Charlotte

[flashback]
|originally bolded... for Noise's dialog|
/italics/
Enjoy. ^^ Next chapter will have promised Lotti having her fun with Echo. :)

SURRENDER
~Pinkhearter13

Echo waited patiently for the verdict. Her back straight and not leaning against the sofa, her feet planted firmly on the floor, the unfamiliar cloak wrapped tightly around her, she watched as Vincent and the few Baskervilles had a discussion on the subject of earlier that day. More importantly how Echo had /behaved/ earlier that day—more importantly, how Echo had /failed/ to keep her other /self/ from behaving earlier that day.

She briefly remembered the sudden jolt in her shoulder, and the short few seconds afterward before Noise had drifted away, leaving Echo stranded in the middle of completely unknown territory. Lost and dressed in unfamiliar clothing, she had followed the road until coming across familiar surroundings, all while Noise hammered at her conscious and laughed and taunted.

Then Echo had come across Lotti, who was not pleased at all. Out of all of the Baskervilles, Lotti was Echo's least favorite. Of course, she liked all of them—her master and Noise liked them, so Echo naturally did as well—but to assign each of them a place on a list, Lotti would surely be at, or at least near, the bottom. Doug and Fang sometimes scared her, even with a tense flick of their strong, muscled arms, and Zai had a stern, reproachful gaze that refused to erode over time. Still, she could always trust her first judgment of those three to be correct.

But with Lotti—she never knew what to expect.

The woman was wild, and unhampered in her actions, and one moment she would be soft and girly, the next seducing, and then the next frustrated, or even outright angry. Acting too unimportant always drew some reaction out of the female Baskerville, but on the other hand, so did acting too important. There was never a right way to act around her. Sometimes, even a simple apology could reverse the entire situation—unlike the rest of the Baskervilles, to whom saying sorry would always put things a little further in Echo's favor.

After Echo had found Lotti, she had explained what she knew of what had happened, but frequently lost the thread of the conversation, as Noise climbed her way back out. As far as she could piece together, Lotti had taken her to the rest of the Baskervilles, who, in turn, brought her to the Nightray mansion, and now explained to her master exactly what had happened.

There would be punishment, Echo knew shamefully, but she also wished the conversation over with quickly. She wanted to know as soon as she could what would happen to her. Even if it would be the most painful punishment yet, she still would prefer that to being in the dark. Unfortunately, Vincent knew this, and did nearly everything he could to keep her in the dark, as long as the circumstances pleased him.

Body as still as ice, Echo's eyes moved around the room, almost begging for some sort of distraction from the period between now and her punishment. Her gaze strangely found Lotti, who stared disinterestedly out the window and even inspected her nails from time to time. Eventually the woman sensed the gaze, and looked questioningly at Echo. Echo's eyes immediately darted away, and she hoped she wouldn't regret it later.

She had started tuning out the conversation long ago, so it came as no surprise when she realized they had been asking her a question and waiting for an answer. She wouldn't have ever known if the silence hanging afterward hadn't been so unnatural.

She found Fang and Vincent staring down at her, and suppressed a shudder, because she had no answer, because she didn't know the question, because she hadn't been listening. But if she asked them to repeat the question, then they would know, and she would be in even more trouble. She could count the seconds tick by on the grandfather clock on the other side of the room.

“Well, Zwei?” Lotti demanded. Her flirtatious voice had something odd in it that Echo couldn't quite identify—further tensing Echo as she couldn't decide on what mood the voice conveyed. “/Can/ you lay low for a while, here with Vincent? We can't have you screwing up our plans again.”

Echo breathed deeply, and wondered if she should thank Lotti later if the chance came up, even if Lotti likely hadn't even meant to save Echo from humiliation in the first place. She felt Vincent's gaze boring into her, warning her—don't tell them you aren't Zwei—and nodded slowly. “Yes, I will stay with Vincent-sa—stay here,” she stuttered.

