So worried right now. My brother just got admitted to the hospital after swallowing six toy horses. Doctors say he's in stable condtion.
8
likes
4 yrs ago
Nice to meet you, Bored. I'm interested!
7
likes
4 yrs ago
Ugh. Someone literally stole the wheels off of my car. Gonna have to work tirelessly for justice.
4
likes
Bio
Oh gee! An age and a gender and interests and things. Yeah, I have those. Ain't no way I'm about to trigger an existential crisis by typing them all out, though. You can find out what a nerd I am on discord, okay?
Already tucked in under her blankets, Penelope was not quite ready for sleep. Part of this was simply the natural boundless energy of a six-year-old girl, but another was excitement. The child’s mind was racing through the world in the story and its endless adventures, so different from an everyday life that she was already beginning to conceptualize as mundane and confining. In particular, she was imagining herself as one specific character: a real person, if the book and Madame Touraine were to be believed.
She was kneeling now, with that preternaturally good balance she had developed on one leg, and her covers were currently sloughing away. “Mademoiselle Nelle,” the nanny declared, and she clapped the book shut. “It is bedtime and you well know what that means.”
The little princess sunk onto her haunch, letting herself slouch to the side after a moment. She gazed up at her keeper and the woman gazed down at her: kindly but stern. “Sorry,” the child apologized. “I’m just eggsited for the next part.”
“That’s wonderful to hear. Books are an important part of your education, but you know what you need to do first.” Penelope was already in her nightgown, of course. She settled back under her covers properly and lay her little head on her pillows. “I’m ready, Madame Touraine.”
The nanny reached out and lovingly poked the tip of her nose. “You most certainly are,” she chirped, “And I wonder what’s in the next part that’s so good, hmm?”
The child grinned. “Lady Talit!” she exclaimed, half–sitting up again. Truly, Nelle could read the book for herself. She was almost seven years old, after all, and quite literate. She just liked to hear other people tell the story because they used cool voices and then they got to hear about how awesome Lady Talit was too.
“The yasoi lady?” Madame Touraine inquired.
Penelope nodded vigorously. “She was my great great great great great great great great -” she paused to take a breath. “-great great great great great great great great grandfather’s wife, so that kind of makes her my great great great great great great great great -” Madame Touraine held up a hand for the girl to stop. “Grandmother,” she finished prematurely. It wasn’t enough greats and that bothered her. One needed to be historically accurate, after all.
“Your many greats grandmother was the noble Queen Eleanor, dear.”
The princess sighed. “I know, technically.” She sounded accepting as opposed to enthused.
“A great hero who gave her life to defend the kingdom.”
“But Lady Talit did all that too and lived!” Penelope insisted. She burst out from her covers. “And - and she was like… running around with her chains and her blade crutches and her magic going whoosh, smash, pew!” The child hopped about in her nightgown, adding actions to her words. She stood there, face earnest and arms spread. “Pssshhh.” She made twinkle fingers, mimicking the fallout from an explosion. “She was a dervish,” she added matter-of-factly.
“Penelope de Perrence,” the nanny said sternly. The girl threw herself under her covers following two great bounds, and tucked herself in. “I’m sorry, Madame Touraine. I’m just eggsited… Queen Eleanor was pretty neat too,” she added after a moment.
“What is it with you and this Lady Talit?” asked the nanny with a frustrated sort of fondness.
The child blinked, starting to sit up again and thinking better of it. Madame Touraine had been very patient with her, but she sensed that another interruption would be a bridge too far. “She was like me,” Nelle said quietly instead.
“That’s a much better bedtime voice,” the nanny approved. “But she was yasoi, dear, and lived eight hundred years ago, and was very different from all of us, I fear.”
It wasn’t that. Sometimes, Nelle wondered if Madame Touraine was actually all that smart. Mother had said that she was “plenty smart enough for your needs”, but mother also wouldn’t allow her to leave the castle grounds with her brothers and sisters. “Yeah, but she was like me in one way,” the child mewed. She half sat up and freed an arm, aware of but ignoring the nanny’s warning look. Instead, with her funny hand, she patted the empty space under the covers where everybody else had a leg.
Madame Touraine blinked. “Oh my dear little Nelle,” she said softly, reaching out and stroking the side of the child’s face. “How thick I fear I am.”
The girl snorted. “Yeah, that was pretty dumb, Madame Touraine.”
The nanny pursed her lips.
“Sorry.” She laid back down. “I just wanna be like her,” Nelle whispered, trying to be extra quiet to make up for her bad behaviour.
“Of course, precious,” the woman responded, gently reopening the book. “She did many amazing things and, someday, you will too.”
She came to on a beach, gazing up at the star-filled sky. For a moment, there was only peace, and Penny was happy. A crab skittered along somewhere close to her head and the waves heaved in and out at her foot. Then, she felt the aches and pains and it all came flooding back to her: being knocked out in a sneak attack, the throbbing pain in her head, the temporary blindness, darkness, and abduction. She'd cast off the chemical magic and fought her way out. She winced and moaned as she tried to take a deep breath. This is what broken ribs feel like, the Perrenchwoman thought. She lay there for a moment, giggling stupidly, but it hurt. She'd never broken a bone in her life. She'd barely even gotten a scrape. Climbed a rocky shore? Fought someone to the death? Her heart pounded at the thought of it. It was crazy: bloody and violent and terrifying, but she'd done it: thrown her strength against a half-dozen hardened cutthroats and overcome them all. Tears streamed down her cheeks, dying in the sand. She found herself strangely compelled to pray.
In Nomini Ipté, Chune, Orpahe, Echeran, et Dami. Amen. She made the sign of the Pentad, flinching as a badly sprained triceps was forced to flex. Thank you, most divine Pentad, for giving me the strength, wisdom, and good fortune to prevail against those who sought to do me harm and who have harmed so many others. I further give my thanks for the station you have chosen for me: the blood that flows through my veins is that of legendary kings and queens, and some of their strength is mine; the hardness of my mother and father are fires that have tempered me into the weapon of your justice. I shall ever be your faithful servant and endeavour to live as a beacon of your light. She made the sign once more, just as she had most every night since she'd been a little girl, just as Benedict the Blessed had before the Battle of the Plains of Abnegation, as Arcel the Victorious had in his hour of need against the Eskandish hordes of eight hundred years ago. In Nomini Ipté, Chune, Orpahe, Echeran, et Dami. Amen.
Penny managed a deeper breath and, with great pain, forced herself to sit up. The glove over her weird hand was tattered and one of her fingers was broken. Her ankle was twisted and her right triceps howled in agony when she tried to move it. There were scuffs, scrapes, and lacerations everywhere she looked. The youth closed her eyes and drew from her surroundings, finding ample energy. This, she applied first to her ankle and her finger, but she was dazed and the effort was clumsy. She let the rest slip and her ribs and triceps remained a source of pain. Again, she reached out, this time gripping the small medallion of Dami's Hammer that she'd worn for this mission. Scrapes healed over, soft and pinkish. Lacerations closed themselves, and the tear in her muscles eased somewhat. It was then that Penny heard the distant voices of what she could only assume were more members of the crew that had tried to kidnap her. Pushing off, she rose to her foot and cast about for her crutch. Dammit! she cursed inwardly. All of the Gift in the world but she was far too dependent upon a stupid stick for basic mobility.
Straining into the distance, Penny spotted something bobbing in the water. Gingerly, she hopped a few steps forward and recognized it for what it was. Taking another painful breath, she stretched out with Kinetic Magic and called it forth from the waves. It arced through the air and snapped straight into her hand. The waves were such a source of power that she continued to draw from them, concentrating as she converted their energy into binding. This, she used to reinforce the bones of her ribcage and the pain began to fade. She took a deep cautious breath. Good enough. There remained yet a painful bruise on her legless hip and a pinch in her right arm, but she was well enough to function and that's what was important.
