Emeth

Legend of Benkei

♢♡ Marissa ♡♢

Marissa looked like she wanted to roll her eyes at Sinmara, but considered herself too high-class for such a thing. Hadn't this woman ever heard of subtlety? Yes, she was trying to take this outside, but saying it outright like that was just asking for someone to intervene and spoil the moment! "Oh." At Sinmara's insistence that she was trying not to cause trouble, Marissa's face softened, in spite of her sour tone. Well, if she was going to be reasonable like that... there was always room for more powerful figures, with big egos to match, in Marissa's court—the Duchess, the Court Jester, the King—this wasn't the kind of mission she could do alone, after all, nor was there any sense in the Queen competing for a lesser role, though whether Sinmara was competing for Duchess or Court Jester was up in the air. "Perhaps you didn't realize that disrespecting someone with a long name might cause some trouble then, hm?"

No sooner had the words left her smug mouth than a fox lady teleported behind Sinmara in a very personal way, and cut straight to the heart of what Marissa wanted to say. "Well, that took the wind out of my sails," she responded, sighing in disappointment. What sense there may have been in teaching Sinmara a lesson about subtlety or deceiving appearances was getting vanishingly small at this point, especially since she didn't even question Marissa's strength or her right to be here. She made to put her lighter away, with a nonetheless satisfied smile on her face despite her sigh. Unfortunately, it only lasted for as long as it took for the mysterious kitsune woman to get around to her, at which point it became one of barely concealed fury. Much as Sinmara had made an arse of herself with the chairwoman, she at least had the decency to introduce herself somewhat properly, and while she could do without the nickname of "Rissy" and the comment about "getting smoked," her clever wordplay and personable attitude convinced her to let it slide, just this once at least.

When the fox-like woman disappeared, Marissa stood ready for her to do it again, ready to steal whatever spell she was using. How cocky would she be when she could no longer run away? What snarky comments would she make then?! ...but she never used it again, leaving the Red Queen holding her fingers in the air, poised as if waiting to snatch a card out of the hands of a phantom that never appeared. Did she know to expect that trick from her, and choose to visit her last on purpose? Frustrated, Marissa instead flicked open her lighter, causing her to burst into flames instantly. In a flash, those flames became armor, and a great steampunk waraxe. "I'm always prepared," she scoffed, glaring at the woman. Indeed, the "Red Queen" was currently wearing and carrying everything of value that she owned.

Blackguards!

Weaves

The King. The one who had sent countless men to her home, in search of shiny rocks. Men who reviled her simply for existing, and who tried to kill her for no other reason than because they were told. Yet also, the one who had sent the Warrior, who was like the sun, shining and magnificent in battle, who now stood before her as, presumably, her equal and ally—and also the Warden, who was like the moon, the pale and beautiful light which shines in the darkness, the harbinger of dangerous times, the understated force which moved the oceans simply by existing. Here, too, these black waters, the Blackguards, were being moved by her presence alone. The King, who commanded both the fools and the finest, was a strange figure. Would he, too, resemble the sun? The Warden, she was stranger still, but made good on her words.

Weaves did not understand most of her words, but perhaps as a courtesy to her—or perhaps it was true for everyone, she had no way of knowing—Weaves saw, in her mind's eye, images of people, places, and names written. These would weave themselves into her memories far more strongly than any words ever could. While some others in the room would latch on to the hope of freedom immediately, barely paying attention to anything the Warden said, Weaves was in something akin to a meditative state, committing all of the images to memory, her mouth slightly agape at the sudden realization that they were to attempt to slay a god. It was certainly not a common occurrence for Weaves to interact at all with something more ancient than herself, that wasn't also a tree. Perhaps the occasional tortoise, but nothing more. To kill a being such as this—such a scene would make a fine tapestry. To find brilliant enough colors to do it justice—that alone would be an adventure.

And if she were destined by the stars to fail, then—she would simply have to fight for a place in someone else's tapestry.

---

Blackness. Fragments of a memory spun in Weaves' mind, stitching themselves back together. Something like an earthquake.

