kapuchu@Eviledd1984 I was planning on having on having Clem being a huge fan of his later work, assuming it's more depressing stuff.
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Madama Witch
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7 yrs ago
WHO DAT BOY, 911
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8 yrs ago
Stop and frisk me, daddy. Unf.
2
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9 yrs ago
Organize a strike in your school or workplace on the grounds that it does not satisfy your need for indolence & spiritual beauty.
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Most Recent Posts
"Yes yes yes, oh my god yes," The woman responded, almost immediately upon hearing Clementine's snark. Well she was definitely enthusiastic in her response, that much couldn't be denied. Another interesting thing, Clementine noted that the woman wasn't facing her-- she couldn't tell who was talking to her, so she was just speaking, loudly and enthusiastically, in her general direction of whoever she thought was helping her. That was fair, even in her bikini top, Clem hadn't completely turned to face her-- and she was still rather unassuming to most. She gave an internal shrug.
"First of all, I think 'desperate' is an understatement, if I'm being honest, and again, yes, I would absolutely love a place to stay. If you could recommend one, you-," She continued. Clementine knew the feeling well, the org had told her absolutely nothing about this place she'd be calling home for the indeterminate future. When the independent contractor... mercenary... whatever's dropped her off here, in the middle of Coalfell's main street, from the back of their black van. It had taken Clem at least two days of wandering around to discover the Cadillac. At least. It didn't advertise itself as a motel since the sign was so faded, no one spoke to you if you went in, and good luck getting the residents to tell you about it. Clem didn't feel like letting anyone else go through that hellpuzzle if they didn't have to.
"-you would would be the sweetest angel, and I will literally do anything to make it up to you--" 'Literally do anything,' she had said. Clem turned a little more in her bar stool at this, eerily featureless bottle of beer now resting on her thigh, instantly turning a spot of her jeans into a coaster. She wanted to get a closer look at the loud woman-- she was definitely pretty, she'd caught that at just a side glance-- but noticing the difference between the two was a bit unnerving. This girl could easily be a model! She was so tall! Probably a foot taller than her from what Clem could tell sitting from the bar. Her skin, her body, and her hair were all nicer than Clem's as well. Th--Clementine wasn't a particularly self conscious person, but it was definitely a reminder fully seeing this woman that she was closer to the plain side of the spectrum when it came to looks. Which she had no problem with, looking nice was for actors and her partners.
As the woman continued, "--I swear, because I'd rather die than sleep in my car again." Clem's mind followed a different train of thinking, almost completely ignoring that she'd been sleeping in her car. While that was tragic-- Clem also noticed that this woman was also very young-- much younger than her, for sure. She could still be in school-- high school, even. What had she meant by 'literally anything?' Had Clem just let her lustful mind go too far? While Clementine mulled over the potential of this possibility, before she could get out another response to the woman, she'd apparently lost interest and turned her attention to something else. "Ravi!" Ravi? A friend of hers? Small world. She turned to slowly finish her beer. Unconsciously turning the name over in her head as she did, until--
Wait...
Wait, wait, wait... She was definitely a little buzzed, but she knew that name, she thought.
Ravi. She knew that fucking name.
Ravi... She fished out an indiscriminate amount of bills from her pocket and placed them messily on the counter-- a bonus of having a staff that just didn't care was that they really didn't keep track of tabs all that closely, she was positive she was underpaying them. Further, she'd get no complaints of it when she was back here for dinner and more booze later. Clem's not even sure their memories of her lasted that long.
But-- her attention turned to the pair, now talking a good ways away, Ravi, Ravi, Ravi... She continued to turn the name around in her head, placing her bottle on the counter-- she was fairly sure they brewed their own booze in this town, hence the lack of labels, the utter lack of a good taste, and why it was served in a fucking cafe of all places. Took her a few weeks to figure out that local secret. As bad as it tasted, she respected it as an art form, so she never threw away the bottles-- maybe that's why they let her get away with the discounts? She was getting distracted-- Ravi-- She got a better look at him as started dragging the brown woman with the nice hair away to a secluded corner of the cafe. Definitely recognized him from... somewhere...
Clementine got up as the two began to talk, she covered her blindfolded eye with her hat as she did. Narrowing her other as she focused on the pair's lips, attempting to read them. You know, it was moments like this that she wished she'd paid more attention to those lessons in basic espionage, like lip reading the Org had taught all it's higher ranking members who regularly went out on field missions. She should have put more effort in to things lip reading lips, but that skill simply didn't fulfill her need for artistic indulgence during her time in the Org. Annnnnnnd maybe if they had put a guy in charge of teaching her instead of Daisy, I mean... Clem was was certainly focused on a pair of lips during the lessons! Two pairs of them, in fact! She did pick some things up, she she supposed, but just barely above the bare minimum, like most of her skills gained with the Org.
The "SHHHH!" was easy enough to gather even for an amateur like her, what came next was... difficult. Before he continued though, he glanced around the cafe, clearly checking to see if anyone was listening in on their conversation. Clementine was obviously out of earshot, but didn't want to draw any undue attention to herself and escalate anything, she quickly turned and leaned against the bar as his gaze came to her. By the time she turned around again, attempting to read the whispers from his lips with her minimal training he'd already begun speaking.
"I'm here... DON'T want... to know where... (and?) I need a break... ...if ... on the down-low... my car gets fix(ed?) and I can leave this dead-end town."
Hmmmmm. Clementine's eye shifted to the ground as she began to think. She couldn't gather much, since she could really only accurately read single syllable words from people's lips. But from what her alcohol and migraine addled mind could put together, it seemed like he didn't want to be here, but he had to be here because of his car? Getting his car fixed in a town like this... ha! Good luck with that one, buddy. Clementine wasn't sure the citizens of Coalfell had cars, or even knew how to drive-- let alone had a place dedicated to fixing vehicles. Clem was no engineer, but she'd always been a tinkerer at heart-- she probably had more expertise in fixing whatever was ailing this man's broken car than all these goons combined.
Who was he, though? The way the brown girl approached him and the subsequent pull to the side, they definitely weren't friends. Ex's perhaps? Then why did she recognize him? She looked back up at the man and things began to click. "I need a break." He had said. Clementine remembered getting a book from a member of the Org for Christmas a few years back by a breakout author, a certain Ravi Callum. She recognized the picture from the back of the book, some tale about about a woman who has the romance of her life-- the twist is that she was dying the whole time, and it was just a fantasy of what she wished she'd pursued. It was alright. He looked younger than her-- but much more aged, he'd been through a lot of stress, it seemed. But there was no doubting it, it was him. And apparently he'd made quite a name quite a name for himself since her time out of the States. This worried Clementine.
Ravi fucking Callum? HERE?
This was bad, right? The fact that her head was more pumping migraine than booze buzzing right now told her 'yes.' He didn't seem to want to be here, that was a good thing. But still, even Coalfell's bullshit barrier could only keep out the press for so long, and then it was only a matter of time before super fans were here, then next thing you knew the fucking pigs were here. She had it on good authority that they didn't have her picture-- but they did have description. She was practically a sitting a sitting duck! Beginning to approach the pair, she considered her options.
The most direct plan was just killing him. Might not be the cleanest option, given her 'methods,' but it would definitely get rid of him attracting anyone for the moment... Or would it? There seemed to be more new people coming into this shithole excuse for a town by the second. They weren't as desensitized to and weird as Coalfellites, they'd definitely try to to report the death-- death by explosion-- to the pigs-- and even if she could manage to kill them all, he definitely had his phone on him, and if he was that big of a deal probably had a car with a tracker in it. So people already knew where he was. If he just stopped here forever people would come looking eventually no matter what.
So, the better plan, it seemed, was the more tedious one. Helping him fix his car. Like she had said before-- Clementine was no classically trained engineer, but she respected it as an art form, as she did many things, and paid attention whenever instructed in it's intricacies. Usually. If it wasn't being taught to her by a woman. Luckily that wasn't often!
By the time she was closer to the pair, she managed to catch the pretty brown woman with nice hair, Kejirah's name as she introduced herself to Ravi. "Hey, is that your friend? She's cute. Is she single?...No, I shouldn't ask that, that's kinda rude...though I am curious." Kejirah said, prompting Clementine's curiosity, she followed her eye's over to where the woman in question-- another young woman that could have been some flavor of celebrity. It made her feel... really...
MotheRFUCKER SHIT SUCKING CUNT PISSING DICK EATING SHIT SMEARING FUCK FUCK DAMN FUCK ASS PISS COCK FUCKSHITCOCKWHOREFUCKFUCKFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU
Yes...
Good.
Turning her attention away from the humming brunette, she focused again on Kejirah and Ravi. Deciding she'd just pretend she hadn't gathered what she had, and that she didn't know what she did-- she injected herself into their conversation. "Hey, you, looking for the place to stay...?" Clem considered addressing her as Kejirah, but she felt that would've been giving away too much of her eavesdropping. So she opted for the option of just, being in her field of vision, looking up at her, speaking directly to her. "It's pretty shit-- the AC's only barely work sometimes because I've spent the past couple months fixing them in the empty rooms when I can, the entire place smells like mildew, cum, and dead bodies--" She rolled her eye under the shade of her hat, "Don't ask." She sighed, "But it's got beds, that pass for beds, carpets that aren't too sticky, TV that sometimes isn't static-- the staff and other people there will talk to you about anything random except the fact that it's a motel, and the vending machines will always be randomly full. It's definitely a place you can... exist." She paused for a moment, glancing over to Ravi, "I caught your name-- Ravi, right? I'm a assuming you're a friend of hers?" She lied, putting on a convincing polite smile to convey that she didn't know Ravi's true identity, "If you both need a place to stay I can definitely lead you there, it's a little out of the way... and poorly advertised... and good luck getting one of these racist ass natives to talk to you about something that isn't completely batshit." Turning back to Kejirah, she added, "And maybe I can get your name!"
"First of all, I think 'desperate' is an understatement, if I'm being honest, and again, yes, I would absolutely love a place to stay. If you could recommend one, you-," She continued. Clementine knew the feeling well, the org had told her absolutely nothing about this place she'd be calling home for the indeterminate future. When the independent contractor... mercenary... whatever's dropped her off here, in the middle of Coalfell's main street, from the back of their black van. It had taken Clem at least two days of wandering around to discover the Cadillac. At least. It didn't advertise itself as a motel since the sign was so faded, no one spoke to you if you went in, and good luck getting the residents to tell you about it. Clem didn't feel like letting anyone else go through that hellpuzzle if they didn't have to.
"-you would would be the sweetest angel, and I will literally do anything to make it up to you--" 'Literally do anything,' she had said. Clem turned a little more in her bar stool at this, eerily featureless bottle of beer now resting on her thigh, instantly turning a spot of her jeans into a coaster. She wanted to get a closer look at the loud woman-- she was definitely pretty, she'd caught that at just a side glance-- but noticing the difference between the two was a bit unnerving. This girl could easily be a model! She was so tall! Probably a foot taller than her from what Clem could tell sitting from the bar. Her skin, her body, and her hair were all nicer than Clem's as well. Th--Clementine wasn't a particularly self conscious person, but it was definitely a reminder fully seeing this woman that she was closer to the plain side of the spectrum when it came to looks. Which she had no problem with, looking nice was for actors and her partners.
As the woman continued, "--I swear, because I'd rather die than sleep in my car again." Clem's mind followed a different train of thinking, almost completely ignoring that she'd been sleeping in her car. While that was tragic-- Clem also noticed that this woman was also very young-- much younger than her, for sure. She could still be in school-- high school, even. What had she meant by 'literally anything?' Had Clem just let her lustful mind go too far? While Clementine mulled over the potential of this possibility, before she could get out another response to the woman, she'd apparently lost interest and turned her attention to something else. "Ravi!" Ravi? A friend of hers? Small world. She turned to slowly finish her beer. Unconsciously turning the name over in her head as she did, until--
Wait...
Wait, wait, wait... She was definitely a little buzzed, but she knew that name, she thought.
Ravi. She knew that fucking name.
Ravi... She fished out an indiscriminate amount of bills from her pocket and placed them messily on the counter-- a bonus of having a staff that just didn't care was that they really didn't keep track of tabs all that closely, she was positive she was underpaying them. Further, she'd get no complaints of it when she was back here for dinner and more booze later. Clem's not even sure their memories of her lasted that long.
But-- her attention turned to the pair, now talking a good ways away, Ravi, Ravi, Ravi... She continued to turn the name around in her head, placing her bottle on the counter-- she was fairly sure they brewed their own booze in this town, hence the lack of labels, the utter lack of a good taste, and why it was served in a fucking cafe of all places. Took her a few weeks to figure out that local secret. As bad as it tasted, she respected it as an art form, so she never threw away the bottles-- maybe that's why they let her get away with the discounts? She was getting distracted-- Ravi-- She got a better look at him as started dragging the brown woman with the nice hair away to a secluded corner of the cafe. Definitely recognized him from... somewhere...
Clementine got up as the two began to talk, she covered her blindfolded eye with her hat as she did. Narrowing her other as she focused on the pair's lips, attempting to read them. You know, it was moments like this that she wished she'd paid more attention to those lessons in basic espionage, like lip reading the Org had taught all it's higher ranking members who regularly went out on field missions. She should have put more effort in to things lip reading lips, but that skill simply didn't fulfill her need for artistic indulgence during her time in the Org. Annnnnnnd maybe if they had put a guy in charge of teaching her instead of Daisy, I mean... Clem was was certainly focused on a pair of lips during the lessons! Two pairs of them, in fact! She did pick some things up, she she supposed, but just barely above the bare minimum, like most of her skills gained with the Org.
The "SHHHH!" was easy enough to gather even for an amateur like her, what came next was... difficult. Before he continued though, he glanced around the cafe, clearly checking to see if anyone was listening in on their conversation. Clementine was obviously out of earshot, but didn't want to draw any undue attention to herself and escalate anything, she quickly turned and leaned against the bar as his gaze came to her. By the time she turned around again, attempting to read the whispers from his lips with her minimal training he'd already begun speaking.
"I'm here... DON'T want... to know where... (and?) I need a break... ...if ... on the down-low... my car gets fix(ed?) and I can leave this dead-end town."
Hmmmmm. Clementine's eye shifted to the ground as she began to think. She couldn't gather much, since she could really only accurately read single syllable words from people's lips. But from what her alcohol and migraine addled mind could put together, it seemed like he didn't want to be here, but he had to be here because of his car? Getting his car fixed in a town like this... ha! Good luck with that one, buddy. Clementine wasn't sure the citizens of Coalfell had cars, or even knew how to drive-- let alone had a place dedicated to fixing vehicles. Clem was no engineer, but she'd always been a tinkerer at heart-- she probably had more expertise in fixing whatever was ailing this man's broken car than all these goons combined.
Who was he, though? The way the brown girl approached him and the subsequent pull to the side, they definitely weren't friends. Ex's perhaps? Then why did she recognize him? She looked back up at the man and things began to click. "I need a break." He had said. Clementine remembered getting a book from a member of the Org for Christmas a few years back by a breakout author, a certain Ravi Callum. She recognized the picture from the back of the book, some tale about about a woman who has the romance of her life-- the twist is that she was dying the whole time, and it was just a fantasy of what she wished she'd pursued. It was alright. He looked younger than her-- but much more aged, he'd been through a lot of stress, it seemed. But there was no doubting it, it was him. And apparently he'd made quite a name quite a name for himself since her time out of the States. This worried Clementine.
Ravi fucking Callum? HERE?
