Atrophy

The Origin: A Devil Returned (Arc Two)

Oh, hi, yes, I made a post.

The Origin: A Devil Returned (Arc Two)

Christopher, Joy, & the Direwolf

With the full revelation made by Joachim and the decision of how the departures would work, there was nothing left except for everyone to get ready in their own ways. They departed at their own pace, went their own directions, and took their own actions; some went to immediately get ready, while others elected to take a little extra time to think and compose themselves, or to simply embrace what little free time they had left for the time being.

Unlike everyone else, however, the departure of Joachim Raizen was immediate. He said his farewells to the King and those who happened to be nearby, before he turned and simply walked from the castle. He did not take the time to prepare any sort of supplies, or anything like that; clearly, he was planning on simply procuring them along the way, more than intent to get a major headstart. Getting to Kyora would take any normal person or group two days, and he was aiming for even less time.

Meanwhile despite all previous evidence to the contrary, Christopher did not take this time to slack off. Instead, he seemed to be dedicated to getting himself ready as quickly as he possibly could. Perhaps he was actually thinking ahead for once, and considering he only had one arm now he had realized it would take him longer than anyone else, but that still didn't explain why he decided to get ready starting in the early afternoon; after all, he himself thought that even if he had no arms, he wouldn't need twelve hours to get ready.

Maybe it had something to do with a gut feeling he had, to get ready as soon as possible just in case something happened, but even then the feeling probably wasn't that defined. However, he still followed it, and so mere minutes after Joachim had finished speaking to them all he was in his room within the castle. It was one of the plainer ones, with very little decoration within; he had yet to taken the time to personalize it beyond his clothes in the drawers (or on the floor in some cases).

With his bag on the bed, back and forth he went. He clumsily folded each garment to the best of his ability, trying to minimize the space each one took before he went to the next. Already the blade was at his side, but his gauntlet, for once, had been taken off; it was lying next to the bag, simply waiting there as he went back and forth, back and forth. With the door open, his grumbles and curses could be heard floating down the hallway every so often, along with some scuffling as he had to go digging for something.

"Need a hand?"

Joy stood with her shoulder resting against the doorway and her arms folded over her chest. If her words had been meant as a cruel joke at Christopher's expense then her face surely did not show it as she blew away a piece of hair that had swung in front of her eyes. A redness in her cheeks made her appear as if she had just been sprinting, and the way she had seemingly managed to already acquire all of her travelling gear within such a short window of time meant that the woman had either gone for a quick race home or had been hiding bug-out bags throughout the castle.

She did not move from the doorway; she wouldn't until Christopher invited her in, if he did. She wouldn't call them particularly close, but she felt as if he had been dodging her for the past few weeks—not that it wasn't for completely justifiable reasons. Joy had been pressuring him to study and train with her as opposed to that blasted paladin after watching his rather self-destructive fight with the Advisor, and she refused to go easy on him even if he was still injured. Hell, maybe it was because that he was injured that she was tough on him; injuries served as a good excuse to feel sorry for yourself and let your body slide into a dangerous state of atrophy, and she wasn't about to let that happen to someone who had been instrumental in ending their war.

However, she hadn't stopped to talk to the boy about him skipping out on lessons; considering the recent news, a little bit of truancy was unimportant. She had stopped to close his door so that his damn cursing wouldn't echo throughout the entire fucking castles, she had only said something once she saw him struggling with what should've been such a simple task. Now, her gray eyes darted from Christopher to his bag to his clothes strewn about the place. Her eyebrow raised ever so slightly as the corner of her lip twitched upwards, her head tilting downward in an attempt to hide her amusement.

"Is all of that really necessary? I doubt the Gifted's going to say anything if he sees you wear the same pair of pants two days in a row," she said, looking back up at him with an actual smile.

Like always, when Christopher took to a task he threw himself into it entirely, and even something as simple as packing was no exception. Of course, that meant he didn't hear Vesta coming at all, so when the woman spoke the reaction was... excessive, like anything when it came to the young man. He swore loudly as he jumped, and with the movement the clothes he had cradled into his arm went flying to the side. He turned, looking towards her, and when he realized who it was he swore once again, this time much more purposefully. Even with her between him and the hallway, it seemed like he was tensing to flee.

"Uhhhh, hey Vesta. So I know I've been skipping out lately on the lessons and all, but, uh... We have a mission now so remediation will have to wait...?"

