Enkryption

Fate/Prisma Connections (the reboot!)

Outside The School...

As Kuremi landed awkwardly, her eyes fell on the sight of the city being corrupted away; the school starting to take on a more Chinese architecture, as had the entire foreseeable cityscape behind it. As she recovered, she had three viable choices immediately available to her: escape the schoolyard, and run into the unaffected city to find somewhere to hide; run into another section of the school buildings, and hunker down until the army marched by; or, march against the tide, and invade the corrupted cityscape to find a solution.

No matter her decision, it was hers to make -- as was the option of making a group of survivors, and perhaps, warriors, out of the Student Council.

Kuremi knew that she had a fair hand on a sword, and she'd seen that Noboru could think spontaneously, but, she couldn't pressure him... for in that horror of petrified people, his mother was mingled. He seen her march into the the room, somehow parried her emotionless attack against him, and, most certainly, he was still in shock from it, even now, but, still --

|Tap-tap.... Tap-tap.... Tap-tap....|

From around the side of a near tool shed, a stone soldier rounded the corner. It was female, and held her terracotta long sword in front of her; angled at the ground, swinging side to side, and tapping it against the building twice, as she sluggishly walked alongside it. Her behavior was indicative of blindness, as she searched for impediments, and carefully traced her forward path.. If everyone remained as still as stone, irony fully realized, there was a fair chance the blind soldier would pass them all by -- fear-inducingly slow, as she did. If they waited her out, they'd have a straight shot to the gate to safety... as tentative as that would be.

However, standing still would be incredibly hard for Aoi, as the blind soldier came into view...

|Tap-tap.... Tap-tap.... Tap-tap....|

Panic gripped her heart like curled fingers of fire and ice tipped with serrated talons of steel, as Maggie stumbled down the corridor. It was her ruckus that kept the bulk of the terracotta soldiers on her tail, and not the others; however, this was neither a noble sacrifice or a selfless one. It was fear, plain and simple. In the back of her mind, she knew she was a coward, knew she would run from danger... yet, no-one had stopped her.

Maybe, they tried, and the blood pounding in her ears had defended her to their desperate cries.

Maybe, someone reached out to her, and her years of fleeing from danger had rendered her simply faster.

Maybe.

Maybe..

Maybe...

[Not. They left.] said the mean voice in the back of her head; a dark spot of her paranoia, given voice. [After all, nobody with sense would willingly plunge into danger, if someone else is taking it away.]

Maggie heard stone marching upon her; swords ready to be drawn; ready to deliver the single slash needed to bring her into the fold as the order commanded over and over. However, a sudden bang caught her attention, as a door burst open, and she threw herself into a classroom; inside, there was no escape, beyond the window, and the teacher's desk. Instinctively, she threw herself under it, and into the alcove. Against the corner, she huddled, and hugged her knees to her chest; ready to rabbit, as soon as able.

‘They left me. Everyone abandoned me. They did, didn't they.’ Maggie thought, not questions, but statements. 'Even him.’ Her hands pressed into her temples. "Hey, wait! What's wrong!?" she remembered Noboru shouting. 'Wait. Was that to me? Did he try to stop me?’ she asks. 'Why didn't you follow me, Anchin? Why did you leave me...?’

Suddenly, Maggie looked up, and a singular thought drowned out the shuffle of stone around her, as the soldiers wandered around the room: Who is Anchin?

A Guild Adventure: An RP with Monster Girls! (ENDED)

So... been peeking in and out of this for a few months, now. Instead of lurking, friend talked me into joining, As such, here's a CS offer:

Annalise

Appearance

Name: Annalise Xing (Pronounced: Analyzing)

Race: Mimic Slime

“Sometimes silver, sometimes blue;
Always slime, and never true.”

~Excerpt from ’Leonold’s Rhyming Guide to Rare Monster Girls’.

"Starved of mortal contact, the reclusive Mimic Slime is a simple Slime, that found itself lost for years, perhaps centuries, within the twists and turns of Madame Lin Daw’s dungeons, until her transformative nature seems to have failed to replicate mortal women, and, instead, replicated the simple chest."

~ Found text entry of a Lin Daw Scholar.

"Ever seen a chest breathing? I have. You might say, Mimic. However, you are wrong. A Mimic crushes under swing of sword and hammer, bleeds at the sling of stone and arrow, screams under the wraith of magic... a Mimic... Slime... it shakes at all off. Desperate to eat you. I'll never shake off that sight... a chest surrounded by water... rattling with swords of ages past, treasures untold... Sleeping..."

