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

[palfriday]

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!

Comments

now the fake memory becomes real

[myagic]

[When Clarke last spoke to her, Rita had been mentally and emotionally all over the place, and yet--the awful wounds on the other girl had been horrifying. More horrifying, now, with the new and terrible context of her memories. Under normal circumstances, she never would've let Clarke go off again on her own into the chaos, but--

What's even normal anymore?

Rita's still a mess. She's had a bit more time to compose herself and push aside the confused kaleidoscope of new and old memories, in favour of focusing on the chaos--or would have, if she wasn't now mourning the real loss of Natsuno Yuuki. Tears streak her face now, as she searches for him--for the one hijacking his body--intent on doing something, anything to bring him back, and maybe breaking open this barrier and saving those she can will happen in the process...to do something better than chasing someone down and throwing flames at them, this time...

She hears her name in Clarke's voice, and it sure is timely, when she had the other girl's injuries on her mind. If it sounds a little...odd, well--Clarke was kind of looking like she'd been to hell and back already, and Rita can't imagine she's doing anything but worse now-]

Claugh-!

[Just as she turns, Clarke's name turns into a choked groan at the hand closing around her throat. Rita grabs the other girl's wrist with her own hands, an awful sinking feeling of deja vu washing over her.]

Wh...at...?

[She chokes out only part of her question, trying to suck in a breath.]

with an added side dish of awful

[skaikru]

Shhh, ( ivar soothes, in direct contrast to the way his fingers cinch around rita's windpipe and turn a question into choked silence. fight hard enough for a breath, and she probably wouldn't die; but nothing is coming out of that throat other than wheezing, she can't be allowed incantations. ) Shhh.

( there's never any real joy in killing children. through borrowed memories he knows this girl is closer to his own age than the likes of mary, but she's so short and with big green eyes that flash with confusion before they ever do fear. it's basically the same thing; small, frail things had no place in the midst of battle.

but she is a sorceress. a powerful one at that. distant, ancient kings and jarls had kept her kind at their side to guide through prophecy and counsel, though he'd never lapped at the palm of the seer and been rewarded with fire on his fingertips. )

Little Vǫlva. ( he says it in old norse, that's the shape his new mouth is making. but the translation reverberates quite clearly as witch (affectionate) in the air between their faces. a pause, then he leans in til their foreheads almost bump and smile he gives rita borders on magnanimous. forgiving. she doesn't need to know exactly what he's talking about, this moment is for him. he is not a monster completely devoid of the capacity to absolve. ) ...It's alright. You didn't know. This is nothing I cannot live with. And this will not take long if you just hold still.

( idly — still way too hopped up on the novelty of it — he balances on one foot, brings the other knee up level with his waist, and grapples for the bent bladed knife that clarke griffin had attached there. )

[myagic]

[What's intended as soothing is, actually, one of the scariest things Rita's probably heard in her life. Being shushed while also getting strangled--no, no, hell no! Her mouth works, but wheezes certainly are all that come out. Clarke might not be that much bigger than her, but she has more muscle in her hold and murder in her eyes. Rita digs scrabbles at the hand at her throat, digging in fingernails as her lungs start to scream for air, and her right leg kicks at whatever's in front of her. At this rate, though...

She can barely concentrate, black starting to creep into the edges of her vision, when she makes a last-ditch effort: she slaps her palm against the arm holding her and fires a weak, messy burst of magic from it--the same thing she tried against Torn, and it didn't work then, and as for now...?]

[skaikru]

( deepest congratulations rita mordio, those kicks land somewhere between his ankles and mid thigh. they even sting a little, especially the one that catches the dirty fabric of the bandage on his calf. but just as ivar had told her a second ago, this was nothing he couldn't live with. it was nothing compared to the way he'd been born, legs twisted and unseemly; unfunctional 'til he'd welded them inside metal braces and stood up to take limping, excruciating steps. she will have to try harder than —

ah, shit. now there's a flame like blast originating from her palm. so much for the accuracy of his hosts memory, who's only ever seen this little girl — or that old man with the long hair — cast with a vengeful sounding incantation preceding it. he'd imagined crushing her throat would be enough but... ah, that's life here. skin scorches painfully and his grunt turns into a loud vicious snarl. the hand around rita's neck will jerk once to the left for a little leverage, then absolutely hurtle her to the right and towards the floor. some errant flame catches the cheap fabric of his sleeve, and he very quickly slots the blade of the knife between his teeth to pat them out. shakes the whole arm, just to make sure it's functional.

then he's just on her. ivar had always fought better on the floor anyway.

brackets rita's torso with his knees, outright sits on her thighs, so she can't buck him off — this body isn't bigger than many others, but in this fight its weight will suffice — and this time when he reaches for rita, it's actually to seize her by the jaw and shove her head back to an uncomfortably sharp degree. forces her neck bared, and bruising. he's a little angry now.

spits the knife down into his free hand, hunches over to bring their faces close enough that rita's flecked with blood-tinged spit, and — roars at her. )

I said still!

