Outside barn
"Right," Caleb quipped back at Mazra's response, "didn't think of that ma'am." He wasn't quite sure what he was doing anymore. "Just so we're clear I wasn't actually trying to...you know. I just thought the situation was funny."
Caleb was mercifully destracted by the sound of movement behind him, turning to see the chicken eating. "Didn't notice you there," he said to the bird, "then again you're not the first think here I didn't notice."
edited 27th Mar '16 12:33:05 AM by Novis
You say I am loved, when I don’t feel a thing. You say I am strong, when I think I am weak. You say I am held, when I am falling short.
Drummer Boy
[Farm (exterior)]
All right, she was done. This was going to be delicate territory to tread when there were non-nobles listening to nobles squabble about such affairs, but she was done.
"Practical?" Seilaan repeated softly. The temperature was steadily dropping. The bright playfulness had left her eyes. There was only steel now, and her round features did little to soften her stony expression.
She snapped the makeup compact shut. She had caught the look Mazra had given it, and was sure she knew what it meant. "This is a pretty little thing, but there are countless more just like it. Our scientists have been making synthetic pearls and turning them into objects like this for many years now. It's nothing special. And this metal doesn't have a single atom of gold in it. Virtually any Renesian can afford to walk into a cosmetics store and buy this exact product on a monthly basis for daily use. I'm not going to buy a more expensive brand for the sake of it when this works just as well. Its impact on my disposable income, and by extension, the national treasury, is negligible. I can even do the math right here and now, if you want." Besides, wasn't this infinitely more tasteful than something as gaudy as that sword hilt? All in all, a far better example of "practical and pretty" than whatever Mazra had on her person, Seilaan thought.
Her hand shoved the compact back inside her sleeve. "Forgive me if I'm wrong, but the phrase 'wealth and refinement' seems to imply that you're not really into mass-produced products like that, and you didn't correct me when I called that thing expensive earlier. Could you help me understand what's so 'practical' about that level of opulence when you probably could have used that taxpayer money for something that... helps taxpayers more directly? I'd really appreciate a little nudge in the right direction, because I'm having trouble coming up with a good answer myself."
All this time, her tone was innocently curious and totally free of sarcasm, even friendly and conversational at times, but her eyes told a different story. It was quite clear that Seilaan was ready to verbally tear Mazra apart if she didn't like whatever it was she was about to hear. The snowflakes falling into her hair also seemed to indicate that she wasn't exactly calm. If it turned out that such things didn't actually cost a great deal where Mazra came from or she ended up looking stupid for some other reason... no matter. Seilaan had a sob story about her people's (quite recent) bad past with the Kartalians all ready to go in order to illustrate the thought process behind her hasty assumptions. She could even bring up her experiences in the Republic if that wasn't enough.
[Farm (inside barn)]
Yes, a force not unlike magic was certainly at work here. Ren Yangchao was in no mood to put themself in danger by investigating, but at least they were aware of it.
They carefully selected a piece of cherry, nodding their head slightly in thanks. "For our purposes, I am usually spectral. But in a dream, the body you see is hardly less real than anything else. And I think I know what you mean, perhaps." Faster than I think? A thousand years is enough time to learn, I daresay. "About being a loner, I mean. Even if the need for Witches didn't periodically force me into contact with people, unity through civic duty—ren—would have drawn me back to my people anyway."
They frowned as they felt something suddenly tapping into their energy, and quickly glanced outside. "Oh. She's getting a bit worked up. How unfortunate. Lately I've been actively trying to shape her dreams into pleasant little breaks for her, but she's a stubborn one. Sometimes she breaks through. It's almost like she wants to suffer. Not to mention that a shared dreamscape makes things more difficult, since I can't control everything. Oh well. Tomorrow night might be better."
[Ritter Clinic]
"Thanks, you two. I'm—I'm sure they'd appreciate it." Friedrich stared moodily into his glass for a moment before finishing off the contents. It'd been a long time since he drank like this. "Quite the party we got goin' on here, eh? Iveya, you think you could still be in the running for the most miserable personal history here? Honestly, right now it seems like it'll be hard to top accidentally gifting tumors to—how many people live in this 'Nevada' place, Henry? Anyway, let's have a drink to fucking over soulless capitalists, eh? Where's that damn bottle—ah. Hey, look, it's still full! Amazing! Or maybe I'm already too drunk to know the difference. Same thing, right?"
Fortunately, Friedrich wasn't that wasted. Yet. The perpetually full bottle was the dream's doing.
edited 27th Mar '16 3:25:29 AM by SnowyFoxes
The last battle's curtains will open on stage!
[Ritter Clinic]
Iveya laughed nervously. "I highly doubt that I've seen the worst here. But it's funny you mention fucking over soulless capitalists..." then she sighed. She got the impression the others were willing to hear a long story. "Very well, outlanders. Since you seem curious... and sorry if I don't let you get in a word edgewise, but it's a lot." She took a deep breath. "It all begins with my honored ancestors. My family is descended from the only daughter of Omerin, blessed be his name, one of the generals who served under Amu when my people cast down the Elas." She'd already mentioned that part of her people's history, and so decided not to re-clarify. "Omerin may have been born a slave, but in the era after the fall of Elas, in the remade Uelane nation, our family prospered." By habit alone, she raised her glass slightly in his honor. "In life, Omerin took the manors and wealth of the family that had once owned him and cared for them more wisely than his former masters ever had. In death, his spirit is with us still, ensuring our fortune and prosperity." Well, that and the sheer power of what was essentially an aristocratic name, though calling it such was unthinkable. The Elasane had been aristocrats, and such nonsense allegedly had no place in Uel.
