Scadrial Thread

[I think I am here.]

On 14/06/2019 at 6:59 PM, I think I am here. said:

Brillin heard screaming and he opened his eyes sharply. He had to get up, help Attayl, help the parlour. But he would die! But before he could think about it further Brillin forced himself up and out, the trapdoor swinging open and Brillin jumping out, right next to a goon.

The man was taken by surprise and before he could hit Brillin with a his cudgel Brillin flinched and aimed a punch right at the man’s face. It was a punch with all the strength he could muster, and normally it would have worked just fine. But simply because of his Koloss-blood, the lunch was way stronger than intended and the man collapsed on the ground.

Unsure what to do with his hands Brillin looked around frantically and awkwardly, seeing a man covered in blood, and others dead. “Rust and Ruin!” He cursed.

Looking around, Brillin saw a man pointing a gun at one of the gang members and he looked around. Where was Attayl? A part of himself sunk at the very real possibility of her death, that Brillin had waited too late to step out of the trapdoor. Picking up a chair with one hand he easily flung it into another Scarlet.

The chair hit them and a part of it splintered off. Rust, would Brillin have to pay for that? Maybe he could just blame it on the gang members. After all, none of this would have happened if the Scarlets.

Walking over to one of the incapacitated gang members, Brillin picked him up by the collar and pressed him against a wall. Fear was written on his face, but his strength kept the man pinned to the wall.

“Why’d you come?!” He yelled. “With the Farriers, didn’t you have enough on your proverbial plate?”

Ah, wrong vocabulary. No one would give him answers if he spoke like a gentleman. So he slammed the man against the wall again to prove he wasn’t playing around.

@Sorana

[+Sorana]

Just now, I think I am here. said:

Looking around, Brillin saw a man pointing a gun at one of the gang members and he looked around. Where was Attayl? A part of himself sunk at the very real possibility of her death, that Brillin had waited too late to step out of the trapdoor. Picking up a chair with one hand he easily flung it into another Scarlet.

The chair hit them and a part of it splintered off. Rust, would Brillin have to pay for that? Maybe he could just blame it on the gang members. After all, none of this would have happened if the Scarlets.

Walking over to one of the incapacitated gang members, Brillin picked him up by the collar and pressed him against a wall. Fear was written on his face, but his strength kept the man pinned to the wall.

“Why’d you come?!” He yelled. “With the Farriers, didn’t you have enough on your proverbial plate?”

Ah, wrong vocabulary. No one would give him answers if he spoke like a gentleman. So he slammed the man against the wall again to prove he wasn’t playing around.

@Sorana

"To kill the old one."

the man spat some blood out, aimed for Brillin's face. His eyes darted around the room frightened. They had been told, that almost nobody would be around, that the visitors had left. Instead they had faced a large party, and all of them ready to fight. Even the half-blood, the one the newspapers talked about was here.

"Please, don't kill me. I'm not tasty and I've got a wife she is a fine woman. Willet send us, to make sure Jeb pays for betraying him, to send a message, to those under his protection, that he is strong, that the Farriers are nother more but a nuissance. Willet is planning to make a stand against him, and this was the first step. Something about a canal."

He spoke hastily, hoped the words would safe him.

"Here my knife, I'll throw it on the ground, and this is my wallet, you can have it as well. I'm only here, because Wilett ordered me to be he, he is the one you have to be angry at, not me."

================================

Attayl kneeled next to Jeb and then stood up, fetched a blanket of some sort and covered his body. They had left his face intact and so she stopped there, rearranged the head until he looked almost peaceful. She'd never been a religious person, her mother hadn't been and in the gangs nobody cared, or at least they pretended to. They al lhad to be strong on their own, without relying on some external force. The weak ones were killed. Always. You always killed the weak ones first. Gingerly she touched his cheek, knew that this was wrong, that such a good person had to pay for a fight, that wasn't his own, that the good ones, those that cared always died on the hands on of those that were stronger, those that used others to achieve their own goals.

She sat back on her knees and stared at his face, remembered his earlier words. You can stay here, there is no need to clean. And she had cleaned anyway. Had thrown his kindness away, because it had been something so strange, so unreal to her. She should have accepted it, have thanked him, had she even thanked him? She almost jumped to her feet and ran back into the other room. Good men, good people. Her bronze was still burning and she kept it on, hoped it would warn her in case of another attack. Brillin, holding a man to the wall. Brillin, but he had been hiding. Attayl felt sick when she rushed over, her knife in her hand. This was Brillin? What had happened, when had he started acting like the one they had described in the newspaper.

"Leave him Brillin, please."

Another good man trapped in this mud, in this conflict.

"I can dispatch of him."

She offered, and then added so quietly, that she wasn't even sure if anybody could hear her.

"Don't become the monster they see in you."

@I think I am here.