~ A report from a survivor of a "Party Wipe" found at a hospital.

Magic/Abilities/Equipment:

Reflection Core: Like any Slime with a Core, said Slime is bestowed with magical talents. For Mimic Slimes, this is a physical fusion of Abjuration and Conjuration Magicks, to reflect anything that is consumed; unless it's of a largely organic nature.

Projection of a Reflection: Mimic Slime can, near-instantaneously, recreate anything they've ever seen, so long as they've eaten it. However, there are two caveats to this power:

First: The reflection cannot be biological nor organic in any fashion, for Mimic Slime do not consume meats or greens, flesh or fruit.

Second: This reflection is an anomaly in the world, for it is 1:1 perfection, and therefore, breaks the Doppelganger rule, and soon turns back into slime.

Material Hunger: Mimic Slime survive by eating, primarily, adventurer gear; disguising themselves as chests to swallow them whole, and eat their gear and clothing, before vomiting up the living (and mentally scarred) creature and whatever is too organic to be digested. It matters not the item, however, the more refined or powerful the material, the greater the meal; something like an artifact can fill a Mimic Slime for months.

Sensory Puddle: Mimic Slime tend to hibernate in the form of a chest between victims and during their sluggish digestion periods. In other to defend themselves and keep aware of potential prey, they release a thin pool of slime, removed of it's vicious properties, in favor of millions upon millions of sensory processes. If someone treads upon the pool, a Mimic Slime immediately awakens, studies, and determines its status as a potential meal.

Personality:

Annalise is a sweetheart and an airhead without much on her mind beyond eating and sleeping. Due in part to her near-century existence as a Mimic Slime, it is not uncommon to find her as a chest, soundly set flush against a wall, in a pool of a substance that seems like water. However, equally due in part to her nature, she is easy to startle, and reinitialize instinct; if so, she becomes savage, and acts like a Mimic awoken.

Background:

Long ago, in a literal and literary sense, there was an dungeon known for its magnificent opulence -- floors of marble tile, spread as far as one could see; ceilings, vaulted and reaching into shadows; decorations of exaggerated wealth from wall to wall. Long ago, such a dungeon existed, under the far-seeing purview of the Lich Madame Lin Daw, and, to some degree, it still existed. However, this story is not about the fantabulous lifestyle of a Lich, but, the simple existence of a less-than simple Slime known to the world as Annalise.

Born in a hole, the “infant” Slime fell down, down, down into the ruins of the infamous dungeon. Never taught what her existence entailed, Annalise grew up in the seemingly infinite halls; feeding on abandoned gear of adventurers, long and dead; victims of the home that shaped her talents and skills -- eventually, developing a unique kind of Slime Core, known as a Reflection Core. However, these, too, are details that are not what this story is about.

No, it is simply a complicated detail of the simple Slime known as Annalise; one of many that were decided by the people that stumbled across her: an airheaded slime that was moulded by the material and protective nature of the dungeon she called home, and slept in the form of a chest after eating adventurer items. Now, why does anyone even know about her? Well, the answer to that is a simple one, as well.

An oddly charismatic adventurer with nothing interesting to eat, but a proposition that even she could understand: help him have the adventure of a lifetime, in return for all the delicious gear she can eat.

Only a fool would turn down such an offer, and Annalise was no fool... sorta.

Favorite Monster Girl: Slime girl. Best hugs possible.

Granblue Fantasy: Rhapsody in Red

I would have a big, confused gif or pic here, but, mobile is uncooperative in some respects, so... uh... go with your impluse? If you wanna stabs him, I won't argue. I'll just roll with the punches -- once I'm awake enough to. I'm so tired..

Granblue Fantasy: Rhapsody in Red

@ShwiggityShwah

If something is disagreeable, lemme know. Kinda wanted to spin a little drama of Marshall "saving" Poxanne before she could react to the collapsing ship, as such, I did have to autopilot Poxanne a touch. So, like I said, if that doesn't fly, do tell, and I'll edit something to maintain the scene, while giving autonomy back. It's just been a long day of work, and I wanted to get up something.

Granblue Fantasy: Rhapsody in Red

Marshall laughed, as the Harvin spun her charms and bedside manner to the nth; a derisive laugh, more annoyed than amused, and yet, at his core, he did find a twisted form of amusement in how she tried to be precious, yet grown. “Poxanne,” he says, testing the flow of the name. “I wonder,” he says, standing up, as the lacerations began to shut, “what makes a Harvin think they are suited to medicine?” He extended his left arm, and fanned out his finger; bones popping and cracking, as they resumed the position they were born in, and calcium surged between cracks to recreate solid structure. “In the spite of it all, I’m curious of something...”