"And my dear mother," the contempt and sarcasm in her voice was as heavy as a desert gale, "is bent upon ruining Omerin's name for the next five generations with her greed and duplicity." Again, she took a moment to decide how much of the situation needed explaining; they wouldn't know who her mother was. "My mother controls, directly or indirectly, about third each of the amaranth and the maize grown in Uel. Part of it's just how much land she controls, but she also has no problems with treating her workers only hardly better than the damn Elasane our ancestors overthrew. The Elasane were slavers, but my mother is more..." she waved her glass around as she looked for the word, "cunning. She doesn't need shackles. She just makes loans and deals with unsuspecting farmers; it seems like such a good idea, especially with the poor harvests we've been having lately, but the fine print traps them in debt even while they remain ostensibly free."
Then she put the glass down and poured herself another. "Now we get to me. I could have been raised an evil, spoiled little brat, basking in that vile wealth. Thank my ancestors that didn't happen." She raised the glass in toast before downing it. "I'd love to pretend my heart was too pure to be corrupted by the wickedness that I was born into, but... Dead Gods, I'll admit, it started personal."
She put the glass down and drummed the table with her fingers as she continued. "I don't remember my father much. I don't know how their marriage ever came to be; he died when I was young. Overdosed on alcohol; not quite a suicide, he just didn't care if it killed him. I dimly remember my mother treating him like absolute shit, and he in turn was terrified of her. She constantly belittled him, using him as the butt of jokes when he was right in the room, with him meekly accepting her scorn. But I do recall that he was kind to me... which angered my mother all the more."
Here, she began to reach towards the bottle. But given how she'd just mentioned her father's death? Perhaps best to leave it, lest the good doctor cut her off. So she let it be. "Ah, my mother. Demanding. Impatient. Cruel. I don't know if I ever saw a taste of love from her. She demanded I be the best at everything to be worthy of being her heir. In our combat drills, she'd pull no punches, beat me half-silly if she got the chance... and have her goons do the same if I got the advantage and tried to return the favor. In my education, she'd demand I memorize obscure facts about our family's history and her little empire, plus any obscure thing she could have me parrot back to her friends to impress them. No context, no understanding, and a swift insult and perhaps a smack upside the head," she cringed at the memory, "if I failed her."
She let the thought linger before she continued. "It could have broken my soul, but... I was a woman of the spirits. My mother made a point of sending me off to the Xayusa temple. Keep me out of her hair, they figured they'd teach me discipline." She breathed a sigh of relief. "In a way, they did. The temple priestesses were kind. They taught me, and cared about me as a human. They knew what I told them, and I told them everything. If they could have saved me from my mother's cruelty, they would have... but with that out of the question, given her wealth and power, they taught me how to endure. It is only through the mercy of the Temple and the care of the spirits that I am not a broken woman."
"But my younger sister?" It was then Iveya permitted herself a laugh. "Born less than nine months after my father died, though I won't lie, I don't know if she was his. Either way... mother decided to try a different tact with her." She scoffed. "I got my father's looks, my sister got my mother's. Might have something to do with it; mother only loved herself, so when she found herself looking in an infant, I suppose that would be the closest she could ever get to loving another human." Iveya took a moment to inspect her own faint reflection in the glass.
"My sister," she continued, "is an idiot with delusions of cleverness. She thinks she's so subtle with her insidious little insults and barbs, which she so gleefully tests on me, but the only reason she gets away with it is because mother protects her, and nobody wants to get on mother's bad side." She took a moment, then finished, "so I signed up to become a mage. Accepted the gift of Amu, and all its responsibilities. Because the only thing, barring nuclear-armed outlanders, more powerful than my mother is the Magocracy." She put down her glass. "Which brings us to today. On top of everything else, I finally have proof my mother... is a traitor. She sold us out... and not just to outlanders. To aliens from another world!" She paused, carefully recalling how to pronounce the foreign word, "these aliens, these 'Americans', they will make my mother richer than ever before and doom us all... unless, of course, I get word to Amu and get her arrested for her crimes, at long last."
edited 27th Mar '16 4:42:28 PM by KillerClowns
[Farm - Exterior (Mazra, Min, Varris, Caleb, Seilaan)]
Errrgh!
Mazra didn't quite groan out loud in frustration, but she did scowl. Without her noticing it, her clothing took on a faintly metallic sheen. What is her problem? She glared at Seilaan. She was seriously tempted to just leave after all. This dream was turning out to be more of a nightmare.
...well, no, not really, that was just a bit of mental wordplay. But still, the Empire had lasted for 1,500 years just fine without needing her to get into some stupid argument to defend it. She'd wanted to explore, after all, and it wasn't her problem if - she took a closer look at the younger noble, especially her eyes - if Seilaan was projecting some kind of problem in her own world onto Corinarch.
