Remram
Achronum— Moved —
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The Promise - Second Star to the Right, and Straight on 'til Morning.
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4 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
Keaton Plasse
Keaton’s eyes were closed and she hadn’t moved in a good few minutes, but though sleep buzzed at the corners of her mind, it eluded her, slipping out of her grasp every time she felt like she was getting close. Perhaps it was the stress of what was to happen, or of nerves she’d refused to acknowledge so many times she’d forgotten about them. It wouldn’t be the first time she lost sleep due to anxiety, and as she shifted, one thumb rubbing the rough skin on the other, the alarm on her phone sounded.
Slapping a hand out to her nightstand, she turned the alarm off, eyes trained up at the ceiling as she lay on her back. Above was a square pattern of black vinyl tile, which was shone white where the morning sunlight hit its edges. Though she’d learned about color concepts in her interior design class, she only started appreciating the aesthetics of a black ceiling when she started living under one, and considering the furniture that came with the room, she had to admit the ship had some good interior designers. Or was it all AI?
“Caroline, did you pick the ceiling color?” she asked, not budging from her spot in bed.
“Good morning, Keaton. And no, I didn’t. The Promise predates me by three years,” Caroline answered back, and Keaton exhaled a sigh, remembering her facts.
“Sorry, yeah, my bad,” she said, getting up and stretching. “How’s your morning been?” Ever since Packet’s explanation of Cara, Keaton had made an active effort to talk to her like she would a friend, though it was difficult considering that Cara still talked like a program that knew exactly what to say when Keaton asked it. While Cara paused and thought over her answers like anyone in casual conversation, her actions were hard for Keaton to believe when her power filtered true from false with a single thought. Still, Keaton had been trying, hence Caroline instead of Cara, and sometimes she could almost believe it was working.
“Hm, my morning’s been normal. It snowed last night so it’s a bit chilly out right now. Remember to bundle up if you’re heading out, Keaton.”
“Right, will do,” Keaton said, walking over to her wardrobe to start layering sweaters. As usual, her power interrupted to tell her that yes, asking about the morning would trigger an automatic weather report, and she focused on adjusting the way the collar of her denim jacket fit over her sweater and under her hoodie. “You know, I actually hadn’t seen snow before coming here,” she said as she laced up her boots. “It doesn’t snow in LA, and I’ve never been farther north than Fresno. I guess that’s what happens when none of your relatives move around much.”
“Huh, that’s very interesting, Keaton,” came the automatic response, and Keaton swallowed a sigh as she looked at herself in the mirror. The bags under her eyes were a normal sort of dark, and apparently her lying in bed not sleeping had helped, even if she couldn’t tell how much. She could throw on some makeup, pretend that she was off to do something normal, but that didn’t feel right. What felt right was the way she could instantly picture the layout of the Spire, call up the schematics she’d memorized by heart with barely a thought. Sure her power would check her when the time came, but she had to first commit it all to memory, and that’s exactly what she’d done.
“We’re still good on the dad thing, right?” she asked, rubbing a thumb against her pointer finger. “Voice recordings, ARCH 101 TA?”
“Yes, Keaton.”
“Right.” Keaton nodded, glancing over her outfit again in the mirror before heading towards the door. “Well, I’m off then, Caroline. Thanks for being there for everyone,” she said as she opened the door. A gust of cold air blew her hair back as she stepped out.
“No problem, Keaton. I’m just doing my job.”
After a bagel and coffee at the closest diner open at five in the morning, Keaton made her way to Tia Cori’s, idly reviewing maps in her head. Though she and Nic had made some headway in terms of Spire layout, the schematics Packet had provided were a lifesaver that moved both their schedule and understanding of the Spire forward. A large part of their success, then, had been due to Packet’s contributions, and as a result Keaton’s view of him had changed from awkward teen into capable young adult, teen or not. Considering what types of jobs his power lent him to, his maturity wasn’t surprising, but it was respectable nonetheless. If not for their circumstances, Keaton could’ve seen herself befriending Packet. Sure she had nothing to offer a technomancer, but in her experience, people immersed in technicalities all day liked being able to leave that behind and relax, and that she could help with. That Packet was friends with Eli was further testament to his character, and if they got out of the Spire alive, getting to know him was on Keaton’s to-do list.
Taking the alleyway behind the coffeeshop meant walking through the dirtier part of the street where snow mixed with grease and smoke to create a sort of black sludge that Keaton deliberately refused to consider, lest her power inform her exactly what might be in said sludge. Whether she minded it coating her shoes didn’t matter; they’d soon have to walk through worse, and she’d dressed accordingly, with black leather boots and nylon pants that were advertised as waterproof. Leather was a bit extra here, but she’d wanted lace-ups over rubber, which tended to squeak, so she’d settled for looking like some covert ops wannabe from waist down. As for the top half, she was sticking with keeping her fingers crossed that no one splashed her in the sewers. The backpack on her back was small and contained simple necessities: an overstuffed first aid kit, a flashlight, and a can of pepper spray. Sure pepper spray wouldn’t get her anywhere considering where she was and who she was dealing with, but the hot pink canister had been a gift from her dad when she left for college, and packing it now, when she knew she might actually use it for the first time, seemed appropriate.
Spotting Packet and Lynn, Keaton waved, a smile crossing her face when she saw the distance between them and the awkwardness on their faces. Seeing the two together brought to mind Packet’s toaster comment, which never failed to make her smile, though by the looks of the simple annoyance on Lynn’s face, Lynn hadn’t been thinking of it.
“Did I miss anything important?” she asked, looking between them as she came to a stop beside them, her smile teasing. Jokes in the alleyway at just before six in the morning seemed to naturally fall flat, but she didn’t mind. Anything to lighten up this mood worked for her.
Cavan Maynard
Mushroom Forest || Night
“Er, what do I call you?” Cavan asked as he walked along between Bax and the Kiwimon with the cracked mask, the former of whom was glaring at the latter, prepared to growl at any time. “‘Kiwimon’ is, well, there’s a lot of Kiwimon around.”
The Kiwimon peered back at Bax, its lips curved in what Cavan could only assume was amusement. “Right,” it said, rolling its eyes. “Names. I’ll never understand why you tamers are so obsessed with them. I’m a Kiwimon, so call me a Kiwimon.” Then, after a pause, it looked back at Cavan, its one green eye giving nothing away as it looked at him in the darkness. “Flynn. You can call me Flynn,” it said, then focused its gaze forward.
“Right, Flynn, you a guy then?” While he and Bax had to maintain speed walking and jogging speeds respectively to keep up with Flynn, the Kiwimon showed no signs of wanting to slow its pace, so Cavan didn't ask.
“A guy?” Flynn repeated, glancing back again, his one green eye meeting Cavan’s gaze testily. “Don’t you have more important things to ask about?”
“Er, I guess?” Cavan rubbed the back of his neck, unsure of how to come back from that. For most digimon, their voice was enough to tell their gender since they were distinctly feminine, masculine, or neither. In Flynn’s case, however, the Kiwimon’s voice was too scratchy for Cavan to make anything specific out, though he was leaning towards masculine just because he got that vibe from the Kiwimon.
Flynn managed another eye roll. “Yeah I’m a ‘guy’. And to answer the other questions you’re probably thinking of asking, yes I’m blind in one eye, and yes these are injuries from fighting with the mushrooms, the sporous bastards.” He cocked his head the other way so that Cavan got a better look at the crack in his mask. “Mask got smashed in a fight with a Woodmon, which I don’t recommend you trying unless you can get that fluffball to digivolve, and my voice got messed up by the laughing gas,” he said, attempting a throat clear that sounded more like a wheeze than anything. “Laughing too much too long… Don’t recommend that either.”
“R-right.” Though Cavan had been wondering about those exact questions, having them answered so suddenly threw him off. Still, he was glad to have answers, especially since they lent themselves to more questions. “You said you, er, you said something about a Woodmon?” Asking about past injuries didn’t seem like a good idea, so he’d sidestepped the ask. Clumsily, sure, but hopefully he’d caught himself early enough that Flynn hadn’t noticed.
“Woodmon, Mushroomon’s digivolved form.” Flynn’s green eye lingered him, and he got the sense that the Kiwimon was considering him, which wasn’t a bad thing in itself. After another second, though, Flynn looked away, his pace as steady as it’d been when they’d set out. “A lot of things have changed since the last time tamers were here.”
“I’m getting that,” Cavan said, frowning. Woodmon? Sure he remembered chancing across descriptions of Ninjamon and maybe a single Kiwimon NPC back in the day, but Woodmon? No way, unless he and his friends had somehow missed a large and entirely optional portion of the Mushroom Forest quests, which he doubted. Him missing it on his own was believable, but a group of four all missing a quest? Considering how much smarter some of his friends were, he didn’t think that likely.
“Let’s start at the top. What do you know?” Flynn asked, his footsteps treading a low bass for the forest’s leafy ambience.
“I know that both Mushroomon and Floramon live in the forest, and that their digivolutions do too, apparently. And I know that Blossomon is the one in charge of this place.” And the one with access to the portal, but Cavan left that out. No need to make it seem like he was in to do anything else beside help.
“So you know nothing about what happened after the tamers left. Explains why you kept bringing up Blossomon like some daft hatchling.” Flynn sniffed, then continued. “Blossomon’s gone. Corrupted. The Mushroomon population kept growing, and when Woodmon started popping up, the old flower couldn’t keep up. They got to him, and he put up a good fight, but he lost in the end.” His tone turned sharp towards the end, almost scathing, as if there was blame to be assigned there. It almost sounded like he was blaming Blossomon, which Cavan didn’t know what to make of. Virus-attribute digimon like Mushroomon were notoriously difficult to deal with when their populations grew too big, which was why most of Digimon Tamers had been about battling them and keeping them in check. To hear that Blossomon had lost the fight, then, was disappointing but not difficult to believe, and Cavan had a sense that Blossomon was probably core to the mission announced on his digivice.
