Atrophy

Carvings of the Galaxy

@beyond visionsWorks for me.

Beyond the Storms

Constance & Conway
_{Collab with @Mercenary Lord}

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Conway had hoped to get the AV-44's check-up done as soon as possible. There were several other pressing matters to attend to, such as the daily captain's log the UINC insisted on him recording each day, or get a report from the engine room, or see how the repairs on the huge lightning-ripped hole were coming along. And the most important thing would be for him to just be on the fucking bridge so he could captain his ship for once.

But he was entirely unsurprised when Ulhart walked in a minute later and said: "Sorry to be late, cap'n, but the woman in the room next to mine...she's tearin' it apart, sir. I think it was the same lass who tried to ride shotgun on the bird on the last outin' we did."

Recognition and irritation flooded Conway's face. "Constance," he hissed, and stomped his foot. "Fuckin' hell, boys, I'm of the mind ta just throw her overboard. She's been drivin' us all up walls we didn't even know we could climb. Wait here, Ulhart. Start the once-over, if ya'd be so kind."

Then he stormed off down the hall to the living quarters. He didn't have to wait long to hear frustrated curses and crashing sounds. "What in the ten triads o' Legri scummers are ya doin' in there, lass?" He roared, arms folded and thunder on his face.

A quiet "shit" could be heard from behind the door frame, followed by a pinched, "Give me a moment!" accompanied by the sound of furniture being scraped across the floor and glass being kicked around. After nearly a minute the woman finally opened her door just a handful of inches, enough for her to peak her head out and give the captain a nervous smile. The stagnant stench of cigarette smoke drifted out of the room, the thin holder gripped in a hand that was wrapped with a damp, red bandage around her knuckles. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot, and as her cheeks had dried her makeup had begun to streak together. A tumbler of dark spirits was clutched tightly to her chest.

"I was just about to go get you, Captain," said Constance, gritting the cigarette holder between her teeth as she ran a finger through her disheveled hair. "I think someone broke into my room and wrecked the place while I was gone."

Conway's fingers tapped his bicep with manic intensity as he glared at her. "Crocka shit," he growled. "Ya look like hell, and one of me men heard ya tearin' the place apart like ya were a Geralt cloud yerself."

He put a hand on the door. "Ya gonna invite me in, lass? I'm of the mind we have ourselves a gab." His voice was slightly softer now, but no less hard. "I'll not be havin' anymore of this theatrics aboard me ship, leastaways not without knowin' why. Ya've been a thorn in me side since we left off, and I won't stand fer it any longer."

"Really," said Constance, the melody falling from her voice. So she was just an unwanted vaudeville act now, was she? She turned away from the Captain and retreated into her room, her hand pushing the door so that it opened up the rest of the way to let the man in.The room was an unholy mess, with clothing seemingly tossed around like confetti. A cracked ashtray laid next to the door, the mattress on her bunk and the light fixture on the wall were both askew, and a small dent had been kicked into the hull next to her bed. The mirror above her emptied dresser showed only a broken reflection of the room, cracks radiating out from the middle of it like spiderwebs.

The woman drained her drink, dropped the glass harmlessly on a pile of clothes, and flopped backwards onto her bunk as she let out a plume of smoke accompanied by a groan of frustration. Sitting up she loosened her collar and gave Conway an annoyed glare before motioning to an overturned armchair. Her fingers squeezed her sheets as she smashed her cigarette against the surface of her nightstand, either not realizing or not caring that the ashtray had since moved. Slowly she bent over the edge of her bed, bristling for just a moment as a sharp pain went through her side, and dragged a small trunk out from below. The chest opened with a click and she grabbed out an unmarked bottle and then fumbled around for her dropped glass, cursing underneath her voice.

Conway followed her into the room and stooped down swiftly, swiping the glass off the floor before she could close her fingers around it. "Ya can have this back when we get some talkin' in, lass." He tossed it in one hand as he watched her. "Sake of the names, Constance, we've been out at sea barely two days, and ya've been treatin' it like a personal radio show."

He decided not to sit, because he eventually wanted to return to the hangar. "Now what's this about destroyin' the room ya've been so kindly provided. Bear in mind that I'm debatin' whether or not to throw you overboard, an' answer true."

She watched the glass with ravenous eyes as Conway tossed it up and down, up and down. Part of her was tempted to snatch it out of the man's hands; he may have been in charge of the ship, but it was her property and he had no right touching what belonged to her. Another part of her was just as tempted to pull the cork out of the bottle and drink it straight from the source like some kind of lowly vagrant. However, she did neither, her gaze slowly shifting from the glass to the man's eyes as she tried to determine how serious his threat had been. The only way Constance would let herself get thrown overboard would be if the rest of the ship was coming with her.

