Black Chords

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Black Chords

Post  Yong Soo on Wed Jul 13, 2011 3:40 pm

(OOC: *Me flailing irl* I dont wanna write about people dying~ people getting brutally murdered by axe weilding zombies is fine, but thiiiis... D:
Mah Bestie: *Pats.* Der, der, Yong.)

Black chords of surgical stitches clung to the lips, ears, eyes, and hands of two people - excluding the eyes of one the woman.
A vivid colour of red trickled down the eye of one of the two - a man - resulting in tears of blood sliding down his cheek when he moved his head. His cheek came into contact with something rough. Fabric. Something that you'd expect an old grandma to give a kid for Christmas. The moan that welled up in his throat was cut off by pain of moving his lips. They were stitched together in an X pattern, along with his earlobes - he couldn't hear anything that wasn't muffled - and his hands, bound together to the skin by more of that black chord that acted as stitching. He knew his hands were stitched together forcibly to make him look like he was praying. Some fabric was around his neck - a rope. And at his ankles were more of that rope, chauffing his skin whenever he moved.
He heard a similar and muffled whimper coming from his partner. A woman in her mid 40s. If she fought whoever did this, he wouldn't know. He got knocked out first, and failed to keep his wife safe - with a swift touch to the back of his neck, he was out cold on the rosewood floor of their pricey home. When he woke, he couldn't move his eyes unless if he really tried, bringing a ruvelet of wetness onto his eyeballs and pain. He got his middle finger loosened on his hand, but it hurt so much he didn't want to try again. For some reason, his ears were muffled, probably stitched together as well. And as long as he didn't move, the pain wasn't as bad. His tongue brushed the chord that held his lips together - and with sickening fascination, he knew what was keeping him from moving. The stitches that he was used to working with at the hospital. He felt as though he was drowning. Everytime he breathed, some wetness was forced up or down his throat. It wasn't much, but it tasted horribly metallic and filled with iron.

The woman was blinded by her own blood. She had no eyelids to shield her eyes from the blood that poured from somewhere above her head, creating a raw stinging sensation on her eyes. She needed to blink. She needed to move. But whenever she tried, something tugged at her skin from behind onto a soft surface. Leather from a couch. It's too bad that she has no idea on where she is. Positive that her tearducts are going into overdrive - are they still attatched? - she became certain that the girl who did this was really, really screwed in the head. She had long hair that was tied into a night black braid, the only piece of facial attribute visible. She was very flat. She had a gasmask on that looked like it might be from some kind of anime that the woman's gandaughter watches. And when she moved, she attacked with grace and mostly kicks. The woman repeated these thoughts over and over in her mind, all other appendages equally stitched together to mirror her husbands - all except her lidless eyes. The room felt too hot. She needed to talk to her husband, tell him the revelation she found. She didn't know who the woman was, but she knew what she looked like. Well, loosely. There could be tons of brunettes out there---
Ow. Something really was hot in here now. Shifting her head she winced when a stitch pulled at the back of her neck painfully. What type of woman would do this? It's just screwed up. She needed to tell her husband. Trying to form words, they couldn't pass out of her lips - a piece of stitching had by mistake - or on purpose - attached itself to her tongue. But she needed to speak badly. Whimpering the woman began to bring the muscle in her mouth back, her mouth a word of pain. Her jaw flexed. So did the stitches, creating a revulet of blood to trickle down her chin. She pulled harder. So did her stitches. She tugged, and only a minute after of work, her tongue came free... but her stitches remained the same, now with a wad of muscle stuck to them. Iron tasting liquid gradually filled her mouth. She had to swallow, although she gagged. "Mmmhg.." (8DDDD) When she was so happy to get her tongue free, her hopes came crashing down - she couldn't force the syllables needed if her lips were still sewn shut. And why the hell was it so damn hot in here?
Her husband made another groan. But it was panicked - she could distinctly smell burning wood now. Heat caressed her face, probably burning her eyebrows off and other hair. The heat grew more insistent, as though it wanted to reach out and hold the two in its embrace...
Propane. Gas. Whatever. She could smell it - she had already smelled it through the house, but she thought it was one of the natural gas leaks she saw down south of the city. No biggie. But this didnt smell like rotten eggs. Gagging she tried to swallow another revulet of blood that seemed so damn insistent on trying to choke her, another whimper filling the small closet that she and her husband resided inside. Her husband lay on the ground in a fetal position with his legs tied by some rope. The thought of why they werent stitched together didnt enter his mind. The woman could feel his head resting against her foot. She must be tied to a chair... er, stitched to a very, very flamable chair. Her right eye cleared of blood for a moment, although the world was still painted in red... of flames that slowly began to seep through the door, and catch them both on fire. With her eyes clear, she wished that what used to be eyelids were still bleeding - she was forced to watch her and her husband burn to death. Oh, shit...