“Blossomon was corrupted? Did he turn virus?” The mere thought sent a shiver down Cavan’s spine. Blossomon was an Ultimate-level digimon, and in the game, players didn’t have to deal with Ultimate-level digimon until their characters were established Champion-level digimon.
“Virus? No, but he did turn something.” Flynn’s tone had taken on that tone of annoyance again, and it was clear where he was assigning blame now. “We’re almost there, so you can see for yourself.”
Another few minutes of fast-paced walking saw the colorful forest fade out in favor of the bland green of heavy woodland. Soon enough, all they passed were tan-barked trees raising leafy greens overhead, which seemed to grow denser with every step forward. The forest almost seemed to close in on them, the gaps between the trunks and branches growing smaller and smaller as they moved forward.
“We’ll be climbing from here,” Flynn said when they reached a fence-like row of trees, the texture of the bark resembling rope more than wood.
“Climbing?” Cavan looked around uncertainly. All he could see were trees.
Crouching down, Flynn boosted himself into a leap that easily cleared the top of Cavan’s head, landing cleanly on a branch above. “Yeah, climbing,” he said, looking down at Cavan and Bax with his one green eye. “You two coming?”
“Er.” Cavan looked to Bax, eyes widening when he saw the Black Gabumon easily scale up the bark of the tree Flynn had jumped into. Right, Bax was a beast-type digimon equipped with a pair of long, sharp claws that made short work of anything digging and climbing. He’d have no problem climbing, unlike Cavan.
Approaching a tree with a low-hanging branch, Cavan grasped it, attempting to raise himself but settling for inching up by trying to find leverage in the bark with his feet and kick himself up onto the branch. As he struggled to hoist himself up, his feet scrabbling against the bark, he caught Bax staring at him, and he grunted, managing a grin. “I’m fine!”
Bax didn’t look like he believed him in the slightest, and he jumped over, easily landing on the branch Cavan was struggling with, his claws scoring the bark like it were clay. Leaning over, he opened his mouth, and at the sight of the row of sharp teeth, Cavan cried out and dodged his mouth.
“What was that for?” he demanded, looking at Bax with wide eyes.
“Hold still,” Bax snapped back, leaning over again and snapping up his sleeve. When he started tugging, it clicked for Cavan that he was trying to help, and with his help, Cavan managed to heft himself up onto the branch, breathing out a sigh of relief when he did.
“Thanks,” Cavan said when he caught his breath, giving Bax a thankful look that the Gabumon pointedly avoided.
“You two planning on doing that for every single branch?” Flynn asked, his tone casual but betraying a note of amusement.
“What’s it to you?” Bax snapped back, throwing a glare at Flynn, who managed a scratchy laugh.
“Well, I don’t want to be here forever, you see.” Flynn cocked his head, looking around, then jumped over to the branch Cavan and Bax were on as well. “Look, I’m only offering because I want to get this over with as fast as possible,” he said, bending his head down so that it was lower than his body, “so hurry up.”
Cavan widened his eyes. “I, er, don’t think you’ll be able to carry me,” he said, frowning.
Flynn shot him an annoyed look. “Who’s carrying anyone? I’m telling you to use me to reach the next branch since Gabumon here’s too short to do it.”
“Oh. Right.” Cavan got up, pausing to regain his balance before walking over to Flynn, his steps slow and careful. “Thanks,” he said as he stepped onto Flynn’s head, then body, surprised when the Kiwimon barely budged at his weight.
“Just hurry up,” Flynn ground out as he hefted Cavan onto the next branch up with a push of his head. “We’ll need to climb another five, at least.”
Though Bax was clearly unhappy about Flynn’s earlier comment about him not being able to help, he didn’t protest much as he followed Cavan’s slow progression up the branches, which Cavan was grateful for. Bax was too short-tempered for his own good sometimes, and Cavan was glad to see that there were moments when the Gabumon knew to hold back his anger. As for Flynn, Cavan was glad to find that there was a decent soul underneath his can’t-phase-me exterior. Despite Flynn’s annoyance, the Kiwimon clearly wanted to help, and Cavan was getting the sense that there was more to Flynn’s story than he was letting on. His scars, for one, were uniquely his. The digimon Cavan had seen on the Flower Council lacked scars like Flynn’s, though Cavan admittedly hadn’t gotten a good look at many digimon there. Still, even Flynn’s annoyance at Blossomon seemed to stem from a deeper concern, either for the forest or its inhabitants, and that thought made him realize he could probably do to take this all more seriously.
“Here is fine,” Flynn said, hopping up to the branch Cavan had hoisted himself up onto.
“What’re we looking for exactly?” Cavan asked between pants, his eyes flicking aimlessly over the woody landscape below. All he could see were trees, trees, and more trees.
“There, that thing.” Flynn stabbed his beak at a particularly strange set of woody stalks in the sea of forest. “Four legs, petal head?”
As soon as he pointed it out, Cavan saw it: A giant lizard made of wood and leaves, its tail and spines long and made entirely of brown ropes of wood that swirled in on themselves to form thick stalks. Even from a distance, Cavan could tell the thing was massive, the length of the ring of red, leaf-like petals around its head tall enough to clear the first row of branches near it. Though its eyes were closed, the leaves on its back rustled restlessly, and Cavan felt a shiver of fear crawl down his spine.
“What is that?” he asked, his eyes not leaving the leafy lizard that he was this close to calling a dragon. The woody tendrils on its back were tall enough for Cavan to easily picture them as a set of large wings if they bound together, and its frill of red leaves didn’t help persuade him otherwise.
“That, my friend, used to be Blossomon,” Flynn said, his tone hard. “More wood than flower these days, and a whole lot more hungry too.”
Cavan broke his stare to look at Flynn, eyes round. “H-hungry?”
“Yeah, we feed him. Every other day, usually, or every three if we can’t get our hands on some Mushroomon.” Flynn shook his head. “There’s no way around it. If he doesn’t eat, he starts rampaging, and he ends up destroying the forest with these ‘trees’ he summons. You can tell,” he said, nodding at the trees beside them. “These things around here—they’re weird. Wrong. They don’t grow like normal, don’t seed and flower. They just… exist.”
Cavan’s eyes returned to the beast in the forest, his stomach sinking. He’d expected some virus-afflicted Blossomon, an Ultimate-level digimon, but that thing? That thing looked way bigger than Ultimate. Mega? Ultra? Cavan would believe either at this point.
A black structure a small distance from the beast caught his eyes, and he pointed at it, glancing at Flynn. “What’s that?”
“That?” Flynn leaned forward, squinting his eye. “No idea. But it’s always been there.”
Cavan looked back at it, the weight in his gut growing heavier. It was the portal—or something like it. It had to be. Blossomon was the guardian of the forest, and he guarded the portal. That meant that the beast really was Blossomon, and was likely the key to his mission.
“Well, how about it, tamer?” Flynn asked, looking at him. “Any questions? Ideas on how you’re going to help? And if you still want to talk to Blossomon, be my guest. He might eat you, but that’d help too.”
Alice Takigawa
Mushroom Forest || Night
Hearing that Izzy was clueless as well wasn’t comforting, but Alice supposed there was little that could comfort her except answers she didn’t have at this point. There was something about not being in the know—not being in control—that was profoundly irritating, but she was distracted by Sunny’s question of whether or not she and Doru would be okay alone.
“Reporting back?” That was a good idea. Why hadn’t she thought of that? But, now that Izzy had called the role, there was little point in leaving with her. The most she could do if she tagged along was confirm Izzy’s account, which no one would doubt anyway. Clockmaker didn’t joke around, and anyone who’d seen guild chats recently knew that.
“I-I think Doru and I will stick around, yeah. You report back,” Alice said, looking to Doru, who gave a delayed but confirming nod. “We might not be here when you get back, but we’ll text when we head back ourselves.”
“Nice to meet you both too, and stay safe,” Doru said from beside her, offering Sunny a wave as the bird digimon waddled away with Izzy.
“Yeah, that too,” Alice said, realizing that she probably should’ve said that. Honestly, in-person conversations were exhausting, with all the thinking and second-guessing she needed to do. On top of that was the matter of her missing her emoticons. With them, it was so much easier to make her words sound happy and kind. Without them, however, she came off sounding more awkward and depressed than she wanted to, and since trying to emote her emoticons was out of the question, she was stuck like this.
“I should’ve remembered to say bye,” she muttered, kicking at a stray branch near her feet. It was such a basic thing, saying bye, and she’d forgotten it, getting too caught up with her next step to pay attention to Izzy’s. Her parents had taught her better, but she’d forgotten.
“That’s okay. I said bye,” Doru said, looking at her. His gaze was a little too interested in Alice’s comfort, and she clenched her teeth, crossing her arms as she looked around for a direction to walk them in.
“We’re going this way,” she said, starting off in said direction without waiting for Doru’s response. Within seconds, though, Doru had caught up with her, his steps larger than hers as he walked along beside her.
“Where are we going?” he asked after another second, and Alice clenched her teeth tighter because she didn’t know. She just didn’t want to stand there like some clueless person, but admitting that would be admitting that she was just a clueless person heading in a random direction, and she didn’t want to do that.
“Forwards,” she managed at last, her annoyance too apparent in her tone for her liking, but Doru didn’t pursue the point further, so maybe it was fine. Silence was better than having to admit she was wrong, after all, and it gave her time to focus on the forest, which had started out calming but was beginning to strike her as creepy. What did this place look like in the daytime? Would it be equally dark, considering the dense foliage overhead, or would there be enough sunlight filtering through the leaves to light the place up?