Peering off into the darkness, Penny couldn't make much sense of anything. It was an unusually black night: only one moon was up, and she still felt a bit woozy. She stumbled around for a bit, searching for some clue, and found herself wandering further up the beach. Then, she saw them: footprints. They were the distinctive mark of a foot and a crutch on sand and they could only be hers. They stretched off into the distance and she now knew a way out. She started to walk.
Yet, something else grabbed her attention, and the Perrenchwoman twisted suddenly at the sound of paddles meeting water. Voices rose over the crash of the waves and a small pinnace made its way through the shallows. Adrenaline burning through her arteries, Penny ducked into a small rocky alcove and pressed herself up inside of it motionlessly. She could not make out any of the words for certain, but there were more people back where she had escaped from. The small stone building she had destroyed in the process was clearly not all that there was. As she stood in silence, her mind could not help but wander. By the time that the likely pirates had passed her by, the youth had decided to head back and at least try to get the lay of the land. She could not be useless. She needed to return to the others with something to show for her misadventure.
So it was that Penny found herself hurrying along a black sand beach. The tip of her crutch dug in and her boot squelched with water. Quietly, she clambered over the rocks, grimacing as her still-tender arm was forced to flex and strain more than once.
The smoking ruins were a site of investigation as she approached them and, like second nature, the girl gathered energy from their residual heat. This, she put into a powerful illusion, bending the meagre light filtering in from the moons and a couple of lanterns. Sound covered by the waves, Penny slipped past without drawing any notice. Her heart thudded in her chest with a nervous anticipation and she continued onward, in the direction that the investigating seamen seemed to have come from.
She found a narrow stone path over the volcanic rocks. Palm trees swayed in a gentle breeze and mist from a small waterfall dusted her skin. Carefully, the interloper placed foot before crutch, feeling herself a charlatan and a fraud as she continued to bend light around herself. You have one leg, you dumb girl. Certainly, it was slow going and, more than once, she stumbled or had to use magic. More than once, she had to scramble off-path and crouch in the shadows as people passed by. Something had seized the once-spoiled royal, however, and she was determined to press on.
She rounded a small promontory and then it lay before her: the mouth of a vast grotto, so tall that a sizable ship might go in and out. Penny let out a soundless whistle. Pay dirt. She grinned and pressed on, senses on high alert, heart racing. "I jus' said keep yer eyes open, man!" came a female voice. Two pirates were approaching. "Eyes open for what?" shouted her partner, frustrated. "A woman?" he snorted. "'spose I should keep me eyes open fer you?"
"I told ye' already, Seamus: A bloody one-legged woman! Can't be easy to miss!"
And yet here she is, thought Penny impishly, slipping right past you. She kept to the shadows and went still as they drew near. It was far less work to bend the light that way. Nothin' to see here, Wingus and Dingus, she willed, and soon she was watching their receding backs. "She's oughta be long gone by now," the male pirate grumbled. "Else dead as dirt."
There was a large ship in the cavern, lit by a number of lanterns. It hovered, phantasmal in the murky near distance, and appeared to be mostly out of the water. Crew members crawled over its surface like crabs, probably scrubbing the hull of worms and barnacles, Penny decided. Its hull seemed unusually dark, and she counted at least thirty-five cannon. This has to be it, she realized, the Maria Nera. There were too many people there, even with many of them outside the grotto picking through the ruins or searching for her.
However, she noticed a second item of interest as she came up to the channel that had allowed the ship to slip inside. Some ways from the Nera was a sizable sub-cave, its entrance well-lit by torches. A handful of guards were talking outside.
Muffling her footsteps and slowing to a snail's pace, the Perrenchwoman slipped smoothly inside. Sure enough, there was a massive treasure trove, much of it in Revidian coinage. She took a moment to tune into the guards' conversation. "Cap's bringing the goods home," promised one. "Nothin' to worry about!" There came a second voice. "Just hope they understand why. It looks bad from the outside. Everyone thinks he's a hero, you know: busy kissin' his arse." This kind of eavesdropping would only ever provide her with an incomplete picture. Penny needed more than that, so she decided to go deeper. The cave branched, and curtains covered one of the branches. Well, if that's not something worth investigating, she thought, then I don't know what is! On a desk in the small, well-appointed room, she found a captain's log. The flag of Segona hung upon the wall opposite wall above an unusually opulent bed: a more battered version of the sort of thing she might've slept on at home. Penny took a moment to open the journal. The handwriting was very neat - feminine, she imagined - and there were plenty of details, particularly something about a 'fight for freedom' and a 'dastardly uncle'. The intruder decided that she could read it all later. She palmed the small journal, stuffed it into her belt, and turned to keep exploring deeper.
There was the expected treasure: gold, spices, medicines, and valuable stones. About to leave, the Perrenchwoman paused. There was a midsized lockbox, shoved off in a corner, conspicuous only in its pointed inconspicuousness. Creeping up to it, she drew from the lock mechanism using binding magic and it shattered. She took a moment to apply some of the repurposed matter in healing her arm and her stump. She rolled and flexed the latter and propped the former on her crutch handle. Inside the lockbox, however, lay only disappointment: an old lamp and nothing more. It was the simple kind too, with only a candle and some old-style glass: a Chune Lamp, people called it, for that's how the Seeker of Knowledge's holy symbol was always portrayed. Penny thought about bringing it along. Wouldn't it be something if that was the actual Lantern of Chune? She shook her head to clear it, rolled her eyes, and decided that it was probably time to get out of here.
Before she could make it more than a couple of steps, however, the sound of approaching footsteps threw her into a near-panic. Penny darted into a darkened alcove and held her breath. "Coulda sworn I heard somethin'," one of the pirates insisted. The other's eyes swept the room. "Aye, I think she doubled back, sneaky lil' wench." They were talking about her! They were onto her! A cold, prickly shot of adrenaline shuddered through her veins. If these two spotted her, even if they shared their suspicions with other members of the crew, it could be very bad. They would come swarming for her by the dozens and she could not hope to fight them all off. I'm sorry, she thought, but you have to die.
Rising up behind them, the Blood Mage pulled with all of her might. The two men disintegrated, heads first, and she watched them die. Immediately, she hunched over, hands on her knee, and swallowed back the bile rising in the back of her throat. Those were someone's children, she thought, maybe someone's fathers. Holy shit! She stood uneasily and gulped a couple of times. Magic power coursed through her veins and she used it conjure some light, doing a final sweep of the caves, that lantern still nagging at the back of her mind. It began to dawn on the one-legged woman, then, that she was playing a very dangerous game. It was time to get out of here. Making haste, she darted out of the cave, glancing about as she went. With the coast looking clear, Penny took a couple of steps, but then she was falling. The world spun and she hit the ground with a painful smack. Her lip split and her vision blurred. The journal tumbled away to the edge of the water, its pages getting wet, and she lay there, stunned, her crutch clattering on the rocks.
She blinked and started to regain her bearings. Idiot! She'd missed a step: simple as that. Hissing in pain, she clambered to her foot, retrieving her crutch. There were pirates coming now: a pair of them wading through the shallows, but there might be more at any moment. The youth's mind burned with adrenaline and she called the journal to her hand. Ahead was the channel, and beyond it a sandbar and eventual freedom. "You there!" shouted one of the approaching enemies, "who are yah?"
"Ay! Stop!" warned the other. Drawing from the current, Penny unleashed an Arcane Lance that skewered the first through the head. Her body dropped with a splash into the shallows. The second, she was only able to wound, and he opened his mouth to scream a warning at the top of his lungs. His friend's killer, however, drew from the current for a second time and dampened the sound all around him. His cries did not leave his immediate vicinity and her stomach coiled up inside. She felt like a monster as she reached out with a telekinetic fist and snapped his neck.
