The Second Coming

[Machiavel Malkavian]

I am an alcoholic.

No wait, I'm not. Oh well, it worked as a nice start.

My name is Machiavel. I am 41, round about. I am human, or so I have been told. I live here, but I used to live somewhere else. Corellia used to be my home, but it got boring there, so I left. Plus, all of the hired muscle that found its way into my office with the aim of beating me up was not good.

My name is Machiavel. I have not been writing here for long. This diary is really not working for me. They say it's supposed to help relieve pent up stress, but I don't feel relieved. Maybe I need the bathroom? Even if I did need the bathroom there's no way they'd let my get up. My right leg is not working correctly. I am meant to be resting, and 'healing'.

My name is Machiavel. As I sit here, the governments of the world are becoming alerted to my presence here. It's not long before someone arrives, gets past the fairly lapsed hospital security and pops a bolt into my head. If this does not happen, which I will be surprised if it doesn’t; I will rot away here in this stink hole for the next 2 months, with my only company being the guy with the weak bladder just four foot away from me - who, just for reference, pees on the floor.

My name is Machiavel. You know what? I'm getting really sick of writing that down. It seemed atmospheric at the start but now it's just getting old, don't you agree? Getting old like staying in this hospital. Every minute seems like an hour. If it's not my compatriot urinating on my bed sheets then it's jitter girl screaming and wailing as she tries to escape her bed in the next room. This whole place is messed up. If I was a paranoid man, I'd swear down that this is a mental asylum.

Actually, I am a paranoid man; therefore this is a mental asylum. On Coruscant, where they send criminals.

The man to my left was once a mafia crime lord running a drug racket on the downtown side of Corellia city. His syndicate was one of the largest in the 5 planet galaxy, and monopolized everything there. Jitter girl was, and still is, a mentally deranged psychopath with compulsive killing tendencies. She does not like people. They won't let her out, so everyday she gets more and more mentally unstable, and wants more and more to murder every single person she can see.

I'm lucky I'm behind a wall, or else I think I'd be dead now.

I used to be a writer, until someone decided that they didn’t like me. They didn’t like my right leg either, so they broke that and had me sectioned on the grounds that I was endangering other people. The government, perhaps, but not the public at large. I had the guts to have an opinion of my own, under the imperialistic rule, and was shipped away to join the funny farm. It didn’t occur to the Jedi, obviously, when they regained control of the hub world to check on their patients and find out of they actually were mad, but hey, you can’t have everything.

Can you? I can have my pre-packed cardboard meal and eat it! - Thanks to the nurse who just came in and loosened the straps holding my arms down. I gave up on puzzling over why they feel the need to restrain me. Speaking of the nurse, she doesn’t look very happy. In fact, she’s shocked – heck, I might go so far as to say terrified. Someone, unfortunately, has a gun pointed against her head…

It looks like my savior has finally come. Albeit, 21 years late.

[Jazmyn]

The saviour with the gun departed a few minutes prior - claiming the nurse as his prize.As if one with the shadows, Jazmyn emerges. Cloaked from head to toe in black, only her eyes visible. At first, they appear as two red pinpoints of light; until she lifts her hands and lowers the hood.

Forever young. Forever beautiful. Eternally deadly with a simple kiss. That has been her fate; bestowed upon her by a former lover. Seeming to glide across the floor as opposed to simply walking, Jazmyn approaches the 'man'; her head canted subtlely to the side and a curious expression written upon her porcelain face.

"And here I thought you'd have broken free of this gilded cage long ago on your own."

Jazmyn tsks lightly under her breath, reaching over to finish undoing the ties that bind.

"Before you get any erotic ideas of killing me - I was sent here to free you."

She says no more than that; standing back away from the man, watching him intently.

[Machiavel Malkavian]

My savior come and departed, like the tide, leaving behind pale flotsam. I pondered on the appearance of this woman before me, and wondered what it was that she had come to find me. I had a name of note, that was true, but I didn't think my rescue would warrant the presence of such a delicate flower. None the less, I wasn’t about to complain, and remained as still as could be as she unbuckled me from my containment.