[I think I am here.]

24 minutes ago, Sorana said:

This was Brillin? What had happened, when had he started acting like the one they had described in the newspaper.

"Leave him Brillin, please."

Another good man trapped in this mud, in this conflict.

"I can dispatch of him."

She offered, and then added so quietly, that she wasn't even sure if anybody could hear her.

"Don't become the monster they see in you."

Brillin looked back at Attayl, using one hand to wipe off the blood that the man had spit out. Partly, he was shocked.

“I...”

He was never planning to kill this man, let alone eat him as the gangster had said. All he’d wanted was some information. And yet, you’re holding him by the collar, pressing him against the wall, after you just slammed a chair into him and now you’re yelling into his face.

But, he was just worried, scared, everyone got rusting scared occasionally, didn’t they? But when he got scared, when Brillin got angry, suddenly he would suddenly eat people, eat a random gangster. Rusts, before tonight he hadn’t even gotten into a fight for months. So he leaned back, loosened his grip, then dropped the man, letting go and stepping back.

“I wasn’t even going to do anything,” he whispered to Attayl. “He said something like Jeb was a traitor, something about a canal.”

And with that he stepped back further and crossed his arms, to see what’s Attayl would do.

[+Sorana]

43 minutes ago, I think I am here. said:

Brillin looked back at Attayl, using one hand to wipe off the blood that the man had spit out. Partly, he was shocked.

“I...”

He was never planning to kill this man, let alone eat him as the gangster had said. All he’d wanted was some information. And yet, you’re holding him by the collar, pressing him against the wall, after you just slammed a chair into him and now you’re yelling into his face.

But, he was just worried, scared, everyone got rusting scared occasionally, didn’t they? But when he got scared, when Brillin got angry, suddenly he would suddenly eat people, eat a random gangster. Rusts, before tonight he hadn’t even gotten into a fight for months. So he leaned back, loosened his grip, then dropped the man, letting go and stepping back.

“I wasn’t even going to do anything,” he whispered to Attayl. “He said something like Jeb was a traitor, something about a canal.”

And with that he stepped back further and crossed his arms, to see what’s Attayl would do.

Attayl's eyes widened in surprise, then she smiled. He hadn't planed to hurt the man, it had been nothing but fear and worry. A good man. Her side hurt when she turned to the man, reminded her of the cut she had received earlier and she winced at the sharp pain. Still her hand was steady and calm when she looked at the man Brillin had let go of.

"What canal?"

She asked and he nodded eagerly.

"The large one, between the octants. The Farriers have taken it over, but Willet decided to get it back. He plans on a large offense, as soon as he has enough people. Show everybody who is the boss here."

It made sense. Whoever controlled the large canals, controlled the Octant. It was the same with the train station, but as it had been destroyed.

"They attacked the Parlor to show off, to gather more support for this attack."

She didn't realize she had spoken aloud until the man nodded eagerly.

"Yes, exactly. Willet will show them that he is the boss."

Attayl looked at Brillin at his crossed arms. He was watching her, waited to see what she would do. A good man. She looked at her hand holding the knife, at the blood on her dress. She had killed two people today, and there was nothing. No regret, no pain. It had been a neccessity. And she knew, she would do it again. A sob escaped her lips when she turned around again, when she realized how weak she was, and how strong he had been. Despite his hardships, despite the way everybody knew him, he had stayed true to himself. But she, she had given in, had hidden her asset out of fear, had become the monster people saw in him. Her eyes stared at the man, who lifted his hands in defense, but she stepped forward anyways, grabbed his hair and pulled him towards her, slipped his neck in under the base of his skull. Quick and mostly painless. He sagged against her and she screamed in pain, when he hit her side, pushed the corpse away. Her knife dropped to the ground, hit the floor with a sound that was almost too loud, and she pressed a hand against the wound in her side in an attempt the stop the bleeding. Leaning against a nearby wall she looked through the room, her body claming down, now that the threat was over. Corpses were lying between destroyed tables and blood coloured to floor a dark crimson.

Attayl stared at them, at those she had killed herself and then looked down at her bloody hand, pressed against her side. The wound started to throb painfully and she was glad about the wall to support her.

"I am the daughter of a whore."

She spoke quietly, dragged it all out in the open, because it hurt, the htought alone hurt and she wanted to hurt, to feel anything, than this void. Because she knew she should feel something, something else than joy at being alive and free. Something more.

"My nother died protecting me from an angry customer when I was a child, he cut my face open, but I survived. She buyed the time so that I could flee and I did, I left her behind, listened to her screams until they faded when I rounded a corner. I stole food, begged for money until he found me, admired my skills, how fast and quick I was. And so he took me with him, to his gang. We were children, and he was the oldest one of us. Over the time we grew older, some died, some left, but he was always there. One day, I was one of his longest members, and I knew he was starting to fear me. So I started to do what my mother did. Secured my place with body, made sure he knew of my everlasting loyalty. And he used me, started to hand me out to his friend, or to those he wanted to become his friends. And I could do nothing about it. Nothing but to go back to being a thug, and then I would grow into a threat as well."

