Sherlock Holmes
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Terror calmed himself down very slowly. He stood up, shook on his feet for a moment. He closed his eyes to try to block out the corpses, remembered and real. He opened his eyes and slapped a hand over his nose and mouth immediately when he saw the bodies again. It wasn’t like he wasn’t perfectly used to seeing blood and gore and death or anything (quite the opposite, actually), but the sight still made his stomach do flips and his heart start pounding. He knew what that was called, clinically. It’s called… Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. PTSD. But how can you not get stress after seeing everybody… He shuddered. And saw some of those Invested people burying the bodies. Really saw them, this time. He wondered with disgust and horror how anybody could so nonchalantly rip the armor off of corpses and dispose the bodies as though gore and memories didn’t bother them at all. But, didn’t they remember- no, they were not from his home. They probably thought of war without firsthand awful experience, the dirty, stinking trenches that you could get stuck in for weeks, gaining no ground at all. He noticed a dog carefully walking to him. A real dog, a real wolf! His face must have betrayed his joy, for the animal sped up and nuzzled his arm playfully while Terror scratched between the glorious canine’s ears. “My, you are such a nice human!” the dog said suddenly. It took a lot to surprise to Terror at this point, but a talking dog still could, apparently. He stared at it. “Some humans, you know, they ramble on and on about dumb things, but you just get down to the point, which is, obviously, petting me,” the dog continued. “That, or it’s confusion, judging by your expression.” Terror nodded, his initial shock overwhelmed by weariness. He looked back at the ‘cleaning crew’ and clenched his teeth. None of them had probably even seen a machine gun fired in their entire lives, never seen- Blood was everywhere as the soldiers nearest Charles were shot down by mounted machine guns on the top of tanks. Crouching in a trench, Charles saw the cloud of mustard gas explode before the saw the writhing people engulfed in it, a mother desperately clutching her baby close to her as she struggled to crawl out of the cloud. Charles crouched down to fire a massive, unwieldy machine gun at a squad of approaching soldiers. He saw their eyes, and those eyes spoke of fear and death. War. And death. And suffering. And madness. He fell to his knees and pounded the ground with his fist, completely forgetting that he needed to cover his nose to keep from smelling the blood.
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FavOURite, by the way, not favorite. Who's your favorite Sanderson character? *I take your bet and raise it four bucks, Archer!*
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There was peace among the sled dogs. The dogs ran up the mountain, their breathing in sync, their heartbeats racing with joy and exertion. The shaking wires between them clattered and clanked over the dogs’ panting breaths. Around them was a forest of evergreen trees, all coated in snow and silent as the sled dogs were loud. The skittering sounds of fleeing rabbits and foxes could barely be heard over the sounds of the dogs and the sled and simply living. But Terror could hear them. At least, he thought he could. In reality, there were no foxes or rabbits or dogs or evergreens on this miserable planet, and there wasn’t enough snow to come up to his knees. The team of ‘dogs’ in front of him were actually some strange dog-like insecty-things called ‘axehounds.’ They weren’t nearly so intelligent as real dogs, but served the purpose of sledding well enough. There isn’t any hockey here, either, Terror thought sadly. He’d liked playing hockey, back before the Great War. Of course, New York was one of the few states in the US that knew hockey well, and he remembered well playing street hockey in the summers and ice hockey in the winters. He also remembered locomotives; those had been way more convenient than the pathetic forms of transportation that people used on these planets. He’d nearly gotten to the Perpendicularity to the Cognitive Realm when he noticed some signs, talking about a Waystop somewhere nearby. Those signs reminded him of the big billboards that had been everywhere in NYC, so he steered the axehounds down the path the signs indicated. He immediately covered his nose and mouth, just in case, when he saw a group of people burying corpses. Terror felt nauseous, and stumbled off the sled and sunk to his knees, unwelcome memories rushing into his head. His best friend, lying on the ground of the trench, several bleeding holes where his eyes had previously been. A German bomb landing a few miles away, blowing up the trench where another of his friends had been. Trenches; people getting shot in trenches. Trenches; people starving in trenches. Trenches. Terror blinked his eyes slowly open and pushed himself to his knees, feeling like somebody had released a canister of mustard gas in his brain. He slowly stood up and leaned against the side of the sled for support, then got back on and guided the axehounds to the door. Unharnessing all the axehounds, he left them to curl up together, almost like real dogs. He stumbled inside, still covering his nose and mouth. He collapsed in a chair nearby and put his face in his hands, quietly crying.