“There’s someone up ahead,” Doru said, and Alice froze, her eyes wide as the bushes ahead rustled. Out burst a tall, purple-haired girl whose shorts and platform boots were clearly not meant for forest-trekking. Her eyes were pink and flat—contacts, really?—as they looked over Alice and Doru, giving the impression that the girl wasn’t impressed, and the curl of annoyance that inspired was enough for Alice to guess who the girl was even before her Monodramon stepped out into the moonlight.
“Afton? Effie?” she asked, crossing her arms.
“Alice, Doormaus,” the girl replied, mimicking the delivery of her words but with none of her tone, which only irked Alice more.
“Nice to meet you, I’m Doru,” Doru asserted, stepping forward with a careful glance at Alice. Despite the annoyed look Alice shot him, though, he focused on the Monodramon sizing him up, meeting the dragon digimon’s narrowed eyes with a small smile.
Afton Reimer
Mushroom Forest || Night
Sure Alice wasn’t completely what Afton was expecting for D00rmaus. D00rmaus emoted like she breathed, sounded as upbeat as a leaf blower full of flowers and glitter, but take the glitz and glamor away and Afton could see where the wannabe groupee ended and the awkward, deadpan girl began. If Alice’s crossed arms didn’t spell out her dislike for Afton clearly enough, the distaste on her face did, and Afton figured it a waste of time to try and correct that opinion. Having D00rmaus feel awkward around her seemed like a win-win.
The Dorumon at Alice’s side, however, was interesting. Alice had named him Doru, as if people couldn’t see what digimon he was and what line he was from, which showed her lack of creativity and originality. She was probably the type to gravitate towards math, science, and history, the type to interpret art literally and fail to understand the subtext of pieces she came across, be that of music, literature, or otherwise. But that was enough about her. The Dorumon was what intrigued Afton. Unlike Monodramon, Doru seemed to understand nuance, and the smile he directed at Monodramon despite the dragon digimon’s open hostility revealed his maturity. Where Monodramon was quick to judge Doru to be below him, turning up his nose with a sniff, Doru understood that hostility or not, they were allies for the moment, and being polite now would serve him well in the long run. He had more maturity and intellect than many humans, nevermind digimon, and Afton respected that.
That all said, Afton wouldn’t get along with him either, and in a strange way, Monodramon fit her more. Sure Monodramon was prone to anger and arrogance, and sure she’d have to work that streak of dishonesty out of him, but he was something Afton could work with. He wouldn’t think to settle, wouldn’t think she’d gone too far or been too rude. Doru, on the other hand, would end up limiting her just as he limited himself, pushing her to grow in directions she didn’t want to grow in, and Afton could live without that. She wanted to rein her digimon in, not the other way around, and Monodramon worked perfectly with that role.
“How did you find us?” Alice asked, and Afton met her eyes solidly, noticing the way she looked at Afton like she was trying to figure out designs on some strange piece of pottery. It’d taken her a lot to ask that question, and she didn’t want to talk to Afton any more than Afton wanted to talk to her.
“We walked in one direction and got lucky,” Afton replied. The disapproval in Alice’s eyes was amusing, to say the least. What she wore was her business, and while she agreed she might look strange to most, she looked different, and that worked for her. Purple hair and pink colored contacts that matched her clothes and nails tied her look together, and if Alice thought her judgement meant anything to Afton, she could keep on.
“We met Clockmaker and Sunny earlier. They went back to inform the group,” Doru said, his voice cool but friendly. When Alice shot him another withering glare, Afton decided firmly that she liked Doru, if only because he too knew that Alice wasn’t doing herself any favors with that attitude.
“We almost ran into some Mushroomon earlier,” Afton said, her words and gaze directed at Doru. “I’m thinking they have something to do with the mission.”
Alice made a face, probably because she came to some realization she should’ve come to earlier. “What about the Floramon?”
“They’re probably our allies. Data versus virus and all,” Afton said, sparing her a glance. “We should try and find a Floramon to talk to.”
“Talk to the pansies? Count me out,” Monodramon said, sniffing.
“Let’s go,” Afton said, turning towards the woods. “No use in standing around.”
Alice glanced between her and Monodramon, brows furrowed, before shooting her one last look of annoyance. “Fine.”
Dorumon nodded, reaffirming Afton’s view of him as the reasonable half of the pair. “Lead the way.”
Beside Afton, Monodramon looked between them incredulously. When Afton's gaze flicked to him, however, he huffed. “Fine. Let's find some pansies.”
@LuckyBlackCat Ack I completely forgot to tack on the toadstool thing but I blame it on it being late, but thanks, I’ll move him!
@LuckyBlackCat Dropping this off and joining the Discord, lemme know if there's anything to fix
— Moved —
— Moved —
Gonna drop interest for an orchid boy
Eryn Montero
Wet Caverns || Day 5: Afternoon
On the way to the Wet Caverns, Eryn regaled her team with her time underwater, telling them about what she’d seen and found in giddy tones that only quieted when she realized how much of a racket she was making. Listening closely were Eri and Dei, who only stopped to address brief questions from each other. Dei seemed rather grumpy about the whole thing, which Eryn put down to her decision not to bring him along, while Eri was simply fascinated by what’d happened. Though she felt bad for them for different reasons, she’d apologized already, and Dei was the type to brood anyway.
Behind them was Kylie, who seemed to be caught between listening to her and watching her teammates, and Eryn caught her with narrowed eyes and pursed mouths more than once before the Mawile noticed her gaze and relaxed into ditsy smiles. If Eryn considered only at the moments when she caught Kylie off guard, she would’ve assumed the Mawile to be more interested in watching her teammates struggle to understand what Eryn was telling them, but those were rare moments. More frequent were her endearing glances and happy smiles, which Eryn was struggling to believe at times now. The speed at which she could raise a smile was frightening, and though Eryn hadn’t caught her dropping one yet, she had a feeling that the day was coming.
Peri and Tula brought up the rear in terms of interest. Where Peri appeared to be bored by the story, her eyes wandering from the path and to the distance multiple times, Tula seemed uninterested simply because she always did. Though she wiggled in Eryn’s arms, her eyes retained their ever-glassy sheen, and Eryn found it hard to tell whether she was wiggling because she understood or because it was simply something to do.
Still, Eryn found more than enough of an audience in Eri and Dei, and she pushed on with her tale. By the time the group arrived at the cavern entrance, she was just about done fielding questions, though she was forced to stop when Peri took off in another direction. Her initial confusion gave way to surprise as she realized that Peri was leading them towards the collapsed wall she’d exited through last time she was here, and she was all grins when Peri started digging through the fallen dirt and rocks without much effort.
“Nice going, Peri!” she said, grinning and patting her Onix as she stepped through the newly-reopened entrance. “Guess we won’t be dodging Graveler after all.”
As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she was better able to make out the tunnels around her, which were as confusing and disorganized as she remembered them to be.
Her eyes caught on something small poking out of the ground nearby, and she beamed, waving. “Hi Ms. Diglett!”
Walking over to the small brown Pokemon, she crouched, Tula wriggling in her arms. “Do you know how I can get in contact with Mr. and Mrs. Onix? I wanted to show them, well, their daughter.”
She grinned, looking behind her to Peri, who seemed to be caught between agitation and confusion, looking rapidly around her at the tunnels before them. “You good?” she asked, straightening and taking a few steps towards the Onix. “What’s wrong?”
Peri barely spared her a glance before straightening, rising up to her full height, which was surprisingly small compared to the tunnel ceiling. It wasn’t until Peri started opening her mouth that it clicked for Eryn, and her grin dropped off her face as she grabbed Tula close, attempting to cover where she thought the Magikarp’s ears might be.
“She’s gonna bl—”
Sure Peri was smaller and younger than the last Onix that Eryn had heard roar in these tunnels, but these were tunnels—smooth, long echo chambers with minimal insulation and maximum echo space. Though this roar was softer on Eryn’s eardrums, her ears didn’t exactly enjoy the experience, and she was barely able to resist the urge to duck again, previous knowledge or not.
“Well, a little warning next time would be nice!” she called up to Peri, rubbing a throbbing ear as the roar faded into the tunnels. The look Peri threw down at her and the rest of their team was equal parts amused and smug, and Eryn could only sigh in response as she walked over and patted the Onix, her hand bouncing harmlessly off the Onix's flank. “Do it for everyone’s ears, at least. Going deaf isn’t on anyone’s to-do list.”
In
The Promise - Second Star to the Right, and Straight on 'til Morning.
→
4 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
Shopping Trip.
Ft. Keaton (@Typical), Lynn (@Luminous Beings), and Natalie (@Silver Carrot)Keaton stood to the side of the mall entrance, phone in hand. On it was the text conversation that had brought her here, which had started as an update on the ongoing gardening but had somehow led to the suggestion of and agreement on a shopping trip. Personally, Keaton didn’t need anything, but the concept of going to the mall had been so comfortingly normal that she’d agreed without hesitation. Sitting around had never been her thing, and having a reason to get out would both help their cover and keep her on her feet, which was always a bonus these days. If she also got to forget about the cloud hanging over them all for a few minutes, all the better.
The concept of dressing up for a shopping trip had encouraged her to brush up with some light makeup, mostly to hide the circles under her eyes. Aside from that, she’d taken enough time in front of her closet to have paired her newest denim jacket with a pair of black jeans, a graphic tee, and a slightly less beat-up pair of tennis shoes. It’d felt a bit strange, picking her outfit like that, and it’d made her realize that it’d been a while since she didn’t dress on autopilot. Still, it was a comforting sort of strange, and it brought her back to better days, which was her goal for today. She wanted to make sure today was a fun day—one that’d be a fond memory no matter how much she had to emulate happiness or excitement.