This was bad, right? The fact that her head was more pumping migraine than booze buzzing right now told her 'yes.' He didn't seem to want to be here, that was a good thing. But still, even Coalfell's bullshit barrier could only keep out the press for so long, and then it was only a matter of time before super fans were here, then next thing you knew the fucking pigs were here. She had it on good authority that they didn't have her picture-- but they did have description. She was practically a sitting a sitting duck! Beginning to approach the pair, she considered her options.
The most direct plan was just killing him. Might not be the cleanest option, given her 'methods,' but it would definitely get rid of him attracting anyone for the moment... Or would it? There seemed to be more new people coming into this shithole excuse for a town by the second. They weren't as desensitized to and weird as Coalfellites, they'd definitely try to to report the death-- death by explosion-- to the pigs-- and even if she could manage to kill them all, he definitely had his phone on him, and if he was that big of a deal probably had a car with a tracker in it. So people already knew where he was. If he just stopped here forever people would come looking eventually no matter what.
So, the better plan, it seemed, was the more tedious one. Helping him fix his car. Like she had said before-- Clementine was no classically trained engineer, but she respected it as an art form, as she did many things, and paid attention whenever instructed in it's intricacies. Usually. If it wasn't being taught to her by a woman. Luckily that wasn't often!
By the time she was closer to the pair, she managed to catch the pretty brown woman with nice hair, Kejirah's name as she introduced herself to Ravi. "Hey, is that your friend? She's cute. Is she single?...No, I shouldn't ask that, that's kinda rude...though I am curious." Kejirah said, prompting Clementine's curiosity, she followed her eye's over to where the woman in question-- another young woman that could have been some flavor of celebrity. It made her feel... really...
MotheRFUCKER SHIT SUCKING CUNT PISSING DICK EATING SHIT SMEARING FUCK FUCK DAMN FUCK ASS PISS COCK FUCKSHITCOCKWHOREFUCKFUCKFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU
U
C
K
Got that out of your system?Yes...
Good.
Turning her attention away from the humming brunette, she focused again on Kejirah and Ravi. Deciding she'd just pretend she hadn't gathered what she had, and that she didn't know what she did-- she injected herself into their conversation. "Hey, you, looking for the place to stay...?" Clem considered addressing her as Kejirah, but she felt that would've been giving away too much of her eavesdropping. So she opted for the option of just, being in her field of vision, looking up at her, speaking directly to her. "It's pretty shit-- the AC's only barely work sometimes because I've spent the past couple months fixing them in the empty rooms when I can, the entire place smells like mildew, cum, and dead bodies--" She rolled her eye under the shade of her hat, "Don't ask." She sighed, "But it's got beds, that pass for beds, carpets that aren't too sticky, TV that sometimes isn't static-- the staff and other people there will talk to you about anything random except the fact that it's a motel, and the vending machines will always be randomly full. It's definitely a place you can... exist." She paused for a moment, glancing over to Ravi, "I caught your name-- Ravi, right? I'm a assuming you're a friend of hers?" She lied, putting on a convincing polite smile to convey that she didn't know Ravi's true identity, "If you both need a place to stay I can definitely lead you there, it's a little out of the way... and poorly advertised... and good luck getting one of these racist ass natives to talk to you about something that isn't completely batshit." Turning back to Kejirah, she added, "And maybe I can get your name!"
Location: Stockbridge Academy, Teacher’s Lounge
Date: 3/6/19
With: Everyone
Colmillo supposed being a slacker sometimes had its perks.
The lesson in Ms. Stevens' English class had been about... halfway through? She wasn't really sure, actually. Whatever book the class was discussing didn't particularly interest her, so she'd been sleeping in the back. This wasn't irregular for the girl-- Ms. Stevens' class was probably her favorite of this year, in fact-- but, books were long and boring, there were better ways to convey ideas and feelings to people. And Ms. Stevens, to her credit, was aware of this attitude-- she actually let Colmillo sleep through lessons like this undisturbed. Colmillo wasn't sure why; the woman was always encouraging whenever she lit up during certain lessons though, outside of class proper she'd tried to get her to see the guidance counselor, and was always allowing her extra time for assignments and giving her extra credit assignments that she seemed to just know would interest her-- all so she could at least maintain her 'C.' So it definitely wasn't that she just didn't care-- quite the opposite in fact. Most other teachers Colmillo had would just violently jolt her awake, yelling something they thought clever at her, often provoking some kind of response from the rest of the class. Ms. Stevens was just, really nice and sweet.
Colmillo hoped she was still alive.
So, the announcement had been made at some point during her nap and Colmillo didn't catch any of it. By the time the girl was being gently nudged awake by her teacher, the classroom was already completely empty-- everyone already well on their way to the auditorium. Ms. Stevens slowly explained, as Colmillo roused, what was happening-- a disease, or an outbreak, everyone needed to head to the auditorium-- the woman let Colmillo process things on her own time. When Colmillo asked why you'd want to gather everyone in such close proximity if the sickness or whatever was really such a big threat, Ms. Stevens let out a light chuckle. She was pretty when she laughed-- well, prettier, Colmillo supposed. The woman quickly added that they'd walk to the auditorium together, so Colmillo gathered her things and off the pair went.
Of course Colmillo would be late to something like this, Ms. Stevens joked, she'd probably be late to her own funeral if she could!
By the time they got there, pretty much every seat was taken, the principal or whoever was already speaking about... something. Cliques and friend groups were clustered together, with underclassmen getting a lot of the more undesirable real estate up front. Seats not taken by students seemed to filled in by some of the older faculty members. Silence swept over the crowd. Colmillo had scanned the room, hoping she could just hide behind Gerald and Ashley until this was over-- but Ms. Stevens put a protective arm around the girl's shoulder as the speaking continued, Colmillo's eyes went wide, but she didn't let herself shake under the terrible sensation of being touched by another person. Colmillo wasn't paying terribly close attention, but it really seemed to spook Ms. Stevens. Colmillo figured the woman needed someone to hold onto, or maybe just feel like she was protecting something-- if her being there could help the woman in some way, she'd certainly stand and be held. So, the two stayed in the back, close to where they had come in from.
Colmillo really hoped that woman was still alive. She'd saved her worthless life.
Days later-- after spending most of her time talking with, or really mostly listening, to Ms. Stevens-- the yell came. Colmillo had been napping at the time, it was pretty easy for her to fall asleep anywhere, but she hated yelling-- and quickly one panicked scream led to another. Soon enough people were standing, tripping over each other each other to get away from groans that grew louder by the second. Colmillo, expressionless, looked up at the terrified face her teacher wore, the woman who had stayed by her side, watching over her as she slept for days-- she'd mentioned to Colmillo in the lead up to this that she had a bad feeling, that they needed to be ready. Something bad was definitely happening and as Colmillo processed her teacher's prophecy finally coming to fruition, her heart began to rise in her throat, warming her body-- she needed to do something, but she didn't know what.
She spent time enough looking over the crowd for her step-siblings that students got wise and began to escape through whatever means they could. Ms. Stevens snapped out of her shock, clasping Colmillo's hands in hers, she turned the girl away from the crowd and looked into her eyes-- she told the sophomore to leave through the door they came in through before it became too clogged with other students with the same idea, to find somewhere quiet and hide. Before Colmillo could protest, that she had to get her step-siblings out of this mess-- an angry hand appeared from the crowd, gripping her braid, undoing her mother's handiwork from the days before with undead fury. Ms. Stevens, acting on instinct and adrenaline, kicked the zombified student away from the girl and practically threw her out the door, into the hallway. As far as she could tell-- she was one of the first out, in this particular hallway at least-- as she gazed back Ms. Stevens told her she'd stay behind and help some others get out, but that she'd find her later. Her last words to Colmillo were to 'run like hell.'
Colmillo definitely walked away from the mess with a bit of a pep in her step.
She wandered the halls like this for a time, second? minutes? Her thoughts began to race, as they often did when... well, anything happened. She knew she needed to do something, hide, but she couldn't figure out where. People quickly began pooling into the halls behind her, running away from the... zombies. They were fucking zombies. She'd been trying to kill herself for years, and this was what was going to get her? How stupid. Appropriate perhaps, for a girl as stupid as her. Lost in her thoughts, she was pushed and fell to the floor as people ran past, screaming, not sure of what to do. Students around her were acting on what mostly seemed like adrenaline. Making it easy to run, but harder to think things through. Colmillo wasn't sure she had adrenaline-- even before she had started seeing dead bodies every time she closed her eyes-- it felt like a reflex she was just born without. Usually when something bad happened she just froze and tried to think of a way to smooth things over. But there didn't seem to be any smoothing this over, she thought as she began to crawl, not then-- not for everyone having to suffer through this. She just wanted to help, if she had a quiet place to hide she could think this through...
Looking up, the downcast girl noticed the knob of the teacher's lounge, door slightly ajar.
Huh.
And she was alive-- mostly-- due to sleeping in class and a sweet teacher who had kept her close. She watched silently as people came in-- all school mates she didn't recognize, save for maybe a face or two? She knew they didn't recognize her, though it seemed after what they'd seen in the auditorium most of them couldn't recognize anything, so many were trembling. Still, they were a proactive bunch, once the room reached max capacity, they began to barricade the doors. A student even took the chair she'd been sitting in to barricade against the door. She'd slumped against the wall after that, eventually falling to the floor, sitting with her legs crossed as her new companions worked, or panicked.
Then they waited.
As they did, Colmillo rested her head against her hand and occasionally got a look at the people around her, when she wasn't gazing at the ground. She probably looked bored-- she wasn't. While she didn't quite feel adrenaline, she did feel fear. A lot of it. All the time. Every day. Every second for the past half decade. When she glanced up, seeing the tears and shakes and desperate attempts to make calls, she could tell they were feeling it too. She wanted to comfort some of them, to tell them that they'd get used to this feeling, that if they all kept calm they could figure something out. Even as she thought it, it kind of felt like a lie-- it was entirely possible that they were all going to die here. They were, technically, in a worse situation than the auditorium after all-- they were packed in an even smaller room, they didn't know how the sickness worked, so if anyone had it-- they'd just die in here even faster than the carnage she'd barely gotten to witness. She kept this to herself, it definitely wouldn't help anyone to hear that, and if she'd figured it out then all of them definitely had.
She wondered if her family was okay? Colmillo figured they were definitely fine. After all, if her dumb ass could last this long, then they were invincible. Still, Gerald and Ashley gnawed at her... And Osiris was...
Someone spoke, breaking the long silence. Plan? Colmillo glanced briefly at the woman, not recognizing her at all. She blushed as she looked back down. A plan would be nice, it really would. But what did they have to work with? WiFi was down, so there was no hope of getting any news, their phones didn't seem to work in this room for some reason. So they couldn't gather anything about this illness, how to cure it, how it spread-- aside from the obvious way. So what information did they have to build a plan off of? The zombies seemed to have short enough attention spans, they left the lounge alone after a few minutes of silence, and Colmillo had gathered they retained at least some of their senses-- when she was on the floor they could have easily gone for her, but they seemed to prefer louder targets. Her experience in the auditorium taught her they'd also go after still targets, even if they were relatively quiet compared to other targets. Move silently and quickly? That was something, but it wasn't really a plan. Everyone had probably already gathered that much, anyway.
A boy spoke up from the corner, one of the people she'd seen crying that she wanted to comfort in some way. He said that he had a car and immediately Colmillo's anxiety spiked. Was that really the best idea right now? She thought it sounded terrible, but remained silent. Adrenaline high teenagers who had recently experienced a traumatic event probably shouldn't be driving-- especially if this was going on everywhere? All those panicked drivers... Well, they couldn't know that this was happening anywhere outside of the school... but she felt they could reasonably assume something was going on outside of the school, she thought. Someone would have been sent for them otherwise-- in fact, there was no way everyone's parents would just accept that their sons and daughters would be spending several days in Stockbridge's auditorium.
Either they hadn't been informed and were having a hard time getting getting to the school to find out what was keeping their children, or they had and... what? Everyone's parents had just accepted it? None of them had tried to pick up their kids from school? The more she thought about it, the more she felt confident that something much worse was outside the school. It couldn't even fit all of them, anyway. And Colmillo knew that they should definitely stay together... the more people thinking on a way to get out of this together the better. But knowing that the main entrance was crowded was useful-- they'd need to move quickly and quietly to some side exit or something.
"We're fucked, aren't we?" He said. Colmillo looked back at the ground. Of course he'd figured this all out already. Everyone in the room probably knew all this. She was struggling just to catch up. Why was she even trying to help? They've already figured out all she had-- definitely even more-- nothing she could add to this conversation would be worth anything. She scolded herself internally.
Another girl spoke after the boy with the car, one who knew the first girl, apparently. "I don't want to stay here any longer than we have to, but how many of us have any idea on what the hell is going on, other than everyone turning into cannibal freaks?"
Zombies. She mentally corrected.
"None of us know what's waiting for us out there, Fitz."
Something bad enough to have kept away everyone's parents for the past few days, Colmillo thought. Fitz was the blonde's name, she noted.
The brunette girl continued to speak, "No matter what we decide on, we'll have to risk it, but, I don't know, shouldn't we at least take a moment to get our bearings and let people calm down before possibly rushing headfirst to our deaths?"
YES. Colmillo agreed with this girl. Everyone was still freshly traumatized, they would only be able think of so many things in their current state-- if they took some time to let themselves decompress, let their instincts that had driven them here die down so they can all use their brains again, they'd definitely be able to come up with a better plan. Colmillo, despite herself, almost voiced her support of the brunette's idea-- but she couldn't get a peep out before a much louder voice chimed in.
"Huh?!" Another girl-- pretty, Colmillo noted-- immediately voiced, loudly.
Loud noises. Ahh. Colmillo shrunk against the wall as she spoke, glancing nervously at the window above her to see if the zombies outside had heard her. Her eyes returned to the floor as the pretty girl explained her reasoning. They'd be 'sitting ducks' anywhere though, wouldn't they? If things outside were as bad as they were in the school, they at least knew they were safe from the outside threat in here. And there was running water-- that was really good, right? If they capitalized on that while it was still running and divided it nicely, they could last... a while in here, right? Colmillo wondered if there were any containers they could hold water in, in here...
Then a brunette boy spoke. Mentioning that he'd seen this before. Like Zombieism? Like, he'd seen it outside of fiction? Colmillo didn't really watch much TV besides a few cartoons, so she wasn't terribly informed on zombie media, but she knew enough to recognize that that's what these were. She didn't know that they happened in real life! She wondered if he had any more information-- like, if zombieism or whatever happened in other animals and it could be reversed, then maybe they could save some people? Colmillo shook her head internally. This kid might be smart-- but there definitely had to be other people who had tried to fix it. She was being stupid again.
“I don’t give a shit what the hell is going on.” Fitz said, practically shooting daggers at the brunette-- Kay.
Fitz seemed... kind of scary? No, that was unfair-- she was dealing with stress like everyone here. Colmillo was just worried about her way of handling it-- she seemed to be lashing out at Kay. And further still, how could she not care about what's going on? What's going on seemed like a pretty unpleasant death by zombie-- or people panicking. Colmillo knew well how dangerous panicked people could be. As much as she had fantasized about her own death, she didn't want to become something that would hurt other people. That sounded terrible! Staying here for as long as it took for the initial shock to subside and to take stock of what they had, like the boy mentioned, and come up with a surefire way to keep everyone safe once they did leave should be the plan. As long as it took.
Oh god... Colmillo had to say something, didn't she...?