He trailed off the further he got in, when he realized that she wasn't here to punish him for all that he had worked so diligently on avoiding. It made his shoulders relax a little, though he sneered ever slightly at her last comment, glancing down to the bag and clothes all around before he looked up to her, rolling his eyes slowly and making a show of it in the process.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm looking ahead. Mom knows I'm gonna get cut somehow in the coming days, and though my skin might repair my clothes don't. So... Extras to go around." It sounded more and more stupid the longer he talked, a trait that most of his ideas shared. He sighed, before dropping the bag down onto the bed, shrugging and bringing his hand up to run through his hair, pushing everything up briefly before then patting it back down.

"But I'm probably good as is, now...?"

Joy raised an eyebrow when Christopher mentioned his mother; for a second there she had almost forgotten that she was in the same room as the son of a Divine, and the one that was seen as Barcea's Patron no less. Perhaps some would act differently to the lad if they knew that but Joy, well, she had met his mother; if anything, she would rather forget that encounter outright—more than anything, it had been rather embarrassing. She shifted uncomfortably and chased the thought away, her eyes lingering on the dropped bag. She wanted to say something about how he wouldn't have to worry about getting hit if he had attended her lessons, but she held her tongue.

"So I should just leave you alone, then?" she asked, closing her eyes for a moment. She didn't move from the doorway; she could feel words forming in her mouth, and she wasn't certain that she had the restraint to hold them back. Her jaw moved from side to side as if she was trying to swallow them, and then she reopened her eyes slowly. They were gone; she'd give herself a pat on the back later. She pushed herself off of the door frame and began to straighten herself out. "Okay, fine. I hate folding clothes anyway."

"Sounds good to me." He crouched down then, to pick up the bag-

"You don't honestly believe you're coming along, do you?" This was another voice, but it was another one to make him immediately tense. However, unlike with Vesta, Christopher didn't feel like this situation would have quite as easy of a solution. The Direwolf, after all, was leaning against the wall across of the hallway, waiting behind Vesta, and had approached completely silently. There was, of course, what he had said as well.

"The hell are you going on about?" Christopher couldn't keep the snarl out of his voice, so it was clear he already had some idea of what Alsius was talking about. The red haired man's eyebrow raised ever sightly.

"I didn't stutter, did I boy? You're not coming along. You're just a hassle now."

"Fuck off."

Joy found herself caught between the two, hot air hitting her from both sides. Normally she would just push right by the Direwolf—unlike most, she wasn't intimidated by the man—and ignore the whole situation, assuming the man just didn't want Christopher along because he was a bit of a curmudgeon. Hell, she was a bit of a curmudgeon; she'd even agree that having Christopher (and pretty much anyone else) around was a hassle, although with the boy it was largely just because it meant the Paladin would be following them around so that he could keep babysitting the kid. However, the word now stuck out to her like a sore thumb. Joy folded her arms over her chest and stood so that she blocked the door, challenging the Direwolf with a withering stare.

"And why is that, Alsius?" she said, her voice tight.

"It worries me having a liability involved."

"What?!" Christopher snapped.

"The essence of combat is to strike at the vulnerabilities, the weaknesses of one's opponent. If you go to Kyora, many like the Phantasm will feel the need to protect you considering your new condition. You will give Yaguar a place to strike. Many here will give him a place to strike. Why do you think the Phantasm left alone?"

Alsius' hand came up, pointing at Christopher. "To the Phantasm, your current existence is nothing but an impediment." He then pointed to Vesta. "To her, your current existence is nothing but an impediment, whether she admits it or not." His hand then lowered. "To me, your current existence is nothing but an impediment. To the King, your current existence is nothing but an impediment."

Joy could almost feel her knee flare up in pain like it used to do. She knew what the Direwolf was trying to say, but she wanted to hear him say it. She stepped forward, her teeth set and her hand squeezed into a fist, and glowered at him. She rose her hand up as if she were ready to hit him even if he was nearly a foot taller than her, only for her fist to change into a single pointing finger that prodded him in his chest.

"And what, tell me," she said, her voice hissing as she prodded him again, "do you mean by his new condition?"

The Direwolf simply gave another slow blink, having not flinched in the slightest when the first rose at first, and he certainly didn't flinch when she poked him twice. "You obviously know what I'm talking about. He's fresh from missing an arm, and still doesn't know how to compensate for it. If he's that desperate to kill himself, let him do it himself here and now, rather than taking others out with him as they try to protect him. Things will be less messy that way."

"He's right..." Christopher said this quietly... And yet something about his tone made it clear he wasn't responding to what Alsius had just said.

