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

[wimdy]

[ the wind is a whisper, but not quiet and melodic like usual. instead the cold and almost poison of it steals around her, the sharpness as if of ozone or static electricity in the air within a storm. almost primal spite somehow in a natural phenomenon. ]

You could claim everyone here in this realm under yours. The greed and demand of you staggers the mind. And if that were true, the two of you have done a piss poor job in your so-called domain.

[ that she breathes in an attempt to remain calm, perhaps even as the little clawed hole through her had completely ripped into a lung if deities would deign to be so organic…

the wind, the air, it sustains life and existence so. what if it were the enemy? the divine wind that coils and hovers around her like the poisonous gas he’d used in his homeland. the temperature drops still, air pressure like a stone as if she were high in altitude like on the mountain of the gods or the peaks barbatos had once sliced off the face of the earth, to sea.

he could steal and draw her very breath from her, choking, a mortal would get so high on oxygen deprivation to die. ]

The cold and heartless goddess who so carelessly created me never gave me a name. The cold and unloving goddess I pledged myself to gifted me a title. The mortals and men and women and children I encountered… some called me country slayer, such is my power.

You should be so lucky to fall to the likes of me, a god who would judge all equally.

[ with the divine fate of death. ]

[nyktifanis]

( the shift in the air causes her to body to still, eyes slowly opening as she stares at her surroundings— the water that leaks, the debris, and even the floor above that still crumbles to give off an effect as though raining. she can still the blood, the smoke, and ocean water that pools into the area. it's then her senses come to a halt— the need to smell, the need to breathe, it's instantly gone as god, let alone a servant, has no need for such human luxuries. her chest no longer raises up and down as she turns around towards the direction where the voice seems loudest.

there's no need for air when mikazuki's playfulness towards releasing the limiter on their mana consumption and human prayers course through her magical circuits with a pop and a snap, energizing her as she takes a step forward. )

Fool. We are the breeze that gently caresses their shoulder, the light in the distance that they can follow.

( another step as the wind speaks to her. ) The methods of how they choose to move forward is by their choice, and if fighting against impudent creatures like you is their decision.

( she points her sword out to the wind, to nothing at all, hell who knows where the entity could be hiding— what matters is that she knows that he's still here to meet his death. )

Then I shall support them.

[wimdy]

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. ]

[nyktifanis]

( 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. )

[wimdy]

[ 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. ]

[nyktifanis]

( false stars this and false stars that. here, there, everyone makes a comment about it; then what does that make the dioscuri? they are stars, the only set that happens to be real, tangible, a source of light that others can look towards. that's why every time he mentions their authenticity, it irritates her further and further. the father of the gods had granted them their spot among the stars, he stated that their love and bond was strong enough that they could have a place above those that lift their head to the sky where they make wishes and send prayers.

it's this reminder that keeps her going, she can't die here when her brother is waiting for her wherever he is. it's not desperation, but the will of who she is, her principles, and the love that she has to offer. there are people she wishes to see, others that she wishes to check on— smiling face of shi qingxuan, the irritation of rita mordio, the undying exhaustion of israel hand. those good hearts of people that she hasn't gotten enough of seeing— she wants to see her brother the most, though, as she can't imagine a death if he's not the last person she sees.

his claws sink into her body that sends a shiver down her spine, electric enough that she groans in pain, but soon after her teeth grit together. the underworld wouldn't be an unfamiliar place for her, hell, her uncle resides over that domain— the sea of stars, the disasterous blackholes, and the heat of passionate love... those belong to the dioscuri, it's all she's seen and will never lose to, because to them that only makes them even more powerful.

she doesn't release her blade as the blood splatters between them, down her body and onto his clothing, and she mirrors his actions with her own blade. pushing it into his body so that crimson mixes with crimson, god's blood, and a rarity when combined. )

This love of mine isn't fake at all. You must not know love, and for that, I pity you.

( her place in the sky with her brother is founded on love, and yet the other speaks so cruel of them. fake, non-existent, then she'll have to show him that those stars exist. that love does exist, and it's with those final words that the air picks up around them, the self-sacrifice that this specter offers, and in turn pollux's own body glows a blinding white— that energy being sent to her sword that begins to glow wider in width that slices more and more through "venti"'s body, and it's her forcing the blade up— cutting up from the heart to the neck, her attempt to sever the head from the body happens to be her chosen, final strike as stars twinkle off from her blade— snapping and popping right before the other's eyes. )

OBTAINED: 2x Dvalin’s claw, 3x Dvalin’s plume (or whole ass wings), a bunch of arti fodder (jk)

[wimdy]

[ the stars and sky are a hoax, a lie. the revelation he’d encountered that day might as well have shattered his world.

death is very real and he could feel the coldness, the nothingness that awaited him as cold as uncaring space even as the sword sears, cutting through his neck, and isn’t this a rather full circle way to die. he could not speak, all his power and ability this body had… it had been running on fumes through the battle and fading fast all this time anyway. this archon called himself the weakest god after all. and he’d lost his gnosis.

but he’d wanted so fucking badly to live. he clutches at her with a dying grip, the blue green glow fading from his eyes, choking on blood when he can’t even laugh anymore or speak. strength and power leaving him when he can’t even create another stormeye. the winds dying abruptly around him, weakening, anemo feathers flickering into the air like dust motes or stars. it’s a terrible thing to know he will die and there’s nothing he can do about it, through vain rage and denial and despair. and this goddess is still so holier than thou about… what the hell is love, what did love ever do for him?

he thinks of his creator, his maker, the goddess who abandoned him to an underground domain. katsuragi, who’d supported and advised him. that young boy who died and left him, that delicate friendship.

there was a time he’d also wanted to be close to people, long ago. forgotten about, under spite and fury at the world. and there’s a song that this bard knows that rises to his memory now, save me my creator, I'm not clever enough to know better. I will crumble because that's my nature, just like you—

shouki no kami, for a sinner who failed to be brought to the right path and salvation. he chokes out a last breath as his ruined body crumples to the ground and his head falls. beelzebul has a devil put aside for me… ]