I think I am here.
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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.”
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While Eve had taken over the medical side of things Alask moved in, closing the door behind Tels and sitting back on the work table, retrieving the Phoenix folder. They were all talking about some sort of ghost, haunted figure. Alask personally had no idea what that was, but it didn’t sound good if it could give Lena scars as deep as that. “Maybe he was experimented on,” he said idly. “There are rumours of spikes doing weirder things to people.”
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“Yeah, we’re the good guys,” Wes gesturing around. “We just want to stop the bad guys. And you can help us, become a good guy too. How great is that?” @Ax's Boyfriend
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“Something about how medical companies test their things on animals, whether that’s justified or not.” Regardless of his own views, he’d been given the affirmative standpoint. “I have to convince them that it is justified to test prototype medicines and drugs on rats.”
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Hey Voidus!
Happy birthday, because even Hemalurgy gods need their birthday wishes sometimes.
*Gives Cookie*
SpoilerMuahaha! The cookies had pineapple in them!
But honestly, have a real cookie. *gives*. Happy birthday.
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Welp, I forgot to hide in my bunker. That’s on me, I was warned fair and square.
*is ignorantly standing in the middle of the battlefield when this goes down*
*in the ensuing chaos, is hit by a stay blast of hemagic (or whatever the word for hemalurgic magic is) and explodes*
*buuuuut the explosion looks a bit like celebratory birthday fireworks, so there's that*
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“Thank you,” Lusk said and turned back to the large screen that dominated the wall. “Evacuations are going well,” he mentioned, gesturing vaguely ahead. “Our vehicles have moved to other districts.”
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Robert wondered for a second what Shana meant, then it clicked. Drowning, that whole debacle with the water. Rob had always found it interesting that the broken people were the ones to become Radiants. Not the bravest, or strongest, or most intelligent, but the broken, the traumatised. It seemed like an odd standard for whatever cosmic force chose the Radiants. Or... he thought. We all went insane from trauma. And this is a shared delusion? But no, their actions had reactions. The news talked about them, their backyard, that place where they had fought the Voidbringer, all of it was affected by their surges. So there was no way it was all a delusion. “That’s the same for me,” Rob said, in response to her. “Except with debating. Oh,” he remembered, then leaned back again. “I’ve got my speech due on Tuesday.” Though he tried his best to remain impassive, his voice had an exasperated inflection.
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“Agreed,” Rob said, leaning back in his seat. Today was Sunday, right? “School tomorrow,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “I’ve still got Philosophy homework to do.”
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Lusk turned, a frown on his face from the encounter with the intern. Back to bureaucracy. But, it was what the city needed, and Lusk would have no qualms in carrying it out if it meant AlleyCity could stand another day. “Hello, Zokora,” he said, pressing a button, and checking his communication device. Indeed, there were photos of some sort of Investiture black hole, and photos of two letters. He grimaced hen the second letter touched on how the Ghostbloods could never organise a leader, and how the Alleyverse would be a good placement to invade. Storms, it’s right. We were perfect targets. “This information needs to be spread to other guilds,” Lusk said, turning and pressing more buttons, making more images of AlleyCity flash on the screen. “And more than that, the Allied Guilds need to organise what in the Almighty is going on with PlasmaCore.” He turned and looked back to Zokora. “Do you think you could organise a meeting between the leaders of the Allied Guilds?” —- Wes gasped and ran forward. The Ghostblood woman had disappeared, and the large tall Marine lady was restaurant the sad man who’d just walked in. “Yeah, we’re nice,” he said.
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Eve was talking to the kid and Alask nodded, grabbing the bag and rifling through all the different bottles. It felt weird knowing among these were probably all sorts of deadly poisons that could kill him in any number of ways. Which box had she said first? The brown one, he thought. Taking the small box out, he poured some onto his right hand and rubbed it against the cuts, first the deeper one, then the shallower but longer one. As he waited and packed up the liquid, he picked up the sew and cloth. “Hey Eve?” He called to Eve. “You wouldn’t happen to know how to sew a wound shut, would you?” Lena had said that was what to do next, but Alask had no idea how and he didn’t want to risk getting the wound worse. A knock came from the door. “Who is it?” Alask yelled. @Silva @Truthless of Shinovar
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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.”
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“So, what are we getting?” Rob said. “We should have probably packed a shopping list...”
