[IC] Worlds Apart

[Ceta de Cloyes]

It was black. It was red. He saw it before, and he knew what it was, but now, when he looked, the bright stains on the grass were pitch black. Then he blinked and the color hadn’t changed at all, it was red. His eyes felt weird, oddly numb and watery, and he could taste the blood in his mouth even now- but it was like chocolate too, except not really. The chocolate wasn’t on his lips, it was in his brain. That was the thought that brought his analytical half back. He was tasting things that weren’t there, seeing colors that weren’t there, more signs of being very very sick.

He looked up, the woman at his side, purple burgeoning on pink- and yellow - no, just purple. Lilac, like- oh, not that color either. Almond instead, and hazel, but mostly skin; it was Stormy- did he know her name? He must do, he knew it now… How did he know it now? She wasn’t purple, never had been, and she didn’t taste like whips, that didn’t even make sense, where did that thought even come from? He rubbed his eyes, accidentally smearing some of his bloody nose on his cheeks, leading to a solid minute of scrubbing at his face to get it off. He ignored the way his sleeves felt like jelly.

Someone was laughing, or crying… She tasted like stars. No. she didn’t taste like anything. He hadn’t even breathed in her direction, why was his brain so convinced he could taste people without touching them? She should’ve tasted like lemons anyway, with how yellow she was, or maybe a lime- no, no, no. No. People were people colored, they tasted like people, he was not tasting them, and no, that kid probably didn’t actually have wings.

Probably. No matter how he blinked at that one only the bleeding orange faded, and the taste of screams. Sound of screams it should be, but he hadn’t heard them, how do you taste a scream? His tongue watered, and he looked away uncomfortably.

Who was shouting? The Ghost Girl seemed a stalwart concrete wall, and she tasted like iron. Like blood. Funny, his own blood tasted like chocolate, her… presence, if that was what he was sensing, tasted like blood. Bizarre.

He was going insane wasn’t he? Alice down the rabbit hole, welcome to Wonderland.

Welp, there was only one course of action now.

He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and stood. He wiped his jaw one last time, just to make sure it was clean, though his bloody nose didn’t seem eager to stop, though it paused a moment or so every few beats. He turned to face the others, taking in the… awkward affects the others seemed to be experiencing from their masks- Semblances. He was smoking, throwing up, bleeding; Ascot was sprouting wings and making moves; Tabitha was… he couldn’t say what she was doing, his eyes said one things, his… new senses told him differently. By far the most unsettling was Koda’s hazy view of Tristan being- well he wanted to say molested, because that was what it looked like, but the word transformed sprang to mind - transformed by a machine, into a machine? It was mildly terrifying, potentially more unsettling if he’d actually been able to focus on it, but his mind kept straying. There were whispers on the edge, telling him secrets he knew, but what they were he couldn’t hear, or understand; he caught words, or he thought he did, but they weren’t English, they were… tastes. Flavors maybe. Flavors hissing like snakes, and tugging like squids, and winking like stars.

That didn’t make any sense. He frowned, and focused, trying to press this new perception into something resembling reasonable, but reasonable was flying down the tracks like the train that’d killed him. He flinched at the thought, emotions all over the place and unprepared for the sudden blow of realizing that yes, this was happening, and no, nothing made any sense at all, and yes, he’s probably dead and loony forever now, ‘kay thanks, bye.

So much for progressive risk taking, this was why he worked in a comfy lab on Earth and not in a screaming void like space.

He realized he’d clutched onto Stormy for support, though he rapidly released her arm when he felt her purple over his brown- his tan? He was dark, but the dark wasn’t him, not really, it was Nofec-

He nearly lost his balance, at the emotion that rolled through him at the name. Grief. The Self was Torn. The Self was Empty. The Self was Broken

.”Sorry,” he whispered weakly, at first directed to Stormy for touching her, and then belatedly towards… himself? ”I’m so sorry.”

...but he didn’t feel sorry, just hungry.

[jdh97]

Stormy

The ghost girl’s voice was frosty iron and she became a sheer cliff-face. Stormy seemed to flinch at her own name. Shrivelled breaths filled her lungs, frail, withered things. Her chest rose and fell faster, almost imperceptibly, but not quite.

Stormy looked down at her blue boon. Her face became a canvas for her emotions to paint across; thick oils sculpting her brow, tremulous water colours detailing her quivering lips, everything running across in a fluid, technicolour medley that reflected her tumultuous heart.

When the Rebel spoke, a smile toyed at the corners of Stormy’s lips, and she watched her, with head titled to one side. Stormy remained silent, during the back and forth, following the dirt road with her eyes until it vanished.

Then the changes came. She watched as the tearful Rebel put on the mask, and then… then Stormy was not sure what happened, but she watched aghast all the same, fingers hovering over her slack mouth. The crying was replaced by laughter, but it didn’t seem any less sorrowful, and Stormy could feel a dampness of her own face now. She wiped the tears away without looking away; the neon green hair and ridiculous garments brought a concerned frown.

Almost immediately, another transformation. This time in a blinding light. The previous tension apparently dissolving as people decided to put on their masks for a paltry promise.

The Brazen Boy, or perhaps he was a Zealot, since his attention was a skittish and ephemeral thing, scarpering off at the merest hint of his enthusiasm. Stormy watched as he was born anew, bathed in the light that had drawn her attention, her eyebrows arching impossibly high as her eyes drank in the feathered wings.

Stormy’s body visually relaxed, her shoulders slumping and hand dropping, when the boy proved to still be himself, still the Brazen Boy, cementing his given name in her mind.

The bloodied man scrubbed his face, and reached out for Stormy. Together they rose to their feet, as she cooed gently.

Any words that she might have spoken were torn away as perhaps the most horrifying sight unfurled its charnel circus before her. Tristan’s transformation scorched Stormy’s mind. She was struck into a horrified paralysis, unable to wrench her gaze from the viciously churning mess that he was becoming, from the rending metal and machines-out-of-time that replaced what had once been a living boy. With peaceful meadow as a backdrop, the horrid juxtaposition made such a macabre event that much worse, as it was tarnished further with blood and black. Her mouth worked as she looked upon the aberration, but no words came out. Once the twisted birth was over, and Tristan spoke, Stormy turned away quickly. Her face was pale, a thousand-yard stare fixed in place.

She patted Koda’s shoulder. Her thumb rubbed gentle circles in the fleshy nook just underneath his bone.

“It’s alright,” she intoned, her voice hollow. After a moment, she shook herself, and looked up at the bloodied mess of a face, trying to meet his gaze with her own. Tears brimmed in red-rimmed eyes, but did not yet fall, and a brave smiled found its way onto her face. Koda would feel her hand on his shoulder shaking, too.

“How are feeling sugar plum?” Then, after a pause, she shook her head and gave a curt laugh, “How can I help?”

The hand that held her mask shook most of all.

[TaroAndSelia]

"Anni Parkinson," the young lady responded to Officer Keahi in kind. Anni was simply relieved that Mike's wound hadn't accompanied him to Irriss. Nor was his blood on her skirts--another, smaller relief. The girl would have been quite happy to strike up a pleasant conversation with the introductions, but Kate--wonderful, caring Kate (she always made sure the Parkinsons had the best table right under the picture of the zoo with an associated, cut-out newspaper article beneath)--Kate thundered over to chastise the police officer for--well, for doing what he felt he was supposed to. Looking back on the event, and trying to do so with the policeman's eyes, Anni could see the folly in her own actions.

As Kate turned away to berate her next victim, Anni leaned in close so Kate wouldn't hear her quietly say to Mike, "I am sorry about that. I wasn't thinking that... I mean that I... It was my fault. Sorry." Though she struggled to put it into words, Anni's remorse for scaring an officer like that was genuine. Good girls didn't go around dragging other people in front of trains. "But we're here, right?" Anni pointed out brightly, the small moment of remorse quickly giving way to her uncontainable enthusiasm. For emphasis, she leaned backward and looked all around--at the trees, the sky, the distant horizon. They were here. And now the Ghost Girl would tell them why.