Then, as she began wading though the deepening water, preparing to push off and swim, things took a turn for the worse. A pair of sharks, drawn by the blood, entered the shallows. Instantly, Penny knew that she could not outswim them, and she did not feel confident trying to fight them in the water. Instead, she drew energy from their very motion though it, backpedaling as quickly as she could, and used that to alter their primitive brains. Induced to fear, the beasts fled out the grotto's entrance, startling a second pair of pirates who'd been sauntering closer. Their potential victim breathed a sigh of relief. Nobody else was coming for her. She sat on the rough, gravelly ground at the sub-cave's entrance for a moment, steadied her nerves and...
It was like the damned thing was calling for her: that lantern. Penny stood, retrieved her crutch and hustled back inside. Prying open the lockbox, she fished it out. I hope you're worth it, she mused, turning on her heel and making haste out. Diving once again into the water, she found that it was not easy going. She stumbled on a protruding rock almost immediately, and both book and lantern were splashed. Glancing over her shoulder, the interloper could see the pirates who'd been scared off by the shark earlier, making their way over. Their eyes wandered in her direction and one leaned in towards the other. She kicked off, trying to gain some momentum, but it was a struggle to hold both book and lantern clear of the water while swimming. She needed a new plan. They'd seemed to notice her now. They were pretending not to, but one's hand was resting on the hilt of her sword.
Penny drew, then, with everything that she could, from the stone of the grotto itself. Rock began to crackle and a couple of large chunks plummeted from the ceiling to land with a splash. Shouts echoed through the dimness and people scrambled about. Up above, cracks began to form and the youth's stomach went cold. Too much! Driven by desperation and adrenaline, she turned the repurposed energy into Kinetic and rocketed out the channel, past great crumbling pillars of stone. A small section of the grotto outright collapsed, but she was past it, riding the wave. She found herself bobbing up and down beside her crutch in the cold dark waters of the ocean. Another moon had risen and it was brighter now. The lantern and journal hovering above her head in a kinetic grasp, she continued to tread water for a moment. You're no fish, stupid, she chided herself, making for shore.
Then, however, an opportunity too good to pass up presented itself. A small bomb ketch sat there at a small within the hidden cove, completely unguarded as people rushed to deal with the collapse. Tossing the lantern, the journal, and her crutch inside first, the one-legged woman climbed aboard. At the sight of six cannon, a mortar, and crates worth of explosives, her eyes lit up. Momentarily, her thoughts turned to her teammate, Desmond. Who says you get to be the only captain? cutting the mooring ropes, she cast about for a captain's hat and any sort of noteworthy gear. Instead, she only succeeded in catching her foot on a coil of rope and tripping painfully. "Damidammit!" she hissed, rolling into a seated position. Gritting her teeth, she examined her hands and rubbed at her knee.
She had bigger things to worry about, though. Penny had read books about sailing: plenty of books. She'd always found it fascinating, adventurous, and romantic, but she'd never actually done it. She hurried about the tiny ship, using her magic to unfurl this or tighten that. Slowly but surely, the ketch started to lurch forward. Her heart leapt and she took a moment to look up at the stars for some navigational aid. With more luck than skill, she was able to make it through the gap between two rocky islets. The great wide sea stretched out in front of her. Yet... to the side lay another opportunity.
Moored at another small dock was a rather large... She paused, trying to remember the rigs of various seacraft. It wasn't a Brig... A snow! she thought. There were precisely two sailors aboard from what she could see, and the rushed over to shout at her. "Avast!" shouted one. "Aaayy! Where you going with that!?" demanded the second. They were standing right beside each other. With a puckish smile, Penny smacked their heads together. Both went limp.
She had pushed this far and done this much and it stood to reason that she should not press lady luck much further. Yet, she thought back to those childhood tales of kings, queens, knights, mages, and great adventurers. She thought of the hundred risky plays of Lady Talit. Her first one had cost her a leg. The other ninety-nine had brought her wealth and renown. Penny grabbed the coil of rope, wound up, and tossed it as far as she could. When it began to slacken, she lifted it up the rest of the way with telekinesis. It landed on the larger ship's deck and she followed moments later.
The thieving interloper found that she had much to do. First, she tied the ketch fast to the snow's stern. Next, she used what spare rope remained to bind the pair of guards to the mainmast. She glanced about the vessel. It wasn't large, like the big merchantmen and warships of her father's fleet, but it mounted fourteen guns that she'd counted and felt like a true ship: one that was about to be hers. With a bit of Arcane magic, Penny burnt the mooring lines apart and cast off. Sails unfurled themselves. Ropes tightened. Planks creaked and groaned. A gigantic grin split the lower half of the youth's face. All of those years of being nothing and doing nothing. They were well and truly behind her. Perhaps this was just beginner's luck, or perhaps she was merely fortune's favourite daughter, but she did not believe that either was the case.
The snow was well underway now, the ketch tethered astern of it. Penny reached out with the Gift, drawing from the endless power of the waves, and created some wind. Sails filled and the little flotilla picked up speed. With some difficulty and a good deal more luck, she left the cove and struck out along the coast towards the town and her allies. Along the way, she found a stool to lean against and, on it, a great plumed tricorn hat. This, she settled jauntily on top of her head. She couldn't wait to see the look on Desmond's face. Maybe she'd let him have the ketch if he asked nicely. Time to meet the others. A captain needs a crew, after all.
This is not an update. It is only a solo post.🙨 ☊☋☊ ❀ ☋☊☋ 🕱 ☊☋☊ ❀ ☋☊☋ 🕱 ☊☋☊ ❀ ☋☊☋ 🕱 ☊☋☊ ❀ ☋☊☋ 🙨 ☊☋☊ ❀ ☋☊☋ 🕱 ☊☋☊ ❀ ☋☊☋ 🕱 ☊☋☊ ❀ ☋☊☋ 🕱 ☊☋☊ ❀ ☋☊☋ 🙨
The tiles were the same: worn, patterned sandstone, they passed beneath Jocasta's wheels the same as they had six years ago, same as they had passed beneath her feet, same as they would another six or even sixty years from now, when she was long gone. She nearly smacked into Yalen, so absorbed was she, and she pulled quickly back on her wheels. For his part, the monk jumped like a scared animal.
Normally, Jocasta would have had to stifle a snicker at that, but he looked so genuinely spooked for a moment that she didn't find it amusing. She managed a quick apology as last night's actions came flooding back to her. She'd killed Gutierrez. A shiver ran down her spine. She'd killed ninety-two people so far, but none had ever been so personal. It had been six years since she'd looked a man in the eyes as he'd died. Murder was very much an abstract thing for Jocasta. Could Yalen know something? She'd fixed her eyes ahead to avoid any further near-collisions, but they slid uneasily in his direction. Would she have to kill him? She did not want to. He was a religious fool, but a good person. Her world started to seem a little bit colder.
The others were in various states of walking, most of them rather quiet. It was Kaspar's and Ysilla's default state. Zarina was nowhere to be seen. Yalen remained oddly silent, though, like a frightened animal, and for a moment, it made her want to hurt him. What are you all vulnerable and timid looking for? Who pissed in your porridge, you little bitch? She knitted her brows together, took a breath, and decided that the thought had been unnecessarily mean. Still, a deep kind of anxiety settled in the pit of her stomach, right down close to where her feeling ended, to where she wouldn't be able to feel anything in a couple of years' time. Jocasta didn't want to think about that. Death was inevitable. Her clock was ticking, and it ticked so much faster than the others'. Gods, she hated this place. She hated the oil lanterns that hung on their chains from the ceiling, the pale greyish-yellow of the colonnades and tiles, the way the heat rolled in from the desert in waves that distorted the air. She could breathe in the dust: that same smell she had known as a child. She did not want to be here. 'Here' was a place that should not have existed and, even if she destroyed it all, she knew that she could not heal the damage that it had done to her and a thousand other people.
Ayla looked lonely and needy, though perhaps it was just the Tethered girl projecting her own weaknesses onto the Torragonese. She was small and sweet, though, and Jocasta made an effort to come up beside her and take her hand. Wordlessly, she flashed a little smile and knitted her fingers into her teammate's.