Lynn fumed the whole way to the mall. The last time she’d been to the mall hadn’t exactly been a barrel of monkeys - and if it had been a barrel of monkeys, all the monkeys were like, for sure dead, so it sucked either way. The last time she’d - Lynn missed a step, stumbling as she remembered burning him, the smell of scorched flesh - his flesh, and then (in a brief minute, Lynn smelled Archie’s burning arm, saw the gun barrel melt into that kid’s shoes, saw Salamandra’s eyes bulge, saw all of it again). Lynn went to rest her hands in her hoodie pocket almost of habit, and her small pale fingers fumbled in the open air. “Ugh,” she muttered. “Fuckin’ terrorists.” Lynn shook her head. Lynn found it hard to materialize reasons to go to Earth after this. She had always to some degree lived a week, a day, a month, an hour at a time. Whatever the situation looked like. The idea of going back to Earth and, well, living - it was strange. Like riding off into the sunset or a happy ever after.
However, Lynn was accustomed to having a good reason to not die. As a kid, it was Che. In juvy, it was - well, staying alive to kill Che. Here, it was Gennedy. For the first time, beyond whatever last dance fuckery was waiting up in the Spire, Lynn felt the first genuinely good reason to try to make it back to Earth. A goal. I am going to whip the asses of every last one of those gen one motherfuckers that stormed the Promise. Lynn thought. She idly tucked that away for later. First off, she’d have to learn a lot of Chinese, which was going to be a hassle, because Lynn had a sneaking suspicion it had very little overlap with Spanish. They don’t even have letters, Lynn thought. I’m probably fucked right out the gate on that one. How do you even, like, sound it out that way?
Lynn puzzled over this linguistic hurdle to her revenge plans as she meandered towards the mall. The text was - well, first off, Lynn didn’t like group texts, namely because who actually needed to tell that many people the same thing at the same time, and there was more chance for someone else to get the message, and also, it just felt weird - but she had to admit the mall at least meant if Gennedy’s dogs tried to make a scene, it would be one hell of a scene. Of course, that didn’t stop Michael and Jackson from Cheshire Catting their way into the food court. Lynn shook her head. She didn’t like wearing a t-shirt. Her arms were very pale and thin, and all her tattoos were visible, which got even more strange looks than her hair did. Lynn had seen a dude on here who had four arms, but she swore her flickering hair got more double-takes. Even the giant lizard got less scrutiny. For a brief flickering moment Lynn felt her stomach upend, twist into a double-helix, and then unspiral as she wondered if Archie would be here, and if so if they were - would she have time to get good clothes before - no, wait, he wasn’t in the group - but would he come anyway? He might -
Lynn saw Denim and walked over, entirely unaware that her hair was, at least for a few brief seconds, a soft shade of pink. She shook the thoughts out of her head - something that was increasingly harder to do on the Promise these days (since the hospital bed at least, which Lynn could still not make sense of - that, the Chinese language, and Gennedy, all that stood in her way). As she saw Keaton her hair and eyes flickered to a light blue, like the heart of a gas fire.
“Denim,” Lynn said. A squirrel ran past, and Lynn watched it go. Wait. It stood up, sniffing the air, and had, like, antennas and stuff. Lynn opened her mouth to curse out Leotard but caught herself. She simply sighed (the air shimmered with a heat mirage) and rubbed at her eyes. “God. I’d say we should hit the food court first but maybe we just avoid that place.”
Keaton had learned early on that Lynn’s hair reflected her mood, and she was glad for the obvious tell on someone who seemed perpetually wary and annoyed. That said, she was by no means an expert at reading the colors of said tell, but she knew the basics. Both hue and intensity mattered, for one. Darker colors represented heavier or stronger moods, and lighter colors represented softer or gentler ones. Same went for the colors themselves, which could be divided into warm and cool tones. Those often corresponded to happier and sadder emotions respectively, with exceptions.
Upon arrival, Lynn’s hair was pale pink, which quickly shifted into a light blue when she focused on Keaton. The light blue denoted a friendly mood and was associated with Keaton herself, which was flattering and likely inspired by her denim jackets, she figured. The pink, though, was trickier. While she’d seen it a few times, every time it’d been brief, and Lynn had never said much while that color was around. It was some complex emotion, then, and the obvious guess—love—had both seemed and been wrong, as noted by her power. Asking, however, was out of the question, so she’d never made much headway with that color. Trying to read Lynn’s emotions from her hair was already invasive enough, and Keaton had no doubts that Lynn would respond poorly to any attempt to pry at private and likely sensitive thoughts.
Seeing Lynn’s attention catch and stay on a passing squirrel brought a smile to her face. Only Lynn would be wary of even wildlife, though Keaton knew from discussions with Nic that he could infect small mammals too, so… maybe Lynn’s wariness wasn’t all that unwarranted. The powers employable by the Staff were limitless, after all.
“Hey,” she answered with a grin. At Lynn’s comment on the food court, she pursed her lips, thinking back to Black and White. Meeting them seemed like ages ago, and though they were still a concern, there was little she could do to combat what seemed like relative omnipotence, and little need to consider it on what was actually a mundane shopping trip.
“I’d say some food sounds great. Buying milkshakes isn’t against the rules, last time I checked,” she said, her tone teasing before she sobered up, her eyes dropping to the floor beside them. “Besides, we got through the woods alright the other day.” Her voice had quieted, and she felt an edge of numbness—of cold and dark—creep up, but she quickly shook her head, replacing her grin as she refocused on Lynn. “But nevermind that. Do you have anything specific you want to get today? I’m not an expert on the stores, but if we stop by a map I can probably get a grasp on things quickly.”
Lynn’s face scrunched slightly as she saw the older girl looking at her. Lynn had resigned herself to that feeling when she’d first approached Denim for help, all those months ago - she’d known that having the girl who could figure anything out in her corner meant, well, she’d be figured out. Still, it rankled Lynn. Keaton had never been anything but polite, but occasionally she almost wanted to shake the knowledge out of her. How much did she know about Lynn? What was she holding back? Lynn didn’t like the idea that anybody knew more about her than her. The last person who had -
Lynn shook her head. “We got through the woods fine. Jello burns like anything else. Or boils, or whatever, I don’t know what they put in it.” She chewed on her lip. Food did sound really good. Lynn had, quite frankly, been consuming near-Olympian levels of calories in an attempt to stock up for the almost-certain holy war that was bound to take place in the Spire. Having started so underweight, she wasn’t about to visibly put on weight in a manner of days, but she’d certainly gained at least a few pounds. Lynn had aimed to eat at least three hundred calories an hour she was awake, although she conceded alcohol was somewhat like cheating. God bless El Vaquero, she thought to herself. I just asked my boss if I could take a whole thing of queso and he told me why the fuck not. “Yeah, let’s grab food,” Lynn said. Denim looked a bit rattled by what she’d said, and Lynn knew where her thoughts had wandered, even if Lynn couldn’t have articulated the emotionality of it well-enough. “Lots of food,” Lynn spurted out quickly, her brain scrambling for some kind of distraction to throw at her while she started walking. “I - what I want to get?” Lynn frowned. “I just thought I’d get like another hoodie or something. I didn’t - “ her frown deepened. “Wait, what did you come here to get?”
Natalie spotted Keaton and Lynn, and waved at them as she approached, smiling. She had been the one during the group chat to suggest this mall trip in the first place, after seeing how busy everybody else had been. She wanted to give them a chance to relax, and have some fun while they could. It was also partly guilt, as she hadn’t done a whole lot to help. She wasn’t smart, or good at planning. She didn’t have connections. Mentally, Nat was still sixteen, even if her eyes carried a worn-down weariness of a woman in her fifties.
Natalie turned the corner before Keaton could get to responding to Lynn’s question, and Keaton returned her wave readily. “Hey Natalie!” she said, grinning as she noted the girl’s good spirits. Though she’d been surprised when Natalie raised the idea of going to the mall, it’d been a good sort of surprise that she’d jumped on. Lynn and Natalie were always the two most in need of something as fun and normal as a mall trip, and while Keaton was by no means well-versed in fashion and the like, she figured she could still offer guidance in mall-crawling.
“We were just talking about getting food first. Did you eat yet?” she asked as Natalie walked over. Then, turning back to Lynn, she figured there was no answer better than the truth here and settled for an awkward smile. “And, honestly, I don’t think I need much. Maybe new socks? I mainly came to get out and have fun, and I honestly miss walking around the mall with a milkshake or smoothie in hand.” She shrugged and looked at Natalie. “Did you have anything specific you wanted to get? Otherwise I’m fine with just wandering through all the stores.”
Lynn sensed a set-up. She couldn’t pinpoint exactly what, which annoyed her, but there was definitely some angle here. She glanced down at Keaton’s hands. Her nails were chewed up, at least. Lynn took that as a positive sign towards them not giving her a manicure or something, but the suspicion remained. They’re trying to Pretty Woman my ass, aren’t they? Lynn thought. That had been the least realistic movie Lynn had ever seen, for a list of reasons Lynn would happily expound upon once inebriated.
“Yeah, socks,” she said, turning and seeing Natalie. “What’s up, Spoons,” she said. Truthfully, Lynn couldn’t fully remember why she called Spoons Spoons, but it felt like a lack of integrity to stop calling her that now. The others would wonder if their names weren’t as important or something. Spoons was smiling, which wasn’t too common. Figures. There was a terrorist attack or prison break every other week here, which was part of the reason it baffled Lynn that the others in the group actually did their homework and stuff. “Long as we get some food I’m good or whatever,” Lynn said.
