come_sailaway | monday's child is fair of face (2/2)

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monday's child is fair of face (2/2)

CW: death, probably gore, possibly more TBA

[and that’s what you missed on glee.

and so, there “Friday” is, standing on the roof of the bar. the attention of the party has surely turned to her by this point, but she doesn’t care about that. she just needs one person to still be a little too distracted to stop what was coming next.

Monday snaps her fingers, and Jenny disappears from wherever she was standing before, reappearing directly in front of Monday, who embraces her from behind, an arm wrapped firmly around her middle. those with enhanced senses might catch what she whispers, seconds before she snaps Jenny’s neck so hard it hangs at a 90 degree angle as Monday kicks her, her corpse toppling forward onto the deck below.]

Surprise, bitch.

[well, there. unfinished business settled. onto more pertinent matters.]

Let’s get a little more comfortable first, hm? Can’t waste too much of her magic, but audiences love a quick change.

[she snaps her fingers, and Monday finds herself in an outfit that is far more to her taste. now. time for her grand performance.]

Greetings, foolish mortals! You may or may not have noticed that things have been a little bit different this month. While the Captain is off having a good old bitch cry about whatever it is he’s so upset about, poor little Friday was running herself ragged keeping this shitheap floating! She was so distracted, in fact, that she happened to have a little accident, while fixing something in the elevator shaft! [a laugh] I guess even clay bitches can break their necks! And there I was, sitting in Fucking Nowhere, doing Fucking Nothing, feeling Fucking. Nothing! And I saw her empty shell. And I was, like, hey, free real estate!

Whatever tear in the veil that your whiny little Captain just didn’t feel like fixing? I ripped that fucker right open. And you’ve all met a few of the sorry little fuckers that fell out already, hm? [another snap] Not all of them, but, hey, that’s what now is for, right? Because, see, we all kinda got together a little bit, and we were like… You know, just borrowing some shitty bodies to have some fun for a few weeks? What a waste! And we still have a lot of bitches we need to spring from jail!

And that! Is where you assholes come in! And, trust me, you are all assholes. Have you even seen some of the psychotic shit you people have said and done to us? Like, yeah, Mary is legitimately insane, but she’s still a kid! Even I’m not gonna call a fucking nine year old a bitch!

You can try to run, but I fucking hate running in heels, so I made that a little bit… difficult. So. Why don’t you nice people just lay down and let us kill you. I’ll be gentle. Promise.

[perhaps people have tried to flee already. they likely have. and they’ve found that the entire party area has been blocked off by the same sort of barrier that surrounds the realm, an invisible orb holding them captive.]

Now. Let’s get the actual party started!

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A fool would choose to struggle and die fruitlessly and in agony. Then again, I would serve that fate to you and everyone else regardless.

[ how special she is that she doesn’t need to breathe. but then again she is of the stars, space… and he could recall how the goddess of ice would look to that island in the sky, her ambition to pull the celestial gods down from their lofty thrones and heavenly principles. are all gods of the stars so fucking self-righteous?? or maybe it’s just a god thing in general but of course not for him, he who would generously serve death to mortal or deity in his path.

if she might breathe and he could summon a void in her lungs and tear her insides from within—maybe he gave up the game by going immaterial like this. this bard plays defensive and supportive rather than pure damage but he was a god, he had created those blessed weapons. the bard prefers the bow but right now he’s without a hand to draw the arrow. there is the skyward claymore and blade, but when it comes to weaponry the specter prefers—

the wind sweeps into the form of him, shadowed but with eyes blazing blue as anemo swirls to his hand in the form of the skyward atlas, the cloud atlas that had once terraformed an entire country to blow the eternal winter away. a blessed book that could control the very skies and weather: the wandering clouds, condensed from the water drenched to the floor by the pool, curl into thunderclouds in readiness to smite her.

the book hovers above his one good hand: his smile at her is mirthless and full of teeth. ]

They can follow you straight to hell.

[ three stormeyes converge straight at her, the book’s spells that would home in like his arrows of light and then detonate into void. if she’s of the stars he can be like a black hole, swallowing all light. ]

César takes a moment to think before he glances at Six again. "... No. It isn't."

