic as Psly himself was, growled. “Yo, Rev,” he half-muttered gruffly, using the nickname that Pslyder had been given because of his propensity for fast and loud motorcycles, “get ya eye on ya work, man, not ya pleasure.” The elf at the computer rolled her eyes but continued her work. She swiftly inputted a few more commands and then ejected the disk. “It’s done,” she announced, standing straight. Psly had to suppress a hoot when the cyber-dwarf said it was time to go.

The swords met with a clang as the gypsy turned a swift parry to protect her midsection from the incoming attack. He reversed his angle but so did she, shoving him off balance with the force of her defense. She feigned her own attack, a lunge, but spun away and sliced at his side when he fell for the false movement. She allowed a smile to cross her lips as she followed up with a forceful stab, through his back. He stared down at the sword peeking through his chest, suspended momentarily. A surprised grunt and then he crumbled, a boneless puddle at her feet. She looked down at the body and tugged her sword free. The smile grew and transformed to a full grin. “I win.” She wiped the sword clean on the cotton-clad back before turning and walking away.

A flash: Lust.

A low, visceral heat flowed through the gypsy’s center as she eyed him descending into the Arena. The chill of the bartop went unnoticed as she watched his entrance and approach. He would be hers because she wanted him. He loomed over her and her heartbeat quickened as a delicious tension flared to life between them. Skin burned with the sensations each time they touched, their hands tracing pathways of nerves set on fire. She moaned deeply into him as their lips met and arched up toward him. He pulled her frame against him roughly, possessively, and glared through slitted amber eyes. She was his. Their bodies joined and they soared together.

They were one.

A flash: Pain.

They clung to each other, smothered in the molten lava in the belly of the volcano. No, they were the molten lava in the belly of the beast, aching to explode to the surface. Liquid, living flame sped through their combined veins and seeped through every pore. Twin howls were wrenched from the pair at the agony of the furious heat of what moved through them. Flesh melted where they touched, leaked away and pooled, mingled, beneath them. Muscles, viscera and bone fused until there was a single exposed form.

They were one.




Jaycy screamed.
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PslyderFTA
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Post by PslyderFTA »

“Jaycy! Wake up! You need to wake up!”

No, no she didn’t need to wake up. What was she hearing? More importantly, how was she hearing anything at all? There was nothing to see; no eyes to open to the light. There was nothing physical to orient herself to even if there were light. No, she couldn’t manipulate her environment, but she could feel. She cautiously stretched out this “feeling” sense. The masculine, earthy tint she’d come to associate with PathFinder was there but its strength within her had faded, as if he pulled back to allow something else. As if he were pulling something else toward her essence and binding them with ribbons of earth and life. What was this other thing? She felt … blue. She sensed an irrationally familiar touch, a deep growl. She felt … dragon?

The Baroness’ eyes snapped open.

***

Psly knelt there, fighting through the swirling cascade of memories, both his and hers, and the interposing role switches in each. The fire burning in their veins was more intense than he'd accounted for, and he trembled with the effort of not putting voice to the sensation. When her eyes opened, so did his, slitted-amber orbs locked onto hers. Their combined blood flowed rapidly with each matched heartbeat, flowing like lava through their conjoined limbs. A sharp, hissed intake of breath, matching hers, before he dared attempt another snippet of thought-speech, a multitude of emotions swimming within those inhuman eyes. Anger. Fear. Pain.

"You aren't getting away that easy, Jaycy."

***
As their eyes met, emotions swept over her like waves, each a slap that jarred her further into consciousness. She flinched, recoiling, but found she was unable to break his grasp or his gaze for more than a mere moment. “Why?” The single word was whispered mentally, riding a tide of self-loathing and horror. She weakly tried to jerk her arms away but his grip was too strong, flesh melded together too well for her to achieve any sort of distance between them. She felt his heart, she felt it inside her own chest.

She stopped her ineffective struggling, trying to calm both of their racing beats by inhaling deep, slow breaths despite the burning moving all through her. Green gaze met amber still, and she became consciously aware of this new link between them – aware of memories not her own. Eyes widened slightly.