She felt her stomach knot up as another person spoke up-- one of the two black boys who had made it out, he looked a fair bit older than the other. He mentioned something rather sensible, Colmillo wondered if he had medical training, since he was asking about injuries. He might have even been in the pre-med club. Maybe he knew Ashley? Or maybe he was just asking because he was worried someone might... become a zombie? Colmillo felt a little bruised from when she was knocked to the floor earlier, especially her left arm-- but she didn't want to waste his time with something a benign as that, she was fine.
She looked back to Fitz, who appeared to be calmer, as she placed the things she had on the table. Calm was good. People arguing usually didn't lead to anything productive, and definitely induced more anxiety in the girl. If Fitz could accept that they'd need to spend enough time here for everyone to at least somewhat process what was going on without an argument, that'd be for the best, she thought. For Colmillo's part, the tall, slender girl got up wordlessly, silently agreeing with the brown haired boy's suggestion and following Fitz's lead, placed her thermos on the table-- it may have been useful as a blunt object, she supposed? Though, she really hoped it didn't come to that, with people who could potentially be cured-- next to her thermos she dumped the entire contents of her messenger bag on the table without thinking-- this was a mistake.
Out fell more useless batteries and crumpled up pieces of paper than she cared to mention, most rolled uselessly onto the floor of the lounge. Great job! You've only made everything in here worse. The few things she had on her that weren't literal garbage weren't of much use either. A single composition notebook filled with her chicken scratch, a couple of pens and pencils chewed on to hell and back, a beat-up but still functional walkman disc player, one of the last things she had of her father, some CDs, still in their cases (Return to the 36 Chambers: The Dirty Version, The Steven Universe Movie Soundtrack, A Fleetwood Mac Compilation Album, The Adventure Time Soundtrack, and The Mouse & The Mask), her earbuds, her phone (which she had turned off days ago, after a few failed attempts at calling her mother) and some chapstick. Looking at her pile of useless junk made her want to die, this only increased as she felt the weight of the glances of the others in the room bore into her like drills. For a moment, she seriously considered just snapping a CD in half and slitting her throat, then and there. But... she really liked those CDs, at least. And there was the whole question of 'if she died would she come back?' She didn't want to inconvenience anyone. Ugh.
Colmillo decided then and there that she'd just be mute around these people. At least they wouldn't bother her as much if they thought she was non-verbal, right? As she continued staring at her pile, she glanced over to Fitz's-- noting that there really wasn't much useful there either, just better organized than her own mess. This alleviated her stress a little-- but only a little. Colmillo also figured that their phones could still have some use, as her eyes flicked between her own and the blonde's. If the zombies were stupid-- and attracted to any noise... then they could maybe set off alarms on their phones? If they could leave the room without being seen, or maybe even just slide the phones down the hall...? And the phone with an alarm set was far enough away-- maybe it would draw some of them away? She narrowed her eyes at the phones, she knew she'd be willing to sacrifice hers for the experiment, she was never particularly attached to the thing, it was really just a device for calling her Mother and looking at memes. Turning slightly, she looked at the barrier the other students had made...
She couldn't just... start taking it down for the sake of some curiosity. She doubted she even had the strength to, and anyway...
With that, Colmillo let out a yawn. She wanted to go back to sleep, but she was up now. She figured may as well do something useful. So she moved over to the sink and began looking through the cabinets, and whatever other nooks or crannies the room held. Looking for anything useful or something that could hold water-- she was worried it could be turned off at any second. Apparently more worried about that than how many strange looks she was sure she was getting.
The lesson in Ms. Stevens' English class had been about... halfway through? She wasn't really sure, actually. Whatever book the class was discussing didn't particularly interest her, so she'd been sleeping in the back. This wasn't irregular for the girl-- Ms. Stevens' class was probably her favorite of this year, in fact-- but, books were long and boring, there were better ways to convey ideas and feelings to people. And Ms. Stevens, to her credit, was aware of this attitude-- she actually let Colmillo sleep through lessons like this undisturbed. Colmillo wasn't sure why; the woman was always encouraging whenever she lit up during certain lessons though, outside of class proper she'd tried to get her to see the guidance counselor, and was always allowing her extra time for assignments and giving her extra credit assignments that she seemed to just know would interest her-- all so she could at least maintain her 'C.' So it definitely wasn't that she just didn't care-- quite the opposite in fact. Most other teachers Colmillo had would just violently jolt her awake, yelling something they thought clever at her, often provoking some kind of response from the rest of the class. Ms. Stevens was just, really nice and sweet.
Colmillo hoped she was still alive.
So, the announcement had been made at some point during her nap and Colmillo didn't catch any of it. By the time the girl was being gently nudged awake by her teacher, the classroom was already completely empty-- everyone already well on their way to the auditorium. Ms. Stevens slowly explained, as Colmillo roused, what was happening-- a disease, or an outbreak, everyone needed to head to the auditorium-- the woman let Colmillo process things on her own time. When Colmillo asked why you'd want to gather everyone in such close proximity if the sickness or whatever was really such a big threat, Ms. Stevens let out a light chuckle. She was pretty when she laughed-- well, prettier, Colmillo supposed. The woman quickly added that they'd walk to the auditorium together, so Colmillo gathered her things and off the pair went.
Of course Colmillo would be late to something like this, Ms. Stevens joked, she'd probably be late to her own funeral if she could!
By the time they got there, pretty much every seat was taken, the principal or whoever was already speaking about... something. Cliques and friend groups were clustered together, with underclassmen getting a lot of the more undesirable real estate up front. Seats not taken by students seemed to filled in by some of the older faculty members. Silence swept over the crowd. Colmillo had scanned the room, hoping she could just hide behind Gerald and Ashley until this was over-- but Ms. Stevens put a protective arm around the girl's shoulder as the speaking continued, Colmillo's eyes went wide, but she didn't let herself shake under the terrible sensation of being touched by another person. Colmillo wasn't paying terribly close attention, but it really seemed to spook Ms. Stevens. Colmillo figured the woman needed someone to hold onto, or maybe just feel like she was protecting something-- if her being there could help the woman in some way, she'd certainly stand and be held. So, the two stayed in the back, close to where they had come in from.
Colmillo really hoped that woman was still alive. She'd saved her worthless life.
Days later-- after spending most of her time talking with, or really mostly listening, to Ms. Stevens-- the yell came. Colmillo had been napping at the time, it was pretty easy for her to fall asleep anywhere, but she hated yelling-- and quickly one panicked scream led to another. Soon enough people were standing, tripping over each other each other to get away from groans that grew louder by the second. Colmillo, expressionless, looked up at the terrified face her teacher wore, the woman who had stayed by her side, watching over her as she slept for days-- she'd mentioned to Colmillo in the lead up to this that she had a bad feeling, that they needed to be ready. Something bad was definitely happening and as Colmillo processed her teacher's prophecy finally coming to fruition, her heart began to rise in her throat, warming her body-- she needed to do something, but she didn't know what.
She spent time enough looking over the crowd for her step-siblings that students got wise and began to escape through whatever means they could. Ms. Stevens snapped out of her shock, clasping Colmillo's hands in hers, she turned the girl away from the crowd and looked into her eyes-- she told the sophomore to leave through the door they came in through before it became too clogged with other students with the same idea, to find somewhere quiet and hide. Before Colmillo could protest, that she had to get her step-siblings out of this mess-- an angry hand appeared from the crowd, gripping her braid, undoing her mother's handiwork from the days before with undead fury. Ms. Stevens, acting on instinct and adrenaline, kicked the zombified student away from the girl and practically threw her out the door, into the hallway. As far as she could tell-- she was one of the first out, in this particular hallway at least-- as she gazed back Ms. Stevens told her she'd stay behind and help some others get out, but that she'd find her later. Her last words to Colmillo were to 'run like hell.'
Colmillo definitely walked away from the mess with a bit of a pep in her step.
She wandered the halls like this for a time, second? minutes? Her thoughts began to race, as they often did when... well, anything happened. She knew she needed to do something, hide, but she couldn't figure out where. People quickly began pooling into the halls behind her, running away from the... zombies. They were fucking zombies. She'd been trying to kill herself for years, and this was what was going to get her? How stupid. Appropriate perhaps, for a girl as stupid as her. Lost in her thoughts, she was pushed and fell to the floor as people ran past, screaming, not sure of what to do. Students around her were acting on what mostly seemed like adrenaline. Making it easy to run, but harder to think things through. Colmillo wasn't sure she had adrenaline-- even before she had started seeing dead bodies every time she closed her eyes-- it felt like a reflex she was just born without. Usually when something bad happened she just froze and tried to think of a way to smooth things over. But there didn't seem to be any smoothing this over, she thought as she began to crawl, not then-- not for everyone having to suffer through this. She just wanted to help, if she had a quiet place to hide she could think this through...
Looking up, the downcast girl noticed the knob of the teacher's lounge, door slightly ajar.
Huh.
And she was alive-- mostly-- due to sleeping in class and a sweet teacher who had kept her close. She watched silently as people came in-- all school mates she didn't recognize, save for maybe a face or two? She knew they didn't recognize her, though it seemed after what they'd seen in the auditorium most of them couldn't recognize anything, so many were trembling. Still, they were a proactive bunch, once the room reached max capacity, they began to barricade the doors. A student even took the chair she'd been sitting in to barricade against the door. She'd slumped against the wall after that, eventually falling to the floor, sitting with her legs crossed as her new companions worked, or panicked.
Then they waited.
As they did, Colmillo rested her head against her hand and occasionally got a look at the people around her, when she wasn't gazing at the ground. She probably looked bored-- she wasn't. While she didn't quite feel adrenaline, she did feel fear. A lot of it. All the time. Every day. Every second for the past half decade. When she glanced up, seeing the tears and shakes and desperate attempts to make calls, she could tell they were feeling it too. She wanted to comfort some of them, to tell them that they'd get used to this feeling, that if they all kept calm they could figure something out. Even as she thought it, it kind of felt like a lie-- it was entirely possible that they were all going to die here. They were, technically, in a worse situation than the auditorium after all-- they were packed in an even smaller room, they didn't know how the sickness worked, so if anyone had it-- they'd just die in here even faster than the carnage she'd barely gotten to witness. She kept this to herself, it definitely wouldn't help anyone to hear that, and if she'd figured it out then all of them definitely had.
She wondered if her family was okay? Colmillo figured they were definitely fine. After all, if her dumb ass could last this long, then they were invincible. Still, Gerald and Ashley gnawed at her... And Osiris was...
Someone spoke, breaking the long silence. Plan? Colmillo glanced briefly at the woman, not recognizing her at all. She blushed as she looked back down. A plan would be nice, it really would. But what did they have to work with? WiFi was down, so there was no hope of getting any news, their phones didn't seem to work in this room for some reason. So they couldn't gather anything about this illness, how to cure it, how it spread-- aside from the obvious way. So what information did they have to build a plan off of? The zombies seemed to have short enough attention spans, they left the lounge alone after a few minutes of silence, and Colmillo had gathered they retained at least some of their senses-- when she was on the floor they could have easily gone for her, but they seemed to prefer louder targets. Her experience in the auditorium taught her they'd also go after still targets, even if they were relatively quiet compared to other targets. Move silently and quickly? That was something, but it wasn't really a plan. Everyone had probably already gathered that much, anyway.
A boy spoke up from the corner, one of the people she'd seen crying that she wanted to comfort in some way. He said that he had a car and immediately Colmillo's anxiety spiked. Was that really the best idea right now? She thought it sounded terrible, but remained silent. Adrenaline high teenagers who had recently experienced a traumatic event probably shouldn't be driving-- especially if this was going on everywhere? All those panicked drivers... Well, they couldn't know that this was happening anywhere outside of the school... but she felt they could reasonably assume something was going on outside of the school, she thought. Someone would have been sent for them otherwise-- in fact, there was no way everyone's parents would just accept that their sons and daughters would be spending several days in Stockbridge's auditorium.
Either they hadn't been informed and were having a hard time getting getting to the school to find out what was keeping their children, or they had and... what? Everyone's parents had just accepted it? None of them had tried to pick up their kids from school? The more she thought about it, the more she felt confident that something much worse was outside the school. It couldn't even fit all of them, anyway. And Colmillo knew that they should definitely stay together... the more people thinking on a way to get out of this together the better. But knowing that the main entrance was crowded was useful-- they'd need to move quickly and quietly to some side exit or something.
"We're fucked, aren't we?" He said. Colmillo looked back at the ground. Of course he'd figured this all out already. Everyone in the room probably knew all this. She was struggling just to catch up. Why was she even trying to help? They've already figured out all she had-- definitely even more-- nothing she could add to this conversation would be worth anything. She scolded herself internally.
Another girl spoke after the boy with the car, one who knew the first girl, apparently. "I don't want to stay here any longer than we have to, but how many of us have any idea on what the hell is going on, other than everyone turning into cannibal freaks?"
Zombies. She mentally corrected.
"None of us know what's waiting for us out there, Fitz."
Something bad enough to have kept away everyone's parents for the past few days, Colmillo thought. Fitz was the blonde's name, she noted.
The brunette girl continued to speak, "No matter what we decide on, we'll have to risk it, but, I don't know, shouldn't we at least take a moment to get our bearings and let people calm down before possibly rushing headfirst to our deaths?"
YES. Colmillo agreed with this girl. Everyone was still freshly traumatized, they would only be able think of so many things in their current state-- if they took some time to let themselves decompress, let their instincts that had driven them here die down so they can all use their brains again, they'd definitely be able to come up with a better plan. Colmillo, despite herself, almost voiced her support of the brunette's idea-- but she couldn't get a peep out before a much louder voice chimed in.
"Huh?!" Another girl-- pretty, Colmillo noted-- immediately voiced, loudly.
Loud noises. Ahh. Colmillo shrunk against the wall as she spoke, glancing nervously at the window above her to see if the zombies outside had heard her. Her eyes returned to the floor as the pretty girl explained her reasoning. They'd be 'sitting ducks' anywhere though, wouldn't they? If things outside were as bad as they were in the school, they at least knew they were safe from the outside threat in here. And there was running water-- that was really good, right? If they capitalized on that while it was still running and divided it nicely, they could last... a while in here, right? Colmillo wondered if there were any containers they could hold water in, in here...
Then a brunette boy spoke. Mentioning that he'd seen this before. Like Zombieism? Like, he'd seen it outside of fiction? Colmillo didn't really watch much TV besides a few cartoons, so she wasn't terribly informed on zombie media, but she knew enough to recognize that that's what these were. She didn't know that they happened in real life! She wondered if he had any more information-- like, if zombieism or whatever happened in other animals and it could be reversed, then maybe they could save some people? Colmillo shook her head internally. This kid might be smart-- but there definitely had to be other people who had tried to fix it. She was being stupid again.
“I don’t give a shit what the hell is going on.” Fitz said, practically shooting daggers at the brunette-- Kay.
Fitz seemed... kind of scary? No, that was unfair-- she was dealing with stress like everyone here. Colmillo was just worried about her way of handling it-- she seemed to be lashing out at Kay. And further still, how could she not care about what's going on? What's going on seemed like a pretty unpleasant death by zombie-- or people panicking. Colmillo knew well how dangerous panicked people could be. As much as she had fantasized about her own death, she didn't want to become something that would hurt other people. That sounded terrible! Staying here for as long as it took for the initial shock to subside and to take stock of what they had, like the boy mentioned, and come up with a surefire way to keep everyone safe once they did leave should be the plan. As long as it took.