"And here I thought you'd have broken free of this gilded cage long ago on your own."

Ha! It seemed her mind and hands were working on two separate planes. Surely she realized that, tied up as such, I was unable to move? That issue was unimportant, of course. I just wanted out, and so as she unclipped the final buckle I couldn't help but unfurl like a spring coiled for too long – leaping out of the bed. I felt my knees quake under the sudden pressure – I hadn't stood up in so long. It hadn't taken much to get used to urinating in a bottle, really. Especially with the thought that my efforts were going to good use, mixed into the dinners, in mind.

"Before you get any erotic ideas of killing me - I was sent here to free you."

Another puzzling notion! I was armed only with the needle siphoning drugs into my wrist. Dressed in basic hospital gowns, soiled with the stains of a thousand awful meals, I wobbled about and tried to find my feet. Yes – they were just below my ankles as they had always been. Marvelous. I tear the needle out of my skin and seconds later wish I'd just left it be – it stings, like a bee just reversed into my hand.

"I hope this isn't the full extent of your plan, madam!" I chortle, and in the back of my mind, in a sick sort of way, hope it is – just so that I can see the consequences of such a bold and daring deed.

[Jazmyn]

She remains in silence, watching Machiavel as he's freed from his immediate prison. Dark eyes, like pools of solidified molten lava, blink slowly.

"I hope this isn't the full extent of your plan, madam!"

Still, she remains silent; cold, dark eyes never wavering from his visage.

Whether or not this is the full extent of her plan doesn't matter at this current point. What matters is the full motivation to the man's release.

A point to be discovered as things go on.

"If you're ready to leave ..."

The only words spoken from the woman as she motions with a glide of her hand towards the door.

[Machiavel Malkavian]

I don't need any further invitation, that's for sure! Beaming a brief smile in my compatriot's direction, I scoot up to the doorway, look up and down the corridor before tip-toeing out into the hall. Lucky I that I am Arkanian, and as such have exquisite eyesight – my pupil-free eyes roam the hall, seeing in infrared. The coast is clear, it appears, but I'm not quite so convinced that we're out of the frying pan yet – and if we are, we're most probably about ready to jump into the fire.

"Well?"

I turned on my heels, looking directly at the woman, expectantly. I don't know my way out, I think. I hope she does, otherwise we're both buggered. I look right, into a brightly lit corridor, then right into a foreboding hall engulfed in shadow. I wonder which it could be!

"Which way is it? Left or right?"

[Jazmyn]

Jazmyn's disdain for those of Arkanian 'descent' isn't seen so easily in her expressions. While Machiavel takes to scanning up and down the hall, Jazmyn takes advantage of the moment - scoping Machiavel out.

The tell-tale indications are there. Four-fingered hands and milky-white pupiless eyes. His behavior seems to fit well with the traits mentioned - apparently insane in an ingenious sort of way.

The right corner of her upper lip curls upwards, wrinkling the gentle rounded area of the right nostril. There's the disdain.

As he voices a rather rude "Well?"{, she simply lofts a darkened brow gently, questioning his impatience.

Still, no words are spoken by the woman.

Her expression remains. -Almost- neutral.

"To the right."

Though Arkanian's view the world much like certain predators do - seeing in infrared - the bright lights of the corridor would actually cause discomfort and perhaps some pain to the Arkanian's eyes. Mayhaps it might make it a touch difficult in noticing things in infrared?

Brushing against Machiavel's left elbow as she moves out of the doorway into the corridor, she doesn't bother to voice any sort of a pardon or apology for her rudeness.

Silently, she heads up the hall. The hem of her skirt skims the surface of the floor, rustling methodically with every step. Those who would pay attention, would note that not a sound comes from the woman or her steps; odd, considering the flooring is simple linoleum.

A left at the junction and up another corridor, to a lift. There, she waits for the man to catch up - along with the lift to pause at the floor to allow them entry.