"I see," said Joy, her voice strained. "I suppose I learned how to compensate for it when I was all busted up, then? Or would you have rather I fallen on my sword if I hadn't have been patched up."

"Unlike him, you had experience." Still the Direwolf spoke calmly, clearly having no issue defining the difference between the two of them. "You could compensate."

"I probably am nothing but a liability right now, aren't I?" Christopher spoke once again. "I am hurt, and I'm young too. I doubt he's the only one who thinks that, it only makes sense." His voice remained quiet and his gaze was downcast... And then, suddenly, he looked up, eyes practically blazing. "Guess I'll just have to fucking prove them WRONG!" As he stepped forwards, he pushed past Vesta suddenly even as Alsius moved to get in his way.

"MOVE, ARGENTUM! IF YOU DON'T, I'LL MAKE YOU MOVE!"

"No, you will not."

Before Vesta could try and stop him, Christopher took a swing with a yell-

But Alsius simply turned to the side, avoiding it. One hand snapped up, grabbing Christopher by the wrist. In that moment, Christopher's body twitched, and perhaps he would have thrown another punch if he could have. Instead, Alsius' other hand curled into a fist, and then was sent straight into the stump of Christopher's other arm. The boy's eyes widening in shock and pain, only able to gasp as blood suddenly flowed with a sickening crack. However, Alsius wasn't done with that.. With ease he lifted Christopher up, swinging him over himself and sending Christopher crashing onto his back, hard-

And there, Alsius curb-stomped the stump as Christopher screamed, blood flying into the air. The Direwolf was completely indifferent.

"Stop, you id—" was all Joy could get out before the hall filled with Christopher's screams as the Direwolf easily turned his attack against him. She knew that the boy had made a mistake letting the Direwolf provoke him, but any chance of her siding with Alsius on this one burned away in a kiln of quiet fury as she watched her compatriot follow up with an unnecessarily cruel attack. She didn't lose her temper often, but he had crossed the line. The man's back was turned to her, but surely he would recognize the sound of steel leaving a sheath; he was lucky that she was above backstabbing, even if the person was a barbaric dog.

"Alsius, I think it would behoove you to leave the boy alone now," she said, her sword pointed towards the ground but ready to snap to action in a single second if the Direwolf was stupid enough to try and beat her speed, "because if you touch one of my students ever again, I will fucking kill you."

The Direwolf slowly looked over his shoulder to Vesta, gaze still cold and calm. He slowly straightened, and once again his eyebrow raised slightly. His hand was already on his blade, more than ready to be drawn. "You see, I would if they didn't strike first. As I have told you, the essence of combat is to strike at the vulnerabilities of one's opponent. There is no fair or unfair. There is no student and master. The Phantasm isn't going to some sort of sparring match or knightly duel in Kyora. He goes to a death match." Slowly, he looked back to Christopher, even as the boy struggled to get on his feet. "This is not for you. Stay here in Kyora."

Tensed, Christopher managed to take his feet, but it was with a fair stumble as well. "No weakness here, asshole. Weakness means I'd be done with you hitting me there, right? Might hurt, but I'M NOT FUCKING DOWN YET."

In that moment Christopher moved again, throwing one brutal punch that Alsius blocked with both arms. "SO GET OUT OF MY WAY, ARGENTUM. I'VE GOT A POINT TO PROVE NOW."

Alsius simply rolled his eyes, but at the same time he moved, slipping around Christopher to put the young one between Vesta and himself. "So intent sealing your fate.... I won't let you. And I won't let you complain that my blade was the reason why you lost." The weapon was then dropped, his arms coming up once again. "I'll beat you with your own choice to make it sink in; with fists."

Joy glowered at Christopher; the boy should really learn that sometimes it was smarter to just stay down. He was doing a marvelous job of proving the Direwolf's point, although even if she could see that she still refused to agree with it. Honestly, at this point she could no longer tell if the Direwolf was actually trying to convince Christopher that he should stay behind or rile him up to the point that he forge on ahead, fueled by a fire in his stomach. Yet at this point, she didn't really even care. They were acting like idiots, both of them, but she'd still try and stop them from destroying each other. Well, Alsius would destroy Christopher, and she would have to put down the Direwolf in return. She wouldn't actual kill him, not unless he killed Christopher, but there would be something poetic about crippling him.

"Christopher," she said, shoving past the boy, "if you try to hit Alsius again I swear I will cut your other damn arm off. I know you've been hit in the head so many times that your tiny brain can't even fathom the concept of it, but someone should feel ashamed when they fuck up that bad twice."

