For the journey home, Annalise had been as quiet as a breeze, and yet bore forth sheer anger that better matched her Hellhound armor.
Why?
How long had she been asking herself that simply question? Why couldn’t she take back the horse? It was her mission, wasn’t it? Why did the Holstaur get to make all the decisions? Who was she to decide how they would handle their mission? More importantly, who was she to CORRECT Annalise in how to go about doing HER task? Was it even their mission, once she decided that she’d the right to take over at that point?
Why didn’t Magnus stop her? Why did he just let her did what she pleased? Would she get there reward, now? Surely, Jeb, whoever the hell he was, wouldn’t think about them, since someone else returned his horse to him.
Annalise dug her claws in the ground, as these questions burned in her head. It was burning through her time in her armor, yet equally binding her to it. However, it was not to last, as they trod back upon the grounds of the Guild. Her only memory of the cyclops that was looking things over was her leaving on her first day; they hadn’t spoken a word, hadn’t meet eyes, even. So...
WHY!?
Annalise resisted the urge to scream, as the cyclops’s tongue fumbled over the syllable, settling on the common tongue name, “Anna” -- which wasn’t even close to the only proper pronunciation, which would have been, something like, “Annal”. However, that wasn’t the point -- mostly -- at the moment. “Why? Metal Eater... But, you... shouldn’t... know...” she growled, as her flames started to increase with a hissing output of sulfur. “I DIDN’T GIVE YOU PERMISSION TO CORRUPT NOR SPEAK MY NAME!”
There was a sudden eruption, as her flaming accoutrements went from crimson with golden roots to sapphire with violet roots, and lost their shape; becoming mere spouts of flames. Even Magnus would be forced to a defensive side, as Annalise trembled in place. He could feel rage explosively rippling off her, and... an undercurrent of sadness? Before he could attempt to do anything, he heard a massive cracking, and a section of Annalise’s armor shattered like shrapnel, and fired at him -- only to return to slime at against his skin.
‘Calm down! Calm down!! Calm down!!!’ screamed the Mimic Slime at herself. ‘No! I won’t! Why does she know my name!?Who told her!? Find them! Silence them! Protect us!’ she screamed back, at herself. ‘I can’t! We can’t! I don’t wanna fight to survive anymore!’ Annalise cried back. ‘WE HAVE TO! THEY’LL KNOW! THEY’LL KNOW WHO WE ARE!’ Annalise barked. ‘No... let’s run away... relax... before we burn up in anger...’
...it’s so hot... my anger is.... calm down... need water... find food... need sleep... hide and survive... like always...
Instinct took over, and Annalise rushed down the cyclops -- only to launch beyond her, surging through the hole, and into the Guild. Her flames disappeared as she hit the ground, and rushed to the bathrooms; remembering where the dragoness, Nephele, had led her before, as her armor continued to shatter from the heat it was enshrouded in.
We... We... are Annalise Xing... Madame Lin Daw Zhou... Slime... Lich... Afraid... Again...
Terribly burned, emotionally, and psychically, Annalise reached out, and turned the cold water on full blast to douse her armor, and flood it.
Annalise’s “stomach” grumbled; a twisted sound that reverberated in the armor, and came off as a deep-seated growl from her core. It sounded like a dog growling in anticipation of fighting. Really, she was just hungry as hell -- two full Reflects, and barely anything to snack on. Still, she needed to focus on the matter at hand... but, which matter; the fight with some washed-up nobody or the mission that she’d been sent on?
Sitting back, her tail wagged lazily, as she thought about what order to go in... ‘Name... Name is a good place to start. So, my name is...’ Annalise scratched her her phantasmal right ear, “Madame Lin Daw.” There was something about that name, the way the words rolled off her “tongue”... they burned and distorted, warped around themselves, and became lost.
As if, they words were a labyrinth in and of themselves.
