Abstract Proxy

Sleepless Nights\\ Iron Cages

Yay!

I'll try to toss up a post later this evening.

Sleepless Nights\\ Iron Cages

Cam

"Anyone, Anything, Anywhere, Anytime."

Name: Camilla

Nickname: Cam

Identity:

"There is nothing permanent except change."

Cam had a name once, she prefers not to remember. A loving family, she imagines. Simple days spent in wildflower meadows, she dreams. Now she has a job. An adopted name, free from any past. A fresh start and a hastily bestowed or claimed nickname. She has ideas. She has plans. She wants to walk in soft grass. She wants to see trees. She wants to be free.

--- 1

Change.

Change is the only way to survive beneath the cold moon enveloping Outis with a pale, baleful light.

Cam knows this. Cam has accepted this. So she changed her past. She changed her self. Embracing change she found magic. She found new shapes. She adopted new forms. Survival was change. It was all that mattered. Everything could be changed. Everything could be altered. Everything could be shifted to accommodate the demands of the present. The future could be saved by reshaping even her soul.

What is a form?

What is a shape?

What is a soul?

Nothing but water. Water to shape as needed. Water to form to the moment. Each moment. New. Different. And always changing.

--- O --- 0 --- 0 --- 0 --- 0 --- 0 --- 0

A shapeshifter, a magician with a thousand shapes and faces, Cam is a child of the 10th District. A product of the Underworld, an ardent student of survival, she possesses the free spirited mercenary mentality and morality expected by many from the particular class of criminals that thrive in the shadows away from the eyes of the crown-magistrate and their steward-corporations.

At first an unwilling participant in the great hunt, Cam has somehow managed to rise to the lofty, for a card carrying scoundrel, station of a Rank II Cleaner. A fateful encounter with the 10th District security forces, more guns than was pleasant, and the gentle guiding hand of a high level corporate bureaucrat saw the young woman ensnared in a trap. Unable to gnaw off her own leg, metaphorically speaking, Cam has resigned herself to continuing to work as a Cleaner. Unspoken, even to herself, is Cam's growing enjoyment of the Hunt. She feels it in her heart. She feels it in her muscles. And she can feel it growing deep within her bones.

Buried beneath her professional persona, there is a wilderness, a feral creature, a shifting, formless being of instinct that seeks only survival, that seeks only to hunt, and that bristles at the chains that bind her. There are brief signs, subtle hints of the untamed, decidedly animal movements, and wild, soft gestures. When channeling complex magic, Cam possesses an unmistakable set of pronounced canines, and sharp claws kept desperately hidden beneath leather gloves.

Armaments: Contained within a small wooden box strapped to the side of her right hip, in truth a CAT, Cam carries a relic, an ornate dagger, she calls Night Thorn. Blackened obsidian, as dark as midnight, seems to grow like vines from the gnarly oaken shaft, twisting into three sharp thorns that serve as blades.

At a command, the blades shift into vine-like whips covered in thorns that lash out a creatures in range, causing wounds that weep from an organic poison and pulling ensnared targets closer. Placed on the ground and accompanied by the appropriate somatic ritual, the strange dagger will crackle and convulse, before exploding into a rush of grasping weeds and vines that sprout in all directions, entangling all creatures caught in the resulting 120-foot square.

Abilities:

Cam is an intuitive shapeshifter. She isn't a wizard buried in her tomes. She doesn't worry about the theoretical elements of magic. She can't explain how she shapeshifts, only that she does. One form is as good as another. One face is as interesting as the next. She can be anyone. She can be anything. She never much liked her old self anyways. Cam can assume a wide range of forms, but she must have some remembered visual representation of the broad type of creature on which to anchor her specific transformation. Shifting is a painful and difficult process, requiring both vitas and time (dependent on the extent of the transformation). When more subtle transformations are required, Cam can burn small amounts of her vitas, changing specific parts of her body to tap into the heightened senses or strength of her animal shapes.

