Emeth

Blackguards!

Gangraena lookin' decked out like 4-y/o me on the way to get vaccinated.

I love her concept. Lost soul wanders the ocean floor until the sands of time erode her sense of being, is awarded diet enlightenment in the form of saintly levels of patience. I've seen the "eternal imprisonment bores a hole through the soul" bit before, usually used as an excuse to make an ultra-violent psychotic character, but this is a really fun spin on it. An unstoppable armored behemoth that just vibes.

Blackguards!

Weaves-in-Shade, Moonwalker and Lunatic Witch of the Maw

"Weaves"

---

♬ Butterfly Tea ~ Indonesian Forest ♬

---

Name

Weaves-in-Shade

Race

Moonwalker

Gender

Female

Age

1,164 Moons (Approximately 96 Years)

Appearance

• Hair: Long, black, and silky.
• Eyes: Reddish brown, unfocused, and impassionate.
• Skin: Sun-kissed—unusual for the notoriously pallid race.
• Height: 237 cm / 7'9"
• Weight: 97.5 kg / 215 lbs
• Build: Tall, spindly, and uncanny.
• Clothes: Exceedingly exquisite, but that's typical of Moonwalkers.
• Other: Some say she has an aura of grace, but really, she just walks slowly to let shorter creatures keep pace with her.

Personality

Moonwalkers are thoroughly inexpressive creatures, as emotionally distant as they are physically distant in height from other beings. So the legends say, anyway. "Weaves" remains mostly silent unless spoken to, but is nonetheless quite open with her views, if one only gathers the courage to ask—or knows where to look. Moonwalkers express feelings through poetry and art rather than facial muscles or emotional outbursts as humans do. On one hand, this gives Weaves an air of grace and elegance that is perhaps undeserved, and on the other, it creates a sort of emotional language barrier between her and her allies. If you were to ask her, Moonwalkers are much more similar to humans than they appear, the strangest thing about humans being that they keep their written language, suitable only for recording mundane details. Why fight so hard to preserve that which nature deems unimportant? For if it was important, it would be remembered—or so her shallow logic goes. She's a mellow and easygoing sort, for the most part—content to focus on the big picture, and let details and sleeping dogs lie where they may.

Generally speaking, most races have an innate fear of Moonwalkers—though they don't commonly know them by that name. Weaves does eschew some of their notorious traits, though. When appropriate, she will at least try to smile, though it remains unnatural and physically challenging for her to do. She also tries to avoid having such a looming presence, though there's only so much she can do about it without coming across as condescending. Weaves could be described as either a stern yet gentle giant, or a non-aggressive terror of the night, depending on who you ask. On the battlefield, however, she's best described as "serenely destructive." While other denizens of the Maw show violence in an impressively explosive or subtly festering way, Weaves' unique brand of cruelty is pure and structured—sadistic artistry, polished to a mirror sheen. It's entirely natural within that context to see her as an emotionless psychopath, but if you were to ask her, she'd describe her wrath as a purely corrective force of nature, and a righteous indignation with punishments to match the crimes committed by her enemies.

Like others of her kind, she has an innate affinity for nature, art, and culture. The Moonwalkers preserve their secrets through their oral traditions, and in stories brought to life through embroidery and cave drawings, with symbolic imagery readily understood by Moonwalkers but rendered opaque and esoteric to humans. Moonwalkers detest loud noises and bright lights, and have quietly fled further and further from human civilization as a result, relegating their very existence to the domain of folklore, doubtless responsible for many a grim tale of unnaturally tall and spindly beings who kidnap children in the woods. Her voice, like a mournful song, makes a fine addition to any choir, and her skilled hands will leave any damaged garment better than its original state. Weaves can endure the sun's light, but still doesn't particularly care for it. She has no strong feelings one way or the other towards any other creatures, regarding them all in much the same way as humans see livestock. Her palate is strange, preferring earthy, gamey, smoky and spicy flavors, and detesting all things salty and sweet. Her culinary creations would offend the "refined" palates of the nobility, but the denizens of the Maw tend to enjoy them immensely.