Unfortunately, unless one spent many a year in a dungeon, learning the oldest of langauges, there was little she could do to properly translate the word into the surface dwelling tongue. After a fair struggle, it would sound more like she’d said, “analyzing,” to fill the void she’d accidentally created. “Wait, why would anyone leave you? A Minotaur is invaluable upon any quest, against any foe,” she says, “Such power, presented and hidden. Only a fool would surrender it. This old woman won’t leave you.” Magnus could feel something of a gentle, kind smile behind the hellish visage.
‘Alright, next order of business... I addressed the name, and the worry, so, now...’ Annalise stood up, and stretched out; her back arching towards the floor. Sure, she’s no spine to relax, but the idle was incorporated into the spirit of the armor. “So, the horse is the target of the mission? How curious. At least, it should be...” she yawned, “In any case, shall we take it back? I have... equestrian training.”
Annalise set up to walk out the room.
Pausing, she looked back. Nero was the warrior she was supposed to fight, right? He didn’t look like much. A normal adventurer; one of dozens that she’s seen, stripped of armor, and left to their devices at whatever level of Madame Lin Daw’s lost dungeon she’d ambushed them at. However, her stomach was the deciding judge in her future of combat, and Nero, dressed in nothing but a average, plain clothing, and armed with nothing more than a wooden bucket...
“I doubt you have anything worth eating on you,” Annalise says, before turning away, and heading out of the room. “I’m going to go change, so I can ride the horse.” Her stomach growled sharply, and turned away. ‘Ugh.... I’m so hungry... I need something metal... jewels... something...’ Annalise’s tail fell flat, sad, and she spared a final look back; spying Magnus’s axe, and licking her “lips” with a flaming tongue. ‘Delicious...’
It wasn’t the shouting from Amanita through the door, nor the fact that Micu broke its lock, but the pained noise that took Marshall out of his torment. He’d carefully tossed the bit and pieces of glass in his fingers into the sink, as he removed them, but he’d paid no mind to the glass that had shattered and scattered across the floor -- it was only human to think of oneself before others. Unfortunately, as he saw what that instinctive notion had accidentally wound brought the immoral nearly beside himself; throwing himself to the floor, he picked up the kitten, and looked it over extensively. “Oh, you poor thing!” he says, plaintively.
Marshall lifted the kitten above his head, and frowned, “Goodness, you are barely off the teat; not even near ready to be wandering so aimlessly, young lady,” before he held her by the nape of her neck, and cleared the sink out. “First thing you need, a good maintenance.”
A hiss escaped the mouth of the kitten as it was picked up, weakly swatting at Marshall’s arm before she was plucked up by her neck. The golden fur lining her body was soft and thick, clearly made to insulate heat. Given that the creature scarcely resembled most forms of life on the island, it could be safe to assume it was brought here by someone. It was clearly reluctant to be held, especially since it thought Marshall was trying to eat it.
Marshall barely took notice of the action -- help that his right arm was mostly armor, even if it didn’t look it -- as he set the kitten in the sink, and ran the water aside her; it was warm from his own mistrations, as he’d been cleaning his left hand, and the glass had went and washed down the drain. As such, he was free to soak and soap her fur with a bar that he’d procured alongside a small cloth. “And, just who are you hissing at, hm,” he asks.
Another hiss escaped the cat as it attempted to leap away from the water cascading over it, held back by Marshall as it furiously scratched at him. It was pissed, for certain, and not at all pleased about receiving a bath. Thankfully no glass had gotten in its paw, making it just hurt a little as the tiny feline perched it back at an angle, to balance on one front paw after a time.
”Nu,” Marshall says, bapping her nose. “Time to be good,” he scolded, “I’m sure, after a nice bath, and a bit of feeding, you’ll be far more agreeable,” he paused to look around for a moment, “To young for meat, and I’m too incapable of crossing the boundary of human and feline... Hrm...” Marshall took of moment to raise her upper lip with his left pointer, “How capable are your teeth?”
The cat would answer by sinking them right into Marshall’s finger, the barely developed nubs managing to do little more than bruise the skin of his finger. Her jaw strength was weak as well, undeveloped from lack of hunting experience. Still, she had a degree of persistence, as she kept on shaking her head furiously to try and maim Marshall’s finger.
