Atrophy

Beyond the Storms

How do we think the various characters are going to get on? Anyone got ay ideas for who's going to get along and who's not?

@Chromane

Hoo-boy. Well, I think it's a safe bet that Constance would say that everybody absolutely adored her and vice versa. Now, as for reality...it'd, um, be fun, guys.

<Snipped quote by Azkott>

Hopefully the first bit I have planned will get our characters at least a little bit bonded with one another: it's something that makes a lot of sense when you think about it, but im keeping it a secret because im evil

@Mercenary Lord

Turns out Cap'n Conway's gonna be making us all do trust falls and other team building exercises, the ruffian.

Carvings of the Galaxy

@beyond visionsI don't see why that wouldn't be possible.

The Origin: A War Resumed (Arc One; Completed)

Vesta & the Direwolf

It had been years since Vesta felt no pain in her knee. She had grown accustomed to the regular, dull throbbing interlaced with the occasional hot, sharp spikes of blistering agony when she overexerted herself. She was so accustomed to the pain that, as she walked, she imagined that her leg was hurting even worse; yet the illusion wore off as the next day came. However, although she was no longer handicapped, she still felt that she was a shadow of her former self. She had adjusted how she had fought over the years to accommodate her injury—shredded the plate armor, focused on archery, took a more defensive stance. She'd have to change again, fight like how she used to fight; if only Lady Renata had made her nineteen again.

No, she'd have to fight even better than that.

Of course, first she’d have to get used to fighting in her full form. That was why she had taken a trip outside of the manor that morning, although with the eternal night that swamped the land it was really hard to tell if it was actually morning. Vesta had found a little nook of her own; a tiny garden alcove between two rooms that jutted out of the manor. It was far from the entrance, and hopefully far from any interruptions from the more chipper bunch of the crew that’d want to know why she was awkwardly shuffling her feet while waving her sheathed sword back and forth like a child fencing with their shadow. She had been practicing for quite a while now; already beads of sweat were forming on her forehead, making her hair stick to it like spiderwebs as she took measured steps and careful strokes throughout the alcove.

A crunch of leaves, off-beat to her own steps, from behind sent an alert throughout her entire body. In one swift, practiced motion, she drew her sword as she spun to face the intruder, the blade held level and firm in her hand. The sword dipped slightly as she recognized the face of the heavy-footed man through her squinted eyes and knitted brow.

“I had figured we’d continue avoiding one another,” said Vesta.

Despite the fact that he was not wearing any armor that day, the Direwolf was making no attempt to hide his presence. Dressed in a simple but fine dark material for both his shirt and his pants, he held a lit cigarette in his hand, and one that he was taking a slow drag from even as she spun towards him with her blade at the ready. His expression, despite the sudden battle-ready movement, was one of pure calm, and slowly his eyebrow rose slightly as she not only lowered he blade some, but spoke as well.

"The only one who has been avoiding anyone is you, Ms. Debove." He spoke after exhaling, smoke trailing forwards and upwards in a cold as he held his cigarette out to the side, tapping it lightly to cause small crumbles of ash to float towards the ground, their glow rapidly dying even before they touched the grass. Though he wasn't wearing his armor, he still had his blade at his side; it wasn't the one he had arrived at Lady Renata's with though, however. Instead, this blade was in a black sheath, with a red jewel set into the pommel.

"You seem to have gotten quite good at it, after all. Seems to be that whenever anyone happens to find you, it's simply a matter of bad luck." Though the Direwolf had clearly noted the new state of her knee given the glance he gave towards it, he made no comment about it, choosing instead to inhale yet more smoke into his lungs.

On whose part? thought Vesta, sliding her blade back into her sheath and tucking it into her belt. She still felt uneasy around the man, the suspicion that he blamed her for their King's death always lingering on the edge of her mind whenever she saw him. They hadn't talked since before she had fled Barcea to avoid any repercussions for failing in her duties—and she had been fine with that. Now, however, seeing Alsius before her, she could no longer bring herself to avoid what was to come.