Inordinately fond of all animals, Cam adores the rats, cats, dogs, birds, and other urban animals that can be found scattered throughout Outis, somehow managing to survive in the inhospitable city. Stemming in equal parts from her affection and experiences with shapeshifting, Cam has a remarkable gift for befriending the small creatures when she encounters them.

Cam moves with a predatory grace, possessing a lazy, effortless efficiency to her movements. She walks quietly and lightly, managing to surprise all but the most observant. She has a nimble, athletic build, and her body bristles with ready muscles. A natural acrobat, she has honed her agility climbing, running, and jumping to get into forbidden places.

Other:

Here Take This...

Sleepless Nights\\ Iron Cages

<Snipped quote>
... Okay so I started on my sheet yesterday and amongst the things I managed to already write was that real life animals (as opposed to her monster animal summons) hate my character's guts, even though she tries very hard to befriend them, so this contrast is amazing. Please pet the rats and cats in her stead.

@Vertigo

Haha, amazing, I love contrasts like that in characters, always makes for fun scenes.

---

@Abstract Proxy I like the wolf-in-a-suit-and-tie. You can shift her over to the character tab.

@OwO

Yay! Thanks!

---

Also, gd, I must have been sleep deprived, because it only just pinged on my radar that I nicknamed the character Proxy (and I am Abstract Proxy)...smh, will probably edit that tomorrow when I have slept.

---

Also, also, two very neat dogs, hard to decide whether business suit dog is more intense than knife wielding wolf or giant dog lady.

Decibitus

---

~1430 | PARIS | FASHION SHOW VENUE

---

Noticing the resident encyclopedia wandering after the strange procession of undead with a stupid smile plastered on his face that she had learned to associate with matters of arcane academics and related projects sure to waste what little funding afforded to the Reapers, Vera muttered a string of silent curses.

"Cheese boy," she hissed at Lucian, as she moved to follow Edward. She did not trust the wizard on his own. The unwillingly deceased had little patience for art, much less hurried sketches."Our friend who wears glasses goes, we should follow him, before he disturbs the caravan."

Silently shifting, Vera felt a hint of adrenaline. If Reapers still felt such things. She could taste tension in the air. She didn't like it. She didn't like the civilians. She didn't like that the civilians gathered around them. It was a danger. It was a problem. They would have to move carefully. They would have to move slowly. The ghosts would have to be dealt with, eventually.

The dragon.

The fucking skeletal dragon was a bigger problem. Where was St. George when you needed him?

Thinking on the matter, Vera considered, not for the first time, that the reapers were being criminally underpaid. Easy job. Easy job. Easy job was all Sigrun kept saying. Vera nursed a growing suspicion that easy meant something else to the administrative personal.

Sleepless Nights\\ Iron Cages

Cam

"Anyone, Anything, Anywhere, Anytime."

Name: Camilla

Nickname: Cam

Identity:

"There is nothing permanent except change."

Cam had a name once, she presumes. A loving family, she imagines. Simple days spent in wildflower meadows, she dreams. Now she has a job. An adopted name, free from any past. A fresh start and hastily bestowed or claimed nickname. She has ideas. She has plans. She wants to walk in soft grass. She wants to see trees. She wants to be free.

Change.

Change is the only way to survive beneath the cold moon enveloping Outis with a pale, baleful light.

Cam knows this. Cam has accepted this. So she changed her past. She changed her self. Embracing change she found magic. She found new shapes. She adopted new forms. Survival was change. It was all that mattered. Everything could be changed. Everything could be altered. Everything could be shifted to accommodate the demands of the present. The future could be saved by reshaping even her soul.

What is a form?

What is a shape?

What is a soul?

Nothing but water. Water to shape as needed.