"Oh..! The sun..!" she cried out with wistful longing. Ah... she had missed the sun's warmth, after all.

She quickly stood up, Marrow in hand, greedily basking in the lingering sun, the cool breeze, the smell of trees and flowers dancing on the wind. Oh, she'd missed them all. How quickly she'd gotten acquainted with the Maw and its darkness—such was her nature—but this scene reminded her what it was like, all those moons ago, to confront the sun, to face fear and death, to howl in the face of fate. For the first time in many moons, she stretched her too-long limbs freely, and breathed all the way in. In amongst the pleasant smells of nature, however, there was a pungent smell. It wasn't her; Moonwalkers didn't smell like anything at all. It was one of the men who accompanied her here.

Turning to face the others, Weaves eyed them all curiously, one by one. Though she was close by—a daunting, looming figure nearly eight feet tall—her eyes felt far away, her gaze a thousand-yard stare, her smile a forced one, though not malicious in its falsity. Weaves cast a glance at Christoph, who introduced himself as "alive," and applauded him in a slow and stiff way that showed Weaves didn't really understand why, when or how she was supposed to do it. She looked at Holgarth next and dropped her false smile, which she seemed to take as equivalent to a frown. "I smell your incense, but am not knowing, why," she tried to say, her voice lacking the upward inflection that should accompany a question. Instead, she tilted her head to the side like a child. "Does a High-Place King kill also the children," she added seemingly out of nowhere, ignoring his question about who or what she was. Though in fairness, perhaps she also didn't know how precisely to answer it. ☾Woe, O Kings of the Earth, who send their fools to the high places to place their babes upon a pyre,☽ she mourned, her face upturned toward the heavens, but devoid of obvious emotion.

Legend of Benkei

♢♡ Marissa ♡♢
♬

The Slag. A dark and maze-like place, massive in size and unsanctioned in its existence. No one knows when the construction started, underground, in and around and across and under the artificial ley lines of the city's magical trains. It's utterly unnavigable—a place that changes in layout every time the government comes knocking. It's nearly pitch black, lit only by neon lights and the ambient glow of ancient magic. Only the worst dregs of society dare venture to the lower levels, which stink like a sewer, the ground coated in layer upon layer of blood and piss and Hell knows what else. Even the upper levels are teeming with shady characters. For both those reasons and more, it pays to watch one's step—and of course, to always mind the gap—even as you look over your shoulder for the person waiting to push you in.

If there's one sight that doesn't belong in a place like this, it's a beautiful young lady with pristine porcelain skin and alluring curves, wearing an old school uniform—old, but well-kept, and freshly ironed by the looks of it. As she walked, with her head held high and shoulders broad, the signature scent of a luxury-brand perfume wafted through the air. In the worst place to do so, she stood out, every aspect of her appearance projecting innocence, as if carefully calculated, daring any who laid eyes upon her to try to soil her pure visage. As it were, that was the exact intent of her fashion statment—to loudly proclaim a challenge to any damned fool who did not know this woman.

Only a select few could call her their associate, let alone a friend. None who knew this would dare to speak to her. Yet, one voice echoed toward her, carried to her ears by the claustrophobic halls. Even worse, it called her name: "Marissa." Whirling around, she glared at the source of the violet neon light. Another sight that did not belong in The Slag met her gaze: a suited man, wearing sunglasses in the underground—like some kind of fashion statement. As his light bathed her skin, inky imperfections revealed the truth: fresh blood.

♬

The girl, just like her environment, was covered in the evidence of fresh blood, revealed by the man's light. At this, the Red Queen clenched her fists and trembled with rage. "I am the Red Queen. Who in the fuck are you?" she demanded. "You may call me Mr. West," he replied, deadpan. Now he was telling her to call him by a title?! Her pupils almost seemed to contract in response to his words. She opened her mouth, slowly, baring her fangs as if she were about to take a bite out of his face. "This is my territory. Get out," she hissed. As if he paid her threat no mind, he withdrew a golden envelope from his suit jacket. "I have correspondence which may be of interest to you. It's an invitation to a party, so don't lose it. No one in the real world knows who you are, after all," he said, returning her gesture with his own Cheshire-cat-like grin. His words carried no particular emphasis, but mocked her nonetheless—and before she could strike him, he vanished.