Background

Moonwalkers are a discreet race of nocturnal, humanoid cryptid beings—or, they are supposed to be. Weaves was none such character, living in the light and making no concerted effort either to avoid or to mingle with humans, who posed no real threat to her and her terrifying magic power. When she was discovered, it wasn't due to any particular action or negligence on her part. The humans had simply encroached upon her neck of the woods, and she had refused to move on. When the humans would clear an area of trees, they would return the next day to find new trees in their place. At first, they questioned their sanity. When they eventually laid eyes on the monster responsible, they would instead question everything they thought they knew of the world. Reports from the gold prospectors trying to settle in that remote and mountainous region would reach human civilization, and reactions would be mixed. Some sought to slay the beast which drained lumberjacks dry of blood with an oversized needle, injecting it into the ground and creating new life with it. Others aimed to seek it out and worship it in secret.

With some difficulty, the latter humans were able to communicate with the creature, who spoke a unique language with some similarities to an elder tongue, obscure and seen only in old magical texts. They learned that it did not kill the humans out of malice, or so it claimed. Its only real goal was to reclaim its territory, and it used the incarnum energy of those who destroyed it to repair the damage. It seemed the creature really just wanted to be left alone. It had no use for the gold its lands supposedly held, but wasn't interested in trading it for anything the humans could offer it, either. Regardless, the humans formed cults in the woods, and fostered an uneasy relationship with the being, who tolerated their presence so long as they were quiet and didn't destroy the forest. However, these humans pursued strange magicks, sacrificing all manner of creatures including their own kind. Eventually, one thing became clear. These humans were... incompetent lunatics.

Their magicks did not do anything, save to waste the blood of living beings for a bit of short-lived revelry. They didn't create anything in place of that which they destroyed. Only Weaves could do that, they said, asking the impossible of her. No matter how many sacrifices were offered upon an altar, a human corpse could not be returned to a pristine, autonomous, soulful state. They refused to understand, and so she tired of their presence on her land, slaughtering them all, creating unnaturally large trees in place of their camps. This only served to encourage more humans to come and admire the trees, some adorning them with strange markings and worshiping inferior beings beneath them. It was all so very tiresome. No matter how many she killed, more seemed to come, drawn by the legends of the "goddess" of the mountain. It was, unbeknownst to her, quickly spiraling into a political issue of grand proportions. Human civilization was unifying and rallying against the false gods, and the so-called goddess of the mountain was an obstacle to the king currently consolidating power and fortifying his wealth.

One day, no humans came. Instead, there was only the Warden—one whose empty eyes could match those of Weaves, and if it were possible, could even draw color out of them yet. Those dark voids seemed to her to promise a fulfillment of all her desires, some of which she didn't even know she had. For one, she'd have a well-defended home, filled to the brim with others just like her. She would have time to do other things besides killing and rebuilding, should she wish. If, however, she was ever feeling the urge to "paint," the Warden would always be ready to prepare a "canvas" for her, and a list of their crimes to serve as her "muse." She'd just need to do a little something for her, and unlike the humans, the Warden wasn't stupid. She would ask Weaves to do things she could actually do, and strangely enough... she'd do them.

Talents

• Fell Seamstress, Cryptid Huntress, Culinary Fiend: Understated, mundane survival skills, refined to a razor's edge.
• Hauntingly Beautiful, Devilish Charm, Quiet Strength: Oft mistaken for exotic nobility, she exudes unearned authority.
• Esoteric, Forbidden, Occult Magic: No greater deterrent than fear of the unknown—and no greater advantage.

Flaws

• Indiscreet, Conspicuous, a Looming Terror: She can run, but she can't hide—neither her massive form, nor her predatory nature.
• Blank Stare, Uneducated, Illiterate: Not quite raised by wolves, but Moonwalkers lack a distinctly "human" form of intelligence.
• Concerned Citizen, Oddball, the "Weak" Link: Possibly the kindest soul you'll find in the Maw—not that it sets the bar very high.