Marshall chuckled; although, it was almost sad in a way. “You are trying, so hard, and yet... you arrive at nothing,” he says, “It’s a pale reflection of myself. Doomed to suffer in an uncaring world.” Marshall focused on her efforts, on her lacking sharpness, and tried to weaken the barrier she worked to destroy. “I can’t find myself a redemption, but, maybe, I can find you a future...” he says, as she shook and struggled; instincts keeping her focus sharp, where all else failed to be.
A grumbling noise erupted from the feline’s stomach as she shuddered, her bite weakening as she started to realize the futility of biting. She was just wasting energy, and Marshall was far too intact to try and eat. As such, she just...felt like giving up. If it weren’t for Marshall holding her up, it was likely the kitten would just curl up, wanting to sleep away the pangs of starvation, perhaps dream of the mother it doesn’t have left to rely upon.
Marshall could almost sense her surrender, and he lifted her head with the finger being, now lamely, bitten, as if to make her face him; his fist still bled from his focus on the kitten, and not himself, but the kitten was dirty enough, as is, so he didn’t think a bit more blood would phase her in the slightest. “You aren’t going to end here,” he says, “I can feel your wanting, but, I’m greedy, and no-one can want their end more than I. So, I’m going to steal that feeling of surrender, whether you like it or not. Because, I’m a thief, and that’s what I do.”
Sure, a boastful claim such as that would surely fall flat on a kitten, but, it wasn’t something loftly, nor lightly said, either.
The kitten let out a pathetic noise, before swatting a paw weakly once, missing and just resting her paw upon his arm as her head was forced to face his, only one eye open. It was weak, but Marshall could still see the fight left in her; He’d managed to piss off a dying cat enough to get it to stop giving up, as a start. Sadly his speech was lost to everyone save Amanita, who was peeking in through a crack in the door.
Marshall smirked. “Pissed you off, I see,” he didn’t shake his grin, “That’s a start. Now, do something about it. Let’s see you bring that fight up, front and center.”
Marshall would see the feline beast open its mouth wide, before a small spark could be seen, shining light inside of her mouth before a small flicker of electricity tickled against Marshall’s skin, doubly harmless due to the size, and the Light affinity of his blood coursing through him. After that was just a puff of smoke as the kitten weakly coughed.
Marshall grinned, proudly. “Thattagirl,” he says, lifting her from the sink. “Now, let’s find you something to eat,” he dabbed at her smoky lips “clean’ with a his left pointer, “Er... I should probably heal my hand, and wash it, before I make you something. I can’t afford to lose but so much blood, and bleeding into food is bad.”
Marshall would hear footsteps outside the door make a break for it, as Amanita went to the kitchen to prepare some food before he got there. Mucu just kind of didn’t get the memo, and stood there, very clearly visible in the doorway, looking in curiously. The kitten kept on trying to take potshots at Marshall as he carried her, swatting on occasion.
Smirking, the immortal simply handled the kitten as one would handle a swaddled babe; treating her with intense care, as if she were glass. He set to amusing himself with her teeny bolts and swats by playfully poking at her belly, in return, until he reached the kitchen. Surely, he would have had to pass by the other patient, but, like with the Myconid, unless they make themselves unignorably known to him... he’d just ignore them.
He really wasn’t a people person.
As he would walk towards the kitchen, Marshall would smell fish being cooked, as would the starved kitten. Amanita was at work crisping the skin on some trout of some kind, smiling as she saw him come in. He’d also be able to count that there were more fish frying than there were people there at the moment. “O-Oh, Marshall! I was just um...fixing up some dinner for everyone. Who’s your little friend?”
“Harliqueen,” Marshall says, simply. “If she’s so obliging.” Collab with the @The Irish Tree
Apologies. I'm idling on my post, mostly because I'm waiting on Magnus, since Annalise's following him, atm, and I'm just legitimately busy as hell IRL with holiday work hours.