( this didn't have to hurt. this he'd intended to stab her in the guts, just under the rib cage and directly into what clarke griffin would have referred to as the abdominal aorta, but what ivar only knew as the place that made soldiers drop like rocks in the midst of battle. the bleed would have been quick and before it was even over, someone else would be wearing her face — and they would thank him for it. this didn't have to hurt, and didn't have to align with the misplaced memories he knows swam in rita's head for nearly two weeks. the ones with his new face leering down at her, the aftermath his host had seen and near wept over. but this little bitch keeps damaging his new body, and now it kinda does have to. and quickly, before another stunt like that surprises him so.

with a practiced sort of efficiency, ivar slips a hand around any frantically scrabbling hands and sinks the tip of the knife into her throat. not entirely, an inch at most. twists, then withdraws like the breaking of a dam, a torrent of lifeblood following the painted point of dull steel. )

1/2

[myagic]

[Her surroundings are already on the verge of fading to the point that she can't even tell if her attack connected...not until she's slamming in the floor with a half-wheezing cry. Everything is spinning and there are stars in her eyes, but she can breathe, so--something worked. She just can't gather herself enough yet to do anything but desperately suck in gasps of air before-

Someone's on her--Clarke, again, but not Clarke this time.]

Get--

[She can't even demand her attacker get off or throw an insult before her head is being sharply shoved back to the point it's almost painful. Dammit, she will not be choked again here, she isn't going to go out like this again, on her back--hands are poised to repeat the same attack as before, except...

Ivar is far too quick and practiced to allow her a second opportunity. Her blood vessels are torn open before she can even properly raise her hands, warmth gushing out once more, and the sudden interruption in blood flow to her head immediately has her mind swimming.

No, not again. Is it again? This is exactly the same as the last time...or was it Tear last time? Or was one of them a dream? She can't tell what's real anymore, only...she can only feel warm blood spilling over her fingers as she presses a hand to the wound to futilely stem the flow. Once again, everything's heavy and leaden and feeling cold...

She goes limp, hands slackening.]

2/2

[myagic]

[The brightness in her eyes flickers only for a moment, before she's turning her gaze impassively to her "killer"...and then to whatever lies beyond Clarke, fog and smoke and a nighttime sky.

A few moments pass.

And then...she laughs. Quietly, at first...but it quickly grows to uproarious cackling.]

Hehe...Ahaha....HahaHAHAHAHAHAHA...!

["He" takes in a deep breath. Air...lungs...blood...heart...life courses through him, through his corporeal body--and he laughs again, before focusing on "Clarke". His mania calms, and he eyes her as one would eye something unpleasant on the sole of one's shoe.]

...Get off me, inferior being.

[If there are two phrases that would immediately give Mithos away, they would be: 1) Martel, and 2) inferior being.]

[skaikru]

( ivar stays poised over rita's body as it bleeds and twitches and fights against the inevitable. it takes a few seconds, and he removes the hand from her jaw so she can clutch at her throat; idly wipes the blood from his new knife on the collar of her horrific insult to lisa frank costume and then just — waits. like mikazuki had done for him, eager to see who shines through in the moment suspended between life and death, and gets to take this body and all her magical powers for a spin.

it'd be funny if it were his brother. coming back as the smaller and physically weaker this time, too stupid to master artes even with rita mordio's memory and training streamlined into his mind. maybe bjorn would blow himself up, maybe ivar would pick him up like a baby and throw him off the side of the ship. even on the small chance of that happening, he lingers here, intent on being the first person his familial nemesis would see only to get — )

Ugh.