Except.
An Imperial Paladin was supposed to defend the Empire, before even the individual person of the Emperor in a number of cases. That didn't usually mean defending it against critics... but if she just ran away, that wouldn't really be to her credit, would it?
She shut off the field-sword, dropped the hilt to the ground, and laced her fingers together. "Look. I don't know what kind of barbarian nobles you're thinking of when you look at me, but for Imperial high classes the first reason for existence is to provide for the lower classes. If my House couldn't afford to both look ornate and maintain all of our services for our subjects, it would have to be the former that we cut back on. The Empire hasn't lasted for a millennia and a half by setting tax money on fire." She glared. "And speaking of priorities, I think it's a lot more important to have something that actually has a point like a field-sword look nice, then something that doesn't have any reason except to help you look nice."
She wasn't speaking that heatedly - well, she wasn't shouting anyway - but she did feel herself turning red. Bending down, she picked up her hilt. "Also, um. I don't actually own this sword. It's - uh, it would be, if it was real - the property of the Emperor zemself. I'd just be using it in zir service. But it's not like he" - or at least his bureaucracy - "is taking money that would be used for something more important to design it either."
(Park->Forest->Misery Manor)
"Well, it seems all our new friends have moved to greener pastures. Shall we do the same?"
With four nods, the girls marched off, into the mists.
After a good long while of hiking, they came upon an ancient-looking house. The windows were shattered, the roof was in disrepair, and overall, it just looked about to collapse. However, a quick glance to the sky revealed something unsettling. Dark clouds loomed overhead, and the wind was picking up. They were going to need a place to get shelter from the storm, and this looked to be the only game in town.
Danielle gave a hard knock on the door. "Hello? Anybody home?"
Forward, boys! For God's sake, forward!
the cutest lizard
[Farm – Exterior (Min, Varris, Mazra, Caleb, Seilaan)]
Varris flattened himself against Min's shoulder, the scales on his back tingling from the cool air – although the conversation itself seemed to be heating up. About what, though, he wasn't really sure. Seilaan and Mazra were both nobles, weren't they? Why were they fighting?
“Min, maybe it'd be a good idea to step back,” whispered Varris, eyeing Seilaan nervously. Her eyes looked the same as how Min's did whenever she was about to do something impulsive. “Just… just a precaution, okay?”
Min nodded and backed away slightly, pulling her jacket in closer to shield herself from the cold. The weird part was that the drop in temperature seemed to be coming from Seilaan, even though there wasn't any apparent reason for it. It would be obvious if Seilaan was accessing the Current, but there wasn't any glow, and the grid wasn't visible, either. Maybe it's just the dream?
But the chilly air wasn't really what mattered here; Min found herself agreeing with what Seilaan said. She'd never heard something so reasonable coming from a rich person before. Seilaan sounded like actually she cared about people outside of her class.
Min looked at Mazra and raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, well, it's easy for you to say you provide for the lower classes. But if you're providing them, why do the lower classes still exist? What are you doing with the rest of your money?”
Gave them our reactions, our explosions, all that was ours For graphs of passion and charts of stars...
[Wasteland]
"I still do not understand," Celso admitted. "This time before... this? Was it..." He paused as he saw a tall, looming figure in the distance, approaching them. Another dreamer, or perhaps a nightmare, strode through the wastes towards them.
There are two kinds of royalty in this world. Those who inherit their title, granted it by birthright. And those who take their dominions by force, forging a crown in the fires of war and quenching it in the blood of their enemies. It was clear that Emperor Xeqa, known alternatively as the Crucifier or the Conqueror, was the second kind. Her massive build was stooped by her great age; at this point, she was a vast, looming hag, her oily hair a thin, gray curtain to her shoulders, her face and body a collection of scars. Her grey eyes burned with the icy fire of one who has committed a litany of evil deeds beyond reciting, and given the chance to live her life again, would commit them again and more besides. She was swathed in rugged steel armor and tanned furs, which she wore as if they weighed nothing. The wasteland did not bother her; it was not so different than the desert wastes that had made her the hardened woman that the "civilized" peoples had come to fear.
She was marked as Emperor only by a wicked-looking steel crown that doubled as a helmet and the imperious demeanor of one who regarded the extinguishing of a pleading human as callously as most would regard the crushing of an insect. Her only display of wealth was a number of bulky golden rings set with impressive precious and semi-precious stones; their value was outrageous, though she had purchased none of them. They were prizes, taken them as tribute from terrified city-states or pulled them from the cold, dead hands of those who opposed her.
She was also infused with the power of the Void, mighty enough that non-magical individuals would perceive a energy — a shining darkness or a shadowy light, it wasn't quite clear which — emanating from her, though only when not looking directly at her. As usual, the magic it had a mind of its own. But unusually, it lay still, obedient. The Crucifier's will and cruelty had proven too much for even the Eyes and Teeth to control or manipulate.
But there was also a tiredness to her. Even her vast blood-thirst had been slaked, even her appetite for power had been satiated. And just as well, for she was dying. Her magical powers gave her a strength to imitate health, but they could do nothing to change the fact that she would not see another year. She knew this, and was content to merely bask in her bloodstained treasures, and the fear and awe of lesser mortals. This strange new world was thus not worth the effort of conquest. Just another passing amusement as she whiled away her remaining days.