Her voice broke somewhere along the lines, but she continued, her heart sore when she forced herself to remember, but it was better, it was better to break herself, than to let them to do it.

"He's dead, everybody I knew for the last years is dead and I am still caught in their net."

A step towards a table, grab some cloth, press it on the wound. Her voice grew louder, when she forced herself to face the situation, to leave the past behind for now. She wasn't strong enough to change the past, to change herself. But she was able to go on. She had learned that, just as she had learned how to kill

"They killed Jeb, cut him apart. A traitor, because he tried to do what is right, because he was a good man. I covered his body, he's in the kitchen."

She sounded tired in the end, ripped apart. Go on, be strong. She had to, she knew how it worked.

"There won't be another attack soon. They reached their goal. That they lost some doesn't matter anymore. Not if Willett is aiming for the canal."

[I think I am here.]

Brillin’s stance suddenly became tested when Attayl killed the man. Suddenly he felt a little sick, and he dropped onto a nearby wooden chair. But as Attayl looked at corpses and around him, Brillin did too. All of the people here were dead, and some in very gruesome ways. One of them looked like he had even bitten to death? Had Attayl done all of this? Obviously, the man with the gun had contributed, but still.

“I am the daughter of a whore.”

The words snapped Brillin out of his observations and he looked back to Attayl, leaning against a wall, bloody hand pressed against her side. And she continued, continued the sorrowful song of her past, and somewhere along her story Brillin looked down, closed his eyes. He was trying to get out of a city, he thought it was tough enough that he was caught in a gang war, but she had it worse. When she began talking about how she’d been used, Brillin opened his eyes and looked up, to the roof of the Parlour.

Go to Hell, Harmony.

She talked about Jeb being dead, how they had killed him, and how another attack wouldn’t happen, they would were attacking the canal, how they’d reached their goal of killing Jeb, the Parlour was partly destroyed and now Brillin knew, now he knew Attayl’s past, how she was so intertwined with the gang. And he could see the anguish in her voice.

At the end of it all, he stood up from the chair, stepping over a corpse on the way to the bar. He reached over the counter, grabbed two glass bottles of some strong-sounding drink. His insides felt churned at what had happened. So with the two drinks in hand, he walked over to Attayl, dropped a drink beside her, and trudged his way to the chair. He knew, his pain was nothing compared to hers, compared to her his experiences were nothing to be sad about.

But he still sat in the chair, and drank.

“I wish I could help,” he said in between gulps, his voice taut, sinking into the chair, looking into thin air.

“But all I’m good for is talking and pretending I know what I’m doing.”

 

Edited June 16, 2019 by I think I am here.

[+Sorana]

3 hours ago, I think I am here. said:

But he still sat in the chair, and drank.

“I wish I could help,” he said in between gulps, his voice taut, sinking into the chair, looking into thin air.

“But all I’m good for is talking and pretending I know what I’m doing.”

Attayl slowly headed over to him, sat down as well.

"Thank you."

She clinked her glass to his and took a sip. Strong. Grimacing she swallowed and then took another sip. Another grimace, but it warmed her, alsmost immediatly made her head spin around. She looked at him, at his skin, and then shook her head.

"You are wrong."

she replied.

"You did help and you can do a lot more than talking."

Without giving him a chance to react she continued:

"When I offered to teach you how to dance, I expected you to take advantage on us standing so close, but you didn't. It might be nomal for you, but to me it's so rare, that I can hardly describe how happy I was. When you read that article, you weren't happy, but you weren't completely surprised either. So it happened before, that they blame you for things you never did. In that alley you put yourself between me and Nerin, you faced down thugs for us, and you'd only met us a few hours ago."

"What I want to say is, that for me there was only that,"

she made a gesture, indicated the whole room,

"This is how my life looked like, until yesterday. And then you come along and you are polite and kind. And you aren't a noble person, you are someone the normal people despite because of your skin. But you are strong enough to stay polite and calm."

Shaking her head in a mixture of appreciation and non-understanding she added.

"You showed me, that there was something else. Something better than the world I know. And it means, that maybe, maybe I can change, I can be like you. I can learn, I can read, I can leave it all behind and be someone who would have let that man run, instead of killing him. Maybe I can be that someone. The person who helps, instead of the one who destroys."

Lowering her voice, because she didn't want the others to overher her, she grabed her glass and smiled at him.

"It's about hope, about a new way. Another possibility, an alternative to the life I led so far. Maybe talking isn't that much worth in your world, but to me, that you talked to me, that you saw me and not my role, my face - it means a lot. More than I can express right now."