The rewarding smile following her words that appeared on Vincent's face carved even more relief through the tension shaking Echo's body. The Baskervilles all nodded and began to leave. Lotti was the last, as she took the time to glare at the advancing Vincent, and then frown bitterly at Echo as she passed.

Echo heard their footsteps slowly fade away, and suddenly she wished they were all here again, where Vincent would pretend civility in front of them. He would not strike her as long as people were watching, but as soon as they were gone, he could do anything, and she would be powerless.

The door clicked shut gently behind her, as Lotti's retreating form disappeared behind it, and Echo felt the color drain from her face as Vincent's carefully designed smile faded in the absence of others. “You've been bad, Echo,” he said, as if missing a broken instrument he could no longer play.

|Bad girls must be punished.|

Echo froze in fear. She hadn't heard the familiar footsteps—had Noise been there all along?

“I'm sorry,” Echo said, trying so desperately to keep her voice calm and normal so Vincent wouldn't know that Noise stood a few paces away, waiting for the leak, the lack of control, the Achilles' heel. But she couldn't think with Noise there. The realization of the proximity froze her completely, her bones chilled and locked in position.

Vincent's smile reappeared, but Echo knew the difference. This one meant a trap that she was helpless to fall into, even /if/ she saw it coming. “Why are you sorry, Echo?” He draped an arm around her shoulders, and leaned forward—still standing—into her lap, close to her face.

Echo's head clouded over, but the threat of Noise kept things clear, somehow. “I—Echo apologizes for Noise's mistake.”

“Mm?” Vincent laughed, and his hand twirled a lock of her whitish hair, a color with pureness that she didn't deserve—he also removed the hairpiece Noise had added beforehand. “Noise made a mistake, did she? Is that what my little servant believes?”

Even though he sounded nonchalant, Echo knew he was listening with every beat of their hearts, that she could now feel, as he pressed her hand to his chest, and his other hand left her hair for her breast. She found herself slammed against the back of the sofa, pinned beneath him, and his breath skimmed across her face, and Noise was behind her now—watching, amused.

“No,” Echo said, falling back to the old battered cloak of obedience, of telling him what he wanted to hear, “Echo is sorry because . . .” Her heart hurt so much. “Because I let Noise out! I couldn't stop her—” Her free hand flew to her mouth. She hadn't meant to shout. “I'm sorry, Vincent-sama, please.”

His expression didn't change. Why couldn't she just be /good enough/ for /someone/?

Vincent closed his eyes, and drew away with a soft sigh. “I think I might forgive you, this once, Echo.”

A hopeful breath filled her lungs.

“On one condition.”

Those three little words—Echo quickly lost interest in hoping. The condition always outweighed the punishment, and he could trick her into anything. Or force her into anything. It didn't matter. She belonged to him. Only him.

“I'll forget the whole thing,” he said, his voice soft and thick like silver, but so, so fake, “if only—you lay with me, in bed. Exposed before me. Will you do that, Echo? Surely it's what you want compared to the usual punishment.”

And saying no would only anger him further. She was trapped. If he wanted her, he would have her, no matter what she said. “Yes, Vincent-sama,” she said, devoid of emotion, because he had given her no choice and because agreeing was always the least painful. Suddenly, Echo wished she hadn't begged him, or that she had just done one of the items off a long list of things she knew to make him angry. Because any punishment would be better than this.

Even as her master picked her up in his arms, and carried her across the parlor room and to his bedroom, Echo swallowed nervously, and felt her heart pummel repeatedly into her chest, as if it wanted to fly out, and—she lost it.

Her hand curled around Vincent's shoulder lovingly, and she buried her face in his body. Then just as quickly, the adrenaline and fear returned, and Echo found herself confused. She didn't—want—this. She didn't. So why—did she love him so much? Why couldn't she keep control over her /own body/?

|It's not your body, Echo. It's mine.|

Echo clung to Vincent, the symbol of safety amidst the noise, and he soon deposited her on the bed covers. Before she even had a chance to blink, he had her arms pinned painfully against the headboard, above her head, with a hand, and Echo bit back a yelp at the awkward angle.