There are layers to that statement, which César explains as he looks forward.

"I've been harassed for being noticeably different. Instead of asking about why I wear sunglasses, people ask if I'm crazy. Or state it. Even Rex." His expression flickers a moment of grief. "Only with my parents, fiancés, and son has that word never been derogatory."

Edited (rearranged a paragraph!) 2022-10-31 20:15 (UTC)

"I read the report of when you arrived and kidnapped Rex. Given the amount of ordinance and personnel Providence has on hand, particularly at HQ, only an incredibly-confident lunatic would openly attack it." Like Van Kleiss given one of the reports Six had read. "Without knowing you missed out on five years, it's not an unreasonable assumption."

Because that's when Rex called you nuts, right? He doesn't remember the details that aren't in the report.

( There's no feeling of triumph as the brilliantly sharp blades of the discus tear through skin and through to bone. Even as Castor watches the familiar red spill forth, it lacks the glory of a battlefield; this is no heroic feat of war, after all. It's a tragedy all its own. Castor's face doesn't reflect this fact however, sneering even as "Shi Qingxuan" collapses to the ground in front of him.

It's unfortunate, but it's a lesson that the other needed to be taught. )

That's what I thought.

( Now... Castor's already paid dearly for underestimating this rat once; don't expect him to make the same mistake twice. Instead, as he closes the distance between himself and the body before him, he keeps his discus turning at the tips of his fingers as the footsteps come closer. Just as it seems they've come to a stop, Genis will feel the heel of Castor's sandal dig in sharply behind his shoulder blade, forcing him further into the blood, both his and Castor's, pooling underneath him.

Still, even as the discus turns underneath the palm of his hand, ready for that brilliant shine to pierce his opponent's body and put an end to this once and for all, it isn't as if Castor has forgotten earlier. Call it the mercy of a god, but with his foot remaining firmly planted against "Shi Qingxuan's" back, he'll offer one last opportunity to repent. )

If you have any last words, say them now.

Ah!

[ This body doesn't have a high pain tolerance, and at this point, neither does Genis. Warm blood pools against his cheek and seeps between his lips, and in Shi Qingxuan's body, the difference between his own and Castor's is nonexistent. Even when his tears mix in with it, it's still all the same.

It's too late to ask for mercy. There's still energy left to get one last good hit in on Castor - maybe shred his leg a little so he'll have to limp away - but the will to do so is gone, along with most thought beyond the paralyzing knowledge that death is imminent, and he's going to die like this: alone and under the heel of someone who despises him, with barely the hope that Castor will bleed out from his injuries so this wasn't for nothing.

He's not strong like Mithos (or Lloyd...), who never gave up. He's not even strong like his sister, who knew death was coming but still accepted it with a determination that it wouldn't go to waste. The muscles of his back spasm and shake beneath Castor's foot, his back failing to rise as he gasps for breath through his sobs. ]

Sis...

[ I'm sorry.

Please come back.

You promised you'd come back.

Even if Castor waits for more, that's all he has to say. ]

[ Eddie's not entirely convinced it will help, but it might make them a deterrent, right? Which is better than nothing. ]

Yeah, okay, just to maybe make us look like less desirable targets, right? [ No big deal, just trying to be enough of a distraction without being the main focus. Eddie can totally do that, no problem.

It's not like he's used to drawing attention to himself or anything. ]

[ Hopefully the infirmary hasn't been ransacked or destroyed over the course of this month, yes. The rubble is between Bastion and the stairwell, and they don't trust the aft elevator right now, but they can see that the central elevator at the other end of the promenade is still moving. It'd be a more comfortable way to get Jinx to deck zero than five flights of stairs, certainly. They carry her over at a walking pace to keep the jostling to a minimum, and bump the call button with their knee. ]

[ How do you even respond to being thanked for this? All they can think of to say is the standard response to "thanks". ] // You're welcome.