Oh god... Colmillo had to say something, didn't she...?
She felt her stomach knot up as another person spoke up-- one of the two black boys who had made it out, he looked a fair bit older than the other. He mentioned something rather sensible, Colmillo wondered if he had medical training, since he was asking about injuries. He might have even been in the pre-med club. Maybe he knew Ashley? Or maybe he was just asking because he was worried someone might... become a zombie? Colmillo felt a little bruised from when she was knocked to the floor earlier, especially her left arm-- but she didn't want to waste his time with something a benign as that, she was fine.
She looked back to Fitz, who appeared to be calmer, as she placed the things she had on the table. Calm was good. People arguing usually didn't lead to anything productive, and definitely induced more anxiety in the girl. If Fitz could accept that they'd need to spend enough time here for everyone to at least somewhat process what was going on without an argument, that'd be for the best, she thought. For Colmillo's part, the tall, slender girl got up wordlessly, silently agreeing with the brown haired boy's suggestion and following Fitz's lead, placed her thermos on the table-- it may have been useful as a blunt object, she supposed? Though, she really hoped it didn't come to that, with people who could potentially be cured-- next to her thermos she dumped the entire contents of her messenger bag on the table without thinking-- this was a mistake.
Out fell more useless batteries and crumpled up pieces of paper than she cared to mention, most rolled uselessly onto the floor of the lounge. Great job! You've only made everything in here worse. The few things she had on her that weren't literal garbage weren't of much use either. A single composition notebook filled with her chicken scratch, a couple of pens and pencils chewed on to hell and back, a beat-up but still functional walkman disc player, one of the last things she had of her father, some CDs, still in their cases (Return to the 36 Chambers: The Dirty Version, The Steven Universe Movie Soundtrack, A Fleetwood Mac Compilation Album, The Adventure Time Soundtrack, and The Mouse & The Mask), her earbuds, her phone (which she had turned off days ago, after a few failed attempts at calling her mother) and some chapstick. Looking at her pile of useless junk made her want to die, this only increased as she felt the weight of the glances of the others in the room bore into her like drills. For a moment, she seriously considered just snapping a CD in half and slitting her throat, then and there. But... she really liked those CDs, at least. And there was the whole question of 'if she died would she come back?' She didn't want to inconvenience anyone. Ugh.
Colmillo decided then and there that she'd just be mute around these people. At least they wouldn't bother her as much if they thought she was non-verbal, right? As she continued staring at her pile, she glanced over to Fitz's-- noting that there really wasn't much useful there either, just better organized than her own mess. This alleviated her stress a little-- but only a little. Colmillo also figured that their phones could still have some use, as her eyes flicked between her own and the blonde's. If the zombies were stupid-- and attracted to any noise... then they could maybe set off alarms on their phones? If they could leave the room without being seen, or maybe even just slide the phones down the hall...? And the phone with an alarm set was far enough away-- maybe it would draw some of them away? She narrowed her eyes at the phones, she knew she'd be willing to sacrifice hers for the experiment, she was never particularly attached to the thing, it was really just a device for calling her Mother and looking at memes. Turning slightly, she looked at the barrier the other students had made...
She couldn't just... start taking it down for the sake of some curiosity. She doubted she even had the strength to, and anyway...
It was a stupid idea.
With that, Colmillo let out a yawn. She wanted to go back to sleep, but she was up now. She figured may as well do something useful. So she moved over to the sink and began looking through the cabinets, and whatever other nooks or crannies the room held. Looking for anything useful or something that could hold water-- she was worried it could be turned off at any second. Apparently more worried about that than how many strange looks she was sure she was getting.
16 - Scorpio - Sophomore - 5'10" - FKA Twigs
You remember that Dorthy Parker poem? I wonder what she'd say about suicide by zombie...?
Appearance Details
tl;dr Colmillo has let her mother style her hair for her everyday for the past few years. Though, if given the chance she keeps it simple and just wears her shoulder length curly hair down. The girl can easily be described as beautiful, and given her height, large, doe-like "so brown they're basically black" alluring and mysterious eyes, and near size 0 frame, she's properly seen as modelesque by some. She isn't without flaws though, she tends to slouch, her teeth are a bit yellowed from all the coffee she drinks, her nails are an overbitten mess due to anxiety, and she has scars up and down her arms and legs from repeated suicide attempts. As to what she wears — she likes black, anything Wu-Tang, Fleetwood Mac or band related has a place in her wardrobe. She prefers oversized black hoodies, and jeans that aren't too tight, you know? Maybe even a little baggy. For shoes she sticks with a reliable pair of black Timberlands, just like her Father used to wear. She is a New Yorker at heart.
Characterization
Dysthymic | Suicidal Ideations | Reclusive | Easily Distracted | Quickly Fatigued | Impossibly Calm | Very Patient | And... just a small bit Flirty...
tl;dr Colmillo had a poor, but loving family in New York. She was often bullied in school for being a bit behind due to her penchant for getting distracted and unique ways of solving problems. At the tender age of 12, after witnessing an act of Police brutality that shattered her family, she developed severe clinical depression that has yet to be treated by a professional. This would only increase the bullying she endured, however her patience would allow her to endure it, suffering in silence, as it were. Her family somehow managed until she was 15, when her mother moved in with a somewhat wealthy man in Michigan, where she was enrolled in Stockbridge Academy. The bullying is less severe here, as she has learned to better stay hidden. She doesn't have any friends, but two fairly popular step-siblings who go here and invite her to eat lunch with them when she can.
Colmillo is an obviously depressed girl, who has a hidden inner well of deep compassion. She despises violence of all forms and would rather sacrifice herself in some way than have even someone's voice be raised at another. Unfortunately, she typically lacks the resolve to fully see such acts of self-sacrifice though, as she is very self-conscious and tends to overthink things. She rarely smiles, and when she does, it's usually for the sake of others. She's insecure about a lot of aspects of her body and her personality in general. Often feeling she is an "empty" person. She has very little interests besides sleeping, and smoking pot while browsing the internet-- or otherwise completely wasting time. Timid and reserved describe her best, though she can be pushed to action. She has the patience of a saint and has a weakness for pretty women. She secretly wants to be more than what she is right now, but doesn't know to even begin to change.
Inventory
- A black messenger-bag containing: her phone, earbuds, an old school Walkman, 5 CDs, chapstick, used up batteries, a notable under-assortment of school supplies
- A thermos with still warm coffee
- A thermos with still warm coffee
Hey it's a Good Place reference!
*Rereading your CS and noticing all the typos you didn't fix*
Haha have fun without me guys.
Haha have fun without me guys.
MENTIONS: N/A
Literally Nowhere (The wilderness, about 50 miles north of Silvermist Academy and most forms of civilization)
40 hours ago
Afternoon
"Fucking fuck. Fucking by the god's rancid fucking shits-- fucking cunt piss whore fucking, shit smearing FUCK. HOLY FUCK, SET ON HIGH, GIVE ME A FUCKING BREAK. ♠"
A black-cloaked figure swore to herself, the mist that came from where the hood covered all semblance of a face the only indication that the rider was even alive. Could you not hear the constant stream of curses she was muttering, that is, each 'fuck' growing louder with each step the horse made. The thing this rider was on, however, gave not indications of frustration. It looked as strong as a workhorse and trotted proudly through the snow as if it were an accomplished race horse, perhaps it was the light rider, and nearly empty saddle bags that allowed the horse such vigor, despite the weather?
Regardless, with each trot came a loud crunch as the horse's weight met with the ground-- in that way it was much similar to it's rider, clearly not being bred for subtlety-- pulling back up whitened hooves and horseshoes that clung to the animal didn't seem to phase it as it walked along, breathing from it's nose occasionally, creating a plume of mist. It was a sickly-chlorine color in an odd juxtaposition to it's obvious strength, with spots of brown scattered around it's neck and rear, it's mane was black and brown, as was it's tail-- and were in dire need of a trimming, it's tail dragging along the ground behind the pair as they made their way through the English wilderness. Around the pair, for now, at least, was a rather desolate sight-- endless white on the ground before them, and trees who knew all too well what to do in an English winter.
Like sickly brown hands, drowning in some white, endless abyss, even worse than the darkness above-- reaching for a sun that had long abandoned them all in favor of clouds and cold. The rider, while a thinker in her own right, preferred to focus on subjects, the state of spirituality, the philosophies driving those who, for reasons she couldn't understand, lived the way they did in this world, and the psychology behind them. The rider didn't like being reminded of her place in it, with those thoughts came the inevitable dives into her past. She much preferred to focus on what could be, as opposed to what was. Predators didn't think back on their prey, where they grew up-- they lived in the present, making most of their moves based off of instinct and scents. For them, it's eat, sleep, fuck, and self-defense. Something so simple, you could just watch and place bets. She lay even closer to the horse than she was before, both for warmth, and for the kinship she felt with the animal. He may not have been wild, but he did what he did because the instincts for it had been bred into him. He wasn't human. He didn't have to constantly wonder 'Why? Why? Why?'
The rider's cloak dragged along the snowy ground as the lonesome pair made their way to their destination. The rider practically hugging the horse as she laid her chest fully against it's back. She fully a relatively full bosom press against his neck. That was a good thing. The negativity this cold was making her feel was drastically slowing her rate of residual energy loss. Perhaps even freezing it? She didn't smile to herself as she continued to curse the gods, continuing to think, despite wanting nothing less. She missed her home she had to admit to herself. She hated it, but denying the truth was for fools and leaders. She may have only been born in Egypt to parents from other lands, but she was a citizen of Cairo, a native, through and through. This land would never be hers.
She missed the heat, she missed the feeling of hot sand on her bare feet, and the joy one could feel from a simple breeze on a hot day. As much as she respected this horse, she missed camels even, fucking camels. But most of all, she missed the fighting-- the wars of the naive dynasties and foreigner invaders, and how those wars made the people around her feel-- she was always plump and well fed in Cairo. The people here, in this foreign land she found herself in, were miserable too, but the flavor wasn't the same. The fear didn't taste like om ali, the anger wasn't like honeyed figs, frustration wasn't kunafeh-esque. Sadness here was bland, like a soup with nothing in the broth, desperation was unseasoned, and lust? The rider did give a giggle in between curses at that-- she wasn't sure how these Europeans were so prominent at all! It was like they never wanted to fuck. And if they did, they repressed it to their Christian hell and back. All because of some church. The average Englishman's lust was as bland as a communion wafer. Perhaps if she killed those in power in their English and European churches, people's shame here may start to taste better?
She shook her head, fussing with the horses mane. Doubtful, and besides, it's not like monks or popes or what have you were fighters. They wouldn't be worth the blood spilled, like most of the cattle in this land.
Of course, there were all the exotic flavors of the Academy she could work with. She'd been there for some years now-- and while many mutants did come from this pale excuse of a continent, there was enough variety to keep every day interesting. Children, told by the world that they don't belong, trained mostly for combat, going through the emotional shifts that force one to become an adult? Many of her peers' angst gave the rider a fully international buffet-- it was just difficult to distinguish between the bland and the sweet. That black hunger that grew in side her told it didn't matter, that it kept her alive. But the human side of her wished she could get foreign sweetness on it's own. She smirked beneath her hood-- in more ways than one.
A part of her would always resent the Fates-- they had made it seem like Silvermist would be a gauntlet of difficult foes for her to best. And while she had found some challenge in this land, that was after years of ineffectual training. No one knew how her powers worked, no guidance was received on how better to consume misery, or prevent her luck from turning on her-- and so for years, she had lived as she did in Cairo, figuring things out on her own-- except this time in a completely foreign land, torn from the few people who's company she found enjoyable, and cold most of the time. Were it not for the prey she was finally allowed to hunt upon her 15th, she may have made an attempt on the Fates' lives by now. The rider shrugged under her cloak. Still might at some point, there were certainly students she wished to best, but couldn't because of their rules. By that logic, they must be strong enough to enforce them-- so certainly they'd make worthy opponents. Right?
The rider scowled. She'd never fought another mutant before-- skilled humans, sure-- but the darkness inside of her seemed to scream at her that fighting a mutant, a worthy mutant would be a whole other level. The darkness wanted her to grow, get stronger, change somehow. But how? She asked herself. She'd had this conversation with herself many times before, and always, there was never an answer to be found. Just that familiar hollow feeling her black insides left her with. She needed to keep training, she supposed-- keep getting stronger-- keep killing things that considered themselves strong until she could figure it out.
Speaking, metaphorically, of killing things. Was she nearly there? How long had she been riding now? The sun was no help-- but her guess was at least 10 hours since she had left that inn. The horse, strong as he was, would need to rest for the day soon. The rider adjusted herself to sit on the horse upright, the environment was still dead as she looked around. Easily fishing out the contract she was pursuing, along with a crudely drawn map of the region. She gazed at both, keeping them in front of her face-- she frowned as the horse continued to trot along, every now and then slowly moving out of the way of a barren tree.
"What the fuck does '2 days ride north' even mean, anyway?" She asked with a tilt of her head, pink hair peeking out beneath the hood as she did, "We have been going north, right? ♥" She leaned forward, asking the horse gently, receiving a snort from the animal in reply. "Hmmm..." here eyes still narrowed, she glanced from the map to the actual contract. Nothing of real use to her was on it, high danger, be prepared for a long trek, it was recommended as a multi-man job, no exact known location... whatever. The only part of the contract that mattered to her, was that these rebel knights were seeking to build up some sort of rebellion. Trained knights! And there were possibly more of them now, holed up somewhere up here-- her anticipation for the challenge filled her with such exquisite bloodlust that she had to stop herself from drooling!
Suddenly, a strong breeze picked up-- much stronger than the rider was prepared for-- both sheets of parchment went flying out of her gloved hand. She gazed expressionlessly as the two sheets seemed to fly forever into the sky, never to be seen again. As she slowly gazed forward again, she could make out a medium sized stone shack in the distance, seemingly attempting to be hidden by the snow, perhaps intentionally covered by the snow? It fit the description, that was probably it. How lucky! With a click of her teeth, the rider prompted the horse to pick up the pace toward the cabin.
A black-cloaked figure swore to herself, the mist that came from where the hood covered all semblance of a face the only indication that the rider was even alive. Could you not hear the constant stream of curses she was muttering, that is, each 'fuck' growing louder with each step the horse made. The thing this rider was on, however, gave not indications of frustration. It looked as strong as a workhorse and trotted proudly through the snow as if it were an accomplished race horse, perhaps it was the light rider, and nearly empty saddle bags that allowed the horse such vigor, despite the weather?
Regardless, with each trot came a loud crunch as the horse's weight met with the ground-- in that way it was much similar to it's rider, clearly not being bred for subtlety-- pulling back up whitened hooves and horseshoes that clung to the animal didn't seem to phase it as it walked along, breathing from it's nose occasionally, creating a plume of mist. It was a sickly-chlorine color in an odd juxtaposition to it's obvious strength, with spots of brown scattered around it's neck and rear, it's mane was black and brown, as was it's tail-- and were in dire need of a trimming, it's tail dragging along the ground behind the pair as they made their way through the English wilderness. Around the pair, for now, at least, was a rather desolate sight-- endless white on the ground before them, and trees who knew all too well what to do in an English winter.
