El Taco Taco

Canceling the Apocalypse ;; ClosetMonster && El Taco Taco

This was probably the longest conversation Olivia had had with another human being who wasn't a psychiatrist or dead in the past month. She wasn't sure what to make of it. Ribsy seemed perfectly content to do all the talking for them, which was likely the only reason their talk had yet to fizzle. Olivia had never been good with words. She'd had friends, of course, but that had been before the world had decided to go to hell. Most of her friends had died since K-Day. Fighter Pilot was not a job with a long life expectancy these days.

Ribsy mentioned testing the Jaegers and it was like the world had dropped out from under her feet. Olivia focused her attention on unpacking her gym bag. She swallowed, tried not to think about the unmarked grave. Red shirt, Ribsy had said. It was horrifying how accurate that was. Expendable red shirts, scurrying about to meet their end at the hands of their own salvation. Little nameless red shirts. God, she was going to go insane before she could even die in a cockpit. Olivia wasn’t sure which one was worse.

"First test pilot went in about a week ago," she said evenly, rolling her now emptied bag neatly. Fiddling with her locker, she slid the compacted pink bag into its designated slot. Locking it, she turned and leaned against the locker. The cool bite of metal against her back was grounding.
"There were complications,” it was the understatement of the century, but it was honest. “Which are supposedly fixed. I don’t think we’ll be waiting much longer before pilot testing starts up again.”

Ribsy’s confidence was…it was strange. The world was ending, and she was pleased she could beat up boys from childhood. Olivia didn’t quite know what to make of it. Part of her yearned to snap at the taller woman, but most of her was amused. The world wasn’t any less horrible, but there was something to be said for putting the old boys in their place. That, Olivia suspected, would never be any less fun. Her lips twitched into a smirk, her dark brow quirking at the thought. She’d never gone back home after joining the Navy, but she could imagine how good it would feel to walk her hometown in her dress blues in a giant fuck you to her detractors.

“Indeed,” she agreed. Back home implied there still was a home to go back to. Olivia couldn’t help her curiosity. “Where’s home?”

blackbird claw, raven wing [ closed for El Taco Taco && Nemaisare ]

Finally made a super shitty, nowhere near as awesome new family tree for Samaire the butthead. WHOOSH!

Something In Between That [El Taco Taco and mmidnight]

Victoire’s stomach churned violently, threatening to empty its contents over her feet. It was difficult to breathe, to think straight, with her blood running like fire. Even through the haze of temper, Victoire could sense her foolishness. She had burned everything, had done so willingly. And now she let her frustration get the best of her. She let her anger boil until she wanted everything to burn with her because in those precious moments she could feel something. It was selfish. It was wrong. But Merlin, she knew from experience that it felt unbelievably good to let her temper loose. There was an almost addictive rush to a sharp tongue and cold fury. The thought terrified her. Terror bled into frustration bled into rage. Victoire wondered if a person could drown in their own head.

He called her on the move of her hand; she flushed with both anger and shame. Her fingers clutched tighter, desperate for the comfort of her wand. For as long as she could remember, her magic had been a safe haven. And though her wand had a temper all its own, it had always soothed her. Her wand did not respond with calm, but with what could only be described as chaos. Her fingers stung and numbed, sparks and humming and smoke curling along her flesh. She released the wand, skin cringing at the burn.

Eyes stinging, she tried for a steadying breath. Everything was a mess and it was her fault; what good did it do anyone for her to be here? Her wand hand grasped the pendant around her neck, blistered thumb tracing a worried path along the back of the gold feather, desperate to fidget. She had the very strange sensation that she was about to be ripped apart in every direction, shattered and flung apart to every corner of the world. She wanted to scream that she hadn’t changed at all, that she had always been this pathetic, monstrous thing, but her anger was giving way to exhaustion and what did it matter anyways?