Well, that was the hope, anyway. Instead, the Ghost Girl drew everyone's attention to Koda's (Anni tried to lock that name in her memory) current... metamorphosis. Anni might have used other words, but she decided it would be safest to just use the same words the Ghost Girl was using. Coming up with another way to describe the process that was forcing so much blood out of his body was almost as nauseating as watching it. Then the girl that lead the way onto the tracks (the Ghost Girl called her Tabitha?) put on her mask; that metamorphosis looked less painful, but still unpleasant. Ascot (Anni always remembered his name; he had always done the dissections so Anni wouldn't have to, and she was grateful for that) was the next to metamorphose, and he did so without all the blood and...stuff. Then a man who didn't have such luck (Anni thought his was even worse than... Cody? Koda!--even worse than Koda's, though she hadn't seen but the tail end of Koda's experience) had his--

Anni clenched her eyes shut, looked away, and grabbed ahold of her stomach. Her face went deathly white. 'Again,' she thought. Again she had slipped into thinking of this as a whimsical fantasy, a fun adventure in another world. It had taken all of four seconds. But this wasn't C. S. Lewis; this was Edgar Allen Poe. The small girl (and she did feel so very small) tried to force the image out of her mind's eye, but the only other thought that presented itself was asking, 'Was this right?' Maybe Officer Keahi had been correct, that they shouldn't have come to this place.

Anni shook her head; she wouldn't back out, not just because things were more violent than she had anticipated. She came here to help, to do her part, and so she would do. And as AnnMarie steeled herself for the trek ahead, the Semblance in her hand radiated a warm hum. She had almost forgotten it was there--had it been there during all that chaos?--but now the thin mask was brought to the forefront of her attention. She raised it to eye level so she could look it over once again: narrow eyes, wide mouth, small ears. In her hands it felt somewhat smooth, or soft, or... organic. Putting it on would be as simple as turning it around and pressing it against her skin. But what came after--she didn't want to think about it, let alone live it.

"Officer, do you think--" Anni started, opening her eyes to look at him. She stopped herself, though, realizing that he didn't have any more answers than she did. She took a deep breath in, stood carefully, and turned to look at the only one who had any answers. In doing so, Anni tried desperately not to notice the abundance of red where green should have been. "Miss Ghost," Anni called, forcing her voice to remain clear, if slightly tremulous. She still felt ill, and her pale face surely evidenced that, but her need to ask outweighed her horror. "I have a question. What is this... Semblance, for? Why do we have them?"

[MechonRaptor]

Scared.

There was a light at the end of the tunnel approaching at an alarming rate as Saffron stood on the tracks, the resolve he had just found wavering as a chance to escape dwindled. But, could he really consider it an escape if he had chosen to get on the tracks? Of course not, and while his heart quivered and his mind seemed to race, he had accepted death. That it was alright to be scared, that it even made sense to be scared. But that was the future he had chosen, and as such, he closed his eyes and awaited his demise. It happened so fast, his body didn't even have a time to register it.

When the noise suddenly vanished, he opened his eyes to reveal nothing. As if the world had faded out of existence, or perhaps it was him that had faded. But just as soon as he noticed this void did it immediately get replaced with a field of grass, with a wide variety of flowers he had never even seen before. He looked up, shocked to see that there was a sky above them when what was most likely mere seconds ago they were inside the subway. He touched his skin and arms to make sure he still had feelings in his body, laughing to himself hysterically that he felt alright and more importantly, alive.

I'm alive! Haha! Holy shit that's awesome!

It didn't seem like the ghost girl he had feared had lied at all, and yet he had just died and somehow came back to life. It really was a new beginning, one far away from the troubles that used to get inside his head. For the first time in what felt like an eternity of despair, he had hope of what the future would bring. It was a shame that hope came at the cost of leaving his old life behind for the time being, but to Saffron, it felt like a small price to pay.

The others, too, seemed to have arrived in this place as well... The Irriss, was it? A realm between life and death, and here he stood in it's glory. Maybe standing in front of that train was an act of defiance, or maybe it was a way to express his feelings of hopelessness at his current situation, but to Saffron now, none of that mattered. While he didn't know anything about this world or the mask he held, he felt as if he had some sort of control in his life now.

But as the others mingled and began to ask questions, Saffron stood aside from them all, not in the slightest concerned. The ghost girl had been straight with them for the most part, and while it only took standing in front of a train to realize that, it added to the reassuring feeling that this was the right decision in the end. Among those around him, there were several familiar faces, and much to his surprise, it seemed his coworker had followed him here. He didn't even remember her being in the subway in the first place, and if he was being honest, it slightly dampened his mood seeing her here.

Why did she decide to come here? Didn't she have a future awaiting her? Whatever, it's not my problem. She can do whatever she wants, and so can I!

By now, someone had already put on the mask they held, and to a very disturbing result. For a second, he glared down at his own mask, moving his hand across the jaded and jagged obsidian and the smooth topaz. The duality of the mask was alluring in a way, and holding it in hand gave him a slight sense of power. In a way, it suited his own desires of strength. Looking back at the group, another one put on their mask, and looking at her, he knew it was the girl he had jumped on the tracks first. He didn't remember her name, but at least for her it brought joy.

He glanced back down at his own mask, and for a second it was if time had stopped in his mind. After all, he was being consumed with the desire to put on the mask, feeling like any sort of risk wouldn't outway the positives. But these thoughts were cut short when someone flew in front of him, startling him and causing him to almost drop the mask and fumble to catch it in the air.

This guy... why does he look familiar, Saffron thought, trying to remember where he had seen him, He knew my name...So... OH right! He's a regular at Johnny's. Guess nearly dying really does affect your memory haha!

He thought to himself, grinning like an idiot before processing what Ascot had to say.

Shit wait what. He wants us to lead the way? Wait, when did he get wings? Is that his semblance? Hang on that isn't what's important Saffron! Focus!

Before deciding to answer Ascot or acknowledge what he said, Saffron took several steps back, holding out a finger as to indicate for Ascot to hang on for a second. With no more hesitation, Saffron placed the mask upon his face, feeling it suddenly burst and coat him in darkness before exploding in a burst of flame. Saffron stood there, his eyes burning red and his hair suddenly blond with a long ponytail. His outfit had been replaced with the colors black and gold to signify the flame that burned in the darkness within himself. But what he felt was most important were the hovering fists beside him, both a literal and metaphorical symbol of his newfound strength. They were made out of some sort of metal, with magma almost acting as the hand.

He glared at Ascot, deciding it would be best to be blunt with the kid. He wasn't sure how to take the sudden confession, but Saffron certainly didn't feel weak or a desire to lean on someone else at the moment.

"You can lead if you want, but I don't think I'll join you. And now isn't the time to think about the real world, right? I don't get how you can think about the real world and what we'll do when we get back when you have this much power. I'm strong as the earth! This is exhilarating! I don't have an answer for you right now." He replied, taking it upon himself to distance himself from the others once more and waiting for something to happen. Releasing his semblance as an unfettered also made him somewhat tactless and rude, but at the very least he was honest. After all, this was a part of him he tried to hide, and now that it was unleashed he didn't see a point in holding back as much as he did before.

[Viatos]

His voice wasn't modulated, Tristan realized, subroutines ticking into action to analyze the dying sound. It wasn't actually his voice at all, which made sense, given that what remained of his throat was half a dozen feet away now. The sound was an approximation, an almost-Tristan, vented out of steam valves set along his neck and shoulders.

Some parts of him were still alive, encased within his carbon coffin. Or...maybe still alive gave the wrong impression. Parts had been integrated, repurposed, nerve endings sparking against copper, vascular branches flooded with oil and something pale. Some of his brain had survived, his memories. Most of his personality. Some living parts were new, organs he couldn't have quantified any more than he could have defined his previous kidneys by feel alone, a generative chamber where a single tendril curled restlessly, new cognitive structures that were as much soft tissue as circuitry. They opened new avenues of analysis and design, generated data as something almost like -

I'm scaring them.