Looking down, he tilted her head, as he drew Selmia’s Dagger, then hummed, and sheathing it. He didn’t want to chance handling it too much. Instead, he angled a finger at his left wrist, and shot a bolt of blood through it; suppressing his healing factor to drain the infected blood. “... just what did you think you would get in here,” he finally asked. “You asked, ‘Imperial’ to my nature. That implies you may have assumed soldier,” he looked around, “A fine assumption. All things considered. That is answer is no. I’ve no fancy for that.”

Marshall cast his back to her, stretching himself out, and thinking, “Did you, perhaps, think, fallen royalty,” he smirked, looking back, “How high? King? Duke?” Marshall eyed her expressions, “Ah, prince? Runaway, I bet. A flight of fancy.” Turning back, he squatted to his ankles. “Sorry,” he tilted his head, and extended his armored hand to tip up her chin, “I’m a thief from the Astral-forsaken island of Yoltarie. No-one special.” Marshall shifted, and darted forwards; to the untrained eye, he was tackling Poxanne without warning or reasoning. Fortunately, that was not the case...

A wreck was a wreck, and its state was unkind; unknowable. Marshall had been in many a wrecked ship, and they had telltale signs of imminent collapse. Marshall raced forward, cradling the Harvin against his chest; he couldn’t care less about the rest of the beings that had been close. In truth, he wasn’t caring about the Harvin much either, but her safety meant lodgings, a meal, a heated bath, and many amenities that were denied him in Ziggurat -- most importantly, it meant a damn shave.

Around him, the airship creaked and groaned; a weakened structure meant to fly and idle, not smash into ground, and stay half folded on itself. “My name is Marshall,” he finally answered, “and, if you don’t mind, I’m going to steal you for a bit,” Hand against the back of Poxanne’s neck, he braced her for what was coming, as he shot a thick burst of blood -- blasting off a hatch, and letting sunlight bleed in. Marshall lunged out of it, and sailed through air, before crashing into the treeline before... surging through the canopy, he took the brunt of the impacts, and landed in a nice clearing.

“That’s just what I do,” he says, setting her down, as the remainder of wreck came crashing to the earth.

---

@The Irish Tree & @ShwiggityShwah

Granblue Fantasy: Rhapsody in Red

A'ight.

Granblue Fantasy: Rhapsody in Red

@The Irish Tree

For the sake of the cast, I'll ask here, instead of DM'ing you: what's the back and forth limit, if there is one? Like, how many times can people post back and forth to play out a scene without prompting a GM post?

Granblue Fantasy: Rhapsody in Red

At least, we've half a cast again, since half was gone. That's a nice thing.

Fate/Prisma Connections (the reboot!)

Drumroll please..

And, here we go... Introducing...

Stepping Stones Along A Silk Road

Story Arc... BEGIN

“Tanaka Kozo, Head of Marketing,” read the placard on the side of the door, and the title plaque upon his desk. Behind the grandiose desk of cherry wood, carved along the sides with Sakura petals, embossed and lightened to gentle shade of red, as if to emulate pink, sat a man with slicked back hair of coal that looked as greasy as his heart. Long gone where the sad story days of the Osakan orphan; a meager street urchin that scraped a living off scraps and cons. If he could be bothered, on the odd night out, he could recount the hard lessons launched him off the street, and into marketing -- black and white.

Today... wasn't such an occasion.

No, today was a momentous occasion, to be sure. Draped in a ceremonial gown, as if he were royalty, Kozo thought back on the moment that he rose to the position he held -- not the position of labor, but of uncontested divinity and royalty. It was through the might of a mere playing card that he’d had been gifted the world in part at nearly no cost; all that the spectre that he wore like a regal suit asked was to establish his dominion, anew.

A mutual goal.

Standing, Kozo looked over at a woman that had be brought in by two expressionless soldiers; both men that she recognized from accounting, and made of a material that she recognized as terracotta. In the back of her mind, she had a fairly good idea of the situation that she was in, but, she couldn't believe it -- who could, really? ”Ayanami-san,” Kozo says, drawing on a short dagger that was made of the same terracotta material as the soldiers, “I won't mince words. I own your soul and fealty,” he strode up to his, almost like a phantom, “so, do not struggle. Serve your Emperor.”