Equipment

Marrow: A spindle-like, long and sharp stick of uncannily hard ironwood, light in weight but fierce in its application—and yes, she does speak softly while carrying it. A sleek and elegant weapon of fully terrestrial origin, unrivaled in its ordinary-ness. In other words, it's an exceedingly pure weapon, perfect for channeling its wielder's magic. It's both quite durable and resistant to catching fire.

The Moon, Mirror of the Sun, the Lesser Light

• Transmutation ~ Mirror of Life: Absorbs incarnum through the slaughter of living beings and uses it to create lesser forms of life.
• Transmutation ~ Mirror of Creation: Absorbs the potential energy of matter and converts it into lesser forms until it degenerates.
• Enchantment ~ Mirror of Hearts: Alters a living being's emotional state, inducing lesser autonomic arousal and perceptual awareness.
• Dunamancy ~ Mirror of Worlds: Creates a localized distortion of spacetime which accelerates the decay, rot, and rust of objects.
• Dunamancy ~ Mirror of Reality: Uses a reflective surface—such as a body of water—as a portal, to travel by means of alternate reality.
• Note: Lunatic magic must be channeled through a weapon of exceptional purity, to avoid harming herself or destroying her weapon.

Miscellaneous

• Her full name is slightly derogatory, not that anyone would know. Doing something "in shade" implies "during the day." Scandalous!
• No credible scholar actually believes that Moonwalkers are from the moon, despite ancient and discredited texts alluding to the contrary.
• Her spells were designed with "high strangeness" in mind. Crop circles, cattle mutilations, unexplainable disappearances, lost time, etc.

Interest Check for Blackguards!

@KassarockI'm down to make some edits to Weaves' backstory. I like the image of the Warden confidently entering the woods alone to confront her, but a desperate struggle between a high-profile champion of the king with a team of no-nonsense knights and an otherworldly creature with home field advantage and dubiously allied forest cults sounds like a great story, of the "they both narrowly escaped death" variety.

I'm also thinking it would be funny if Weaves had a language barrier with some of the cast, occasionally trying to wax poetic in a language she doesn't speak very well. The Warden, Qal and maybe Sariel being able to understand her native tongue, for convenience's sake.

Interest Check for Blackguards!

Do you know how hard it is to find a seamstress or tailor willing to work after dark?

@Expendable

Someone ordered a dangerous woman, and per usual, I'm here to oblige—coincidentally with an evil seamstress.

Weaves-in-Shade, Moonwalker and Lunatic Witch of the Maw

"Weaves"

---

♬ Butterfly Tea ~ Indonesian Forest ♬

---

Name

Weaves-in-Shade

Race

Moonwalker

Gender

Female

Age

1,164 Moons (Approximately 96 Years)

Appearance

• Hair: Long, black, and silky.
• Eyes: Reddish brown, unfocused, and impassionate.
• Skin: Sun-kissed—unusual for the notoriously pallid race.
• Height: 237 cm / 7'9"
• Weight: 97.5 kg / 215 lbs
• Build: Tall, spindly, and uncanny.
• Clothes: Exceedingly exquisite, but that's typical of Moonwalkers.
• Other: Some say she has an aura of grace, but really, she just walks slowly to let shorter creatures keep pace with her.

Personality

Moonwalkers are thoroughly inexpressive creatures, as emotionally distant as they are physically distant in height from other beings. So the legends say, anyway. "Weaves" remains mostly silent unless spoken to, but is nonetheless quite open with her views, if one only gathers the courage to ask—or knows where to look. Moonwalkers express feelings through poetry and art rather than facial muscles or emotional outbursts as humans do. On one hand, this gives Weaves an air of grace and elegance that is perhaps undeserved, and on the other, it creates a sort of emotional language barrier between her and her allies. If you were to ask her, Moonwalkers are much more similar to humans than they appear, the strangest thing about humans being that they keep their written language, suitable only for recording mundane details. Why fight so hard to preserve that which nature deems unimportant? For if it was important, it would be remembered—or so her shallow logic goes. She's a mellow and easygoing sort, for the most part—content to focus on the big picture, and let details and sleeping dogs lie where they may.