Like sickly brown hands, drowning in some white, endless abyss, even worse than the darkness above-- reaching for a sun that had long abandoned them all in favor of clouds and cold. The rider, while a thinker in her own right, preferred to focus on subjects, the state of spirituality, the philosophies driving those who, for reasons she couldn't understand, lived the way they did in this world, and the psychology behind them. The rider didn't like being reminded of her place in it, with those thoughts came the inevitable dives into her past. She much preferred to focus on what could be, as opposed to what was. Predators didn't think back on their prey, where they grew up-- they lived in the present, making most of their moves based off of instinct and scents. For them, it's eat, sleep, fuck, and self-defense. Something so simple, you could just watch and place bets. She lay even closer to the horse than she was before, both for warmth, and for the kinship she felt with the animal. He may not have been wild, but he did what he did because the instincts for it had been bred into him. He wasn't human. He didn't have to constantly wonder 'Why? Why? Why?'
The rider's cloak dragged along the snowy ground as the lonesome pair made their way to their destination. The rider practically hugging the horse as she laid her chest fully against it's back. She fully a relatively full bosom press against his neck. That was a good thing. The negativity this cold was making her feel was drastically slowing her rate of residual energy loss. Perhaps even freezing it? She didn't smile to herself as she continued to curse the gods, continuing to think, despite wanting nothing less. She missed her home she had to admit to herself. She hated it, but denying the truth was for fools and leaders. She may have only been born in Egypt to parents from other lands, but she was a citizen of Cairo, a native, through and through. This land would never be hers.
She missed the heat, she missed the feeling of hot sand on her bare feet, and the joy one could feel from a simple breeze on a hot day. As much as she respected this horse, she missed camels even, fucking camels. But most of all, she missed the fighting-- the wars of the naive dynasties and foreigner invaders, and how those wars made the people around her feel-- she was always plump and well fed in Cairo. The people here, in this foreign land she found herself in, were miserable too, but the flavor wasn't the same. The fear didn't taste like om ali, the anger wasn't like honeyed figs, frustration wasn't kunafeh-esque. Sadness here was bland, like a soup with nothing in the broth, desperation was unseasoned, and lust? The rider did give a giggle in between curses at that-- she wasn't sure how these Europeans were so prominent at all! It was like they never wanted to fuck. And if they did, they repressed it to their Christian hell and back. All because of some church. The average Englishman's lust was as bland as a communion wafer. Perhaps if she killed those in power in their English and European churches, people's shame here may start to taste better?
She shook her head, fussing with the horses mane. Doubtful, and besides, it's not like monks or popes or what have you were fighters. They wouldn't be worth the blood spilled, like most of the cattle in this land.
Of course, there were all the exotic flavors of the Academy she could work with. She'd been there for some years now-- and while many mutants did come from this pale excuse of a continent, there was enough variety to keep every day interesting. Children, told by the world that they don't belong, trained mostly for combat, going through the emotional shifts that force one to become an adult? Many of her peers' angst gave the rider a fully international buffet-- it was just difficult to distinguish between the bland and the sweet. That black hunger that grew in side her told it didn't matter, that it kept her alive. But the human side of her wished she could get foreign sweetness on it's own. She smirked beneath her hood-- in more ways than one.
A part of her would always resent the Fates-- they had made it seem like Silvermist would be a gauntlet of difficult foes for her to best. And while she had found some challenge in this land, that was after years of ineffectual training. No one knew how her powers worked, no guidance was received on how better to consume misery, or prevent her luck from turning on her-- and so for years, she had lived as she did in Cairo, figuring things out on her own-- except this time in a completely foreign land, torn from the few people who's company she found enjoyable, and cold most of the time. Were it not for the prey she was finally allowed to hunt upon her 15th, she may have made an attempt on the Fates' lives by now. The rider shrugged under her cloak. Still might at some point, there were certainly students she wished to best, but couldn't because of their rules. By that logic, they must be strong enough to enforce them-- so certainly they'd make worthy opponents. Right?
The rider scowled. She'd never fought another mutant before-- skilled humans, sure-- but the darkness inside of her seemed to scream at her that fighting a mutant, a worthy mutant would be a whole other level. The darkness wanted her to grow, get stronger, change somehow. But how? She asked herself. She'd had this conversation with herself many times before, and always, there was never an answer to be found. Just that familiar hollow feeling her black insides left her with. She needed to keep training, she supposed-- keep getting stronger-- keep killing things that considered themselves strong until she could figure it out.
Speaking, metaphorically, of killing things. Was she nearly there? How long had she been riding now? The sun was no help-- but her guess was at least 10 hours since she had left that inn. The horse, strong as he was, would need to rest for the day soon. The rider adjusted herself to sit on the horse upright, the environment was still dead as she looked around. Easily fishing out the contract she was pursuing, along with a crudely drawn map of the region. She gazed at both, keeping them in front of her face-- she frowned as the horse continued to trot along, every now and then slowly moving out of the way of a barren tree.
"What the fuck does '2 days ride north' even mean, anyway?" She asked with a tilt of her head, pink hair peeking out beneath the hood as she did, "We have been going north, right? ♥" She leaned forward, asking the horse gently, receiving a snort from the animal in reply. "Hmmm..." here eyes still narrowed, she glanced from the map to the actual contract. Nothing of real use to her was on it, high danger, be prepared for a long trek, it was recommended as a multi-man job, no exact known location... whatever. The only part of the contract that mattered to her, was that these rebel knights were seeking to build up some sort of rebellion. Trained knights! And there were possibly more of them now, holed up somewhere up here-- her anticipation for the challenge filled her with such exquisite bloodlust that she had to stop herself from drooling!
Suddenly, a strong breeze picked up-- much stronger than the rider was prepared for-- both sheets of parchment went flying out of her gloved hand. She gazed expressionlessly as the two sheets seemed to fly forever into the sky, never to be seen again. As she slowly gazed forward again, she could make out a medium sized stone shack in the distance, seemingly attempting to be hidden by the snow, perhaps intentionally covered by the snow? It fit the description, that was probably it. How lucky! With a click of her teeth, the rider prompted the horse to pick up the pace toward the cabin.
Rebel Knights' Hideout
A bit over 38 hours ago
Late Afternoon/Early Evening
After tying up her ride to a tree a ways away from where conflict was certainly about to ensue, the pink haired woman began to approach the cabin, "So damn cold..." she shivered, gripping the corners of her heavy cloak, further burying herself in the thing. Her boots, which she resented being forced to wear by the weather made soft sounds as she walked. She'd certainly be seen before she was heard. As she slowly left the scarce cover of the skeletal brown trees and entered the clearing where the cabin was located, she got a better look at everything.
The one story cabin was simple from what she could make out, underneath the artificial camouflage of snow, uneven and made out of gray cobblestone, it was wide though, presumably wide enough to house the beginnings of a revolution. The door was wooden and looked about ready to fall off of it's hinges. A single stump with an axe lodged in the middle was about 15 feet away from the door of the cabin, all along the sides and back of the building was firewood, save for a gap where a cellar door was-- she assumed this was where they kept the food needed for this little operation. There was a single crude window on the front of the building, through which the pink haired woman could make out figures walking back and forth, drinking out of flagons, and generally making merry. Listening closely, she could hear laughter coming from inside. Otherwise, the trees surrounding the cabin created an almost perfect circle, 30 feet in diameter.
All of this was useful information, the more variables in play, the stronger she was. Though, ideally she could get out of this without destroying the cabin, since she and the horse would need a warm place to spend the night. She continued taking steps forward, more confident than cautious, until she was next to the woodcutting log and axe. Suddenly, a voice boomed, to the pink haired woman's surprise, a feminine one. "Alright. That's quite far enough!" The pink haired woman eyes scanned everything in sight looking for the oddity, the source of the voice. On top of the building a figure had popped out, a brunette woman with skin like ivory lay prone, snow on her head, crossbow in her hands, one eye closed as she aimed at the pink haired woman.
The pink haired woman shrugged but responded enthusiastically, "Okay! ♥" A polite smile crossed her lips as soon as she was able to make eye contact with the woman. The pink haired woman's mind raced-- so was this woman just who they had on guard duty? Or was she their leader? The tone of authority in her voice certainly suggested this-- but a human woman leading a group of former knights? That was certainly... something. She could have been one of their wives perhaps-- or maybe the rebels were recruiting and arming peasants and she just happened to be competent enough to be put in some position of importance, even just as a lookout. Still... Meanwhile, inside the cabin, the pink haired woman could hear the sounds of merriment come to a halt-- they must be getting suited up, ready to fight the new threat. That was good, an organized group of knights would be a real challenge! The pink haired woman had to struggle not to let her excitement show on her face as she gazed up at the sniper.
The sniper fell silent for what felt like a long time. A slight commotion could be heard inside as men struggled to get their armor on and ready their weapons. She's stalling, that much is obvious. She decided to let the sniper have her way-- the pink haired woman was curious to see if the men would rush out on their own, or if she'd be the one giving the command. So the two would stand in silence, if that was what she wanted. However, the pink haired woman did activate her ability, maintaining her polite smile, she closed, or rather nearly closed her eyes, while looking up at the woman-- curious what effects her luck might have on their armor, she focused, bringing forth her ability from her unconscious, keeping her eyes nearly closed to avoid drawing attention to them with the sickly pink glow they gave off when fully active. The pink haired woman was fairly sure the sniper hadn't gathered she was a mutant yet.
After some time, the sniper broke the silence. "Wh-who are you? Who sent you? What do you want here?" The sniper was unnerved, the pink haired woman could taste it, though, not enough to drop her aim.
"Surely you've put it together by now, you've been laying in wait for someone like me all this time, after all!" She shook her head, "Really! You must be freezing. I know I am." The pink haired woman shrugged, briefly opening up her cloak as she did, holding her hands in the air. In an exasperated tone she told the truth. "I'm a dog of King, sent here to kill you all. ♠"
The sniper let out a laugh, her nerves subsiding. This annoyed the pink haired woman, "Just you?"
"Just me! ♥"
"And how do you intend to do that all on your own...?" As she said this, the pink haired woman was already fully opening her glowing eyes and pulling back her hood, feeling the cool wind on her face (much to her annoyance), revealing her unnaturally pink hair and horns. This did unnerve the sniper a bit again. "Mutie scum..." she muttered, before continuing, "Even so, you're still just one pawn-- I have nearly 20 trained knights here!" The sniper lied, revealing more than she realized.
So she was their leader, the pink haired woman confirmed-- that was good to know, she'd need to keep her alive. Leaders tended to feel the most potent despair after an utter defeat. Especially ones like this, who actually believed in something, that they were doing something good. She had a few more suspicions to confirm. The sniper would probably reveal more if she could keep her talking-- which meant she'd need her to feel she had all the power in this exchange.
The pink haired woman was careful not to let the sniper know she knew she was lying, as she spoke "I am just a pawn..." She echoed, giving a sigh, "I'm obviously hopelessly outnumbered, and even with my pathetic powers I doubt I could even stop you from just shooting me here. How unfortunate." She gave a light pout.
The sniper's eyebrows furrowed at this. "Y- That's it? Then why did you even come all they way out here?"
"Well, why did you?"
"W--" The sniper stopped herself, took a breath, and gave a speech. One, it seemed to the pink haired woman, she'd never had the chance to use before, but had rehearsed many times in her head. "The King and Nobility have oppressed this land for far too long! Knights are seen as tools of war and are used by those in power to maintain a violent status quo over peasants who are too overworked and miserable to change anything themselves." The pink haired woman was well aware of the crimes and inequalities in this land, she didn't care, but she had eyes-- the real question was why did this woman care so much? "The Lords of this land live in a constant state of luxury and excess, while it's peasants, the farmers and smallfolk barely scrape by day to day--" She just gave it away. "-- either in a near constant state of squalor and terror in the cities, or enforced malnourishment in the countryside, due to the poaching laws, land regulations-- or, put simply-- government sanctioned criminals. The--"
Yeah, yeah, yeah. I've heard. Her thoughts interrupted the sniper as she continued to speak-- of course, that wasn't all she was. A few things had made the pink haired woman suspicious, but the word 'smallfolk' brought it all together. The woman was obviously educated, there could have been other explanations for that. Her use of the word 'pawn' was another big indicator-- as far as the pink haired woman knew, the poorer citizens of this land didn't play chess. However, what confirmed in was her use of the word 'smallfolk,' only someone raised in the nobility used that word. This woman wasn't some peasant revolutionary, she was a guilty noble! And the pink haired woman could feel the lady noble's guilt rising as she went on and on about the inequalities of the land, about the use of 'muties' to clean up the king's messes, how it was all a bandage to a solution he didn't want properly healed because he and the nobility actually benefited from a state of near-war in the land.
"Sure, sure. ♥" the pink haired woman interrupted... whatever the noble was saying, something about uniting the peasants and knights against the real enemy, with a gentle tone and a smile still on her face, "What I'm wondering is, why is a noble woman leading this little... rebellion?"
"How did y--"
"No, dear, it wasn't in my contract. You weren't mentioned anywhere at all. Just the 7 knights you defected with..." She was attempting to make this woman feel small, and by how she felt-- the anger welling up from within her, it was working, "I imagine your family has already disowned you. They probably want this done as quickly as possible, your treason erased from your family's memories-- I'm sure your brothers and sisters will forget you soon enough anyway." She crossed her arms, "You'll die here, with knights you used as tools before, and use as tools now... ♠" Her smile went even wider, "And those peasants, of course, won't be spared either-- you've led them into a slaughter. ♠" The pink haired woman was getting bored-- she knew what made her opponent tick, and she could feel despair beginning to overtake that. "And in it all, you'll be seen as nothing, just a guilty nobody-- a guilty failure, at that. You've only made the King richer by raiding some duke's carriages, contributing to the war you detest so much."
The noble woman's blood was boiling at this point, fire burned behind her eyes. she shifted underneath the snow to take better aim, taking her time to stand on the slippery roof as she aimed at the pink haired woman. Harsher winds began to whip around the two as the woman spoke. "I'll kill you!"
The pink haired woman had to focus on containing the growing warmth between her legs, "Oh don't look at me like that! She said, blushing a hot pink, "You're getting me distracted from the job. ♥"
As the woman fired, the cocked string snapped, snapping the bolt and sending it flying backwards-- directly into her eye. She let out a shrill howl that echoed into the dead woods as she fell backwards with all her weight against the uneven roof. She rolled off the cabin, landing first against the logs of firewood, then falling face first into the snow, where scarlet could be seen slowly pooling around the eye that had been shot. Like clockwork, the roof began to groan, the firewood fell in a messy pile on top of the noble woman, and a large man, a bit taller than the pink haired woman, covered in full plate armor kicked the door open responding as quickly as he could to the scream, now ready for battle. Men clamored behind him to fight whoever had harmed their leader, but only 3 more could exit before the cabin had had enough-- with a final groan, the ceiling collapsed, and the walls fell inward. Hard cobblestone clanged against armor, trapping-- or outright killing anyone still inside.
"Aww, gods be damned. Just my luck..." The pink haired woman muttered, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "Well where the fuck am I supposed to sleep now!" She asked the sky. As she returned her focus to the newly formed pile of rubble, and the 4 men before, her she eyed the cellar-- still probably not collapsed. "Ugh. ♠"
As the pink haired woman lamented her luck, the four men before her were torn between trying to save their comrades, and dealing with the black cloaked, pink haired threat before them. The men in chain mail recognized her after a moment, they were feeling fear, a bit scared to approach-- muttering between themselves that she might be the pink devil, the pink demon, the pink this, the pink that. It got old. You can't just put 'pink' in front of something and make it some terrible moniker.
The pink haired woman sighed, "Look sirs, those titles are all terrible. You should feel poorly about yourselves for subscribing to them. I'd rather you just call my by actual name, Im--"
The tall knight in full plate finally spoke up, "The Woe of the Sands..." He whispered softly.