Kozo, suddenly, jammed the dagger into the pit of her stomach, and ignored the sudden, fearful release of her bladder in favor of the stone that was growing from the wound. It was growing, clothing her, and changing her into one of the soldiers that held her. A wave of his hand, and said soldiers drop her to her stone knees. “Rise,” Kozo ordered, and the soldier that was once a woman stood. “Take to your regiment, and assist in expanding my territory,” he dismissed her, and with a deep bow, she left without a word, “Bring me the next one.”

As the trio of soldiers left, Kozo turned and walked to window, and looked out to his empire. So far, he owned dominion on the first ten blocks, and his soldiers were all that hadn't fled beyond. That was soon to change, however; as the fires rose, the cars crashed, and the city fell to him, block by block, Kozo smiled. He'd much left to conquer along the Silk Road.

---

Unbeknownst to two people of different walks of life, one an Irishman, the other a Japanese woman; both parents with love and loss scarring them, but children to succeed them, sat across each other without a single acknowledgement to the army that marched upon them.

Feverishly, the man spoke while the woman texted, and upon hanging in, he sighed, and looked up with an apologetic smiles. “My daughter,” he says, with a syrup-thick Irish accent, “I was letting her know about the train,” he was trying to make small talk, “I'm guessing you were doing the same? Judging from the fitful rush of your thumbs.”

Before the woman could offer an answer, be it polite refusal to answer, or the expected answer, there was a distinct, distance, and yet rapidly approaching screech of metal on metal from the south end train tunnel. Looking over, the Irishman saw the bullet train barreling down the track without a hint of control, and whip off the tracks. It would be over in an instant, if he weren’t quicker of thought, and more so of motion.

Pouncing forward, he shielded the woman with his form, and shouted, “Cosaint!” causing a bubble to form around them. It was all her had to tank the clash of metal against magic, as the train whipped against his shield, as he covered the screaming woman beneath him. He couldn't do anything for the others around him, or anyone on the train, but, if he could save one person -- even one... Suddenly, he gasped, as a sword was slammed through his back, straight though his shield, and -- straight into the woman below. He looked back, as he saw the train was being deboarded... by stone statues given some form of enchanted life.

Immediately, he could feel the cursed magic rushing into him. Internally, he could move himself miles, and yet, external, he couldn’t move himself an inch. All he could do was will himself to cast a spell, “Teagmháil. Dearg.” and, unseen, a small stone turned crimson, and shattered in a small pouch on his hip. Looking down, her looked at the woman. “I called for help...” he says, “Sorry I couldn’t do a little better.”

---

“Hana-chan~!” cried out an American girl with platinum blonde hair and crystal-blue eyes, as she glomped the younger of the Suzuki family sisters, and would have took her to the floor of the mall, if not for a rather ornate cane with a bone-white topper. “I can’t believe it!” she gasped, in rather broken Japanese, as she was pulled into very awkward (everyone, but her) piggyback. “I can’t believe it! I’m so happy to see you!” Before the American could get another word in edgewise, Suzuki Hana interrupted her with a strained tap-tap of her cane.

“Lauren, if you could...” Hana offered a polite allusion, “I cannot stand much longer.” Contrarian, to the stereotype, Hana was neither a bubbly schoolgirl nor a cautious blind girl; she merely kept herself studious but easygoing. Everything that Lauren wasn’t; she was, refreshingly, stereotypical, and meant to be. That didn’t mean she was oblivious, “Gomanasai,” Lauren says, notes a shaky, but practiced Japanese accent bleeding out from underneath her born, homegrown Kansan accent. “I totally spaced! I didn’t break anything, did I?”

Chuckling, Hana rapped her cane against the ground, and tilting her snowed-over eyes to the ground, then up. Lauren stood at grand apex of 6’ 2”; a generous two-inches added by her snazzy heels. Her entire outfit was designed to stand out, and be flashy -- she seemed more like a pop idol than a country bumpkin. Although, Hana couldn’t complete the image as clearly as she would like, but the rapping of her cane -- and a little light magic -- allowed her details that were normally denied in full.

“I think, I check out,” Hana says, smirking, “So, let’s go shopping, ne?” Hana swept her cane forward, and offered her to lead; after she knew the mall like the back of her hand, but Lauren didn’t, and that would make the exploration all the more valuable -- as if seeing the mall anew, herself.

However, today was simply not a day of exploration.