[+ZincAboutIt]

Nerin ran, bag thumping against her hip, her breath coming hard and ragged. The parlor was half a block away - she could hear shouting, something breaking.

Harmony, please, she prayed. Please, no.

The ground dipped sharply beneath her right foot, and there was a terrible dagger of pain in her ankle. Nerin screamed, feeling her foot twist, and she tumbled forward. Her head hit the ground, her vision blurred. Everything became a whirl of light and sound around her.

Harmony, please, no.

Quote

Nerin will get up when I have time to write her scenes!  

 

[I think I am here.]

23 hours ago, Sorana said:

Lowering her voice, because she didn't want the others to overher her, she grabed her glass and smiled at him.

"It's about hope, about a new way. Another possibility, an alternative to the life I led so far. Maybe talking isn't that much worth in your world, but to me, that you talked to me, that you saw me and not my role, my face - it means a lot. More than I can express right now."

Brillin took another swig of the glass, his mind spinning. She was comforting him. She, who’d had a past so much more worse than his, so much more painful the comparison was laughable. And yet he was getting blackout drunk and she was telling him how he’d helped her.

“I’m not strong,” he said drunkenly. The glass was already empty and he dropped it to the floor. “I’m just too much of a rusting coward.”

And in his alcoholic stupor he saw his past, the towns and cities, denying the Koloss spikes back when he was younger.

“But, if you feel different, than it’s good.”

He laughed mirthlessly and tried to stand, but fell back into his chair.

“Why am I the one like this? You, you have seen so much more pain, and yet, and yet...” he covered his face with his hands. “I still feel this way.”

[+Sorana]

3 minutes ago, I think I am here. said:

“Why am I the one like this? You, you have seen so much more pain, and yet, and yet...” he covered his face with his hands. “I still feel this way.”

Attayl set her glass down and gently reached out for his hands. He was drunk. But that was fine, she knew drunken people. Most in the gang had drunk way too much alcohol.

"Don't compare my pain to yours."

she said softly, smiled at him.

"You can't do that. What we experienced is so different, that you can't compare it."

He hadn't spoken about his past, but that he was here, on his own, always travelling, it told a sad story as well. She looked at his figure, the way he sat in the chair, his face covered with his hands.

"The thing with pain is, that we all experience it differently. What is easy for me, can be hard to you and vice versa. Whatever happened to you was bad enough that you sit here and drink too much, so I guess it must have been pretty bad."

Gently she tried to move his hands away from his face, but left the decision to him.

"You say you are a coward, but I think a coward is someone who chooses his fights wisely. Someone who values life more than death. It's not the proud and courageous people that change our world. They are the ones that get us into a fight, when they aim for control. It's the cowards and the learned ones that get us out of it. Those that think before they act."

She nodded towards the compartment.

"You could have stayed hidden, and nobody would have thought less of you. But instead you decided to leave it, to step in. And I'm sure you had a reason for that. You're not the type to act on instinct alone."

"Don't make yourself smaller and weaker than you really are. There are so many types of strength, and killing people is the worst kind of them."

[+ZincAboutIt]

Nerin limped the last block of the street, head throbbing, ankle a spike of bright pain. She gritted her teeth, willing herself to go faster. Faster. No more sounds came from the parlor - somehow, that made it all the more ominous as she tripped up the stairs and in through the front door.

Corpses littered the floor, one covered in marks like tiny teeth. 

"What in Harmony's name..." Nerin whispered, then spotted Attayl and Brillin at the small table. Attayl was covered in blood, it caked her face and arms, soaked into her dress, though she seemed well enough. Brillin looked deep into his cups, slumped over the tabletop. Nerin looked around, counting the others. Everyone was alive, everyone was...

Her eyes flicked towards the kitchen door. A slice of light filtered out, illuminating something red on the floor near the doorframe. A footprint? In blood?

"No," she whispered, voice barely audible. No.

Horror pulled Nerin across the room. She pushed the door open and rushed into the kitchen, then stumbled to a halt as her ankle protested. The floorboards were sticky beneath her boots, and the air was close and thick with the hot, coppery scent of blood. So much blood. It coated the planking like whitewash, the old wood drinking it in greedily, and there was still enough to collect in glistening pools. 

Light spilled in through the little window at the end of the room, illuminating something laying in the center of the floor. The air around it shimmered oddly, as though hot. A vague blur hovered at the edges.

No, no.

Nerin felt a small cry wrench itself from her throat and she darted forward, feet slick against the floor. She passed through the distortion and felt the world lurch around her, sending her stumbling. The figure of Lance materialized next to her.

A speed bubble. Lance kneeled on the floor, face stricken with grief and anger. Nerin spared him a moment’s glance before turning towards the man on the floor.