Hana’s compassionless gaze stayed on Aoi, as she rained slices and slashes over her; armor blocked her assault whenever and wherever spear could not. As such, her tactics changed, and she took a different grip on her longsword; as if, emulating a rapier. Suddenly, her attacks were lithe and swift; no longer the broad, brutal sweeps of a longsword, but the piercingly precise stabbing trust of a rapier. Aoi found herself backed further into her metaphorical corner, as Hana’s strikes began to feed under her armor, and twice found purchase.
Purchase found, Hana gained ground, and pushed Aoi back; back; back; back... until she slammed into the bulk of a tree, and was pinned to it. Perhaps, it was Longinus’s presence taking control of her emotions. Perhaps, it was her own guilt rationalizing that she deserved this. Either way, it was her own self-preservation instinct that kept her alive in this cruel contention of irony and failure, as she gripped the meat of Hana’s thrusted blade, as a inch of it sank into her left eye.
Nothing, however, could stop her from screaming in pain.
“Before you stands a master one who has polished his craft for his lifetime while far from legendary status it is respectable” Okita said with a medium of respect for the person her master now faced. “He taught me everything I knew raised me when others scorned me. He is the one who stands at the end of my blade now. To think our match would be like this.” Kuremi said her hand shaking a bit before settling into a lose stance. This was her fight she would have to stand tall and face this. She would show just how far she went and prove her worth to him now! ”Men” She shouted her sword at the ready striking downward at the shoulder away with trained precision.
Kiriya faced his cherish granddaughter, the pride and joy of his training days, few and far between, with an expression that could be take as stern and serious on a living person, yet came across as compassionless and duty-bound upon the stone. His eyes studied her motions, took her in, and his blade lashed up to take, and brush away her downward strike; setting the motion effortlessly, uselessly, to his right; as he did, he turned his own hips, and drew the tip of his sword upwards to slash at her.
”Jump backwards” Okita said calmly as if instructing someone guiding their hands as some would do for a person new to the sword taking their hands and guiding softly but making sure they knew what was going on. With a nary a word said Kuremi followed backing up before pivoting on her heel her sword turned sideways and stabbed forward with a skill that spoke of master in battle as Okita took to guiding her a bit to help her survive.
As if guiding her along, Kiriya tilted his rising sword, and blew its side aside Kuremi’s lunge; enough force pressed to the contact to knock it aside, but, not to open him to a smart attack. He couldn’t be sure if she was armed with a dagger or tanto -- anything that was short and fast to bring to arms. Instead, he seemed to be taking her for a tour of her own abilities. Still teaching her, even in the act of attempting to kill her freedom, and fold her into the many.
“Grandfather….” Kuremi said softly her body moving through a dance that she hasn’t practiced forever however something was different she felt it was as if someone was guiding her movements still which she took as a sign of the supposed power that was being lent to her. “Your grandfather is a honorable man even now his body so ingrained with such things is teaching still a master to the very end.” Okita said once more respect clear in her voice as she saw the man who her master called grandfather. “I ask you will you give me control for just a bit I want to see his skills truly as a swordsman. I will a vow as a member of the shinsengumi he will survive to see another day.” Okita said her voice eager yet tempered with duty. “He won’t be harmed?” With a sense of tempered intent Kuremi knew what she wanted and agreed with a sigh words escaping her lips as if her she knew what needed to be done. “Install Assassin” Kuremi said as her trust in her new ally formed a contract and the full power of said ally was unleashed. A surge of power was unleashed as Kuremi smiled as Okita took control her clothes replaced with a short white kimono as her body was lightly armored with dark brown almost black leather armor. “Let’s do this as two masters of the blade as true swordsman Ojii-Dono. I will face you as a member of the proud SHINSENGUMI! Okita Souji ready. “The coat of oaths our promise to protect and guide! the uniform of the shinsengumi!” She exclaimed as a familiar haori materialized on her her grin smiled smiled as the sword was replaced with a new one a bit longer but felt comfortable and right in her hands. “Kiku-Ichimonji Norimune.” She stated once more as she gripped it tightly and switched into a new stance one that is both legendary and feared the stance of Hira-Seigan.