"I wasn't provided this room kindly, Captain," she said softly, yet her voice was so heated that steam could almost be seen coming off of it as the words cooled in the air. "In fact, I think it's safe to say that nothing on this trip has been very kindly, sir, especially the way that I have been treated by the others aboard. Throw me overboard, it's that ungrateful nurse and that tactless reporter you should throw overboard. I have only been courteous and friendly my entire time on board, and for that I have been treated like a pariah. I could stand it when they talked behind my back—at least then they were pretending to be civil—but now they are shouting slander and lies about me directly to my face."

"I don't like liars, and I have dealt with far too many to suffer spending time around anymore," she said, lowering her eyes. "Even after I tried to continue to be nice to them and apologize for a wrong that I did not commit they kept trying and kept trying and still kept trying to fucking. Provoke. Me." She slammed the side of her fist against the wall, her teeth gritting in pain. "And now you're yelling at me as if I'm somehow in the wrong, when I have done nothing wrong, nothing wrong, " she said, looking back up at the man with tears in her eyes. "I've done absolutely nothing wrong, so why am I being treated like some leper?"

"Because yer in the wrong company fer politeness." Conway retorted. There was no room for hissy fits aboard the Garrloch. Especially not after the things they had already seen. The storms, the monsters...none of it could be handled by complaining about how rude it was. "Yer in the wrong company for pride, the wrong company for sympathy, and this seems ta surprise ya. Like this was supposed ta be some pleasure cruise where ya'd tell stories, swap gossips and map the new world fer yer eternal glory. If only."

Conway leaned in. "Ya know, in the Ilyistavi Air Corps, we had a sayin'. Onin myht onn bhant. One minute from death. Ya know Ilyistav. I'm sure ya've vacationed there. Ya might know how quickly the weather turns durin' winter. One of IAC's two big priorities was disaster response, because no sane civvies would dare try ta help anyone in the middle of a storm."

He snapped his fingers at her no doubt distracted eyes. "All it took was a minute fer the weather to hit hard. Only took a minute fer somone ta mess up, and then we all were dead. Happened ta my best friend, God rest his sorry soul." Conway fell silent for moment, hand running across his chin. Then he continued, "We volunteered fer the IAF, knowin' that we were all expendable. "And all of us, on board the Garrloch, we're like that. Expendable."

He squatted down to her level. "Let me tell ya a secret, lass. None of the fancy-pants officials back on tha Isles expect us to come back. We're the first ship ta go this far beyond the Ring o' Thunder. Some ships don't even make it past the storms. Follow the logic there, and ya can see why they think that way." His voice kept dropping in volume as he spoke, as if withdrawing further into himself with every word he considered.

"What ya were used to back on the Isles no longer applies. Yer on a ship full of smelly, loud, rude, and determined individuals. Respect ya might feel yer deserved won't come until it's earned, and ya don't earn respect around any of these folks by throwin' fits and talkin' about how much money you have back home. Ya want everyone ta know what ya've accomplished before now, I get it." A wry and dry smile touched his face. "But not a one of us cares about 'before now' anymore. And all they saw of ya when they met ya was a prissy and arrogant blowhard, and--let me finish," he said, sure that she was about to go off again.

"And the accomplishments ya've earned fer yerself out here: helpin' fight back the flames on the Garrloch, and survivin' that mangy beast, they're tainted by that bad first impression." He set the glass on the floor. "I'll tell ya how to get that respect ya're so desperately cravin'. Modesty. Stoicism. Followin' commands, and doin' the work ya're given. In this case, that'd be bein' a part of the exploration team."

He sighed, irritated with his own long-windedness. "Tell me I'm gettin' through ta ya, Constance. Even just a mite." With the way things had been thus far, he mostly expected a total denial of his words and another quip about how unfair everything had been.

There was a moment of silence as Constance sat and stewed with her face set in stone, and it seemed almost as if she was taking what Conway had to say into considereation. In reality, she was trying her hardest to hold her tongue back from lashing out at the man. She didn't care if she wasn't going back to the floating Isles; in all honesty, that solved many of her problems. Yet another insinuation that she had been traipsing about bragging about her wealth and her success filled her with venom. The only time she recalled ever bringing that up was when Edward had asked. She winced.

"Yeah, you're getting through to me," she said. "I understand completely, Captain. You shan't have any more trouble with me."