[ This child's smile is unwavering... Mary attempts to appear relieved that she's not alone. After all, the situation now is very terrifying for a seemingly seven-year-old girl! ]

...I sure hope so. Thank you. It's less scary now with you here. Hee hee.

[ In, twist, and out at an angle-- those words are ingrained in her mind. Just like what Ivar told her.

Fingers wrapping around the older girl's hand, she holds on tightly. Drawing out her knife from the opposite hand, she steps forward and aims to plunge the blade right into Chrissy's abdomen. ]

Jack notices the guy coming towards him in a dishevelled costume, and while his mind tags him as a potential danger, it's not a huge distraction or deterrent to him in an area that is screaming danger at all sides. A collapsed deck, bodies that show sign of a fight long before they fell through the debris, the sounds of fights continuing amid the rubble. Jack keeps walking, intending only to react if the guy makes himself a problem-

But he speaks, and Jack stops and looks at him... and raises his eyebrow.

"The old guy?" he asks, of all the responses he could have.

"The one with the beard." Siffleur says, and moves his hand up to indicate a tighter, tidier beard than the one he has. "Wears a top hat. Showed up, everything ended."

The man in front of Siffleur is dangerous, no doubt from the way he holds himself. But he isn't a danger to Siffleur unless he reacts in an aggressive way. The scars all up and down the man's bare chest tell a story about the kind of fighting he's been involved with - brutal, even monstrous. Siffleur knows plenty of things that could leave most of the permanent marks on the man's body, but he can't name a single thing that would leave that swirling scar over the man's stomach.

Hmm. Siffleur shifts the way he's standing, moving from tense to obvious consideration. His eyes flick back up to the man's face. "You're a fighter. I'd like to try you sometime. Not now, later."

It's clear from the way Siffleur's looking at Jack that the meaning of 'try you' involves something other than a fight to the death.

...Ivar? [ A pause. She gives him a surprised look as if to ask, "for real?" Then she's grinning again: ] Ivar! You're a girl?

[ Wow, they could be like... sisters or something now!

No, Mary doesn't stab at him again. Thankfully. The smack on her arm gets her to shockingly, pause for a moment, listen to his instruction before making any further remarks. Her eyes track fleeing, terrified passengers scattering off into the distance. It's not as satisfying when she stabs at nothingness. But for practice, she raises her knife up in the air, mimicking the same motions as he'd just shown her. Arm up, tight, and then-- ]

In. Twist. Out! In. Twist. Out! [ At an angle. Chanting repeatedly, like it's a fun little song. The words are spoken, over and over again, and gradually quicker. Easily worming into her mind. Eventually she stops, bursting out in a delighted laugh. ] Hehehe!

Exactly. But don't be afraid to hide until we can stop them. I am sure it won't take too long. It is better to survive than become an enemy in this.

[He laughs, a warm sound this time.]

Noted! I'll trust your divine promise.

[He salutes.]

It's a date, oh my guiding star. Looking forward to seeing you again, sometime and somehow!

Spiteful as they are, the words slice open a nerve. Twice now Dimitri's failed to protect Ossie. He couldn't protect Rich, or César, or SecUnit. He couldn't protect Giles. He'd foreseen something going horribly wrong, but he hadn't prepared for this. The one thing he's supposed to be good at, the last bastion of himself, and he can't even do that.

Dimitri laughs, blood and spit flecking his lips. "I have never deserved kindness," he snarls, grabbing Ginger's wrist. Even dizzy with blood loss and exhaustion, he's more than strong enough to crush the fragile bones of wrist and arm, wrenching the limb nearly three-quarters of a turn further than it's meant to. "But this useless runt will tear you limb from limb!"

[ And Mithos pulls him back to reality just like that. His head bows, memories of their past together playing in his mind. It's enough to make his hands tremble. ]

Why did the captain hate us so much?

[ Not only the two of them, but all of them. His voice is both pained and bitter. Why? ]

I bet when he finds out we're back, things will just go back to the way they were before.

( There's a long pause after the word leaves his lips—Castor is, in fact, waiting for more. He may be cruel, and especially compared to Pollux, but if that's how it started... he would at least offer the opportunity to finish what there was to be said for her.