Kiriya shifted into a neutral stance; not too rigid; not too loose; neither easy to victimize nor gain advantage off. Kuremi’s transformation didn’t phase him, but he was aware of it -- only a foolish man would treat the boastful woman before him as a foolish woman. After a full minute of tension, he stepped to his left, and started working a circle around her... slowly fluctuating the distance between them, as he did. He seemed to be studying something about Kuremi, and found it...
It was only because of Okita’s “secondary sight” given by her overlain existence that she caught the weaved strike of the blade of her Master’s grandfather, the tip settled within the minute degree that made Kuremi’s blind spot. It wasn’t great, but it turned a full impaling of Kuremi’s right shoulder into a deep graze.
Taking the blow with a grunt Okita/Kuremi looked forward it seems she would have to use it. her skill made famous she hoped this wouldn’t end in tragedy. “One silent step... Two steps infinite... Three steps, a sword absolute! Mumyo Sandan-Zuki.” She intoned quietly and moved her sword creating a blur as she struck three times in a single blow at the shoulder of her opponent. This was her blow, her skill that bordered fantasy and one that she could call hers alone.
Kiriya's skill went far for a human, was ascended by the Noble Phantasm that shrouded him, and yet, he was still bound to a set of rules that Okita defied through Kuremi. Her first step stressed his guard, her second step blew it open, and her third step found home; the silent victory swelled under the crackle of fractured and punctured terracotta, and the dropped sword. Kiriya's eyes studied Kuremi's, looking well beyond her possession, and straight into her core... before he gripped Okita's blade, and pushed it out without effort.
Taking a neutral stance, Kiriya set his hands to his side, and bowed deeply to his granddaughter and her guardian.
“A fine match…” Okita said as she sheathed her sword normally she would relinquish control however Kuremi was catatonic unable to bear to see her family injured. “Still so young, so innocent.” Kuremi said softly at her masters state she may have went to far but her master needed to see it to grow as a person no matter how cold it was it was a needed lesson.
Kiriya maintained his bow, allowing them the freedom to pass him, and go forward. This would, more than likely, be the only time this would happen. Anyone else, and Okita's blade would have to go the distance, and draw the blood of unwilling strangers -- perhaps, fatally so.
”I know your afraid but your grandfather is a strong man he will survive.” Okita spoke she saw potential in her master. Her recent fight with her grandfather only cemented the fact as well with the right training she would shine brighter than any star. “Know that I Okita will protect you for now my young master. I will let you rest but know I will set to train you this is your first battle and you did well but we won’t always have honorable opponents know this well.” Okita said speaking to Kuremi who was almost dead to the world and could only give a brief acknowledgement of the response. Walking out Okita stumbled out using the wall as support her stab wound giving her some trouble. It would be a long battle from here on out but it was a lesson in humility for the both of them.
Lia’s deft motion was enough to get her out of the charge, and her lateral thinking of enough to by Jin the time she needed to free up her Magic Circuits, and make her charge in. Jin’s motions, smooth and flowing, easily slipped past the weapon’s superior reach, and into its weakness of short range. As her fist impacted with Morimoto’s armored chest, the teacher was already reacting; his upper body extended, as if stretching forward to reach something away from him. As he did, he slid his right hand forward, and anchored his left hand solid...
Jin hadn’t an opportunity to relinquish her commitment, and Morimoto pivoted his entire body at her. True, the ji’s strength rested at its point; however, Morimoto was no soldier. He didn’t have a day of soldier’s training, a hint of proper spearplay, and didn’t use tactics that were common to what the delinquent was expecting; perhaps, that’s why the haft of the stone spear crashed brutally into her ear, and so cruelly shunted her head upon the root.
There was a chaotic spray of mana, as Jin’s reinforcement magic was truly pushed to the edge of regret -- enough that another form of magic struggled to her aid. Lia could see that her head bent at an angle that her body followed, as if everything was moving in slow motion, and Jin was picked up off her feet by the stone beam raging against mana layered her ear. As time resumed for Lia, she could only witness her classmate being dragged through the air, and slung at her.
No time to think, bodies slammed together, and girls tumbled into toward the school without a hope of control.