She was smiling her plastered smile as she spoke, her eyes seemingly brightening as she dabbed the tears away. In truth she did understand something, although it certainly wasn't what the Captain had been intending She already had an inkling that it was true, but now she knew fully that she was stuck on a ship brimming with jealous ingrates that had preconvinced biases against her. That was fine, that was fine, she had spent her whole childhood climbing out of the hole people thought that she belonged in, and she had done it by pretending to play their little games to keep them appeased. Smile, nod, play dumb, wait for the right moment; it was all very easy. She could do it again.

"I suppose I should clean up this mess," she said, her smile waning.

Conway snorted. He was no fool, and this was not the first time he had dealt with troublesome deckhands, so to speak. "Nobody else is goin' to, are they now? Ya're free to do as ya please, as long as ya do it quietly." He swept up the glass from the floor and tossed it toward her. His aim was true, with it landing on the bunk beside her.

He stood. "There'll be no more rantin' aboard my ship. Wait until ya go ashore to have temper tantrums." It was at the door that Conway stopped and turned. His eyes were slightly softer now. "Ya know, Constance. I'm o' tha opinion that yer a good woman at heart. Ya've just yet ta realize that yer old methods of conversin' aren't of use ta ya here." He pushed open the door. "Oh, and don't say ya've done nothin' wrong again around tha crew if ya're lookin' ta avoid more smears of yar character. We've all sinned, lass. Wouldn't be down on this God-forsaken trip if we hadn't."

Then he left, muttering to himself as he headed back toward the hangar. Would it be too much to ask for him to finally get to captain his own damn ship?

Muskets & Magic - Dark Fantasy RP

_{Vashti Lestil
Hoff's Squad, Outside New Stratton}

---

Vashti met the Sergeant’s one good eye with her own unblinking stare, not concerned in the slightest that she had spoken out of turn and for someone of a higher rank. Military protocols were not unfamiliar to the elf, as the Inquisition and the Church were both very proud of their pecking orders. She had ignored them back then, too. If she knew something, she wasn’t going to keep her tongue tied out of fear of stepping on someone’s toes. If she was going to expunge evil from the world, she wasn’t going to wait for the written approval of some pencil pusher. Some might say she was brash and reckless; she preferred to think of herself as quick and efficient.

“Don’t worry, friend,” said Vashti to Roland after one of the corporals called him out. “I’ll be watching you closely. I’ll handle any shamblers so quickly that you wouldn’t even have a chance to run before they hit the ground,” she said. Her words may have been reassuring, but there was an undeniable, threatening air lingering in the silence after she spoke as she brushed past Roland without a second glance. If the conscript had any brains in him it would be clear that running was not an option, at least not as long as Vashti was alive—and the Gods would see to it that she would remain unharmed, in that she was certain.

The elf waited with mild impatience as the gate was raised open, taking the time to draw her claymore; if what the Sergeant had said was true, than it would be an error to not have it ready in case of a surprise attack by Shamblers. Her Ethergun hung from her shoulder, practically untouched since the moment she had received it except for a test to see if it worked and to learn how to properly load it without having it jam. She didn’t have some sort of apprehension to technology like some elves, or Inquisitors for that matter, did, she just knew that the weapon was almost useless in her hands (as she was as likely to hit a Shambler as she was the bloody Sergeant). No, she would settle any threats like she always did: with her sword and with her faith.

If she had felt any excitement to head forth into the killing fields and win some favor of the Gods, it was immediately sunken once they had set foot in to no man’s land. A weight fell upon her shoulders as she looked out over the ruined city. In her years as an Inquisitor she had spent much of her time in the worst parts of towns, wading her way through absolute cesspools of civilization, yet nothing she experienced was quiet like this. Even in those dark corners of the world there had always been a little bit of hope, a little bit of light, a certain knowledge that the Gods were there and that they were watching. Here, here she felt nothing but a chill than ran over her entire body. She wrapped her fingers around her necklace, almost certain that she and it were the only holy things left in this land.

Doubtful woman, you should feel blessed, for they have given you this grand challenge to prove your faith.

With that thought in mind, a bit of warmth returned to her body. She marched with the group as they proceeded without speaking, although they certainly weren’t going quietly. Every step she could hear their boots crunching on the ground as if they were walking through dead leaves instead of a dead city, every once in awhile she would hear the snap of a rifle. Yet she also heard the noises that men barely realized they made, the huffs of someone carrying too much, the quiet grumbles of a hungry stomach. Sounds, surely, that Shamblers used to mark their next prey. She strengthened her grip on her sword.

"I thought I saw something-" said one of the corporals after hissing to get their attention. "Let's pick up the pace, huh? I don't like the idea of being pounced by shamblers in close quarters."

