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]

[ 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… ]