There's nothing more to be said though, and as Castor exhales, short and sharp and tired, he takes no joy in the way his discus tears into flesh and bone. Nor does the way blood sprays up, staining what little of Castor's apparel may still have remained white, give him any satisfaction.

It's a necessary evil.

That's the unfortunate fact of the matter, so far as he's concerned. For the sake of the real Shi Qingxuan. For the sake of Pollux. For the sake of the other passengers aboard this ship who would not have survived the encounter that Castor exchanged with this opponent. He feels no remorse for his own actions, or the necessity of neutralizing a threat like this. Even so...

It would be a lie to say that that childish sobbing won't be staying in his mind for days to come. )

( on one hand when you want someone out your master's body, and on the other hand, you want them in another body so that she doesn't have to feel conflicted.

she knows that mikazuki can't keep that one, but maybe the other already knows the outcome given "sometime and somehow" means they won't meet naturally like anyone else would on the boat? )

It is a promise. ( she's confirming! yes, she's a little embarrassed about it. ) My Brother and I will find you, ( make it a threesome. ) until next time, Mikazuki.

( the wind twists and turns disrupting the flow of air that it's rough against her skin, and the stormeyes coming in for all angles with no chance of escape. a step back, and the sound of the attack doesn't go unnoticed from either end, no matter where she decides to escape to— that path is blocked. the attack collides, a water, smoke, and debris mix together that it causes steam to waft up in the air mixed with the smog, it blacks out everything around them that it's hard to see through the density of it. with an attack, pollux should be finished, truthfully taking three of those at once doesn't bode well for someone unprepared, and the specter saw it himself that she had nowhere to go and accepted her death gracefully.

the smell of blood evident in the air...

it's when the smoke starts to clear up, through the darkness there's a faint sparkle that peeks through the air, and there's a a white veil that's wrapped around pollux that seems to have given out towards the middle part of her body, having took the brunt of the attack before disappearing from around her. stars fall, snapping in and out of existence as she stands with a smug look on her face— eyes glaring at the other once the skill ends.

quickly, she wastes no time dashing towards the other, bending her knees so that she hops up, bottom of her heels balancing against the book that the other uses to cast— )

To hell with you and your book! Allow my blade to read your sins and pass judgement!

( rearing her hand back with her blade, she forces her weapon straight down towards the other's good arm. light encases the edges to easily cut through the flesh of the other's shoulder, energy extending from the tip, and the blade long enough that it'll cut between one or two wings behind him. she'll remove every limb, strip him of his ability to do anything— further and further she pushes her weapon down, the heat of light causes the blood to boil and pop.

if he's smart, he'll back away before he loses that entire arm. )

[His arte lands well within expectations, and even manages to throw her with its final strike; for a moment, it seems as if the perfect opening has appeared. But then, as the distance is closed...

That is an attack that belonged to Gelda Nebilim as well. The original and the replica both...and though Tear always did have the capability for it as well, there's something pointed in the timing of it, and the taunt Ann places alongside it, that points to a stingingly deliberate choice. In a way this cuts just as close as the Holy Lance of earlier, but--no time to flinch, no time to retort--

Jade's indeed too close, by the time she fires off the arte, and the blast of light throws him back in turn. The painful proximity burning at the free hand and forearm he'd thrown up just in time to narrowly avoid taking that burst directly to the face...but it doesn't slow him, because he doesn't allow it. Adrenaline-fueled reflex taking hold, Jade hits the floor but is already using the momentum to roll to his feet--partially, at least, one knee still on the ground as he drags himself back upright--and spear still in hand.

In the same fluid motion, he's hurling it at Ann.