The yelp was muffled by his kiss, that suddenly Echo returned with a slight press of her head forward. Why—Vincent's hot, tender lips slammed against hers, and Echo felt the pain shoot through her skull as she hit the headboard, and once again, her actions were under control again.

|We'll make this fun for both of us.|

His other hand had already pulled off his cloak, and used it to tie knots around Echo's arms. Then he grabbed her body, and pulled her down, farther away from the headboard that had surely left bruises on her arms and the back of her head for tomorrow. He ripped at the red cloak surrounding Echo's frame, and then uncharacteristically drew it off with care and caution.

“Echo,” he said, and Echo dispelled the distractions from her mind.

“Yes, Vincent-sama,” she answered. Her voice had shriveled away to a tone so quiet she was surprised he could hear it.

But he smiled, and the lips brushed on her cheek, leaving a smooth and delicate trail from her right eye to her lips where he again pressed against in a heated kiss. “I want you,” he said, and the breath from his lips on hers made her dizzy. “See this as a test for your control. Understand?”

Echo's face drew towards Vincent, despite her mind's protestations. She didn't want this. She didn't /want/ this! So /why/! “Echo doesn't understand,” her fatigued tone said. She tiredly stopped her body from moving towards him.

“I want you,” he said. “Not Noise.”

The words sent a fury of inward rage at Echo's heart, even as strange sense of accomplishment filled her as well. He wanted her. He wanted her. But—what did he mean—Echo struggled against the confusion, the thoughts lost in her focus on breathing.

“I want you,” he continued, “to prove to me that you'll never lose control again. To her. She's there, isn't she?” He leaned away, but his hand shot forward and cupped her cheek. The skin on skin sent warmth pivoting through her body—clinging unnaturally to her ragged heart, the heat originating at his hand meeting her skin. “Noise wants to be free—right now,” Vincent whispered against her neck. “Doesn't she?”

Before she even considered crying, she drilled the composure into her body. “Yes, Vincent-sama.” She wouldn't lie. Noise sat there, on the brink of consciousness, controlling the spots in her body where she would lose the slightest control.

“I want you to keep her inside,” the trail of soft kisses lowered from her jawline to her the tip of her undershirt. “Even—even when you climax, Echo.” She breathed deeply as his lips slipped under the border of her shirt at her breasts. “Will you do that for me, Echo?”

Her arms ached, and his tone was light and pleading as if he would be sad if he didn't get what he wanted. Still and dormant, Echo forgot she had to answer.

“Echo?”

She closed her eyes. The voice he always strung her helpless with. “Yes, Vincent-sama,” she said, out of habit, “Echo will keep Noise inside.”

“Good,” Vincent whispered, and his hand slipped under her shirt, and upwards. It rested on her abdomen for two short seconds, and then suddenly Echo gasped, and moaned as his sudden clutch on her breast tightened, and pinched. She smiled, and then the smile dropped as Echo regained her senses, and fought and fought against the entity taking over.

It had barely started, and still—still Noise had managed to slip through, in the smallest of actions. Vincent climbed over her, his front pressing her down onto the mattress, and all she could really see was his body, still clothed, looming over her. His hands, one inside and one out, began to undo the buttons that clasped her shirt together, and soon that was gently tugged down to Echo's shoulders.

He picked up her body in his arms, almost sheltering her, but only he was dangerous here in this room, and then as her shirt flew down her arms at his touch, she lost all breath as his lips pressed against her bare chest. She felt the burning sensation rise, and then inflate as his teeth sank into the tips there, and squeezed hard enough to draw blood.

She raggedly panted, and shivered, even though it was warm. Then her leg lifted to wrap around her master's back, but she caught the motion this time and shifted her leg back down. Vincent laughed, his breath sending the tingling sensation flying everywhere.

Echo let out breath, but it drew short as Vincent licked her in the place he already knew would devastate her. She clenched her fists, and cried out, even though it was harmless unlike the biting, but then he started to suck, and she wasn't sure how to feel anymore, and her body arched upwards towards his touch, and she wasn't sure if it was her or Noise, and if it was her, then what would that say about /everything/ . . .

The build-up of heat between her legs threatened to burst, and that was when Vincent drew back. She gasped painfully—just wanting it to end—but Vincent knew her limits and stopped just before reaching them. It took several minutes for the stimulation to wear down again, and Echo fought against the pleasure, the grief, the confusion, and her other personality all at once. Noise tried repeatedly to beg for more, and Echo could only just barely catch the words before they could slip through her open, gasping mouth.

“Not good enough, Echo,” Vincent reprimanded from his sitting position on the bed.

Maybe he wanted her to fail?

Echo wanted to cry.

|Never good enough.|

“Noise is hardly trying.” He smiled pleasantly. “If you fail to keep her under control at this level, then there will be no point of you being on the surface any more at all.”

“No,” Echo started. “I can.” She /had/ to. Being locked in her own subconscious—for days, for weeks—she couldn't handle it. She needed—needed, needed—Vincent-sama—to believe in her, to let her try. “Please, I will this time.”

She could. She had been catching it even more easily with each attempt. Noise was her origin, and if she was an echo of noise, she should know her and her counterpart's weaknesses, and be able to use them to her advantage. She could have it this time. Complete and utter focus—she would have it.

But the eery smile returned to Vincent's face, and she realized he wouldn't make it easy for her. He reached for the discarded cloak, and wrung it into a single line. Then Echo fearfully shook her head frantically—silently—when he leaned forward, and tucked it around her eyes. Blackness overwhelmed her senses.

It made it easy for Noise. After all, Echo could now see face-to-face the eyes of her other self. In front of her—right /there/. Just /waiting/. And somehow that made it so much harder. Why try to hide someone who Vincent surely loved more? He was lying—no—he wanted Noise out, he wanted Echo gone—no! Why stay on the surface, when Noise would do things so much better—everything. Echo was pointless to keep around.

“I want /you/, Echo.”

So /why/ did he have to go and say things like that?

“Are you ready now?”

Why couldn't he just let the pieces lie, and take Noise over her, and let her diminish into nothing? /Why/.

“Echo?”

“Yes, Vincent-sama. Echo is ready now.”

His warm hands rubbed her thighs in a downward motion until the last remaining article of her clothing skimmed across her knees. Then Vincent's wet tongue caressed her left breast with saliva, as his two fingers probed her entrance. It didn't take long for them to sink in, and a cry forced out of Echo's lips.

She almost forgot, but then she caught the rise of Noise's control in her hips before they could buck towards him. The fingers were dry, and the contact stung as Vincent withdrew them. She wanted to beg him to at least lick his fingers first, but before she could even think about what might happen if she did, the fingers wiped along her chin, preceding Vincent's tongue across the discharge left there.

“You're mine,” he reminded, breath hot against her neck.

She shuddered involuntarily. A few moments later, she felt the incredible warmth wash over her as skin met skin. He had undressed. She felt his body touch her in the “perfect” fit he always called it, and he lifted her hair to his face. She could only hear the breath go through his nose, as he smelled it, and she squirmed under him, trying to find a less painful position there.

His hand stopped her movements as a warning. Then the shuffling of his body progressed until she sensed the object above her, even if she couldn't see it. Her hands were promptly untied.

“Well, Echo?”

Shaking, Echo lifted her hands and put her hands against the skin after groping blindly. She knew what she would have to do, and she liked this part the least, every time. Everything else—the mindless sense of skin against skin, the shaking, the climax, everything—she could take, save for this. She waited for him to give the command, because something in her /refused/ to start on her own, every time.

Only doing what she was told. Only doing what she was told. If she only did what he asked when he asked, the consequential shame hurt far less.

“I'm only so patient, Echo.”