"Oh! ♥" She snapped her fingers and pointed at the man (though, this was hard to manage with her leather gloves, "Not quite what I would have chosen, but points for creativity! I rather like that." She smiled politely at the man, "May I have your title, sir?"
"Nay. We chose to abandon our titles when we followed Lady Gwen--" He stopped, forcing himself to call her by just her name, as she had instructed them to, "Gwendolyn's crusade. And a plague like you isn't worth our names. You may call me, your death if you wish, woeful one." With this final comment, the man drew his large greatsword. The two average looking men in chain mail beside him drew short swords and shields and flanked both his sides. The fourth man was a bit smaller than the other three, drew two daggers, and got low to the ground, taking up the rear. It looked like these men had abandoned chivalry-- and were going to fight her all at once. A M A Z I N G!
Lady Gwendolyn, so that was her name, she looked briefly over to the pile of log wood, before returning her attention to the knights. "As you wish, Sir Death! ♥" She clapped her hands together giddily in excitement for the upcoming struggle. "If you hurry and kill me, you might be able to save her before she freezes!" Her small smile went menacingly wide, giggling as she spoke, "You won't though! Kill me, that is. I'm pretty fucking strong! I give you less than 5 minutes. ♠"
The 4 approached where the pink haired Woe of the Sands stood-- where she had been standing since she first began moving-- fast. They had gotten used to fighting together for... however long they'd been doing this. The pink haired Woe made no effort to move as death approached, instead letting her body go limp as the winds whipped around her. As the large knight went for a horizontal slash, attempting to decapitate the woman, she found herself pushed by a particularly strong gale to the left, which ended with her tripping over the woodcutting log she'd been and loosening the axe that had been lodged inside of it. The large knight shifted his weight, and brought down his sword on the pink haired woe just as she sat up, rubbing her rear from the mild pain of the trip, still giggling. Unfortunately the man to his right, had made a lunge toward the woman with his short sword, tripping on a rock hidden in the snow-- he landed right in the path of the powerful vertical slash-- chain mail only did so much against something that was 6 feet long, five inches thick, and generally more of a slab of steel than a sword, coming down with the force of pure muscle and gravity. His head rolled several feet away, his torso staining the snow next to the stump a deep crimson red.
One down.
The large knight was paralyzed by what he had done. He had just murdered this man-- his comrade-- his friend. Battle wasn't supposed to go like this. The other man with a sword and shield let out a scream and charged the laughing pink haired plague of a woman-- she wasn't even really doing anything, but it was like something was fueling her. When the first man had lunged, his trip had instead bashed her with his shield, sending her rolling away several feet as she let her body move with the force, she stood slowly and began to dust the snow off of her cloak. "That man had a family, you demon pink haired cunt!" The second chain mail knight yelled as he prepared to slash her, having closed the distance-- her back still to him-- with as powerful a horizontal slash as he could muster.
"Had. ♠" She said coolly. Her back was still to him, but she turned her head, so that a single, scarred, glowing pink eye gazed directly at him-- or rather, into him.
"W-what?" His strike was halted by that single word. His sword trembled in his hands as it failed to follow through on the slash.
Turning toward him completely, she spoke with a smile, throwing in a laugh every so often, "Well you know... We had to make sure there were no loose ends..." She lied, continuing "Anyone we could identify as being connected to being part of your little 'group' had to be killed so there would be no further chance of a coup, or even any revenge killings." She patted him on the shoulder twice as she began to walk past him. The man dropped his sword and fell to his knees. His despair tasted like biscuits. Bland. Still, she needed as much of it as she could get right now, so she'd let her new cattle be until it became too unruly. Placing a hand to her breasts, she could feel them a bit smaller than they were an hour ago, she was loosing a little essence, a little muscle, the returns from these men's misery weren't as great as the demands of her luck.
The large knight was pulling his sword from the woodcutting log it had lodged itself in. He was still feeling great despair over decapitating his fellow knight, but he was steeling himself for an attack. The pink haired cunt decided she'd let him approach her when he was ready. As she wondered where the other guy, the sneaky one was-- she had a coughing fit, bowling over on her knees-- coming from one of the sicknesses slowly eating away at her, she was sure. However, as she fell to the snow, two hands holding knives sliced the air where her throat had just been. Looking up, she noticed just who she had been looking for! The sneaky man! Reacting quickly, he flipped both knives around in his hands, and brought them down on her, like the fangs of a cobra. Instinctively, she brought an arm up to protect her neck. Both daggers sunk deeply into her arm-- in fact they sunk all the way through! The tips dripping pink blood onto her, mere inches away from her eyes as the handles pressed hard against the top of her arm. She couldn't help but let out a loud moan of pleasure at the sheer pain of it.
She needed this. The pain. There was something beautiful about it. Her pupils practically became the shape of hearts as the man began attempting to pull out the daggers. Snapping back to the fight, in between moans of ecstasy, she quickly gathered that while this man was the fasted and sneakiest of the group, he wasn't the strongest. He struggled for more than a second to pull out both daggers, before giving up, and using both hands to remove one. Instead of attempting, then, to remove the other dagger lodged deeply in her arm. He went for another killing blow with just the one-- the pink haired cunt assumed he thought her moans were those of pain, instead of pleasure-- she quickly brought up her arm, blocking the strike to her neck with the broad side of the dagger sticking out of her arm. Her legs tingled as pain shot up her arm. More pink blood fell on the snow. The sneaky man quickly jumped back several feet-- for second she had thought she'd unnerved him. But then she heard loud, heavy steps crunching through the snow-- the large knight attempting a lower horizontal strike as he charged at her. Attempting to get up quickly, the pink haired cunt found herself getting wrapped up and tumbling around in her cloak. The man's attack completely missed her due to this.
The large knight had to work hard to bring himself to a full stop. Giving the pink haired woman enough time to slowly get up, brush the snow off her cloak (again), and pull the dagger out of her arm. Pink blood dripped down her leather glove, spilling more onto the snow. "You gentlemen really know how to treat a lady! ♥" The two, the large knight and the sneaky man-- were circling her like starved predators, hunting other predators, like an oversized lion and a one-clawed cheetah circling a pink genet. She felt hunger for her life from both of them-- neither of them were thinking-- they were acting on pure instinct. She could respect these two as more than cattle. For what felt like a long time, but was mere seconds, no one moved.
The large knight was the first to move, charging the pink haired genet. The breeze pushed her, but even if it hadn't, she could have dodged his blow-- bringing up her arm, she splashed all the blood she could from her arm into the small visor that hid the man's eyes. The man had planned this obvious attack to be a feint, of course-- he had planned on kicking her when she dodged-- but his vision suddenly being taken from him-- he hadn't accounted for. He overshot his kick and fell backward, hard, creating a thundering thud next to where the pink haired genet stood. The lion temporarily out of commission, she turned her attention to the cheetah. She held her dagger, in her off-- non stabbed hand, as if ready to throw it. Wordlessly she seemed to ask the man, Shall we compare our knife throwing? The man, flipping the knife in his hand, wordlessly agreed-- showing just the slightest ghost of a smile. She closed her eyes and threw.
The pink haired woman had never thrown a knife in her life.
When she opened them, the sneaky man lay on the ground-- apparently, two pieces of parchment had flown into his face right before he threw-- a crudely drawn map, and a contract for rebel knights. The dagger lodged between his eyes, affixed them there like nail to a painting. As the parchment soaked up blood, it dripped onto the snow, adding more crimson to the white desolation that the ground just became around here this time of year. His, for the record, had hit her square in the right horn-- even without his eyes he nearly got her. Nearly. With a bit of yanking back and forth, she managed to pull the thing out.
Now it was time to deal with the lion. He was still on the ground, it seemed his armor was a bit too cumbersome to allow him to get up with ease, clawing at his face-- or rather, his helmet-- desperately trying to get the thing off. The pink haired woman's smile softened, eyes becoming harsher, and dimmer, as she returned her luck to her subconscious-- she wouldn't need it for him, after all. Out with a whimper? Pathetic. Dropping the dagger in the snow, she went to pick up the axe, laying next to the headless man. Waiting for the large man to finally unclasp his helmet-- admittedly he was probably having such a hard time due to simple bad luck, that she'd lain upon him-- but it was still quite the pathetic display. He was blonde haired and blue eyed with a chiseled jaw and high cheek bones-- the perfect vision of a knight. The pink haired woman had never been particularly fond of people like him. When his helmet came off, the axe came down-- he was immediately greeted by another strike, and another, and another. This went on long enough for the pink of her blood, occasionally spurting from her arm, to mix with the crimson, pink matter, and skull chunks of his in the snow. She laughed with each strike.
She had predicted the battle would last less than five minutes, and if you counted the man who had simply given up, it hadn't even lasted two.
Sighing, and panting. She moved nearer to the man. He was resigning. No longer feeling the despair she needed to live. She'd figured she could use the man to keep her feed for at least some of the ride back, but she couldn't get full off of someone who had completely given up-- resignation became a lack of feeling. She figured she had better just get rid of him too. Sighing, she walked over to the man, whistling an old Arabic tune she'd heard as a child. The man was still there of course-- on his knees, in this cold ass snow somehow-- but he looked noticeably worse, as if he'd aged by a decade and hadn't gotten a wink of sleep for a day of it. He was completely despondent, he didn't react to the pink haired woman squatting in from of him at all, didn't notice the arm that she let go limp-- dripping bright pink blood, didn't blink as she took his sword-- still dropped at his side, inches away from his hands that didn't react to the coolness of snow. Aside from the ravages of his despair, he had a rather plain face. Kinda curly brown hair, brown eyes so dark they almost looked black in the dying light of the afternoon, completely unremarkable aside from his freckles, and even those kind of added to the 'averageness.'
They sat like that for a minute, him, expressionless, staring at the ground-- her, a faded smile trying to find life in his eyes. She tried snapping a few times with her gloved hand. Nothing. He seemed... gone. She was just going to kill the guy, and finish this job-- but then she got it in her to ask something. "Hey, do you believe in God?"
The man remained silent for a long time, and then, like a candle was lit, his eyes raised from the ground slowly. "I... Do I what?"
"God. You think He's real?" She tapped her fingers on the hilt of the sword-- his former sword--that she had drove into the ground to help steady her. "Christian God, specifically. The one all these Europeans are so crazy about. We can talk about the other ones later."
"I... think so?"
She shook her head, visibly displeased with the answer, "Faith is a leap, sir-- you either take it or you don't." She sighed, "Let me put it in terms you can understand-- as a knight, what good is thinking you killed your opponent? You either did or didn't-- if you only think you'll never know, and if you never know, it'll always come back to bite you in some way."
"I received blessings as a knight--"
"Lotta good that did you."
"-- I go to church every Sunday, I pray daily, I-I... I..."
The pink haired woman blew a raspberry, "You're not answering my question, dammit! Those things are traditions-- but they're not belief."
"I-I don't think I know..."
She tilted her head, "Know what?"
"Know... what belief is... or..." He spoke up a bit, pulling off his chain mail cowl, "I think I only believe in things that are... there."
"Like Lady Gwendolyn, or your family?"
He winced at this, but nodded quickly, before adding, "Why... why are we talking about all this?"
The woman shrugged, favoring the arm that hadn't been stabbed twice. "Bored." She yawned, "But you're a pretty boring guy, I was hoping talking to someone going through such a crisis of faith might be more interesting. But all you have faith in is something to lead you around. You're worse a dog, what spiritual insights are to be had from a creature robbed of all instincts?"
The man went silent again, eyes back on the snow.
"So," She stood, wince-moaning as she dusted her cloak off as best she could, despite the fact that a good portion was covered in her own blood. At least there wouldn't be any fucking snow. "I guess it's time to finish you off. Got a job and all that. ♠"
"W-wait."
"What?" She said with a forced smile, "You want last words or something? I don't really do that kind of thing, sir."
"You never told us your name..."
"Oh! ♥" Her eyes glittered, "You're so right, sir! I tried, but things got a bit crazy when I tried to!" She sighed, "I'm Josephine! I've always gone by Josie though! ♥ What about you? What's your name?"
"Adam..."
"Adam! And you don't believe in your Christian God?" She laughed, "That's just... Really ironic, sir!" As her giggling subsided, she tried her best to put on a sympathetic smile, she was sure this is how farmers felt when they put down an animal that could no longer produce, "Well, goodbye, Adam."
The man closed his eyes, looking down, seemingly accepting his fate. Pulling the sword from the ground with her remaining good hand, she held the tip just at the softest spot on his neck, a small bead of sanguine blood appeared. The two held this position for a long time. He finally spoke what would be his last words, "I hope you find your peace, Josephine."
"Hey, what if I told you something insane?" She leaned down to whisper into the man's ear. Almost as soon as she began to speak, his eyes exploded open, they seemed to be bigger than dinner plates. He felt an explosion of emotion all at once, some of which Josie could even consume-- but so much of it at once actually hurt. She wasn't sure that had ever happened before. The man tried to stand up, and the sword slide cleanly into his throat as he did-- beginning the process of drowning the man in his own blood. Josie was thankful for it, as he began to focus on the pain and loss. Soon he crumpled back down to his knees, and then on his side. He was crying-- almost enough tears to rival the amount of blood he was losing. Josie turned to leave him to it-- there was another source of her nourishment nearby, one that could last as a source of food for her during the trip back.
The one story cabin was simple from what she could make out, underneath the artificial camouflage of snow, uneven and made out of gray cobblestone, it was wide though, presumably wide enough to house the beginnings of a revolution. The door was wooden and looked about ready to fall off of it's hinges. A single stump with an axe lodged in the middle was about 15 feet away from the door of the cabin, all along the sides and back of the building was firewood, save for a gap where a cellar door was-- she assumed this was where they kept the food needed for this little operation. There was a single crude window on the front of the building, through which the pink haired woman could make out figures walking back and forth, drinking out of flagons, and generally making merry. Listening closely, she could hear laughter coming from inside. Otherwise, the trees surrounding the cabin created an almost perfect circle, 30 feet in diameter.
All of this was useful information, the more variables in play, the stronger she was. Though, ideally she could get out of this without destroying the cabin, since she and the horse would need a warm place to spend the night. She continued taking steps forward, more confident than cautious, until she was next to the woodcutting log and axe. Suddenly, a voice boomed, to the pink haired woman's surprise, a feminine one. "Alright. That's quite far enough!" The pink haired woman eyes scanned everything in sight looking for the oddity, the source of the voice. On top of the building a figure had popped out, a brunette woman with skin like ivory lay prone, snow on her head, crossbow in her hands, one eye closed as she aimed at the pink haired woman.
The pink haired woman shrugged but responded enthusiastically, "Okay! ♥" A polite smile crossed her lips as soon as she was able to make eye contact with the woman. The pink haired woman's mind raced-- so was this woman just who they had on guard duty? Or was she their leader? The tone of authority in her voice certainly suggested this-- but a human woman leading a group of former knights? That was certainly... something. She could have been one of their wives perhaps-- or maybe the rebels were recruiting and arming peasants and she just happened to be competent enough to be put in some position of importance, even just as a lookout. Still... Meanwhile, inside the cabin, the pink haired woman could hear the sounds of merriment come to a halt-- they must be getting suited up, ready to fight the new threat. That was good, an organized group of knights would be a real challenge! The pink haired woman had to struggle not to let her excitement show on her face as she gazed up at the sniper.