"And Alsius," she continued, leveling her weapon at his chest, "you're a knight of Barcea. Perhaps you should act like it for once, instead of just behaving like some schoolyard bully. Get lost."

She stood turned between the two, her eyes shifting between each of them looking for the slightest sign of them moving to make an attack. Although it was her sword that was raised, it would be her hard scabbard that would deliver the blow if one of them tried to act. It would be like a teacher using a ruler to smack a misbehaving student, only she would be looking to shatter the small bones in a wrist of an idiotic adult instead.

For a moment, the tension remained. Even with Vesta between the two of them, they continued to stare each other down, ready to strike at a moment's notice. The threat of the blade and scabbard seemed to be doing little to deter them... And then, quite suddenly, Alsius straightened, giving a slight humph. He turned, picking up his blade and placing it back at his side even as he walked away, speaking without looking back over his shoulder:

"Act as high and mighty as you want, Debove. You're about as effective as a teacher as you were a guard, judging from how that idiot is behaving. And with you continuing to get in the way, I can only do so much to keep the idiot from killing himself, along with whoever he can drag down with him."

With that, the Direwolf was gone, leaving just Vesta and Christopher behind. For a moment, the young man was silent before he turned, fist lashing out to punch the wall. "Divinesdammit..."

Joy let out a frustrated sigh as she rolled her neck and put away her blade. Alsius's words stung, but she was glad neither of them had tried to push past her—not that a part of her didn't want to have the satisfaction of cracking her scabbard over either one of them at this point, although if she had her choice she'd still probably prefer for it to have been Alsius. Christopher was acting like a child, but the Direwolf had been the one provoking him knowing full well how the kid would've reacted. She wiped something wet off of her threat, briefly surprised to see a smear of red on her hand: Christopher's blood. Frowning, her eyes traced the dent in the wall around his fist, up his arm, and around his back before settling on the heavily bleeding stomp; she could hear her teeth gnashing together in quiet anger.

"Diane can patch that up," she said, despite knowing full well that Christopher's gift would eventually cause his wounds to heal up anyway. She put her hand on his good shoulder, "Come on, I'll take you to her."

There was just a second of silence, and then Christopher shrugged away, giving a shake of his head as he did so. "No, fuck that." Turning on his heel he stepped back into his room, picking up the bag that had been tossed aside and placing it on the bed. After giving it one last check, he finally set it down before he picked up the gauntlet where it was still resting, then holding it out to her.

"Help me get this thing on."

She took the gauntlet in hand, her mouth drawn thin, and stepped behind him to more easily adjust the straps. There was no tenderness in her touch, but she kept the straps loose enough to prevent them from cutting the circulation off to his hand while making sure they were tight enough to keep the gauntlet from sliding off. Finished, she walked back in front of Christopher and looked him directly in the eyes, unblinking.

"Alsius is wrong, but so are you. You are weak," she said, raising her hand to stop him from not letting her finish. "It's not because you're a cripple. I won't lie and say that there's a hidden strength in it, but enough people will underestimate you that it can be advantageous. Your weakness is that you're a hothead, you're easily provoked, and you have no patience. Anybody could use that against you." She sighed, running her hand through her hair, "But if you can ask for help with getting dressed, maybe you'll be smart enough to take what I have to say to heart."

"I know." He grumbled, shifting his arm some after the woman was finished putting the gauntlet on. He gave a slight flex of his fingers, and with it sparks jumped over the digits, before he clenched his fist. "Thanks for the help. I'll see you in Kyora." He stated this simply before he grabbed his bag, turning to leave his own room.

Joy stepped to the side to let him pass and then turned to watch him go, her brow knitted tight. It was like she had said, the boy had no patience; at this rate, he would probably get himself killed—which would then make Alsius right, and that was something Joy could not abide by. With a huff she hurried after Christopher, positioning herself directly beside his bloodied side; he was weak, he was a impediment, but, damn it, he was her student and she would protect him. The others in her class would appreciate the break, anyway.

"Divines knows what your mother would do if I let you venture off without a chaperone," said Joy, the corners of her lips hinting at an almost playful smile as she fell in stride with him. "And trust me, I'm a better travelling companion than Damon fucking Dubois, although that's not saying much..."

Christopher simply snorted slightly, but he also gave a nod as he shouldered his pack a little more securely. "If you're so insistent, I won't try to stop you. Thanks."

Beyond the Storms

@MonsterNice character! Can't wait for the first post. Am I correct in assuming that Myra has been aboard UIS Garlloch this whole time?