The thought was a metallic screech dividing the soft hum of Tristan's altered awareness. An escapement tripped by the sudden realization that he wasn't...no, he was afraid. Terrified, actually. The loss of his humanity, the uncertainty of their circumstances, he was drowning in fear in a way he'd rarely

Faith and Fate. Calloused hands.

experienced in his lifetime, it should have been choking him, and yet...he could breathe. Terror surrounded and engulfed him. You don't know them. You don't know what they can do. You're not human any more. What they will do. You're exposed. You gave up your soul. Light armament. You can't go to Heaven. Limited armor. Limited resources. He neither transcended his fear nor was imprisoned by it. He felt...amphibious. Fear was just part of his environment, now, overwhelming, constant, but external. Fear spread through him like a second skeleton, etched into secret circuits sealed up in titanium bones, fear flowed through him like blood, surging through pneumatic veins. Paranoia and panic, but without debilitation. Suffering absent the urge to falter. It was under control. It was...safe.

But you're scaring them.

Tristan inhaled, shifted his eyes from his Semblance's overlay to the people it was silently assessing, searching for hidden threats. He looked down.

That's a lot of blood.

The flower Tristan planted had spread roots of hard light and filigree deep into the soil, disdaining its slick red beginnings. He concentrated and felt it - saw, through tiny sensory points like drops of dew - expand its criteria, accept the inefficient rendering of his discarded biology as necessary to his design. Silver moss spread slowly across the ground, artful blossoms growing up from its midst to enfold bone and gore. Sharp cracks and soft wet sounds gave way to the quieter shuffle of new growth, and beneath the moss a circle of ivory slid upwards out of the earth. In moments there was little left of the detritus but for a small and elegant dais, a curved bench rising at one end, a planter opposite filling with a rich compost, the filigree flower at its center, just beginning to branch out.

Tristan shifted his plating, hoping to conceal anything that was still - glistening.

Better?

[Etranger]

Things were getting really overwhelming for Michael Keahi right now. He thought he had it bad when his attention was divided between people jumping onto the tracks and other suspicious activities, but now it was divided between a psycho slasher, a young girl, some bitch with more outrage than sense, and trying to listen to what ghost girl was ex-positing on. The worst part was most of them didn't even seem to give a shit that cop vs. killer round two seemed to be about to break out. Even ghosty, with her grand mystical purpose for them all, seemed completely nonchalant as to the danger. Did she want them to kill each other before they could do whatever she had in mind?

He caught the girl's name, even though he was more focused on the shifty movements of douchebag mcgee at the time. It seemed almost as though she wanted to just have a casual chat with him in spite of the circumstances. Any pleasantness was cut short by the advent of the woman that had thrown herself in between him and Anni giving him guff. It was one thing to take exception to him pointing a gun at someone, but it was entirely another for her to still be freaking out about it in what appeared to be an alien landscape after they had all seemingly died. Then she had a go at the knife man, only to claim he "deserved" what he had gotten. At that point, Michael had lost all sympathy for the woman. He had half a mind to have a go at her himself, but Anni distracted him with an apology of all things. It was nice to hear, but Michael couldn't help but think this was the worst time for it. "I-Yeah, sure, it's cool." He told her quickly. He would have articulated himself better if he still wasn't divided between just about everything.

The psycho's move towards the stroppy woman was the last straw. Even though he wasn't entirely sure he was actually threatening her, the fact that this guy was making a move on anyone was cause for concern. He raised his gun, aiming it directly at the man, and called out to him. "Stop right there! Hand's up, drop the knife!" If this was earth, he would've been moving to arrest him, but he had a feeling his jurisdiction ended when their souls shifted into this dimension...or whatever the hell happened to them. All that really mattered now was keeping him in check. He had no love for the hairbrained woman, but he certainly wasn't going to let anyone get stabbed right before his eyes if he could help it.

His attention was once again divided when he noticed one of their number keel over. He didn't merely keel over, however, as he seemed to be undergoing some bizarre metamorphosis. It was jarring enough to look at that he briefly forgot about knife guy, but he quickly reoriented himself. It was here that ghosty decided to chime in and explain what had happened. It seemed this was a change triggered by wearing those masks she had handed out. With all that had happened, Michael had plum forgotten about that random slab of metal that he had stuffed in his coat. For all that ghost girl has said, one phrase stuck out to him; "strength far beyond the Mortals of this world". Michael wasn't some megalomaniac, but the idea of getting a shot in the arm at this junction sounded good enough to go for. God only knew that if they all had the same thing, the psycho here might try and become super giga mega murderer himself, and then where would they all be? Michael had little love for nor faith in ghost girl, but she had been on the level so far, and people that donned their "Semblances" certainly weren't dead.

Anni was about to ask him something, but she apparently decided against it. Michael didn't mind one bit, as he wasn't in a position to give meaningful answers to anything important. She left to ask the ghost girl a question, and so Michael was left alone with a knife wielding psycho right before his eyes. Michael wasn't entirely eager to do it, but he felt like it would be a mistake to leave it to the good graces of fate for everything to work out right now. With one swift hand, he brought the squarish metal mask out of his coat and pressed it to his face. The mask almost seemed to melt away, and with it came a white hot sensation in his veins. He felt like metal had been injected into his bloodstream. Michael dropped to his knees, gritting his teeth in pain, but his gaze and his gun remained fixed on his target. The pain was terrible, but all Michael could think of was that he had a very real threat on his hands, and somebody out of this motley crew needed to keep it down. In a few moments, Michael could almost feel resolve increase as though reinforced with steel. He could only see the lawbreaker in front of him. A lawbreaker in need of containment. He barely noticed the new costume he had on in spite of how shiny a suit of armor it was. Instead, he fixed his prey with a renewed steely gaze. Ghosty's talk of places to go and people to meet didn't matter; Officer Michael Keahi had a criminal to rein in, and he felt more than ready to confront him.

@TaroAndSelia @2plus2isnot5 @Scarescrow

[Scarescrow]

Oedipus is currently holding the Semblance, the thing that the Ghost Girl had handed to him. No, to Vlad while waiting at the subway. He can remember what happened there, how he seized his moment and throw his Father down. The image of the old man, lying on the cold and damp floor came back to his mind. Oedipus could still feel his Father desperate attempt to break out his hands, his suffocating look. All is just so weak. So fragile. Oedipus could remember his Father eyes when looking at him, a weak dog afraid of its inevitable ending. And a smile appeared again on his face. He doesn't need other to tell how blood thirst he looks when he laughs, but it was fun to see the surprising face of others when he did so. Of course, the stupid cop would put his hand on the gun, thinking he could shoot the murderer once and for all, before "the suspect" was about to do something that " might harm" the civilian.

In front of the changing cop, Oedipus put his Semblance on. He did it, but he felt nothing. There was no hope, no expectations, no despair, no nothing. Just simply an act of putting the Mask. Like a broken puppet, his body collapses, creating a loud thump sound when contact with the ground under him. His skin pigment started to shift toward red, his face started to melt, and it seems that Oedipus was unaware of what happens. There was nothing. No screams, weeping or begging from the lying man. Only a changing body into something newer, better. Something inhuman. But most can't see what is happening, for the mask had engulfed the man head, blocking any line of sight. It forms a bird-like helmet that covered his whole head, leaving two holes that acted as the eyes. But inside, the place of what should be a person's eyes had been replacing by two levitating flames. But the light it provides is like a small flame in the cold winter night.