Someone screamed then, and it wasn’t until Nerin was already on her knees, crawling through the blood, that she realized it had been her own voice.

@Invocation

[+Invocation]

1 minute ago, ZincAboutIt said:

Someone screamed then, and it wasn’t until Nerin was already on her knees, crawling through the blood, that she realized it had been her own voice.

Lance stood slowly. "I'm...I'm sorry. I allowed myself to be distracted. To be pulled away at a critical moment." He grimaced. She looked so small, so innocent, kneeling in a puddle of blood. A situation she never should have been in. 

A situation no one should ever have to be in.

He fought back his own memories. This wasn't the time for that. The past was dead, he was needed in the present. 

"Are you okay, Nerin?"

@ZincAboutIt

[+ZincAboutIt]

Lance was speaking. She heard it dimly, as though he were in another room.

"Are you okay, Nerin?"

Jeb’s body was pale beneath all the red, his chest and torso a mess of lacerations and deep punctures. His shirt hung open and tattered, clinging to his body and to the floor, soaked and crimson. Someone had closed his eyes, but the deep lines in his face, the strained curve of his spine, told Nerin that it had been no gentle death. Someone had taken their time, making it slow. Intimate.

"I..." She began, her vision narrowing to a small point. "He..."

The word on the floor next to him told her all she needed to know. Traitor. In a sudden compulsion, Nerin scrambled toward the word, trying to wipe away the letters scrawled in blood. But it had already seeped into the floorboards, stained and flaking like rust. 

Something hot spilled down her cheeks, the tears making it hard to see. Her hands shook as she took the edge of her skirt, scrubbing at the floor. It was of no use.

Nerin slumped to the floor, her eyes like startled birds, unable to find somewhere safe to rest. It was her fault, all her fault. Her idea to pay the Farriers. Her idea to leave the parlor. Too much...

"Remember what I told you, my little one?" The memory surfaced through the pain, a rock in the ocean. Nerin clung to it. "What do we do when we are afraid?"

"We build the Beautiful Room," Nerin said. She clung to her mother's skirt, watching her reflection in the cracked mirror. The bedroom was awash in pink light; the scent of perfume nearly covered the reek of old bed linen. 

"That's right." Her mother's smile was beautiful and sad beneath her rouge and lipstick, eyes darting towards the hallway where someone waited. "Inside the Beautiful Room, there is nothing that can harm you."

"Everything is soft, and clean, and good," Nerin recited, hoping to please her mother in the way that only a child can hope. "Nothing is cruel, or ugly."

"That's right," her mother repeated, kissing her on the forehead. She spun Nerin around, pushing her into the wardrobe. "Now you be a good girl while Mummy talks to her friend, and play in the Beautiful Room."

On the floor, Nerin began to build the Room around her. The walls became soft and covered in colored paper, the blood-soaked wood beneath her a lavish carpet. Morning's light, so cruel and unrelenting, dimmed before her. There was nothing now, nothing but quiet. Nothing at all.

@Invocation

[+Invocation]

20 minutes ago, ZincAboutIt said:

On the floor, Nerin began to build the Room around her. The walls became soft and covered in colored paper, the blood-soaked wood beneath her a lavish carpet. Morning's light, so cruel and unrelenting, dimmed before her. There was nothing now, nothing but quiet. Nothing at all.

"Yeah, you're not okay. Probably shock." Lance took his mistcoat off (a slightly smaller mistcoat underneath [he had an image to maintain, after all]), and draped it over Nerin, then picked her up, once again noticing how small she was. Shock like this needed sleep to heal, but rusts, she should never have been involved in something like that.

He walked, resolute, through the barrier of the bubble, weathering the discomfort it brought and began making his way towards the stairs so she could rest in comfort and peace until she was ready to face the world again. His steps were heavy, thumping like a tapping Skimmer; resolute a boulder falling down a mountain, his momentum ignored only by those who would be crushed. Those in his way as he walked to the stairs moved back, his haunted stare adding to the effect. 

The stairs creaked as he climbed, carefully attempting to keep Nerin still before he laid her in the first bed he could find.

Still, he worried. 

Not everyone came back from things of this magnitude.

Indeed, he worried.

@ZincAboutIt

Edited June 17, 2019 by Invocation

[+ZincAboutIt]

Nerin felt herself lifted off the floor, the two sides of her mind meshing for a moment as Lance cradled her in his arms. He felt strong, solid. Nerin heard the creak of stairs, his resolute breathing against her ear, the steady, implacable beating of his heart.

As he laid her in a bed, a small corner of her mind rebelled at the idea of her filthy, blood-soaked shoes and skirt tucked into her sheets. But such thoughts were far too close to reality, and reality meant pain - a wide and terrible sea of horror. She shied away from it, retreating further and further into the Beautiful Room until the light had faded, sound had faded. Even the soft weight of Lance's mistcoat dissolved around her, and Nerin slept.