The sniper fell silent for what felt like a long time. A slight commotion could be heard inside as men struggled to get their armor on and ready their weapons. She's stalling, that much is obvious. She decided to let the sniper have her way-- the pink haired woman was curious to see if the men would rush out on their own, or if she'd be the one giving the command. So the two would stand in silence, if that was what she wanted. However, the pink haired woman did activate her ability, maintaining her polite smile, she closed, or rather nearly closed her eyes, while looking up at the woman-- curious what effects her luck might have on their armor, she focused, bringing forth her ability from her unconscious, keeping her eyes nearly closed to avoid drawing attention to them with the sickly pink glow they gave off when fully active. The pink haired woman was fairly sure the sniper hadn't gathered she was a mutant yet.
After some time, the sniper broke the silence. "Wh-who are you? Who sent you? What do you want here?" The sniper was unnerved, the pink haired woman could taste it, though, not enough to drop her aim.
"Surely you've put it together by now, you've been laying in wait for someone like me all this time, after all!" She shook her head, "Really! You must be freezing. I know I am." The pink haired woman shrugged, briefly opening up her cloak as she did, holding her hands in the air. In an exasperated tone she told the truth. "I'm a dog of King, sent here to kill you all. ♠"
The sniper let out a laugh, her nerves subsiding. This annoyed the pink haired woman, "Just you?"
"Just me! ♥"
"And how do you intend to do that all on your own...?" As she said this, the pink haired woman was already fully opening her glowing eyes and pulling back her hood, feeling the cool wind on her face (much to her annoyance), revealing her unnaturally pink hair and horns. This did unnerve the sniper a bit again. "Mutie scum..." she muttered, before continuing, "Even so, you're still just one pawn-- I have nearly 20 trained knights here!" The sniper lied, revealing more than she realized.
So she was their leader, the pink haired woman confirmed-- that was good to know, she'd need to keep her alive. Leaders tended to feel the most potent despair after an utter defeat. Especially ones like this, who actually believed in something, that they were doing something good. She had a few more suspicions to confirm. The sniper would probably reveal more if she could keep her talking-- which meant she'd need her to feel she had all the power in this exchange.
The pink haired woman was careful not to let the sniper know she knew she was lying, as she spoke "I am just a pawn..." She echoed, giving a sigh, "I'm obviously hopelessly outnumbered, and even with my pathetic powers I doubt I could even stop you from just shooting me here. How unfortunate." She gave a light pout.
The sniper's eyebrows furrowed at this. "Y- That's it? Then why did you even come all they way out here?"
"Well, why did you?"
"W--" The sniper stopped herself, took a breath, and gave a speech. One, it seemed to the pink haired woman, she'd never had the chance to use before, but had rehearsed many times in her head. "The King and Nobility have oppressed this land for far too long! Knights are seen as tools of war and are used by those in power to maintain a violent status quo over peasants who are too overworked and miserable to change anything themselves." The pink haired woman was well aware of the crimes and inequalities in this land, she didn't care, but she had eyes-- the real question was why did this woman care so much? "The Lords of this land live in a constant state of luxury and excess, while it's peasants, the farmers and smallfolk barely scrape by day to day--" She just gave it away. "-- either in a near constant state of squalor and terror in the cities, or enforced malnourishment in the countryside, due to the poaching laws, land regulations-- or, put simply-- government sanctioned criminals. The--"
Yeah, yeah, yeah. I've heard. Her thoughts interrupted the sniper as she continued to speak-- of course, that wasn't all she was. A few things had made the pink haired woman suspicious, but the word 'smallfolk' brought it all together. The woman was obviously educated, there could have been other explanations for that. Her use of the word 'pawn' was another big indicator-- as far as the pink haired woman knew, the poorer citizens of this land didn't play chess. However, what confirmed in was her use of the word 'smallfolk,' only someone raised in the nobility used that word. This woman wasn't some peasant revolutionary, she was a guilty noble! And the pink haired woman could feel the lady noble's guilt rising as she went on and on about the inequalities of the land, about the use of 'muties' to clean up the king's messes, how it was all a bandage to a solution he didn't want properly healed because he and the nobility actually benefited from a state of near-war in the land.
"Sure, sure. ♥" the pink haired woman interrupted... whatever the noble was saying, something about uniting the peasants and knights against the real enemy, with a gentle tone and a smile still on her face, "What I'm wondering is, why is a noble woman leading this little... rebellion?"
"How did y--"
"No, dear, it wasn't in my contract. You weren't mentioned anywhere at all. Just the 7 knights you defected with..." She was attempting to make this woman feel small, and by how she felt-- the anger welling up from within her, it was working, "I imagine your family has already disowned you. They probably want this done as quickly as possible, your treason erased from your family's memories-- I'm sure your brothers and sisters will forget you soon enough anyway." She crossed her arms, "You'll die here, with knights you used as tools before, and use as tools now... ♠" Her smile went even wider, "And those peasants, of course, won't be spared either-- you've led them into a slaughter. ♠" The pink haired woman was getting bored-- she knew what made her opponent tick, and she could feel despair beginning to overtake that. "And in it all, you'll be seen as nothing, just a guilty nobody-- a guilty failure, at that. You've only made the King richer by raiding some duke's carriages, contributing to the war you detest so much."
The noble woman's blood was boiling at this point, fire burned behind her eyes. she shifted underneath the snow to take better aim, taking her time to stand on the slippery roof as she aimed at the pink haired woman. Harsher winds began to whip around the two as the woman spoke. "I'll kill you!"
The pink haired woman had to focus on containing the growing warmth between her legs, "Oh don't look at me like that! She said, blushing a hot pink, "You're getting me distracted from the job. ♥"
As the woman fired, the cocked string snapped, snapping the bolt and sending it flying backwards-- directly into her eye. She let out a shrill howl that echoed into the dead woods as she fell backwards with all her weight against the uneven roof. She rolled off the cabin, landing first against the logs of firewood, then falling face first into the snow, where scarlet could be seen slowly pooling around the eye that had been shot. Like clockwork, the roof began to groan, the firewood fell in a messy pile on top of the noble woman, and a large man, a bit taller than the pink haired woman, covered in full plate armor kicked the door open responding as quickly as he could to the scream, now ready for battle. Men clamored behind him to fight whoever had harmed their leader, but only 3 more could exit before the cabin had had enough-- with a final groan, the ceiling collapsed, and the walls fell inward. Hard cobblestone clanged against armor, trapping-- or outright killing anyone still inside.
"Aww, gods be damned. Just my luck..." The pink haired woman muttered, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "Well where the fuck am I supposed to sleep now!" She asked the sky. As she returned her focus to the newly formed pile of rubble, and the 4 men before, her she eyed the cellar-- still probably not collapsed. "Ugh. ♠"
As the pink haired woman lamented her luck, the four men before her were torn between trying to save their comrades, and dealing with the black cloaked, pink haired threat before them. The men in chain mail recognized her after a moment, they were feeling fear, a bit scared to approach-- muttering between themselves that she might be the pink devil, the pink demon, the pink this, the pink that. It got old. You can't just put 'pink' in front of something and make it some terrible moniker.
The pink haired woman sighed, "Look sirs, those titles are all terrible. You should feel poorly about yourselves for subscribing to them. I'd rather you just call my by actual name, Im--"
The tall knight in full plate finally spoke up, "The Woe of the Sands..." He whispered softly.
"Oh! ♥" She snapped her fingers and pointed at the man (though, this was hard to manage with her leather gloves, "Not quite what I would have chosen, but points for creativity! I rather like that." She smiled politely at the man, "May I have your title, sir?"
"Nay. We chose to abandon our titles when we followed Lady Gwen--" He stopped, forcing himself to call her by just her name, as she had instructed them to, "Gwendolyn's crusade. And a plague like you isn't worth our names. You may call me, your death if you wish, woeful one." With this final comment, the man drew his large greatsword. The two average looking men in chain mail beside him drew short swords and shields and flanked both his sides. The fourth man was a bit smaller than the other three, drew two daggers, and got low to the ground, taking up the rear. It looked like these men had abandoned chivalry-- and were going to fight her all at once. A M A Z I N G!
Lady Gwendolyn, so that was her name, she looked briefly over to the pile of log wood, before returning her attention to the knights. "As you wish, Sir Death! ♥" She clapped her hands together giddily in excitement for the upcoming struggle. "If you hurry and kill me, you might be able to save her before she freezes!" Her small smile went menacingly wide, giggling as she spoke, "You won't though! Kill me, that is. I'm pretty fucking strong! I give you less than 5 minutes. ♠"
The 4 approached where the pink haired Woe of the Sands stood-- where she had been standing since she first began moving-- fast. They had gotten used to fighting together for... however long they'd been doing this. The pink haired Woe made no effort to move as death approached, instead letting her body go limp as the winds whipped around her. As the large knight went for a horizontal slash, attempting to decapitate the woman, she found herself pushed by a particularly strong gale to the left, which ended with her tripping over the woodcutting log she'd been and loosening the axe that had been lodged inside of it. The large knight shifted his weight, and brought down his sword on the pink haired woe just as she sat up, rubbing her rear from the mild pain of the trip, still giggling. Unfortunately the man to his right, had made a lunge toward the woman with his short sword, tripping on a rock hidden in the snow-- he landed right in the path of the powerful vertical slash-- chain mail only did so much against something that was 6 feet long, five inches thick, and generally more of a slab of steel than a sword, coming down with the force of pure muscle and gravity. His head rolled several feet away, his torso staining the snow next to the stump a deep crimson red.
One down.
The large knight was paralyzed by what he had done. He had just murdered this man-- his comrade-- his friend. Battle wasn't supposed to go like this. The other man with a sword and shield let out a scream and charged the laughing pink haired plague of a woman-- she wasn't even really doing anything, but it was like something was fueling her. When the first man had lunged, his trip had instead bashed her with his shield, sending her rolling away several feet as she let her body move with the force, she stood slowly and began to dust the snow off of her cloak. "That man had a family, you demon pink haired cunt!" The second chain mail knight yelled as he prepared to slash her, having closed the distance-- her back still to him-- with as powerful a horizontal slash as he could muster.
"Had. ♠" She said coolly. Her back was still to him, but she turned her head, so that a single, scarred, glowing pink eye gazed directly at him-- or rather, into him.
"W-what?" His strike was halted by that single word. His sword trembled in his hands as it failed to follow through on the slash.
Turning toward him completely, she spoke with a smile, throwing in a laugh every so often, "Well you know... We had to make sure there were no loose ends..." She lied, continuing "Anyone we could identify as being connected to being part of your little 'group' had to be killed so there would be no further chance of a coup, or even any revenge killings." She patted him on the shoulder twice as she began to walk past him. The man dropped his sword and fell to his knees. His despair tasted like biscuits. Bland. Still, she needed as much of it as she could get right now, so she'd let her new cattle be until it became too unruly. Placing a hand to her breasts, she could feel them a bit smaller than they were an hour ago, she was loosing a little essence, a little muscle, the returns from these men's misery weren't as great as the demands of her luck.
The large knight was pulling his sword from the woodcutting log it had lodged itself in. He was still feeling great despair over decapitating his fellow knight, but he was steeling himself for an attack. The pink haired cunt decided she'd let him approach her when he was ready. As she wondered where the other guy, the sneaky one was-- she had a coughing fit, bowling over on her knees-- coming from one of the sicknesses slowly eating away at her, she was sure. However, as she fell to the snow, two hands holding knives sliced the air where her throat had just been. Looking up, she noticed just who she had been looking for! The sneaky man! Reacting quickly, he flipped both knives around in his hands, and brought them down on her, like the fangs of a cobra. Instinctively, she brought an arm up to protect her neck. Both daggers sunk deeply into her arm-- in fact they sunk all the way through! The tips dripping pink blood onto her, mere inches away from her eyes as the handles pressed hard against the top of her arm. She couldn't help but let out a loud moan of pleasure at the sheer pain of it.
She needed this. The pain. There was something beautiful about it. Her pupils practically became the shape of hearts as the man began attempting to pull out the daggers. Snapping back to the fight, in between moans of ecstasy, she quickly gathered that while this man was the fasted and sneakiest of the group, he wasn't the strongest. He struggled for more than a second to pull out both daggers, before giving up, and using both hands to remove one. Instead of attempting, then, to remove the other dagger lodged deeply in her arm. He went for another killing blow with just the one-- the pink haired cunt assumed he thought her moans were those of pain, instead of pleasure-- she quickly brought up her arm, blocking the strike to her neck with the broad side of the dagger sticking out of her arm. Her legs tingled as pain shot up her arm. More pink blood fell on the snow. The sneaky man quickly jumped back several feet-- for second she had thought she'd unnerved him. But then she heard loud, heavy steps crunching through the snow-- the large knight attempting a lower horizontal strike as he charged at her. Attempting to get up quickly, the pink haired cunt found herself getting wrapped up and tumbling around in her cloak. The man's attack completely missed her due to this.
The large knight had to work hard to bring himself to a full stop. Giving the pink haired woman enough time to slowly get up, brush the snow off her cloak (again), and pull the dagger out of her arm. Pink blood dripped down her leather glove, spilling more onto the snow. "You gentlemen really know how to treat a lady! ♥" The two, the large knight and the sneaky man-- were circling her like starved predators, hunting other predators, like an oversized lion and a one-clawed cheetah circling a pink genet. She felt hunger for her life from both of them-- neither of them were thinking-- they were acting on pure instinct. She could respect these two as more than cattle. For what felt like a long time, but was mere seconds, no one moved.
The large knight was the first to move, charging the pink haired genet. The breeze pushed her, but even if it hadn't, she could have dodged his blow-- bringing up her arm, she splashed all the blood she could from her arm into the small visor that hid the man's eyes. The man had planned this obvious attack to be a feint, of course-- he had planned on kicking her when she dodged-- but his vision suddenly being taken from him-- he hadn't accounted for. He overshot his kick and fell backward, hard, creating a thundering thud next to where the pink haired genet stood. The lion temporarily out of commission, she turned her attention to the cheetah. She held her dagger, in her off-- non stabbed hand, as if ready to throw it. Wordlessly she seemed to ask the man, Shall we compare our knife throwing? The man, flipping the knife in his hand, wordlessly agreed-- showing just the slightest ghost of a smile. She closed her eyes and threw.
The pink haired woman had never thrown a knife in her life.
When she opened them, the sneaky man lay on the ground-- apparently, two pieces of parchment had flown into his face right before he threw-- a crudely drawn map, and a contract for rebel knights. The dagger lodged between his eyes, affixed them there like nail to a painting. As the parchment soaked up blood, it dripped onto the snow, adding more crimson to the white desolation that the ground just became around here this time of year. His, for the record, had hit her square in the right horn-- even without his eyes he nearly got her. Nearly. With a bit of yanking back and forth, she managed to pull the thing out.
Now it was time to deal with the lion. He was still on the ground, it seemed his armor was a bit too cumbersome to allow him to get up with ease, clawing at his face-- or rather, his helmet-- desperately trying to get the thing off. The pink haired woman's smile softened, eyes becoming harsher, and dimmer, as she returned her luck to her subconscious-- she wouldn't need it for him, after all. Out with a whimper? Pathetic. Dropping the dagger in the snow, she went to pick up the axe, laying next to the headless man. Waiting for the large man to finally unclasp his helmet-- admittedly he was probably having such a hard time due to simple bad luck, that she'd lain upon him-- but it was still quite the pathetic display. He was blonde haired and blue eyed with a chiseled jaw and high cheek bones-- the perfect vision of a knight. The pink haired woman had never been particularly fond of people like him. When his helmet came off, the axe came down-- he was immediately greeted by another strike, and another, and another. This went on long enough for the pink of her blood, occasionally spurting from her arm, to mix with the crimson, pink matter, and skull chunks of his in the snow. She laughed with each strike.
