Board Thread:Role Plays/@comment-25389303-20191221164519/@comment-25389303-20191229184457

Diaboli's fingers tightened around the gun as Zanipher spoke, his mouth forming a thin frown as she made her point. She had a way of twisting things the exact way he hoped she wouldn't, and it irritated him to no end. But she was offering to move past their initial troubles, for which he supposed he was grateful.

"It's not a question of knowing," Diaboli replied slowly, looking down at the dirty rooftop with a look of distaste. Shrugging off his coat, he layed the garment out beneath him before mirroring Zanipher's pose. "It's a matter of experience."

He paused for a moment to collect himself. It seemed hypocritical for Zanipher to ask him about his history with the Bluthardts, after having made a point about how uncomfortable she was talking about her own past. Of course, there was no way for her to know the extent of his grudge. But it didn't make the topic any less difficult.

"I didn't get out of the auction unscathed, you know," he soon began, tapping the barrel of the pistol on the concrete idly as he spoke. A moment later, he set the weapon down on the ground and brought his hands together, using the right to slowly pull back his left glove. It came away slowly, accompanied by a sound similar to the peeling-off of a band-aid.

What the glove revealed was a mess of blackened skin and half-formed scars, pulsing with a faint white light as Diaboli's Aura worked to knit the ruined tissue back together. It looked a lot better than it had during that long, long night, but normality remained a distant goal that would not be soon achieved.

"This..." he turned his hand in a 180-degree rotation, "...hurts like hell. My shoulder..." He rotated the joint with a slight grimace. "...It still burns from when I got shot that very same night. Before that, I had to cut out my own eye to settle a debt, only a few months after it finally healed from when I took a bullet to the face. I have been shot, stabbed, burned, poisoned, electrocuted, drowned, eaten alive..."

As he spoke, Diaboli picked up the gun again. With the click of a button, the magazine slid out, and a second later the bullet in the chamber pinged out of the ejection port. His hands began to glow a little brighter as Diaboli continued, stone-faced.

"...And yet...if given the opportunity to try it all again -- I wouldn't. Because that would mean going back there...to the Bluthardts..."

The sound of warping metal emanated from between Diaboli's fingers as the gun collapsed in on itself - the metal morphing like putty in his hands as he rolled it absently into a heavy ball. Eventually, the distant look on Diaboli's face cleared, and he focused his gaze on Zanipher once again.

"You say you know they are dangerous. And crooked. And abusive. But you don't appreciate it. To you, they are just words. Just more variables in the equation of whether or not they are a safe investment or not. I'm sure they're doing the same thing with your Syndicate as we speak." He shook his head slowly, almost sadly. "To them, you're an investment too. Like I was. In time, and faith. But the moment you are no longer profitable, they won't just cut you loose. They'll ask for more. And more. Until there's nothing left to give."

His fingers continued their movements, until eventually they parted, revealing a small, circular shape.

"You say they're holding up their end of the bargain. That's good. But be careful..."

He set the metal object down on the ground between them. A small, spiked crown of gleaming chrome.

"You just might get more than you bargained for."