Infuriating, and nauseatingly so—every syllable of his words grated on her ears like a sanding belt. Instead of his face, her fist met the envelope, snatching it out of the air. Much as the man provoked her ire, however, a denizen of the dark would recognize the glitter of gold, even in the warped neon lights of The Slag. In grabbing the invitation, she saw that her skin was snow white once again. The sight calmed her a little. Letting out a sigh, she cut open the seal—a proper wax seal—with a bright pink fingernail. She stood there in the dark, reading its contents without a drop of fear in her bones nor an ounce of regard for her surroundings, as was her privilege as the Red Queen.

She smiled. A party—a fancy one, fit for a Queen. "Why, of course I'll attend!" she proclaimed with a schoolgirl-like laugh. What's more, it seemed like the Unity Organization had some kind of lead on the Seven. What it was, they were quite obviously not stupid enough to put to writing, but she was welcome to learn about it while in attendance. "Perfect," she said, as if the woman who'd hand-written every invitation were there to receive her praise. Holding the letter close to her lips, she smiled a smile that was the perfect picture of innocence, humming a tune and bobbing her head from side to side as she walked. Then, she gasped.

"Oh, shit. I need a bath!" she realized. Reminding her that she smelled of blood—how helpful the man had been, after all!

---

When what appeared to be an—admittedly young, but nonetheless—grown woman dressed like a schoolgirl approached the venue, security was naturally skeptical, even a little concerned. After a moment of silence, one of the men took a chance. "Invitation?" he prompted her, to which Marissa smiled and presented it. "Welcome," he said, trying to play it off like he knew all along. "Good call, rookie," his partner teased once she was out of earshot. "Guess a once-in-a-lifetime event attracts all the freaks, huh?" he laughed. "Psh, a cosplayer is normal compared to what I saw before your shift," his senior fired back. "At least, I hope it's cosplay. This is a fool's errand she's being taken for a ride on. If she really just got out of school, that's a godsdamned tragedy. Makes my career look like a fucking fairy tale, it does."

The young lady who was the image of purity walked through the hallowed halls, taking in the sight of it all. The glitter and gold, the luxury. Her heart swelled, but she wouldn't let it show on her dignified face. She belonged here, and she wanted all of them to know it. Of all the various characters gathered today, she certainly looked the most like she belonged. She appeared an icon of privilege amongst the other rabble. The gaudy name tag plastered on her chest looked most at home on her mundane, yet pristine clothing. It was also a problem, however. "Marissa." Wouldn't the lack of a family name draw attention? Yet, she looked around at the others. None of their name tags displayed family names, either. Marissa's satisfied smile returned. It appeared as if she'd fit right in here, after all.

Another woman of refined and elegant appearance had a dignified, satisfied smile on her face as well. Perhaps she was the one who'd organized all this? If so, it would do Marissa well to talk to her—but she would not approach the woman first. She was the guest. The onus was on her to see her guests satisfied. Until she approached, she would take part of the luxuries on offer. Motioning for a waitress, she spoke: "Your finest Riesling Spätlese." The impeccability of her manners and specificity of her order would surely—

"Um... ID?" the waitress asked nervously. "It's just... your outfit... I went to school there. I recognize it."

Did I fucking ask?! Marissa thought irritably, her smile turning just a bit false. "Why, thanks for the compliment~ I haven't been asked for my ID in years, so I always leave it at home~" she lied. She owned no ID. "Er, I can't... my job..." she stuttered anxiously. Marissa rubbed her temple in vexation. "Non-alcoholic, then," she offered in reluctant surrender. "Coming right up!" the girl responded without missing a beat, eager to leave the table, and the room for that matter.

While all of this was happening, Marissa watched the antics with Sinmara unfold. Unlike Fae, Marissa was not amused by the too-big woman who seemed to have missed every memo ever written in human history, about everything. Her appearance, her attitude, her loud mouth, her rough speech, her table manners, everything. Marissa couldn't decide what was the worst part, until the important-looking woman decided—in fairness to her, correctly—that the threat Sinmara posed to her wasn't worth it, and left the room. Ah, now this wouldn't do, not at all.