“Yes, well, you know better than anyone that I’m a shit person,” Victoire remarked in resignation. Her exhaustion was a welcome relief from the terror of rage. She couldn’t meet his gaze. It was one thing to live with herself and her disgust; it was another thing entirely to see it in those she loved. “So, congratulations, you dodged a hex there. Good night.”

Merlin, she sounded almost light there. She didn’t know how she managed it. Victoire slipped past, determined to at least make it home before she was sick.

Vanish Into Light

Woop! Finally got that posted. Been a bit swamped.

Oh! Hubs and I are playing Borderlands the Pre-Sequel! It's super amazing *_* We're not super far into it, because boo for work and school, but we're totally enamored. It's stupendous!

Vanish Into Light

Chamera was startled out of her reverie by a voice. The Drow—he was running but not with any intent to kill her. Clearly he had made sense of her entirely buggered attempt at rescue, and was (rather wisely) complying. Unfortunately, he was not heading towards the forrest, but rather, deeper into town.

“Wait,” she tried to shout, but the magic had burned her voice to a squeak that disappeared in the roaring of the blizzard. Chamera swore, looked up, and promptly wished she hadn’t. Gods above. Whatever had been done to the Weave, it looked like it was reacting with Pan’s spell. The storm clouds were churning more violently than rivers, sparking fire and ice. The skies looked more akin to the seas of the hells than the heavens. They had to get out of here before things got any worse. With things as bad as they were, she had no desire to stick around and find out what “worse” entailed.
Chamera’s luck ran sour when she jumped off the final crate to the village square, a large ice ball landing close enough to send her sprawling. The cold was worse than the impact. It got inside of her, deep into her core, draining her will. Gods, she hadn’t realized how tired she was. Little crystals were forming on the scales of her armor, stiffening her leathers. It took every ounce of her will to push herself to her feet and run through the chaos to the downed wizard. It would feel so good to just curl up and rest…

Oh Pan, she thought miserably, dropping to her knees. His skin was translucent, almost as if he had been carved from ice himself. His hands kept sparking, a dance of arcane flint. She turned him gently, wincing at the cold lancing through her fingers. Please don’t be dead. Please please please.

Somehow, he didn’t shatter. His body still flexed like flesh, and Gods, she thought she could see life in his eyes. If they survived this, she was giving all her gold to the nearest temple. He shifted beneath her hands, shoulders stirring with the hints of breath. Chamera couldn’t help the crackling laughter that bubbled out of her throat. His eyes were focusing, hands flexing, and though he looked as if he’d been balls deep in a frost giant, he was gloriously alive. He groaned intelligently.

“This is the strangest thing that’s ever happened to me,” he muttered foggily. Chamera’s face hurt from the fierceness of her grin. Gods, he was half dead, and he was still wasting precious energy to snark. She looked up to the storm. Somehow she suspected this magic wasn’t going anywhere. Easing her hands under frosted shoulders, she struggled to help Pan to his feet. He couldn’t stay properly vertical under his own power. A bubble of panic began to rise in her chest. She couldn’t carry him out of here, but neither could she abandon him.

“This is nothing. Did I ever tell you of the tea party I had with a group of hags in Rashemen?” she opted to distract herself with a quip, stringing his arm across her shoulders. She staggered under his weight, desperate prayers running through her brain. Gods, if they were struck by his spell they were both dead. She urged him forward, half dragging his feet, head lolling. He snorted against her shoulder. It wasn’t quick as she would have liked, but he was at least compliant with her directions. It was proof enough for Chamera that he was seriously unwell; Pan was one of the most disagreeable people she had ever met. Without promise of payment, there was little the man could be encouraged to do.

“What kind of tea was it?”
“Black. Calishite, I think. They seasoned it with snake bile. Couldn’t taste anything other than the bile. Probably for the best. I’m pretty sure the pies were made with human meat.”
Speaking was agonizing. The usual lilting melody of her voice had been reduced to a scratchy croak. She’d never burned her voice out with magic before; it was not an experience she ever wanted to relive. But Pan was huffing in laughter as they stumbled their way through the spellfire and that bitter little chuckle gave her hope. He was laughing. He wouldn’t die. He couldn’t. She wouldn’t allow it.