"I suppose you must think I'm a coward," she said, folding her arms over her chest and leaning against the wall. Her eyes lingered for a second on the Direwolf's weapon before turning back to face him. "Can't say that I blame you."

The Direwolf made a deep sort of noise, some sort of a cross between a snort and a chuckle. He gave a slight shake of his head, but he didn't verbally respond until after he had slowly exhaled his smoke once again, holding the cigarette out to the side once more. "You did what you had to in order to survive. The officials of the old guard were on a witch hunt; there was no reason behind what they did, save that they wanted someone to pay for the power they knew they were going to lose as soon as Queen Serio took the crown. So no, I don't believe you're a coward. Clearly you've made your mistakes, but that doesn't make you a coward. Just a fool at some point." With that, he once more returned to his cigarette, still choosing to look towards the nearby gardens rather than at her.

"At some point," she echoed with a raised eyebrow. For a moment, it actually seemed that the Direwolf was taking her side, absolving her even. Had she misread him? She could even accept the fool comment. She had been a fool, she was still a fool, and she believed she would always be a fool. People who were wise did not turn to a life of constant struggle and fighting; they got married, had kids, and moved to Jasi. Wisdom, for what it's worth, seemed boring. She looked back at Alsius, noting how he seemed to be distracted by other things than their conversation.

"Is there something wrong?"

For a moment the man was silent, focused on his cigarette rather than her. When he finally replied the stick was not much more than the butt, and the way he flicked it away seemed to underline his disgust in what he had to say:

"Breaking bread with the Phantasm had begun to grind harder on my nerves."

"Harder than rubbing elbows with Demons and Divineborn?" she asked, flicking her hair out of her face. "I have no love for the Gifted, either, but I fear that we will need him in the fight to come. Plus, Cyril wants us to be one, big, happy family." She shrugged. "Face it, long gone are the days where a strong sword arm and a little bit of luck was all you needed to win a fight. Maybe those days never even existed."

She couldn't believe that she was, in a way, defending the Wanderer. "Are you planning on doing something about it?"

"In that, we will simply have to disagree. My faith in the power of my blade has not diminished in the slightest. I continue to serve my country to the fullest through it, cutting down those who would bring it harm." The hand of the Direwolf went down then, reaching into his pocket to pull out his box of cigarettes, and briefly he began to shake one loose before stopping halfway, leaving the one extended out past the others. "It is because of that reason I do not plan on doing anything about it. The day will come that the Phantasm and I will resolve our quarrel one way or another; it will not be today, however."

"Hmm," she said, placing her hands behind her head and one leg against the wall; the novelty of her new knee had still not worn off. "In my experience, most people's never stop saying not today. And you must've been spending too much time with that damn paladin with all of that faith-in-my-blade nonsense. A lot of people believe in their own strength. Hell, I'd say between the two of us we've probably cut down a few dozen of those idiots." She sighed, dropping her arms. "It's easy to be confident; it's better to be cautious. You may not think it's changed a thing, but you have gotten older. We both have."

She flashed one of her rare, jagged smiles. "What I'm trying to say is, don't be a dumbass."

Very slightly the Direwolf gave another snort. It was rare for the man to give any sign of amusement, and yet in that conversation he had already done something similar twice. "I never am. The same, however, I will say to you." With that he finally pulled out the cigarette completely, putting away the box to pull out a match instead, striking it up to once more begin trailing smoke gently into the air. "No more even pretending that you're considering fleeing once again. You owe the Serios your life; pay them back properly by laying it down for them, otherwise I will bring it to them." With that he turned, beginning to walk away. "Welcome back, Ms. Debove."

"Hmph," she snorted, wondering if she could take Direwolf in a fight. He was good, but they never had dueled before. It was a possibility that she was quicker, but not a certainty, and she was tired of always being a hypocrite.

"Take care of yourself, Direwolf. Divines know that nobody else would."

Another snort was all she received in reply.

Carvings of the Galaxy

Ya'll are the best. I really dig this RP, and you dudes made some rad characters. If we gotta go slow for awhile, we gotta go slow for awhile. I've been in RPs where a month goes by without a post while people slowly work on collabs, other games, and real life, but we all come back to move the story on when we're able to. Of course, I get @Deserted's concern. I think we've all been in too many cool RPs that die off before they meet their full potential, and I sure as hell don't want that to be this one.

Beyond the Storms

No worries, then: throw her in the cs section and let's get to work :D

Ps, I hope Constance has a strong stomach, she'll need it for what's comin soon

@Mercenary Lord

...Champagne?

Beyond the Storms

"Very good friend", in this case, can roughly translate to "Person whose name I forgot, but will pretend to remember, and will definitely say it just slightly after they do to make it seem as if I knew it all along".

Beyond the Storms

Although the story had yet to be picked up by the press, a historical event had already occurred earlier that morning: Constance Holloway had arrived early. Before the late reporter had been dropped to the ocean below, before the crew had taken the lift down, even before the bureaucrats had unlocked the office doors, the founder of H.H. Industries had been waiting outside of the DOC between the small mountain that was her “essential” luggage. Constance was a firm believer in the idea of being fashionably late; she had even shown up to her last birthday party three hours late (and then left thirty minutes later, much to the dismay of her guests). It was a power play, a way of showing one’s supposed importance without directly stating it.

However, excitement and giddiness had gotten the better of her on the eve of their departure, and she had left her hotel suite before the gold beams of the raising sun had broken through the dark storm clouds. She had passed the hours by smoking cigarettes, fussing with her hair, and peering through the front doors to look for a clerk to let her in. It had all been dreadfully exhaustive, but any weariness that had begun to creep up on her was struck down when she heard the click of the front door unlocking.

Constance was informed by some pencil pusher trying to make a living for himself that she would have to wait until the majority of the crew and passengers had arrived before they descended on the lift. She informed him that it was absolutely critical that she be the first one to arrive at the bottom. He told her that was impossible; the lift would not move until the others had arrived. She laughed, and said that was good, because she wanted to take the Drop anyway; much more exciting. Again, he tried to claim that it could not be done, mumbling some excuse about the Captain. She clarified her previous statement: it was absolutely critical for his career that she be the first one to arrive at the bottom. Perhaps she mentioned knowing Rick Garrloch, and how disappointed he would be to hear the rough time his friend had been given on her way to his boat.

Of course, the word “friend” was a bit of a stretch, but how could the poor man had known that? This is assuming any of this had happened, obviously. Constance would say that the nice gentleman at the door had been sweet enough to let her ride the Drop as soon as possible, and he would confirm her story if he knew what was good for him. Irregardless, minutes after the doors had opened, the self-styled world traveller found herself careening to the sea with her hair flipping wildly about and her stomach in her throat. If an excited hoorah escaped from her throat, it was stuffed back in her gaping trap as her blurred vision corrected itself. Copper eyes reflected gold over blue; the first clear sunrise of Constance’s life, accented by the steel behemoth of human ingenuity that was the UIS Garrloch. Constance wasn’t certain which of the two, the scenery or the ship, that was more beautiful. She decided to call it a draw.

A few dockhands were around, but they had been too busy with their duties to pay the woman much of a mind. The gangplank had yet to be put up, so Constance sat cross-legged on the edge of the dock and studied the horizon beyond her. It seemed absolutely endless. A cool breeze crossed over the water, hitting her with the unfamiliar smell of ocean air; it was nothing like the putrid smell of pollution and tourism that came off of Lake Marum when the breeze blew the wrong way. The urge to dive in the blue swell below her was overwhelming, and Constance wasn’t one for denying herself pleasures and she knew that nobody would dare tell her no; she had even worn her swimsuit underneath her outfit in preparation. Stripping off her outer layers and neatly folding them into a pile on the dock, the woman took the plunge.