She had predicted the battle would last less than five minutes, and if you counted the man who had simply given up, it hadn't even lasted two.
Sighing, and panting. She moved nearer to the man. He was resigning. No longer feeling the despair she needed to live. She'd figured she could use the man to keep her feed for at least some of the ride back, but she couldn't get full off of someone who had completely given up-- resignation became a lack of feeling. She figured she had better just get rid of him too. Sighing, she walked over to the man, whistling an old Arabic tune she'd heard as a child. The man was still there of course-- on his knees, in this cold ass snow somehow-- but he looked noticeably worse, as if he'd aged by a decade and hadn't gotten a wink of sleep for a day of it. He was completely despondent, he didn't react to the pink haired woman squatting in from of him at all, didn't notice the arm that she let go limp-- dripping bright pink blood, didn't blink as she took his sword-- still dropped at his side, inches away from his hands that didn't react to the coolness of snow. Aside from the ravages of his despair, he had a rather plain face. Kinda curly brown hair, brown eyes so dark they almost looked black in the dying light of the afternoon, completely unremarkable aside from his freckles, and even those kind of added to the 'averageness.'
They sat like that for a minute, him, expressionless, staring at the ground-- her, a faded smile trying to find life in his eyes. She tried snapping a few times with her gloved hand. Nothing. He seemed... gone. She was just going to kill the guy, and finish this job-- but then she got it in her to ask something. "Hey, do you believe in God?"
The man remained silent for a long time, and then, like a candle was lit, his eyes raised from the ground slowly. "I... Do I what?"
"God. You think He's real?" She tapped her fingers on the hilt of the sword-- his former sword--that she had drove into the ground to help steady her. "Christian God, specifically. The one all these Europeans are so crazy about. We can talk about the other ones later."
"I... think so?"
She shook her head, visibly displeased with the answer, "Faith is a leap, sir-- you either take it or you don't." She sighed, "Let me put it in terms you can understand-- as a knight, what good is thinking you killed your opponent? You either did or didn't-- if you only think you'll never know, and if you never know, it'll always come back to bite you in some way."
"I received blessings as a knight--"
"Lotta good that did you."
"-- I go to church every Sunday, I pray daily, I-I... I..."
The pink haired woman blew a raspberry, "You're not answering my question, dammit! Those things are traditions-- but they're not belief."
"I-I don't think I know..."
She tilted her head, "Know what?"
"Know... what belief is... or..." He spoke up a bit, pulling off his chain mail cowl, "I think I only believe in things that are... there."
"Like Lady Gwendolyn, or your family?"
He winced at this, but nodded quickly, before adding, "Why... why are we talking about all this?"
The woman shrugged, favoring the arm that hadn't been stabbed twice. "Bored." She yawned, "But you're a pretty boring guy, I was hoping talking to someone going through such a crisis of faith might be more interesting. But all you have faith in is something to lead you around. You're worse a dog, what spiritual insights are to be had from a creature robbed of all instincts?"
The man went silent again, eyes back on the snow.
"So," She stood, wince-moaning as she dusted her cloak off as best she could, despite the fact that a good portion was covered in her own blood. At least there wouldn't be any fucking snow. "I guess it's time to finish you off. Got a job and all that. ♠"
"W-wait."
"What?" She said with a forced smile, "You want last words or something? I don't really do that kind of thing, sir."
"You never told us your name..."
"Oh! ♥" Her eyes glittered, "You're so right, sir! I tried, but things got a bit crazy when I tried to!" She sighed, "I'm Josephine! I've always gone by Josie though! ♥ What about you? What's your name?"
"Adam..."
"Adam! And you don't believe in your Christian God?" She laughed, "That's just... Really ironic, sir!" As her giggling subsided, she tried her best to put on a sympathetic smile, she was sure this is how farmers felt when they put down an animal that could no longer produce, "Well, goodbye, Adam."
The man closed his eyes, looking down, seemingly accepting his fate. Pulling the sword from the ground with her remaining good hand, she held the tip just at the softest spot on his neck, a small bead of sanguine blood appeared. The two held this position for a long time. He finally spoke what would be his last words, "I hope you find your peace, Josephine."
"Hey, what if I told you something insane?" She leaned down to whisper into the man's ear. Almost as soon as she began to speak, his eyes exploded open, they seemed to be bigger than dinner plates. He felt an explosion of emotion all at once, some of which Josie could even consume-- but so much of it at once actually hurt. She wasn't sure that had ever happened before. The man tried to stand up, and the sword slide cleanly into his throat as he did-- beginning the process of drowning the man in his own blood. Josie was thankful for it, as he began to focus on the pain and loss. Soon he crumpled back down to his knees, and then on his side. He was crying-- almost enough tears to rival the amount of blood he was losing. Josie turned to leave him to it-- there was another source of her nourishment nearby, one that could last as a source of food for her during the trip back.
Ruined Cabin Cellar
37 hours ago
Night
Pulling cut logs away from the pile was a pain with only one arm, but Josie had managed-- it took about an hour in her state-- but she'd managed. And she would continue to manage. She always did.
Especially now! Because now she had a steady supply of misery. The woman tied to the chair across from her in the mostly barren cellar was the failed revolutionary Lady Gwendolyn. The woman-- while being dragged by her hair by Josie across the snow as she retrieved her horse, made a fire for it, gave it all the meager vegetable matter she could find in these failed revolutionaries pathetic "stores", and just generally as she scavenged enough from the destroyed building above to make sleeping in this cold cellar some approximation of 'comfortable' for the night-- had muttered nothing but "I'll kill you." over and over again. Josie found it kind of romantic, actually.
But now that she was tied up? She'd simply resorted to glaring angrily at Josie with her eye and the occasional fit of crying. Josie to her credit-- actually took the time to read the full blood soaked contract and found that it would only be paid in full if Gwen was returned 'ALIVE.' Lucky that she'd gotten curious about that. As such, Josie had to take care to do what little she could to mend Gwendolyn's injuries. She'd yanked out the half of a bolt that took her eye-- that thing was definitely gone-- disinfected it as best she knew how. And done her best to set most of her broken bones. Which was a lot of them. She was no medical expert, nor did her powers have any real medical usage, aside from maybe luckily curing a disease one could naturally recover from, but she did what she could for the woman. The real trouble was the broken ribs. Josie had had her ribs broken before-- many times-- but she didn't have the abilities of the Academy here to fix them. At least they didn't seem to be piercing her lungs? As long as the ride over the next few days was smooth, she'd survive.
She'd be in immense pain, physically for at least a few months. Emotionally? Forever, maybe? Josie didn't care about all that though.
Josie herself was already feeling a bit better after the fight. She'd wrapped her arm tightly in some cloth after pouring the small bit of alcohol they had in this cellar on her wounds. She already found herself falling asleep-- she doubted she'd get many hours in these cold conditions, the nights were much colder than in the desert, but she had her cloak, now with blood mostly dried, and had made something of a coffin for herself out of the blankets and tunics she could scavenge from above. Her eyes felt heavy as she leaned against a pile of scrunched up tunics on the wall.
In the morning, there would be two riders.
Especially now! Because now she had a steady supply of misery. The woman tied to the chair across from her in the mostly barren cellar was the failed revolutionary Lady Gwendolyn. The woman-- while being dragged by her hair by Josie across the snow as she retrieved her horse, made a fire for it, gave it all the meager vegetable matter she could find in these failed revolutionaries pathetic "stores", and just generally as she scavenged enough from the destroyed building above to make sleeping in this cold cellar some approximation of 'comfortable' for the night-- had muttered nothing but "I'll kill you." over and over again. Josie found it kind of romantic, actually.
But now that she was tied up? She'd simply resorted to glaring angrily at Josie with her eye and the occasional fit of crying. Josie to her credit-- actually took the time to read the full blood soaked contract and found that it would only be paid in full if Gwen was returned 'ALIVE.' Lucky that she'd gotten curious about that. As such, Josie had to take care to do what little she could to mend Gwendolyn's injuries. She'd yanked out the half of a bolt that took her eye-- that thing was definitely gone-- disinfected it as best she knew how. And done her best to set most of her broken bones. Which was a lot of them. She was no medical expert, nor did her powers have any real medical usage, aside from maybe luckily curing a disease one could naturally recover from, but she did what she could for the woman. The real trouble was the broken ribs. Josie had had her ribs broken before-- many times-- but she didn't have the abilities of the Academy here to fix them. At least they didn't seem to be piercing her lungs? As long as the ride over the next few days was smooth, she'd survive.
She'd be in immense pain, physically for at least a few months. Emotionally? Forever, maybe? Josie didn't care about all that though.
Josie herself was already feeling a bit better after the fight. She'd wrapped her arm tightly in some cloth after pouring the small bit of alcohol they had in this cellar on her wounds. She already found herself falling asleep-- she doubted she'd get many hours in these cold conditions, the nights were much colder than in the desert, but she had her cloak, now with blood mostly dried, and had made something of a coffin for herself out of the blankets and tunics she could scavenge from above. Her eyes felt heavy as she leaned against a pile of scrunched up tunics on the wall.
In the morning, there would be two riders.
Silvermist Academy
Today
Noon/Afternoon
The pink haired-- cunt, demon, devil, plague, The Rider, The Woe of the Sands, the whatever was restless.
Josie laid in her bed, staring at the featureless ceiling. In 5 years, she hadn't ever taken the time to really decorate her room. The walls around her were spacious, but barren-- they felt like the holding cells of Cairo, but less warm. There was a simple wooden desk (where there often bandages, bloody or ready to be bloodied, and a simple box for her jewelry sat) an uncomfortable chair, and her bed. Admittedly more comfortable than the scraps she'd share with her siblings in Cairo, but something about it was missing-- being more comfortable didn't make it better. She remembered when she first arrived here-- she hated remembering things-- she would often spend nights sleeping under the bed, or in the corner with a sheet wrapped around her like a mummy. It was uncomfortable and hard, just like home. The hard was underappreciated-- why sleep in a huddle with your brothers and sisters when you can sleep alone in a bed? She felt too many people thought that, that the soft and comfortable thing was the best. If you spend enough time around soft things, you'll perish like an over-pampered dog in the jaws of real hunter when the hard thing happened. If you weren't getting stronger to best the bigger threat, then you were worthless. Her hunger had taught her that.
Her thoughts turned to Lady Gwendolyn. She had just gotten back, but she found herself thinking a lot about the woman. It took some time to determine what she was tasting from the woman on their ride, during their stay in that abandoned shack where the two had to huddle together beneath her cloak. The woman still wanted to kill her, Josie had a difficult time understanding why, but she respected it. The woman was physically very soft-- but she had the resolve to become much harder. She wondered if Lady Gwen would agree with her worldview. They had gotten to talk a little, about philosophy, the spiritual world... the conversations, when Gwen was in the mood to talk and not just cry or remind Josie that she would kill her for hours-- were interesting. She saw revolution as something as not ending with the overthrow of a soft king ruling over those who were tricked into being his subjects, or simply did it because it was the 'soft' thing-- revolution was permanent, and existed on all levels, a philosophy couldn't dominate others much in the same way that a person couldn't. If there were gods, attempting to dictate fate without consent, we should kill them. Josie agreed, she wished they could have spoken on more.
Looking again at her room made the woman sigh. Maybe it would be pretty to decorate? She hardly spent money on anything, she could hang some of her dresses on the wall? Or buy new ones? Surely there had to be someone in this stupid Cloud city that specialized in Egyptian fashion? She could arrange them in any array of pleasing colors. But her hunger reminded her that there would be no point to this. She needed to consume, and fight, and get stronger. And then maybe she wouldn't be so empty. Her encounter with Adam reminded her that it had weaknesses she'd yet to discover-- so there must also be strengths she's yet to reach. She asked the blackness that swirled inside her body how to reach those new heights. She knew it wouldn't respond. She had to be patient and fight. But she couldn't do that right now because...
"Fuck." she said aloud.
She sat up with a grunt. Maybe she'd head to library? Or just wander the halls and eat holiday angst. She needed to clear her head. Or kill something.
The board didn't have anything.
Josie laid in her bed, staring at the featureless ceiling. In 5 years, she hadn't ever taken the time to really decorate her room. The walls around her were spacious, but barren-- they felt like the holding cells of Cairo, but less warm. There was a simple wooden desk (where there often bandages, bloody or ready to be bloodied, and a simple box for her jewelry sat) an uncomfortable chair, and her bed. Admittedly more comfortable than the scraps she'd share with her siblings in Cairo, but something about it was missing-- being more comfortable didn't make it better. She remembered when she first arrived here-- she hated remembering things-- she would often spend nights sleeping under the bed, or in the corner with a sheet wrapped around her like a mummy. It was uncomfortable and hard, just like home. The hard was underappreciated-- why sleep in a huddle with your brothers and sisters when you can sleep alone in a bed? She felt too many people thought that, that the soft and comfortable thing was the best. If you spend enough time around soft things, you'll perish like an over-pampered dog in the jaws of real hunter when the hard thing happened. If you weren't getting stronger to best the bigger threat, then you were worthless. Her hunger had taught her that.
The board didn't have anything.
Her thoughts turned to Lady Gwendolyn. She had just gotten back, but she found herself thinking a lot about the woman. It took some time to determine what she was tasting from the woman on their ride, during their stay in that abandoned shack where the two had to huddle together beneath her cloak. The woman still wanted to kill her, Josie had a difficult time understanding why, but she respected it. The woman was physically very soft-- but she had the resolve to become much harder. She wondered if Lady Gwen would agree with her worldview. They had gotten to talk a little, about philosophy, the spiritual world... the conversations, when Gwen was in the mood to talk and not just cry or remind Josie that she would kill her for hours-- were interesting. She saw revolution as something as not ending with the overthrow of a soft king ruling over those who were tricked into being his subjects, or simply did it because it was the 'soft' thing-- revolution was permanent, and existed on all levels, a philosophy couldn't dominate others much in the same way that a person couldn't. If there were gods, attempting to dictate fate without consent, we should kill them. Josie agreed, she wished they could have spoken on more.
The board didn't have anything.
Looking again at her room made the woman sigh. Maybe it would be pretty to decorate? She hardly spent money on anything, she could hang some of her dresses on the wall? Or buy new ones? Surely there had to be someone in this stupid Cloud city that specialized in Egyptian fashion? She could arrange them in any array of pleasing colors. But her hunger reminded her that there would be no point to this. She needed to consume, and fight, and get stronger. And then maybe she wouldn't be so empty. Her encounter with Adam reminded her that it had weaknesses she'd yet to discover-- so there must also be strengths she's yet to reach. She asked the blackness that swirled inside her body how to reach those new heights. She knew it wouldn't respond. She had to be patient and fight. But she couldn't do that right now because...
The board didn't fucking have anything.
"Fuck." she said aloud.
She sat up with a grunt. Maybe she'd head to library? Or just wander the halls and eat holiday angst. She needed to clear her head. Or kill something.
@MissCapnCrunch Yeah but does he fuck with the Wu is the real question.
@Kautalya
Colmillo: Wh-who are you?
Elvina: I'm you, but bitchier.
@Kautalya
Colmillo: Wh-who are you?
Elvina: I'm you, but bitchier.
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