Oedipus was aware of what happened, what changes that the mask gives him, and the gift with it. And he is going to prepare a welcoming ceremony of course. A smile appears on his face, as the thought of " Special day required special celebration " echoing in his head. Leaving from his throne, decorated with the skull of the dead, Oedipus walked toward the light. His action ripples the floor, sending vibrations to all direction. And soon, he found his new prey. One was Oedipus, and the other was someone that he had never seen. But Oedipus was not surprised. For he had met similar things like this. They are him, or his new personality that he could not even bother. For sooner or later, his hand will be soaked in these "new-born" blood. Their scream and yelled shall be the trumpet welcoming his new rebirth. And it will be fun, for this time, Oedipus doesn't want to stop early. And he doesn’t plan to. For this time, he brings toys with him, painful toys.

[Redward]

She ignored the budding confrontation, much as Tabitha was doing. Other things had made themselves apparent. She couldn't figure them out, given how her attention seemed to drift erratically between spheres of thought and broken circles of emotion. The laughter had been fake, despite how much it forced her chest to heave and her eyes to water further. Put on one mask to take another off, right? Fuck. Her hands were still trembling and the warmth that had spread from her Semblance was fading, slowly being replaced by the warmth of the Irriss Sun. Her focus was, somewhat irritatingly, sharply trained on the Ghost Girl. The depths of her eyes as they slid to certain speakers.

She's somethin' else, that's for sure. I wonder how far we're gonna go, if this keeps up.

Tabitha let her own vision trail to the thing Tristan had become. At least, she thought it was Tristan. Hard to tell with all the cryin' I was doin'. Pretty sure that's him, though, ain't nobody else, here, gonna go out they way to be around me. She sighed, quietly, and let the excess energy work its way out in the best way she knew how; without being too obvious. She dug her feet against the dirt and grass, feeling it against her toes. Why the fuck ain't I got shoes on? It was probably irrelevant, but it seemed like an odd thing. Just some leggings. I guess it ain't a big deal. Can always pick somethin' up, later.

"You are nothing less than you were before coming here," The Ghost Girl's words were, as usual, rattling; a quiet razor against Tabitha's dancing thoughts, "You are still Mortal." She slowly lifted a hand, making a motion to those who had embraced the 'metamorphosis' she had offered. "Merely a Mortal imbued with greater potential. Many of you have already noticed, if not exercised, the boon taken. What source you now draw your power from is irrelevant. The creature that became the Semblance is no more, you have consumed what little remained of them." She folded her hands, the very image of patience among chaos.

Chaos she brought with her. With us. Wonder how much of this she was waitin' on.

"As for what you do with this gift, I can not say. I have requested your aid in repairing this world, as well as preserving the current state of your own." Her eyes betrayed nothing, but she looked at Anni with something Tabitha could have sworn was close to a smile. "However, you are free to do as you wish." Tabitha curled her toes and didn't let them relax, staring hard ahead. The green-clad girl had mentioned that, a few times, but had never given the specifics of what she wanted from them. "I would pit you against the inequities of Irris. Against the plots of veiled foes that have gone uncontested for many years. I would have you serve as my blades, in this world." That sent a chill down Tabitha's spine. "Eventually, you will come to realize the truth. I can not reveal all to you, yet. The moment of my departure approaches rapidly. I have given you what I am able. If you so choose, we will meet again after you have made contact with Magician. Goodbye."

The Ghost Girl let her hands unfurl and held them aloft. Waves rippled through the air around her, and her form began to fade; losing its luster, its weight...even its opacity in small intervals. Tabitha watched, but her mind had trailed off.

Were the tears fake, too? That was like a punch in the gut. The possibility of her anger and sorrow being manufactured was something Tabitha had never considered, before. Nah, couldn't be. Those were real. She steeled herself, taking a quick glance at the sky before focusing on the secene before her. Everything was different, except the people. It was almost laughable.

"Good. Kick rocks, bitch," Tabitha muttered under her breath, casting a sidelong glance at Tristan, "I'm probably gonna hit the road, soon." She didn't know whether or not she was talking to him, or to herself, "These idiots are gonna tear each other apart, and I ain't wanna be here any longer than I gotta be." She had other things to worry about. Will, Rani, and finding a way to ruin everything the Ghost Girl had in mind. If she brought us here to fight her battles, she's outta fuckin' luck. Part of her wholeheartedly believed that; another already knew where they would end up. She finally let her legs relax, sliding them back and forth again.

"The world's pretty fucked up. Guess it don't matter if we're here, or there." With that, she stood. She didn't start walking, not yet. Tabitha knew she would, eventually; 'south' was the only real direction she had in this brand new world.

[Letter Bee]

"Oh," was what Ascot said at first, shocked by Saffron's newly-revealed side. "Well, all right, as long as you're happy, I'm all right."

As long as you're happy.

Gods! Not another disappointment! Not another failed attempt to form emotional bonds! Sure, Saffron had a right to do what Ascot himself was doing and revel in his new powers, but it seemed that he had been hiding this blunt and tactless side all along. Of course, said blunt side was slightly attractive, but was the other young man really going to leave all thoughts of his home universe behind? How can that be?! Awesome powers were needed for awesome purposes; they can be enjoyed, sure, but it seems that Saffron was on the verge of just reveling in them and paying no attention to why they had been given those.

Ascot couldn't help but think that such coldness to his former world indicated that Saffron had some reason to give up on it. But it was best for him not to inquire.

I am not all right, after all.

Those were Ascot's thoughts as he turned away, trying to hide his renewed sadness and grief, in order to begin leading the way to Silverbrook. His ears were still perked up, though, in order to pick up any new information about this world. A sigh as he gathered that the only useful bit of information was that they were still mortal, and that the masks were remnants of creatures that they had since consumed. The rest were merely assurances that they were free to do as they wilt, but only not because there were no other ideas or directions for things to do besides follow the Ghost Girl's quest. He bitterly thought:

How Cunning.

Nevertheless, he turned around, suppressing his focus on himself in order to look at the Policeman and the Killer as they confronted each other. This would delay thier trip, and quite frankly, Ascot was not going to stay in the place where Saffron had all but rejected him. So, he stretched out his right hand, leafing through his new instincts and knowledge to see if he knew how to use his new powers. He did, but only the basics. That will have to do.

A glob of silvery-white fluid manifested in front of Ascot's hand; for a second, he felt himself...asked to select a trait he can give said glob. He thought:

Absorbing.

And then he launched said glob at the Killer, who had transformed into a bird-man. Said glob, if it hit, would spread across the bird-man's body, holding it in place, restraining him. As an afterthought, the fluid would also wrap around the bird-man's beak, so that it cannot peck anyone or say any spells that required a vocal component (hey, he played fantasy games). Ascot wouldn't stop until the Killer was wrapped in a cocoon of extra-soft but extra-durable material that would allow him to be dragged away.

He would then look at the Officer and say, "Sorry for interfering in Police Business, sir, but Silverbrook is our only point of reference, and so journeying there is the best course of action."

A string of the silvery-white putty would also connect the Killer's cocoon, assuming Ascot had hit, to Ascot's hand. He was prepared to drag the guy to Silverbrook himself if he had to.

@Redward@MechonRaptor@Etranger@Ceta de Cloyes@Scarescrow

[Ceta de Cloyes]

There were tears in his eyes- no, in her eyes- in... in someone’s eyes? He flinched at the bitter ink sliding through his mind, breaking into fractal patterns in his vision, and found his balance again with one hand bracing on Stormy’s shoulder. He should thank her, for helping him, for caring even, but the words wouldn’t come.

“How are feeling sugar plum? How can I help?” She was too kind, he felt a sudden urge to protect her, to make those tinges of alabaster unease and buzzing fright just go away. He couldn’t though, he didn’t know how.

He shot a glance towards the others, and spoke with a weak voice; ”I can taste their pain,” he admitted to her, his own fear of the implications of that easily heard in his worried tone. ”It hurts,” he mumbled.

Then he noticed her mask still in hand, whispering to him- no, to her, he was just eavesdropping. He didn’t know what it was saying, but it sounded like a song… ”Xi's singing for you…” he commented aloud, a little amazed. ”Mine ate me,” he finished the thought, a mix of uneasy emotions settling in his gut. Then he realized what he said, having not intended to say it aloud; ”Sorry.” He was doing a lot of apologizing, and muttering, but he was just so off balance it was hard to step out of his current expression. Whatever that meant.