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“Oh, it’s okay, I can just climb,” Wes said, not wanting to get in the lady’s way and stepping into the shaft, grabbing a hold of one of the cables and hanging from it. Finally stepping over the ledge he wrapped his legs around the cable as well and looked down, saw the bottom stretch incredibly down. Don’t look down. Wes forced himself to look up, to the gap of light that signalled the next floor. Slowly he moved his legs up and used the force to push himself up, keeping his arms for supports and grabbing onto other nearby cables for balance. One of the things he’d been taught in training was acrobatics, and now he was more grateful than ever. Approaching the next floor, Wes outstretched his arms, but they were too short to grab on without leaving the cable he was hanging from. Rust. How would he get up? He thought about going back down, asking the Ghostblood lady for help but the thought of looking back down sickened him. He thought about shouting but he didn’t want to embarrass himself. How did he get up there? The opening was so close, but he just couldn’t reach it. Storming genetics. But if he dropped, would anyone really care anyway? Wes ignored the thought and prepared himself. He’d have to jump, and trust his grip was strong enough to keep him from plummeting downwards. Moving his legs up, Wes outstretched his arms and jumped off the cable, getting just the right distance for him to hit the edge hard with his abdomen, then flail, grabbing something with his hands, his legs dangling into the abyss. Grunting, he pulled himself up, rolling away from the shaft. “Oh,” he groaned, looking to everyone on the floor. “Hi, everyone.”
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Rob followed them. He didn’t make any comment on Flid never being to a grocery store, but he guessed that would make this a great experience for him. “If James is driving, I call shotgun,” he said, walking ahead..
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“Keep the cocktail,” Ian said, then patted his stomach. “Blazes, I could really do with a cocktail right now...” maybe drink the problems away, just as he done before the apocalypse. But more zombies meant less pubs, which meant less cocktails for Ian. Looking at the cut up zombies, he wrinkled his nose and took his shovel with him as he walked forward. Poking the dismembered head of one of the zombies, he impaled it on the tip of the shovel, and held it up. “Now we have a way to intimidate those undead suckers, if they even have emotions.”
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Just when Alask had turned the papers to Eve, Lena had returned, carrying a child. “Shadows!” Alask said, recognising the kid’s face immediately, the same child from the photograph, Lena’s son. Immediately she went into explanation, asking him for her son to stay her, that she would do whatever as long as he could sleep here. Alask looked at the kid, who’d gone to the food that was on the table, eating. Despite the situation, Alask smiled. The kid was alright. Looking back to Lena, he nodded immediately. “Of course.” He’d need to clean up a bed, but Alask wasn’t worried about that. The truth was, it didn’t matter what she promised or didn’t promise to do, he was going to help her and the son anyway. He moved closer and tried to find her pouch. It was clear from her shivers that there was no way she could be able to medicate herself so Alask asked. “What colour bottle do you need?” Because he didn’t know chemical names either. Looking up, he saw someone from the street looking into the Forge, peering through the open door. Alask saw her and she ran away as soon as Alask looked. Quickly he went and closed the Forge, forcing the rusty door to lock. Looking back at Lena, the question was still apparent.
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Wes stood up, tiredly saluting the lady. She looked like she ranked way higher than him, and he shook his head, stood up straighter. “No, it’s fine, I don’t need an evacuation.” Best to leave that for the people on the street, not him. Looking to the elevator shaft, he nodded. They would have to get to the next floor, higher and higher. Straightening his cloak he walked over to the elevator shaft, putting his head in and looking upwards. How would he climb up? “How will the other people get up?” He asked the high ranking lady, gesturing to the squadron of Canton Members, Ghostbloods and others. “Will they all have to climb?”
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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.”
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The Haunt smiled. The knife shook, and with a heave it hovered above, vibrating in midair. The foggy body of the Haunt dissipated into thin air and only the floating knife remained, the shaking decreasing slightly now that his focus was fully on it. It moved slowly and deliberately, finding its way to the to the outside of her forearm. Slowly, the knife pressed in, deep. “Remember me,” the Haunt whispered, and with a quick half-inch slash he was done, blood pouring out of the wound and the knife dropped to the floor. “It is done.” And with that the small chill permeating the air was gone.
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The words calmed him, and the Haunt’s snarl turned back into a frown. He was powerful, that was true. The knife shook and he looked down at it, then back at Lena and smiled cruelly. “Not even a scar to remember me by?”
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The Haunt panted, carrying the knife was hard. But he kept it quiet and addressed the woman. “I didn’t even know you were here until you tried to pass through me a few moments ago,” The Haunt said, an edge to his voice. “And then you tell me I’m harmless? You, you know what happened to the last person who called me that?” The knife dropped and clattered to the ground and he cursed, but he looked back up at the woman. His ramblings began to show the mentally unhinged side of him. “I’ve been called that far too often. Harmless, ‘oh don’t mind him, he’s a ghost, a spren,’. I am not a spren. I am not harmless, I am not something, you can just pass through without a second thought!” The knife remained on the floor, and the Haunt remained rambling. “I think it’s time that you learn, that I am not someone to ignore!” The knife shook slightly, but it was taking a while to lift up off of the stone ground.
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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.
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Saying his name made him smile, but as the woman continued talking he growled again. But instead of running, or screaming, she walked right through him, the fog curling as it parted before her. “I am not harmless.” The Haunt said and circled around the woman and the child. From a nearby dead body the Haunt very shakily picked up a knife. It was hard to do when the Haunt was incorporeal, but the Haunt picked the knife upwards, and as it circled the two the knife glinted in the air. It shook quite a lot from the effort it was taking to float. “Is this harmless?”
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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