Celso immediately readied his firearm, knowing the look of a psychopath, and ready to put a bullet somewhere soft. But Xeqa made no move to assault them. She studied the pair, Half and Celso, showing no fear of them. The Conqueror was silent, her expression daring them to speak. Celso, at least, did not.
Outside barn
Both the arguing and the cold made Caleb look back at the others. He said "and this is why I avoid politics" as much to himself as to the chicken. Despite this he turned around and said "I said my people don't have nobles and none of you seemed shocked and appalled at the idea, so I assume you're familiar with such societies," he turned to Seilaan and said, "though you weren't there at the time, so you might not be.
"Anyway, start us off with the same wealth and we'd find a way to screw that up and recreate inequalities, same with any human civilizations I know. Like economic entropy really. I guess the eotena had the right idea just not bothering with this 'society' business in the first place."
Wasteland
"Unfortunately I...my predecessor that is, slept through the change in the world, and I never discovered the full story," Half explained. Before he could continue he saw the tall, scarred woman with the steel crown. And around her was...no, that wasn't right at all. For the first time since he generated in the dream world, Half raised his voice, "who are you!?" Half spoke to her magic more than the woman herself.
edited 29th Mar '16 2:46:09 PM by Novis
You say I am loved, when I don’t feel a thing. You say I am strong, when I think I am weak. You say I am held, when I am falling short.
[Wasteland]
"Xeqa." She was bemused to note that her name inspired no further terror. She must be further than she thought. "True heir to the Adamantine Throne, and Emperor of the Xeqane, who took my name as their own after I united them by deed and blade." She was fully aware her title meant nothing here; if anybody challenged her, she'd have to deal with them the fun way. She hoped for the opportunity; no joy of conquest had ever quite matched the sheer satisfaction of personally ending a life. "Who are you? What is," she pointed with a thumb at the city, though she kept her eyes on Celso and Half, "that city?"
Celso, starting to recognize in the woman the touch of something he'd only witnessed in fragments before answered, nervously, "Celso Merquior, CEO of Laboratório Pereira-Merquior. An honor to make your acquaintance, your majesty. And," he glanced to the city. "I don't know what that city is, but a friend of ours was headed that way. We were hoping to keep her safe out here."
Xeqa responded to the flattery with a slight sneer, but at least he wasn't doing anything truly stupid. As to the city... "amusing." It was clear from her demeanor that Half and Celso now had a new traveling companion, whether they wanted her or not. She finally looked over to Half. "You," she said. "Spirit?" Then she took a sniff. "I think you see more with one eye than he," she glanced at Celso, "does with two."
[farm, inside barn - Vince, Ren Yangchao, two wyverns, a horse and foal]
"And they're talking about... money. A fine choice of topics that always results in great conversations." He smiled gently, shaking his head. "Y'know, one theory about why we dream is that it's the result of your brain going over what happened during the day. Left to its own devices, it tends to retread problems and unhappy situations in the hopes they can be worked through and potentially avoided later on."
Vince wasn't totally sure how Ren Yangchao would take that. As a claim that they were preventing Seilaan from working through her problems, or as a suggestion? Honestly, he couldn't remember a single meeting with her that wasn't backdropped with her personal troubles. He thought they had Seilaan's best interests in mind, but given how she described them as distant, and fickle?
He heard Min try and pipe up about why poor people still existed if altruistic, philanthropic rich people were also a thing. Oh, dear. That's not how economics works! He had to set his coffee in his psychic hand just so he wouldn't spill it while stifling a laugh. Min was probably going to be very unhappy if she found out just why he built this farm. Or that he was a senator. Or Mialor's bizarre, post-scarcity class issues. Or anything about his life beyond 'simple, gaunt-looking farmer-dude'.
"Jack, you have debauched my sloth."
Aspie and 90's cartoon enthusiast
[Ruins]
"If you are all finished with the theatrics." Salaam said, looking at the three humans before him. "I kindly suggest that we proceed to our objective, whatever it may be." Salaam was beginning to get annoyed at the humans obvious attempts at dominating one another. But it would take more than a fancy light show to make Salaam back down. "Cira, Terim, Rey." Salaam addressed the humans, attempting to sound as calm and collected as possible. "You have mentioned that there are threats here, yes?" Salaam then reached into his robes and removed a string lined with various sized teeth, including a human molar. "As you can clearly see, I am not a push-over when I comes to threats." He said, holding the string so that the others could see. "But I shouldn't have to tell you this, as I can still sense your lingering hostility twards me." Salaam put his hand over his chest, right where is primary heart is. "But your hostility is unfounded, I can assure you."
Ya, I'm weird like that...
To dream is my right
Ruins:
Cira:
Cira watched with concealed caution as the creature approached. Yes, he was most likely an offworlder, and didn't know the flames he conjured were something that should be impossible for a human mage. Or as human as he was, for that matter. But his ignorance made him dangerous, in the same way an animal who never saw a gun was not afraid of being shot if he attacked.
His left arm moved lower, ready to grab his concealed athame as Salaam reached into his robes. Cira's handgun was small, made for ease of use and secrecy. Good for robbing or threatening people in the dark and fighting common thugs and assassins, but there were many things that required either more powerful, or more esoteric tools. And when it came to power... his flare gun was best left for worse things.