[+Invocation]

Lance straightened, hearing new footsteps on the parlor floor below. His anger kindled; that had to be the protection squad he had ordered to come here. They were late. Too late. Each breath he took stoked the fire of his anger, each step he took to the entryway added fuel to the flames. He arrived downstairs, mood charred, and sense of humor once present had been scorched out. The first of the protection squad to notice him bent his head in respect, and never saw the hand coming. 

Lance grabbed him around the neck and hurtled him through the window he made his first entrance through. "I TOLD YOU TO HURRY! YOU WERE TOO LATE! NOW AN INNOCENT MAN IS DEAD BECAUSE YOU COULDN'T BE RUSTED TO GET UP AND GET HERE! HIS BLOOD," Lance yelled, gesturing wildly, "IS ON YOUR HANDS." He got in the face of the next one, his voice growing menacing and deceptively soft. "When you're given an order next time, if you're ever given an order again, I suggest you obey. Timely." He kicked the second man's knee cap sideways. "You deserve this. You all deserve this. All you had to do was protect one rusting man and his property." He suckerpunched the other two members of the squad. "You deserve this and more. If I ever see any of you again, I will exact revenge in pounds of flesh and blood."

"You don't deserve to be among us."

The men who could walk picked up their comrade who couldn't and scuttled out the door, thoroughly chastised, as Lance turned to the rest of the occupants of the parlor.

"I am sorry you had to see that."

[I think I am here.]

On 17/06/2019 at 10:42 PM, Sorana said:

She nodded towards the compartment.

"You could have stayed hidden, and nobody would have thought less of you. But instead you decided to leave it, to step in. And I'm sure you had a reason for that. You're not the type to act on instinct alone."

"Don't make yourself smaller and weaker than you really are. There are so many types of strength, and killing people is the worst kind of them."

Brillin stilled. He was fully drunk, and he moved his hands from his face and looked at Attayl again. He laughed again, short and sorrowful.

“You’re really good at that, that way of talking,” he said drearily, not thinking quite clearly.

“Like... a therapist, or —no...”

He heard a noise outside but he didn’t turn to look at it. He saw Nerin walk in, Lance, he saw them depart as well.

“And now they’re going to feel sad too,” he said again. “They might need some, uh, therapizing.”

[+ZincAboutIt]

9 minutes ago, I think I am here. said:

“They might need some, uh, therapizing.”

Quote

Just sign up everyone for some serious therapy  Group session.

 

[+Sorana]

Attayl pulled her hands away from his. He'd just told her to go, and it was alright, she figured, somehow it hurt, because she liked him, that he simply talked to her, people so rarely did. Her eyes fell on her hands and she realized she had intruded, hastily got to her feet. Looked around.

Lance had carried Nerin upstairs, but had come down without her. Cold seeped through her bones when she realized what had happened when she remembered the way Nerin's head had hung, how her body had swayed with every step.

She stared at Lance for a moment. Another gang, and this time they had hurt Nerin. Another corpse. Attayl grabbed her knife and stepped towards him. A mistborn. She'd never face a mistborn before, but she would now. They would have to leave, all of them. It was enough. Who was the next target, she, Brillin, one of the others? Grief gripped her heart and she suppressed another sob when she thought about her earlier words about a new way, about hope. They had been true, and they were discarded so easily.
She took another step towards him, pointed her knife at him. Maybe she could do better, be better. Maybe, but not now.
"Leave."
she told him tonelessly.
"Now. You have no place here, no right to stay."
She gestured towards the direction his thugs had vanished.
"I don't care about your show, about your little theatre. I know too much about this world to believe it. You don't care. You only want the money. If someone goes on with the parlor you will get it. Although I doubt anybody is crazy enough after Jeb and Nerin."
Another step, the knife aimed at a vital point.
"Leave."
Her voice was even, like dead, her eyes dark.

@Invocation

[overlord stick]

Quote

I'm so lost.

 

[I think I am here.]

Attayl left and Brillin was left wallowing in his own misery and drunkenness. He heard some sort of scuffle upstairs but he didn’t dare investigate further. Cowardly. But Attayl had tried to make it sound nice, that he knew when to pick his fights, when not to, that the “brave” just messed things up. Sinking further in his chair he remembered an experience back in the early days of his travels...

<^>

“Impossible!” Brillin exclaimed and the old man simply chortled. “How do you do it?”

The old man smiled, moving the simple wooden pieces of the board game back to their starting positions. He’d won again, for the fourth time in a row. He was apparently the unbeaten champion of the board game in the little suburban community, knowing all the tricks and strategies.

“I’m telling you,” the old man said, chuckling. “You’ve got to use the coinshot. Move it forward quick.”

“But then you’ll just use your soother to exploit the gap!”