Natalie reached the group. She was back to wearing jeans and cardigans again, but even so, her outfit looked trendier, of better quality and actually fit, indicating that it had been bought at some point since the shooting.
“Glad you both came!” she started, before both the girls mentioned food. “And no, I haven’t eaten yet. Haven’t eaten today, actually. There’s no fridge in my block. It’s the, uh….that block.” They’d both know what she meant by that. Natalie had never discussed her living arrangements before. Some places here were like hotels or apartments. Some were like hostels or student accommodation. And there were some that was more like a prison or asylum than anything else. The people who lived there were not criminals, but were nevertheless dangerous, or would otherwise need their furniture replaced almost daily if they were allowed any.
“So yeah! Food sounds real good right now!”
Lynn’s silence tipped Keaton off to her thoughts since Lynn tended towards a few specific emotions and suspicion was one of the more common ones. That said, Keaton couldn’t tell what exactly she was suspicious about, and considering that Lynn still agreed and greeted Natalie, it didn’t seem like a big deal, so she didn’t think more of it.
At Natalie’s comment about her residence, Keaton paused, looking at the girl. She’d always been aware that Natalie wore makeup to hide the bags under her eyes, if only because that was an extremely common tactic that she herself used at times, and though she’d figured Natalie as someone who didn’t sleep too well, she’d never given much thought as to her living situation. Natalie’s words, however, painted the picture for Keaton. Even the smallest, cheapest accommodations had fridges, or at least the option to tack on a fridge, so not having one meant Natalie was in the other type of housing—the type that people could voluntarily choose to live in, was bare minimum because furniture was constantly getting replaced, and Keaton had tagged enough boxes in the loading bay to know that they were replaced quite often.
“Right, yeah, let’s get going then,” she said, her grin automatic as her mind struggled to move on from the thought. Since Natalie had never brought it up, Keaton had defaulted to the assumption that everyone was living in normal housing units, but… it checked out. She’d seen firsthand how Natalie’s switch could flip at the sight of blood, but she hadn’t connected it to an everyday thing until now. Sleeplessness was a lot of things, and for Keaton it meant being able to avoid nightmares, but it was different for Natalie.
The beeline to the food court was a short one, and after some minutes of lines and waiting for food to come out, they’d amassed a small table’s worth of milkshakes, fries, pretzels, and fried chicken. Though she hadn’t eaten breakfast, she wasn’t too hungry in general these days, but she made herself eat along, slowly making her way through a hunk of fried chicken with her milkshake—cookies and cream because Oreos—by her side.
“There’s something about mall food,” she said as she looked over the chicken, then at the other two girls, “but, well, maybe it’s the people.”
She cleared her throat, realizing that she’d just said something weird that she probably should’ve kept to herself. “Sorry, I’ve been kinda out of it these days. Planning’s got me up at odd times at night, and sleep has been, well, not great.” She looked between Lynn and Natalie, pausing before speaking again. “How have you two been holding up?”
Lynn bl(w)inked. She hadn’t said much, mostly because she was never totally sure how to strike up a conversation with Spoons, and Denim was better at words than she was, anyway. Lynn eyed Spoons as they walked, almost absent-mindedly. She’d also felt something was a bit off, not something she could fully pin down - there was the narc’ing incident, but after a great deal of contemplation Lynn had come to realize Spoons was not an actual narc, just someone who believed at that point the Promise security forces were capable of helping people. This was equally unforgivable, but in a different way. Still, Lynn couldn’t quite grapple with it. Spoons was taller than she was, and skinny, but the good kind, not like Lynn. Her skin was pale too, but - better, not scratched and littered with tattoos. Lynn couldn’t figure it out and didn’t particularly care to, because something about it rattled her the longer she thought about it. She always felt dumb around Keaton, but, you know, everyone did. Something about Spoons made Lynn feel smaller, but she didn’t think anybody else did. It happened sometime with Eli and Keaton too, but less often, less since they’d hung out more. Lynn didn’t like it. She wondered where the Boat Farmer was. She got food.
Had Lynn paid enough attention in history to know what the Oregon Trail was, she may have recognized she got nearly enough food to sustain a family of settlers, their oxen, and any strangers they stopped to help along the way. Pointedly skipping over the food court, Lynn got food from nearly everywhere else. I should rob my dealer more often, she thought through a mouthful of french fries. His superpower is like, hearing better or some shit, why didn’t I do this before? Lynn precariously balanced a tray on her hand as she held two other bags of food around the crook of her elbow, with a milkshake tucked in her shoulder. Lynn never drank milkshakes often, because they melted so fast, but the move was to put as many calories into her body as possible.
Maybe the people? Lynn frowned. What were mall people? Mall people here were a lot different from mall people back home. Back home, you went to the mall parking lot for the real entertainment. “Yeah I think it’s the food,” Lynn said, swallowing the last of her fries and throwing the crumpled up trash bag towards a trash can. It missed. Keaton’s next question caught her a bit off-guard. She started to speak, then stopped. How do I say this without, like, - shit, what? Lynn glanced and saw Denim’s eyes looked nearly as baggy as Spoons. At least you still have two. She racked her brain for some way to boost spirits a bit. Threatening to kill Gennedy usually did the trick for her, but Spoons still had something of a tenuous faith in the justice system. Lynn sighed (the air shimmered). “I mean, honestly, shit’s about the same. I just run into stuff more often.”
Natalie had practically inhaled her food. Poor girl must have been starving. While the other two finished, she watched them. So this was what normal felt like, huh? Not trying to be somebody else, but just relaxing, and spending time with your friends. Were they friends? Natalie thought so. Natalie wondered if Lynn, deep down, also thought so secretly.
“I’ve been holding up quite well, actually,” Nat answered. “I’ve actually been sleeping better since the attack. Maybe it’s just having something else to be afraid of. Though I feel like you’re both taking on more than your fair share. If there’s anything I can do to help in the planning and prep, please let me know.”
Seeing the other two shovel down food was comforting, and Keaton smiled at Lynn’s assertion that it must have been the food, nodding. It was definitely the people.
Lynn’s vague assertion of “stuff” gave her pause as she tried to figure out what the girl meant by the word. When she came up empty-handed, she settled for trying to figure out whether Lynn was attempting to cover something with the word, which she was not. “Stuff,” then, was likely not a huge concern, and Keaton figured she could always come back to it if it got brought up again.
Hearing that Natalie was doing well brought her smile back, though it faltered when she mentioned Keaton and Lynn doing more than their fair share. When it came to planning, there was no one better suited to her job, better able to perform her job, so there was no concept of a fair share for Keaton. There was only what would work best, what would give them the biggest edge, the best chance of getting out the other side in one piece. Sure she was doing most of the planning, but that’s how it went when your power was suited for planning. On the day they actually carried out the plan, she’d be relying on every one of them, and likely more than they relied on her, so it was only fair that she pulled her weight now.
“Honestly, I think you’d help best by just continuing to do what you’ve been doing,” she said, thinking her words over before she said them. Natalie was expressing her desire to help, and Keaton wanted to let her down lightly. “Nic and I have the planning part handled, so you sleeping well and getting in top shape for when we actually head in is more than I could ask for. Both of you,” she said, glancing at Lynn, “so eat up.”
Though she wasn’t a particularly fast eater, Lynn and Natalie were, and there were multiple moments during their scarfing when Keaton had to check who’d eaten more. By the end, however, she’d lost track, and her power was no longer able to tell her who ate what or how much, so she was left to figure a fifty-fifty split or bust, which, again, was not confirmed by her power.
Armed with her now half-empty milkshake, Keaton led the way through the mall, eyeing stores as they passed. “How about this one?” she asked when they reached a generic fashion brand Keaton recognized from the mall back home. It was tailored towards younger adults, retaining a sort of casual hipster vibe, and when the answer didn’t come fast enough, she rolled her eyes. “C’mon, we might as well start somewhere,” she said, leading the way into the store.
Immediately inside were the featured styles dressed on mannequins, which usually consisted of the more expensive and newly released items, Keaton figured. Racks were lined up beside the mannequins, offering size and color options while touting their year-round twenty percent deals, and a few people milled around in the store, providing ambient chatter to the otherwise unintrusive pop song playing in the background. Towards the back the store split into a mens and womens section, one to either side of the store, though Keaton knew from experience that then mens’ tended to be more limited, whether by addition of overstock or just smaller in general.
“You said you wanted a hoodie?” Keaton asked, glancing at Lynn before pointing out the jacket section. “I think this store has a lot of graphic hoodies, though they sort them with their jackets.” She grinned. “You two wanna try on some denim jackets though? They’re not the warmest, but that’s kinda the point.”
Lynn scowled as Denim nudged at her to eat up but said nothing. Lynn had always had difficulty explaining - especially to that fucking doctor - it wasn’t a lack of eating on her part, she just couldn’t keep it on. Regardless, she said little as they ate, preferring to shove as many calories down her throat as she possibly could. She did pause briefly to wonder who Nic was. Leotard? Spoons mentioned sleeping better and a brief image of company over helping her with that made Lynn choke on her shake for a second. She paused, wondering why that had - why he’d - it just didn’t make sense. They wouldn’t allow that, anyway. What was - she didn’t give a shit to begin with, so it didn’t matter. Just a stupid thing. Lynn had forgotten what quality consistent sleep was like, anyhow. “Long as you trust whatshisface to think better than he dresses,” Lynn chimed in. The mall was noisy enough she doubt even the Toaster could eavesdrop through their phones, but a good deal of caution was probably advisable.