And Salaam probably deserved being stabbed in the face, if what he took from his bag was any indication of how ready he was to face the occult. A string full of... teeth? It was similar to the amulets of tsemion warrior-priests, but from what he said, he made it with teeth of dead foes. And he seemed to be trying to threaten Cira with it.
"There are many dangerous things, alien,", Cira said with a snarl, making sure to show as many of his canines as he could, "and many can be more dangerous dead than alive. Do you realized that you just bragged about your kills while standing before a living window to the shadow world? I'd advice you to keep that string away from your neck for now on. "
Terim stepped back at Cira's outburst, hand to his chest. "Cira... try not killing us. Please? I am sure your curses will be better placed on the vampires."
Cira turned towards his old teacher, athame already in his left hand, his right holding the flare gun. Did something move behind Terim?
"You set a house on fire and don't expect anyone to be hurt? You expect me to belive that?!", yelled a voice from his past.
No! He wouldn't listen. He was the only one with a plan, he was the only one needed. He wouldn't be trapped there with those fools!
He stepped back and sheated his blade.
"The dried flowers are so beautiful, and it applies to all things living and dead."
Ruins
Was this actually happening?
When Salaam showed the others the string of teeth, Rey laughed. He could identify only a few of the species collected, but none of them seemed to be of the supernatural sort. “Ah, cabrón,” he said with a sigh, “you are truly out of your depth here, no?”
Rey shook his head. “If you believe you can handle the creatures that await us here, then by all means handle them alone. Your departure may in fact serve as the perfect distraction.” He gave a slight shrug. “For I do not care to warn you many more times, you are accustomed to killing the living. You have not yet attempted to kill the dead. Also, as it stands, my friends call me Rey. That means you are to call me Reynardo.”
He turned to Cira. “I am a creature of the darkness. Very seldom do I carry a light.” He glanced to the side and then picked up two items he found on the ground. “But you should be able to use this flint to light this stick; there will be torches inside the halls.”
He raised an eyebrow when Cira mentioned veils and a girl in white. Rey saw no such things. A soft sound caught his attention; he looked down and saw a thick, fanged snake slither along the ground, beneath his feet. It hissed at Rey, then slipped into the shadows. “Ah,” Rey said out loud, but to himself. “They are beginning their game.”
His torture would be last, he knew. All the better that he watch his new companions suffer. “We should move,” he said. “We will go to the sacrificial altar, but it is a frightening place. The souls of many wander within its halls, lost within its maze. I know the way through the maze.”
He still remembered designing it.
“They did not gather there,” Rey continued as he led the way toward a tall, pyramid-like building. “But there is only one way in, and it is also the one way out. We must be quick, or we risk being trapped.”
Attitude is prohibited
[Wasteland] >>> [Wasteland City]
The city, abruptly, seemed much closer. There was no transition, no effects, it was simply and instantly close. Its tall sandstone walls were a hodgepodge of ancient brick and recent patchwork; old, round towers connected to a large gate of reinforced steel. Barbed wire lined the tops of the dusty walls, and the tips of the barrels of anti-aircraft guns could be seen, sitting where there might once have been cannons or even ballistae. Peeking out, high above any of the towers, from deep within the city, were smokestacks, belching out thick, black clouds. The city smelled of coal-fires and gunpowder, but was silent, and seemingly devoid of any people.
The gate was wide open. Miyuki ran inside, forever followed by her Shadow, sparing not even a glance for those who might follow her.
Not entirely dead.
Wasteland
"I'm no spirit," Half said to Xeqa, still keeping watch of her living (?) magic, "my material is different from other organisms, but it's still things of atoms and particles. You might not know of the spirits I've encountered, but we're not on the best terms.
"As for who I am, my larval form calls me Half; and that is more accurate than he thinks. If you want to talk titles, I'm the successor of Zexal, the blank menace of the Underscape, designation NBV, and at least once 'the product of a severely damaged mind'." Half returned to his usual tone, "that last one wasn't quite true."
"I do not know what he sees, but I-" he paused for a moment, trying to get a better look at the power around her. It seemed to come from another being, perhaps even be one. And yet that hardly seemed to matter, it was under her control all the same. "I see that you're not alone where you stand."
edited 29th Mar '16 9:47:02 PM by Novis
You say I am loved, when I don’t feel a thing. You say I am strong, when I think I am weak. You say I am held, when I am falling short.
[Wasteland City]
Xeqa was surprise by how quickly she found herself at the gates, and took a moment to study the city, not disguising her envious amazement. It was, simply, the greatest city she'd ever seen. Mighty Elashu looked like an oasis town compared to it. So many worlds, she silently lamented, and she had not yet conquered even one. But first, Half. "You see my pet," Xeqa said.
Xeqa's magic stirred and studied Half. It did not (could not?) communicate in words, but instead placed an impression into Half's mind, an impression of the entity it was a fragment of. It was a jumble of contradictions. As infinite as the Void, and unimaginable small. Deviously intelligent, yet fundamentally mindless. Formed of the quintessence of non-being, and yet it existed all the same. And though without shape or form, it had too many eyes, and too many teeth. Through this, Half would know the name of the creature that Xeqa's magic was a minuscule fragment of without being told: the Eyes and Teeth.