Their morning meeting was a mundane enough affair at first, but it shed some light on where the aberration might be. It's far. She'd reached out for it and hadn't sensed it. She was sure that the Warden had already had his people reach for it too, but he wasn't about to risk his cash cows out in the desert. Somehow, his call for help had reached the Paradigm, and quickly. The bigger questions, quite frankly, were just what an aberration of that size was doing way out in the desert and how on Sipenta the Warden planned to dispose of it. More likely that he was hoping some animals would take it in and their group would dispose of the animals. Let them suffer for human failures. She gritted her teeth and, it seemed, was gritting them forevermore after that. With each lie and dismissive remark from the Warden, her anger grew, tempered only by the fact that they genuinely did not seem to suspect that Gutierrez was dead, much less that she'd done it. She had only Yalen to worry about, potentially, and if he did know, the fact that he hadn't said anything yet meant that he likely wouldn't until confronting her. She would tell him the truth, then. She would see how righteous his religion truly was. If he accepted the necessity of what she'd done, then there would be no problem. If he didn't, then she might be able to live with herself should she have to do what she did not want to.
Jocasta did not enjoy breakfast. The very smell of the churros reminded her of her breakfasts with the previous Warden: that sugary sweetness to cover up the rot. On the wall, the stupid clock ticked away and she hated it. The others probed after useless things, but Jocasta was already on thin ice. She was six years older, there were few staff left from back then, and she had changed her hair colour and skin tone. One might mistake her now for for a fair Kerreman, Eskandish, or southern Perrenchwoman as opposed to the swarthy Dorvalish that she was. Still, she did not want to draw any more attention to herself than the great deal already drawn by the mere fact that she was Tethered.
Then, as matters were wrapping up, Ayla asked Marceline for a tour. The girl's eyes darted awkwardly in Jocasta's direction and the older Tethered gave a tiny nod. They'd been planning to meet. If Father truly had an ally here, then perhaps they could move forward. Alas, it was not to be... for now. A tour...chatting and smiling with the others. That was something that Jocasta did not want and could not do, but to be on her own in this place...
When everyone was finished, she excused herself and the seed of an idea started to take root in her mind. Yet, fertile soil was not in the offing. They went their separate ways and Jocasta found herself alone beneath the colonnade. She rolled up to the balustrade, posting her elbows on the warm stone surface like a reptile trying to absorb its radiated heat. She couldn't look at Activity Day with its careful scheduling and fleeting happiness. It just repeated, again and again and again! Wasted lives! Those poor young human beings: stems without roots, just like her, yanked from their soil and fed endless placebos until they just quietly died here in those little rooms for the zeros, purposeless and forgotten. Her vision blurred and she just... couldn't. Jocasta - or whatever her true name had once been - could have all of the RAS that she wanted. She could rise up like a righteous angel of death and burn this place to the ground, but what would it do in the grand scheme of things? What would it make her but a murderer? What would it make the Tethered but homeless, crippled orphans with no idea how to use their magic or function in the real world? It wouldn't change that they would all die before they truly got to live. It was something that she could not fight, or at least not with any hope of winning.
She buried her head in her arms and cried bitter tears. She wanted to live: Gods, she wanted to live, to feel the sun's glow on her skin, to laugh, to love, to run through an open field with the wind in her hair and the cool grass beneath her toes, to be young like everyone else - young with a future, like Ayla, like Zarina and Ysilla and Kaspar. Why couldn't she? In her coming years, there was no tenderly cradling a baby and rocking him to sleep, feeling the kiss of a husband, holding hands by the ocean, growing old in the arms of a loved one, watching her children become people she could be proud of. Instead, she was a heartless murderer who'd given herself to someone else's grand cause so that she didn't have to feel. Feeling hurt. Ipte, it hurt, just like this. Jocasta would be gone in ten years, her body wasting away before then like her soul already was. The only legacy that she would leave would be the impacts of her actions, for even her name would stay unknown.
She straightened, then, and sniffed, tears staining her cheeks. She sniffed again, feeling disgusting, and took a couple of long, unsteady breaths. You're fine, she told herself. That was indulgent, she told herself, but she wasn't and it wasn't. She pulled upon the Gift, tears evaporating from her cheeks, and placed her hands back on the wheels of this damned device her body needed just to move itself around without using magic. Her skin returned to its porcelain perfection, her posture and bearing dignified. Jocasta took a moment to fix her hair. If she could not get anything productive done, then she could resolve these stupid emotional matters here and now and have them out of her way. What she couldn't do, however, was be alone.
Pushing off smoothly, she rolled down the colonnade, a gentle breeze whistling past her ears. It was muscle memory: she could navigate this place blindly if she needed to. All of those blissful childhood games of tag amid the plants and pillars, until running became harder, and then even walking and she had to become an observer. Those nights spent wandering the grounds, having slipped out after curfew. The secret training sessions in the outer compound and the way she'd linger before and after. She was decaying, but this place was unchanging.
Jocasta had just made it down the short ramp into the courtyard, when she spotted one of the magpies who laundered the bed sheets. Avoiding a small barrier and some bushes, she made haste across the packed dirt. "Hola. ¿Hay alguien llamado Amanda aquí?"*1 she asked in her best Torragonese. The caretaker looked at her uncertainly for a moment. "Amanda," the Tethered clarified. "Ella sería un cero si todavía estuviera aquí."*2
The woman's eyes narrowed. "¿Tú... no eres un residente aquí?"*3
Jocasta's heart skipped a beat. "No. Sólo estoy de visita"*4
"Ah, sí, sí. Amanda..." There was an extended pause as the caretaker considered. "Ella es un poco mayor", she replied. "No sé si está viva con certeza, pero estaba en... la habitación 304 en el área de Zeroes la última vez que la vi".*5
Room 304. That was one of the ones with a courtyard view. She started to back away. "Muchas gracias!" she replied, turning and wheeling off. Why was Jocasta doing this, again? Why was she so bent on ruining everything just for some emotional satisfaction. Yet... it was hardly something she could pass up. Amanda was eleven years her senior. When she'd first arrived, it had been into the older girl's strong, comforting arms. When she'd left, it had been sudden, just as the first serious numbness had started to spread through her mentor's hands and she'd been struggling with the impending end of her active role.
Jocasta hurried up the ramp and from one covered colonnade to the next, grabbing corner pillars and swinging herself around them to keep up her speed as she turned. A part of her dreaded what she would see. If Amanda still lived, she would be near the end, and the end was not pretty. Still, it had lingered with her how she had just left without saying goodbye. It hadn't been intentional. It hadn't been planned, but the feeling of having betrayed an elder sister was not something that she felt good about. Plus, she needed some wisdom. Amanda had always been wise, or perhaps Jocasta had just been a child. She did not know but chose to believe the former.
Arriving at the Torre de la Soledad, hairs began to prickle down the back or her neck and arms. A tall, squarish citadel made of reddish-yellow sandstone, it seemed more fortress than residence, here in its own corner of the refuge. Meekly, Jocasta rolled up to the gate. It was unlocked during the day, though none but caretakers ever really went in or out. After the first year or so, where people came to visit and talk with them, keeping them apprised of the refuge's daily happenings, the Zeros were inevitably forgotten.
Reaching up, Jocasta pushed the lock and the gate slid open with a groan and a clank. She pushed her way through the land of deep shadows and shade, towards the extra wide lift that yawned like a great fish's mouth. The smell of dirt and pollen gradually gave way to something mustier and... less alive as she rolled inside. Usually, from her experience, the lifts were staffed, but this one was not. The twenty-year-old was not in the mood to work the pulley herself, so she used the Gift instead. The lift shuddered as it rose, thick ropes spooling and unspooling, light from tiny windows illuminating the dimness and the sparkling dust in the air until she reached the third floor. Jocasta reached out and pulled down the lever that anchored the lift to that floor, lest it plummet and take its passengers to their deaths. Easing out into narrow, poorly lit stone hallway, she glanced at the walls for any directional signs. A single caretaker passed by, his bearing indicating that he was not to be bothered, and so she let him pass.