Morimoto reset his position, and hefted the ji behind his back; tapping it against his shoulder like a baseball bat.
As Dorian landed among the growing fog bank, he took notice of three things:
The first was the bundle of girl that tumbled by him, as Jin and Lia came to a stop a little bit behind him.
The second was Morimoto, standing a ways off, and leaning on his ji, as he was bored -- despite lacking expression.
And, the addition of his fog bank added a new layer of obscuration to the Merry Duke's Forest of Windsor, as the third notation he’d have.
There were multiple new variables on the battlefield, now, and he'd little in the way of support for himself. Due to the “thickness” of the Mana that surrounded them, some had become visual to his trained eyes, and in the air, a visible trail of it leading from Morimoto to Jin, as her Physical Enchantment was crackling and falling. In addition, he could see a dense cluster of Spiritrons formed around her head like a helmet, and a clunky left arm armoring that braced Lia’s body from being all but crushed under Jin.
The girls were alive, at the very least; probably plagued by a massive headaches, and serious aches, but they could still help him.
Maybe.
Shifting, Morimoto moved to a tree, and punched a fist into it. He tightened, and pulled back on it. It was coated in terracotta, and he started to bang his ji against it, until a glorious buck appeared; it's body half wood and half terracotta. Morimoto was appropriating the Merry Duke of Windsor, much like an army general in need of resources would, and he continued to bang; turning the area into terracotta where the fog was touching the ground born of the Merry Duke of Windsor, and bringing in soldiers.
In the distance, there was a similar banging...
“Anchin-sama!” Maggie roared, as she bodily tackles Noboru's mom, and stared at him. “Are you okay?!” she asks, panicked at his stab wound, despite the fact that she'd an entire spear run through her abdomen. Maggie didn't even wait for the answer, as she grabbed Noboru's cheeks in her clawed hands, and pressed her lips to his wholesale. Noboru could probably tell, this wasn't the same shy girl that he'd barely known a day, but someone far more willful.
“I won't lose you, darling,” whispered the phantom controlling Maggie, before turning, and unfolding their fan. “Stand back!” Maggie whipped her fan, and Mana gathered at such an incredibly rate that is was more of a burst cast than traditional cast; appropriate for the swath of flame that cut through the room, and mercilessly knocked everyone before her to the floor; all but melting them to their flesh core. “Let's run away together, Anchin!” she says, taking his hand -- Noboru didn't have a choice, as he was dragged by the Irishwoman dressed in formal Japanese attire from a feudal age moving faster than he could process at the moment.
Not to mention, In the back of his mind, Noboru could feel a series of disruptions in his Forest; coinciding with a drumming that started up.
Much to her chagrin, or perhaps, to her destiny, fickleness was the main course of divine guidance, as Rebecca bumped into the wooden construct of a young buck, and drew the ire of nature. An angered grunt escaped the beast, as it reared, and drove itself, bodily, into Rebecca shoving her out of the treeline. Landing flat on her back, Rebecca's sudden presence triggered the senses of her currently possessed friend, and Bill drew his short sword, as he moved to fold her in. However, before he could, he turned his attention from her, triggered by something else, and turned back to the gate; sword drawn, and rushing towards it as swiftly as he could.
Whatever it was, it seemed to present a greater threat than she had, as the soldiers, for all their overwhelming strength, had never once attempted to run to them. Since they had appeared, everyone of them had only marched -- or, if one could be hopeful, was fighting against their commands -- towards their objective, and yet, now, Bill had ran to attack something. Rebecca could only wonder what could be so threatening...
...before someone shouted something about challenge, glory, and honor, and Bill came flying through the gate, and sailed over her entire body, as if returned by a catapult. Rebecca saw him slam into the earth, ram into soldiers that were gathering to the target zone, and knock them over. In the gate, stood a lanky teen dressed in the armor of a Grecian warrior of days long gone with a glorious, yet simple shield, and a woman in a luxurious golden fleece toga with rose-colored hair holding a water gun in her hands, as if it were real...