It was heralded by the sudden shatter of glass, the screams of ordinary folk, and the crushing march of stone against tile that Lauren saw the Terracotta Army descending upon the mall; soldiers of stone, as emotionless, stormed upon them in abject silence, and with swords drawn. Effortlessly, they slashed through everyone they passed; stone swords drawing no blood nor life, but taking their will and freedom, instead.

‘M-Magic? N-No,’ Hana thought, as she tried to sense the mana, while Lauren saw how victims were slowly covered in stone from the slash wounds. ‘It’s a curse.’ Trembling, as she saw something impossible, Lauren turned back to Hana, hoping to escape -- only to scream soundlessly, as a soldier’s sword trust cleanly through Hana’s chest. “Suzuki-chan!?” she screamed, finding her voice, before a sudden impact turned her shoulder, and a stone arrow rested in it... stone spreading from it. “...ill... help...”

---

A bored sigh escaped the disinterested brunet that had been, for lack of a better word, shanghaied, into his next-door neighbor’s escape to He-couldn’t-care-less, Japan. For twelve years, Bill Cumberland been keeping Lauren out of trouble in Kansas City, but, now, he had to babysit her throughout Japan. Sometimes, being a good friend was frankly annoying. In an attempt to alleviate his boredom, he’d been staring at the ceiling. “Suzuki-chan~!” he heard from a floor below him. Lazily, he observed the scene, and shook his head.

“Jeez, you Amazon,” he lamented, as he saw Lauren nearly smush some poor Asian girl. “She’s, like, two-feet shorter than you. And, blind, too?” Sighing again, Bill turned and leaned his back on the railing. Staring at the ceiling, he tuned things out -- suddenly, Bill was brought back into reality, as people started screaming. There were many reasons for screaming at a mall, but, he didn’t expect it to be due a to freaking walking statues!

“The hell is this!?” Bill asks, as Lauren screamed. “Ren!” he shouted, looking back down to see her penpal being shanked in the back, before an arrow shot her in the shoulder. “What the hell!?” Bill looked at the advance of soldiers, before registering the stomping behind himself. “Sh-Shit!” he stumbled backward, as soldiers were advancing on him, and hit the rail. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but,” he saddled over the rail, and looked at Lauren, as she was speaking to him, “Sorry, Ren...”

Bill booked it for the entrances/exits. However, he fleeing wasn’t as grand a success as he hoped it to be, as he felt his leg give out; from his shin an arrowhead thrust. Looking back, he saw Lauren aiming a longbow at him, as her face disappeared behind the expressionless stone mask of the one he'd known since he was four-years-old. “Awesome,” he grunted, as he started to hobble-run.

Flipping open his cellphone, he keyed in a number of one of the few people he had as a contact on this side of the globe, and keyed the pad feverishly, {Yo, Pope! Shot @ mall! Stone soldiers! WTF!? Coming 2 ur school!} before he shoved on the exit door. However, he didn’t end up any different than any other, once cursed to stone, and his will broke; becoming a part of the hive, part of the empire..

As did his last thought....

---

As Kurokage Kiriya hung up on his granddaughter, he’d passed through the gate of Fudomine Academy without anyone to check him in, or anyone even loitering around between classes. Perhaps, he was just a touch too early; judging from the sun, it was only late morning, after all. Still, a nice hot round of mochi was a good thing at any time of the day -- especially, if they were shaped and styled like 500-yen coins. No matter the time nor place, you can always eat as richly as you please with mochi, Kiriya fondly touted to his granddaughter.

And, with her current stress of Student Council presidency, he knew she needed a little unwinding, and a bit of richness in her life and belly. Unfortunately, he could fathom the depths of stress that was about to plague her, as he set foot into the school; even at a glance, he could tell there was something wrong inside the school. It didn’t hurt that the walls were lined with deep, jagged cuts and the floors were damaged by deep, impact craters.

Fortunately, or, perhaps, unfortunately, Kiriya didn’t see a soul, as he ascended the stairs slowly. As he reached the top, he saw the damage had spread like a fire, and treaded even more cautiously. As he move, he didn’t see anything that would have caused such destruction; but, he concerns were mounting. A bit of extra pep in his step, Kiriya started for the classroom that Kuremi had told him Student Council meeting were held in.