_{Because I really like the idea of Constance introducing herself to Myra for what turns out to be the like third or fifth time.}

@Mercenary LordSpeaking of posting, will you be going next? Or would you rather post Eddy pulling Luna out of the water after Constance judo flips her into the ocean?

Carvings of the Galaxy

@beyond visionsAbout time, right? Seriously, sorry for the delay. Thanks for being patient with us.

As for a Season 2, I guess I don't really know what to think about the idea. A time skip is potentially interesting, but part of me would rather just play things out and see how our characters would progress through this story. Originally when I joined this RP it was under the premise that we would all just be a buncha people stuck in space trying to decide whether to go home or try to start life again on a new planet, and to be honest I was a bit hesitant when things shifted away from being small, contained, and focused to bigger, broader, and more expansive. That's not to say that it hasn't turned out to be interesting or fun, but just that it was different than what I had been expecting. I kind of feel the same way about making a Season 2.

However, none of that really matters, because at the end of the day I enjoy writing with you guys. I've been RPing for over a goddamn decade now, and it's rare to find people who are willing to commit themselves to something. What's even more rare is finding a GM who is ready to commit themselves to something, especially when things begin to move slow or go awry. Seriously, in my more than a year and a half on this site I've only found two other GMs as tenacious as you, @beyond visions, and I respect the hell outta all of you for it. Plus, from what I've read and seen it seems that I've been rather fortunate in that regard. So I guess that my point is that I don't really mind what we do, because I trust you. You'll work with it and us to make it great.

That said, I still don't really get the entire purpose of making a new RP unless there was a hope to try and bring new players in, which would that even work?

Carvings of the Galaxy

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Yazmin Cormick & Owen Childs

---

After having stormed out on the others, Owen had spent the next few hours silently fuming in his room. He knew that he should've taken the time to speak with Tahlia about her dilemma, but he also knew the mindset he had been in. Owen had been ready to pop, and it seemed as if everytime he got riled up somebody used it as an excuse to receive a few injuries—not a great track record. So he had hid, locked away in his room with a pillow wrapped around his head so that he could pretend to ignore any knocks that happened upon his door, and he worried.

At some point he must've accidentally fallen asleep, because he awoke sometime later in that terrible state where he couldn't tell if it was still the same night or the next day. Plus, despite the nap, he still felt tired. Hell, he had been tired since he had thawed out. Living in space and on alien worlds was like being permanently jet lagged, and he guessed that he looked like a weary traveler between the wrinkled suits, the rough stubble, and the way that he stupidly gawked at everything. Maybe it was a good thing that they were going to a tailor later. Owen still wanted a shave, but he doubted that the aliens would've left any razors, laser or otherwise, onboard after Benji had shown off his swashbuckling skills. Besides, he was dying for some real food, and that took precedent over everything else.

Owen made his was to the kitchen on tip toes, still under the illusion that it was the middle of the night, the faint glow of the hallway lights guiding his way. As he entered the mess he was relieved to see that it was empty—sure, he was no longer ready to go off on someone, but it was still nice to have some "me-time" (especially after the constant surveillance that was likely still occurring). He punched in a few buttons on the console next to the fridge as it...buffered, or whatever it did, and prepped his sandwich. He imagined Echo would be able to explain to him how the soylent was processed through the thingy and then through "transfarring" it appeared in the food dock, but he was fine with the ignorance of the thing. Besides, it was more fun to imagine that there was some miniature robotic butler lovingly sticking tooth-picked olives through a double-stacked ham and cheese sandwich than to know how it really worked anyway.

On the other side of the ship, Yazmin had begun walking toward the kitchen to curb a late night emptiness in her stomach. As she walked, she periodically glanced down at her right arm, curling a fist, and watched the hydraulic cylinder rotate as her prosthetic fingers and electronic muscles coiled and contracted. She always found the sight to be slightly therapeutic, as if it were a reminder of what she could accomplish, even though she only had one arm. Well, real arm, anyway. Possibly, she thought, it signified the things she had overcome. It brought back memories. The only thing that helped, however, was the possibility that they could overcome this new adventure of theirs, just like everything else they had all over come, respectively.