Chamera wasn’t quite sure how they made it to the jailhouse without severe maiming. Pan’s weight across her shoulders was a monstrous thing, and he was all but useless in coordinating his too-long limbs. She had practically dragged him, and the effort was quickly wearing her down. That and the cold. If they escaped, she was going to wrap herself in a hundred blankets and plant herself in front of the warmest hearth she could find. Jaw set into a line, she hefted Pan’s weight more evenly across her shoulders. Her offhand was numb, and she had to visually confirm that she was still armed. Not that she would be able to fight, with the half-dead sorcerer slumped against her, but it made her feel better.

Thunder shattered above them. Chamera jumped, eyeing the swirling vortex in the heavens streaming in through the holes in the roof, sparking with lightning, the glittering snow giving way to a churning inferno.

“That’s bad,” Pan slurred against her shoulder, his pale eyes directed skyward. Chamera agreed. Between the Drow and the storm, however… she suspected the fire and ice in the black heavens were rather less dangerous.

Possessing a character flaw that drew her towards danger, she shifted Pan’s weight across her shoulders and approached the searching dark elf. She would have done unholy things to have even one large friend in armor with her right now. Chamera swallowed, winced. Her water skein was in her bag of holding. She had no desire to touch the Weave again.

“We need to go,” she tried to shout, voice cracking. Ugh. She sounded like a boy on the cusp of manhood, not at all like a seasoned adventurer. Pan was snickering, the bastard. Chamera wasn’t above elbowing his ribs. “The woods south-east are our best chance at surviving.”

Vanish Into Light

No worries! I loved the post. :D I'm super patient, so no worries!
I got hit by a wave of inspiration so I'm almost done with a post, but it might not get up until Sunday. Pre-Sequel is consuming me and hubs and I have a hair appointment tomorrow and studying to do.

Mind if I assume that Jeron survived his journey to the jail cell without getting impaled by an icicle and beat my idiots there? O:

STAR WARS: The Legendary Bantha Fodders! [High Casual]

Sorry for the delay! My meds are being adjusted right now and I'm ten kinds of all over the place. It might be a bit until I can get a reply up. Sorry guys! ]:

Vanish Into Light

Ahhh! Yay!
I love Pan already. He's a greedy bastard, but honest! :D

Vanish Into Light

Ooh, love it. Perfect song choice!

So, I finally pooped out a 4 page monstrosity, because I got crazy carried away. @_@ Ahhhhh, I'm just the worst!

Vanish Into Light

This was the second most foolish thing Chamera had ever done. She was not built for fighting her way out of mobs of guards without someone else to take the brunt of the assault. Freeing a sacrifice in the middle of a city controlled by Zhentarim without even one large friend in armor was simple madness. She would have cursed her stupidity, had she the time to think of anything but her immediate survival.

The crowd was panicked, scrambling to clear away from the swing of blades and the flight of arrows. Chamera navigated the mass of bodies with sharp elbows and quick footwork, her body moving on pure instinct. Someone was shoved into her back, nearly knocking her over, another had grabbed the tail of her cloak and pulled her towards them. She lashed out, blade singing through the emerald cloth and freeing her. She pushed onwards, all too aware of how far she was from freedom. The woods, she thought desperately, I just have to reach the woods.

Shouts echoed behind her, taunts and curses, and gods she was barely outpacing those heavy footsteps. They were closing on her. Ahead, more guards—the crowd was clearing, she was being exposed—she turned sharply on heel, rushing the Zhent closest with a war cry and the weight of her form behind her blade. Caught off guard, he stumbled beneath her, and her blade found the softness of his neck between his armor. They landed in a mess of limbs and steel. Directing the fall into a painful tumble, she slipped away, jerking her blade free from his vocal cords and barely darting away from a volley of arrows.