(--Still, briefly, blinded by the proximity of that arte. But he knows she's still within range...and her voice--the mocking question she asks it with--narrows down the direction he ought to aim--)]

[ she'd expected for him to be knocked down, flat -- for him to have
to take some time in recovering from being struck so closely with her arte.
she'd been wanting to use it as a chance to escape, to maybe search for allies among
the crowd ... so the fluidity with which he moves and rolls is a shocker to her,
and it leaves her ill-prepared for handling the spear when it comes flying at her.
unlike the real tear, she'd never been trained to be ready for anything
and it shows now, more than ever.

she lifts her arms to block the strike, hiding partially behind the length of
her staff -- but it isn't enough to hide behind, and there isn't enough time to
cast any artes, to run away. she screams when the spear pierces through her
forearm, pinning her arm to her chest where the tip of his spear nestles into,
her breath ragged from the sudden pain erupting there.

this wasn't the first time she'd had to deal with something like this, on this
ship though, and being reminded of it all (flashes of carnage and prior injuries
bubbling to the forefront of her mind), invokes her ire. being stabbed, injured -- tortured.
it was almost the daily routine on the former voyage, with the former passengers. and
yet here was jade, a current passenger trying to take away their chance for
revenge. he was a passenger who got to enjoy excursions, to go on beach days... ]

You're such a bastard! Such a little cockroach, just like that weirdo Dist!

[ she snarls, staggering just a bit, shifting under the added weight of his spear.
a glyph glows beneath her feet, despite the time it takes to cast, because she knows
she can't swing tear's staff with only one arm, at least not competently.
because she knows she wouldn't be able to best him anyway, if it came down to a show of physical
strength.

there was next to nothing left for her, aside from tear's hymns and knives. ]

O violent strains that render demons to ashes...

[ the notes of a hymn begin to rise out of her... ]

[It's a second or two more, before Jade can properly blink the flash of that Banishing Sorrow out of his eyes and bring surroundings back into proper focus. But Ann's scream of pain tells him everything he needs to know, about whether his aim had struck true. There's time enough for him to draw back to his feet as she's reeling, spitting venom his way. Calling him someone like Dist, of all things...the insult glances off entirely, nowhere near the effectiveness of her earlier jabs, and they both know it. Her building desperation is plain in these ways...and the sight of his spear having pierced right through her forearm, as his sight finally clears, only goes on to confirm a foregone conclusion.

--There's something commendable, truly, in how she still doesn't yet give in to the undoubtedly exceptional pain. (Experience from her homeland, or experience from her last wretched voyage on this ship?) She stays on her feet, even if her balance staggers--she still tries to draw upon seventh fonons, even now. And she would perhaps yet succeed, in being able to cast another arte...if she had more time. But she's trying to call upon the hymn of Judgment--one of the heftiest songs, in Tear's repertoire--and Jade already knows full well that the casting of this one is an exceptional burden.

He won't let her finish.

No, instead he extends his right hand out to her...but the movement is wordless, and no gathering fonons stir under any sort of command. Because he's recalling his spear--

--and it vanishes from its perch through Tear's arm, in a crackling burst of fonic component particles, leaving behind a gaping hole for blood to truly gush forth. Doubtless an excruciating void in its own right--enough so to almost certainly stop nearly anyone in their tracks--

Jade's already moving, even as those component particles are invisibly returning to the storage he'd personally designed in his right arm. Empty-handed, seemingly, as he lunges into those last couple of yards left between his own position and Ann's...but when he draws that arm back it isn't in preparation for a strike. Fingers curl once more about his spear once again, as he re-materializes it in his grasp...and so there's no window left at all, for Ann to even register what's about to happen, before he's driving the weapon properly through her torso.]

[ she really does shine bright like a star, while his power is over wind, like control over space to fire black holes. the question might just be whether light or void would prevail.

also how dare she step on the book!! venti would be slightly scandalized if he knew but admittedly, he doesn’t really have a leg to stand on. or rather, maybe another arm, more wings sliced off and falling to the ground. she really is just snipping his wings in the most literal sense but he does start to fall, clutching at her to drag her down with him with a crazed laugh. maybe the last vestiges of sanity starting to leave him as it really sinks in, this might not be winnable. a prospect that he’d rage and deny to his dying day or moment, which might be soon, but he can barely think straight beyond just wanting to live, keep this body, stay, he can’t go back to the nothingness—

his arm is just barely hanging on by tendons, by sinew, practically by sheer faith which is rapidly running out. the wound burns like hellfire. still though, his talons clench right at her shoulder, sinking deeply into flesh with dying strength. if he had any more control of his arm he would try to rip out her heart. ]

If I’m going to hell I’m taking you with me.