While under the impression that she was the only one awake and walking, she nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw Owen in the kitchen. "Holy- Jesus, Owen," she stammered. "Do me a favor and eat louder, please," she said. She crossed the room to the food synthesizer, and tapped a few options. A minute later, a burger sat on the food dock, specifically a medium-well cooked burger with lettuce, pepperjack cheese, tomatoes, jalapeños and sriracha sauce. Disregarding the fact that she couldn't name the reason she hungered for this specific food item, she sat down across from Owen and took a bite. She did her best to ignore the idea that the burger was completely fake, especially given that fact that it tasted so real. "So good. Wonder if that thing can synthesize soda..." she wondered aloud.

Using the index finger of her flesh arm, she whipped a bit of sauce form the corner of her lip, setting her burger down. She sat back in her chair and look over at Owen. "Couldn't sleep, either?"

"Yeah, well, napping for a century sorta throws off you sleep cycle. Besides, we get to deal with enough nightmares as it is in the real world," he said before hurriedly taking a bite out of his sandwich. He chewed slowly and refused to make any eye contact with Yaz. Truth be told, he felt guilty whenever she was around; any time she had expressed her fears or frustrations he had consciously made the decision to avoid helping her. It had been greedy.

"What's your excuse?" he asked, swallowing his food and finally looking up at her.

"Oh y'know, the usual fear of aliens and the anxiety that comes with having an attempted murderer onboard." She sighed and took another bite of her burger. "I spent an hour or two tinkering with some stuff in my room. I guess I tinker when I'm scared."

"But hey, why that's my cross to carry," she said, leaning her elbows on the table. She reached a moment where she had no idea what else to say, so she just left the silence hanging for a moment. Truth be told, she didn't know how to really talk to Owen beyond crappy small talk. She was personally a little intimidated by him, but not because he was over a foot taller than her, but more so because she had a feeling that he was smarter than her. Of course, she knew he wasn't a danger at all, but she was definitely scared of saying something that would make her seem stupid.

"What about you? I know you're a feelings wizard, but you've got to be at least a little scared, right?" she asked. While she spoke, her flesh index finger rubbed a circle around one of the circular bolts that helped hold her elbow arm together.

"Oh yeah, I just wave my hands around, mutter some mumbo jumbo, and magically make everything better. A feelings wizard," he echoed with a snort.

It wasn't truly his intention to come off as if he was blatantly mocking her, but it couldn't have sounded like anything else—he doubted that she would guess the words were just a place holder while he tried to figure out how honest he wanted to be. It'd be lying to say that he was a little scared, but would it really be the right thing to tell her that he would've been absolutely terrified if not for his more frequent and more fantastic bouts of denial? Owen lowered his eyes, trying to not appear obvious as he watched Yaz toy with her mechanical arm; a tell, a nervous twitch. He made her nervous, or at least that was what he assumed. He sighed: honesty it was, then, if only to make her more relaxed.

"Sorry," he said, leaning forward with his elbow on the table so that he could rest his chin on his hand. "My inner alpha male must've sensed that my machismo was being questioned and acted on its own. Guess I spent too much time around Rend." There was a sad truth in that statement, although he knew that blaming his growing irritability on Rend was just another form of avoidance. "To answer your question, yeah, I am. I'd be worried if somebody wasn't scared. Who could really see aliens and not have everything they've ever known suddenly put into question?" he asked rhetorically. "But to be real with you, it's not even the aliens that scare me the most."

Another sad truth; he lowered his head and bit his lip. The aliens were complete unknowns, and fear of the unknown was understandable. People, on the other hand, were fairly predictable—even with everything around them changing, they would still go out of their way to hurt each other if it had even the slightest chance to better their personal situation. Not everybody was like this, of course; Owen liked to believe that he wasn't, although he believed that pretty much everybody thought the same thing about themselves and thus wasn't truly convinced. Besides, it didn't really matter if he was or if he wasn't when he considered some of the others that represented the last of the human race. It only took one, really, and they had a few spares in their group. However, he liked to believe that Yaz wasn't like that.

"What I'm trying to say is," he started, raising his head back up, "that you don't need to carry that cross all by yourself. I'm not going to force you to talk if you don't want to, and if you don't want me to say anything that's cool, too. But while I may seem like a bit of a tool you should at least know that I'm a better listener than a bunch of wrenches and screwdrivers or whatever it is that you're fiddling with in your room."

Yazmin nodded briefly as she listened to Owen. She tried to ignore his initial sarcastic remark, since she knew he was just as stressed as she was. She leaned forward, pushing her half-eaten burger away. She rested her elbows against the table and placed her chin in her hands. "It's not so much that I'm scared of the aliens, either... If they wanted us dead, we'd be dead... I just-" She trailed off, rubbing her metallic hand against her chin as she thought for a moment.