A whistle, sharp and pure—Chamera barely processed it, as a blade nearly as tall as her had nearly split her clean in two. She swore, twisting her body to avoid another blow; a fair number of the guards had turned to the source. She barely caught sight of inky skin and white hair before she had to roll to avoid being skewered. An arrow snapped through the trailing remnants of her cloak, followed by another that nearly found its home in her arm. That gods damned archer was pushing her towards waiting blades, there were too many—

“Chamera! DOWN!”

She threw herself to the dirt road, curled around her vitals. She shut her eyes as tight as she could. The heat exploding around her felt as potent as dragonfire, choking the air in her lungs. The roar of fire was deafening, drowning out the world in blistering chaos. The stench of cooked meat and ash filled her nose. Chamera gagged, scrambling to her feet in the sudden quiet, stumbling. A steadying hand grabbed her elbow, and she was glad to see Pan, even with the rage in his eyes. Her arm smarted beneath his hand, still red hot from his spell. He released her with a scowl, shaking his hands free of lingering flames and sparks.

The flames had made horrific work of her assailants, blackening skin like spent torches. Half a dozen had been felled—including that pesky archer. Whatever horror had been done to the Weave, it certainly gave results. Through the burned hair and flesh, she could taste the metallic tang of magic, still shimmering in the air. Pan looked as though he might be sick, but he kept it together long enough to turn on her with a snarl,

“What in the hells are you doing?! Have you gone utterly mad?”
Chamera scanned—more Zhentarim coming from the west, and Gods there were robed men in those numbers. They had to move. She grabbed Pan’s thick arm, wincing at the sparks of magic that burned through the thin leather of her glove, urging him to follow her. He did not budge; he easily had three stone on her, and his eyes burned with questions.
“Probably,” she conceded, voice high in panic, “We have to go, Pan—the others, are they—? “
“We were separated,” he finally gave into her frantic tug, keeping pace with her. There was no time to bicker when there were torture-worshipping zealots out for their blood. “What are you doing?”

She didn’t answer, hazel eyes frantically scouring her surroundings. Zhentarim closing in, some hanging further back, hands waving in deliberate patterns. She pushed onwards, running blindly. Pan swore, dragging her low beneath a glowing green arrow. Her eyes stung bitterly at the lingering cloud of acid. Her lungs felt as though they might ignite. Gods, what had she done? How many people would die because of her poor impulse control? She forced herself to ignore the thought, digging in her pouch, hand slipping into the pocket dimension. Arcs of electricity ran up her arm, searing through her scale shirt, searing her flesh. There! She retrieved the flask, swearing in every language she knew as she snapped her arm and threw the glass at an approaching pair of guards on her right. It shattered against one’s leg, fire leaping out to engulf the man. It spread to his companion with a brush of an arm. It exploded outwards, snaking out in its hunt for fuel.

There were too many Zhentarim to run directly for the woods. They were going to have to fight. Pan was whispering quickly, hands dancing, and he’d barely raised an orb of violently shimmering lights before turning and retching into the dirt, sweat beading on his fair skin. Chamera watched, mesmerized, as arrows disintegrated against its surface. It billowed outwards, giving them a good six feet of earth in all directions. A shower of magical missiles exploded in beautiful magenta lights directly above her head. Everything tasted of ozone and metal. The Zhentarim wisely kept their distance, waiting. Shaking herself back to reality, she scoured for something, anything that could help them.
“The Drow—“ she said suddenly—where—he’d whistled and likely saved her life—the rooftops, dead ahead.
“Damn the Drow, we need to get out of here,” Pan spat. His hands were still pale silver, and she could see blisters raising all along his arms. Shit! That could not be good!
“I can’t leave him to die,” she discarded the remains of her cloak. All of her lucky coins had gone with the pockets, but the gods had been kind and her pin had not been lost. She retrieved it from the scraps of cloth and placed it to her lips in grateful prayer. “He drew the Zhents off me, Pan. You know what will happen if they catch him again. I can’t abide that.”
“Oh hells, you’re a damned Harper? Damn it woman, do you have any sense in that head of yours?” Pan clearly disapproved of the little silver moon and harp she was busy pinning into the neck of her tunic, his rage renewed. The bald sorcerer had made no secret of his distaste for Daft Heroic Types in the weeks they had traveled together—and for some reason, his fury made her grin. The orb stood strong under another volley of spells, humming all around them. She spoke in a rush,
“Afraid not. Look, none of us are getting out of this alive without help. And you can’t get paid a pretty fortune if I’m dead. Pan— my friends have deep pockets. You help me get that Drow out of here alive, and I’ll get you a proper reward.”