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People you wouldn't want to meet in a dark alley
Sherlock Holmes replied to Voidus's topic in The Alleyverse
And Hemalurgically-enhanced chipmunks. -
Tena wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, which only made it more sweaty, then put down the massive chestplate she was carrying.
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Tena, upon seeing what the Lifeless dude was doing, joined him in separating bodies and armor. She called Fang down, and the dog easily ripped the armor off with his Pushes and Pulls. She slid the corpses into a freshly-cut hole in the ground with her Abrasion. With the teamwork she and Fang provided, Tena managed to get quite a few stacks of armor separated from their former hosts.
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Uh, and definitely not Amaram. I have a slight tendency to agree with Kaladin, so... I hate Amaram with all of my heart.
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Truth.
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Tena furtively looked around, then shadowed into the kitchen and stole a chocolate. It was delicious, and she appreciated it more for the fact that she’d lived half her life on the streets, eating soldier’s rations. Strolling outside, she Steelpushed against a misplaced hemalurgic spike, starting her morning routine. She flew parallel to the ground and Slicked her knees so that she slid at high speed across the ground. She rolled forward and launched herself into the air with her arms, flicking one of her ankles to send a coin flying from the pouch there. A strong Steelpush sent her flying into the air, pine branches whipping across her face and cutting little stinging lines on her face that were immediately healed by her stormlight. She burst out above the trees and cancelled her Steelpush, momentum carrying up her a few more feet. “Grab things that are not me,” she commanded her mistcloak, beginning to fall. The command stole most of her BioChromatic Breath away, the forest below becoming more dull to her life sense and the colors losing much of their luster. She felt a little pang of loss right away, but constant Awakening had taught her to ignore that. The mistcloak caught the branches of two evergreen trees and held her between them, suspended in the upper branches. She nodded with satisfaction, then took her Breath back from the cloak, sighing with pleasure. She nearly to the ground, then Pushed against the coin she’d used earlier, sending herself whirling back into the air, faster this time, and tapping her steelmind for good measure. Tena gracefully landed at the door of the Waystop and Pushed it open by the hinges.
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Tena waited for a late-plot exposition. @Archer
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Tena woke up eight hours later. She got onto her knees and downed a vial of steel flakes and whiskey. Standing up, she stretched and walked lazily off the edge of the building, Steelpushing against one of the many scattered coins and spikes that were a result of the battle yesterday. She landed on her feet smoothly and Pushed herself into the Waystop via one of the holes in the wall. "Y'know," she said to the open air and whoever happened to be awake, "I really wish something exciting would happen, like Klasten discovering who he is so that I can stop worrying about it." She huffed and waited for Klasten to appear and make a joke, which sounded like something only he would do.
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Tena realized something a little late. Klasten had called her Tena. But she'd never introduced herself. She shook her head and burned most of the steel in her stomach, then created a slight Push-bubble around herself. She climbed onto the roof and curled up next to a warm chimney, immediately falling asleep, Fang snuggling up next to her.
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Tena burst out laughing at Klasten's shenanigans. That was something Mace would have totally done, as he'd done a similar thing in accidentally starting a party in the Newcago Court sixteen years ago.
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Tena walked over to Mr. Amber, and healed him with Progression again. She walked back to Klasten.
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Tena, upon seeing that Fang had arrived, conveniently right when he needed to, was startled to see that maybe-Mace guy spasming on the ground a short distance away with his horse looking distressed next to him. Tena Steelpushed against a few of the Chaos marines and landed next to the man, giving Klasten a considering look. He was holding something, and she knelt down and snatched it out of his hands. He'd been shouting about 'closing the lid,' so Tena did so. She waited for Klasten to make a crack at a pun or something. @Archer
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Fang Pushed himself away from the sorcerer, and growled at the being with a weird smell, like it didn't belong to a sex- the being was punching itself in the face now? Odd being. Most beings' instincts wouldn't allow them to hurt themselves, but apparently this one's instincts were way off. Fang nudged this being's hand (the one that it wasn't punching itself with), and then, as gently as he could, caught the arm it was punching itself with and held the forearm part in his jaws, keeping it from hurting itself any further. He looked carefully up at the being and brought his head down to try to make it sit down. @Cyanic