She reached into her pocket and produced a small steel microwrench. The tool was small - about three and a half inches long, but it could withstand a good bit of force. She wagged the wrench a couple times, then looked at Owen. She then took the wrench between her metalic fingers and palm, making a fist. She crushed the metal wrench with a bit of effort, then crumpled it into a ball shape. She dropped it on the table and sat back.

"That's what I've been doing. I overrode my arm's hydraulic meters and recalibrated them several times higher than the average man. I accidentally broke the bath tub in the palace," she stated, matter-of-factly. "I was scared that Rend would try something else, so I decided I didn't want to be scared of him anymore. So... I literally made myself stronger."

She drummed her mechanical fingers against the table absently, then lay her hand flat on the table. "The 'me' that I remember before all this was an angsty computer geek, barely out of her teens, with a bad case of PTSD, and now..."

She raised her hand and waved it in the air, then let her arm fall to her side. "I could kill him, Owen... and part of me wants to..." she admitted. "So I'm more scared of myself now."

"I used to sit around and build computers but now I'm programming my arm into a weapon and thinking of the best ways to use it to kill a man that is a danger to the whole crew. All this stuff - the future, outer space, a ship, aliens..." She let out a shaky breath, looking up at Owen with glazed, misty eyes. "...am I going crazy, Owen?"

He stared at the tool that Yaz had folded like a piece of origami, taking a second to carefully pick his words. Obviously, he wasn't going to say yes, partially because he didn't want to see what that arm could do to flesh and bone, but mostly because he didn't get the feeling that she was crazy. Paranoid, maybe, but not without justification.

"I don't think so, no," he said with a hushed voice. "You wouldn't bring it up if you were. We're just in a pretty insane situation full of norms that are completely different than what we're used to, so any attempt at trying to actually deal with it would strike us as absolutely nuts when, really, it isn't." Hell, Benji had gone as far as learning their language. Of course, Owen didn't mention that; the Doc was hardly a good example of good mental health.

"But don't take that as me saying what you just said was a good idea. It's not a crazy one, sure, but it's not a good one, either. Our alien guardians are pretty quick to act up when one of does anything dangerous," he said, glancing up at Yaz over the rim of his glasses. "Besides, do you really think you'd be able to live with yourself if you took another's life?"

A brief shake of her head was all that Yazmin could muster. She rested both of her hands on the table. "No... I - I'm not really like you guys. Echo, Tahlia, and Rend are all like machines of their own, and then you're your physically intimidating self and... I don't know, I guess I'm just shocked that thoughts like these are coming into my head all the sudden, because I've never had to think like that..." she said, though she knew it wasn't completely true. Her gaze drifted for a moment as she mentally replayed a few events from her past. When she shook the memories away, she looked back to Owen.

"I guess I really don't know what's going on at all, in my mind or my surroundings. You could say I'm not the best at coping with stress... I'm kinda like that one kid in those anti-bullying ads that needed a safe-space, you know what I mean?"

She sat back with a deep sigh and rubbed the side of her jaw with her mechanical hand. She looked up at the man across the table, trying to form her thoughts into words. "Do you really think that Benji knows what he's doing? Is it really a good idea to waltz into the Supreme Court of the United Galaxies like he plans to?"

A rueful smile flashed upon Owen's face as he got up and walked past Yaz. "To be honest, I don't know," he said with a sigh, giving her a platonic squeeze on the shoulder as he went, "but I think it's fair to say that we've all given up the right to having good ideas the moment we signed up for this farce. Either way, you should get some sleep. I know you won't, but you should at least try. We'll talk again later."

The Origin: A Devil Returned (Arc Two)

@The Darklight ProjectOl' Vesta's going with Christopher, but you already know that. Ennis is pretty busy sitting in a bed. Nia's going to come along, but she hasn't really met anyone yet so...how are we doing the trip to Kyora? Is it going to be a quick scene shift, or will we be playing out some of the journey? If it's the latter she might join mid-trip, pulling off a "Oh, wow, you're travelling to Kyora too? Isn't that funny! I totally haven't been following you guys at all let's go together!" sort of stunt.

House Wars and Blood Feuds In Old Venara

@Heap241Am I correct in imagining that all the names of Lorenzo's chicks would just be "tall blonde from the soiree", "brunette who tried to stab me", and "the Umbrakin incident"?

House Wars and Blood Feuds In Old Venara

@Heap241Thanks bud. I dig Lorenzo. I also dig the notion that at some point girls were trying to become friends with Juniper just so they could get closer to her stud muffin cousin. _{She ain't bitter.}

And "Lorenzo and His Girls" is now the canonical name of Lorenzo's motown group if he were to ever form one.