She gritted her teeth, and started to stroke it, slowly at first, and then increasing the movement as she continued. Soon, Vincent leaned over and kissed her, and and then his tongue slipped inside with hers, suffocating her, gagging her, exploring her mouth, and he sucked on her lips, and bit with his teeth, and Echo felt the skin break and the bruises form, and then, and then . . .

Her arms left the stroking, and tangled around his back, pulling him close. Vincent pushed harder against her lips, ground his hips against hers, and his hands enclosed, each on a breast, and her body pushed upwards to be closer to him, and Vincent grabbed her hungrily, and crushed her in his arms.

Her legs lifted from the bed to cling to his body, and Echo was held by him in midair, and she felt the skin of his cock rest between her thighs, and one of his hands lowered down her back and pumped at her skin there, sticking fingers deeply, and her body responded by sending her own tongue into Vincent's awaiting mouth to strengthen the kiss, and Echo had no idea what was going on, as she explored there, and her hands clawed at his back.

He entered her, and she moaned into the heated kiss, and Vincent broke away but pressed her against the mattress and pumped as Echo's pained cries muffled into his shoulder, and she even bit, only to receive the gesture back on her throat.

[“You,” the venomous voice spat, “what did you just try to do?”

Echo looked around timidly, as if begging the few people passing her to help. But it was nearing nightfall, and the streets were clearing, as with the presence of Chains, after dark was never truly safe. Echo was thankful, because it meant there were fewer people to recognize a Baskerville's cloak and appearance, and mistake her for causing trouble.

But now she fleetingly wished she had been recognized if it meant avoiding Lotti. Even now—without the bitter tone in her voice, Echo could clearly see the perturbed glint in Lotti's haughty eyes.

“Ech—” Echo started to explain before realizing Vincent would be angry about her revealing her identity to the Baskervilles. She winced under Lotti's demanding gaze in response, but continued. “I'm not sure.”

Flipping from angry to flirty, Lotti giggled, and placed a hand under her chin. “Oh? I think you did something naughty, Zwei? Care to explain?”

The presence swiftly rose in her, and Echo felt her mouth moving, but couldn't decipher the sound coming out of it, and it wasn't her. Then the presence faded just as swiftly, and Echo resurfaced in time to receive a slap across the face. She plummeted to the ground, and heard the gasps of a few onlookers, who kept moving past anyway—cowardly, a voice in her head breathed.

“How could you, Zwei? After everything we told you!” Lotti said, enraged.

Echo bit back tears of shame. Whatever Noise had done, it had been bad. She was sure of it. Again, her voice trembled and dissipated, and Noise owned it, and she couldn't stop anything. Echo returned, just as Lotti, in reaction to Noise's words, flung her over on her side, and stamped a foot on her front side. Echo knew Noise coordinated it so only she would feel the pain, but the thought didn't even matter, because—Echo knew in her heart she deserved all of this.

For being less than human.

Leaning down, Lotti smirked, inches away from Echo's face, and she felt violated to the degree the first few nights she had spent in Vincent's bed—and with so much less had Lotti recreated the feeling—and why. “Don't even try it, you,” Lotti warned in response to Noise from before. The penetrating eyes bore holes into Echo's composure.

She didn't know what Noise had said, and so she had no response.

“Well?” Lotti said, driving her heel into Echo's gut even deeper.

Noise threatened to make a reappearance, and Echo fought—harder than ever before—to stay in control, even as her gasping fit began. Lotti still expected an answer. “I—I won't—I won't,” she got out between pants.

Lotti's smirk widened. “I don't know what has gotten into you, Zwei, but whatever it is, I like what you're saying.” She drew back, and Echo felt the sensation of her limbs fly back into her at the distance between them again. “However,” Lotti sighed, “punishment is punishment. We'll go to everyone else, and see what they want to do with you.”]