Pan considered her offer. For one, horrible moment she thought he might refuse. But his cracked lips split into a wide smirk, and she was breathless with relief.
“Good to hear you have some sense, daft as you are,” he informed her, taking a shuddering breath. “You have a plan? I can’t hold this shield much longer.”
“Ah! Okay—the woods south east are our best chance, I’ve scouted them, they’re reasonably clear—I can get you time enough to cast. What can you do for me in the way of crowd control? The bigger the better.”

He grinned wickedly. Chamera decided that Pan was now her third favorite human. She readied her blade, shifting from foot to foot, every muscle in her body ready to spring into action. Drawing breath into her lungs, she nodded to Pan. The glittering shield parted and she ran with every ounce of power she could manage, releasing a sharp series of distracting whistles, willing dazzling lights to erupt in the square. All she had to do was carve through a small crowd of well-armed psychopaths, rescue a member of the most famously brutal race in Faerun, and escape to woods filled with all manner of monsters, without getting killed or severely maimed. At least there weren’t dragons trying to actively eat her. That was a blessing.

An arrow shattered against the armor on her abdomen, knocking her back and nearly off her feet. She swore, raising her blade to catch another in a parry, arm ringing at the force of impact. Redirecting the blow, she took the opportunity to sprint out of range. Spells were trailing after her, and a glance backwards assured her that Pan hadn’t been killed yet. His shield had constricted nearly to his frame as he cast. She had to turn away, darting aside as she was nearly smacked dead in the face with a heavy wooden shield. The flank allowed her to duck and reach out to raise a line of red in the soft junction behind his knee, between plates of armor.

Chamera sank into the rhythm of battle, all dirty tricks and ruthless desperation. There was no time to be tired. Just a little further, one more foe to fell—

The world exploded in a shower of ice. Chamera was nearly crushed, an icicle from the heavens forcing her into the path of a coming blade. She raised her arm, bracer deflecting the blow from her neck and certain death, but the blade biting through the leather and scales to the flesh of her arm. She fired a scream off blindly, the magic in her throat cracking her voice. Shit. She wasn’t going to be casting anything for a while. The offending Zhent stumbled backwards and was crushed by a boulder of ice nearly twice her size. Chamera squeaked. Scratch that—Pan was the single greatest human in all the realms.

Avoiding the falling ice was a nightmare, but as men and women dropped to the storm and blades and arrows and spells became fewer in number. She sprinted towards where she’d last seen the Drow, giddy with magic and the sheer madness of the battle. She clambered up crates and barrels as quick as she could manage with the gash in her forearm. Finally scrambling atop a roof, she could only gape at the extent of Pan’s magic. The whole damned village was being pelted by ice and snow. Pan was slumped in the road below in a mess of yellow robes and parchment white limbs.

“Shit,” she croaked, her amazement slowly turning to horror. Pan’s magic was destroying the village. In under half an hour, she’d completely blown her cover and ruined a week’s worth of subterfuge and secrets… and then managed to doom the very village she was trying to save. “Silverhand is going to kill me.”