Atrophy

Beyond the Storms

Constance had sworn, too, when the beast had come into view thanks to Armas’s lantern, but her voice had been caught in her throat and a near inaudible squeak was all that had come out. She felt her stomach tighten with fear. Back on the Isles, she could put on a brave face and pretend that nothing frightened her, because back then there was nothing that could scare her; it was wonderful how many of her real fears could be solved with a fistful of dollars. Until recently, at least. Out here, well, she couldn’t throw bills at a tidal wave or a cave beast; she doubted either things had interest in material wealth, unfortunately. It was like she was poor yet again, back on the streets of the Bottoms. Back then the only thing that kept her alive was her fear; in it way, it was kind of nice to have it back.

And, thankfully, it hadn’t paralyzed her.

She was already reaching inside of her jacket when Ed shouted something about one of them bringing a gun, her fingers shaking as she unbuckled the holster and withdrew the pistol. It was surprising plain and utilitarian in design for a gun carried by a woman like Constance, but then again the person she had acquired it from wasn’t really an artisanal gunsmith. Still, she knew how to use it and knew that it shot well, at least when it came to murdering glass bottles. As she fired it made an explosive roar that rivaled the one from the beast, the painfully loud noise echoing off of the walls of the cave. She squeezed the trigger again, knowing that even if she hit it the first time something that big wouldn’t go down so easily. However, she wouldn’t be the one to find out if she had succeeded, because when she fired guns she tended to stand still—and the beast had leapt right at her.

There was a moment of complete clarity as Constance felt her body lift off of the ground and soar through the air as the beast batted her with it’s paw, its claws raking through her clothing and then a little deeper. She thought of how hard it would be to get the blood out and prayed the scars wouldn’t be too bad. She thought that Luna had been closer to her, and wondered why the nurse hadn’t pushed her out of harm’s way. She thought how the gun had left her hands and hoped that it hadn’t been broken when it clattered to the ground near Armas. And lastly she thought of how much it was going to hurt when she hit the wall of the cave, and it wasn’t long before she was proven right, a piercing scream ripped from her lungs as she collapsed to the floor, her vision blurring as her side erupted into pain.

She decided then, as she was wheezing on the floor of the cave and gripping her side, that whatever name she gave to the beast would most certainly not be a flattering one.

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

@RaijinslayerNot to mention her "beat bad guys" knife is already broken. Good job losing everything, Joy!

I love the Pokemon games conceptually but I've never been grabbed by one since Yellow, really. Any time I play them now I put in a handful of hours and then fall off. Something about the pacing of the game doesn't vibe with me, although maybe it'd be better if I just mainlined everything instead of getting distracted. I think in the last one I played half of my time was wasted on feeding my starter cupcakes and touching his face so that he'd like me more.

...how's the fashion?

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

Joy & Christopher

Joy didn’t like the thought that Cyril was going to face Gartian alone, even though she believed that perhaps her riling had something to do with his decision to face the dog alone—or perhaps it was this belief itself that filled her with unease. She had failed to protect two Serios already, and the idea that she wouldn’t even be near the third, let alone that perhaps she had stirred up his lust for revenge in the first place, weighed heavily on her conscience. Yet she refused to speak up her dissent. For one, she didn’t want to dampen her King’s spirits before his battle. Likewise, she knew that he was going to win. It didn’t matter how good of a fighter Gartian was; Cyril had been trained by one of the best damn sword fighters in the world, and he had a few more talents to cover the areas where her training couldn’t.

Okay, so maybe she didn’t like it because she wanted to be the one to cut Gartian down. She knew it was a shameful thought; Cyril deserved the right more than her. She would be with the others as they attempted to destroy the Advisor. She would make certain that their attempt did not end in failure. It had been the Advisor’s creation that had devoured Kori, and Joy’s own desire for vengeance would serve as her fuel for the fight. Yet they did not have much to fight, at least not until they made it to the Oasis. A blessing, certainly. She wanted to Gartian and the Advisor dead; she felt no need to shed the blood of soldiers whose only difference from her was being born on the H’kelan side of the border.