Determinedly, Jocasta set hands to wheels, and made it a few yards in one direction before realizing that she was going the wrong way and turning around. The floors here were older than in the rest of the Refuge: less even and far more worn. She either hadn't noticed on the couple of occasions she'd been here as a child or it just hadn't seemed relevant. Now, however, as she craned her neck to peer up at the passing door numbers, her mind burned with questions. Maybe it had been a fortress at some point in the distant past. It certainly seemed to be older than anywhere else.
Then, she was there. So much had she been occupied with thought that she'd almost missed it. Jocasta paused and squared herself up in front of the old wooden door. It was the final one before the corner. She was going to simply push it open and roll in, come whatever she would find, but she hesitated. Amanda. It had been six years. She glanced both ways down the hallway and then gathered her magic. With some concentration and an advanced Chemical spell, her hair and skin darkened to the colours that they had been during her childhood. With a deep breath, Jocasta reached out to knock, but then then the door opened of its own accord.
Inside, in a high-backed chair that reclined about thirty degrees, with small wheels and large padded armrests, was a woman. She had Amanda's face, but was otherwise a ghost. Gone were the strong arms and great thick shoulders that had held Jocasta up as a girl so that she could reach oranges for the both of them from Pulpo Viejo.*6 Her fingers were curled in, bony and twisted, her biceps and triceps withered as much as her legs had always been. Her chest and trunk, all their vitality gone, were propped up between a pair of padded side-rests, slouched slightly and awkwardly to one side. Yet, this ghost still had Amanda's sparkling eyes and, when she opened her mouth, Amanda's smile and voice. "Consuela..." She blinked in disbelief. "Have I just finally lost it or is that actually you?"
Jocasta managed a smile, closing the door behind herself. "You were never sane, Amanda. This is just the latest episode."
The woman who had been older sister, mother, mentor, and friend to her snorted. "Still with that devil's tongue of yours, hmm?" she replied.
"That's another thing you imagined, loca," the younger woman said flippantly. She pushed herself a few feet closer, stopping and trying to meet Amanda's eyes. It seemed some effort for her to crane her neck forward while her seat leaned back.
"Oh, I don't suppose this is all my imagination too?" the Zero offered, eyes roving pointedly about the room. Besides her chair, there was a bed, a window, and a particularly ancient desk in the old Torraure style. A lantern, currently dark, sat on the last of these, along with some books. There were a handful of drawings and paintings, old and yellowed, stuck to the walls with putty. With a start, Jocasta recognized one as her work from ten years ago. Amanda sighed, eyes fixed on the younger woman in wary, hopeful disbelief. "Don't break my heart," she practically whispered. "Truly, it's you, but how?" She paused awkwardly for a moment, as if wanting to pair it with a gesture that she could no longer make. "They said you ran. They said you were dead!"
Six years had passed. Amanda had been so much to her back then, but Jocasta was not one to divulge secrets now. "Reports of my demise were... greatly exaggerated," she said with a smirk.
"You sneaky little bitch," teased Amanda, "I wanna know how you did it. Maybe I can join you out there, huh?" She winked and, to the younger woman's surprise, her chair moved a bit, so that she could glance between Jocasta and the window. She smirked softly. "What? Did you forget I had the Gift?" She rolled her eyes. "Gods know I literally would've gone mad without it, these past few years..."
They exchanged weak smiles and then a silence built around them: one built on having so much to say that one does not know what should be chosen, one built upon lives not lived, one built upon regret and a desire not to let it take the reins of conversation. "I'm... sorry, Amanda, for just leaving," said the grown woman she had known as a girl named Consuela. I just -
"Oh shut up, would you?" Amanda's eyes flicked her way, and then back out the window that she must've spent all day staring out. "We all knew what was going on. We all knew how unhappy you were, but we didn't say anything, like cowards, like we had anything to lose." Her head came round to regard Jocasta. "We thought you'd finally fought back and he had beaten you and killed you. Nobody talked about you after that. It was... too painful." Her eyes welled up and the younger woman set hands to wheels and glided up immediately beside her, casting about for something to wipe them with.
Amanda blinked the tears away "Don't worry, Chela, I'm good at making them go away." Her voice cracked.
"I won't judge you for crying them, you know." Jocasta glanced down at her lap and then her eyes found some cotton swabs on a small tray by the bed. She began to reach for them. "Not those, tonta," Amanda scolded. "I have so few and I don't get more 'til next week."
Jocasta pulled her hand back and straightened. "What are they even for?" she inquired, and the older woman's eyes went off somewhere else. "For my ears, for sleep," she replied after a moment. "For peace sometimes during the day."
The visitor snorted. "Always such a light sleeper," she teased, backing up a bit and half-turning to take in the room. "So, I see you still have-"
"It's for the screams." Amanda turned to face her, cumbersome and inelegant. Jocasta could feel the energy swirl. "Some nights, the others scream. Some days they do: they scream from the boredom, the loneliness, because they're going crazy." Her gaze became intense, suddenly, burning into the younger woman. "They beg for death, Chela. That's the reality, but nobody here will give it to them because it's a sin to kill, they say. If you go on your own, they'll ease you off into Mommy Eshiran's arms, all tender love and care. Until then... you have to li - exist like this. Just a couple more years, they say." She shook her head bitterly, "And you'll be free and happy in one of the five heavens, your suffering in life rewarded in the afterlife."
Jocasta's guts tied themselves into knots at the speech. "Mandi..." she squeaked. "I'm... sorry."
"Don't be, sister." The woman's eyes followed her. "You are... my hero now. I'm... honestly jealous. I wish I'd done it, you know, on one of those stupid missions: taken the risk and just run. Lived however long I was going to but enjoyed it!"
Jocasta paused, knitting her hands in her lap and glancing down at them. "I could still-"
"Don't be stupid, snapped Amanda lovingly. "I'm finished and I've accepted it. Maybe another year and a bit. I made my bed and I sleep in it. I have my regrets, but they're mine."
The younger woman took a couple of breaths and nodded. This conversation had long since slipped out of the realm of pleasantries, as she'd known it would. "The thing is -" She gulped. "I'm not enjoying it." She looked up. "I'm mean and miserable and afraid all the time. I wanna change the world and do great things, but I'm one person! Half a person!" She put hands to wheels and began pacing, as had been her habit since childhood. "And I was fine with it too, until recently." She paused and looked significantly in Amanda's direction. "I was working with people who I thought shared my goals. Maybe they do, whatever those are. They got me into Ersand'Enise."
"Chela, that's -"
"Amazing, right?" She nodded as she spoke and began pacing again. "And it is!" She pivoted suddenly. "I'm there around people my age again: bright people, beautiful people, smart and powerful people who are going to own the world someday." She resumed her pacing. "But I'm there like this interloper, this imposter: the one who clearly doesn't belong." She could feel the stupid tears coming again. "When I'm not busy being a snarky lil' cunt, they even like me, just like I'm one of them, a friend: another young person who has a future."
"But you don't, little Chela." Amanda shook her head sadly, an enigmatic expression resting on her lips. "You will always be a snarky little bitch. It's terminal."
Jocasta let out a snort of laughter between the tears, and shamelessly sucked up a dribbler that had been threatening to break loose and drip onto her lap. "Death by snarkiness," she sniffed. "And bitchiness." It occurred to her how badly she could use a hug, and how very long it had been since she'd really had one.
"You know," said Amanda, tilting her head to the side, "That reminds me of Esparza." She pursed her lips for a moment. "There was some big excitement last night. When the Magpies came to check on me, they said he'd died of a heart attack." She paused meaningfully. "And then Gutierrez this morning, dead as well."