--- O --- 0 --- 0 --- 0 --- 0 --- 0 --- 0

A shapeshifter, a magician with a thousand shapes and faces, Cam is a child of the 10th District. A product of the Underworld, an ardent student of survival, she possesses the free spirited mercenary mentality and morality expected by many from the particular class of criminals that thrive in the shadows away from the eyes of the crown-magistrate and their steward-corporations.

At first an unwilling participant in the great hunt, Cam has somehow managed to rise to the lofty, for a card carrying scoundrel, station of a Rank II Cleaner. A fateful encounter with the 10th District security forces, more guns than was pleasant, and the gentle guiding hand of a high level corporate bureaucrat saw the young woman ensnared in a trap. Unable to gnaw off her own leg, metaphorically speaking, Cam has resigned herself to continuing to work as a Cleaner. Unspoken, even to herself, is Cam's growing enjoyment of the Hunt. She feels it in her heart. She feels it in her muscles. And she can feel it growing deep within her bones.

Buried beneath her professional persona, there is a wilderness, a feral creature, a shifting, formless being of instinct that seeks only survival, that seeks only to hunt, and that bristles at the chains that bind her. There are brief signs, subtle hints of the untamed, decidedly animal movements, and wild, soft gestures. When channeling complex magic, Cam possesses an unmistakable set of pronounced canines, and sharp claws kept desperately hidden beneath leather gloves.

Armaments: Contained within a small wooden box strapped to the side of her right hip, in truth a CAT, Cam carries a relic, an ornate dagger, she calls Night Thorn. Blackened obsidian, as dark as midnight, seems to grow like vines from the gnarly oaken shaft, twisting into three sharp thorns that serve as blades.

At a command, the blades shift into vine-like whips covered in thorns that lash out a creatures in range, causing wounds that weep from an organic poison and pulling ensnared targets closer. Placed on the ground and accompanied by the appropriate somatic ritual, the strange dagger will crackle and convulse, before exploding into a rush of grasping weeds and vines that sprout in all directions, entangling all creatures caught in the resulting 120-foot square.

Abilities:

Cam is an intuitive shapeshifter. She isn't a wizard buried in her tomes. She doesn't worry about the theoretical elements of magic. She can't explain how she shapeshifts, only that she does. One form is as good as another. One face is as interesting as the next. She can be anyone. She can be anything. She never much liked her old self anyways. Cam can assume a wide range of forms, but she must have some remembered visual representation of the broad type of creature on which to anchor her specific transformation. Shifting is a painful and difficult process, requiring both vitas and time (dependent on the extent of the transformation). When more subtle transformations are required, Cam can burn small amounts of her vitas, changing specific parts of her body to tap into the heightened senses or strength of her animal shapes.

Inordinately fond of all animals, Cam adores the rats, cats, dogs, birds, and other urban animals that can be found scattered throughout Outis, somehow managing to survive in the inhospitable city. Stemming in equal parts from her affection and experiences with shapeshifting, Cam has a remarkable gift for befriending the small creatures when she encounters them.

Cam moves with a predatory grace, possessing a lazy, effortless efficiency to her movements. She walks quietly and lightly, managing to surprise all but the most observant. She has a nimble, athletic build, and her body bristles with ready muscles. A natural acrobat, she has honed her agility climbing, running, and jumping to get into forbidden places.

Other:

Here Take This...

Sleepless Nights\\ Iron Cages

Perfect, I'll probably think of some deeper character or lore reason, but I felt like writing a character who's magic entails shape-changing.

Sleepless Nights\\ Iron Cages

Is something like temp shifting plausible (polymorph/shapechange)?

Sleepless Nights\\ Iron Cages - A gothic cyberpunk RP about hunting the supernatural

I dig it.

Magic vs. tech and perception shaping reality are always nifty RP ideas to play with.