Generally speaking, most races have an innate fear of Moonwalkers—though they don't commonly know them by that name. Weaves does eschew some of their notorious traits, though. When appropriate, she will at least try to smile, though it remains unnatural and physically challenging for her to do. She also tries to avoid having such a looming presence, though there's only so much she can do about it without coming across as condescending. Weaves could be described as either a stern yet gentle giant, or a non-aggressive terror of the night, depending on who you ask. On the battlefield, however, she's best described as "serenely destructive." While other denizens of the Maw show violence in an impressively explosive or subtly festering way, Weaves' unique brand of cruelty is pure and structured—sadistic artistry, polished to a mirror sheen. It's entirely natural within that context to see her as an emotionless psychopath, but if you were to ask her, she'd describe her wrath as a purely corrective force of nature, and a righteous indignation with punishments to match the crimes committed by her enemies.

Like others of her kind, she has an innate affinity for nature, art, and culture. The Moonwalkers preserve their secrets through their oral traditions, and in stories brought to life through embroidery and cave drawings, with symbolic imagery readily understood by Moonwalkers but rendered opaque and esoteric to humans. Moonwalkers detest loud noises and bright lights, and have quietly fled further and further from human civilization as a result, relegating their very existence to the domain of folklore, doubtless responsible for many a grim tale of unnaturally tall and spindly beings who kidnap children in the woods. Her voice, like a mournful song, makes a fine addition to any choir, and her skilled hands will leave any damaged garment better than its original state. Weaves can endure the sun's light, but still doesn't particularly care for it. She has no strong feelings one way or the other towards any other creatures, regarding them all in much the same way as humans see livestock. Her palate is strange, preferring earthy, gamey, smoky and spicy flavors, and detesting all things salty and sweet. Her culinary creations would offend the "refined" palates of the nobility, but the denizens of the Maw tend to enjoy them immensely.

Background

Moonwalkers are a discreet race of nocturnal, humanoid cryptid beings—or, they are supposed to be. Weaves was none such character, living in the light and making no concerted effort either to avoid or to mingle with humans, who posed no real threat to her and her terrifying magic power. When she was discovered, it wasn't due to any particular action or negligence on her part. The humans had simply encroached upon her neck of the woods, and she had refused to move on. When the humans would clear an area of trees, they would return the next day to find new trees in their place. At first, they questioned their sanity. When they eventually laid eyes on the monster responsible, they would instead question everything they thought they knew of the world. Reports from the gold prospectors trying to settle in that remote and mountainous region would reach human civilization, and reactions would be mixed. Some sought to slay the beast which drained lumberjacks dry of blood with an oversized needle, injecting it into the ground and creating new life with it. Others aimed to seek it out and worship it in secret.

With some difficulty, the latter humans were able to communicate with the creature, who spoke a unique language with some similarities to an elder tongue, obscure and seen only in old magical texts. They learned that it did not kill the humans out of malice, or so it claimed. Its only real goal was to reclaim its territory, and it used the incarnum energy of those who destroyed it to repair the damage. It seemed the creature really just wanted to be left alone. It had no use for the gold its lands supposedly held, but wasn't interested in trading it for anything the humans could offer it, either. Regardless, the humans formed cults in the woods, and fostered an uneasy relationship with the being, who tolerated their presence so long as they were quiet and didn't destroy the forest. However, these humans pursued strange magicks, sacrificing all manner of creatures including their own kind. Eventually, one thing became clear. These humans were... incompetent lunatics.