Celso blinked and said, "your... pet?" He'd certainly sensed something, and suspected it was related to the odd discoveries he'd been making as of late about one of his customers' activities. "Senhora, if you could..."
"No," Xeqa said. Then she motioned towards the city and said, "we go. Half, that shadow. Kin of yours?" But she didn't yet move, waiting for the others. She would not let the wily-looking old man or the strange spirit behind her. Celso, for his part, would go with Half, and Xeqa would trail behind them.
[Outside Misery Manor]
The door burst open and... it wasn't entirely clear if Gabe had propelled himself out, or been thrown out.
Either way, the now de-cursed Gabe hurriedly brushed himself off and said to Danielle, "are you here for Sinistrina? I'm afraid the lady of the manor and her guests are," he coughed, "presently occupied." He hoped they'd be all right; at the very least, Sinistrina could handle herself. Either way, he wasn't able to do much about it. So he took a bow and introduced himself. "Father Gabriel, though I usually just go by Gabe. Demon hunter, cosmetologist, and not having a great day." Indeed, his eyeliner was starting to slightly run; he'd noticed this in a mirror, and was really hoping he'd get a spare moment to fix it. But it would be rude to pull out his makeup kit and start on it now.
@Ladytanuki: I'll leave exactly what led to Gabe's exit up to your discretion.
edited 31st Mar '16 7:29:00 PM by KillerClowns
[wasteland city - Celso, Half, Miyuki, Xeqa, Aunrei]
Nothing at first sight appeared to have moved in a long time. Every surface was sunbleached, weathered gray-brown, caked in a mix of dust and detritus blown over the walls from occasional storms. Streets were mere suggestions of what they once were, and had there been any animals in the area, even they probably would have known better than to expect anything useful in here.
This one, however, was desperate, leaving a fresh trail that stood out in the old dusts. The impressions of bare feet indistinguishable from a human's were careful, closely placed, each print smeared along the back by pantlegs that were now too long to stay off the ground without shoes. To the left of the footprints was a thin, constant, uneven trail, left by something that had been dragged alongside. To the right was an evenly spaced trail of drips, but not quite dark or warm-hued enough to suggest blood. Not human blood, at least.
Further investigation of these drips, maybe of some fresher ones further down the trail, would reveal a pseudo-metallic smell, a hue that was unmistakably blue, and, to those who could sense it, an evaporating whiff of magic.
The entire trail disappeared a fair distance down the wall into the dark shadow of a covered well, a clearly older design than the time period the weaponry had suggested. Had the trail's maker not been so well-hidden in the well's shadow, they almost certainly would have seen his shape from where they stood near the gate.
The man, who looked to be no older than his early thirties, was slumped against the wall of the well, which, even had it not gone dry a long time ago, was lacking anything that would have allowed it to serve its purpose, and be something other than a deep hole in the ground with a convenient shade. His exaggeratedly Nordic-looking features were relaxed enough to imply that he had long since passed some threshold of exhaustion, and his only visible clothes consisted of a pair of tailored, unbelted black dress slacks. Tucked in the right pocket was a slim-profile handgun of no Earthly model that he knew, from the weight, to not even have a magazine inside. The tattered remains of his smartly-cut, once charcoal-gray button-down shirt were stained long enough ago with blood to have dried it stiff, laying in a heap to his left.
His short hair, his skin, and even the irises of his blank-looking eyes were all the exact same shade, the unblemished white-grey of clouds, tipped with a faint blue undertone where one might expect a pale human to have reddish undertones. A collection of perfectly black, outstretched rays of varying lengths surrounded his right eye in a perfect circle, packed so closely together there was no room left for more rays. His torso from his collarbones down, and his upper arms before his elbows, however, was a mess of dark blue scar tissue, and fresh wounds and lacerations, apparently from a lash and probably a blade, that looked to still be leaking periwinkle-blue blood in places. Some had dripped all the way down his right arm, producing the dripping trail that followed his footsteps, but not before having to cross one of the ligature scars he had around his wrists, and today, a dried, sticky mess of red blood that covered his right hand a good few inches past his ligature scars.
Whenever it happened, whichever one found him first and stood in shock at his appearance, he'd give them a brief second before breaking their reverie.
"What're you lookin' at?"
His speech was quiet enough to miss without focusing directly on him, plain, matter-of-fact, unconcerned, as though he were merely tired from whatever journey took him here.
edited 1st Apr '16 7:45:49 PM by CrystalGlacia
"Jack, you have debauched my sloth."
City in the wasteland
Half, in the whole, had no illusions of invincibility. The problem with thinking you were was always that you wouldn't know until it's been disproven. And besides, the memory of the engi forcing Zexal into that weapon were still as fresh as when he was still Zexal.
But The Eyes and Teeth was beyond everything he would ever imagine himself to be. Could this truly exist, or was it merely an illusion of this "fragment". But his questioning stopped before it began. What Half had witnessed had no room for doubt.
Half barely noticed the question regarding Miyuki's shadow; and when his perception returned to the present place he saw that the city was now infront of them. "I know not who or what she is, but I think her and the girl's nature are like similar to my bond with Caleb."