Decibitus

It's a dirty job, but someone's gotta do it. | Vera Andreyevna Makarova

V E R A

"Don't fear, friend
Don't fear death
Fear not finding
Kindness in your heart"

Весна Весна - Бойся себя

✦ Name: Vera Andreyevna Makarova (but, Vera, Vera will do just fine)
✦ Age: 27 years
✦ Age (Appearance): 27 years
✦ Gender: Female
✦ Time in Service: X
✦ Appearance: Hard to miss in a crowd, Vera is tall, measuring well over six feet. Maintaining the habits of her mortal life, Vera remains committed to keeping herself in tip top shape, and despite the fact that it provides her little physical benefit Vera continues to dedicate a portion of each day to physical exercise. Colored by a lifetime spent getting into and out of trouble, Vera has by neccesity developed a functional, athletic build. Her movements are fluid, agile, and efficient, if perhaps a bit uncouth and surprisingly quiet.

Fond of subtle acts of defiance, Vera has a modest collection of tattoos inked across her light skin. Of particular note is the large, roaring tiger, covering most of her back. Inquiries as to the meaning of any of her tattoos is rarely well-received and Vera seems oddly reluctant to permit others, even other reapers, the briefest of glances of the symbols etched into her skin.

Her last remaining vanity from her time as a mortal is her long blond hair that reaches past her shoulders. Unless the situation demand otherwise, she keeps her hair pulled back into a well-ordered ponytail. Her pale blue eyes are far from cold and burn with a carefully contained fury. Beneath a collected exterior smoulders quite the temperament and Vera goes to great lengths to hide this usually unwelcome trait. However, woe be it to those who manage to crack Vera's mask of professionalism and see real anger in her eyes.

In death, Vera is an exceptionally formal dressers. She favors bespoke three piece suits in solid colors, cut in all manner of fashions and fabrics, but inevitably dyed in shades of gray or black. maintains a tasteful collection of ties and dress shirts. One of her most cherished possession is a pair of black 14-hole Dr. Martens boots adorned with gunmetal gray shoelaces, shaped from smooth leather, and polished until they are as spotless as a mirror.

A chain smoking fiend in life and unlife, Vera is rarely found without a pack of cigarettes and a battered Zippo lighter engraved with an enameled US military crest. The discerning customer might note that the reaper smokes a long discontinued brand of Soviet era cigarettes, simply called Laika, after the legendary space faring dog.

Zippo Lighter Details (Yes, I am this insane)

The Zippo lighter Vera perpetually carries on her person looks less like a well-kept museum object and more like a Zippo lighter that has been buried in the jungle for more than fifty years after being run over a couple of times by a tank for good measure. The factory engraving is worn down to the very metal, but upon a close examination it is still possible to make out the original text (SPECIAL FORCES GROUP, 1st SPECIAL FORCES VIETNAM). The lid has been hand engraved with a name (SFC Thomas E. Karlsson, 31st ENGR DET, 11 FEB 68 – FEB 69,). On the reverse of the lighter is a skillfully hand carved map of Vietnam.

On the reverse of the lighter is a skillfully hand carved map of Vietnam overlaid with words in Russian, Кто не рискует, тот не пьет шампанского.

How Vera acquired a Zippo lighter of Vietnam war vintage and why she seems to guard it so zealously remains a mystery.

✦ Weapon: Banishing all thoughts of brandishing a dagger, Vera instead wields a two handed longsword that has been meticulously forged in the style of a Western European 14-15th Century blade. The sword is long, reaching well over a meter in length, and slowly tapers into an exceedingly sharp point. Despite the size of her sword, Vera's chosen weapon is no brutish, unnecessarily heavy bludgeon, but rather a precisely balanced weapon intended for medieval warfare.

An exceptional example of the latest and greatest technological innovation in the early 14th century,centering on how to cut or skewer (through gaps in plate armor), Vera's sword possesses an expertly honed flat hexagonal blade cross-section and a weight saving fuller that runs along a third of the blade. In short, beyond being the unmistakable work of a master weapon smith, Vera's personalized bit of sharpened steel represents an optimized compromise between thrusting capability and good cutting characteristics.