Lynn got up significantly more sluggishly than she had sat down and idled along after the two through the mall. While she would never outright admit it, there were very few people Lynn could comfortably walk alongside without having to visibly hurry along, and so she preferred a more casual stroll to force other people to slow down to her level. You looked less like a bitch that way. Still, she found herself power-walking to catch up with the taller girls more frequently than she thought she might normally have done, and wasn’t sure why that was.
“Uh,” Lynn said, a bit taken aback by the shopping request. Lynn hadn’t really considered, you know. Clothes shopping. With girls. She paused, glancing around. “Um, sure, I guess. I mean - not the warmest is workable,” she said, her hair flickering orange. “But preferably something that doesn’t melt. Real pain in the ass dealing with that. You just have to go wait somewhere bare-ass naked until it cools so you can - “ she paused. “Sorry, that was probably too much detail or whatever.” She looked around as best she could. Graphic sweatshirts weren’t really her speed, unless they looked sufficiently tough. But not, like, stuff with skulls on them. That was for emo kids and girls who spent more time riding their skateboards than their boyfriends. Lynn scratched at her head. “Uh, sure, denim works, I guess. As long as we’re not matching.”
Nat had responded to Keaton’s suggestion of a particular store with a shrug and a smile. Keaton, in this group at least, was the one who knew the most about clothes. Natalie hadn’t been big into fashion even as a teenager, due to not having many friends. She’d always gravitated towards jeans and cardigans as long as she could remember.
She couldn’t help smiling at this whole situation. They were together, shopping. That was the plan but actually being here and doing it was so...mundane that it was somehow surreal for this group.
“I’ll pass on the denim jacket,” she laughed, “I like to wear jeans, and I can’t go double-denim.”
“No that’s important,” Keaton said, frowning as she looked around the store. “You’ll probably be better off with something wool-based then. Woolen fire blankets are a thing, but I don’t think this store carries much wool. The stuff’s expensive.” Finishing her cursory sweep around the store, she shrugged. “We’ll stop at a more expensive brand after. Probably some place advertised for working women to emphasize practicality.”
Lynn’s half-acceptance of her suggestion of denim brought a grin to her face. “There’re lots of washes to choose from, and as long as you don’t pick light washes we probably won’t match.” She paused. “Though, denim’s cotton-based, and cotton’s not exactly fire-resistant. As for going double-denim, I’m going double right now,” she said, indicating her black jeans and denim jacket as she looked to Natalie. “If you keep the colors different, it’s not too much a problem, and matching denim can be a statement outfit.” Her tone was light, betraying her intentions. She’d meant the suggestion of denim as a teasing comment, and she hadn’t expected anything of it. If she were being honest, denim was pretty far from practical for any place not sunny year-round. On chilly days, she’d reach for a sweatshirt to layer under, not a thicker denim jacket.
“But anyway, we’re here already, so we might as well look around.” Her eyes paused on a dress and she smiled broadly, glancing between Lynn and the floral print. “How about trying on some dresses? We don’t have to buy anything, but we can take some cute photos in the changing rooms.”
Lynn was used to Denim saying things that sounded smarter than what Lynn could think of, but she had never expected Keaton would be so smart about stuff that was so dumb. This was just shopping, but she knew materials and brands and stuff. “Yeah,” Lynn said, knowingly. “Yeah, totally.” Lynn listened to the details of the different washes, and was privately glad that Spoons had passed on the denim, because all three of them coordinating their outfits was going to make them look like total morons. We’d be like the greaser X-men. Spoons was also smiling, which was somewhat dizzying in its own right. This all felt so normal. Most of her conversations with Keaton were done in private places over notepads that were burned immediately after, and most of her conversations with Spoons were in the process of trying to beat the shit out of a giant lizard.
The fire-resistant bit triggered Lynn’s memory of their stupid plan. She grimaced. It was so hard to put into words how much she hated that plan. She felt her blood boil before she rubbed at her face and sighed. There was no getting around it. She’d have to be small and cold again. For a while. Then never again. Gennedy’s face in the interrogation room swam back into her field of view for a moment, and for a split second Lynn thought of how easy it would be to burn this whole mall down, just to get his attention. It was always Gennedy. Gennedy was the walk after they’d found the corpse where Lynn was more sure of the fact she would die than she had been of anything, Gennedy was the cold concrete of juvy, where she was barely five foot and without an ounce of supernatural power to help her fight. Gennedy was that fucking collar.
Lynn’s fuming was interrupted by one of the few things so surreal that it could whip Lynn from livid anger to total confusion. No one had ever once offered to “take a cute photo of Lynn” or implied such a thing was possible. Who would she send it to? One answer came to mind and Lynn immediately forced it away, her stomach rolling with sudden embarrassment for something that hadn’t even happened. Besides, Lynn also didn’t know if her burner phone could even take pictures.
“I - dresses? Shouldn’t we keep looking at denim or whatever?” Lynn asked, most definitely hiding any of her nerves with a totally not-forced casual tone.
On the mention of dresses, Nat’s smile had vanished, and she was looking to the floor. “Yeah, I dunno about dresses. I don’t think I’d look good in a dress. I just want to find some nice things that cover my arms, and some new jeans….”
The sudden shift to hesitation was expected. Keaton was asking them to step out of their comfort zone, after all. Dresses were a big jump from jeans and hoodies, but it wasn’t like trying on a few dresses would hurt anyone. They had time—and money, considering the fact they might be leaving indefinitely after this—so they could stand to spend it. As for the discomfort, what was a shopping trip without a few silly outfits?
“Well, I’m not hearing a no,” she said, herding the reluctant pair towards a rack of dresses with a grin. “You looked great at Homecoming, Nat, and we can look for denim after. Now pick something or I’ll pick for you. No guarantees on cool or edgy vibes if I do.”
She stood back and watched them struggle for a few minutes before reinserting herself, gravitating towards Lynn first since it was clear she needed more help.
“Sizes are marked on the tag and on the hanger, and you’re definitely x-small,” she said, fetching a short white sundress from the rack and holding it up in front of Lynn. “Here, try this one,” she said, handing the hanger to Lynn. “It’s white so it’ll go with your hair no matter what color you’re feeling.” Plus, the flutter sleeves helped emphasize an hourglass figure by creating dimension where there might not be any, but Keaton left that part out of the explanation, opting for an encouraging smile instead. “Don’t worry so much about it. It’ll look great on you.”
Turning to Natalie, she found the taller girl looking through a rack, and she paused to watch. “How’re you with prints?” she asked after a second. “Have you ever thought about, say, floral?” She pulled out the dress in question, cocking a brow at Natalie. It was long-sleeved and would cover the majority of her scars. It was also short, but what good was a summer dress if it didn’t show some leg?
When the dresses were set, Keaton pulled a gingham piece from a nearby rack and shooed the other two towards the changing rooms in the back. As she changed, she realized that she’d rarely ever helped anyone pick out an outfit. Maybe it was because she grew up in Los Angeles, but most everyone she knew from back home was fashion-savvy. Instead, matching people to clothes reminded her of helping her dad coordinate event venues. Matching tablecloths to the curtains was easy when your power delivered aesthetic analyses in yes-or-no form, and in retrospect she realized that her power must’ve been checking against the decor magazines constantly littered around her dad’s car, which she tended to thumb through on drives to the venues. Sure she didn’t exactly have an aesthetic reference when she picked the dresses earlier, but she’d had a living reference—a present standard in the question, “Would they wear it?”
“You two done yet?” she asked, giving the sleeves of her dress one last adjustment as she stepped out of her changing room. “C’mon, there’s no one here but us, and if it looks bad it’s more my fault than yours.”
She glanced down at her dress, then looked at it in the mirror propped beside the changing rooms, frowning. “And someone tell me if I look like a tablecloth because my power’s telling me yes.”
Keaton handed Lynn a dress which she reacted to about as if Keaton had thrust a rabid coyote into her hands. “Uh,” she responded intelligently when Keaton listed why it would look good on her. Some part of her immediately jerked back against that reaction, trying to decipher what the hidden meaning was. Did she not look good now? Was it - why - x-small, yeah, but that was only - it wasn’t her fault.
Denim gave her a smile. A Lucy smile. Lynn sighed and looked the dress over a bit. While Keaton was thinking of her fashionista friends back home, Lynn was thinking pretty much the opposite. If literally anyone that I knew before this dumbass space station saw me in this, Lynn thought, feeling profoundly weak with the dress in her hands. This wasn’t - this was how, like, rich people dressed and stuff. She was just going to burn through it anyway - and even if she didn’t she’d look like a fucking anemic ghost in this thing. It’d be like wearing a circus tent. Was this a set-up? Was Keaton just trying to make her look bad? For a brief moment, some ugly jealous twisted a few dozen chains of thought together, and Lynn desperately wondered if Natalie had somehow put Keaton up to this, to make her look ugly to -
Lynn paused for another minute. She first became keenly aware she was standing there looking at the dress with her cheeks burning, from anger or embarrassment she wasn’t sure, as Denim had turned to Spoons. You’re being a little bitch if you don’t do this, Lynn told herself.
That did it. She walked over to the dressing room and locked the door. This, she believed, was perhaps the first time she’d entered a dressing room without the intention of stealing something. Lynn had noticed the attendants orbiting her as she’d come into the store. The disdain was mutual. You didn’t need Keaton’s powers to figure some things out.
Lynn turned away from the mirror to undress, not having any need or desire to see herself unclothed. She fumbled into the dress, feeling her cheeks burning even more (quite literally - a wisp or two of smoke curled up off them, and her hair, as flummoxed as the rest of her, flickered from red to yellow to pink, all the colors half-formed and half-hearted). She was able to zip up the back herself awkwardly and turned back around.