A voice called out, "What're you lookin' at." Half turned to see a man with the shape of a human but unusual colors, "These walls," he answered, vaguely aware that's not what he meant.
You say I am loved, when I don’t feel a thing. You say I am strong, when I think I am weak. You say I am held, when I am falling short.
Drummer Boy
[Farm (exterior)]
Seilaan narrowed her eyes slightly. Why was happening to Mazra's clothes? "Now, let's be clear about something. I'm not saying you wouldn't find a single family struggling to make ends meet or public facility in need of repair if you visited Ren Island. No system is perfect and all-encompassing. But the one we built after the revolution thirty years ago comes a lot closer, I daresay, than what we suffered under as a Kartalian colony.
"Secondly, I'm not trying to argue that all nobles should dress in rags and have nothing but bread and water. I understand the need to demonstrate a nation's prosperity, especially to foreign leaders. But Renesians believe that it's our responsibility to use good judgment and exercise restraint, lest our taste for excess finery spirals out of control. Because it's just as he said." She nodded toward Caleb. "We've noticed something kind of funny over the course of our thousand years of history. Things like what you just said are more often than not vicious. Lies. Across cultures, across time—leaders decked in gold have bent over backwards making excuses for their ostentatious lifestyles while the people they're supposed to serve suffer untold hardships just to put food on the table and keep a roof over their heads—things that should be basic, guaranteed rights. And as a matter of fact, some civilizations have lasted even longer than yours operating like that.
"Does that seem unbelievable? It makes more sense when you realize that elites like ourselves often deny or altogether fail to recognize the framework of ideological hegemony propping us up. The point of that framework is to be natural and invisible, after all. Even us Renesians fell into the same trap. So forgive me for finding it so difficult to believe that you're any different." Different from the bloated white devils we slaughtered to take back our home was what she really wanted to say, but that seemed like a bit much even for Seilaan at that moment. "It was a kneejerk reaction, perhaps, and I will not defend my rash tongue, but I will defend the reasons why I came to that conclusion."
She grabbed empty air and a long, straight sword appeared. The blade was split vertically into a metal half and an ice half brimming with magical energy. There was some scrollwork on the crossguard, but the hilt was simply wrapped in wine-red leather. "I could have pulled this out earlier, if you want something practical, but I figured it'd be a little too confrontational."
[Farm (inside barn)]
After another sip of tea, Ren Yangchao shrugged and said, "Dreams are only what you make of them, really. Seilaan doesn't find hers very interesting, and she has enough to worry about already without nightmares ruining her sleep. Someone who works as hard as she does under so much stress deserves a few solid hours of sleep every night, yes?
Hm, maybe they ought to pay a little more attention to what was happening out there. Why was Seilaan waving around her Witch form's weapon without actually being in Witch form? And now he was laughing? They must have missed something. "What's so funny?"
[Ritter Clinic]
"Even if you don't have the worst life anyone's ever lived, that's nothing to just brush off, Iveya. Don't ever feel like you have to downplay it. I hope those two get what's coming to 'em. I hate a lot of things, but if I ever sat down and made a list, shitty parents would have to be close to the top. No child should ever, ever be afraid of the people who are going to have the single greatest impact on who they grow up to be. Every time I see it, it drives me nuts."
Friedrich contemplatively swirled his glass before taking a long, slow drink. "I went to school with a guy called Richard Amsel. You know, the guy I punched nineteen times? Berkshire Academy and Himmelburg Institute of Medicine. Eleven years of the same bullshit. We were both top of the class, just about. As a poor Ibraic kid relying on scholarships, me being within a square mile of him was an affront to his existence. He did some nasty things trying to get me and others like me expelled. As a doctor, he prescribed people morphine and other drugs when they didn't really need them and then charged them out of the ass after they got addicted. He wasn't the only one, but he was the most successful. Not to mention the more 'orthodox' ways of tricking people into paying more than they have to. Hidden fees and the like. After he got rich enough, he did what all scumbag professionals do: he got into politics so he could make it even easier for the next generation of scumbag professionals. Now he's the minster of health. Imagine what kind of a father this guy is. His son is best friends with my nephew, somehow, and he's a really loud and talkative kid, if he hears anything like a finger snap he goes dead quiet. Sent a chill right down my spine the first time I saw it."
edited 1st Apr '16 2:02:02 PM by SnowyFoxes
The last battle's curtains will open on stage!
(Misery Manor)
"No, we aren't here for Sinistrina. Doesn't sound like someone we'd want to meet, anyway. I mean, who gives their kid a name like that, anyway?"
Rachel was a little more apprehensive about the place. Sure, she had a love for all things dark and creepy, but this place was laying it on thicker than she would have liked. "What is this place? Some kind of overblown haunted house?" She shook her head in disdain at whoever did the tacky design.
"And what of you, Gabe? You said you're some kind of demon hunter. This place need regular exorcise, or something?
Everyone turned to groan at Charlotte for her joke. Some comedy is just unforgivably bad, and she fell into that particular category.
Forward, boys! For God's sake, forward!