Vera's Sword

✦ Magic Branch: Abjuration

✧ Surprising no one more than herself, Vera has talent for the protective magic spells generally considered to be at the heart of the school of Abjuration.

✦ Spells:

✧ Dispellere (Dispel Magic)

Targeting a creature, object, or magical effect within 120 feet, Vera dispels active spells centered on her chosen target. The exact number of spells that are dispelled depends on the level of magic employed to cast said spells and the time Vera has to cast her own magic. Given the on the fly nature of reaping Wisps with a capital W, Vera generally favors quick off the cuff verbal applications of dispel magic. However, when there is a need for a powerful shaped charge of magic countering energy, Vera has been known to commit the spell to writing in an ornate script befitting only the finest calligraphy books.

✧ Globus invulnerabilitatis (Globe of Invulnerability)

By channeling her magic through spoken or written words, Vera creates a faintly shimmering magical barrier around herself that protects her from physical and magical damage. The magical sphere appears in a 10-foot radius around Vera and remains for up to a maximum time of a minute. When casting this spell using spoken magic, Vera must decide whether the magical barrier protects against physical or magical damage. Furthermore, to guard against more powerful attacks, Vera requires more preparation. Weathering a blow from a very powerful foe, many foes at once, or very many powerful foes would require a lengthy amount of chanting or sizable stack of elaborately written spells prepared well in advance. Provided that the magical barrier holds, spells cast from outside of the barrier have no effect on creatures within the barrier and physical blows do nothing more than send sparks of magic into the air.

✧ Frigore Pyramidem (Cone of Cold)

Slinging a modified variant of the evocation spell, Vera sends a blast of cold air hurtling forward from her hands, enveloping everything caught within the cone of cold in sheets of ice. Creatures encased by the frost are significantly slowed down and suffer the ill effects of severe frostbite, receiving moderate cold damage. Surfaces or objects impacted by the icebound air are covered by a thick layer of ice that hinders movement due to a sudden, unwelcome slipperiness. The spell has a maximum range of some 60 feet.

✧ Vincula Fati (Imprisonment)

Summoning magical restraints, Vera firmly roots a target to the ground, holding them in place with the heavy ethereal binds. The target is bound until the spell ends or is dispelled, preventing any movement beyond that permitted by the spellcaster. When cast verbally, the spell takes almost a full minute for Vera to cast. Writing the spell takes significantly longer, but allows the spell to restrain much more powerful targets. Thematically, Vera prefers to inscribe the spell on objects such as chains, ropes or other bits of string. A decidedly close range spell, Vera must be within 30 feet or less to be able to magically imprison her foes. The lucky or powerful can avoid being bound by the spell by resisting the underlying magic at work.

✦ Texty Stuff:

My Hider

Albert leaned against the dresser, sucking in air and wheezing. One hundred years. One hundred years of learning. One hundred years of research. One hundred years of biding his time. One hundred years of hiding. One hundred years of avoiding the monsters he knew lurked in the shadows. One hundred years of slipping away from the hunters, the collectors of the dead, the reapers, as some of his more learned brethren called them. There were obscure mentions in faded books. Whispers began to tell of figures emerging from beyond the pale. Beings without names, faceless and obscured. Small truths buried in centuries of rumors, impossible to extinguish, the stories endured. Even as evidence of the reapers presence was debated by the loose councils of wizards with the passing years.

Wasted. Wasted! Ruined by a single, momentary slip of his attention. He had felt so secure. He had been so comfortable. He had settled. He had acquired all the necessary regents. He had been so close to completing the ritual. So close! But now, now they had found him. Hunted him down. Chased him from one safe house to the next. They wouldn't stop. They didn't seem to sleep. He could see them everywhere. The same two women. A tall blonde wearing a suit. A short brunette with a pixie cut. They were walking nightmares that had invaded even his fitful rest.