Taking the time to finish her drink—it was a bit tart for her tastes—Marissa slowly rose from her chair and approached Sinmara, her face the perfect image of friendliness. "Greetings, Sinmara. I'm Marissa, the Red Queen," she introduced, pointing to the gold-embossed fine print on her name tag, displaying her title. "Why don't we step outside and get some fresh air? You smoke? You look like a smoker. Need a light?" She pulled out an old—but polished—brass lighter, with unintelligible engravings on its sides.

Shadow Contract: A Demon-Slaying Action RP

Rika was surprised to see a little girl, though it didn't show on her face. At the girl's sudden realization that she wasn't about to be attacked by demons, Rika glanced back at her allies—Kaida, the draconic fish girl, Natsumi with her flaming hair, Emi the nine-tailed fox, Kaeru the cat girl, Andrea the actual demon—and considered her own appearance, with her crimson, dead-doll eyes. Quickly correcting herself, her expression softened as she turned back to the girl. "Not unless you're referring to these devilish good looks!" she exclaimed, smiling wide for the girl, to put her at ease. "You're right, we're not demons. You're pretty smart—brave too—but we gotta get you to safety. I think your dad was looking for you. Big guy, blue-button shirt—sound familiar?" She extended her hand to the girl as she spoke. It couldn't possibly be a breach of orders to evacuate the girl just a few hundred feet back to the entrance. It was right there, and the others couldn't possibly get that far ahead of her in the meantime. Yes, she decided that she'd be her escort.

As she did, a sudden thought entered her mind, and a horrible feeling formed in her gut. Still, she held her invincible smile.

Kurai Majokko

---

She wanted to raise them up.

The girl's mad eyes and grin widened, impossibly. "Khhk khhk khhk khhhk! She let out a horrible sound, caught somewhere between a snicker and a wheeze. "I knew it! You don't want to kill magical girls at all! You want to turn them, and if I had to guess—just to see what would happen?" She smiled expectantly, as if she understood Nonsuch's mindset completely. "Well, that's only half of my reasons for trying to turn you girls~ My original wish was to see the world, you know? Instead of seeing planet earth, though, I was shown the depravity of human beings—and should I not show other magical girls the Truth? Isn't that the 'right' thing to do? Even us so-called 'dark girls' want to do the 'right' thing sometimes, you know~?" she said pleasantly.

Taking her phone back from Nonsuch, she crossed her arms and threw herself off the war hammer, dangling from the pole with her legs. "—but you wound me, my dear rival! I daresay I didn't fall so easily as you think, you know? I was hanging above that dark abyss for some time, looking for even a glimmer of precious light..." as she said this, a metaphorical ocean of false Mogalls formed a shaft around them, squirming as they flew up high, creating the illusion that both they and the war hammer were falling, the only source of light being Kiyo's glowing red eyes. "I don't think I'll be raised up so easily, either!" she shouted impossibly over the roar of movement around them. Then, she closed her eyes, momentarily bathing the two of them in utter blackness.

Then, the illusions began to fade away. "Hehe! I'd rather have dinner at a restaurant than in a hospital bed, so I'll let you go. For now," she teased. "Until I get to welcome you into the fold with that fateful hug, I'll leave you a question that's really a question: why bother to raise up what's already proven itself—as you see it—unable to stand?" She had that genuine look of curiosity again, mixed with a sly smirk. "Oh, but, one more thing I can guarantee: I'll see you around!" With a pleasant smile, she let herself fall, unaware that Nonsuch had even sent a text at all.

—and, as things stood, a magical girl with dubious survival instincts who had "changed her mind" plummeted towards the earth.