A wicked cold pulse shot through Jocasta, and adrenaline replaced prolactin. "Gutierrez didn't die," she countered quickly. "Much as I wish he had. He just ran: the coward."
Amanda regarded her evenly, though. "You've grown very much, Chela, but your acting is as bad as ever."
"You really are losing it, Mandi," she said dismissively, but her heart was hammering.
"Am I now?" The older woman was implacable. She narrowed her eyes. "Then why is your heart beating so fast? She blinked. "Why is your brain pumping out adrenaline?" She rolled forward a bit. "Why did I feel strange and very powerful magics from his room last night?"
Jocasta's body told her to back up. Her mind told her to strike now and kill. After a moment of internal struggle, she disobeyed both. She was silent and waited.
"And then Vargas, that bastard, six years ago, leaving and never coming back the day after you were reported dead." Amanda regarded her evenly.
She knows, Jocasta realized. She really, truly knows. Her 'big sister' had finished and now she needed to say something: to respond. She reached out with the Gift and deadened the sound from leaving this room. Amanda smiled coldly and knowingly. "So what of it?" Jocasta found herself saying. "What if I did kill three bad men? One who raped me, one who raped others, and one who tried to stop me from escaping." She sat tall and proud, jaw fixed. "I am not ashamed of what I did, nor should I be. Death is a part of life and I have delivered it to those who harm others."
Amanda sighed. With a small kinetic tug, she turned half away. "You're not wrong," she sighed, glancing out the window. "But you didn't do it for others, little sister." Her eyes evaluated Jocasta. "You did it for you, because you thought it would make you feel better. Did it?" she asked.
"Too early to tell," the younger woman replied evenly. "And, whatever you think my motives were, I saved more people from them."
"Mmm." Amanda nodded. "Until they are replaced with others exactly the same."
"Then what should I do?" burst Jocasta. "I'm one person, with one life, and I have maybe six more years of being useful!" She put hands to wheels again and pushed frustratedly past Amanda to the window. "I can give my everything to the group I am part of and hope that they can help people like us, but they have others they're trying to help too, you know." She half-turned and then gazed out the window. "Or I can just accept defeat and live this joke of a life and try to be happy until I can't be anymore."
"You are not a god, Conseula."
"I should be."
Amanda let out a snort. "You cannot have everything that you want, and that isn't just you. It's like that for everyone. Sure, people like ourselves: we have it worse in many ways - you'll get no argument from me on that - but everyone struggles with the paths not taken, with the things they want that are beyond them." She rolled forward until their chairs were touching, and then her hand rose, cradled by kinetic magic. Her fingers opened in that same grasp and ran themselves along the side of Jocasta's face and through her hair. "Make your choice, precious sister, and be happy with it. Know that it's yours and that you're doing something with your life, even if it isn't everything. And... if you find you don't like it? Do something else."
Jocasta threw her arms around Amanda then, squeezing as had as she dared for fear of breaking the fragile woman. Bony arms wrapped themselves around her in return and she let herself relax into them: safe and loved. "See, this is why I came all the way from that fancy academy," she joked. "Those mages can have all the degrees and power and RAS levels they want, but none know what to say quite like you." For a moment, a pit of coldness opened in Jocasta's stomach. And soon, you'll be gone and there will be nobody, she thought, but she pushed it away. "You will find my price quite reasonable," replied Amanda. "Bruja!" wailed Jocasta. "An hourly rate of only two neskals," laughed the older woman, "With the first half hour being half-"
"You'd better pray harder, vieja. With fees like that, you're going to hell."
Amanda giggled, and they pulled back from each other, her hands slipping limply away. "That's the plan. I'd miss you too much if I went to a heaven."
Jocasta laughed. She took a moment to straighten herself out in her wheeled-chair, and swept some hair from her face. Gently, she reached over and did the same for the older Tethered. "Thank you, sister." She took a second to clear her throat. "Thank you for being you and being here for me. You really are the best."
"I know," Amanda chirped, and Jocasta blushed. "Now, I can see the way you're keeping your hands light on your wheels. I know that means you're about to go."
"Yeah," the younger woman admitted. She glanced over her shoulder at the door. "I have to go kill a Sand Wyrm." She smirked nervously.
"Echerran Mio!" Amanda exclaimed. "A fucking Sand Wyrm?"
"Well, not actually," Jocasta admitted. "Not yet." She shrugged. "But I think it'll come down to that. They haven't given us any way to absorb this big aberration, so they must be waiting for an animal to do it, and that's the only one big enough."
Amanda's face looked distressed for a moment, but she furrowed her brow and bit her lower lip in that expression Jocasta knew to mean that she was thinking. That was good, for she was one of the very smartest people that the girl had ever met. Sure enough: "I will think on it, she promised. "Be careful out there and come back to see me tonight, when you're back at the Refuge."
Jocasta was already pushing herself forward, and she paused before the door, half-turning. "Always, Mandi. Don't worry. I will see you tonight, and I may bring... friends." With a quick smile, she opened the door and peered out into the hallway. The coast was clear. She gathered her energies as she wheeled out and her skin itched and burned for a moment as she reverted it back to its usual pale colour. Her hair went blonde too. Momentarily, Jocasta twisted around and peeked back in through the crack, grinning impishly. "You never saw Consuela, okay?" she prodded, "it's Jocasta."
"I really am going crazy," replied her big sister.
Then, the door was closed and Jocasta sat in the middle of a hallway. She estimated she had been about an hour in all and had perhaps half that left: just enough time to rush to her room and grab a few things, relieve herself, and take an orange from Pulpo Viejo before meeting with the others. She found her direction and rolled briskly down the hallway. The desert beckoned and, with it, the hope that they could set things right.
1) "Hello. Is there someone named Amanda here?"
2) "She would be a zero if she was still here."
3) "Are you... not a resident here?"
4) "No. I'm just visiting"
5) "Ah, yes yes. Amanda. She's a bit older. I don't know if she's alive for sure, but she was in...room 304 in the Zeroes area the last time I saw her."
@Pirouette Sounds like we need a character resue brainstorm session. Let's build off of the foundation that you have and reimagine her! If you're down for a character brainstorm session tomorrow, I am SO down.
@Pirouette So, I won't lie: I noticed that you've been struggling a bit with finding your muse and I'd wondered if this was coming. I wonder if it's a case of not just jumping in with both feet. I feel like we're often so afraid of "getting it wrong" with our characters that we don't just write from the heart, we don't just have those characters seize the day in whatever fashion they might do it.
I'd encourage you to think back to when you were making Ysilla. What was it that drew you to her? What moment did you have where you were like, "Ooooh! that'd be cool / fun", what made you make her the character that she is? I feel like Ysilla has come off as quiet not so much because she's actually quiet as because she just hasn't been as involved.
As far as this collab went, that was kind of on us as a group, actually. It came together very suddenly and haphazardly, but we should've pinged you. You'd have gotten it at some point, even if late. That's our - and essentially my bad as GM. I just think I might've made a subconscious assumption that Ysilla would... be quiet or that you wouldn't be able to write for the collab on short notice. I can't speak to others' thought processes, but it shouldn't have happened like that: just passing you by like a train in the night.
I want to help you find your character's identity, plotline, and place in this story, but I need your help to do it. What's something fun, quirky, daring, dumb, or at least different that she'd do? The others have run up against a brick wall. Maybe her puppets can spy somehow? A bird is pretty innocuous. Maybe she can learn something from the way that the older Tethered essentially use the Gift to make puppets of their own bodies. I really liked the concept of Ysilla and her binary with Zarina, but yeah. She hasn't been what I think she could be or has the potential to be. I wanna see her personality in action. Just because she's not as in your face as her sister doesn't mean she can't be impactful and dynamic!
Let her have fun! Let her mess up. Let her make a friend or an enemy. Zarina just fell flat on her face. What does that do for Ysilla? Maybe the sisters should have some interaction during the search for the aberration: possibly a collab. For my part, I'm going to be better with pinging you about anything noteworthy that happens on discord related to your character and possible things you could become involved in. I had kind of just been assuming that @YummyYummy was always doing it, though I hadn't asked and it's not really his job, haha. I used to only have discord on my laptop as well for the sake of work-life balance and not becoming a phone zombie. I can appreciate that and I wanna try to make this RPG work for you. For your part, I'd exhort you to ask questions, look for leads, and drop me or the others messages both on here and on discord when you're online. Be active in seeking opportunities for Ysilla and they will be there. I'll make sure of it.
And hey, if it doesn't work out and we can't turn this around, then at least we gave it our honest best effort and that's all I ever ask. No hard feelings. At least you didn't ghost.
Honestly, I don't want anybody to feel intimidated by the posts here. We're all at different points in how much time and effort we have to dedicate to this endeavour and in how much we've honed the particulars of our various writing-related skills. What all of us have, however, is the desire to tell a story and to tell it well. Doesn't matter exactly how we do that - how long it is, how evocative our adjectives are, and how pretty our formatting looks - just that we tell it with heart and earnestness. I can't wait to read all of your stories set within this grander narrative that we're crafting together. Honestly, I'm just really inspired and humbled that this many people trust me enough to storytell within a world that I created (and which we'll grow together).
Marceline had already given Jocasta the sign. The two of them exchanged smiles, but the younger girl wasn't quite finished. First, she had to deal with... Zarina's question. "Oh, just down over that way," she replied. "We have our own rooms. If you're here for another night," she recommended, pausing for just a moment too long, "you should come visit." She turned, holding onto Zarina's eyes for just a moment longer, and wheeled away.
Jocasta's heart was pounding. It had been the entire time, but she kept her smile. "Well, looks like we're the last two," she chirped, twisting to glance at Zarina. "Sleep well, friend." She rolled her eyes tiredly. "Gods, I know I will." For a moment, she was glad of having wheels to occupy her hands, else they'd have been visibly shaking. She pushed herself into her room and closed the door.
There, waited a bath, but it would wait some time longer. Sleep was not something that she could have in this place. Every moment had been a reminder of things she so desperately wanted to forget. Yet Jocasta could not. They should not be forgotten. She closed her eyes and set her face to stone. Air went into her lungs and left it. When she opened them, it was not Jocasta Re who stared at some crippled girl in a mirror. Volto Certosa reached out with the Gift, far beyond the walls of this place of nightmares, into the desert. From the shifting sands many miles away, she drank her fill of energy and rose, a pale ghost by flickering lamplight. Around her head swirled a halo of golden hair, though it had not always been golden, not when she had worn a different name.
She found a great beast in the sands and still she gathered. With an unholy strength, force and motion roared into her from its muscle and sinew and she was filled only when it let out a great keening man and began to slow. She released it.
Seizing the threads of space and time, Certosa pulled them to herself. Images of places and people not from here or now flew past, but the assassin knew exactly what she was searching for. Finding it, she tore through its fabric and emerged somewhere else.
It looked the exact same as it had seven years ago, when first she'd been invited inside. For a moment, the fears of a weak girl bubbled to the surface. Tiny hairs stirred on the back of her neck and she wanted nothing more than to be swathed in layers of the thickest, safest, most opaque clothing imaginable, somewhere far away from here. She felt parts of herself that she could no longer feel and wished that she hadn't. She wanted to press the distant memory of her knees together and run.
The girl lost. Sleeping soundly in his bed was Joaquin Gutierrez: a few years older and heavier. His hair was thinner now, and shot through with more visible streaks of grey, but his was a face that had remained with her like a ghost.
She had come to exorcise it.
OOC Warning: Disturbing Content. Read at your own discretion.
Certosa drifted over to his bedside and perched upon the edge, an angel in white. "Joaquin," she said softly, reverting her hair to its natural black and deadening the sound from leaving this room.
He awoke with a start and scrabbled backwards in his bed. "Who? Whah- how?"
She smiled coldly. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Who are you?" he demanded. "How did you get in here!?"
"You don't remember me, Joaquin?" She tilted her head to one side. "You said our love would last forever," she chuckled bitterly.
His eyes narrowed.
"Only, it wasn't love, was it, Joaquin?" An edge crept into her voice. The words: they had snap to them.
"Con...Consuela?"
"You raped me," she said simply, reaching out a hand toward him. He batted it away, looking like he'd seen a ghost.
"You're dead! I'm dreaming!" He made the sign of the Pentad.
"You raped me," she snarled, voice cracking. "Again and again." Her eyes flashed.
"In nomini Ipte, Xun, Orraz, Echerra, e Dami!" He reached for the Pentact on his night table, but she seized him by the wrist before he could get there. She squeezed and he let out a satisfying sound.
"You raped me and you killed my baby."
"Bruja! Fantasma! Criatura malvada!"
"Oh Joaquin," she replied, with a beatific smile. "No." She shook her head and the smile fell away. "I am justice."
He tried to rip his hand away, but she tightened her grip and he squealed in pain. "This is a dream. You are a dream."
A nightmare, Certosa thought.
He drew back and smacked her, then, across the face. It turned her head and left her cheek red, but she let herself feel the sting of it. She let herself remember. She turned back to face him, gaze unflinching.
"I am being attacked," he screamed. "Help!" He went to deliver another blow but she stopped it with kinetic magic. "¡Ayuda! ¡Ayuda! Somebody!"
"They will never hear you," she said by way of reply. "You should accept what is coming. It won't be so bad." She shook her head the exact way that he had as he'd stood above her. As he'd pulled out his belt and it had snaked down in his hand. "You might even enjoy it," she told him. "Stupid boy." She altered the formula but kept the spirit.
"What is this? Some kind of revenge fantasy?" He snarled, finding some spine. "How are you even alive? I watched you die."
"In a way, you're right," she answered. "Consuela died that day, but you didn't finish the job."
"What do you want?" He barked. "Sorry? I'm sorry! You were a dying girl! You were so beautiful... mi vida. And so sad... I only wanted to give you something: to make you happy. I am sorry that I hurt you. He paused for a breath and leaned in, his voice sinking. "Is this about our baby?"
Certosa's hand shot out and smashed into his jaw. His head hurtled into the wall and she rose. "You wanted to give yourself something!" she roared, "Me! You wanted to make yourself happy, with my body: mine! You held me down! You covered my mouth. You hit me!"
His hand reached up instinctively for his mouth and pawed at the blood. Now there was the fear of a man facing his mortality in Joaquin's eyes. That was what she'd been waiting for. She paused a moment to drink it in. "You... you didn't struggle after the first two times," he protested weakly.
"I learned it would go faster if I didn't."
"I-I'm sorry," he stammered and she was reminded of the act that she put on every day. "I... I am. I did a bad thing. I ask Dami's forgiveness."
But not mine.
She could feel him gathering energy. Gutierrez had the Gift - a bit of it anyways: Enough to have frightened poor Consuela with it. With what he must've thought was speed, the hand he'd been hiding behind his back flashed out at her with a dagger. From it leapt an arcane beam which she easily absorbed. She turned the energy into kinetic and ripped the blade from his fingers. Cold eyes lanced down at it before meeting his. "Pathetic, Joaquin, really. Even by your standards, that was poor form."
Presently, he began screaming again for help, like a stupid doomed animal that did not yet understand that it was caught in the trap of something far more intelligent than itself. Certosa began to tire of this. She had seen his fear. She had felt his desperation, his anguish, his rudimentary little mind scurrying from one idea to the next, trying to save his worthless life.
"Cucaracha," she sneered, grabbing him by the face and rising into the air. He thrashed and struggled with all his might and she could not begrudge him that, for it was all that he could do. Dying with dignity was not something a worm like him understood: maybe, she reflected, not even something that she understood.
"Come, we're going on a little trip: the last place we saw each other." She seized, once again, the threads of space and time, focusing, nearly crushing his face in her intensity. Luckily, not quite. "Oh, do be quiet and stop your noises, Joaquin."
Shooting into the desert from nowhere came a white comet and its cargo. It streaked above a ruin, rolled up into the air with an almost childlike freedom, and then plunged toward the ground. At the last moment, it pulled up and released its unwilling passenger.
Certosa scrubbed all of her speed and hovered there, nightgown fluttering lightly in the evening breeze. From sand, stone, blood, and bone, she called forth into her palm a wickedly grinning mask of the colour that she was named for.
Joaquin was already running. She could feel him trying to draw energy from surroundings that were nearly bereft of it, trying to boost himself with kinetic magic. "Is that all your body can do?" She howled. "So sad! Don't worry!" She stalked him. "I will help you!"
Like a dragon swooping down on its prey, she plowed into him and hammered him into the ground. Hovering there, a couple of feet above a stone where he had once left her to die, Certosa seized him by the face, her grip unnaturally strong, tearing into his flesh, gripping his very skull. She raised him up and flung him aside like scrap, but she was merciless. Again, the angel of death swept in. "Please," he groaned, his face tattered and body broken, "Just kill me. If you're going to do it. Just-"
"Shut up." She grabbed him, raised him up and slammed his head once more into the rock. Again, she lifted and drove him into it. And again. And again until her white nightgown was a canvas of red spatters and spots.
Jocasta released what were scraps of hair and flesh and shook them free of her hand. She discarded her mask and floated there. Chest heaving in the moonlight, she closed her eyes and... what emerged was uncertain, for it was an awful, happy, anguished noise. Tears streamed down her cheeks and there was nobody here to see them. She did not even look back at the body.
Morning dawned, hot and cloudless, and the Refuge came to life. From their various living quarters emerged hundreds of children, teens, and young adults, all in various stages of the Tethering: on four, only nominally on four, and on two. It was observed that those who were 'on zero', nearing the end, rarely left their rooms and even more rarely left the area that was set aside specifically for them.
Nevertheless, the small settlement in the high desert fairly thrummed with life and energy compared to its desolate surroundings. Footsteps and wheel tracks crisscrossed the central plaza and the various dining rooms and covered verandahs filled with people.
In one of these, held somewhat aloof from the others, gathered a cohort of nine. There was space for a tenth, but that seat remained empty. "So as you can see, all of the faster beasts," the Warden was saying, "have been coming from many directions." He pointed to a handful of spots on a map that occupied the center of a large circular table. "The slower ones, however, mostly from here: the southeast." He took out a pencil and drew a line. "Along this corridor, maybe ten degrees each way. I think, if we search there, we might have some luck."
Presently, breakfast was brought out by some of the more simply-dressed caretakers that Marceline had referred to as 'Pigeons.' She was here as well, and cut a rather different figure now that she was on her feet with the aid of braces and crutches. A long summer dress obscured the former from view, however. In any case, the group adjourned for breakfast: omelettes, Pan Con Tomate, bocadillos, and tostadas, with some coffee, fresh fruits, and churros for desert.
The warden, who'd been in intermittent communication with a series of messengers since shortly after they'd gathered, took a moment to excuse himself, and he strode briskly away, leaving the seven teens, including Marceline, with a sole adult supervisor: a Vice Warden named Adela Mirabel-Gonzalez.
When he returned, he clasped his hands, businesslike. "So, I hope you've enjoyed your breakfast, because I dare say you will certainly need the energy today." At a questioning look from the Vice Warden, he could only shake his head tightly. He addressed everyone, however. "We will be following the search plan outlined: ten degrees to either side of the corridor and - somewhere along there - we should find our aberración. However -" He nodded at Mirabel. "The man who was supposed to be your guide - one of our rangers - has unfortunately gone missing." He held up a hand. "Certainly, it doesn't seem that foul play was involved. There was no sign of forced entry in his room and his horse, boots, coin purse, and riding cloak are gone. Nonetheless, this leaves us having to find you someone else." He pursed his lips, unhappy, but his face softened after a moment and he shrugged. "There is nothing novel to be done, however. We will reassign one of the others. It will just take some time to work out. In the meanwhile, please feel free to make use of the staff facilities. We ask that you try to avoid the patients. They are having a special day today and it is best to simply let them enjoy themselves. Your presence here is appreciated but can be a source of worry for some." He clasped his hands, businesslike. "Now, I will be on my way and we shall reconvene here at..." he trailed off and furrowed his brow. "Five HS but, first, I am here to answer your questions should there be any."
We've moved forward some eight hours in this post, from about midnight to 3:25 HS (half past three) the next morning. Plenty can have happened during the night and can also happen during the coming hour and a half before you leave the Refuge and set out on the mission in earnest.
1) People can certainly have gotten up and snooped during the night. If you need some pointers on what they may have seen, feel free to message me.
2) At this juncture, I do not want anyone having seen what Jocasta/Certosa did and/or busting the case wide open. There will be more than builds as we go on. She covered her tracks very well too, as was referenced. Feel free to have noticed one or two small things that were innocuous without context but that could mean a lot more with further clues in the future.
3) Go ahead and describe any morning experiences!
4) It's time to question the Warden. Just a warning that he will eagerly answer questions about the aberration situation but he will deflect and deny anything remotely accusatory about the state of the residents. Address it the right way, however, and you may earn yourself a 'tour'.
5) You can always interact with Marceline, any others you've met, and others you have yet to meet but have planned to run into here.
6) Train, meditate, socialize, or prepare for the next phase of the mission in less than two hours.
That Manfred had fought as a soldier was as plainly written on him as the colour of his eyes or the clothes that he wore. War leaves its mark on a man: in his thoughts, bearing, and actions if he is fortunate enough that it does not ruin his body.
Manfred was fortunate. By almost any measure, he was supreme in his fortune. He was young, healthy, and of noble birth. He had skill in the Gift and most women found him comely. Yet, he had been dead inside before coming to Ersand'Enise. Less than a month in and he had already changed. He had lived, he had loved, and he had laughed in a way that he hadn't thought possible since his time on the battlefield, since the day he learned that Nina had been sent to a Tethered refuge.
That made the return of his soldiering instincts that much more painful, for he knew what he had to do. Dorothea, with whom he had shared a bed, a smile before breakfast most mornings, and many of his hopes and fears, had gone horribly wrong. The situation was only complicated by the fact that her feelings weren't at all unwarranted. He did not believe Carmillia for one moment and he certainly did not trust Zarra. The former was a schemer - he knew the type - with little ability in the Gift. The latter was a self-serving gloryhound who could be relied upon only to do whatever it was that he wanted. And what he had wanted was to play the blood-soaked hero while leaving Manfred's beloved to possibly die. He looked upon her porcelain neck: something that he had kissed, caressed, and cradled many a time.
He picked out where her carotid artery was and calmly met Eun-Ji's gaze.
In a single smooth motion that anyone else would be hard-pressed to even register as aggressive, he flattened his hand into a blade and drew it back. This, he unleashed with great speed into Dorothea's neck. It was simply the fastest way to resolve an issue that seemed hellbent on spiraling further. He stood there as events played themselves out over the next few seconds, frowning. "Ihr Eingreifen ist nicht erforderlich," he said evenly, meeting the incoming arcanist's eyes.
Oh gee! An age and a gender and interests and things. Yeah, I have those. Ain't no way I'm about to trigger an existential crisis by typing them all out, though. You can find out what a nerd I am on discord, okay?
Stay awesome, people.
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;">Oh gee! An age and a gender and interests and things. Yeah, I have those. Ain't no way I'm about to trigger an existential crisis by typing them all out, though. You can find out what a nerd I am on discord, okay?<br><br>Stay awesome, people.</div>
Fallenreaper
Emeth
BlackRoseSiren
Ti
Not a Sayan
Echotech71
FourtyTwo