[farm, inside barn - Vince, Ren Yangchao, two wyverns, a horse and foal]
"My apologies, I should explain," he said, rubbing his chin briefly. "Miss Liao... ah, the girl outside with the talking wyvern familiar? She's of low economic class. At least. So far, from what I can tell, Miss Ren and Miss Ji have been having this debate about proper expenditures for the upper class, which has since devolved into an argument about whose government is more charitable and austere with money than the other." God, was it really that bad? Damn, it was. They were a bunch of humans at heart, after all. What a shame. "So Miss Liao chose to respond to this by, essentially, asking why lower classes still exist despite alleged philanthropy from nobles."
Vince paused for a second, meeting Ren Yangchao's eyes, visibly unimpressed. "I'm sure you can see how naive that is. Right? That just summed up why it's not productive to talk about personal finances with strangers. Because that's how troubled young women who know in their hearts that they have difficult problems that need fixing end up waving their swords around in the middle of a conversation."
edited 1st Apr '16 8:06:59 PM by CrystalGlacia
"Jack, you have debauched my sloth."
Drummer Boy
[Farm (inside barn)]
Ren Yangchao was sure of three things. The first was that Vince would not be very happy to hear about the sizable wealth redistribution taking place on Ren Island. They resolved to keep him distracted in case Seilaan ever felt like explaining Ren Island's tax code. The second was that Vince was expecting Ren Yangchao to agree with him, not trying to start an argument. Thirdly, it sounded to them that he was implying that Mazra's empire and Ren Island's philosophies had virtually equal merit, a notion that made Ren Yangchao a bit irritated. However, not wanting their conversation to devolve into a situation similar to what was happening outside, they chose their next words carefully and kept their face serenely calm as they took in the aromas wafting from their refilled tea cup. "Yes, it's getting a bit ugly out there. Unfortunate, isn't it? Economics is a tricky thing that is, sadly, often given simple treatment. Certainly my least favorite part of ruling the state when that was still my job. There's a reason why my descendants tend to seek my help only in times of war."
They gazed outside at Seilaan, who was holding the sword in a reasonably non-threatening manner, considering the fact that it was, well, a sword. "She's eager to represent our ideals, I'll give her that," they said, half to themself. "And in a place like this, she can do whatever she wants with her pent-up frustration." And I should give her credit for not pulling out the sword and challenging her to a duel right away like I would have done. Should I change the subject? He seems a bit too interested in what's going on out there. Well, it's worth a try. "Ah, it crossed my mind earlier, but I forgot to say anything. Family and other personal relationships, and immortality... how has that been working out for you?"
edited 2nd Apr '16 11:05:33 AM by SnowyFoxes
The last battle's curtains will open on stage!
[Wasteland City]
Xeqa and Celso followed Half as he found the source of the bloody trail. Then Xeqa studied the man's wounds dispassionately. Given the horrific things she'd both seen and done, there wasn't a sliver of shock in her eyes. Mostly, his marks reminded her of the slaves and ex-slaves she'd seen. Presumably this was another such. Her response to Aunrei's question was simple: "you. And you look like shit." She saw no reason to make his day any worse without a good reason, though. As one of her best vassal warlords, Amu, had proven, ex-slaves were surprisingly useful to have as friends when you wanted to do horrible things to their masters.
Celso went pale, visibly shaken by Aunrei's state. And he cringed at Xeqa's bluntness, but no point denying it. He cleared his throat nervously and said, "if there's absolutely anything we can do to help you... I'm sorry, but I'm not a doctor, but I'll try my best if you have any suggestion. D-did those shadow-things that have been pursuing us do this to you?"
Note that there may be discrepancies between how Xeqa speaks and thinks of the Uelane, and how Iveya does. This is because they come from entirely different eras; Iveya was born about five hundred years after Xeqa's death.
[Misery Manor]
Despite himself, Gabe actually smiled slightly at Charlotte's pun. Then, pointing at the house, he said, "from what I gather, this place was meant as a sort of test-of-resolve. Somewhere where people had to face their worst nightmares, but weren't in any physical danger. Unfortunately," he grimaced, "things somehow got out of hand, and the 'not in physical danger' thing seems to have fallen apart." He looked up at the sky and added, "oh my. That isn't looking very pleasant either." And he didn't think he could do any magic to get rid of the incoming storm. It felt... inevitable, somehow.
[Farm - Exterior (Mazra, Min, Varris, Caleb, Seilaan)]
Mazra looked at the makeup holder Seilaan had pulled out with a sort of annoyed bemusement. Really? She wished she could raise a single eyebrow in the classically sarcastic style. What point Seilaan had wanted to make there was beyond her, but all she'd actually done was indicate that her culture, or at least House, had just the same sense of aesthetic appreciation as the Empire. Except for some reason she was snooty about it.
"Well, you didn't seem to care much for it before," she said blandly.
Are we really just going to stand around in a dream, where anything is possible, being sarcastic at each other?
Though that was her fault, too, she supposed. She still wanted to go off exploring, but there was no way to know whether she'd be able to meet the others again if she did. Though now she wasn't sure if she wanted them all to come with her.
She looked over at Varris. "No, it's not religious," she said, more politely, but also with a bit of confusion. "The Corinarchi Empire has always aspired to wealth and refinement. It's just... natural. There's no reason things can't be both practical and pretty."