Their magicks did not do anything, save to waste the blood of living beings for a bit of short-lived revelry. They didn't create anything in place of that which they destroyed. Only Weaves could do that, they said, asking the impossible of her. No matter how many sacrifices were offered upon an altar, a human corpse could not be returned to a pristine, autonomous, soulful state. They refused to understand, and so she tired of their presence on her land, slaughtering them all, creating unnaturally large trees in place of their camps. This only served to encourage more humans to come and admire the trees, some adorning them with strange markings and worshiping inferior beings beneath them. It was all so very tiresome. No matter how many she killed, more seemed to come, drawn by the legends of the "goddess" of the mountain. It was, unbeknownst to her, quickly spiraling into a political issue of grand proportions. Human civilization was unifying and rallying against the false gods, and the so-called goddess of the mountain was an obstacle to the king currently consolidating power and fortifying his wealth.

One day, no humans came. Instead, there was only the Warden—one whose empty eyes could match those of Weaves, and if it were possible, could even draw color out of them yet. Those dark voids seemed to her to promise a fulfillment of all her desires, some of which she didn't even know she had. For one, she'd have a well-defended home, filled to the brim with others just like her. She would have time to do other things besides killing and rebuilding, should she wish. If, however, she was ever feeling the urge to "paint," the Warden would always be ready to prepare a "canvas" for her, and a list of their crimes to serve as her "muse." She'd just need to do a little something for her, and unlike the humans, the Warden wasn't stupid. She would ask Weaves to do things she could actually do, and strangely enough... she'd do them.

Talents

• Fell Seamstress, Cryptid Huntress, Culinary Fiend: Understated, mundane survival skills, refined to a razor's edge.
• Hauntingly Beautiful, Devilish Charm, Quiet Strength: Oft mistaken for exotic nobility, she exudes unearned authority.
• Esoteric, Forbidden, Occult Magic: No greater deterrent than fear of the unknown—and no greater advantage.

Flaws

• Indiscreet, Conspicuous, a Looming Terror: She can run, but she can't hide—neither her massive form, nor her predatory nature.
• Blank Stare, Uneducated, Illiterate: Not quite raised by wolves, but Moonwalkers lack a distinctly "human" form of intelligence.
• Concerned Citizen, Oddball, the "Weak" Link: Possibly the kindest soul you'll find in the Maw—not that it sets the bar very high.

Equipment

Marrow: A spindle-like, long and sharp stick of uncannily hard ironwood, light in weight but fierce in its application—and yes, she does speak softly while carrying it. A sleek and elegant weapon of fully terrestrial origin, unrivaled in its ordinary-ness. In other words, it's an exceedingly pure weapon, perfect for channeling its wielder's magic. It's both quite durable and resistant to catching fire.

The Moon, Mirror of the Sun, the Lesser Light

• Transmutation ~ Mirror of Life: Absorbs incarnum through the slaughter of living beings and uses it to create lesser forms of life.
• Transmutation ~ Mirror of Creation: Absorbs the potential energy of matter and converts it into lesser forms until it degenerates.
• Enchantment ~ Mirror of Hearts: Alters a living being's emotional state, inducing lesser autonomic arousal and perceptual awareness.
• Dunamancy ~ Mirror of Worlds: Creates a localized distortion of spacetime which accelerates the decay, rot, and rust of objects.
• Dunamancy ~ Mirror of Reality: Uses a reflective surface—such as a body of water—as a portal, to travel by means of alternate reality.
• Note: Lunatic magic must be channeled through a weapon of exceptional purity, to avoid harming herself or destroying her weapon.

Miscellaneous

• Her full name is slightly derogatory, not that anyone would know. Doing something "in shade" implies "during the day." Scandalous!
• No credible scholar actually believes that Moonwalkers are from the moon, despite ancient and discredited texts alluding to the contrary.
• Her spells were designed with "high strangeness" in mind. Crop circles, cattle mutilations, unexplainable disappearances, lost time, etc.

Interest Check for Blackguards!

This right here. I'll be watching this with great interest.

Kurai Majokko

>can’t be moist and based

Meanwhile, MoistCr1TiKaL…

@ERode

Ah, the almighty fence-sitter. One day, he must choose. Based enjoyer, or moist and frogpilled.

Kurai Majokko

For what it's worth, I thought Sayuri's speech was cool. And cute. Coolyute. Cute-cool. Kawa-iine desu.