He rubbed his forehead with his sleeve, but that didn’t help the thrashing warmth of crimson and writhing grasp of strobes, twisting angrily in his head. They tasted like smoke. He glanced over to where things had heated up again, and wished they would calm down, that everyone would stop freaking out so his brain could chill for two seconds.

[Redward]

"Go ahead, Surris." Vagorrez gave a toothy grin and crossed his massive arms, a small rumble rolling through his form; something Beatrix could only guess was a half-hidden chuckle. "I'm sure the girl-" He shook his head, lifting a clawed digit, "Beatrix of Ashworth- will bear well your interrogation." She couldn't help but smile, though she pressed her palm to her mouth to cover it; turning and doing her best not to look back. Caretaker Nirvu was at her back, but Beatrix still thought she could feel its slight amusement. "I will await my turn."

Beatrix of Ashworth sounds...kind of cool! M-Maybe I should....maybe...

"Jest as you will, King of Obsidian Fangs. Her answers will prove valuable," Surris had her hands on her hips, her eyes narrowed and an intensity in her words Beatrix hadn't expected. He...might not have been joking. Is she going to really interrogate me?! N-No way! "Where is it you hail from, Beatrix?" O-Oh. Well, that's not so bad! Without thinking, she brought her hand up; rubbing it along her cheek until extended digits brushed the blue Remembrance Leaf.

"I'm from Lightbridge. It's an island, and...and!" Thinking about her home was bittersweet, but still brought a smile to her face. Beatrix's heart started to kick with more vigor. Anxious, yet without the usual tightening of her throat. I wonder what I should tell her, first! Maybe Vagorrez, er, King Vagorrez will be interested, too! They would probably love-!

"Understood. How is it you came to Irriss?" The Saint-Knight of Searing Light brought Beatrix's quickening thoughts an abrupt shift. She wasn't sure how to handle that, so she stared. Her expression shifted; eyes seeking the distance with a draining enthusiasm. Her fingers curled around the leaf and gave it a gentle tug.

"I don't know..."

How did I end up here? It was a question asked a hundred times. I remember walking home...and then...then... Then there was nothing. A yawning gap in her memory, beginning and ending with her taking steps; even the details, as she brought the scene to mind, were shaded in uncertainty. It was really quiet, that night. Beatrix remembered that much, along with a sense of urgency; though its source was another anomaly of vacancy. I wasn't far from Dayglow...

"Understood. Vagorrez, King of Obsidian Fangs, you may put forward the next question," Surris' lambent gaze softened, and her stance shifted, hands finally leaving her hips. Exposed joints slid and rolled silently as Surris moved; flowing with an uncanny grace for three long strides. Bringing her arms up, one to cradle the elbow of the other as she rested a hand on her shoulder, she too seemed to seek something in the distance. Beatrix looked away, slowly.

Do they already know about Lightbridge...?

"Very well!" Beatrix yelped, her body tensing immediately after. Wh-Why did he yell?! Vagorrez considered her for a moment, something she didn't shrink from; to her own surprise. A smirk tugged at the strange beast's lips, and Beatrix felt the warmth from it. Slowly, the King of Obsidian Fangs lowered himself to be at eye level with the Mortal girl. His knee touching against the ground was quiet. "My apologies, Beatrix of Ashworth. Startling you was not my intent." The laugh that followed was loud, genuine in its mirth. She watched the armor on his shoulders scrape against his mottled scales; watched as sparks were grated out. "I'm not sure what to ask of you. You've come to Irriss completely unprepared. It's strange that you're here at all, let alone your own strangeness."

"Wh-what do you mean?" He wasn't nearly as scary as Beatrix had imagined. I think Surris scares me, more... She lowered her gaze, staring down at dirtied sneakers. "I don't understand what's going on! I-I heard you say I smell like an Unfettered!" Beatrix pointed to Surris' back, with her free hand. "She said I have the aura of an Enlightened! I'm not, I'm not-"

Vagorrez reached forward, gently placing his hand on Beatrix's head. Lightly, he mussed her hair. "Calm yourself. There's no need to panic." She looked up as his hand was withdrawn, her face flushing from embarassment. Beatrix drew in a deep breath, nodding slowly. "Prime Caretaker Nirvu," The King looked over her shoulder, and she turned to follow his gaze, "I've made my decision." The words carried weight, that much was evident in their delivery, but Beatrix wasn't sure as to why. "The Unfettered Lords will not be given word about Beatrix of Ashworth. She is no threat."

Well, yeah! Of course I'm not!

"Thank you, Vagorrez," Caretaker Nirvu offered a small bow and what Beatrix thought was a beaming smile, "Your discretion is, as always, appreciated." Behind her, Vagorrez rose; taking up his usual intimidating stance. "Surris of the Searing Light, may I place my trust in your judgment as well?" Beatrix stiffened, feeling a shift in the atmosphere. Tension, though muted, washed over her. Caretaker Nirvu and Vagorrez both looked to the Saint-Knight; her back still turned. Her wings dimmed and spread slightly, their tendrils dancing slowly in the air.

What's going on? Her heart began thundering, again. The air felt heavy, like her entire existence depended on the words spoken by the shimmering angel; that judgment was, indeed, at hand.

"Yes, of course," Surris sounded almost playful, a tinge of laughter hidden deep within the words, "there is no cause to alarm the Veiled Council. I trust that Beatrix Ashworth will be of no concern to them, if she remains in your care, Prime Caretaker." She turned to them, offering a bow of her own. "I will return to the Demense." Surris trained her indigo gaze on Beatrix and bowed, again. "It has been a pleasure to meet you, Beatrix."

"Y-you too!" She didn't know what else to say, but relief washed over her. The Saint-Knight turned and began walking away, without pause; fading from view altogether after silver flared from her form and twisted the space around her. Beatrix's mouth fell open, as she stared at the spot where Surris had been.

Wow! She can do that?! I...shouldn't be surprised!

"I'll linger for a moment. I believe I've found my question," Vagorrez looked down on Caretaker Nirvu, giving a slight inclination of his head before kneeling again. "Tell me, Beatrix of Ashworth...what does power mean to you?" Her gaze slowly shifted from the empty patch of Golden Path. The King of Obsidian Fangs was smiling at her, showing rows of black blades. It didn't scare or startle her; instead, she felt calm. There was no malice, there, but there was expectation.

I guess I've never thought about it before. I'm not out of shape or anything...but that isn't power is it? Is being strong being powerful? Despite how little clarity she had, her heart knew the answer. N-No! That's not it at all!

"Power...power isn't s-something I have. Power," Her face felt hot, the words rushing from a place she didn't know existed, "is being able to stop the people you care about from suffering! It's a...it's a shield, a-against...evil...it's doing the right thing for the r-right reason..." Beatrix's eyes fled from Vagorrez and back to her feet. "Th-that's what I think. I'm sorry! If that doesn't-!" A hand fell gently on her shoulder. Not that of the Unfettered, but Caretaker Nirvu's. Again, she felt a smile from it; perhaps something akin to pride.

Before her, the King of Obsidian Fangs also smiled.

"Then, Beatrix of Ashworth, you've got your heart in the right place," He stood, again, stretching to his full height. "I've got a gift for you." With speed she didn't think such a frame capable of, Vagorrez tore away a section of his tattered crimson cloak. It fluttered in his grasp, a bit above her head, dancing with a light breeze she hardly felt. Slowly, he lowered it to her; offering it out in the palm of his hand. "You'll get what you consider power. No doubt about that in my mind. Keep that close, it'll help you on the way." Beatrix took it, slowly, feeling its weight as it slid from his hand. It was coarse and worn, but pulsed with an energy she couldn't be sure she felt. "Train her well, Caretaker Nirvu."

I'm sure Caretaker Nirvu will do what it can to trai-

...What?!