“Pslyder … what did you do?” Her voice rang out in his mind.

***

He responded in the same manner, mind to mind.

"I don't know. All I know is this. As of now, if you go, I'm coming with you. And I don't plan on letting go that easy." His mind-speech was clear of any trace of accent, instead full of determination and resolve. Until the melding and healing process was complete, they were tied to each other. His eyes narrowing as he spoke again in her thoughts.

"That was damn foolish, I'd like you to know." Simmering deep inside him, the anger of her action would wait for now. Instead, his concentration was on repairing what she had done to her body. Relatively speaking, that was the easy part. He grimaced in further pain, as leathery blue wings sprouted from his back, shrouding them both from the dangers of the battle raging nearby. In the darkness within, his eyes gave off a pale glow. The overall effect was like a very large cocoon, laying upon the ground, quiet, almost serene.

Inside was another story.

***

Jaycy shrunk into herself, finally managing to tear her gaze from his, her body finally beginning to recover from the shock of blood loss and answer to her commands. Her arms remained slightly extended, gripped firmly, but at least she was able to look away. She tried to keep as little physical contact with him as possible without moving her arms away. Truth be told, his statement that he would die too if she pulled away was the only reason she remained connected with him. Unfortunately, she didn’t have to look at him to know how he was feeling. “I’m sorry this had to happen this way.” Her mental voice, though meant to be whispered, sounded clearly in his head. “I didn’t mean for you to get stuck like this.”

His admonition had been another mental slap whether he had intended it to be or not. No, her own inner dialogue said, he doesn’t know; he doesn’t understand. She’d been caught by Anubis before. She would do anything to save people from the slaver. It wasstupid, what they did, but Teag was so afraid. Teag had to despise her now. Collie and Tass, longtime friends, were more than mad – they were disappointed. They were people she respected, and had ruined any they returned respect felt for her. No, Psly couldn’t understand. She whimpered.

***

He knew. He'd never been on the receiving end of any collar of Anubis, but several times he'd tried to rescue friends from the slaver's clutches. Tried, and failed. Sometimes permanently. "I'll be honest with you. This is new territory for me. I don't think we'll be stuck bonded like this for long, but just be patient." Her inner dialogue was quite audible to him, as was his to her. Linked like this, they couldn't hold any secrets from each other. Not anymore.

"Now, you listen, and you listen good, Jaycy. I'm not here because I think you need punishing, or because you did something bad. I'm here because you're one of my few friends, and I really hate losing friends to bad choices in life." He went quiet then, enduring the pain, watching her in the darkness under the cocoon of his wings.

***

The silence washed over them for what seemed like hours but was likely only a few minutes. “I’m sorry,” she said when she finally broke it. The words were spoken aloud rather than mind-to-mind. “I hope it isn’t like this for long.” The comment both was and was not a lie – out loud, she could lie … he would just know how untrue the words were. She didn’t want him stuck with her, friend or not, but she felt so lost. They were locked in this cocoon, locked away from everything but each other. She deserved the pain from this and if he weren’t there she would have found a way to end it. If she wouldn’t kill him too, she’d have done it. Instead, she refused to acknowledge it, no matter how much she wanted to scream.

“Where are we?” She returned to the mind-to-mind discussion.

***

He responded in kind. "We're where we found you. Now lie still. Apparently, I'm repairing your cuts. It's going to take a while, and it's not going to feel pretty." He was careful to not think about how angry he was at her. Not for whatever might have happened in the rings, or with anyone else. His anger was directed at her choice of resolutions. But that would come later.

Psly's concern now was keeping her safe until the physical damage could heal.
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Post by PslyderFTA »

The minutes dragged on into hours. The muffled sounds of battle outside the protective cocoon of his wings faded into obscurity. The lava flowing through their bodies was settling into a nearly tolerable network of throbbing pain. Psly could feel Jaycy growing stronger, the deep gashes in her wrists and veins nearly healed. Images and emotions flitted through his mind, mixed with hers, intermingling until it was a struggle separating what was his from what was hers. It was dangerous territory to cross.