He swallowed, feeling the lump growing in his throat. Tears burned at the edge of his eyes and he gasped for more air. He knew he didn't need to breath, he hadn't for some time, but he found the habit hard to break. They had been chasing him for days. He had burned his last contacts. He had called in his last favors. And still. Still, they pursued him, like bloodhounds, unwavering following his trail. They had driven him underground. They had forced their way past his wards. He had used the last of souls he had horded. They had exhausted resources acquired over long decades.

The heavy oak door splintered, flying off the hinges, as it shattered into hundreds of tiny wooden projectiles. Shadows coursed forward, a roiling wave of blackness that enveloped the room in a hazy fog. Albert felt dread poisoning him, rotting him from within as his hands began to shake.

He didn't wait to identify the solid figure that followed, bounding into the room in a fell swoop. The fireball in his hand roared across the room smashing into the door frame with a deafening boom. He dove for cover, closing his eyes, shielding them with his hands. He could feel the flames licking at him, the air being forced from his lungs by the hungry flames, and the painfully hot caress of the growing inferno as it exploded into existence. He could hear screaming, his own voice. Months of frustration and fear igniting across the surface of his spirit, a thick tar as dark as the night.

Silence. Silence followed.

Crawling from behind the charred dining room table, Albert opened his eyes, staring at a room full of ashes and crumbling cinder blocks. There was only the low flicker of the dying embers his spell had birthed. He allowed himself a smile, a brief moment of glee.

He saw the movement too late. The blade arced towards him and he watched as it cut through the wrist connecting his left hand to his left arm. A kick smashed into his sternum and sent him crumbling backwards against the wall. Howling in a mad rage, he muttered curses, sending a scorching ray of flames across the room, chasing the shadowy figure that darted away from him.

Tracing the path of his attacker, he dragged his remaining hand across the breadth of the ruined room. The jet of flame smashed into the figure with a sudden crack of arcane energy. Dividing, the fire flattened, folding to the away from the advancing figure that seemed to be pushing back the fire. Shoving his hand forward, Albert tried to push harder, sending even more flames flowing at his obscured opponent. He could feel his fingers going numb as he burned through his last reservoirs of energy.

His mouth twisted into a stubborn sneer as she tried to stand. Shifting into a surprised O as the blade ran him through. Stumbling, Albert fell and the back of his head smashed against the burnt rubble that had once been pristine hardwood floor. Bright light faded to darkness and Albert felt himself begin to fade. Propping himself up on his elbows, he tried to speak, rasping, and desperately grasping for words.

A flicker of metal shone from the nearby darkness. A loud metallic clink summoned sparks that leapt together into a small flame.

"I knew. I always knew you were coming."

"Все это было просто сном с самого начала," came the reply, a woman's voice, not unkind, and then a metal thunk as the flame vanished. "Никто из нас никогда не был свободен."

"I'm sorry...I don't understand. What did you say? I had to try."

"It was all just a dream to begin with," the woman said, stepping closer, a circle of burning embers gentle swaying near her mouth. A puff of smoke trailed behind her as she drew closer,"None of us have ever been free."

Albert felt a pang of anger, "Don't you speak to me that way! Don't you lecture me! I was free! I lived! What do you know!? Do you know what you are doing? Do you even know who you are working for? "

The woman shrugged easily, her sword hefted in the crook of her arm seemed light despite the size of the blade,"Doesn't matter. I don't care. I'm a cleaner. In this life and the next."

"You're a killer. You're a murder, just like me."

There was a hint of anger in her eyes, a rough frown flashed over her lips,"You damaged this world. You stole from the living. You damned souls far more innocent than you. Do not play games with me, Albert Colthurst. I know you. I know what you did. I know your crimes."

Albert faltered, pulling back in a moment of abrupt regret. He tried to crawl, but found his arms were useless.

"Smoke?" he heard from above him. She stood over him, as he rolled over, holding out a pack of cigarettes.