House Wars and Blood Feuds In Old Venara

Man, I was kind of looking forward for Juniper's first Grace roll to be a complete and utter failure.

"I'm sorry Dad's will is dumb like you, gawd."

Next time.

House Wars and Blood Feuds In Old Venara

Juniper Delorano

_{"lets cooler heads prevail."}

---

Juniper’s fingers dug into the tablecloth as her knuckles turned white and ached; if not for the cloth surely her nails would’ve bitten and drawn blood from her small, sweating palms. She could feel her teeth grinding together as Meldyr suggested that he have his men escort her back to her room, her eyes burning a floor in the carpet as Lucien offered to do it himself. Did they think she was incapable of walking down a hall and taking a flight of stairs by herself, images of her tripping and snapping her neck on a step running through their minds? Or did they know that she had no intention of going to her room, let alone staying in the manor, at all? That couldn’t have been possible. Unlike some of Lorenzo’s girls, she didn’t wake up the whole household in a fumbling attempt to sneak out discretely.

Her head snapped up as someone dared to utter the word “no” in response to her question, her anger apparent in her narrowed eyes as she fixed her best withering stare upon Dr. Engel. He had no right to speak to her like that, the thought that he even believed he could tell her “no” was nearly as laughable as the thought that her father was in a better place. Even a child could see that being alive was better than being dead; only an idiot would say otherwise. A quiet huff came from the girl as she turned her head, unable to even look at the doctor anymore. Suddenly it made more sense why her mother had passed and why she never had the opportunity to meet Vincent. Like Meldyr, who had failed to protect her father, Otto had also failed. Both of them were ineffective, incompetent, and in need of a reminder as to who could and could not speak to her with such patronizing tones. They weren’t her father. They weren’t her family.

Her tongue had no opportunity to lash out as her sister rapped the table in a successive one, two, just like how father would do to grab everyone’s attention when he had an announcement to make. Juniper was unable to meet her sister’s look as the older woman seemingly peered into her heart and tried to settle her woes. A wave of panic rushed over Juniper; obviously Juniper didn’t want Lorenzo to be Nalia’s stand-in, there was no way the young lady could hide that, but why did Nalia have to bring that up? Even though she didn’t outright say it the implication was strong enough, and the suggestion that Nalia would’ve chosen Juniper if not for father’s word? Juniper knew when she was being teased; the red on her cheeks intensified.

Fearing any further embarrassment, Juniper slowly walked around the table, her eyes focused on her feet. There was no stomping of the feet, no grumbling of quiet curses, just a dejected, sullen girl listening to her sister, her hand clutching the letter from father tightly to her chest. As she took her seat next to Lucien her eyes accidentally met Lorenzo’s and another jolt of panic coursed through her. Thanks to Nalia stripping her bare, she had to apologize now, didn’t she? Perhaps Lorenzo wouldn’t even give a damn what the girl thought, but she knew her aunt would expect one and, as much as she hated to admit it, life would be easier if Aunt Fiona wasn’t out for her blood.

“I’m sorry for behaving like a child; it’s just...it’s been hard for me,” she said to her cousin, swallowing back a choke as tears welled up in her eyes. “Hard for all of us, I mean.” She glanced away and wiped her eyes, taking a moment to think before speaking again, her words coming out as heartfelt and sincere as she looked back at Lorenzo. “If Father believed you to be the right choice then so do I. I know you’ll take care of us, cousin. I trust you.”

Having said her piece, Juniper returned to whatever it was that she saw on the floor that was so interesting. It was not until the shot of the musket rang out that the girl looked up again; it hadn’t come from inside the manor, but it was close. Scarily close. Juniper’s eyes, wide with worry, fell on the balcony door as it began to rattle before it burst open with a cold blast of air. A scream was caught in her throat and came out only as a choking gasp as she reached out and grabbed, not for her brother Lucien, but for Pieter next to her. She stared in horror at the feathered figure as it moved into the room, Meldyr already acting to intercept it, but as it spoke the fright began to fall from Juniper’s face. Instead, the girl found herself intrigued by what the intruder had to say; perhaps not fully trusting, but curious nonetheless.

“Or what,” she added, her eyes not moving from the mask’s two dark holes.

Rolls

Grace Roll - 11 (Success!)

To honor her father's will, Juniper attempts to make a genuine apology towards her cousin and aunt for her rudeness...and to save face.