Yet not all soldiers were content to surrender, and Gartian still had a strong force surrounding him when their armies engaged. Blind loyalists, guilty by association; they had seen the dark forces Gartian was mingling with and had stuck with it. Repulsive subhumans, completely without moral, or at least that’s what Joy told herself as she pierced through them with her blade like a needle through cloth. It made things easier that way, instead of realizing them for the fools they likely were—would she have stood with Olain if he had used tactics that were so reprehensive? Now she was uncertain, but back then the answer was as clear as day; she had been a fool, too.

She felt no pleasure in cutting down the foot soldiers. Fighting in battles versus fighting in duels was completely different. In a battle, it was largely nothing but uncoordinated chaos and brutal animalistic instincts. Joy reasoned that luck (be it good or bad) was the largest outcome in who walked away at the end of the day once the fighting shifted from the grand scale of formations and outmaneuvering to direct conflict and hand-to-hand. It was unlike a duel in all ways. Duels were personal and success was determined by pure skill, but physical and mental. It was an artform, whereas this was taking paint and flinging it like a toddler in the middle of a tantrum.

But it was her duty to a cut a path to the Advisor, so she did just that, twisting and turning like she was performing a well-choreographed dance of death and destruction. Her speed was back, and she was thankful for that, but she could tell that reflexes alone were not going to be enough to deal with the Advisor and that deadly whip of hers. It was an unconventional yet clearly effective weapon, although Joy doubted it was any ordinary whip. She saw as Christopher and Jinn traded blows with the Advisor, each one dealing blows that would’ve killed an ordinary human twice over to the Advisor, who seemed to merely shrug them off as she repeatedly bested Christopher and incapacitated Jinn. Joy could do nothing for the elf even if she made it to him. Where’s Diane when you need her.

Joy took to studying the Advisor’s movements as she dipped between friends and foes, deflecting blows and returning them almost mechanically. She doubted she was quicker than the woman’s whip, and although she would probably be able to get a hit in she knew that she would not be able to take it. Unlike Christopher, she didn’t have a Divine stitching her together every time she made a misstep and got wounded. Personally, she thought it was a good problem to have; it forced her to have some self-preservation.

Still, I wouldn’t mind being immortal just this once.

She sighed in frustration. These kind of fights were simply beyond her. Place her up against a person with a sword and ninety-nine out of a hundred times she would probably best them now that her knee was fixed, but the Advisor was no normal person. Even up against a mage she still felt that she might have an edge (they always seemed to be so full of themselves, those spellweavers, with their hand waving and their mumbo-jumbo), but the Advisor was no normal mage. She gritted her teeth. She was in over her head; she was outclassed. It was as simple as that, really: her foe was just too strong for her to be of any use. It’d be suicide to fight her.

And then she remembered Karin’s words: "This is not a blade meant to be used while skinning animals. It is not a blade to be used when you are fighting your lessers or your equals. Only resort to using this blade when you fight someone stronger than yourself, and it might be able to keep you alive."

Her hand fell onto the hilt of the dagger the Lady of Demon’s had bestowed upon her and she drew it from its dark sheath. She had yet to truly examine the blade that was as dark like onyx, but she knew it was the only edge she had on the Advisor. She knew that she probably only had one chance to strike the Advisor with it, so she had to make it count. For that, she was thankful for Christopher, knowing that she could count on his reckless assault to distract the Advisor. She edged herself closer to the two combatants, trying to keep herself out of the Advisor’s direct line of sight. To telegraph her movement’s would be fatal; she had to catch her by surprise. Once Christopher moved, she would strike.

Christopher happened to be straightening as Joy approached, and both he and the Advisor didn't seem to be aware of her approach. However, when the strange dagger was drawn, his eyebrows furrowed slightly, as if he realized that something had been done, somewhere, even if he didn't know what it was. The Advisor, however, visibly tensed, and her eyes flicked back and forth, actively on the search. Christopher's gaze happened to be the one to find Joy first, and when he did so his eyebrows rose slightly; a mistake he realized quickly, one he tried to rectify by immediately rushing forwards, no matter how disadvantageous it may have been.