Suddenly, there was a crackle of wood, and shifting of stone, before a windowed door burst down with the swing of a sword. Kiriya gave a strangled cry, as he caught the brunt of it with his chest to waist. Stumbling back, he held his chest for a moment. ‘No blood.’ he realized. His fingers found foreign purchase, however. ‘Stone?’ Kiriya looked up at his attacker, who seemed to go dormant. ‘A Terracotta Soldier... here... but, how...’ Behind the wall, several more stood in perfect stillness. They seemed to react to the moment he passed the window, and, as soon as he was stuck, they fell back into stillness. ‘Kuremi... I have to...’

Stumbling, Kiriya moved with a desperate will to see his granddaughter, and as his body was being wrapped in stone, he staggered into the door she was behind; sliding it open, he dropped to the floor. “Kuremi-chan! Run!” he cried out, forcing himself to stay lying, as the stone crept over the rest of his from.

His last act of defiance, before his will was taken in full.

Maggie had ran the numbers, as Kuremi took her phone call, and looked up once she finished. “A musical... would work...” she offered, almost in silence, as if trying not to be heard. “If we pool resources from the Music Club, Drama Club, and Athletics Club,” she pressed her abacus forward, “we can run a production of something...” Maggie shrank back, as she hid her face behind her hair; long, crimson waves cascading to her hips. Suddenly, her attention was taken from the scene, as she felt a messenger stone rattling in her stone pouch. Opening it, she saw the crimson glow, and her heart mounted in abject fear.

Red meant Danger.

Her father wouldn't have sent her such a message, unless his very life was under threat of imminent death. Jumping to her feet, she started to the door, before it burst down. An influx of noises assaulted her ears, as the Student Council room was a repurposed old Theater Classroom; the soundproofing had been kept up, due to being built into the walls. As such, the sudden introduction to the outside sounds and the crash of the door, followed by the slam of stone against carpeted wood, was as disorienting as the action itself.

However, it wasn't nearly as disorienting as it was terrifying. Maggie barely registered what the intruder that had fell screamed, as he fell, before she listened to the “flight” option of the two responses. Fear rooted her in place, however as she didn't think about anything but reaching her father, and being saved by him. That would solve everything, as it always did.

Unfortunately, assumptions where the bane of better thinking, and instinct were the downfall of intellect, as Maggie suddenly bolted; deftly, she leapt over the fallen form of the man that had inspired her fear, and flew out of the room. Eyes all but shut, she ran through the hallways, and passed by a windowed door; attracting all the attention of the sentries in the room -- statues of stone that looked like students and teachers she knew drew swords and bows against her, and marched upon her.

Maggie stumbled, and looked back, as a hail of arrows came soaring at her; also to be suddenly rerouted into the walls. “H-Huh...” she stammered. Before her eyes, a faint hand of small, yellow particles faded into the ether, and she didn’t think on it another moment, as she forced herself to turn and run.

She needed to find her father.

She had to escape.

Granblue Fantasy: Rhapsody in Red

So much could happen to you in your sleep. So much of it could be good, and equally, so much of it could be bad. Marshall was never a fan of uncertainty; when he slept, he didn’t control his life, didn’t control his fate. It was an inconvenience he wasn’t fond of. So, waking up to a crash landing had soured his mood a fair degree. As soon as he was conscious, like a machine, he rolled through a self-diagnostic of his internal and external state. ‘Internal... left arm is broken; stomach is punctured; several pieces of shrapnel, size range... indeterminate... There’s a threat of sepsis from my stomach leaking into my intestines...’ he groaned a bit, and sat up. ‘External... several... innumerable lacerations, varying bruises.... Risk of infections: dangerous.’

Marshall sighed, ‘I didn’t die...’

Sitting up, Marshall ran his right hand over his stomach, and drew Selmia’s dagger. “You’ve seen so much of me,” he says, before slitting open his abdomen, “and, you’ll see a little more,” he started to dig out the shrapnel, and discard the metal bits to the ground. “Astrals above, this stings...” he lamented, before sheathing the dagger away, and closing the wounds in his stomach. “Now...” he unhooked his dagger sheath, and bit down on it. Reaching into his intestines, Marshall began to methodically scoop out stomach acid, materia, and the smaller shrapnel shards. “Nnnnrrr...!!!”

After a few minutes, Marshall would finish up with the process, and spit out the dagger sheath. “Shit...” he sighed, before grunting, as he stood up to start the outside healing processes. It was here that he would notice Poxanne’s presence, and frowned. Judging from her facial expression, she'd been there for a fair amount of time. “Harvin, you...” he looked at her, another one, like her, “I... don’t love...” he analyzed her, and took her in, “...not yet.”

"What's your name?"

@The Irish Tree & @ShwiggityShwah