Vashti’s eyes snapped towards the alley that the man had pointed out. It was dark and crowded, perfect for casting shadows and creating illusions, and words of dismissal quickly came to her lips—dissolving instantly as she realized that the man was right. She didn’t see anything right away, but she could feel it in her quickening heartbeat and her sweating palms: something was there. Her eyes scanned the alley; the entrance was buried in rubble, the walls of the buildings were delipidated and craggy like a cliff. The Sergeant had implied that the Shamblers had some awareness of their surroundings; perhaps they would be smart enough to not strike from the alley. If she was—her ears twitched as she heard a faint footfall, too soft to be any of them. Her head snapped up to the buildings surrounding the alley, her eyes widening as they fell on the broken out windows right above them.

“Above!” she shouted.

Her alarm may have been early enough to warn the others about the Shamblers that were emerging out of the destroyed buildings around them, but she had been caught off guard by the swiftness of the one that had leapt towards her. The undead back home had never moved like that; Vashti was only able to bring up her claymore to put a barrier between her and the Shambler as it plowed into her and knocked her onto her back. She tried to keep the abomination pushed back at arm’s length as it pinned her, its claws scratching marks into her breastplate as they struggled.

There was no time for prayers or to even think. As the creature swiped at her once again Vashti rolled, knocking the devil off of her and, thankfully, receiving only scratches from the ground instead of the beast’s claws. She was barely on her knees when the Shambler was launching itself back at her, the elf hurriedly positioning her claymore out in front of her like a spike. If the Shambler had enough sense to not slay itself, then it did not have enough time to react. It impaled itself on her sword, its outstretched hands falling slack inches away from her face.

With a huff Vashti stood up and kicked the Shambler off of her sword, quiet words mumbling on her lips as she looked around to make sure no other creature was launching itself at her. Between the cracking of guns, shouts of men, the shrieks of Shamblers, and her own pumping blood it was hard to hear if Hoff was shouting any orders, or if the man was even alive. There was still a handful of Shamblers left, but if they were outnumbered by the monsters she could not say. She was about to make her as she felt something snag her pants.

Instantly, she looked down to see the bastard she had just slain still moving, one hand gripping onto her pants as another tried desperately to claw at her. Eyes narrowing, the words fell from the elf’s lips as radiant light appeared from below her. There was a crack like thunder as the Gods answered her prayers, the rotting head of the Shambler replaced by a smoking puddle of filth that burned the elf’s nose like burning brimstone. Her lips began moving again, humble pleas spilling forth as she stepped over the body of the Shambler, her sword leveled and ready to strike, blissfully unaware of the shadow that was then slipping out of the alleyway with her in it’s sights.

Beyond the Storms

@Mercenary LordGonna go see London, Dublin, and Amsterdam. The only place outside of the US I've been is Canada, so I'm pretty stoked for this.

@MonsterOh it's going to be great! It's with a small group of friends; our plans are pretty much to get cultured all day, drink all night, and sleep on planes.

Muskets & Magic - Dark Fantasy RP

Nice. I'll start working on a post soon so we can get this thing rolling.

That said, I will be out of town from March 7th to the 14th; my access to the Internet is going to be iffy at best. I'm not about making people wait, so if you need to use my character to move things along then by all means please do so.

House Wars and Blood Feuds In Old Venara

Hey gang, I'm gonna be out of town from March 7th to the 14th with limited access to the Internet outside of random connections I can get with a kinda bad phone. I'm not the kind of person who digs making others wait, so feel free to use Juniper as necessary.

Carvings of the Galaxy

Hey ya'll, I got a quick heads-up! I'm going to be doing some European vacationing from March 7th to the 14th, so I'm probably going to be pretty limited when it comes to checking on the site and working on posts. I trust ya'll, so if you need to use Owen to move a post along then you are more than welcome to borrow him.

The Origin: A Devil Returned (Arc Two)

Just so ya'll know, I will be on vacation from March 7th to the 14th. The good news is that I'll get to drink beer in a foreign country, which is less sad than drinking beer in your own country. The bad news is that I'll be limited to whatever spotty internet I can get on my shitty phone. Feel free to use my characters if needed in any of your posts, I trust you all enough that I won't come back to find that one of them has been permanently turned in to a bear or something.

_{Although, if that does happen it will be canon and I won't be even mad.}

Beyond the Storms

Just a heads up to everyone: I'm going to be on vacation from March 7th to the 14th and I'll be limited to a phone with spotty internet connection at best. Working on a collab with Merc now, so ideally we should be able to get that done before hand. Anyway, you kids can feel free to use Constance if necessary.

The Origin: A Devil Returned (Arc Two)

Sooooooo thats means we arent aren't getting any new posts for like a month then?

@PetiteAmbivert

The last time we waited for one of those collabs, my avatar looked like this: