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_{^{^{^{^{^{. . . . . THIS VOUCHER GOOD FOR ONE (1)*}} . . ..........│_{on your knees}} _{..............│._{say please............_{_{_.}}}}}}}^{B E G ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ .}

JJ Doe said
*Stares* I knew immediately that the top one was Mag. For the second one, I had to look through the CS and I’m going to guess that it’s Em.Maybe their names should be shown… backwards! *Dun dun DUUUUN!*But yeah, I would like something that would help us identify who is who on the banner.

JJ got it right.

I'll put the names on them for sure now. x3

Anyways.

Sonder - what I'll need from you, when you return, is colours you associate with Liz. I got her favourite colours: orange and light blue. And I can use those for her banner if you'd prefer.
As for Mags and Liz, might be some confrontation, Mags doesn't exactly hate the Xenos, she fights them because she has to. And their personalities are quite different. But who knows, just have to see.

Still need some colours from Six and Anima!

She saw them in in books, in her mind, in the voice of her father when spoke to them late at night; all of the Abendroth children scattered about next to one another. Gabriele was sullen in these hours, chin in her palm, blonde curls swept back into the most careless fashion. The boys took over from her, with their coiling tresses, fair hues with gold spun through each curl above their ears. Kristoff was ecstatic, he seemed like a child, hair so pale it was nearly white against his sallow complexion but unlike most of his ancestry, the active and jubilant gleam he bore reflected across chartreuse eyes - not azure. Only the twins inherited the eyes of their mother and the overall colouring from their father, set apart yet the same, clasping hands as twins often did. His fascination came from ancient stories of even older creatures, not to be labeled as monsters he said.

But Magdalena could only think of how wrong he was. Chaos was a monster, that thing was a monster - Sam was one now. She had always assumed that the spirits within her were the pinnacle of some netherworld, derived from those tortures and horrors of endless circles and judging tongues. But the parting ebony deluge had summoned forth something that had wrought Chaos and the beings of hellacious wrath inside her into submission, bending in their spitting fury and wails, unwillingly bowing to this apparition in what could only be subjugation. Intimidation had set her apart, and within her mind the alabaster plain was banished and replaced by infinite space, Chaos was there with the nightmarish creature that Sam had become, along with the description of a beast that her father had only spoken of, with a figure donned entirely in black with slivers of tremendous sunlight beaming through the fissures of skin; they glowed, bearing incredibly hues of star fire and bursts of gold. Constantly swathed in blankets of shadow that only submerged half of it within darkness, the ancient being smiled at her and spread arms wide as a blackened, lost and forlorn world sailed towards them all and with that same, Cheshire grin that split seams of ebonette plating, it swallowed it whole.

Tears of magma, hot, boiling, festering in the vermilion goo, spread down her sallow cheeks, carving through until Olivia's voice tore her from the vision and she stumbled after her, only spurred on by instinct as Chaos was quiet, contemplating, as if suddenly biding for time - and for what, she dared not ask..

ｔｒｅｅｏｆｌｉｆｅ»

What little strength had remained within the pale doll’s limbs gradually began to bleed out, making arms tremble with the sheer magnitude of hoisting herself from the debris, wreckage of ancient times were scattered about in fragments of rubbish; each cluster of refuse teeming with the scrap of time. Magdalena sputtered and coughed the ache and dust from filming across her lungs, creating a peculiar wheeze when she inhaled and dragged her uniform sleeve across her face, smudging a harsh line of earth residue across her cheek bone tinged with just the barest hints of hell fire. She had little time to adjust, much less acknowledge the depth of dismal scenery when the reflections began to hit, encumbering her mind whilst she struggled to her feet and found her legs unwilling to corporate with her direction - as if a new babe unable to grasp the concept of motion. Frustration contoured her face in a slight scowl, a rare snippet of emotion crossing her usual indifference when she finally stood to full, diminutive height and unlatched her chakram from across her spine -her smallest one lost, it would seem- finding the weight unsettling, in which shocked her. But more so was the lack of knowledge of where they were at, the events before shadowed and eclipsed by the wealth of fear she had been bridled with in the depths of those molten eyes that had even bid the wail of Chaos silent. All the monochromatic detritus though immediately fell to the backdrop when she saw Emily, positively brooding in whatever it was the ailed her, Magdalena could only guess, but the detached perplexity was what worried her more so.

Thus leaving her chakram propped against random, metal paraphernalia, she limped towards her, hearing a strange pop in her hip as she shuffled from up behind her, dipping just far enough to peek at her visage. Her blue eyes widened marginally, trying to scope her out entirely when she gently reached out, hovered near her shoulder before clasping her palm against her cuff - she felt her flinch.

“Emily?”

The blonde girl sat on the ground, knees pulled up to her chest. When Mags reached out, Emily pulled away reflexively, turning to gaze in her friend's direction. Her eyes were wide and empty. She didn't say anything, but she scooched over slightly to let Magdalena sit down.

Her hand jerked back on impulse, feeling as if her skin may of burned, but the signature heat was devoid of her palm, making her confused as she clenched her fingers into a fist and gazed almost helplessly at the forlorn figure before her. The emptiness was a near, perfect reflection of the pit inside herself now gnawing wide with the eerie silence within her. Magdalena couldn't hold her eyes for long but took the unspoken invitation and reclined beside Emily, staring ahead.