Later, she’d receive an earful from the Captain about her carelessness, but as she lounged alone on the dock drying her body and swimsuit off while sea water pooled around her Constance found herself at peace. A small smile crossed its way across her face: who else in the world could say they had swam in the ocean, tasted the salt in their mouth and felt its sting in their eyes? A dozen, maybe less? To think, less than a century ago six daredevils jumped from an island with nothing but a parachute and a dream to take on the world; now, almost a hundred years later, one of their own was actually going to do it. She laid back on the dock, staring at the mess of land and dark clouds above her; in a way, it was all her’s. Her view shifted as she rolled onto her side, staring back across the horizon. In a way, this would all be her’s too. Manifest destiny.

“Absolutely fantastic,” she muttered, as she felt her eyelids grow heavy.

---

After being awoken from her doze by a sharp shake and a barking respite from Conway, Constance dressed and cleaned herself up from her swim. By the time the others had begun to arrive, she looked as if she had been invited out for a pleasure cruise or a game of polo instead of an expedition into the vast unknown. Somehow, the woman had managed to already acquire a highball as if she was aboard a party yacht, despite there being no apparent source and the time being well before five o’clock. She sipped slowly from the sweating glass to avoid smudging her lipstick, and a small straw hat cast a shadow over her eyes. The only hint that she had gone for a swim earlier was her hair, crisp from the salt, and the not completely unpleasant smell of ocean on her skin.

The socialite had posted herself at the absolute front of the ship, leaning lazily against the railing. Of course she would take that spot: it was visible by everyone, as if the rest of the ship acted as an arrow pointing in the direction of the esteemed Constance Holloway. She occasionally dipped from the spot, mostly to greet her fellow “conquerors”, as she was starting to call everyone, and seek out business ventures, but always managed to elbow her way back to the front. It was there that she was standing when one of the latecomers finally found his way to the Garrloch. He was smartly dressed, although she raised a questioning eyebrow at the unmanaged growth that had infested his jawline. However, a wolfish grin flashed on her face as he mentioned the Winged Gazette, and the tycoon slinked across the deck towards the man.

“What a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Samick,” said Constance as she forcefully grabbed his hand and gave it a light squeeze and a shake. “It’s so nice to see that the Gazette is finally making use of its talent. I’m Constance Holloway, although I’m sure someone like you would already know that. Your boys ran a story about me a few months back, after all. It was quite…”

She tilted her and looked up, as if she was searching for a polite word for it. The article that had been ran did not paint her in the best picture, although to react strongly against it would give it even the most meager form of validation. It wouldn’t be ruinous, but it would be inconvenient.

“...entertaining. I would be more than willing to provide a correction for you chaps, but we both know that wouldn’t sell papers,” she said, throwing her head back with a loud, piercing laugh.

“Oh!” Her eyes widened and her drink splashed against the rim of her glass as if she had been startled by an animal darting in front of her. “How thoughtless of me. Let me introduce you to the others, darling,” she said, brushing her hand against Ed’s elbow as if to lead him like a child, stopping as she came upon the nearest person that did not shy away from her glance.

“This is Eddy—may I call you Eddy?—Eddy Samick. He’s a reporter for the Winged Gazette, so be on your best behavior,” she said with a wink as she took a sip from her refreshment, as if this person had not just heard Ed introduce himself. “Eddy, it is my utmost privilege to introduce you to my very good friend…”

Beyond the Storms

My money is on dinosaurs...with laser beams! Make it so, Mercenary Lord =P

@Lexicon

Please don't get my hopes up like this; my poor heart won't be able to take the disappointment if it doesn't happen.

Beyond the Storms

I literally just Googled to see if islands are connected to the ocean floor.

I am an idiot.

Carvings of the Galaxy

So, are we waiting for something?

@Deserted

Next up to post should be Rend, but it seems like @Eru Iluvatar has been pretty busy the past few days because of gross real life stuff as well.