Keaton was calling but Lynn looked in the mirror first, almost not hearing the other girl. A side effect of Lynn’s power she’d never had occasion to see was that the faint convection the girl exuded made the dress ripple and sway just a touch, as if a breeze was tugging at the hem of just her clothes. Lynn stared at herself in the mirror. She felt pretty.
For a brief moment, just about every instinct Lynn had told her to tear the stupid thing off, throw her clothes back on and storm out the store - they could, they might laugh, and she -
But Denim had smiled, you know. Lynn took a deep breath, doing her very best not to ignite anything, because it felt like matchsticks were dancing under her skin, and fumbled with the latch for a solid four or five seconds before getting it undone to step out.
“Uh,” Lynn said, coherently. Her brain whirled. “Not a picnic,” Lynn said to Denim. “I mean, a tablecloth. You - fuck, I don’t go on picnics, you get it.”
Natalie was at least trying to shop for herself in the brief time that Keaton left her to her own devices. The keyword was trying. There was something….confused about the way she shopped. She would ignore clothes that might suit her to pick out things a teenager might wear, stare at them, then shake her head and put them back. This happened several times before Keaton stepped in after she’d helped Lynn.
Natalie looked at the dress Keaton had picked out. Her first thought was “This is really pretty, but it’s something a college student would wear.” before she corrected herself. She was eighteen now. The last time she had ever gone clothes shopping was when she was sixteen. That was the mindset she had subconsciously reverted to. It was her only frame of reference for how clothes shopping was done.
“This looks….Amazing. If you think it’ll suit me, I’ll try it, I guess. It shows a lot of leg, huh. I...no. You can’t really wear dark stockings with this...I’m putting this off. I’ll go try it on now.”
In the changing room, Nat found herself covering her body with her arms, and covering her arms with each other when she looked at her semi-naked reflection. This was why they’d come out today. This was what she needed to stop. This hatred of her scars. She’d let go of her, and was no longer afraid of herself, but she needed to let go of her loathing too. She sighed, and started to put on the dress.
It took a few attempts. She really didn’t want to risk tearing the dress.
She didn’t even look at herself with the dress on. She knew what she’d think. She wanted to see what Keaton and Lynn thought. What their first impression was. She stepped out, and though she’d seen the dress Keaton chose for Lynn, seeing her wear it was completely different. Lynn didn’t just look pretty. She must have always looked pretty behind all that grunge and yelling and abrasiveness. But wearing that dress, you could finally see it.
Keaton’s dress looked quite chic and trendy. Her power must have helped her there because that dress was a brave choice that Nat didn’t think would have suited many other people. Nat was beaming as the three convened. Her eyes were sparkling.
“You both look great! This was such a good idea!”
Despite the initial hesitation, which in Lynn’s case had continued until now, Keaton was all grins as she watched them step out of their changing rooms. Natalie looked every bit the chic young adult she could be, and Keaton loved how the florals drew attention away from what scars peeked through the hem and neckline. If there was one thing Natalie had always gotten right, it was her makeup, and it shone through now especially, her features sharp and her eyes vivid. While it was debatable whether she looked better now or at Homecoming, Keaton loved the young yet elegant air she gave off in the dress, the depth of her eyes making her maturity unmistakable.
If Keaton had done a good job with Natalie’s dress, though, she’d blown it out of the park with Lynn’s. The white dress shaved decades of stress off Lynn’s appearance, and the way it rippled imperceptibly made the girl look positively ethereal. The uncertain pinks and yellows of Lynn’s hair melded into pastels were the cherry on top, and Keaton realized that Lynn looked younger and more innocent than she’d ever seen her look. She looked her age—how she might’ve looked had circumstances been different—and the slightly-sunken socket was the only thing marring an otherwise perfect picture.
“You… you both look amazing,” she said as she looked at the two girls before her, a swell of protectiveness rising inside. Was this what it was like to have siblings? Being an only child made it difficult to imagine a life with sisters, but she felt she understood now more than ever why people liked to wish for a younger sister to take to the mall. She wanted nothing more than to be able to whisk Natalie and Lynn away from here, to be able to guarantee them the happy, peaceful life they both deserved.
In a moment of impulsiveness, she pulled the two girls into a hug, squeezing them and burying her face in Natalie’s shoulder. Her eyes were shut tight as she let the moment of unshakable sadness run its course, and then she let go of them, stepping back with a wavering smile she quickly corrected into a firm one. “I’m buying you two these dresses. And you’re both going to wear them. When we go shopping again, when this is all over.”
Her words came so readily that she herself could almost believe them, and she shoved her power down somewhere deep as she pulled out her phone. “We’re taking pictures, and that’s not a question,” she said, glancing at Natalie and Lynn before looking around for someone to flag down.
“Hi, would you be able to take a picture of us?” she asked, offering her phone to the closest person in the store with a grin. The girl she’d cornered looked surprised but agreed nonetheless, and Keaton herded Lynn and Natalie into a line in front of the dressing rooms, putting Lynn in the middle of her and Natalie.
“Take a bunch!” Keaton called, then looked at Lynn and Natalie, grinning. “Smile!”
Pictures went on for a good few minutes as Keaton pushed the other two into smiling, striking poses, and making silly faces. At the end of it, she thanked her cameraman victim profusely and emerged victorious with a good screen and a half of pictures, some presentable and most not. Keaton, though, was of the opinion that the pictures before and after the intended one were just as good if not better, and she passed her phone to Lynn and Natalie with a happy smile.
“I think they came out great,” she said, glancing between the two to gauge their reactions. “Any preferences on which one I should send to the group? Or just to Eli to let her know what she’s missing out on.”
If Lynn’s experiences thus far on the shopping trip could be compared to a roller coaster, stepping out of the dressing room was like dangling from the rollercoaster by her feet with a blindfold on, so dizzy she wasn’t sure if she was still moving or if they’d stopped half an hour ago.
They were both so pretty, Lynn thought, and for a moment it was the bad kind of pretty, the hospital bed kind, the Che kind, the tall kind, and Lynn felt stupid for coming and stupid for doing all of this - it wasn’t fair, they’d shot her eye out, she - she was supposed to be taller, she didn’t get to - she should be wearing something baggier, bigger/clothes/no clothes/naked/that time, at the restaurant/ four people - because of her power, she couldn’t grow as much, she couldn’t be -
And at the same time, there was a kind of warm feeling that, paradoxically, Lynn had not felt in a longer time than she could really remember. Christmas lights, Lynn thought, unprompted, looking up at Nat. For a minute the flash of - certainly not jealousy, why would she be jealous of Spoons? That made no sense - whatever it was, gave way to guilt, even though there was nothing to be guilty of because Lynn wasn’t feeling anything to be guilty of in the first place - and then just that fuzzy feeling. Lynn was not accustomed to fuzzy feelings (The closest Lynn had come to a fuzzy feeling was a pimp coat she had lifted from a department store one time, but it was closer to a 16th century king’s robes on her when she actually tried it on. This ranked, along with being shot in the head, as one of Lynn’s top disappointments in life) but this one was nice. It made the other ones go away.
Lynn looked up at Denim who looked great in her dress - but this time as Lynn thought of course there didn’t seem to be an undertone of bitterness to it. This was lost entirely on her - Lynn’s thoughts whirred in the back of her skull as all the rest focused on how the two girls look. “You guys look fine as hell,” Lynn said, smirking. “I can cat call if you want.” Lynn turned. Spoons was smiling. Like, really smiling. That doesn’t happen often, Lynn thought rubbing at her blind spot and grinning. Denim looked like she was giving the bride away at a wedding or something, but before Lynn could joke about it she had grabbed the two of them in a bear hug.Lucy, Lynn had time to think briefly, all her muscles tensed, but this was kinda like that fuzzy feeling, and Lynn felt herself starting to hug back a bit. Just so I can take Spoons with me if she sneezes and snaps my spine again or something.
They pulled away and Lynn was busy staring intently at her feet, missing Keaton’s resolve flicker. She was thinking of hospital beds. But that was bad. Was it? Was this? Before Lynn had time to freeze or say something rash to break the space, Denim had corralled her into taking pictures.
“I normally just do mugshots,” Lynn muttered under her breath, which was the most restraint she could offer about Cara probably having pics of them in the dressing rooms, which she felt was perhaps untoward in the moment. Maybe the clerk is part of the Toaster Liberation Front or something too.
Maybe half of the pictures captured Lynn glancing somewhat nervously at Nat and Keaton as if to see what faces they were making, to grasp the upper limit of herself could be lain bare to this clearly flummoxed part-time department store employee, and to make sure she stayed well within that dividing line.
But silly faces were made.
Lynn pulled away, giggling, even if the coldwater-roller-coaster-dangling came surging back when Keaton mentioned sending pics to the group, because the group included - well, it -
“Not to Leotard, he’ll probably ask to see our feet or something,” Lynn said, rubbing at her bandage. It was itching like a free clinic for poison ivy. Her nose had even been itching a bit too, right up top at the bridge. She, exactly as you’re not supposed to, pushed against the bandage to try to scratch inside the socket, where it was itching the worst, and received a sharp stab of pain for her efforts. “Ow, fuck,” she murmured under her breath, turning away for a split second. She blinked her remaining eye, trying to wipe the quick flash of color and shapes you got when you pressed against your eye, but it was only on the other si -
Lynn stared for a moment, the rest of the department store lost to her. Oh.