"I - uhm." She inhaled, finding her hands curled into fists that shook.

"Are you okay?" Magdalena finally inquired, barley within a murmur.

Emily thought for a moment.

"I don't know," she said.

For once, she wasn't the only hopeless one it would seem, and a part of her, perhaps deranged and lonely, found a queer satisfaction in her friend's detachment but in that kinship, she could also feel the smallest twinge of regret. Magdalena hummed her consent, casting her peerless gaze skyward and tried, for the most part, not to glance down toward the epicentre of where she could only guess hosted Emily's feelings. And her own, she remembered the disbelief and sorrow back in those dreaded sewers and the amount of denial of it having been her friend lying there with that - thing. Magdalena's eyes failed to stay away from it once her mind conjoured its image and she found herself saying, without reservation:

"Does it hurt?"

"No. I wish it did." Emily said. "Without the pain, I can--"

She stopped, and looked away.

"What?" Magdalena probed, her body leaning forward to try and catch Emily's eyes.

Emily stared down at herself. Her tank top was ripped and spotted with dirt and grime. The scar, whatever it was, pulsed over her heart.

"I can forget it's there."

Magdalena's eyes once more drifted downward, speculating as Emily did so. Her own hand curled up over her chest, pressing over the breadth of her heart, she couldn't imagine what it was like: having absorbed the spirit of their adversary, one that was Xenomorph no doubt, the memory of the Caudata and the pestilent smog that had choked her soul made her shudder. But it had saved Emily's life, had it not? In some peculiar fashion the thing that would be apart of her nightmarish fears was nestled somewhere in one of the closest people to her rumoured, frigid heart.

"Is that what bothers you? That you can forget about it, that it's there?" She asked.

"I don't know," Emily said. "I just feel like, if it hurt, I'd feel like... maybe like it was less a part of me. I don't even know what that means."

She didn't know either, but if there was something that she could relate to, it would be the conflict of having something within you that could not fathom, understand, much less explain. Magdalena uncurled her fingers, allowing her fists to relax in what felt like ages.

"I know," she began, almost awkward. "That the others won't be able to understand, well Remi, maybe. But I do, in some way. I mean." Magdalena sighed, struggling to grasp some form of speech beneath all the incoherent babbling within her head, trying to discern what she felt.

"To have something that is apart of you, and not wanting it. Or rather being unable to stop it or do anything about it."

"What does it mean that these things chose us?" Emily asked. "I wish I believed it didn't have to mean something."

"It means you're alive." Magdalena said, her voice hardening into one of strong conviction, "We may not understand what these -things- want, but there is something within us that calls to them. Or maybe it's they that call to us." She raised her palm, staring at the scar blazoned across her skin and held it towards Emily, as if trying to make a point.

"I don't know what else it all means, but as much as I sometimes don't want it, it's all I have. And maybe whatever happened to you, when you..." She couldn't bring herself to say it, that she died. So she didn't. "When you absorbed it, was for the better. Because you're here, with us - with Remi."

Emily looked away again. She mumbled something, too quietly for Magdelena to hear.

Something in her face fell, along with all the reassurances she tried to say and proffer, to somehow soothe whichever Emily was feeling. Magdalena though also knew what it was like when you allowed them to remain: they festered into something horrid.

"Stop mumbling." She muttered, prodding Emily in her shoulder when she cast her eyes away. "I don't do, this - thing. Comfort." She added, mostly to herself.

"It's not about whether I'm alive," Emily said. "It's about choice. I didn't ask for the things I can do. I didn't ask for this. I want to have -- it was my life to give, not theirs."

Magdalena was silent for a while, slightly taken back what she had said. What point there was to be had struck her something awful, making her hand withdraw and her nails to scrape against the scar.

"None of us have asked for this," she whispered, her gaze darkening marginally. "But there isn't anything we, I, or you can do. We have to live with it. Or just die with it." Magdalena bit her nails into her palm. "But obviously, whether you wanted it or not, you were meant to live. So maybe there's something to be grateful for, in that. If you can't see it, then we'll have to see it for you."

Emily stood, kicking off the ground angrily.

"Fuck it," Emily said. "Fuck meant to. I don't want to be meant for something. Life is supposed to be about picking your own meaning. We're not angels, Mags. We're not predestined - or we're not supposed to be."

Silence blanketed over her, suffocated her as Emily promptly walked away, leaving her alone, seated upon the filth of this dismal, forlorn city.

"Then why are you here?" She inquired, quiet and soft spoken and poised to inflict herself as well as she followed the retreat of a dirtied, swinging braid. What Emily had said in her vent of anger carried a wealth of truth and was accepted with a harsh reflection. She would never assume them to be of fictional, ethereal grace, Mags didn't dare predict that she was anywhere close to that. But wasn't everything selected on some predetermined course; fates, alignments, prophecies of higher powers. She brooded over this, finding herself growing agitated with her failed attempts to placate the fellow blonde, obviously her efforts fell short, fumbling towards the end when she just wanted to say that she was happy - happy that she hadn't of died. Her worst fear was of being alone and if one were to perish, then surely the others would follow and the wailing veneer inside her head would gladly, maliciously laud over her despair because of it. She had wanted to comfort her friend and only succeeded in adding more confusion, hurt and anger that bled out of her as she too stood, casting Emily's retreating figure one more glance that fell into regret before she walked off in the opposite direction, arms curling around herself.

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