Beatrix had frozen, the cloak in her hands almost falling free.

"If she is willing, I will do what I am able."

[Redward]

Chapter II:

Reticence

She waited in the static-eaten space between worlds. She had been there when the 'Ghost Girl' passed through with her chromatic souls in tow. She had watched, patiently, as they broke apart and were changed. Minute changes. Barely worth noting. No words had been exchanged, the process engaged in as usual; only a momentary flicker of silver-and-black eyes in her direction. Then stillness, after her exit. Stillness was a pervasive aspect of that place, the only aspect of that place.

Earth and Irriss. No different than before. Boring.

She was here to give a status report. A report on things that her 'owner' couldn't be bothered with. Things that still had value, in the large scheme. It irked her, regardless, to be relegated to such minuscule duties. She was, after all, a being of immense potential; much like her mistress. Yet the Ghost Girl was always at the forefront, always the commander. That part didn't bother her as much. It was always easier to handle smaller tasks. Easier to be unnoticed.

Yeah, but that's never where the fun is.

Of course, she had been told numerous times that her assignments were not about 'fun'. She had been told of the high stakes and countless fates that depended on their actions. She's always so serious. What. A. Drag. She better hurry up. Bitching was pointless, but Three enjoyed it anyway. Even if things never changed, she could always complain that they should.

With a sigh she leaned against a non-existent wall, flipping a non-existent coin. Mimicry was a strong suit of hers. Boredom was her bane. Her favorite color was white. Wish I'd brought my yo-yo. That would certainly make the stillness more tolerable. Even the habit of breathing was unnecessary in a place like this.

As Three mulled over the various aspects of Nothing, she walked around it; picking idly at her jacket. It wasn't a large space, despite what its initial impression might give. Nothing ended about seventy steps from where the 'entrance' was. After that Nothing became Something. Those Somethings sat on either side; with darkened potential beyond each other surface. She could, just as easily as her mistress, pass through the spatial membrane that kept it all from spilling into one another.

It just leaks. Doesn't spill. Not yet.

Then came the underwhelming entrance. A small decompression at the center of Nothing that denoted the return of her mistress. Three's heart swelled in her chest and she spun on her heels, a smile spreading across snowy features. Indigo eyes focused through the still smog and on the form of the one she had waited for.

"Greetings. I apologize for my lateness," the Ghost Girl removed her hood and mussed her hair vigorously, "the Semblances have been received and all is moving forward." Her face betrayed nothing, but Three could read the Ghost Girl better than most. She was irritated, and maybe tired. Probably something to do with unruly Mortals and all that weight she insisted on carrying. A small sigh escaped the white clad girl.

At least she's sorry, this time.

"That's to be expected. Want to hear my report?" A nod met the words as they left her, and a small motion of the Ghost Girl's fingers urged Three to carry on. "Ok, well, let's see." She produced a non-existent clipboard and pen, looking over notes she didn't take. Her mistress never did appreciate her jokes, but that never stopped her from trying. "Lightbridge is pretty stable, though areas of corruption have started to show." Three knew that a projection would be wanted, so she held her palm out to save time. "They're temporary, so guessing at their source isn't too hard. Still, could be a problem if interference continues. I'd give it," Three pretended to nibble at the edge of her pen, "four to six days until there's any real cause for concern."

She adjusted non-existent glasses and looked to her owner. The Ghost Girl reclined against nothing, staring out at Nothing; a small smile hinted at with her eyes. "I am impressed with your progress. However," Three cocked an eyebrow, waiting, putting her clipboard away, "it may be more beneficial to have you operate within Irriss, for the time being."

Yes! Finally!

"I may have lingered too long," Ghost Girl looked at her, now, back to blank restraint, "my continued presence will be noted. The Mortals are already in danger, I do not wish to imperil them any more than need be. You do not share my..." Hesitance, for the first time in ages. Three saw the flash of discomfort; that glaring moment of uncertainty. Her heart sank, a little. It was like her mistress to appear melancholy, but to actually sense it from her was rare.

"Got it," Three smiled, trying to break the gloom, and tossed her glasses aside, "I'll get over there, soon. Are you sure you trust me with this?" Despite her eagerness, Three wanted to be sure. "I don't want to get in trouble for messing up the big moves." She knew the plan, though, and had every relevant detail memorized. Her form twitched, breaking away from its outline in jagged spikes of black static and indigo interference, for a moment; reverting as soon as the lapse was noticed.

Oops. Pull yourself together.

The Ghost Girl didn't seem to mind that, though. She was resting her head against her knee, staring at Something. A Something that Three couldn't see. She looked, anyway, in the same direction. Staring into the tenebrous depths of a reality completely barred to her. Wonder what's over there. It flared and rolled but never truly moved, the mist and fog of Nothing; but the slick surface of empty Somethings always seemed to ripple and strain against its self, when Three peered closely.

"I have trusted you with much, Three. A day, or two, in Irriss will serve as a test of your capacity for extended responsibilities," Ghost Girl looked up, slowly pointing to the Something on Nothing's left side, "When it suits you, enter Irriss. Begin with scouting. The Mortals should be traveling to Silverbrook. Those who go elsewhere are not to be tampered with."

Really? Why not? She went to adjust her glasses, forgetting that they had been tossed aside. "Ok, so keep a low profile. Stay out of the way. That's easy. Any particular places you want reports on? I've already got a list of my own. Couldn't hurt to add some more."

"The Crystalline Garden is to be avoided. The Demense and Jagged Keeps are to be avoided," So the Enlightened and Unfettered cores were denied to her, something Three would bitch about later. She nodded compliance, sighing several times. "Magician has been given a specific task, another thing I would ask you to refrain from meddling in. A wide berth between the two of you would be best," Ghost Girl looked to the Something at her right, "Everything else is yours to explore."

A whole world. A whole Irriss for me to play with.

"I must rest, Three. Please excuse me," The Ghost Girl stood, stretching and absently replacing her hood. "We will convene, again, in a short while. I will be awaiting you, here, when that time arrives." Three knew she would hear the call, when she was needed. Smiling, she waved goodbye to her mistress. To her surprise, the wave was returned; sluggish but affirming. "Goodbye," came the last word from Ghost Girl, spoken with a turned back, before she slipped back to Earth. Back to the C-Route.

Three stalled, for a moment, mumbling into Nothing as she walked to the Earth-Something.

"She could've waited. I need to get my yo-yo..."

[Scarescrow]

I, Hercules, along with my brothers and sister had stayed, challenged the tyrannous king. We believe that we were better, more suitable than Oedipus in the ruling, that he is all by himself, and our Father is ordering us to avenge for Him. To kill the Firstborn would be easy, I thought. There were nothing that Oedipus is good at, he does not have the strength of mind, the tactics mind of Athena, knowledgeable in the art of war like Ares,… And besides, there are at least 15 of us, all are the creations of the Father. Our name is from the God of Olympus, our power is unprecedented, and our will for battle was in every breath that we took that day. And so we marched, to the place where our Father died. And waiting for us was him, Oedipus, the Murderer, the Firstborn, the Oldest Brother...

Ares charged forward, fueled by his blood rush. We could imagine the scene of our Oldest Brother died, broken neck or being ripped apart. And we would rule, sharing our precious treasure that the Firstborn had taken. And it would be glorious. But against what we had anticipated, Death did not choose him, but rather our beloved brother as Ares' head fell upon the ground. I could still see his wide eyes, painted with fear and distressed. It seems that in his very last effort before dying, he had tried to warn us of what this monster capable of. But how foolish we are, filled with rage and sorrow over our brother death, we charged right in. And there he was, alone, weak, and still laughing at something that we will never understand.