“Just Denzel and Amelia, actually,” Lynn said, feeling very much not like she - just - strange. Just strange was all. Not bad. Maybe strange was okay. “Do…” Lynn turned back around, the itching still going on, but hardly bothering her at all. “Do we have to change back, or, uh…?” Lynn paused. She realized that, far from her normal mental log of debts owed, Lynn had not even balked at the idea of somebody buying her something. She didn’t feel like she owed Denim anything, which was not how this was supposed to work. None of this was how it was supposed to work. “Thanks, Keaton,” Lynn said. “You too, Nat.”
Lynn looked away for a moment. For a brief, delirious moment, she wondered what was keeping her from just wearing this until they went to the Spire, which she hadn’t even remembered was real since they came in. How did you get more occupied doing this? That was dumb, though - something, still, about wearing the dress out of here felt a little dumb, as if in here she could - it was just a joke or a thing they did, but outside it was her, and she was going to - she didn’t want that to be the last thing she wore, you know, plus the sewers.
Lynn scowled. Shit. Literally. She turned back to Denim, reluctant to kill the mood. She’d need clothes for the sewers. With the collar, they’d be - no, just her. She’d be cold.
For the first time in her life, Lynn sighed and asked, “Uh, before we head out, what are you supposed to wear when it’s cold?”
Natalie was pulled into the hug, and was stunned so much that Lynn hugged back before she did. She hugged back tight, but not too tight. She thought she could call them friends because they talked but no. This was friendship. She held back on crying, though that was easier said than done.
“Thank you,” Nat responded earnestly to Keaton’s offer to buy her and Lynn’s dress. Nat certainly appreciated it, as she didn’t have a whole lot of money on account of never having worked a job during her time here. At least she’d been going to the school. Then it dawned on her that very soon she would have no use for the currency they used here, and all thoughts of money no longer seemed to matter. All it was useful for now was food and any more supplies they’d need.
Now they were doing pictures. Nat’s smile returned in full force. She smiled in most of them, and was the last of the three to start doing silly faces, feeling quite self-conscious, before eventually giving in and joining them. By the end of it, she was giggling, but stopped when she heard Lynn giggling. This just made her laugh harder. Lynn giggling. What was going on?
She stopped to get her breath back, as Keaton asked them who they should send the pics to. “I agree with Lynn. Not to Nick. I don’t know him very well. Any of the rest. Especially Eli and Amelia. Archie….Hmm. Okay, Archie too.”
Lynn thanked her, and Nat nodded and smiled back. “Thanks for coming here. I’m glad we’re friends,” she replied, before looking around after hearing her question. “I usually wear cardigans, but I’m not sure they’re your thing. But we have some time to shop for ourselves. I want to get a vest or two.”
“Absolutely,” Keaton said when they thanked her, though Lynn’s question about whether she could keep the dress on gave her pause. She’d never thought about doing that, but apparently it was possible. “And I don’t see why you can’t keep the dress on. Just pull the tag out and I’ll ask them to scan it at the counter.”
At their comments about Nic, she snorted lightly but nodded. “Nic’s not that bad, really, but that’s fair.” Even she didn’t know him that well, mostly because planning didn’t leave her in a great mood in the first place, and given his power, she wouldn’t be totally surprised if he were watching right now. Her power, however, wasn’t giving her anything, which she put down to not having enough information to guess, so she shelved the thought for later.
After their cameraman rang them up, looking much more comfortable on the other side of the counter, they were off to get the clothes Lynn and Natalie had mentioned. For Natalie they stopped by a skate shop, which sold leather and puffer vests that were geared more towards street fashion than mom fashion, and for Lynn they stopped by the chic, upscale womenswear brand Keaton had in mind since earlier, where they picked up a woolen overcoat after Keaton again recited some benefits of wool that included but were not limited to it being an excellent insulator for both fire and cold alike.
As they waited in line to pay for the coat, Keaton pulled up a new group chat on her phone, writing a message and attaching a picture with a grin. FOMO real yet? the text asked above a picture of Keaton puckering a kiss at Natalie, who turned her cheek with a coy expression as Lynn looked at them with a mixture of confusion and amusement that may or may not have been real.
“Sent it to you two too,” Keaton said, showing the text off on her phone with a grin. “I think this represents us pretty well, if I do say so myself.”
Brandon Unicorn
The figure’s words hit a deeper part of Brandon—one that wanted to appease his family and live up to his name. Being assumed dead was much better than being assumed a coward, and he could still correct that misconception. He could seek out his father and explain his circumstances, prove that misfortune had befallen him.
The more sensible part of him, though, knew that wouldn’t be an option if he wanted to find the people who’d done this to him. If he were to identify himself now, he’d stain his family name. A Unicorn being killed and reanimated? It was unthinkable, and his family would be better off thinking he ran away. Plus, identifying himself would put a target on his back. A Unicorn being reanimated was bad enough, but a Unicorn who wanted to go on living despite being reanimated? He may as well declare himself a necromancer at that point.
The figure waved their hand, and Brandon’s vision shook. As he was trying to comprehend what was affecting his vision, he was confused to find that his body was moving by itself, and he realized with surprise that the figure must have joined him in his body. His hands moved and his lips whispered words unfamiliar to him, and he was horrified to see the ground shifting under his feet as corpses came alive, sockets and joints wisping unholy green. Some had weapons, some had pieces of armor, and some had parts of flesh that sloughed off as they rose, falling to the ground like unnecessary decorations cast aside in favor of hard, white-cast ivory.
As his stomach churned, the voice in his head spoke again, stating what was already apparent. He wasn’t just some reanimated corpse, he was a necromancer. Full and proper, and quite a strong one too, if being able to raise a throng of corpses meant anything. The sight of all the bodies he’d pulled from the grave drew forth a wave of shame and disgust, but the voice in his head was right. Brunnerstadt’s followers would regret doing what they had to him. He’d see to that much.
A shade of uncertainty in the voice in Brandon’s head took him by surprise, and he paused, realizing that he’d regained autonomy over his body. Clenching and unclenching his gloved hands, he listened to the voice, heartbeat quickening when the voice revealed their weakness. Taking off the helmet, he could do it–free himself right now of the responsibility the voice was trying to have him take up, run home and try to explain his circumstance and position. His chances of avenging himself were as low as his chances of being able to rejoin his family, and it was clear which one would be easier.
Breathing in, then out, he approached a skeletal horse, reaching to touch the creature’s skull, which shone white below the smudges of dirt covering it. On its back was what remained of a saddle, and there was no sign of a bridle or reins as it pawed the ground with one hoof, head bobbing as it nudged its skull into his hand. It lacked mane and tail hairs as much as it lacked skin and eyes, but Brandon could imagine the spirit it might have had at one point in time.
As he stared at it, wondering how best to go about mounting it, it moved, kneeling before him. A look around had him realize that none of the skeletons had moved from where they’d risen, not even to look at him, and at this thought, a horde of skulls turned to look at him, the grinding of bone on bone sending chills down his spine.
He stared at the undead around him for another second, struggling to come to terms with what’d happened thus far. Then, swallowing, he turned back to the horse, his mouth drier than what must’ve been comfortable if his body had still been alive.
“I won’t take off the helmet, but in return you’ll continue helping me.” He grasped the skeletal horse's shoulder blade, finding a foothold on the skeleton’s leg that allowed him to step onto one stirrup and swing his leg over and into the other. The horse rose as soon as he felt comfortable enough for it to do so, raising him so he could look over the army around him. “Guide me and answer my questions, and I’ll heed your words.”
His words came firmer than he felt, and his hand on the spine peeking out over the pommel of the saddle trembled still, however detached to it he felt. The only troops he’d ever led were the patrols of men he’d been sent out with, but here he was with an army, emulating the confidence he saw in his father and brothers.
“We set out,” he said, his voice raised enough to carry through the empty plains around him, and though he felt like he was talking to nothing, the army heeded his words, starting forwards into the night. The moon and stars gave him direction in the desolation, and if the voice was correct, he was likely to the west of the Unicorn border. The way to go, then, was west still. They’d head towards the rocky foothills there, where an orc tribe was said to have set up camp, and he’d grow his army like the fel-wielding Asha-worshipers he’d only heard stories of until now, wield their powers and join their ranks like he already had.
“Can you hear my thoughts?” Brandon asked after another moment of silence on the road, his army slow but steady by his side. “And what should I call you?”
Thinking about the voice as just a voice was inaccurate, but at present that was precisely what the figure had become—merely a voice in his head, or helmet, rather. He could free himself of it if he should tire of it, and free himself of allowing it to read his thoughts as well, if it could. But that was a bluff, just as his words before had been, and he figured the voice knew as much. He needed all the help he could get right now. He could direct his army with a thought, but he had no idea how to maintain or increase it, or even wield it, for that matter. Would they fight as soon as he thought it, just like they’d start and stop when he did? He’d find out soon enough, he figured, and he swallowed again, uncomfortably aware of the hollow weight in his stomach.
The sight of a smoke trail in the sky, lit up by the moon and clear against the cloudless sky, showed him where to go, and his army changed trajectory for it easily and almost imperceptibly. Almost, because he was aware they had, both because he’d willed it to happen and because he could see where they were headed now. He’d been raised on stories about Unicorns triumphing over demons, orcs, and sorcerors, and he retained a healthy fear of all of them, but he’d always feared necromancers more. Now, though, orcs seemed such a trivial fear. In comparison to the half-decayed bodies around him, goblins and centaurs didn’t seem so bad. Maybe he’d still tremble before a wyvern or cyclopes when he saw one, and maybe the shock was still affecting his thoughts, but he felt like nothing could faze him anymore. He was dead and dying, his breaths as false as his life, and if he could go down doing a little more good than bad, maybe it’d have been worth it accepting his fate as the doomed Unicorn.
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