( this asshole?? of all the rotten, godless luck. this is an insult to his efforts, and ivar immediately considers stabbing mithos through the heart like a reset button. maybe someone else could be reborn, someone good who didn't grate on every single nerve he had and further complicate the already very fraught relationship he has with the gods.

but? eh. it might not work that way, colin hadn't stood up again after monday snapped his neck back the opposite direction. they couldn't waste the stock of living passengers like that, souls still needed bodies.

first time since he woke up that ivar isn't smiling. and he spits a wad of saliva intermingled with blood directly onto mithos's face. )

[myagic]

[Analyzing his host's dying moments, he already had an inkling as to who's inhabiting that body, even before--]

You disgusting filth.

[That reaction confirms it, then. Mithos wipes the saliva away with his bloody hand, glaring darkly at Ivar with all the superior fury he has. What a loathsome and hideous creature that man always was, a violent and bloodthirsty dreg of a human.

However...Mithos can be gracious in his superiority. Even if he does sneer.]

Out of gratitude for returning me to life, I'll allow you to keep yours.

[He pushes himself up to a sitting position (what in Derris-Kharlan is he wearing-) before lowering his voice to a cold, warning tone.]

As long as you keep your filth to yourself.

[skaikru]

( ....okay, he's smiling again, if only for the vehemence behind mithos's reaction. and the fact that when the newly awoken ghost tries to prop himself up on elbows and shit, ivar can leverage the same height and weight advantage he'd used to cow rita mordio to just shove this superiority complex (pot, kettle) scion back flat.

they absolutely have time for this. it's fine, they're not in the middle of a battle field or anything.

it's a totally appropriate moment to lean over and offer a little tongue action, miming like he's just going to drool all over mithos for a hot second before suddenly, drop of a hat, rolling off of him. standing up even faster, feel free to groan in terror (or annoyance) that ivar the boneless is up and walking without the restraint of metal casts. )

Later, I'd like to show you what your new insides look like, argr. ( did you know there's a specific old norse swearword for pompous ass dark wizard bitch? it's also a bit sexist, sounds mostly like a grunt so this one doesn't quite make the cut for the ship's translation feature and that's for a best. ) But for now — ( a pause for a deep inhale, casting around the chaos with an undue sort of pride, like he's the one who brought it upon them. ) — there are other matters to attend to.

[myagic]

[Any veneer of graciousness goes out the window as Mithos' face twists with indignant anger at being shoved back to the ground by this dog, and it darkens further with disgusted fury as Ivar sticks that filthy appendage out in such a vulgar display--

If looks could kill, Ivar would be atomized by the barely-restrained bloodlust in Mithos' eyes, which persists after the other rolls off him and Mithos glowers, picking his own way back up to his newly-unimpressive-height.]

You never change. Still the same, rotten vermin as always.

[His fingers curl. This body has terrible defenses--pitiful, pathetic, even--but its command of magical power is on par with his own. It would almost be impressive, for a mere human...if that magic was in any way truly her own and not borrowed from the almost-familiar gem she wears. Yes, so similar to the way his own powers were augmented through the use of the Cruxis Crystal...he should have little trouble commanding the magic for himself.

Even Mithos, however, cannot do so immediately. Even one of his ability needs at least a few minutes to absorb the understanding and knowledge from the host. Besides, those 'other matters'--Mithos cares not for the fighting and violence. He can't even turn off his hearing to block out the cacophony. However, he does have his own important matter in this situation. If they have broken through, then it's time...that he allow his sister to do the same.]

Well, then... [He doesn't hold back on his sneer this time.] Enjoy your frivolous bloodshed for now. When 'later' arrives...you will be reduced to nothing. I can promise you that, inferior being.

[skaikru]

( if he stopped to think about it, he'd killed rita because of her powers. they had the capacity to absolutely cripple and kill, which would put a huge damper on the end goal here. ivar wants, for better or worse, for violence or reunion — his brother. and however many throats he had to slit and other ghosts he had to welcome through from nothingness in order to find him, he would. getting virtually roasted alive by a little girl would have made that significantly more difficult, and thus he'd singled her out with prejudice.

and fate's cruel and twisting hand now put all that power at mithos's disposal. fucking wonderful.

but no matter. for the moment at least, they're united by a common goal. ivar blows a fantastically wet, loud fart sound in return to mithos's threats (visual, auditory) and rolls his eyes heavenward — forever convinced if the real gods ever deigned to show their faces here, return to the people they'd abandoned in this realm, they'd laugh this pathetic sorcerer off this mortal coil — before smiling broadly. )

'Til later, then, ( he says by way of goodbye, slapping his hand on the others shoulder three times while breezing past into the fray. )