Her eyes flew open—in panic, just as the traces of shaking and trembling and endless pleasure subsided. Confused, Echo blinked upon realizing the blindfold was gone, and her body, enveloped by Vincent's limbs, and heat. Tears poured down her face, as she regained her bearings. Her master still penetrating deep inside her, her body still bare and exposed before him, his breath still hot on the top of her head where his face lay.

“Oh? Decided to come back, Echo?” his velvet voice greeted, at the same time as his hand stroking her hair.

Echo trembled, disoriented and confused. She had responded. She had wrapped her legs, and arms around his body, and clung to him like a pitiful child. She had sent her tongue into his mouth, and now remembered every part of inside. She had trembled with the beginnings of his rhythmic pumping, succumbed to his advances, begged—with her body—to be as close to him, skin on skin, as possible.

She had released Noise into her limbs to do this, and even into her conscious.

She had failed.

The tears continued to fall. She didn't understand why her body reacted. She knew—she knew, somewhere, but she didn't know where—that she hated this. She hated sharing his bed, having him enter her, having to serve him, having to do whatever her total /opposite/ made her do. She received the consequences of Noise's actions, every time. So /why/! /Why/ did it happen like this /every time/!

Vincent shushed her weeping, but she couldn't stop. “What seems to be the problem, Echo? Do you not like me anymore?”

“Echo loves Vincent-sama,” she cried, while considering the opposite, and she didn't understand why. “Echo just wants to understand—because . . . something is wrong with me . . . and . . . I want to know.” She sobbed. “I can't . . . Vincent-sama, tell me . . . /please/.”

He smiled, but said nothing, and the height her heart dropped—in that moment—felt the size of a billion of years. Strangely, it allowed her to stop crying, and that was when Vincent finally spoke. “You should be apologizing instead for losing control in the middle of that. Groveling is for children, Echo; haven't I taught you that?”

“Yes, Vincent-sama. I'm sorry, Vincent-sama.”

He patted her head. “Much better.” He slipped out of her, and Echo, despite her feelings, felt aroused at the touch in this body—even if Noise was sexually satisfied in hers. But Vincent was done. Echo knew that when he buttoned his white shirt, and pulled on his pants, and shooed Echo to hurry and dress so she could clean the sheets. She didn't cry when she realized Noise had taken over during her master's climax, and Noise wouldn't have bothered to leave a smaller mess than Echo might have been able to.

|Hey, Echo.|

Echo wiped the tears away with the back of her hand.

|You'll never have him.|

Her hands enclosed around her ears, even though it would do nothing to shield her from the voice.

|I'll never let you have him. He'll always be mine.|

“Echo.”

Echo broke out of the daze Noise had set her in. She didn't have time to prepare herself as the gloved hand descended upon her cheek and threw her to the ground. She curled up, waiting for more, but it never came. Just words.

“Don't let Noise out again.”

Stunned silent, Echo heard her master's retreating footsteps, and the audible click as the door opened and shut. And locked. When she was sure he wouldn't be coming back for a while, Echo crawled into a corner, curled her arms around her folded legs, and cried silently.

Somewhere, far away, a voice laughed.

|Don't worry, I won't bother you. For a while anyway.|

If only she'd been recognized, hours before, clad in the red cape, and the white hair, and the crazed eyes.

Her forbidden dislike of Lotti stemmed from this night—Lotti had given Vincent a reason to punish her, all while handing her over to his waiting arms. Echo had been doing so well, Vincent had been so /appreciative/.

And Lotti had ruined everything when she brought her to the Baskervilles, who had brought her to Vincent, who had shown her just how powerless over her /own body/ she really was.

But really—the only person to blame—and Echo knew this, as Noise had reminded and nagged her constantly in her mind, and refused to let the issue go.

Really—only Echo was to blame.

/Maybe, if I pretend, just for a moment, to care for Gilbert-sama, to support the Baskervilles, to hate Xerxes Break, to love Vincent-sama, to be Noise—maybe then, it will be easier. She'll strangely go away, and I'll be her, but I'll be free.

I just want them to love me./