The Secret Lives Of Schoolteachers - A Magical Girl Mix-up RP

---

Shinobu was taking everything in stride—including the revelation that Yui had been a magical girl before. "Oh yeah, that checks out," she replied to Izumi's question about it. Unbeknownst to everyone, she wasn't buying any of this magical girl stuff for a second. When the light entered her chest and filled her with a warm tingling, she tried to guess at what might actually be happening to her in the real world. She stood frozen as she imagined herself upon an operating table, being given open-heart surgery. It filled her with a sense of dread. Oh, this is what they call a "bad trip," she thought, but didn't say.

Strangely, though, her surroundings didn't change to match the encroaching sense of impending doom. That was weird. In her state of confusion, she ended up abandoning her plan to stay in the room and just followed the others down the hall. According to what the fairy girl was saying, she should have changed into a magical girl by now, right? —but she didn't look any different. Did she have to transform or something? How would that work? As two students appeared down the hall, Shinobu hatched a silly idea. Striking a pose, one hand on her hip and the other making a V sign in front of her eye, she smiled at the girls. "Kira, kira~" she announced with a goofy grin, prompting the girls to snicker. "What's with that?" one asked. "She's doing that substitute teacher positivity thing," the other girl replied, shrugging it off as the pair of them went down the hall, only occasionally glancing back. Despite what they'd said, though, their sudden lethargy after having passed the entrance of the cocoon seemed to recover a bit from her "positivity thing."

"Hmph! Well, I'm sorry for having substitute teacher energy," she quietly sassed back, sticking out her tongue at the students. By the time she was done with these antics, she was almost the last one to enter the cocoon, quickly rushing to catch up to the other teachers. As she walked into the detritus-filled sports field, at first she wondered why she'd have conjured such a scene from her mind—but then, it clicked. This wasn't her "bad trip," it was a student's, and she might even know which one it is! A suddenly serious Shinobu struck a sufficiently serious pose, hand over her heart like she was about to recite an oath. Imagining herself as a magical girl was somewhat difficult for her, what with her whole complex about her age—or rather, just because it was weird. Right.

Shinobu's transformation felt to her like being dropped into a dunk tank. Watching it was like seeing what could only be described as a visual glitch open up in the air above her head and douse her in buckets of ink. When Shinobu opened her eyes, inspecting her "drip," she had an understandably confused expression on her bewitchingly beautiful face. "Not what I expected from a magical girl outfit, to be quite frank. Hey, tell me I haven't fallen to the dark side already! It's too soon for that!" she pleaded with Lux.

Legend of Benkei

The Red Queen

NAME: Marissa

AGE: 24

GENDER: Female

Appearance

Mind: ♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡
Body: ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♡♡♡
Agility: ♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡
Craft: ♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡
Magic: ♥♥♥♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

JABBERWOCK: A fire-belching axe of macabre make and peerless power. Requires a physical strength roll of 25 or more just to lift the axe and swing it around; requires 55 or more for ignition to use special moves, or to steal it from an inept wielder who cannot use the ignition. Requires a roll of 75 or more to steal it from an adept wielder.

SPECIAL MOVES:

• DOUBLE DOWN: Missed? No problem. Use the ignition to perform a pole-vault and try again.
• SHUFFLE: Really? You missed again? Fire the ignition and slide backwards. Let them eat cake. Er, exhaust.
• STRAIGHT FLUSH: Do the previous move, but hold the axe in place to use it as a flamethrower. You can hold it still, yes?
• ROYAL FLUSH: Do the same move, but backwards. Ride Jabberwock like a witch's broom. Mind the angle you hold it, or you'll fly.
• HIGH ROLL: I told you to mind the angle. For Pete's sake. At least attack on your way down so you don't look so incompetent.
• ROULETTE: Spin to win. Your enemy might make fun of you for turning your back—just spin faster; problem solved.
• SPLIT: By counteracting the leverage with both hands, you can just propel yourself forward. Whatever you do, don't trip and fall.
• ROYAL F#&%-UP: Congratulations, the axe flew away. Unbelievable. I hope it hits you on its way back to you.