You and me. Goddess of false stars dragged down with the Shouki no Kami.

[ the shogun never gave him a name. the tsaritsa blessed him with two titles. his victims could call him ‘destroyer of countries’. how many names and aliases he’s had, but he’s only ever tried to make his own when he reached for godhood.

if he were in his own body perhaps he totally could have won. he could have gloatingly sneered his god’s name and title to her as he crushed her face into the dirt under his heel. or is that just fantasy? no escape from reality, etc…

his entire body is heavy like the weight of a collapsing star: he would make this vessel itself his last stormeye and kill them both, crushing them to nothingness. maybe even the entire ship if he could muster the power. if he has to return there, he’d take her or deal as much damage as he can to the last. like a kamikaze, the twisted divine wind. ]

[Mithos holds his silence a moment, letting Genis express his feelings. Yes...they are far more deserving, are they not? After all they've been through and overcome...

He looks out over the "party" impassively.]

He's a despicable creature. The harder the fall, the more intense the emotions... That's probably his goal here. Make them lower their guard...

Well, it worked in our favour. Look how readily they gathered here, with no idea what would happen to them...

[A faint smile returns to his lips as he focuses on Genis again. His hold relaxes, so he isn't gripping his friend's hands painfully tight--but still enough to encourage him.]

It's alright, Genis. As long as we're both here, it doesn't matter what he tries. We'll see it through, just like we did everything else...and then...

[And then...when the time is right, Mithos will personally enjoy grinding that creature to dust. No matter how long it takes. He's capable of great patience, after all.]

[ the sudden loss of the spear in her flesh is enough to stun her,
to shatter her focus and the gathering of fonons around her: she doesn't
immediately understand where the spear had gone, doesn't even raise her gaze
to look for it, at first. instead she winces from its sudden loss, shifting to
press her good hand against the hole in her forearm. her palm glows with the
touch of healing light, shoddily mending the empty space there, stemming
the flow of her blood.

when she finally looks up, it's too late.

there's a sound of footsteps leading suddenly right in front of her, he's so fast,
and she feels his next attack before she can really understand what's happening,
the pain of it tearing another shout from her throat. her body writhes around
the spear pressing into her torso, the pain of it leaving her unable to stay
still.

despite the past voyages, this felt fresh somehow -- still just as
painful as it would have been the first time. perhaps she'd spent too long in
the void, or perhaps it was due to tear's body having avoided these kinds
of wounds until now. but even through all of the adrenaline, she can still feel
the burn of it.

it takes her a second to be able to speak. ]

So ... How does it feel?

[ she glances up at him with tear's dimming blue eyes, lips parting
around shallowing gasps of breath. ]

Not only ... did you kill your teacher... but now you killed your friend.

[ she smiles, because she knows she's lost physically, at least.
but there were many things worse than death. including the thoughts that
had to linger behind after the dust settles, the consequences of one's own
actions.

she lets her voice sink into that familiar monotonous pace of tear's. ]

Maybe now I can finally see Luke again?

[ her pitiful excuse for a forcefield isn't enough to stop erin's attack,
not by a long shot: it does little to buffer the blow before disappearing
completely. ann's sure that something in this body breaks from the impact, and
she shrieks as she feels the heat of pain in her side, the blow knocking her back
and away from the sheer force of it all.

she lays on the ground for a second, focusing on just trying to breathe,
before she lifts a hand to mend her ribs. her hand glows, unseen by erin, as
she tries her best to remain as silent as possible.

she'd almost forgotten, but ... this woman was blind, right?

being silent was at least something she was relatively capable of, having been a
phantom thief in her past life. she takes a knife out from the holster on
tear's thigh as she waits, wondering just what erin was going to do. ]

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monday's child is fair of face (2/2)

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cw: arm/hand trauma

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9/10 too omg....RNG OUT FOR BLOOD--

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