Meanwhile, the arsonist/homicidal/screwed up Korean who likes stitches was walking away, fake braid swaying as he walked far away from the heat at his back, and closer into cool night air. It was easy to feign the appearance of a woman. The woman in the house had ripped off some part of his braid, but the fire should burn it to a crisp. Other than that, Yong really left no trace of what went on in that house. Humming to himself a tune - Matryoshka - he continued walking, thinking about how nice the night was. It was only a few days after he met Yao at the fireworks. And really? He knew he should have done this sooner instead of putting it off. He had to make sure that the people would never, ever talk again. And if they were found alive, that they couldnt talk. Maybe he should have cut their tongues off. But honestly? Some part of him wanted to revel in the idea that the wife would watch her husband burn. Even if she was found alive, it would be hard to take her and the chair he carefully sew her to over and out of a burnign house. Even then, he stitched part of her tongue to the stitches on her lips. She'd have a very hard time talking. Her husband? He didn't even see Yong. Taking off his mask he grimaced at the rough feeling it had against his skin. In case he got caught in the fire, he brought along a gas mask just in case. The braid at his back swayed with movement, reminding him of Hyung. He'd have to kill him, too, if he ever saw Yong again. The reason why Yong just commited such morbid and brutal homicide was due to the fact that those two realized who he really was, at the one time Yong went to a hospital to get stitched up. Those two figured out that he was supposed to be dead. And he really, really couldn't afford to have that little piece of knowledge slip.

It was 4:00 am when the house set on fire. And by 5:00am, Yong was already at home with a cup of hot chocolate watching the sunrise robins egg blue. Afterall, these people live out of town; he had to take the long way so no one saw a certain black haired female walking through the forest of some city in America.
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Yong Soo

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Re: Black Chords

Post  Hyung Soo on Fri Jul 15, 2011 7:28 pm

((Srry it's short but I have to go =o=))

After only just getting off of a plane and renting a hotel room, Hyung Soo had finally arrived at America after 15 hours in the air. He was in the shower, hot water droplets sliding quickly down his muscular body and his long brown hair damply sticking to his wet back. His chocolate brown eyes, closed as he stood there, facing the off-white wall. Already he felt as though this day was going to be a long one, how? Because of how exhausted he was. He couldn’t find sleep on the plane so he has been awake for many hours and was beginning to lose focus. After sighing into the deep, humid air of the shower, Hyung turned off the shower’s taps and grabbed his 3 foot long hair and twisted it, a slow flow of water escaping it. He dressed in a simple white polo t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans, with a leather belt and brown leather lace-ups, but his hair was difficult; It took forever to dry and almost impossible to braid, but after braiding it, Hyung was ready for the day ahead of him.

5:30 am
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Hyung Soo

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Re: Black Chords

Post  Hyung Soo on Sun Jul 17, 2011 7:13 pm

((Who gets ready at 5:30 D=))
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Re: Black Chords

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