Evil Eye just doesn't like frogs. Too round, not enough edge. Therefore, not cool. Also, you cannot be moist, and based. Select one.

Kurai Majokko

---

Evil Eye sighed as she watched the other members of the Detention Club bicker amongst themselves. Oh well, perhaps it was harder to keep one's eyes on the prize when they only had two eyes to keep on it. She snickered at the thought. Pink-hair had bolted, frog girl had just finished what was probably a pretty lame speech, and was now leaping down into her general area. "Nope, not dealing with this shit again," Evil Eye said as she kicked her motorcycle back into gear. She wasn't going to stick around for another dramatic re-enactment of the second Plague of Egypt. "Sayonara, girls~" she called back with faux cheer and a middle finger for Sayuri as she ran down another crowd of bottom-feeders, tearing through alleys that she hoped were too narrow for amphibious biological weapons to follow.

Indeed, the front line was no place for her, and Shatterscape's original target had just scurried away. The onus was on Evil Eye to give chase. "Pink-hair's surprisingly smart for a blind girl, don't you think~?" she inquired of her partner's still, unconscious body. Her maddening eyes glowed bright red as she watched Homura's flight through the all-seeing eyes of her Mogalls, driving her motorcycle with a third-person, bird's-eye view. Additionally, Nonsuch had just killed another, and, in her personal fashion, flashed a killer grin at Evil Eye that inspired one of her own. "I hope you wake up soon! The fun's just about to get started!"

Ah, Nonsuch—the only one who walked in the light, yet was not blinded by it. She was a fascinating one. Evil Eye could hardly wait to make that girl fall to her side. Yet, she had to respect her, for several reasons—the first being that, unlike her dumb friends, she didn't spout nonsense. Second, she could squish her like a bug, and that might just make a couple of members of the Detention Club a little bit sad. Third, and perhaps most importantly, she was the one force for good in this town that could actually catch up to her motorcycle. It was with this thought in mind that she had to abandon the idea of following Homura's path directly. The Mogalls would have to do the bulk of the work of tracking her, or in the event that she killed them all, at least slowing her down. Evil Eye needed to get on a highway, and she needed to do it five minutes ago, but right this instant would just have to do.

She drove up an exit into oncoming traffic, which for any normal person would be a terrifying prospect, but given that both she and her bike were invisible to all but the miseria and other magical girls, it was a much safer proposition, as much of the danger of doing such a thing would come from the unpredictable reactions of other drivers. This way, at least, everyone's movements were predictable, which would serve her needs in crossing several lanes of traffic and a median to get to the proper side so she could properly floor it. Taking an opportunity to check back on the others, she watched Homura's flight. "Of course—how polite and chivalrous of you, wanting to take this away from the so-called innocents, ahuhu~!" she chuckled. Then, suddenly, she threw her head back and looked right at the one who had given chase to her, her eyes mad and aglow with such. "Hello, friend~! Did you miss me~?" she called out.

The Secret Lives Of Schoolteachers - A Magical Girl Mix-up RP

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Kohaku glanced at Shinobu. Shinobu glanced at Kohaku. Shinobu shrugged. Most of the fairy girl's outburst went over her head, and she kind of stopped paying attention after the pocket dimension bit. "I'm not sure what kinda girl deals in pocket dimensions, but thoughts and feelings, I can maybe do something about," Shinobu offered, putting away her phone uselessly. The creature moved way too fast to properly focus on it. She continued to listen to the girl's plight, figuring that if she was on a drug trip, the best thing she could do, in the interest of everyone's safety (and the safety of her career) was to stay put and wait it out until one of her coworkers, who were hopefully sober and only playing along with this scenario in her mind, would pick her slobbering face off the floor, call 119, and keep her breathing until the paramedics arrived. Hopefully, she couldn't go anywhere, but if she could, it'd be better if she didn't.