The old man chuckled and shrugged. “Maybe I will. Maybe I won’t just to see your reaction. Rematch?”

“You’re on.”

The next game, Brillin lost again. But he got to know the old man’s tactics, how he advanced his Allomancers. The next game, Brillin lost again, but he managed to figure out how the old man used the Cadmium Allomancer for defence. Brillin had never considered the tactic before, using the Rioter and Pulser in tandem to make the Zinc last longer. Brillin nodded to himself, and on the next game he smiled and put up a challenge.

To the old man’s surprise, Brillin hadn’t perished in the first 20 moves. He knew the counters, how using a Slider would make him vulnerable to to the Tineye, how the combination of a Coppercloud and Nicroburst disrupted his offence. The old man raised an eyebrow, and suddenly, the game became much more interesting. People began to crowd around Brillin and the old man, making bets on who would win. Lots of the support rested with the old man, however, as Brillin began using his knowledge of the old man’s techniques against him, the tides almost began to turn. Partly the game was fun competition, but Brillin knew that if he win, he’d get the people’s respect. Maybe another Koloss-blooded traveller after him wouldn’t be faced with the stereotypes he would. But those were just pipe dreams.

At the last move of the game the man moved a single wooden piece to take Brillin’s last one, smiling. It had been a very close match. “Good game,” the old man said as the crowd clapped. “Care for a drink? On me. And don’t give me that “recovering alcoholic” excuse like you did last time, you deserve this for putting up such a fight!”

People laughed and Brillin began packing the pieces up. It was approaching noon, and —

“Yeah, of course he bloody lost, look at ‘im.”

The crowd silenced somewhat as a young man with a red bandana pushed past them, approaching the front row and staring at Brillin. Brillin kept his head low, packing up the pieces. The old man looked to the youth. “Exc—”

“Shut it, old man. Not exactly a rusting fair contest you have here, do ya?” He gestured to Brillin. “Going ‘gainst a rusting keg, no wonder.”

Brillin sighed as more people looked to him, to see if he would do anything, but he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t risk affiliating with any gang-types, even it meant they could mock him. But diplomacy, maybe diplomacy would work. He finished packing up the pieces to the game and looked up to the youth. The teenager had skinny arms, maybe not used to fighting, but he had a long dagger strapped to his hip.

“I was just playing a game,” Brillin said. “With this lovely old man, wouldn’t —”

“Preservation’s wings, he even rusting sounds like us too!” The youth said in mock amazement. “Or tries to. Sorry mate, you still sound like rusting savage to me.”

Brillin stood up and some people backed away, young man included. Brillin sighed. Of course they moved back. “I just want to sort this out normally, like how normal people do,” he said. The youth frowned, but nodded. Brillin continued. “We can talk about this. Hell, it’s not like every Koloss-blood is a monster.”

“Yeah, but,” the youth stammered. “But you’re Koloss! You lot rusting ate people! Still do!”

“Not all,” Brillin said and the youth seemed genuinely confused. Brillin scratched his forehead. Of course, no one was flat out against Koloss-bloods, it was just education. Of course, education, or maybe the lack of education, and caused people to believe crazy, unwarranted stories about Brillin, about where he came from. Brillin smiled. “Lots of us just eat... normal things.”

“Huh,” The youth said, he’d eased down a bit. “But, you, you, you’re not a savage?”

“Do I look like one?” The suit and trousers agreed with Brillin, and the crowd had calmed as well. Diplomacy. Brillin might not have won the board game, but he’d won another battle. He smiled. Maybe, when more people started learning the truths and unlearning the myths —”

A fist slammed into the youth’s face, sending him flying to the ground in a splash of blood and a scream of agony. The crowd yelled, quickly dispersing, keeping there distance, but what was happening was in clear view. Brillin stepped back, eyes wide in shock. The old man quickly kept his distance as well. The youth cried in pain on the ground, and a hand grabbed him by the collar, picking him up effortlessly.

The hand was a greyish blue colour.

“Rusting savages, eh?” The large Koloss-blooded man said. His skin was almost exactly like Brillin’s, though it had more grey in it. The youth whispered something but his bloody teeth disagreed to share it. The Koloss-blooded man continued. “Well, how’s this for savage!” He yelled, spitting in the youth’s face and slamming him into the ground. Brillin could hear something crack and the youth whimpered.

“Sir!” Brillin called out to the Koloss-blooded man but the man turned his head and looked Brillin straight in the eyes. “Don’t you tell me anything,” he said. “You’re just too rusting cowardly to actually do anything! These rusting hooligans think they can scare us?! Then let’s show them!” He kicked the youth in the ribs and the youth screamed.