Now, he thought, was as good a time as any. Speaking clearly into her mind. “So. Perhaps you’d like to explain to me why I’m finding you trying to become worm food out here in the middle of nowhere?” Sullen anger flared from deep within him, anger because she’d thought to run, and hide, and take the easy way out, instead of asking for help.

She’d allowed her eyes to drift shut as the time slipped away. Their life stories were like waves crashing to the shore on her mind – sharp, sudden and swiftly receding. The fires burned hottest at their joined flesh. She let a soft sigh escape as she shifted position, crouched on the ground. It was the only recognition of the pain of the procedure.

Her eyes opened at his question. Gold flecks darted throughout her irises, mingling with what was once a darker green. She looked up to him, to meet light green. A wave of guilt swept through her and she swallowed. “I…” she began mentally. How could she answer that? The anger scared her in ways, even if she knew what the anger stemmed from. He no doubt knew what had happened both in Jaycy’s past and that night – the events that sent her stumbling from the Outback. “I… I ruined her. I… she called me Mistress. She trusted me, and I destroyed her. I deserve to die for that.”

His eyes narrowed, bright in the darkness. Silently, his words flared in her mind. “Out of all this. Of all the things in your past, this? This is what you feel you deserve death for? Yes, she trusted you. She trusted you to protect her from Anubis, and she trusted you to know what to do, to keep him away from her. She asked you to do that. And, as her friend, you did.” The conjoined vessels in their arms separated, as her system took over the job of keeping her alive again. Feeling that, he let go, letting his arms flow from around hers, so that she could move. His wings remained around them, as he was not ready to let her run away again. “What happened in the ring wasn’t your fault, and you know it. If anything, she ‘destroyed’ herself, by doubting her abilities to fight against him.”

Once released, she scooted away from the bulk of his form as far as she could. In the end, it wasn’t far because of the wings keeping her captive. The gypsy glanced around at the wings, rubbing at the forearms that had been so recently connected so intimately. “You don’t understand,” she whispered verbally. “Even though it wasn’t meant to be for long, it was real. I … I took a slave.” She cringed at the thought, PathFinder’s words running through her mind like a sick mantra – Don’t ruin anyone else’s life. “I broke everything I believed in when I did that. I am worse than Anubis was. I don’t want to ruin anyone else’s life. I’m … sorry.” Her breaths were a bit shallow as she adjusted to being her own person once more, not fused with him. The rush of images had stopped, or at least faded into a background that could be ignored during the present browbeating. The guilt overwhelmed her with the verbal apology and she wailed. “Why did you find me?”

His own response verbal, a low growl in the confined space. “Ah. . .I found you because a friend of mine was dying, and I wasn’t about to let that happen. Not again.” Psly’s eyes closed against the sudden flood of loss, pouring through him, and into her. The physical link was no longer necessary. They were a part of each other now. “The rest. . .is a mistake. Time will go on, people will forget. Just learn from it, and move on.” His voice went quiet as he shifted, sitting now, resting his elbows with care on his knees. The thought of losing another friend, over something he’d never known, overwhelmed him.

“Oh, gods, Psly,” she murmured, both aloud and into his mind. Tears slid freely down her cheeks as she shared his feelings. She’d never thought of what the others might think if she were gone; all that occurred to her was to save them from her. “I’m so sorry.” She rocked back and forth, wanting to go and comfort him – she would have to be the one to move – but afraid of his reception if she did so. He was angry, so angry, and hurting because of her stupidity. Newly healed arms wrapped tight around her own stomach. The anger at him saving her faded to a distant corner of her mind in the wake of his pain. “I’m so sorry,” she repeated, whispering in the cocoon.

“That’s neither here nor there now. You’re alive, you’re safe, and you learned. We’ll go from there.” Standing, furling his wings, letting the rest of the world into their little space, he looked down at her. With a smile, he held out his hand, letting waves of acceptance and promise flow down their link.

It was time to go home.
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