She kept listening, and eventually Lux mentioned the possibility of turning her into a magical girl, and at that, Shinobu couldn't help but laugh. "Bwahahahaha! A thirty-year-old magical..!" she burst out laughing, quickly losing her breath. "Sure why not?! Let me be a beacon of justice!" she volunteered immediately, still wheezing. Shinobu didn't see a point in staying in her work-mode counselor persona if she was tripping out. A few of her coworkers had already seen the party animal behind the curtain, and at least one of them had probably blabbed to the others about it by now. If she was going to have a day off in the hospital anyway, she might as well let herself get swept away in this fun little "pocket dimension" the fairy had planned.

Harold's Academy for the Magically Inclined

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Day 1 ◈ Time: Night ◈ Weather: Thunderstorms ◈ Location: Harold's Academy, Hallways ◈ Participants: Raffaella Struna, Anastasia Arslan, @Ti Lhoren Ashdale, @Silver Carrot Manny Ryi @Ebil Bunny

---

---

Raffaella's eyes widened in disbelief at Ana's words. "W-What?! Ana, no! I can't, I-I don't..!" Though she protested, Ana had already started giving her orders to the fighters. Her jaw dropped—and her face, if it were possible, grew even paler than it already was. I don't know where the shelters are, she finished in her mind, hopelessness once again taking hold of her heart. In that moment, she felt entirely abandoned. She could certainly run down that corridor, but then what? Would she just... lead the other students in a direction, any direction at all, and hope they didn't die? What if she was wrong? What then?!

What then, Ana?! she thought, frustrated, tears of desperation once again streaming down her ghostly face. Before she could waste any more time agonizing over what to do, thankfully, the other first year girl pulled her away by the arm and instincts took hold, allowing her to at least run on her own two feet rather than be dragged by them. The first year in question, Raffaella hardly even knew. She was from a different house, and Raffaella was hardly a social butterfly. Neither was this girl, it seemed, so at least they had that in common. Raffaella knew Manny as the girl whose speech she could barely understand even at the best of times, and hoping to understand her now was laughable. Perhaps she'd managed to catch something about "a job to do," or perhaps she hadn't, but her face said it all regardless. Raffaella felt—no, she knew she was utterly useless in a situation like this, and the girl that was now pulling her along was understandably frustrated by that. Honestly, if she tripped and fell flat on her face now, it would be par for the course, and she wouldn't even be able to blame Manny if she just left her there.

Ana is right. You need to be strong right now. You're capable of that.

The thought interrupted her spiraling negative emotions like a clanging cymbal, and made her reconsider her previous thought—just as one of those hideous creatures spawned by the Ni-Seraphi began to approach the two girls. Wait a minute—why were they running? ...A good question, Raffaella thought, as she lifted her feet and then her new friend off the ground, giving them just the speed boost the girls needed in that moment to get away. Perhaps it was because Raffaella was so small that she could move so quickly in the air, or perhaps her tiny body just held that much more vitesse. Regardless, the two were now speeding down the corridor Ana had indicated earlier.

...But now what?

Raffaella looked around the empty junction. Only, the junction wasn't empty; there were heartstrings pointing in every which way. It was a mess, but it was a color-coded mess. Several indigo-colored threads were pointing in a similar direction. Indigo—the color of worry. If they were worried about someone else at a time like this, they were probably safe, which meant that the shelters were probably... in that direction? Woah. Am I a genius? Raffaella wasn't sure if she'd ever had as much mental clarity as she did just now. "This way!" she shouted out to the other first years gathered behind her, her face the very picture of a defiant child who had no more tears to shed—that is to say, not a very powerful face. Still, it was enough to convince those scattering youths to turn around and follow her and Manny as they flew down the correct corridor.

When Manny introduced herself, Raffaella was a bit taken aback. Still, when their eyes met, Manny saw the fire she was looking for. She quickly looked back, unwilling to take her eyes 'off the road,' so to speak. "Uhm, I don't really get what you're saying—but I'm Raffaella! You're Manny, right? I got that part!" In a show of half-baked strength, she smiled. "Don't worry, I figured out where we're going! Pretty sure!" she said as she rounded another corner.