Brillin covered his mouth with his hands as another Koloss-blooded man came out of the alleys and began beating on the youth too. Together, the two men raged on the kid, tearing him apart, reducing him to a red stain on the side walk and walls, the screams bloodcurdling until they come to a sudden stop. Brillin looked to the old man but the old man looked back at him with terror. No! Brillin had tried to use diplomacy! Brillin had tried to do the right thing!

But it didn’t matter. As Brillin fled that town, he was given all sorts of dirty looks. Because it didn’t matter what Brillin did, he was grouped together, everyone saw him as just another Koloss-blood savage. And no matter how hard he tried, no matter how hard he pushed the boulder up the hill, someone, always, rolled it back down. Just one violent action, that was all it took for people to reaffirm their beliefs, that Koloss-blooded were evil, that Brillin was evil!

And as Brillin booked the ticket for the next train to take him out of that rusted town, he found himself ordering a large alcoholic drink on the side.

[+Invocation]

14 hours ago, Sorana said:

"Leave."

Lance sighed. "You don't know enough about me to make a claim like that. If I only cared about the money, as you say, would I have done my best to get a protection group here? Would I have just carried your friend upstairs so she could rest and recover from her shock? 

You want to tell me to leave? Perhaps you should think that through some more."

[+Sorana]

4 minutes ago, Invocation said:

Lance sighed. "You don't know enough about me to make a claim like that. If I only cared about the money, as you say, would I have done my best to get a protection group here? Would I have just carried your friend upstairs so she could rest and recover from her shock? 

You want to tell me to leave? Perhaps you should think that through some more."

She wanted for him to leave. He had caused their problems in the first place. Without him, Jeb would still be alive. Without him Nerin would be here with them, instead of in her bed. Rest. She would have needed a friend. Not rest. But was it her decision. Brillin had already told her to go away. Politely, but she had taken the cue. She had intruded, had tried to help and had only made things worse. He was staring at his table with his eyes, drunk, lost in some memory. She put the knife away and lowered her glance stepped away from Lance. Who was she to tell anybody what to do. She was nothing but a whore.

Pulling up her shoulders she stood there for a moment, lost admist all these people, a stranger between all these faces. She had forgotten her place, had glimpsed at something, that might have come true, a better way, a better version of herself. It had called her and she had given in to the dream for a moment, had allowed herself to believe that she could belong one day, that she could be more than a whore, someone who could help, someone who could change things. Quietly she turned and walked towards the stairs. She had felt so good when she had talked to Brillin, when it had seemed as if he was thinking about her words. But Lance was right. And he was wrong. Nerin wasn't her friend. His sigh echoed in her ears, annoance, but that's what she was. Annoying, a hinderance. Attayl looked at her hands, and the parlor, she had messed more up, than only her conversation with Brillin. She had known, she had warned them. But she hadn't been prepared. Jeb's death was her fault. Wordlessly she walked up the stairs and then knocked on Nerin's room. No reply, so she stepped inside. Nerin had to be really bad if Lance had to carry her upstairs. Maybe she could help her clean up, there was no other woman around. And then, then she would finally take her cue and leave. She had no place here, no home. She was alone.

[+Invocation]

Lance turned and left, mistcoat flaring, needing some time to think alone, and was gone in a heartbeat.

[+ZincAboutIt]

Nerin surfaced slowly from the depths of sleep, her eyelids heavy. She rose up onto one arm, looking around.

Her bed? What was she doing...

Her hand brushed something heavy and soft, and she looked down. Lance's mistcoat curved around her shoulders, tassels trailing down over the sheet. The toe of one of her boots peeked out, stained a dark red. Nerin pulled the covers back, staring at the streaks of blood on the mattress, her skirt completely soaked with red.

Instantly, her mind shied back from the memories that threatened to break through the walls she had built around herself. Nerin blinked, turning to look at the door. Attayl stood there in the doorway, still caked in blood herself.

"Are..." Nerin began, focusing on the immediate. She swallowed, tried again. "Are you alright?"

@Sorana

[John Flamesinger]

John remembered nothing. He must of been standing there for a long time. A man in an ancient Mistcloak had passed him a few times, ignoring him. He made his way upstairs, but stopped when he saw Attayl standing at the door to the room. And on the bed lay Nerin, starting to sit up. Attayl was covered in blood. What in the name of Preservation is going on here? He looked at his hand, which was carrying the mobile. He must of picked it up when he passed the table. One Missed Call,the screen read in Rosharian. He blinked as he made his way back downstairs and clicked on the screen, redialing. How in Colors could someone call him on Scadrial?

-------------------

The scientist looked up at his invention, a communication device that used light to communicate. It was ringing. It stopped, and the scientist looked back down at his paper. Another failed invention.

-------------------

John frowned. He hit the cancel button, and made his way back downstairs.

Quote

The scientist is supposed to just be a bit of worldbuilding. A show of the outside planet. It won't affect the story anymore unless you post something with my mobile ringing.