Unfortunately, the Advisor had already been alarmed. As Christopher charged her she whirled, lashing out with her whip in Joy's direction. It lashed the ground a few yards in front of her, striking in a long lash that carved through the earth and left jagged teeth pointing upwards as fragments fell from above, and black screamed upwards in tall pillars. Her next move was to bring the whip back forwards, towards Christopher, and the weapon wrapped around his waist, carving deeply as he yelled.

In the next moment he was yanked off his feet, brought towards her with ease as her free hand lashed out, striking him across the face when he reached her, taking him down to the ground as she brought the whip up to begin striking at him repeatedly, even as he struggled to block with his gauntlets; in response, she began to focus her strikes upon his legs, where he couldn't properly block.

Joy hadn't seen the look that betrayed her sneak attack to the Advisor, but she did see the woman twist around and whip the ground in front of her. It gave her enough time to retreat from the shower of rocks and the pillars of black that cleft through the earth relatively unscathed, but it put her further away from her adversary. By the time she closed the distance the woman in black was already shredding Christopher's legs with her whip; immortal or not, Joy felt for the boy's suffering. Maybe if they made it out of this she'd teach him how to properly evade an attack, because she knew that Paladin sure as hell wouldn't bother with any useful lessons. Clutching her sword in one hand and Karin's dagger in the other, she dashed at the Advisor as her whip fell on Christopher again and again.

The plan was a simple one, but sometimes simplicity was all you needed. She was certain that the Advisor would turn around on her and try to stop her assault; for her part, Joy would make a feint with her sword to try and keep the woman's whip busy and give her enough of an opportunity to close the gap so that she could bury the dagger in deep. If she had to take a hit to do it, then she'd have to take a hit. It wouldn't be her first scar, although she felt that it could perhaps be her last.

Joy's plan was quite sound, but unfortunately the Advisor was someone (or something, at this point) that would continue to defy reason. Even as the Barcean woman continued her approach, the Advisor continued to strike at Christopher despite his best (and failed) efforts to scramble away, and it was only when Joy got surprisingly close did the Advisor strike at her.

The sword was ignored entirely; instead, the Advisor lashed out with her foot towards the hand that held the dagger. Catching Joy behind the wrist with her heel, it was a simple matter to lock her shoe around it and twist violently, in order to send the dagger flying away; with it, Joy's wrist snapped, and from her broken wrist she was then flung to a ground, the Advisor turning her body and sharply lowering her leg to do so.

Once more the whip raised, but it didn't had a chance to fall. Waiting for a moment just like this, Christopher suddenly lunged, thrashing out with his body to grab the Advisor by both ankles, and then yanked her off them. As she snarled as she went down, he gave a suddenly, violent yank to throw his own body forwards, ending up on top of the Advisor. Once there, both fists came up, to slam down into her head, but after that burst of electricity no more came.

Instead, he suddenly choked as her hand shot up, grabbing him by the throat tightly, his face immediately going red. Back she forced him, ending up over him, and with both hands tightened her grip. The whip laid forgotten near them, and Joy was forgotten instead as she turned all of her rage upon the much younger Divineborn.

Pain. She was used to pain. It still didn't stop her from shouting or from letting the dagger fling from her grasp as her wrist snapped like a stalk of celery. Her vision went red with pain as she was tossed to the ground, defeated and ready for the deathblow that never came as Christopher dove upon the Advisor. Joy didn't waste anytime wallowing in pain, forcing herself up to her feet as she scanned the area to see where the dagger had fallen. She didn't immediately spot it, her eyes catching on another black object: the Advisor's whip. She kicked it away from the struggling pair, hopefully sending it far from the Advisor's reach, and then wheeled back towards the duo. Christopher had lost his advantage and was in despite need of help. Grumbling, Joy drew her sword back with her one good hand and drove it at the Advisor's back.

The blade struck its mark and sunk in surprisingly easily, with the Advisor twisting around in pain and giving an inhuman sort of screech as the blade pierced all the way through. Her hand snapped up, and it caught Joy across her chest, lifting her off her feet with ease and sending her flying backwards. The Advisor's hand then went up, reaching to her own back to snap the blade in half at the point where it met flesh, allowing the lower half with the hilt to drop before she then reached back around to in front of herself, ripping out the top half with a sudden movement and preparing to throw it at Joy.

Thankfully, it never managed to reach Joy as Christopher's fist suddenly shot up, striking her across the face and sending cracks spider webbing through her mask, electricity bouncing along. Her hand suddenly shot down, swinging the broken half of the blade down into Christopher's shoulder, carving deeply as he cried out, before he suddenly choked once more as her grip enclosed around his throat fully once again.

Just to the side of Joy the dagger gleamed.

Joy saw it, the black hilt and blade, from the corner of her eye as she laid on her back gasping for air. She didn't even have to think; she was already struggling once again up to her feet. Her one good hand grabbed the dagger once she finally found her balance, and she began to, yet again, close the distance between her and the fighting pair. She could tell that she was moving slower and could hear the ragged breaths coming from her mouth, where a faint taste of copper lingered on her tongue. Her hand gripped around the dagger so hard that the hilt would leave an impression in her glove, and she held it with a reverse grip. There would be no flashiness to her strike, nor any finesse; she just hoped that she was right about the peculiarities of the blade. She was within reaching distance of the Advisor now. She rose her hand high and then dove the blade down, all of her body weight behind the strike. Joy intended to knock the Advisor off of balance, hopefully off of Christopher, and then she would rip and tear with the dagger until one of them stopped moving.

The plan worked, just not in the way Joy expected it. With her focus so intent on Christopher, by the time she realized that Joy was standing once again and right on top of her, it was too late to properly defend herself. As her eyes widened and she released Christopher's throat, all she could do was turn slightly as Joy's hand came down-

And then met no resistance, sending Joy falling down to the ground next to the two Divineborn hard. In her hand she held no dagger, just a hilt; the blade was gone, and wasn't even broken. It had simply detached upon sinking into her left shoulder, the blade slowly beginning to sink in even further as red cracks suddenly appeared through the blade.

There was then an explosion of red energy, not unlike the one Cyril had released at the site of the execution before, but on a much smaller scale and in a concentrated pillar. Shrieking, the Advisor staggered back, trying to grab at the blade as the energy began to crackle along her shoulder, slowly dissolving it even as the blade sunk further.

With no other choice, the hand on the opposite side of the Advisor's body clenched, black suddenly enveloping it before she slammed it against her own shoulder, where the blade had disappeared. There was a screech from the black itself as, suddenly, the blade tore from her body out the back of her shoulder blade, still spewing red as it clattered along the ground and began to break into pieces. A gaping hole towards her back accompanied the smaller wound she had made with herself on the front, the black sticking there, clinging...

And then, as Christopher began to sit up and then stand, her gaze snapped towards the both of them. The black around her hand suddenly grew exponentially, and Christopher swore as he suddenly flung himself towards Joy, even as the Advisor thrust her hand forwards:

"FUCK-!"

A wave of black roared forward, washing over any soldier of either side unfortunate enough to still be nearby the brutal combat. It crashed into Christopher as he threw his arms out, which sent him flying directly back into Joy with a nasty crunch before the two of them were taken off their feet, sent flying back yards. When they landed (with him more than a little on top of her), he quickly rolled away, tearing away his jacket and shirt with the black that clung to it like a dead flame, and trying to claw away what still clung to his torso with his gauntlets.

"Shit, fuck- Vesta you still alive?!"

"If she is," she muttered, trying to claw herself into a sitting position. Thanks to Christopher, none of the viscous black goop had clung to her body. She had heard a second crunch after landing; it had been the sound of her bow snapping in two. Not that it mattered, really. She wasn't going to be doing any shooting with one good hand.

"Bitch broke all of my weapons."

Already her eyes were scanning for another weapon; any dead soldier's blade would do. She saw the reflection of steel and pushed herself up so that she could walk to it, but instead of standing she fell to the ground once more and rolled onto her shoulder. Still, that wouldn't stop her, and she tried again with a similar result. Fine. She'd crawl then; excruciating inch by excruciating inch. Her hand wrapped around the hilt of the blade, half of the sword dissolved away by the black; a broken sword for a broken soldier. It didn't matter. She forced herself to stand and managed to hold herself up this time as she limped slowly towards the Advisor. She knew it was a suicidal idea, but she'd fight until she was red of tooth and nail if she had to as long as that was what it took to avenge Olain's daughter.

The moment for revenge wouldn't come then, unfortunately, at least not for Vesta. The Advisor was in a fury of her own, so angry that she was gasping for air with each breath. He shoulders were hunched, her entire body tensing, and Christopher only had a moment to shout, "WATCH OUT!" before the Divineborn threw both of her hands out.

Her scream was loud, and more screams rose in a chorus to join her as a pillar of black erupted around her, stretching high into the sky. With the screams came a blast of air, so strong that for yards around her it flattened the ground, crushing it into a smooth disc all around her. Beyond the circle that was around ten or so yards in diameter, everything loose on the ground was sent flying backwards; weapons, rubble, bodies, and the still living.

Christopher and Vesta were among those, and once again they were sent even further back, crashing along the ground, Christopher coming to a slumped over stop afterwards.

Joy felt her body slam against the ground, a wetness on her face that she couldn't determine if it was the mud or her blood. Her vision was fogged by darkness on her peripheries, occasionally dipping into pure black before she forced her eyes to reopen. She clawed at the dirt in an impossible effort to drag herself towards the Advisor, her fingers of her one good hand no longer responding to her will. Darkness overtook her vision again as her body went limp and she slipped out of consciousness.

Carvings of the Galaxy

@Eru IluvatarLet's collab it up.

Beyond the Storms

Well, in regards to part of that hider...

Good news and bad news

Good news! Constance carries a gun.

Bad news! Constance carries a gun.

Carvings of the Galaxy

---

Owen Childs

---

For what it’s worth, Owen tried his best to keep himself from pushing too many of Tahlia’s buttons during their internment. Perhaps it would’ve saved him from the doldrums of waiting forever for word from Pseudo about their upcoming trial, but he rather avoid dealing with the explosive aftermath since they were stuck sharing a room together. Or maybe it was because he could see Tahlia’s icy-cool demeanor cracking, and he rather not be the one to shatter her illusion of strength. They needed that, after all. He needed that. He himself could only pretend to be strong so much. Then again, maybe he was just trying to avoid that entire can of worms. For the team shrink, he did spend an awful amount of time trying to not talk about their problems.

Still, all things considered, surely the others could forgive him for seeming distracted. Most of the time he wondered about Benji’s fate, excluding the times him and Tahlia were focusing on creating some kind of plan for presenting their case. Of course, without knowing their crime, each of their conversations rarely bore any fruit, although he figured that they both silently agreed on the goal of not getting the final handful of humanity added to the extinction list. Although would it really be such a bad thing? Now that it was confirmed that they weren’t the only life in the universe, it only made the insignificance of their entire existence that much greater. A dark thought, perhaps, but it took some weight off of their responsibility if he pretended that the outcome didn’t bother him. Because it really did bother him; most nights he pretended to be asleep. He doubted that he fooled Tahlia.

However, one night he did fall fast asleep, only to awake on a train heading towards their trial. Owen might’ve enjoyed the view after recovering from the initial confusion if not for his struggle with the butterflies in his stomach; despite their preparation, he realized that he was not ready to preach humanity’s case in front of a bunch of other species. He should’ve just been honest and say that humanity had no monarch and prayed that the Principality would spare them out of pity and keep them as some sort of rare oddities. ‘Come look at the humans, completely unable to take care of themselves. Aren’t they just pathetic?’ God, he was going to be sick.

He managed to keep himself in one piece, however, as he followed Pseudo, standing aside Tahlia with Yaz and Echo on their flanks. He had to at least try to play it off as if he was some kind of leader, now, since he had done screwed up and accidentally taken one-half of the title. Somehow, someway, he felt that Echo was to blame for him speaking up in the first place, but that was neither here nor there. He continued to try to act unfazed as they proceeded into the room where they would be judged, although perhaps a better word for how he really appeared would be nonplussed.

Owen was gawking so much that he almost missed Pseudo’s cue to bow, bending his knee after a noticeable hesitation that ideally would paint his as arrogant instead of simply dumbfounded. Owen smiled with slight embarrassment before he set his face in stone; he had to play it cool. Act the part. Look confident. Be strong. All that sort of garbage. For a second, he did stand taller, his arms clasped behind his back as if he had nothing to hide. He almost looked regal, even. And then Pseudo opened his damn mouth and ruined whatever appearance of calmness Owen had managed to only momentarily grasp.

At least he laughed when Rend appeared instead of cursing or shouting or running like he wanted to, his head shaking at the absolute perfectness of the situation. Of course, of course things would go like this. Owen figured that it would’ve been a bit of a cruel mercy to keep Rend alive after what he had done, but he never thought that the one it would’ve been cruel to would be him and not Rend. He smiled with some guilt at being so amused by the rather unfortunate turn of event—and there was no question that Rend claiming to be their leader was anything but unfortunate. He moved his hand up to cover his face, watching with a mixture of shock and bemusement as Rend rambled on.

"You can't stop me next time," said Tahlia.

“Won’t stop me from trying,” said Owen. It was the truth. Even though he knew it would be easy to think that it would’ve been better to have let Rend die in the first place, he knew it wouldn’t have been right. He knew he would never have let it happen, not if he had any say in it. And if Tahlia ever did get the opportunity to put her hands on Rend again, he would be there to try and stop her. Was it for her sake, for Rend’s, or for his? Hell, he didn’t even know anymore.

All he knew right now was that he had better start talking. Actually, no, that wasn’t true. It would’ve been smarter to just let Yaz and Echo step behind the person they thought should be in charge without saying anything, because even Owen would bet that they wouldn’t choose Rend. He knew right now that he better just keep his tongue in his mouth before he said something that got him in trouble. However, something about the appearance of Rend had turned his nerves and jitters into something else. Now? Hell, now he just wanted to start talking, screw the outcome.

So he did.

“C’mon old man, we all know that you can never get enough of yourself,” said Owen. “But we thank you for thinking about the rest of us, for once.” He paused, and then looked at Psuedo. “I...I don’t even get why he’s here, really. This man threatened us and attempted to kill Tahlia. The fact that he’s allowed to stand here, let alone to even be considered our leader, is laughable. He isn’t one of us. He was our prisoner. He wasn’t even supposed to be on our ship. It’s…”

He was pacing, now. Owen realized what the something else was: it was anger. He should’ve just stayed quiet.

“It’s freaking ridiculous that this is even happening. Like, did y’all wait to revive this old bastard before giving him the same spiel you gave us? Is Benji gonna come in here claiming he’s also a king or something? You sure human’s aren’t still running the show? Because I was kinda hoping that our species was the only kind that would allow for something this stupid to even be considered. Like, seriously, you guys, are you guys fucking idiots?”

He had gotten louder. He turned again towards Psuedo.

“Don’t add that last part,” he said, and then threw his hands up. “Actually, screw it, do. Go ahead.” He pointed at Rend. “Clearly they’re okay with listening to assholes. Translate carefully, Psuedo. Rend. Is. Not. Fucking. Part. Of. Our. Colony. Just—”

“Just do what they say,” he said quietly to Yaz and Echo with a defeated sigh; he should’ve stayed quiet. “Do whatever you think’s right. Somehow I doubt it’s gonna matter now.”

Carvings of the Galaxy

Okay, I'll post in the morning once I wake up and proofread all of my late-night mistakes. As for a preview of my post, well, might I refer to my character sheet for that:

Weaknesses

• Wears his emotions on his sleeve and is easy to upset; more emotional than rational.
• His pettiness detracts him from the bigger picture.
• Owen’s easy to guilt; lying is nearly impossible for him.

Owen's REAL GLAD his best buddy is safe, sound, and robotic. He's totally gonna handle things REAL WELL.

Carvings of the Galaxy

*mind explodes*

Carvings of the Galaxy

You know what, that works for me.

Beyond the Storms

Constance had started a trend, it seemed, as the others formed a line behind her as if they were about to dance a samba. It only made sense to her that they would follow her lead; it was the natural way of things. She could hear the others shouting her name (the sweetest sound known to man), and surely the words were of awe and admiration (though she didn’t really catch them). Finally, the universe had righted itself after this hectic day, it seemed. They would stumble through the woods, come across that it was just some wild pig or something, and have a laugh about their worries while roasting their conquest. Then they would drink some more. Damn. Should’ve brought a glass with me, she thought. Who knew how long they would be playing adventurers in the woods, after all? Too long for some, or at least for Ed, who was threatening to murder her ghost.

“Now Eddy, there’s no reason to be such a sour puss. What could possibly go wr—” She lifted her hand up to her mouth as Ed and the Earth became fast friends. As she heard him cursing, however, her hands dropped to her waist and her look of surprise and concern transformed into a frown. She followed him through the brush practically side-by-side with Luna, the nurse racing to make sure that he was all right while she began to deal out the venom. “Now look, you don’t have to go throwing yourself around to make your point. Nobody’s forcing you to come along, and nobody will call you a coward if you decide to go cower by the campfire clutching to ol’ Captain Conway for comfort.” Clearly, she had forgotten about earlier. She raised her finger up to deliver her final coup de grace, rather oblivious to the sight that Ed was taking in. “And—”

Someone rudely interrupted her. She felt her jaw drop, her head snapping to and fro as she tried to zero in on the kind of jerk that would just begin talking and forget to shut up to take a breath of air. She found people like that to be absolutely, positively, and undoubtedly dreadful. Finally, she caught sight of the man in the top hat and her vision practically went red. What kind of schlub wore a top hat these days? It reminded of her of the various hustlers and scoundrels she used to deal with back in the Bottoms, and how they tried to appear rich and powerful by wearing last decade’s fashion. What posers. The very idea of someone like them having snuck his way (because certainly he wasn’t invited) onto the boat filled her with disgust.

And did he just say that he was a magician for their entertainment? She folded her arms over her chest, unimpressed. Magicians were just pickpockets and thieves who “legitimized” their business by targeting the dull minded everyman on the street or the easily fooled children at some crummy birthday party. Their tricks had been her tricks back in the day, only she had proven to be able to utilize them in ways that afforded her more than a basement apartment with nothing but a cot and a table. Constance readied herself to give the man a piece of her mind: she sucked in air, puffed up her chest, and clenched her fist. As she was about to open up on him, however, she saw a shadow emerge from behind the magician Maxwell and drag him away as he narrated the assault. For a second, she was utterly confused; then, she burst into applause.

“That was absolutely fantastic! What a grand trick. For a moment, I thought he was truly in peril,” she said with a squeal of delight, looking around at the others for approval. Maybe it was the dark or maybe it was the drink, but from the look on their faces it appeared as if they did not find his trick as amusing as she had. She stopped clapping, a flustered look briefly flashing upon her face. Krauss had simply just walked away; Luna, it seemed, was moving forward to investigate how the illusion had work. She stumbled after Luna; her curiosity had been piqued, too, and she refused to deal with any of that ‘a magician never realizes his trick’ nonsense.

“Wait for me, sweetpea!” she barked as she caught up to Luna outside of the mouth of the dark cave, her hands patting at her jacket in search of a lighter. She pulled out one, small and silver with her initials engraved into one side and a flowery design carved into the other, and gave it a flick. Thankfully, it had not been waterlogged, and produced a small flame that barely cast an aura of light beyond her outstretched hand. She could see a faint shimmer of the moist cavern walls that were just beside her, but deeper into the cave was only darkness. Notably absent was any sort of devices or ropes that the man could have used to pull himself away for his trick. Constance found herself pressed up against Luna, her hand gripping her shoulder, as they slowly pressed forward.

“Come on out, darling, we all know that was just for show,” she said into the darkness. She was answered only by the sound of her breathing. A shiver went down her spine; she gripped onto Luna tighter still. “Seriously, it was fun at first but this bit has gone on a little too long. You can go ahead a drop the charade.” Nothing still. She muttered a curse underneath her breath, wishing suddenly that she had decided to follow Krauss back to the safety of the fire.