"I...I quit thirty years ago. For my wife. She never liked the smell. She said it was a dirty habit."

"Yes," the woman agreed, offering a small smile. "Very bad."

"I don't suppose she'll know? I don't suppose I have much time left? So why not, please, hand me a cigarette if you would?"

"No, not much time," she said, nodding solemnly. He struggled to follow her hands as the lighter flashed open again. Dark drops grew into large pools of blackness at the corner of his eyes. He heard her sitting down next to him, felt the cigarette as she placed it between his lips.

"I'm sorry," he said breathing in a burning cloud of nicotine. The taste brought back memories. 1957. Happier times. He almost thought he could see her in front of him. "I- I never meant for this. I never meant for any of this to happen. I just couldn't give up. I couldn't give up when I was so close. You understand? You understand, don't you?"

"No need, I understand," his killer said. "It is alright, Albert. You are absolved."

"By who, you?" Albert managed, laughing as he fell into a fit of coughing. Another meaningless gesture for a ghost. It felt good though. It felt right. He felt human. He felt like himself.

"No," she laughed too, but she was only half smiling.

"What comes after this? A new life?"

"Maybe? Maybe something? Maybe nothing?"

"How will I know?"

"You won't."

"I want to live. I want to see my wife. I want to see my son."

"Then tell yourself you will."

---

Vera sat unmoving, a cloud of smoke rising to the ceiling from the cigarette slowly dying between her ash covered lips. The remains of the wizard lay next to her, smouldering in the charred table cloth she had wrapped him. Two packs of cigarettes were scattered around her, blackened firebrands fading in the uninvited wind.

She had waited long enough. It was time. She had indulged in her habit, in her vice. A small price to pay for a moment of quiet.

Rising to her feet, Vera gently slung the table cloth over her shoulder and left the wizard's crumbling home behind her.

---

The asphalt was the color of an abandoned tombstone, cracked, and blackened with filth.

Vera frowned, the dregs of her last cigarette dangling loosely between her lips. Smoking couldn't kill her, not anymore. It was a filthy habit. A filthy habit for a filthy place. She wasn't sure what she, Miss Death, saw in her, what she saw in any of them. She didn't care. Cleaning was cleaning. A job was a job. Even death couldn't change the unfairness of the world. She had no great aspirations. She nursed no great hopes. She had spent a lifetime in the shadows. She had stolen. She had threatened. She had hurt. She had maimed. And she had killed. What were the hardships of another life, this time spent in the fading light?

The gem felt weightless in her hand, held in place by the loop of silver wrapped along the length of her right arm, beneath her suit jacket and the fine cotton dress shirt that she wore. The sword had felt lighter still, made for her, sword hilt resting perfectly in her hands. She did not like the thoughts that awoke after a job. She did not enjoy the purposelessness. And she detested the peace. She needed a drink. She need another cigarette. And she needed a good f–

"Did it work?" a singsong voice interrupted. Too light. Too cheery. And much too pleasant.

"It worked," Vera replied.

"I told you it would. It took me almost a day to transcribe that spell. You can't imagine how sore my hand is. Nice illusion though, wasn't it?"

"It worked, Lucia."

"Oh, come on, admit it, you were impressed! Vera, stop being such a kill joy! We won! We did it! Another baddie bites the dust! We should celebrate! Before we head back, they won't notice if we spend a couple of more hours here. Live a little, why don't you?"

"You are crazy, you know that, yes?"

"All a matter of degrees, my sweet Vera."

"I am not sweet."

"Ah, you say that, but I know, I know that deep down you are a big softy."

"O Господи, избавь меня от этого дьявола." *

"What was that?"

"I need more cigarettes."

*_{O Lord, deliver me from this devil.}

✦ Miscellaneous:
✧ Dialogue Color SteelBlue1

Here Take This...

See You Space Cowboy...

Thanks for a dope RP pitch (had a lot of fun writing my character up).

Best of luck and go get some sweet rl bread!