The fight ended quickly with all of our brothers and sisters died. Unlike Ares, they died a much painful death. He chopped off our limbs to immobilize us, and he laid us there to “improving his skills and expertise in murdering.” Athena was the first among us to suffer it as Oedipus ripped her from her armor, then started to practicing his skill, trying to remove her skin out from her. Her scream, along with the tear that had been infused with the blood, raised fear in us. She died when Oedipus had removed half of her skin. I still did not know for what reason she died, due to fear or blood loss, but one thing for sure, Oedipus had started to violate our courage by his brutality. Then quickly, as our brothers and sister died under the hand of this monster, the fear inside us grew and grew. Some of us started to beg him for mercy, to let them alive and work as a slave. But the man did not possess characteristics of a human. The first of us that had beg him to survive was Phobos, and he died as losing his eyesights.

There is now only me left, Hercules, and I fear that I will not live long enough. Not with this kind of injuries. But before I died, I hope that you all remember this, run, hide, or surrender to this monster. Before it is too late. And brethren, please I beg you, run. Don’t fight. He had gain all…………………..

---

"Well, I never knew that we could this in my mind. Certainly, there are secrets about this room that even I did not know.” Oedipus grinned at his new artwork. The man was being chopped off his limbs, lost all senses, and lost all skin. But yet, he is still able to possess clear thinking. “ But you shouldn't do that, younger brother. How dare you attempt to block our family reunion.” Touching the man cheek and mentally slap him for one or two, Oedipus stands up, grinning as he looks into the abyss.“ Well, it will take them a while to get here. I think it enough of screaming right now.” Bending his body down to the floor, Oedipus draw a smiley face next to Hercules’ body before returning to his throne. “ But then, how much is enough?”

---

Opening his eyes, only to see his body is being wrapped in something silvery silky thread. And at the beginning of the thread, is the boy, who had wings at his back. Looking directly at the boy's eyes, Oedipus laugh before asking him one question that seems to amuse him. “ Now kiddo, are you going to pull that gun?” Rolling his eyes to the gun that was held by the cop, Oedipus continued. “ You know, you can do it now. The gun is right in the hand of the cop. Just take it and do it, kiddo.”

@Letter Bee

[jdh97]

Stormy

The mask looked at her. A roiling sea of fathomless depths in a solid form. Perhaps there was a slight blue glow, the merest aureole. Stormy brought her hand up to touch her temple, wincing. The aura vanished.

Then she close to threw the mask at the ground. The hand that had been holding the semblance began stretching and clenching, the other rubbing that hand's wrist. Blue looked up from the grass, tillers and blades cloying around - eager and envious. Was it frowning now?

“Xi?” Stormy asked the ground, before turning to Koda, running her slender, branching fingers through the tangled nest on her hand, “Is that its name? I don’t quite understand you, sugar.”

The whole circus was performing, but Stormy’s spotlight was focused only on Koda. She let out a deep sigh, and seemed to deflate, her small frame almost vanishing inside her clothes.

“Sweetie pie, you look like you need to lie down, do you want to take five and clear your head?”

The azure puddle hid in the grass. The unseen pull of it made her hand twitch, but she either didn’t notice, or ignored the tic.

[Etranger]

As expected, the knife nut took the opportunity to don his mask too. As doubly expected, his newfound appearance was just plain creepy. Now, both of them stood there, transformed and empowered by strange means, perhaps destined to have an epic confrontation to decide their fates...

But perhaps not, seeing as one of the others intervened to try and subdue him first. Michael recognised him as one of the ones that had been quick to jump on the tracks. Now here he was, sporting a fancy new appearance himself, spraying a magical substance on Mr. Nutjob. It seemed he was more concerned with getting them moving on to ghosty's destination of choice for them. "Hey, I don't mind, as long as this creep's down." He told him. Given they weren't even on Earth, it could hardly be described as "police business" anymore. If it hadn't been for the psycho here, Michael would have been making tracks to this town himself, but as it stood, he had been more concerned about getting knifed in the back before he could do so. Now at least, it seemed the madman was being restrained. Funnily enough, he didn't even seem like he was fighting back, as though he hadn't noticed he was getting wrapped up until just now.

His words upon coming back to reality were disturbing though. The son of a bitch was trying to extol the young man to take his gun. "Keep your mouth shut, freak." Michael spoke to him caustically, with one eye shooting to the kid. He didn't think it was likely, but he really hoped he didn't have any ideas about actually taking his gun. He kept his gun trained on the psycho's head, however. It seemed as though they had him at their mercy, but even if the police were irrelevant here, it was still part of Michael's code not to go killing restrained prisoners, even if part of him wanted to in this scenario. They couldn't leave him here, either, as if this guy got loose while they weren't looking, who knew just what damage he could do? It was only the responsible thing for them to take him with them and keep him under wraps, even if Michael would be happier having him as far away from them as possible. "You need any help carrying this guy?" Michael asked the kid, assuming it was his plan to drag him as well. It seemed like he was inclined to get everyone he could moving to ghost girl's little town. "If not, I'm good to make tracks."

@Letter Bee @Scarescrow

[Letter Bee]

Ascot looked back at Odepius before saying, "Shut up. I am not listening to you; and just for that, I am wrapping your beak up...again." And with that, the silvery-white ambrosia washed over the beak of Odepius' transformed form, and then wrapped around it once more, forming a gag. He would then turn to Michael and say:

"Thanks, officer, I can use the help carrying him. Anyway, my name is William Ascot; what is yours'?" A scan of Michael's face; the guy looked friendly enough. "Anyway, even with the two of us, we won't be able to restrain this guy forever, especially if we get attacked by monsters. And speaking of getting attacked, I know you don't want to hear this, but this...person might be useful to us."

He turned towards Odepius again and said, "Right now, you are a load. I do not want to kill restrained prisoners, and no one of us wants to do so, I think. That does not change the fact that we are not having anyone betray the group, because like it or not, we are a party."

Ascot then began flying forwards, Michael might take that as his cue to carry the restrained Odepius. Then, Ascot would say, "Everyone, let's talk while walking! As we are presumably stuck together unless some of us want to go off on their own, I need to know a few things." He would purse his lips as a breeze blew on his now-snow-white hair.

"One, what abilities do you sense in yourselves? Saffron says he's as strong as the Earth, and the stone fists he just manifested are evidence that he is telling the truth. Two, what skills do you have, non-magical ones?" Ascot found that he was more assertive than usual today as he continued flying towards Silverbrook.

"Three," the harder questions, "If we turned out to have been lied to, if the Ghost Girl and her people have an agenda that makes us their pawns, and this is all part of a plan to, for example, destroy the Universe, we need a way to find out. So, once we get to Silverbrook, can someone ask the other villagers about The Magician? We also need to get acquinted with current events in Iriss, like, say, murders or coups or changes in whatever powerful entity is in power? We also need to know who the most powerful head honcho here is."

A thought, "Oh, and we also need to watch out for stalkers! Because someone stalking or following us is a common fantasy plot element!"

@Redward@MechonRaptor@Etranger@Ceta de Cloyes@Scarescrow@Viatos

[Ceta de Cloyes]

@jdh97

A whiff of something ill, acid bile painting a camera’s flash upon the scene, and then Koda flinched from the loud cry of dismay that emanated from the mask’s soft landing in green, green grass. The look in his eyes changed, swapping reserved and muffled for predatory and analytical. ”GSA club,” he explained quietly, unfocused, ”gender neutral pronouns--I couldn’t tell,” he offered with a slight shrug.

”Xi’s quiet now, and alone. A tremor, or-” he suddenly caught himself. ”Sorry, I know I’m not making sense.” Except he was, he was beginning to grasp meanings so much clearer now. The colors, the sounds, the whispering mists tingling in his brain, and wasn’t that just the scariest part? Because the understanding? It meant maybe he really was going crazy, really falling into the dream and believing it, or it meant it was real, and if it was real…

He shook his head, the momentary hunger that’d grasped him at seeing the unhandled mask was being replaced once again by the timid expression. He bent down and picked up the mask, sighing minimally at it’s features. ”Keep xir,” he managed to say, holding out the mask, ”even if you don’t wear xi- it- even if you don’t wear it, it might be useful to have.” His eyes tracked over to the… drama, unfolding with the others, lingering on brilliant feathered wings, and then falling on cold metal shoulders. ”I don’t blame you though, risk and reward right? Freshman economics…”

Was that a song? A new song, unlike the other… Xi was singing again, to him this time. A slight beat, it almost brought a smile to his face, but there was something dark rising in the song, something vicious in the muffled lyrics. He thrust the mask out a little closer to Stormy’s hands. ”Better it’s not for me.” he muttered aloud, voicing the skittish thought.