In the backseat, Roselynn lied across both seats, as Nathan drove around the terracotta soldiers and their horses, as the city slowly fell. “I can tell, it's a Bounded Field, at the very least,” says the teen, as he turned into a new lane. “I'm sure Miss Dedalus can tell us more,” Nathan looked back via the rearview mirror, “Are you still trying to catch that female Nidoran? It's a 1% chance. Statistically, you shouldn't have even caught a female Pikachu and a male Pikachu -- much less, back to back.” Roselynn smirked, “And, yet, I did. If I can roll two 3% chances in a row, then roll a 1% is possible. Such are percentiles.”
Nathan conceded, as he pulled into the school parking lot. “Autonomous Sentry-types,” he says, “Golemancy. That needs a lot of power, and a high focus.” Roselynn sat up, saving her game at the Pokécenter at the base of Mt. Moon, and shutting the app off. “So, we're on the outskirts of the Bounded Field, then,” she says, thoughtfully, “Alright, let's be quick here.” Nathan shuddered, “Into that? Couldn't we just wait for Miss Hotsuin?” Roselynn exited the car, and huffed, “If she could answer her phone. Honestly, a young woman that cannot even answer her phone. What is the world coming to?”
Sighing, Nathan stepped out, and surveyed the area. “A single guard. It seems to be going for something,” he says, as the sentry was moving away, sword drawn. “Hivemind,” Roselynn says. “Eyes and ears connected.” Nathan shivered. “Time to go to work,” Roselynn says, unlatching the latch to her water gun holster, as the sentry took notice of them. “Do I have to,” Nathan asks, “Surely, you and Madame Socrates can handle this? They are still human underneath, no? That's your theory.” Roselynn moved behind Nathan, and pressed a hand to his shoulder, “A theory is nothing but. Aren't you my bodyguard,” her lips brushed against his ear, Spiritron Particles floating off them, “my brave, little boy?” Nathan glupped, as he felt the cool polish of the Colt .45 against his temple, and felt the click of the hammer drop into the ready position. He knew for fact it was just a water gun, and yet, Roselynn's Origin suggested it was all too real. “Y-Yes,” Nathan stammered, as he Materialized a Class Card. “But... if I fail...?” Roselynn smiles, “You can't fail me,” she caressed the trigger, “Be brave for me. See your dear mother through this,” and pulled it; shooting Nathan squarely.
Slumping forward, Nathan was surrounded by a swirl of Spiritron Particles, and found himself in the clad in the armor of proud Grecian soldier. Loudly, there was the clang of stone and metal. “Simpleton,” he says, almost beneath his voice. “Dare you challenge my brilliant shield with flimsy stone!? Dare you wage your masquerading steel against honor and glory!?” Nathan thrust himself upwards, and raised the divine right that was Rho Aias. “Rho Aias falls to none! Nor does the glory of Ajax the Greater!” he roared, bombastically, as he sent the sentry flying back to and through the gate with a single heft of the towering shield. “Stand behind me, mother,” Nathan grinned, “we're going straight in.”
Roselynn chuckled, “Such an heroic boy,” and made a ‘lead the way’ motion.
I'll still wait, though. Thanks, but, unfortunately, I don't have a lot of free time to collab, right now, and, I think, we're only one or two posts away from Tree's, anyways.
Don't quote me on that, though. I'll me miffed, if you do. >:[
@Enkryption Mmm, your call how hard you want to push the introvert angle.
Depends, largely on the situation at hand. It's not like he can't have a conversation; just, he'd rather not for multiple reasons.
<Snipped quote by Enkryption>
oooooh cyll would not like that, not in the least bit.
Also not sure why you'd call Mush a lizard when she's a Draph and not a Dhirom. At best she's a goat. baaa.
...I'mma chalk it up to attempting to be funny and mixing up the races, while nursing a headache that made me wanna scream and thrown up with every motion. I just woke up from passing out; feeling significantly better, fortunately.
The Irish Tree
Phase
PaulHaynek
Lucid Dreaming
AzureKnight
The Otter
Kronshi
JewelSerket
NoriWasHere
Abstract Proxy