MAGIC BRANCHES: Elemental (Fire/Earth) and Enchantment

SIGNATURE SPELLS:

• SACRED HEART: Baptizes the target in ethereal flames, turning their very soul into a living bonfire that smites evil.
• DIAMOND ARMOR: Adds 2d10 to the target's strength rolls. Enhances both body and weapon, for there is no difference.
• HELL'S BELLS: Adds 1d20 to the target's strength rolls. A fire-elemental enchantment that may ignite enemies.
• EARTHSPLITTER: Opens a great chasm in the earth, creating a fresh grave of boiling mud for all who fall in it.

TRUMP CARD - HEARTSNATCHER: Twice per scenario, Marissa can turn any non-ultimate spell that's currently being cast into a Joker card. Doing this cancels the spell, steals it, and stores it in the card for Marissa's use. Each time the Joker card is used, it then teleports into the possession of a random ally or enemy until it eventually ends up in the possession of the target the spell was stolen from, at which point the Joker card is destroyed and the spell is returned to its original owner. There is both a red Joker card and a black Joker card; the red one can steal an elemental or enchantment spell, while the black one steals black magic or illusion spells. Joker cards can be hoarded to deny enemy spellcasting, but they can also be stolen by a pickpocket, so for slower characters like Marissa, sometimes it's better to use them.

BIO/FUN FACTS: A passionate and stubborn woman with a single objective: to destroy the Dark One. Whether having the Seven Legendary Weapons will destroy it or summon it is of no consequence to her; if it's summoned, she will be there to destroy it. Her heart may be considered "pure" in the strictest sense—that she has no personal, selfish motives for seeking out the Seven. In another light, however, it might be seen as an empty void; for Marissa no longer has anything to lose—no name of great repute, no surviving family, and no property besides her great bloodied battleax. This life and this world have taken everything from her, and everything she may add in place of what she's lost will someday be removed, of this she is certain. Even her combat abilities and her life will be taken by time and death.

That doesn't mean she won't try, however. Marissa will greedily claw and grasp at every ounce of power she can acquire in service of her end goal. If the world has decided that might makes right, then those who seek to be right must acquire the means of might. She's honed her body to a razor's edge and accumulated the strongest equipment she can extort skilled craftsmen into making for her. While she's rather skilled at manipulating others, giving her an undeserved air of sharp intellect, her ability to manipulate numbers and objects in her mind is pretty dull. She's also blind in one eye, giving her a lack of depth perception that hinders her coordination. Igniting Jabberwock gives Marissa a much-needed speed boost, but she's otherwise pretty slow when in full armor, and wielding the Jabberwock with her armor removed is about as sensible as doing metalwork in a miniskirt—not that there isn't a chance Marissa would try it. When it comes to magic, Marissa keeps things simple and effective, using it to enhance her weapon and its attacks. She has the raw talent, but lacks the intellect to be truly creative with it. Combining earth and heat to create boiling mud is about as deep as she goes. Perhaps a sharper mind can teach her some new tricks.

Harold's Academy for the Magically Inclined

---

Day 1 ◈ Time: Night ◈ Weather: Thunderstorms ◈ Location: Harold's Academy, Hallways ◈ Participants: Raffaella Struna, Manny Ryi @Ebil Bunny

---

---

The pupa approached Raffaella, and she stood—or rather, floated—frozen, strangely not with fear as she expected, but at genuinely not knowing what she could do except run. Somehow, though, that just didn't feel right. Perhaps there were more logical reasons why she shouldn't run, like the possibility that there might be more than one pupa approaching from behind, just around the bend. A real, proper tactician might have suggested pushing forward to unite with reinforcements up ahead, but Raffaella was no tactician. Rather, a single, near irrational thought invaded the mental space that really ought to have been taken up by her survival instincts. You need to be strong right now. You're capable of that. It echoed in her mind like the lyrics of a song as the pupa charged at her, its hunger for the kissed mystic obvious in its cold eyes.

"Alright, you! Let's dance!" Raffaella spat defiantly.