[Viatos]

"I hear you, Tabitha," Tristan answered, one molten-gold eye - the same eye, a constant - fixed on the girl, the others tracking the recent chaos. The reborn cyborg examined the gun in his hand; silvery, oddly shaped - too square, apparently designed to flow around the hand in Venetian fashion in lieu of the Earthborn preference for recoil applied elsewhere than directly into the wrist - and of unknown lethality. The group was making him nervous, he was almost positive, after allowing for the difficulty in tracking specific anxieties among the new sea of compartmentalized terror spreading out beneath his rational mind. Oedipus had attacked the policeman not even half an hour - or was it longer? - into the past, yet that whole encounter had been too surreal to apply anything like ethics or law in the moment. They'd all been gathered, hadn't they? Oedipus, too, had made the journey. Oedipus, too, held a Semblance. Was he the only wild card among them? Clockwork along the cracks in his 'face' shifted, triggering a liquid aureate rearrangement.

The thought was disquieting.

"You're right. We shouldn't linger. Not that I want to..." He trailed off, suddenly remembering his own suicide. Something not unlike embarrassment raced through him, and he was suddenly thankful that whatever the mask had done to him it had also excised any apparent capacity to blush. What an empty fucking gesture. The eye focused on Tabitha rolled off, shifting towards the horizon. They were more like droplets of golden fluid than eyes, really, their form and function fixed by rune-marked gears that ran along his faceplate. Scrying pools for a mechanical seer. "Not that I like that bit about becoming blades, or meeting whatever passes for her friends, but I don't think it's safe out here. Anywhere here. Maybe people will..."

Eat us on sight, maybe. Maybe there's nothing in this world but monsters. No data. No map. No boundaries. Oddly, the thought produced a kind of discord. Part of him, despite their surrounding unknowns, was at home here. That was almost as disquieting as wondering how many of the others were like the man with the knife, or worse.

Tristan took a step southwards, hesitated. He raised his pseudo-voice towards the trio of what had been the kid, Officer Keahi, and the attacker, whatever they were now. "Don't...do anything you can't take back."

[Redward]

She sighed, watching leaves rustle. Trailing at the back of the group had been only natural for her. I ain't really mesh with that crew, too good. Her arms were stuffed into the fold of her corset, just beneath her breasts. In the absence of pockets, she found that worked best. Ahead of her, the rest of the group walked; spaced but cohesive. Cliques already. Fuck. The cop and the kid seem like they hittin' it off. They hadn't been walking long, no more than two or three hours, but the verdant field had fallen far behind. Guess we ain't too far from Silverbook. She still didn't see the town, but had a feeling that they'd catch a glimpse of it in the next few hours.

Most of the strife had died down, given that the crazy guy had been bound and dragged. Don't seem right, really. So what? He stabbed the cop. Michael, that's his name. Stabbed Michael. That was there, this is here. Cops and slashers don't much fuckin' matter. She lowered her head, feeling the weight of her hat shift. It did that, sometimes, when she turned her head too fast or jumped a little; but it never seemed to come off unless she wanted it to. Tabitha had taken it off, once, since leaving the field. Her hair was longer, now, and that lovely neon green; and was really more trouble outside the headgear than in.

Indeed, the back seemed to suit her best. She could watch everyone. LIsten to everyone. She hadn't done much listening, to be honest. They'd only been in Irriss for maybe two, possibly three, hours and conversation seemed to be in no short supply. It hurt her, in a distant way. But that's on me. I ain't here to make friends. I ain't here to... she brought a hand from its fold and rested it against her face, digging nails lightly against the strange tear-drop mark that had come with her gift, be one'a them...

Michael and Ascot, Saffron somewhere behind. Stormy and Koda, mutual concern between them. Kate and Anni, trailing behind the bound Oedipus.

Where does that leave me? She ran her fingers over her garb. The harlequin's get-up she had been given.

She certainly didn't feel like one of them. For the most part, Tabitha Calvicante was a shadow in their assemblage. The 'other'. She hadn't spoken to the Tristan-thing since they started walking. Looking over his form had made her uncomfortable. Those roving golden eyes met briefly by her own silver. Had to be silver...didn't it? He was still in there, she could tell, by the sound of his voice; but little else brought to mind the shy guy she had shared her circle with. She hoped he was still him. Lane and Rani would have a fuckin' fit, if they knew what we was doin' right now. That hurt her, a little bit. That the only person she really knew from her world was so different and distant. Makes sense, though, his heart came out of his chest...his skin changed...he's gotta be hurtin' worse than I am. Something tugged at her heart. Maybe I'll sit and talk with him, when nobody's around. We weren't close...but, damn, we're friends! He needs to know...I need to know...that we're not alone.

It was decided, then.

Slowing her pace, she felt leaves crunch beneath nearly-exposed feet. What was it Ascot said? Abilities ya feel inside ya? Tabitha stopped to lean against a tree, staring at her hands; both of which were held before her. She didn't feel anything. After the crazy burst of laughter Was it really fake...? she had felt the same, just dressed differently. After the moment of intense light from within she felt dark again. She wanted to cry, but the field had drained her of that.

The woods were like anything you'd find back home. She couldn't tell one tree from another, but it hardly mattered. More disconcerting was the lack of people traveling along the path. Tabitha had noticed it, but never brought it up. Instead, she lingered at the back.

"So," she started, cocking an eyebrow and putting her hands at her side, "how we gonna know what to do once we hit Silverbrook?" She sure as fuck didn't have any clue, and the whole thing felt off. Stalling was necessary. She needed to know what the others thought. "I know we find the Magician, and all, but ya guys sure we're up for whatever's comin' next?"

She idly kicked a rock, before lowering herself against a tree's base. "I wanna take a break, anyway. We been walkin' for a minute," her eyes swept over them, a slight smile on her face, "ya guys can go ahead without me, if ya want. But I'm gonna drop my ass right here." Really, she didn't care to talk to most of them. She wanted to talk with Tristan alone. She had a few things she wanted to talk to him about. Even if they weren't important things, Tabitha needed to feel like she wasn't alone; or that she wasn't going to be left behind.

I hope he's on the same page...

[Letter Bee]

Ascot looked back, still flying, and said, "Something irrevocable, something that would damn me forever..."

What would that be? Killing the would-be killer? I don't plan to do that. But it may be something else, something irrevocable. A frown. My sister has abandoned me. Saffron has decided to all but abandon me as well. I have no friends here. He would then say as he turned his head back to the road, facing the direction of Silverbrook, "It would be easier if I had friends by my side, people who would not abandon me like my sister had." A pause. "Not trying to intrude on you, though, or ask for free favors."

At Tabitha's request for a break, Ascot would stop and say, "All right; let's take a break. As for being up for whatever is coming next...I myself am uncertain. Despite my new powers and potential to get more, I myself do not know if we are up for the troubles we will inevitably face."

That's right, I don't. The boy then smiled as he floated down, looking first at Michael, then Tabitha. "But that is life, isn't it? There are no guarantees in life. All I know is that we are going to have to follow the trail given us, and discover as much as we can. Then we can make better decisions."

He then noticed that a spark of happiness had appeared once more in his heart. It seems I am undergoing mood swings today. Back to Michael. "Officer, thank you once more. Maybe having to work for the faintest glimmer of hope, maybe that's our purpose here."

@Redward@Etranger@Ceta de Cloyes@Scarescrow@Viatos@jdh97