The pupa jabbed at her, but she swerved out of the way quickly. It jabbed its finger again, intent on piercing her heart. Raffaella picked up on this and began dodging in counterclockwise circles around the creature. Frustrated, it charged at her, trying to predict where she'd be, but Raffaella spun around and started going the other way. The tiny girl may have had a big target beating inside her chest, but she was fast, and this time she did more than evade. As she spun around like an aerial ballerina, she lifted up one leg, kicking her assailant right in the side of its head. "Ow!" she cried, grasping her foot, as the young man who'd effectively rescued the two first years finished the job by stabbing the downed pupa. "I think I broke my ankle!" Raffaella cried out over-dramatically, prompting the boy to inspect the "damage" and insist that she'd be fine; it was just bruising.

Kurai Majokko

---

Evil Eye's manic laughter was drowned out by the whooshing of air all around them as they rose higher and higher. Did it seem to her like Nonsuch was acting as a protector of the world? Not really. As was usually the case with Evil Eye, it was a rhetorical question for her to think about later—something to slowly bore into her mind and eat away at her—but as was usually the case with Nonsuch, it was like trying to bore a hole into a lava tube. Everything Evil Eye thought she knew about magical girls, all of her experienced calculations told her that she could make this girl fall; but something beneath the surface, burning and inexplicable, repelled her efforts—and it made her laugh so.

She was just so interesting.

"Hehehe! If we hadn't been stopped just now, would you have chased me all the way to the ocean? Just so you could chat me up?" She crossed her legs and tilted her head curiously, still not looking away from Nonsuch. If her body ached at all from the fresh bruising she'd just received, she didn't show it. Instead, she flashed a sly grin at her alleged enemy's suggestion. It seemed as if she liked the idea. "Hmhm~ Just what am I supposed to gain from tugging on my allies' supposed heartstrings? Some sense of validation—that someone cares about me, that I'm important enough to risk life and limb to come rescue?" She scoffed at the notion.

"Perhaps you don't understand me as well as I thought. My dear Nonsuch—that's how a Light Girl thinks."

If it were possible, her eyes grew even wider with madness. Illusory magical girls that Nonsuch couldn't recognize appeared behind Evil Eye, looking down at her with scorn. "These protectors of the peace rejected me because my powers weren't useful for violence. Isn't it funny? How they'd fallen already, and couldn't see it." An illusory sun rose and quickly swept the girls away as it passed over the two of them. It continued to rise and set at unnaturally fast speeds. "The light is fleeting and quick to leave us when we need it most. The human heart is just a pit of darkness, with carefully woven lies as our only safety net to prevent us from falling in. Things like love, hope, duty—once you see them for the flimsy excuses they are, and sit on the precipice of that gaping maw, you can only accept what you are, or stand up for lies." She giggled suddenly. "Or I suppose you can just sit on that precipice until your heart is as numb as your ass—but then, it'll be too late to stand back up again... Someday, you will make that choice, Nonsuch. To stand up for lies, or fall head-over-heels into the truth—and when you do, I'll welcome you with open arms!"

She extended her arms out toward Nonsuch, as if to offer the girl with broken bones a hug. Her smile almost seemed genuine; was that an illusion too? —but Evil Eye's "moment" was spoiled by the notification from her phone. Her face soured, she pulled the offending dopamine dealing device from inside the folds of her gi. Reading the text, she giggled. "You see, it's just as you say. Like I'm not even in danger, ahuhu~! ...but it doesn't matter to me if they 'care' or not, you know?" She smiled, holding the phone loosely in her hands and waving it contemplatively as she considered her reply. It didn't really matter to her whether she was "part of the Club" or if she was just an orbiter who got made fun of behind her back. Rei gave her food, a place to belong, and Miseria to hunt, which was more than she expected from others. Her reasons for doing all of that for Kiyo didn't matter. Only her actions in the moment mattered. Someday, she'd find an excuse to stop doing those things. Her reasons for turning her back on her wouldn't matter either. Somewhere, there was another "Rei" willing to take her. Their excuses for doing so wouldn't matter, either. "Kindness" was illusion—just another carefully woven lie—and in the end, things like illusions and lies—excuses and misdirection—they weren't really worth thinking about, were they?

Kurai Majokko

I have a post for Evil Eye mostly formed in my head but it'll be two days before I even have the time to sit down and write more than a sentence or two.